Second Time Around

by Marcia Willett

  Tessa stood still and whistled. There was a scurrying as Harry appeared from nowhere and barged past them—he always had to be ahead—and, with Sidney fairly close to heel, she turned back towards the road where the car was parked. She yawned, feeling terribly tired, and realised that she had felt this weariness for some while. It was odd that, having achieved her heart’s desire, she should feel such lethargy now that the first excitement was over. Her limbs were heavy and her brain was dull; unable to be stimulated to happiness, even by the thought of Sebastian or the sight of her engagement ring. As she walked she stretched out her hand so as to stare at the pretty hoop of sapphires, remembering how they had rushed in to Plymouth to choose it and then gone on to the cove so that Sebastian could meet Bea and Will.

  Tessa had been swept along on a rising tide of excitement and happiness. Sebastian, having had his eyes opened at last, had behaved perfectly. For the few days that she was at Freddie’s it was almost as if they were a couple in a film or an advertisement; he bought flowers and champagne, raced across beaches with her, sang as they drove along in the car, took her out to dinner. It had, she thought now, a sense of unreality about it: tremendous fun but quite unrelated to anything that had happened before or since. It was as if they were both playing parts in a brief moment of romance that had nothing to do with real life.

  Tessa yawned again and felt irritable. Why couldn’t she be satisfied? For nearly ten years she had yearned after Sebastian and, now that she had him, all she felt was a dull exhaustion. Perhaps it was bound to be like this, she told herself as she let the dogs into the car. There was bound to be some sort of anticlimax after ten years of longing and hoping and waiting. She climbed in, switched on the engine and began to turn the car. Sidney whined miserably as she backed towards the hedge and she felt another surge of irritation.

  ‘Shut up, Sid,’ she said crossly. ‘For goodness’ sake! Nobody’s hurting you!’ She caught sight of his big domed head and sad eyes in the driving mirror and remembered what his owner had told her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, filled with compunction. ‘Sorry, Sid. I’m being a cow!’

  She drove along the lane, a now-familiar sense of confusion making her even more depressed. Deliberately she thought about Sebastian and how happy the Andersons had been when she and Sebastian had telephoned the news of their engagement. She thought of how sweet he had been to her and how he had made love to her—and her heart remained obstinately heavy.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she told herself. ‘I need a holiday. A real one. Not just bits and pieces here and there. It’s been a pretty exhausting year one way and another.’

  Comforting herself with this reason for her contrariness, she drove back to the cottage. Tomorrow she would leave Wiltshire. She had a few days to herself before her next job and she had planned to spend them at the cove; not as long as she would like but better than nothing. As she opened the door she could hear the telephone ringing and ran to answer it. It was a few moments before she realised who was at the other end.

  ‘I’ve been ringing and ringing,’ said Harry’s owner, sounding near to tears. ‘It’s terrible. Poor Caroline’s been taken really ill. We think it might be some seafood she had. She’s in hospital. There’s no way we can get back tomorrow. Can you hang on for a few days?’

  Tessa shut her eyes for a moment, seeing her precious holiday disappearing. She tried to summon some sympathy for Caroline. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘How awful for her. For all of you. I can stay three more days. I’ve got to be somewhere else after that.’

  ‘She’s really poorly.’ The voice was trembling. ‘The doctor says she might not recover. She’s vomiting all the time. I don’t know what to do …’

  Tessa was shaken out of her lethargy and disappointment. ‘How awful for you! Poor Caroline. Are the children all right?’

  ‘We’re all fine. Only she would have the mussels.’ She began to cry. ‘It’s food-poisoning, you see. Her mum’s coming over.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Tessa felt inadequate. ‘Look, don’t worry about the dogs. I can cope here until Tuesday. Stay in touch though, will you? I’m just … Well, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘No. I know. I can hardly believe it myself. And I don’t know what to say to the kids. I’ll be glad when her mum arrives.’

  ‘Of course you will. Try not to get too upset.’

  ‘No. I’ll phone again tomorrow, then. ’Be.’

  Tessa replaced the receiver. She felt frustrated and guilty for being more concerned about not being able to go to the cove than she was about the poor, sick Caroline.

