‘Hi,’ she cried breathlessly. ‘Hello? Are you still there? Oh, Henrietta. Oh, thank goodness. I thought I was too late and you’d hung up. Did you get my text to say that I was back? How’s it going? Are you settling in?’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Yes, I got your text. Everything’s fine. Look, I just thought I’d check with you. I’ve had this message on the answerphone from someone called Joe who wants to drop in later and who obviously knows Roger and Maggie very well, so I’m wondering if there might be a naval connection. I feel I recognize the voice. Do we know someone called Joe? My generation, not yours. Does it ring any bells?’
‘Jo.’ Cordelia cast about amongst her large circle of naval friends and acquaintances. ‘Jo. That’s short for Joanna, I suppose, or Josephine…’
‘No, no. Sorry. This is a man not a girl.’
‘Ah.’ Cordelia revised her ideas. ‘Joe. Right. Joseph. No, I can’t think of a Joe offhand.’
‘Me neither. Only the voice sounds familiar. Never mind. Are you OK?’
‘Fine. Wrestling with that piece for Country Illustrated. Sure you don’t want some company? It must be so odd to be suddenly set down in the middle of rural Somerset with nothing but Maggie’s menagerie for company after the house in London with Susan and…with Susan and the children. I could come over if you’re feeling lonely. Or we could meet in Taunton for a spot of retail therapy.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. Really. And anyway, you’re obviously in the middle of your article. I’ll let you know who Joe is later on. ’Bye.’
Cordelia went back to her study, her mind all over the place, completely distracted. Had there been a veiled criticism there? You’re obviously in the middle of your article. Love for her daughter filled her, along with anxiety and compassion and guilt, especially guilt: all the emotions guaranteed to quench any creative flow. She fiddled about, tidying papers, closing books and putting them back on shelves, sipping at the lukewarm coffee whilst a question she’d heard recently on a radio programme nibbled at her thoughts.
Are we the first generation to need to be friends with our children?
Well, are we? She thought about her own parents: caring but detached. None of this emotional soul-baring for them; no in-depth discussions of their offsprings’ feelings or needs. She could well remember her father’s reaction to her own separation and subsequent divorce, his expression of shock fading into distaste when she told him that Simon was leaving her.
‘Another woman, I suppose. No, I don’t want the sordid details. I can only say that I’m glad your mother is dead.’
No, no. Things relating to the emotions were best kept hidden; not talked of; stiff upper lip.
Are we the first generation to need to be friends with our children?
Well, she did need to be friends with Henrietta. She wanted to encourage and support and be there for her. But, oh, the grief and anxiety not to be shown, never to be shown, just gnawing away inside.
Henrietta’s little pinched white face: ‘Is Daddy leaving us because I got bored of cleaning out Boris properly?’
Boris was the hamster, a handsome, benign, if intellectually limited, creature.
‘Bored with, darling, or by. No, of course he isn’t. It’s just that sometimes friendships stop working properly.’
‘But Daddy’s still friends with me?’
‘Of course he is. And always will be.’ Until he’d written to his daughter when she was fifteen; a creamy white envelope containing a message as destructive as a bomb whose fallout was still causing damage nearly twelve years later.
Cordelia sat down and stared at the computer screen, unhelpfully blank just like her mind. How inept she’d been at the time. How ineffectual and helpless. She’d felt exactly the same when she’d arrived in Tregunter Road a month ago to find the place in turmoil.
Suddenly the screen seems to dissolve before her eyes and instead she sees Henrietta’s face, her eyes wary, the old familiar shadow slicing down between them like a sword, cutting off any exchange of warmth and love.
She’s up in London for a lunch at the Arts Club with her agent. She stays with friends in Fulham but drops in, as arranged, to see Henrietta on the way to Dover Street. As soon as the door opens she knows that something is wrong. The usual atmosphere of busy conviviality is missing. No sound comes from the two big basement rooms from which Susan directs her small but successful mail-order business, and the kitchen is deserted: no Iain snatching a moment from his computer with the morning paper and a cup of coffee; no children running in from the garden to greet her.
