‘Go and say hello to Johnnie,’ she says, ‘and tell him coffee’s ready. And then you can show us how far you’ve got.’
* * *
‘You’ll stay with us, won’t you?’ asks Johnnie. ‘While we’re getting all this sorted out? Have you got a bic for Popps, Sophie? She’s been such a good girl all morning.’
He pours the coffee, pushes a mug towards Oliver, and sits down at the table.
‘Well, that would be very kind.’ Oliver looks pleased. ‘I’d like that.’
‘I think we all would,’ says Johnnie with a sly glance at Sophie, who is giving Popps a biscuit. ‘Tom and Cass won’t think we’re poaching?’
‘You’re joking. My father has quite enough on his plate with Gemma staying with them.’
‘But old Tom must be absolutely thrilled with this scheme, isn’t he? Of course, he was never a great sailing man but, even so, if it gets Guy and his family back home again it’s got to be good news.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be very pleased,’ agrees Oliver, ‘as long as the scheme is viable. It’s got to pay its way.’
‘It would be wonderful,’ says Johnnie, ‘getting another boat or two out on the river. People going to sea, learning to sail. Wouldn’t it make a great postscript to my book? Another generation working the river. Young Will growing up and being a part of it. And Guy’s boys, too. What could be better than to be part of such an enterprise?’
Oliver smiles at Johnnie’s infectious enthusiasm and wishes Guy was there to witness it.
‘It’s sad,’ he says politely, ‘that your mother won’t be here to see it all happening.’
Johnnie looks thoughtful. ‘Probably just as well,’ he says with devastating honesty. ‘To be perfectly frank, my mother never quite trusted anybody’s ideas but her own. We’d have had the devil of a job getting her to see the possibilities. She was very protective about the old place and I think she’d have been nervous about one or two aspects of our scheme. Not surprising at her age but, well, as it happens, it’s worked out for the best. She liked things done her way but now it’s time for change.’
‘“The generations of living things pass in a short time,”’ quotes Oliver idly, ‘“and like runners hand on the torch of life.”’
‘Yes,’ says Johnnie, after a moment, ‘that’s exactly it. Who said that?’
‘Lucretius,’ says Oliver.
‘’Course it was,’ says Johnnie. ‘So what have you got to show us on that smart-looking laptop? Let’s have some more coffee and get down to work.’
* * *
‘It can work,’ Oliver says to Sophie. Johnnie, having studied spread sheets and specifications of various classic boats, has gone back to the Growlery taking Popps with him. ‘I don’t mean Guy’s scheme. I mean us. We don’t have to be conventional to make a relationship work.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ admits Sophie. ‘I even wondered whether we could have our own quarters in the sail loft, but Johnnie has plans for it being a kind of clubhouse for beginners to learn the rudiments of sailing before they actually take to the water.’
‘A kind of perpetual Swallows and Amazons,’ murmurs Oliver. ‘I can just see it. Dear old Guy must think he’s died and gone to heaven.’
‘What luck that you brought him here,’ agrees Sophie. ‘It’s certainly a marriage made in heaven.’
‘D’you mean us?’
‘No. Well, yes, in a way,’ says Sophie, flustered. ‘I just meant that putting Johnnie and Guy together was a miracle.’
‘All thanks to Jess, really. She started it all.’ Oliver thinks about the photograph. ‘Something’s bothering Jess, but I don’t know what it is. Do you?’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘I knew there was something going on right from the beginning when Johnnie saw Kate in the Bedford and she told him about Jess winning the Award and about her being Juliet and Mike’s granddaughter. Rowena began to be really quite odd after that. Very preoccupied and secretive, and getting all those photographs together of the parties in the sea garden, and of the boys when they were young at Dartmouth. You remember I told you, Johnnie said he thought that Rowena was just enjoying the opportunity to talk about Al.’
‘But you didn’t believe that was true?’
‘Not entirely. I thought it might be more to do with the fact that Al died in a drowning accident and I wondered if there might have been something going on. You know?’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘Well, it sounds a bit fanciful but look at it like this. Al and Mike are bosom pals and they both fancy Juliet but it’s Mike who gets her. Supposing there’s a bit more to it than that and they have a row about it when they’re out sailing and Al goes over the side?’