  ‘Shit!’ she muttered. ‘Damn! Blast!’ She kicked off her boots whilst Sidney watched her anxiously. ‘Sorry,’ she said, automatically, seeing his distress. ‘Sorry, Sid.’ She stroked his silky head. ‘How about a biscuit?’

  As the day progressed, her frustration and depression settled back into a mild lethargy. Longing for some communication with the outside world she wrote a letter to Sebastian who was back in Portsmouth—a specially loving letter so as to assuage her guilt—and decided to ring Will and Bea to explain that she might be delayed. There was no reply and she spent some time trying to remember Isobel’s surname and cursing herself for not having had the foresight to ask for her telephone number.

  After lunch, worn out with so many negative emotions and the tiring boredom of having nothing to do, she fell asleep on the sofa in front of the television with Sidney stretched out on the floor beside her. Harry was patrolling the garden, a sharp eye out for the neighbour’s cat with whom he had an ongoing sparring match. The telephone bell jerked Tessa out of a deep slumber and she hauled herself upright and stumbled out into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh God!’ said the voice of Harrv’s owner. ‘It’s awful. Caroline’s dead. She’s dead. Just like that. Isn’t it terrible? I can’t believe it.’ She began to sob.

  Tessa stood holding the receiver, trying to comprehend the horror of it. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated meaninglessly. ‘So sorry.’

  ‘Thank God her mum arrived in time. It’s awful here. Look, I’m coming back tomorrow morning. It’s not fair on my kids to keep them here now. They’re in a terrible state. Caroline’s mum is coping with her two. They’ll be staying here for a bit to arrange for … things.’ She began to cry again.

  ‘I simply don’t know what to say,’ said Tessa honestly. ‘It’s the most awful shock.’

  ‘I know. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? Alive one minute—and the next … nothing. I can’t bear it.’ She gave a kind of retching gasp. ‘Look, I must go. The kids are waiting. See you tomorrow about three o’clock.’

  Tessa filled the kettle and switched it on. The shocking news had penetrated the dullness of her spirits and she was filled with horror. The woman’s words repeated themselves in her head. ‘Alive one minute—and the next … nothing.’ So it had been with her parents and her brother. Her old companions of loneliness and isolation weighed upon her so terribly that she became desperate to speak to someone. The need to dispel the terrifying awareness of the transitory nature of man’s existence was acute. She simply must smash through her fear and communicate with some warm, living, understanding human being. She found her address book and went back to the telephone. To whom should she speak? She found herself thinking of Giles but gave herself a mental shake. She could hardly phone him up out of the blue and weep down the telephone at him, especially now that she was engaged. Instead, she picked up the receiver and dialled the house in the cove …

  Only much later did she remember that it had never occurred to her to try to contact Sebastian.

  GILES LAY ON THE sofa-bed in his small studio, listening to some jazz and thinking about Tessa. He knew that his mother would have been disappointed at his lack of initiative but he was pleased with the way things were going. He and Tessa had spent two magic days together and, though nothing concrete had been said and he hadn’t so much as kissed her, he was certain that progress had been made. On his return to London he had been
obliged to leave almost immediately for Ireland, to take photographs for a series of articles on Celtic Britain. Afterwards he had travelled on to Scotland and so he had been away for several weeks. He wished that it was not quite so difficult to contact Tessa. Because she was never in the same place for very long she had given him a contact number and, having arrived back and gathered up his confidence, he had dialled it. There was no reply. Later he had tried again … and again—but the number had been engaged for hours.

  Giles settled himself more comfortably and closed his eyes. It was true that his upbringing had given him a wariness about entering into relationships, which reinforced his genetic inheritance. Until Tessa, he had never felt strongly enough to make the effort required to sustain such a relationship but, now that he felt as he did about her, he was determined that nothing should go wrong. He was frightened of hurrying her but afraid of losing her. He knew how she felt about Sebastian Anderson which, to begin with, had made it impossible to approach her. Now, he was more of his mother’s persuasion; all was fair in love and war. The two days he had spent with her had convinced him that this, at last, was the real thing; now he was ready to fight for her.

