Second Time Around

by Marcia Willett

  ‘So I gather,’ said Bea grimly. ‘And who is this Charlie Custard?’

  ‘He’s the dog,’ said Will wearily. ‘He’s coming, too.’

  ‘All I can say,’ said Bea going to the larder, ‘is that dogs these days have very silly names. What with Romulus and Remus … However. What are we going to do about Adrian Pearson?’

  ‘I shall talk to James.’ Will looked happier as this thought presented itself. ‘See if he’s got any advice.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Bea brought out the scales. ‘I shall make a cake for tea and then I’ll see if Isobel’s around. If Tessa is going to get herself engaged I’m sure that Isobel will like to have a look at him, too.’

  Will, finding James’s office number, decided that he would never understand women. The relationship between Isobel and Bea was too complex for him. Bea was insistent that Isobel should pay her rent, yet was anxious that she should meet Tessa’s young man. As for Tessa getting engaged … He put the problems of his womenfolk out of his head and dialled the offices of Murchison, Marriott.

  Twenty-two

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE announcement of Tessa’s engagement, Isobel received a letter from Simon. She picked it up from the hall floor and turned it over in her hands, examining the handwriting and the postmark. At last it had come. Isobel had no real doubt that the letter contained the news of his marriage to Sally and, with its arrival, came the realisation that she had no desire to read the words that would destroy her last hope. She put the letter in her shirt pocket and wandered into her living room. The cottage had been furnished with saleroom pieces but Isobel had contrived to give it a character of its own and this was a cheerful room. The shabby armchair and the sofa were made bright with huge heavy cotton throws in old gold and bright scarlet. A cream Indian cotton bedspread covered the scratched table which stood under the window, and pine-framed reproduction posters hung on the cream-washed walls. Rag rugs hid the worst spots of the threadbare carpet and the kitchen chairs at the table had been rubbed down to their original pine and given padded cushions of scarlet. The patterned curtains in thick chenille seemed to embrace all these colours in a rich warm glow.

  A second-hand wood-burning stove had been fitted in the wide stone fireplace, and Isobel kneeled on the hearth rug and opened the glass doors. The weather was still cold and she was keeping the fire in overnight so that there was a centre of warmth in the house. She put some wood into the stove and let it blaze up. Presently she took out the letter and tore open the envelope almost indifferently. She scanned the words quickly, then read them properly. Simon had been as tactful as was possible in the circumstances; the wedding had been a very quiet one at Sally’s home in the Lake District and they were spending the Easter holidays there in a holiday cottage. Helen would be staying with friends. He sent Isobel their best wishes and hoped she was well … She screwed up the paper and flung it into the flames. So that was finally it; no more pretending that he might come back to her. It was over. She had told herself this several times in the past but soon hope had come creeping back. For some reason Isobel found herself remembering Tessa’s face when she had introduced Sebastian to them. She had looked happy but there had been something else as well; a kind of hopeful anxiousness …?

  Isobel shook her head. She couldn’t really pin down Tessa’s expression but she had found herself praying that Tessa would be happy. Certainly Sebastian was a nice enough young man. His manners were excellent and he was extraordinarily good-looking. He had been charming to Bea, deferential to Will, sweet to Tessa …

  ‘I know now that I’m really old,’ Will had said afterwards. ‘I’ve never been “sirred” so much in one day in my life. First Adrian Pearson and then Sebastian … Ah well.’

  At the thought of Will a faint ray of comfort found its way to Isobel’s unhappy heart. It became even more important now that she should be able to remain in the cove. She must redouble her efforts to get a worthwhile job and so be able to pay the proper rent. She knew that Will would not care about it but Bea was a different proposition and she realised that it was important to show that she was really trying to pull her weight.