Oliver raises his eyebrows. ‘Goodness.’
‘Well, it sounds very dramatic,’ says Sophie defensively, ‘but I just know that there was something going on.’
‘But if Rowena suspected that Mike killed her son, would she be particularly keen to meet Jess?’
‘I can’t quite see any reason why Rowena was so anxious to meet Jess,’ says Sophie frankly. ‘That’s the whole point. She’s a sweet kid – I like her – but I still say it’s a bit odd. And now Rowena’s dead.’
There’s a silence.
‘So do you wish Jess wasn’t coming back?’ asks Oliver.
‘Good grief, no,’ says Sophie. ‘I told you, I really like her. And I feel terribly sorry for her. She was so thrilled to be here, where everything happened, and then Rowena had that attack and poor old Jess was really upset. And then, of course, she was there when Rowena died.’
‘Yes. Actually, I was surprised that Jess was so keen to come back.’
‘So was I. But I’m glad, too. Perhaps we’ll find out what this mystery is.’
‘You definitely believe that there’s a mystery?’
‘Yes,’ says Sophie firmly. ‘I do. I thought she might have said something to you.’
‘I know less than nothing about it all,’ says Oliver, remembering his promise. ‘Apart from my old pa being a member of the group way back when. I’m not much help, I’m afraid. Perhaps, now that Rowena is dead, Jess might be a bit more forthcoming.’
‘She might be. Anyway, let’s forget all that for moment. I’m glad Johnnie’s asked you to stay. Have you got any stuff with you?’
‘I have. I drove down from London, left very early and came straight here, so my bag’s in the car.’
‘Very convenient. Let’s go and sort out a room for you. Are you sure you’ll be happy in this rather communal atmosphere? Jess will be in and out, and Fred, when he gets back.’
‘I rather like it. My happiest time was when Unk and I were getting the business up and running. A friend of ours had written a very successful series of books for children called Percy the Parrot, which was made into an iconic TV programme. I had this idea of making a soft, cuddly Percy the Parrot toy and it just took off. There were T-shirts and mugs and all sorts of spin-offs. Even Unk was astounded by its success. His niece and her daughter and our designer, we all practically lived together, bouncing ideas off each other, making things buzz. As it grew and became successful we took on more and more staff and started to delegate, so that all that fun side of it became less and less necessary. The original team gradually split up after a few years and then Unk died. It had got too big, too impersonal, and that’s when I got out.’
‘I don’t think this will be like that, will it?’ asks Sophie anxiously.
‘No, no,’ he assures her. ‘This is quite a different proposition. I can see young Will and Guy’s boys coming into it and taking over when the time comes. We’re definitely in for the long haul.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ says Sophie happily.
* * *
The temperature drops again; there is a brief light fall of snow.
Jess drives very carefully in the icy lanes though she is still aware of the bright berries in the hedgerow and the sharp black thorns. She would like to get out a
nd take some photographs but she is anxious to keep going lest more snow should fall and she should get stuck. Despite the anxieties that flutter in her mind, her instinct tells her that she is doing the right thing; that as a part of this story, it is her turn to take another step that will move her right into the heart of it.
She feels both terror and exhilaration and, as she drives around the curve in the lane and sees the river, dazzling in the brilliant sunshine with its two bridges slung across its shining width, her heart leaps up with joy. How strange and wonderful is this strong sense of home-coming. She turns right by the finger post at the little junction and drives down the steep hill, crosses the lane and begins the final descent to the river.
Johnnie comes to meet her, Popps bouncing and barking beside him, and he gives her a hug, his face alight with welcome.
‘I’m glad you’ve come back to us,’ he says. ‘I thought you might be put off, you know.’
‘Oh, no,’ she says, smiling up at him. ‘How could I be? Only it was awful, of course…’
She dithers, not wanting to sound too happy when Johnnie’s mother is so recently dead, but so pleased to see this warm-hearted, kindly man.