  He propped himself up a little and pressed the redial button on the telephone. Will answered the telephone so quickly that he took Giles by surprise.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Mr Rainbird? My name’s Giles Webster. Tessa gave me the number. I’d like to get in touch with her.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Will appeared to be dithering. Giles did not know that he was checking his list. ‘Yes, of course. Giles Webster. The thing is, Giles, she’s had a bit of a shock. I’ve just been speaking to her, as a matter of fact. The woman she’s dog-sitting for died abroad yesterday and Tessa’s just had to deal with the woman’s friend and children collecting the other dog.’

  ‘Died?’

  ‘Shocking, isn’t it? Food-poisoning apparently. Poor Tessa’s a bit overwhelmed. She was supposed to be coming home today but she’s stuck with the dead woman’s dog, d‘you see?’

  ‘How terrible. Poor Tessa. And poor woman, whoever she was. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Quite. Well, I’ll give you her number but I warn you, she’s a bit low.’

  ‘I should think so. Thanks for the warning. Don’t worry, I’ll be as tactful as I can. Yes. I’ve got a pencil … Thanks.’

  He dialled the number and waited. Tessa, when she answered, sounded tired and unhappy and Giles was filled with a new, strange tenderness.

  ‘Tessa,’ he said, ‘it’s Giles. I just phoned the number you gave me and Mr Rainbird told me the sad news. I’m terribly sorry. What a shock for everyone. Are you OK?’

  ‘Oh, Giles.’ The caring note in his voice warmed her. ‘Oh, isn’t it awful? I’ve been talking to Will. I couldn’t bear to be on my own, if you see what I mean. The terrible suddenness of it brought everything back.’

  ‘Poor Tessa. Look.’ He decided to take a chance. ‘I’m just back from Scotland and Ireland before that. I’ve got a few days off. Would you like me to come and see you? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Wiltshire. Oh, it would be lovely. I must admit I’m feeling silly and feeble. I shall probably cry all over you.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Giles felt full of protective love. ‘Is there a pub I could put up in somewhere at hand?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose … It’s a bit tricky …’ She sounded confused. ‘Giles, I ought to tell you … It’s embarrassing because it sounds as if … Oh shit! …’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Giles, puzzled by the change in her voice. ‘What have you been doing?’

  Tessa gave a deep sigh. ‘I hope this won’t make you change your mind but I feel it’s only right to tell you. Sebastian and I are engaged …’

  ‘I see. I hope you don’t expect me to congratulate you.’ He tried to keep his voice light.

  ‘Oh, Giles.’ She was trying to laugh. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’d like to see you.’

  ‘Then I’ll be there,’ he said calmly. ‘But if the pub’s shut you may have to find me a bed.’

  ‘Come straight here,’ she said recklessly. ‘Please, Giles. There’re plenty of beds and I’m sure it won’t be a problem. If you really want to come …’

  ‘I’ll be with you in a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘Give me the address and the telephone number …’

  When she’d rung off he sat staring at the telephone. To his surprise the news of her engagement had served to stiffen his resolve. He had been able to hide his anger and disappointment—he had no intention of antagonising her—but now his fists clenched involuntarily as he thought of Tessa and Sebastian together. ‘Shit,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ As he packed a few things his mind was busy. It came as a revelation to him that he was not prepared to let her go. Usually he would have backed down at once, never dreaming of trying to come between an engaged couple, but not now. He knew that he was prepared to make a fight for Tessa but he would need to be careful. As he drove west, Giles laid his plans.

  Twenty-four

  BEA STROLLED ON THE cliffs above the cove, her eyes fixed on the hazy horizon. It was a cold damp afternoon and the watery sun had disappeared behind a thin veil of cloud but she was unaware of any physical discomfort. Her brisk walk had warmed her and she was deep in thought. It seemed strange that she had settled so quickly here in this remote cove, far away from her friends and all that had been familiar. A few nights before, as she and Will played Scrabble before the fire, she had mentioned it to him. This, in itself, was surprising. She had come to the cove almost resentfully, simply because she did not know what else to do. To admit that it was working was tantamount to saying that there had been nothing in her previous life that was worth retaining. Normally she would not have allowed anyone to suspect such a thing but somehow Will was different. She could trust him to understand; she could expose weaknesses, put weapons into his hands, knowing that he would never use them against her.