  Isobel drew up her knees and rested her forehead on them. She was well aware of Will’s affection for her and for a brief moment she knew a temptation to trade on it; to rest against him and let him take the weight. What a relief it would be to pass all her problems over to Will. She knew that it would be easy to make him really love her and she wondered if she could love him enough to repay him for all that he would give her …

  Suddenly, in one swift movement, she got to her feet—as though physically rejecting such ideas—and passed into the kitchen. It was shameful to think of Will in such cold-blooded terms she told herself as she began to wash up the breakfast things, along with last night’s supper plates. She caught herself thinking of Tessa again. How would Sebastian fit into the cove? Would Tessa give up her job and move around with him, living in married quarters? Even if she did they would want to come home to the cove for leaves and weekends. What then? Would Sebastian share Tessa’s room, next door to Bea; and what about when the babies came along?

  Isobel stood staring out across the sea, her hands still in the soapy water. The obvious thing would be for Tessa and Sebastian to have the cottage—but where would she go then? She couldn’t imagine herself sharing the house with Bea and Will. She thought of Helen and wondered how she liked sharing a house with Sally and Simon. The thought of Helen made her feel even more desperate as the knowledge of her loneliness and failure seized her and filled her with pain. As she emptied the bowl and dried her hands she saw Bea walking on the beach. She carried a bag into which she put her ‘gleanings’. The sight made Isobel remember Mathilda and her loneliness became an intolerable weight. She simply could not bear to be on her own today.

  She came out of her door and raised a hand to Bea. ‘How are you?’ she called in a remarkably steady voice. ‘Have you recovered from your shock?’

  She went to meet her and they strolled forward together, the early April sunshine pleasantly warm on their faces.

  ‘Will has been talking to James,’ Bea told her. ‘It seems we can do nothing about this wretched young man.’ For one mad moment Isobel thought she was talking about Sebastian. ‘You see he is too clever to state his opinion of the worth of the items he purchases. He merely tells you what he is prepared to offer. According to James that is no crime. He doesn’t force you to sell, you see. Will said he was very cunning in what he said. He didn’t actually admit to anything although he unerringly picked the most valuable pieces.’

  ‘How frustrating,’ said Isobel. ‘Surely there must be something we can do?’

  ‘We’re thinking about it. Will would like to set a trap for him and expose him but it’s rather complicated. As James says, no one is obliged to take his money.’

  ‘Did you tell Tessa about it?’

  Bea shook her head. ‘We didn’t feel that it was quite the right moment.’

  ‘And what did you think of Sebastian?’ asked Isobel, after a moment.

  ‘He seemed a nice enough young man,’ said Bea cautiously.

  Isobel sighed. ‘I hope she’ll be happy.’

  Bea looked at her sharply. ‘You don’t sound too sanguine.’

  Isobel laughed. ‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ she said lightly. ‘I had a letter this morning from my ex-husband to say that he has just remarried. Not a day for too much optimism, I’m afraid.’

  They stood at the edge of the cove, looking out over the calm sea in silence.

  ‘I understand that there is a very good market in Totnes on Friday mornings,’ said Bea at last. ‘I do enjoy a market. Will’s tied up this morning. No chance, I suppose, of us going together? I’m sure I could find my way alone but it would be very pleasant to have your company if you can spare the time.’

  ‘I should love to,’ cried Isobel. ‘It’s a wonderful idea. It’s my day off and I must say it’s not a good day to have too much time to think.�
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  ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind driving the Morris?’ suggested Bea, who felt that, in her present state, it would be better if Isobel were to be kept occupied. She had been looking forward to exploring Totnes alone; preferring to take her own time rather than be worried lest the person with her was bored or waiting at some pre-arranged spot, an eye on the time. On her own she could truly relax, although she enjoyed her jaunts with Will who was an unexacting companion. She suspected that Isobel would rush her from place to place, chattering and requiring regular stops for coffee. Nevertheless, it was clear that Isobel needed company and some task which would take her mind off her troubles. Bea had not been deceived by the brightness of Isobel’s voice. ‘We could go in the other car,’ she said, ‘and you could navigate but since you know these lanes so well I should prefer it if you would take charge.’

  ‘No problem,’ agreed Isobel promptly. ‘We’ll take the Morris. I shall really enjoy showing you round. It’ll be fun. Market day is really busy.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Bea, ‘perhaps we should make a start?’