‘Awful,’ he agrees. ‘Terrible. But she was ill, Jess. We mustn’t forget that. Now, come in. Sophie and Oliver have gone to do a big shop in Tavistock just in case the weather gets worse, but you’ll be needing a cup of tea to warm you up. Sophie says that you’d still like to stay in the sail loft even though it’s so cold. She’s put an extra heater in for you.’
‘But you must let me pay towards the heating and food costs,’ Jess says firmly. ‘It’s bad enough me coming to stay, without asking you to pay for my upkeep. Honestly…’
‘Nonsense,’ he says at once. ‘You’re one of the family now, you know…’
And they argue amicably about it as they go into the warm kitchen.
‘Mother hated it in here,’ says Johnnie. ‘She could never see why Sophie and the children all congregate here. It’s nicest now when it gets the late-afternoon sun.’ He pushes the kettle onto the hotplate and turns round to smile at her. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’
She’s sliding the photographs out of her big bag and now she pushes them towards him.
‘Rowena gave them to me,’ she says. It’s not true but it doesn’t really matter. The moment has come: it is now or never. ‘I love this one.’
She indicates the top one, the wedding photo, and he leans forward to look at it. His expression is cautious.
‘Such a beautiful girl,’ he murmurs. ‘And you’re so like her. I’m glad Mother gave it to you. She was fiercely possessive about these, you know.’
‘Perhaps it was because she knew that I’d never really known Juliet and Mike,’ answers Jess, watching him. ‘I’d never seen any picture of them when they were young. Daddy didn’t have anything. He and Mike really fell out, you know. They didn’t get on at all.’
Johnnie frowns, still staring at the photograph. Jess moves it so that the other one is exposed.
‘She gave me this one, too.’
The kettle begins to whistle but Johnnie doesn’t move. He stares down at the group of young happy faces and his own face grows sad and anxious. He takes a deep breath and turns to make the tea.
‘I know who you all are now,’ Jess says. But he keeps his back to her. ‘This is Al and this is Mike and this one is Stephen Mortlake. And this is you, isn’t it?’
He turns at last and stares at the photograph. He nods. ‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘And this is Tom and that one’s Fred?’
He nods and she heaves a great sigh and picks the photos up.
‘I needed to know, you see.’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I can understand that. But do you mean to say that my mother knew the truth all the time?’
Jess smiles at him compassionately. ‘She thought she did but she’d got the wrong man. She thought it was Al.’
He frowns, trying to puzzle it out. ‘What did she say to you?’
‘She showed me lots of photos of all of you when you were young but this was the one she was leading up to. She was very clever. She hoped that I might recognize someone.’
‘Recognize someone? How could you? Well, Mike, perhaps. You might have seen photos of him as a young man, but how could you possibly have recognized anyone else?’
Jess looks at him, remembering. ‘It was a terrific shock,’ she says quietly, ‘but her hunch was right. But by then I’d become suspicious, you see. She was so intense about it all; asking questions about Daddy. I didn’t recognize any of you but there’s one face there that is so much like his at about that age that I gave a kind of gasp and then I knew I’d given the game away. She saw my shock and I deliberately misled her and pointed to a face I didn’t know and said, “Who’s that?”’ She gives a little groan. ‘It couldn’t have been a worse choice.’
‘It was Al,’ he says.
She nods. ‘She was absolutely jubilant. She was waiting for it and hoping for it, and the shock of it sent her into that terrible attack.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘I felt so guilty and ashamed. I was terrified of seeing her again and of what she would say. And when I did see her again that was all she wanted to hear me say: that Daddy was Al’s son.’
‘And you did?’
Again Jess nods. There are tears in her eyes. ‘She looked so ill, but she was so happy. She thought I was Juliet, you see. She said, “It was Al’s son, wasn’t it?” and I just nodded and put my head down on her wrist so that she couldn’t see my face, and then she died.’
Johnnie comes swiftly round the table and puts his arm round her. He presses his cheek against her head and she leans into him, weeping.
‘Poor Jess,’ he says. ‘Poor little Jess.’
‘I had to say something,’ she sobs. ‘You’ve all been so kind. I’m sorry.’