  ‘I feel the same,’ he’d said at once. ‘Odd, isn’t it? All those years in

  Geneva and now it’s as if they never happened. Not true, of course. We carry our experience and memories with us. We’re lucky, you and I, Bea. We had no ties to keep us from starting a whole new life.’

  Bea fiddled with her tiles, thinking of Norah and of Tony. She knew that these friendships had been part of her school life and that it had been unrealistic to think that they would survive beyond it.

  ‘It’s sad though,’ she’d said, thinking particularly of Norah. ‘Rather selfish to pass people over when they no longer fit in to your life.’

  ‘It all depends on what you mean by “passing people over”,’ remarked Will. ‘If you’re thinking of Norah then I think you’ll find that she’s just as happy, if not happier, without you. It wouldn’t have worked, you know, and then you’d have fallen out. As it is, you’re keeping in touch with her. She’ll probably come down to see you in the summer and the friendship remains ready to be called upon in an emergency.’

  Bea sighed and began to arrange tiles upon the board. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘Why does one feel guilty when the right thing just happens to be the thing that one wants? I can’t help feeling selfish in knowing that what is right for Norah is exactly what I want.’

  Will smiled. ‘Poor Bea,’ he said. ‘What an uncomfortable companion a conscience is. Cheer up. When she comes down for a week you’ll soon see it in perspective.’

  ‘You’re a cynic,’ Bea had said—but she was laughing. She knew that he was right. A day or two of Norah’s self-righteous whining would bring all her own intolerance to the surface. ‘But you’ve got a point. We’re better apart.’

  Will jotted down her score whilst Bea delved for some more tiles. ‘Anyone else you’re regretting?’ he’d asked casually.

  The silence had been a long one. ‘Not really,’ Bea had said at last. ‘Just … just someone I rather cared for. Married, of course. Nothing to it except my own foolish imagin
ation.’

  ‘Very painful, that sort of attachment,’ said Will thoughtfully. ‘Best to get free of it, perhaps?’

  He’d left the question hanging in the air and Bea had remained silent.

  Now, as she walked on the cliff she thought about Tony Priest. She conjured up his image but, for some reason, it no longer had the power to disturb her. He seemed remote, unreal, and she wondered that she had ever allowed herself to become so romantically attached to him.

  ‘Like a schoolgirl,’ she muttered, ‘with a crush on film star.’

  She took a deep breath, as though she would dispel all such negative and humiliating thoughts, and looked about her. So immersed in thought had she been that she had not noticed that the mist was rolling in from the sea. The sun had completely disappeared and the soft grey clouds were now pouring across the cliffs, shrouding tree and rock and obliterating the familiar landmarks. Bea knew a moment of real anxiety. Trying to be calm, she stood quite still and listened. If she could hear the sea then at least she could keep well away from the edge of the cliff. She could work her way back to the field and make her way along the hedge.

  She strained her ears but was unable to hear any noise. The mist, clothing her now in moisture, had the effect of deadening all sound. Bea pushed down a tendency to panic. She had been walking back to the path that led down to the beach, therefore the sea was on her left; but which was her left? She had stopped to look about her and now she couldn’t decide which way she had been facing. Bea felt utterly disorientated; afraid to go either forward or back. Tentatively she took a few steps in what she hoped was the right direction. She stepped into a hole, stumbled, and fell to her knees amongst some gorse, crying out with pain as her hands plunged down amongst the spines and prickles. Kneeling there she gave a dry little sob, raising her head and straining to hear some sound that might guide her forward. Silence. The mist flowed over and around her, thick and wet, chilling her. She cried out, her voice thin and insubstantial. Scrambling to her feet she shouted again but the clouds seemed to bear her voice downwards, drowning and muffling it. As she stood helplessly, near to tears, she heard a noise. Straining every muscle and nerve, she peered about her. ‘Help!’ she screamed again. ‘Help! Please!’ Something appeared suddenly out of the mist beside her and she stifled a scream. The collie from the neighbouring farm, gave a brief wag of the tail and hurried on. He had been rabbiting on the cliff but he knew it was time to start for home.