  Isobel looked at her gratefully, rather surprised by this gesture. Apart from the fortnightly stock-up at the supermarket and the visits to the library which she did with Will, Bea usually went off alone to do her private shopping. For some reason Isobel was reminded of Mathilda and their trip to Oxford. She did not wait to analyse these feelings but she felt a rush of affection for the older woman and, agreeing to meet her by the car in five minutes, went hurrying back to the cottage.

  WILL WAVED THEM OFF and returned to scraping down the woodwork of the downstairs windows. There was much to be done but he was enjoying even the most laborious of tasks. As he scraped away the peeling paint, he thought about Mathilda. What inner resources she must have had to live in near isolation yet remain the person Isobel had described to him. Will had remarked that, under such circumstances, most people went a bit potty.

  ‘Mathilda wasn’t potty,’ Isobel had said indignantly. ‘She might forget to eat or not notice the fire going out but she was so clear-sighted. It was Mathilda who made me really think about things. There was something … something … Oh, how can I put it? She was always the same, never deviating from her real self. There was an absolute serenity deep down inside her. Oh, I can’t explain it.’

  ‘You were very fond of her.’ It was a statement.

  ‘Yes.’ Isobel, who had been talking eagerly, looked suddenly bleak. ‘I loved her. We were friends but I let her down at the end.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  Isobel was silent for a long moment. ‘I never knew she was ill,’ she said at last. ‘I was too busy with my own troubles to notice and she obviously didn’t trust me enough to confide in me.’

  Will felt a pang of anxiety. This was something which had gone very deep and was corroding Isobel’s peace and despoiling her memories of Mathilda. ‘I think you may have that round the wrong way,’ he said gently.

  She’d looked at him quickly. ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Put yourself in her place. Here is a woman who has lived alone, by choice no doubt, but nevertheless alone. She is someone who prefers her own company to that of the wrong people. You come along and she finds that with you she can talk and joke and play Scrabble. What a joy you must have been to her! What a bonus! You give her plenty of freedom and space but you care for her, keep her warm and well fed and allow her to live happily and do exactly as she pleases. One day she suspects that she’s ill.’ Will looked directly at Isobel. ‘If she had confided in you can you imagine how your relationship would have changed? Gone would have been that ease and fun that you had together. You would have been watching her, worrying, waiting. She would have felt the weight of your anxiety, reminded constantly of her illness, unable to forget it for a moment. I think that Mathilda chose to preserve the quality of her life right up to the end and that your ignorance of the truth enabled her to do it. She would have been relieved that she could hide her knowledge from you and I am quite certain that she never meant to hurt you by her silence nor imagined that you’d feel guilty in any way. From what I know of her and the relationship you shared, I suspect that she assumed that you’d understand.’

  The silence seemed endless. Will thought that he’d never made such a long speech and he prayed that it was the right answer. Something told him that it was how Mathilda had felt. He slid a sideways look at Isobel.

  ‘She talked about the quality of life,’ she said slowly, ‘but surely, if you love someone, you notice if they’re not well?’

  ‘Not if they’re deliberately hiding it from you,’ he answered promptly. ‘I think Mathilda did that. She sounds like a woman with very great strength and courage. You are wronging her in dwelling on what you see as your shortcomings. You should be remembering what you had together and being happy and grateful for it. You are debasing the great friendship you shared.’

  He heard her swallow at the harsh words and longed to throw his arms around her. Instead, he began to pat about his pockets for his pipe.

  ‘She killed herself,’ said Isobel in a small voice. So far she had kept this dreadful thing from Mathilda’s relatives. They had been told that Mathilda died by accident, rendered helpless by the weakness caused by her illness and by the onset of hypothermia. ‘I know she did. We talked once of euthanasia and she said that she would rather die than face the indignity of suffering. She felt very strongly about it. When she knew she had cancer I think she decided to take her own way out.’

  ‘How wonderful then,’ said Will calmly, ‘that she had the courage of her convictions. Most of us talk but few of us act.’