Cordelia puts her bag on the table, looks around puzzled.
‘Is it a bad moment?’ she asks.
Henrietta’s eyes are enormous with shock. ‘Iain’s gone,’ she says. ‘He’s just packed up and gone.’
They stare at each other. ‘Gone?’ Her own voice is husky, fearful. ‘D’you mean he’s left Susan?’
Henrietta nods. Suddenly her expression changes, grows distant. ‘Yes, gone. This morning. Apparently he’s been having an affair for ages. Susan’s gutted.’
They continue to stare at each other; other memories surfacing, resentment stirring. Susan’s voice is heard, calling from upstairs, and a child is crying.
‘You’d better go,’ says Henrietta quickly. ‘Sorry, but she won’t want to see anyone just yet and I’m trying to keep the children out of her hair,’ and Cordelia acquiesces at once, letting herself out of the house, hurrying away to Dover Street.
‘Charteris Soke in Frampton Parva is the only house…’ It was beginning to sound like an estate agent’s enthusiastic pitch rather than a feature on a tiny piece of history. When the telephone rang again Cordelia snatched it up almost fearfully, until she saw his initials.
‘Dilly?’
The sound of his voice, the silly, familiar nickname, filled her with joy and relief. As her shoulders relaxed and she took a deep, deep breath she realized how very tense she’d been.
‘Darling. Wasn’t it fun? When shall I see you?’
‘I could be with you about tea-time. Would that be good?’
She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘You have no idea how good,’ she answered. ‘’Bye, darling.’
Cordelia stood up and went back to the kitchen, then out on to the wide stone balcony carved from the cliff, which dropped precipitously into the sea below. Hers was the last in the row of coastguard cottages and the most private. The other two were holiday homes, let out for most of the summer and empty for the greater part of the winter. Her windows had an uninterrupted view of the sea, and of the coast that stretched away to Stoke Point to the west and Bolt Tail to the east. Inside the boundary walls she’d planted escallonia, fuchsia, tamarisk, to protect herself from the interested, and even envious, gaze of walkers on the coastal path higher up the cliff that passed a few yards from the front door. She leaned her elbows on the wide wall where feverfew clung in tiny crevices, and clumps of pink and white valerian were precariously rooted. Below her the sea rocked gently as though it were tethered to the cliffs, anchored and going nowhere; a squabble of seagulls screamed insults at one another from sharp-angled ledges. Light streamed down from a wide haze-blue firmament and was reflected back so that there was no distinction between sky and water. Away to the west a single fishing boat ploughed a lonely, shining furrow.
Soon he would be on his way: there would be time for talk, for sharing, and for love.
‘It’s so silly,’ she said to him much later. ‘I threw a wobbly. Panicking about Henrietta and how she’ll manage while they’re all away. Two months! It’s such a long time, Angus.’
She passed him a mug of tea, suddenly remembering the remark a mutual friend had once made about Angus Radcliff. ‘He’s so dishy, he could have been the model for Action Man,’ she’d said. ‘I rather fancy him, don’t you?’ Cordelia had pretended indifference but she’d understood what she meant: the disconcerting light-grey stare and strong jaw; the dark, close-cropped hair and compact, well-muscled bod
y.
‘So which outfit do you imagine him in?’ she’d asked the friend. ‘Resistance Fighter? Helicopter Pilot? Arctic Explorer?’
‘Oh, I imagine him in nothing at all,’ the friend had answered promptly. ‘That’s the whole point’ – and they’d shrieked with laughter.
Now, sitting down opposite him, she hid her smile. ‘And I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘You know when we were on the narrowboat I was telling you about Susan’s marriage breaking up and her parents whisking her and the children off to New Zealand? Well, it occurred to me when I was driving home that surely you must know Roger and Maggie Lestrange? Wasn’t Roger at Dartmouth the same year as you and Simon?’
‘Roger Lestrange. Yes, of course I know him. You didn’t mention his surname. But we weren’t the same year. Roger was two years ahead of me and Simon at BRNC, but much later on Roger and I were at the M.o.D. together with Hal Chadwick. Roger and Hal were great oppos. Or should I say Admiral Sir Henry Chadwick?’ He pulled a mock-reverential face.