His arm tightens round her. ‘It’s not for you to be sorry,’ he says. ‘Will you give me just a very little time to sort things out, Jess? I promise you it’s going to be fine.’
She puts up a hand to grasp his own, nodding, wiping her cheeks with the knuckles of her free hand. Popps suddenly begins to bark, bouncing out of her basket and running to the door, and Johnnie straightens up.
‘Damn,’ he says. ‘That’ll be Oliver and Sophie back. Are you OK?’
Jess nods, sliding the photos into her bag, slipping from her chair. ‘I’ll just go and tidy up,’ she says, and disappears in the direction of the little cloakroom.
Johnnie goes back to his tea-making, takes some mugs down from the dresser. Sophie and Oliver come in, laden with bags.
‘The forecast isn’t good,’ says Sophie cheerfully. ‘We might get snowed in. Thank goodness Jess has arrived safely.’
‘Just got here,’ says Johnnie. ‘I’m making some tea.’
‘It’s freezing,’ says Oliver. ‘And me with my London clothes.’
‘There are plenty of spare jerseys,’ says Sophie. ‘Oh, hi, Jess. How are you?’
‘I’m good,’ says Jess, embracing Sophie and then Oliver. ‘It’s great to be back. I’m totally determined to try to get some work done.’
‘In this weather?’ Sophie shivers. ‘Not many flowers around at this time of the year. Listen, are you sure you want to be in the sail loft? There are bedrooms going spare, you know.’
Jess glances quickly, anxiously, at Johnnie. ‘I do, really,’ she begins. ‘I love it out there.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ agrees Johnnie. ‘Give her twenty-four hours, anyway. See how she copes.’
‘OK then,’ says Sophie. ‘But don’t blame me if you get snowed in.’
Jess and Johnnie exchange another glance. ‘I won’t,’ she says. ‘Thanks.’
* * *
After supper, they watch television and talk about the new scheme. Oliver and Johnnie work out an email to send to Guy, setting out some new ideas and suggestions.
‘Remember,’ warns Oliver, ‘that he mustn�
�t know that I’m too involved yet. He needs to be so keen and excited that he doesn’t care where the funding will come from.’
‘I should have thought he was at that stage long ago,’ says Sophie.
‘We must allow him his pride,’ says Oliver.
Johnnie goes off to the Growlery to send the email and make some phone calls, and comes back in time to say goodnight to Jess.
He gives her a kiss and murmurs, ‘Tomorrow morning, after breakfast,’ in her ear. She smiles and nods.
Oliver and Sophie, with Popps, walk Jess to the sail loft and check that it’s warm and that she has everything she needs. Sophie draws the curtains in the big room to keep it warm but, once they’ve gone, Jess draws them back. The moonlight drenches the room in a cold white light, which is chopped into fractured slivers in the black water. She stands for a moment, gazing on the magic of the night, and then goes quickly up the little staircase and into the warm cosiness of her bedroom.
* * *
Jess wakes to that strange but now-familiar sensation that there are other people with her in the sail loft. She washes and dresses quickly, then goes out onto the gallery-landing, and down the stairs into the big room, and all the while she is aware of a presence: the echo of a light footstep on the shining wooden boards, muffled laughter suddenly quenched. She turns her head, listening, but she isn’t frightened; she is filled with an odd kind of joyfulness as she makes her tea and carries it to the balcony window. She doesn’t slide it open but stands sipping her tea, as she did once before, watching the mist drifting above the river.
As the sun rises so the hills opposite are washed in a brilliant rosy-gold light, which slides gradually down the little sloping fields and along black hedges, chasing the night shadows, until it touches the uneven slate roof-scape of Cargreen. A small rowing boat moves out from the darkness of the walls and slips across the water. As it approaches Jess can see the man at the oars, pulling strongly, glancing over his shoulder now and then so as to avoid the few boats still at anchor out in the channel. This time he doesn’t stop. The dinghy comes on, ripples spreading across the water from the rhythmically dipping oars, until it disappears from view almost beneath her.
The Sea Garden Page 22