  ‘I don’t think she did.’ Isobel’s eyes were dark with horror as she looked at him. ‘I think she went out that night intending to drown herself.’ She swallowed again, always remembering those fatal words of hers, and her lips trembled. ‘I think she did lose courage. I think that she changed her mind but the engine wouldn’t start. She hadn’t bothered to get the boat overhauled. I think that when the storm got up it swept the boat into the rocks and she died of exhaustion and hypothermia. She took a flask with her but that’s because I bullied her. I joked and said,’ her voice trembled and Will braced himself, ‘I said, “Go and drown yourself and see if I care!” But I went over later and made a flask of coffee for her and put it on the kitchen table beside her duffel bag. I knew she wouldn’t bother or she’d forget to do it. The flask was half empty when they brought it back. I think she lost her nerve when the time came and then she couldn’t get back.’ Isobel began to weep. ‘I can’t help thinking how frightened she must have been. Oh God. I did love her and if only I’d realised I might have saved her.’

  ‘Saved her from what?’ Will gave up and put his arm about her shaking shoulders, holding her close. ‘Saved her from painful treatment and being a vegetable and dying a humiliatingly undignified death? Would you honestly have brought her back to that, given that you loved her? Can’t you see what a blessing it was that fate took things out of her own hands? In the end she died peacefully and painlessly and at that moment of fear she had the warmth and comfort of the flask you made her. In those last moments you gave her what she needed; what you’d been giving her for the last years of her life: The tangible comfort of your love and caring for her.’

  Isobel put her head in her hands and gave herself up to violent weeping but, when the storm had passed away, her guilt had been washed away with it. She looked at Will with swollen but clear eyes, the dark grief gone.

  ‘I did love her,’ she said shakily. ‘She was … Mathilda.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Then give thanks for her and for your opportunity to love her,’ he said. ‘It is a great privilege to be able to love someone whole-heartedly. Don’t throw it away or debase it in grief and guilt and self-indulgent remorse.’

  Now, as he felt the sun warm on his back, Will straightened up and watched a cloud of gulls screaming above a fishing boat as it plied its way towards Dartmouth. He remembered his own
sense of guilt after he had talked so confidently to Isobel but the change in her convinced him that it had been the right thing to do. Thanking God that he had been given the means to help her, Will stretched and bent again to his scraping.

  Twenty-three

  THE WOODS WERE FULL of birdsong. Tessa, hands in pockets, strolled slowly with Sidney pottering in the rear. A shower of upflung leaves and earth showed that Harry was far ahead, scratching busily at a hole deep in the roots of a tree, and quite unconscious of the squirrel who watched him slyly from a branch high above his head. A jay flashed between the trunks of two great oaks, disturbing a wood pigeon who rose with a clapper of wings and, with its odd curving flight, dipped into the meadow where lambs played at the edge of the wood. The pale gold of primroses gleamed from amongst beech mast and dead leaves, wood anemones glowed ghostly in the shadows beyond the path and the constant chuckle of water hinted at the presence of an unseen stream.

  Tessa, who had hoped to spend Easter at the cove, was back in Wiltshire. The two families had once again united for a repeat trip to France and Tessa had been unable to refuse their pleas for help. She was not yet in such a position to be able to turn down work and she knew that these two women, struggling to make ends meet, had made great sacrifices to be able to take the children away on holiday for the week.

  ‘It’s rather a lot of driving,’ Sidney’s owner had admitted, ‘but it’s a wonderful break and the kids love it. Having you here is a great luxury but I couldn’t put Sidney in kennels. He’s much too neurotic. He was my husband’s dog, you see, and when he went off it broke Sidney’s heart, and his new woman wouldn’t have him near her. He might slobber on the chair covers. Cow! So he stays with me. Poor old Sidney. He hasn’t really got over it.’

  It occurred to Tessa that he hadn’t got over Harry, either. Despite a second week together, there was still a certain amount of tension on Sidney’s part although his gentlemanly instincts obliged him to endure in silence. Harry, with all the insufferable confidence of the street urchin, never even noticed.