‘Dear old Hal,’ Cordelia said affectionately. ‘He’s such a sweetie. And Fliss is so perfect as Lady Chadwick. That clean-cut, patrician face. Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple. Remember when they let me do that piece for Country Life on that wonderful old house of theirs? The Keep. Hal was thrilled but Fliss insisted that their more personal details were kept right out of it, which was fair enough, I suppose. Apart from the history of the place we decided to concentrate on the organic vegetable-growing business that Jolyon started, Keep Organics. It was great fun.’
‘Odd, though, isn’t it?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘They weren’t always a couple, Hal and Fliss. We tend to forget it because they seem so right together. They’ve only been married for about seven or eight years. Fliss and Hal are cousins, you know, and The Keep is just as much Fliss’s as Hal’s.’
‘They explained that when I went to see them,’ Cordelia admitted. ‘That’s why Fliss didn’t want too much private stuff put in. It’s been such a family house with so much drama that I could have written a whole book about them. It’s an amazing place. Actually, the soke reminded me of it but on a much smaller scale. What happened to Hal’s first wife? Did you know her?’
Angus frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Once we’d all specialized we lost touch a bit. Roger and Hal were skimmers; Simon and I went into submarines. I think we were up at the M.o.D. when Hal’s wife left him. She took one of their boys but Jolyon stayed with Hal so we saw much more of him. I must say it’s so odd when I see Jo on the television these days. He’s the image of Hal when he was that age.’
‘Jo!’ Cordelia clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Jolyon Chadwick. I am a fool.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s why Henrietta telephoned. She said someone called Jo had left a message for Roger and she thought she recognized his voice. I never thought of Jolyon. I was thinking Joseph, or Joe with an e. I am a twit. He was going to drop in, not knowing that Maggie and Roger have gone off to New Zealand.’
‘Well, that’s all right,’ Angus said comfortably. ‘Henrietta won’t come to any harm with Jo.’
‘Of course not. But I might just phone. Give her a warning shot across the bows. After all, he’s quite a celebrity now, isn’t he? She might be cross to be caught in her old jeans and no make-up.’
She found her mobile and pressed the buttons.
‘Darling, it’s me. Listen. I’m wondering if it’s Jo Chadwick who left the message…Oh. Oh, he’s there now. Right…OK. Later on, yes, that’ll be fine.’
Cordelia switched off and made a face at him. ‘He’s already there,’ she said.
Angus grinned. ‘And?’
Cordelia considered. ‘She sounded flustered. But in a nice way. Said she’d speak later on.’
He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. ‘Not too much later on, I hope,’ he said. ‘We might be busy.’
CHAPTER THREE
She’d recognized him at once. He’d paused on the garden path, a slightly perplexed expression clouding his face, as if he’d suspected some change he couldn’t quite pin down. Then Juno and Pan had strolled out of the door to meet him, his expression had cleared and he’d held out his hands to them, bending to stroke them. The puppy had gambolled behind them, prancing and bounding, and he’d laughed aloud and said, ‘Hello, old fellow,’ and crouched to pull the puppy’s ears. He’d glanced up then, and seen her waiting by the door, and his look of surprise had been almost ludicrous. He’d waded towards her through the sea of dogs and said, ‘Hello. Is Roger around?’ and she’d said, ‘No, I’m afraid not, but come in. I think I’ve got some books for you.’
Now, they stood rather shyly together in the cool, dim hall, looking at the books, and she said, ‘So you didn’t know that Maggie and Roger had gone to New Zealand?’
‘No.’ He put the book back into the bag. ‘I’d heard that it was on the cards, but I had no idea they’d gone. And so you’re looking after the dogs? And the old ponies.’
She hesitated. It would be easy to allow him to believe that she was an Animal Aunt; no explanations would be needed and he would disappear with his books and that would be that. But she didn’t want him to disappear; she had an odd but very definite desire for him to stay.
‘Well, I am,’ she said, ‘but it’s not quite that simple. I’m not the Animal Aunt. I’m nanny to Susan’s children. They’ve gone with Maggie and Roger, you see.’
He looked at her more closely. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, I think I do. Look, I’m Jolyon Chadwick. My father is one of Roger’s oldest friends. Naval oppos and all that. I know Susan quite well, though I haven’t seen her for years.’
She smiled. ‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘Mainly because of the television, of course, but I expect we’ve met up somewhere before. My family’s Navy, too. Well, it was. I’m Henrietta March. Susan and I were at the Royal Naval School together. That’s how I finished up as her nanny. I was between jobs at the same time that her business was really taking off and she had two babies, and it just seemed right somehow. When all this blew up I offered to come down here. Maggie’s usual sitter was booked up.’
‘“All this”?’ he repeated.
She hadn’t expected her unconsidered phrase to be picked up quite so quickly. The silence lengthened whilst she wondered how much to tell him; after all, he would very soon hear the truth through the naval grapevine.
‘Would you like some tea?’ She postponed the moment. ‘I’ve got rather a good cake from the village stores in Bicknoller.’
‘Thanks.’ He followed her into the kitchen and went down on his knees to play with the puppy that rolled on to his back in ecstasy and nibbled Jolyon’s fingers with pin-sharp teeth. ‘This fellow’s new since I was last here. What’s his name?’
‘Maggie calls him Tacker. It’s the Cornish coming out in her, Roger says. He has a rather grand kennel name but Maggie just began calling him Tacker and it’s rather stuck.’
‘Well, he is a little tacker,’ said Jolyon. ‘He’s gorgeous. My old fellow, Rufus, died last year but he was just like this once. So.’ He stood up and took his tea from her. ‘What’s it all about then?’
She’d decided not to prevaricate but still she hesitated. ‘It’s rather embarrassing, isn’t it? After all, it’s very personal and we don’t really know each other.’
‘We probably do. Naval families always have some connection. I expect our fathers know each other. I’m just curious as to why Roger and Maggie have dashed off so suddenly without telling their closest friends, that’s all. But don’t worry if you feel it’s indiscreet to tell me. I won’t badger you.’
Henrietta sighed as she cut two slices of cake. ‘It would be good to talk about it. To be honest, I’m still in shock. Iain has walked out on Susan. He’s found someone else and they’ve split up. Maggie decided that it was a good moment for a sabbatical and has whirled Susan and the children off to New Zealand with her and Roger. Susan’s partner is managing the business and looking after the
London house and I agreed to come down here so that they could get away quickly.’
‘I see. Poor old Susan.’ His voice was bleak.
She glanced at him. His expression was grim and somehow this was comforting. ‘I’m nearly as gutted as Susan,’ she admitted. ‘We were all so happy, you see. At least I thought we were. There was no hint of anything. No rows, no shouting, no disagreements. The business going on in the basement and lots of people around. We were like a big family. And this has just blasted us all.’
‘Roger and Maggie must be devastated.’
‘They are. It affects so many people, doesn’t it?’ She was silent for a moment. ‘My parents are divorced.’ She shrugged. ‘So what? Big deal, and all that. But it was painful, and now it seems as if it’s happened all over again. My second family is all in pieces and it’s like I’m in mourning. Oh, I can’t explain it.’
‘You don’t have to. I know all about it, except that I’m luckier than you are. My second family is still in one piece. Rather tough on you, being left alone, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think they saw it like that. I mean, they weren’t really thinking about me in that light. Maggie’s one concern was to get Susan and the children away, and I agreed with her. To be honest it was almost a relief. I didn’t want to be in Tregunter Road with Iain coming in and out, getting his things.’
‘But this is a bit extreme. You need your friends at a time like this.’
‘Maggie said I could invite people down. She was great. It’s just I don’t really want to talk about it yet. At least,’ she grimaced, ‘not with mutual friends. All that speculation and gossipy stuff; picking over the juicy details. I’m not in the mood.’
The Prodigal Wife Page 2