Artemis, still wearing her floral dress and jacket, was recalling a number on her mobile.
Hugo, flamboyant in a pink sweater and grey slacks, was scrutinizing a drawing that seemed to consist of nothing but brilliantly coloured, geometric shapes.
‘Brett Kenwyn is your best bet if you want an all-round, dependable workman,’ Matt was saying to Geraldine. ‘He’s a carpenter by trade, but he turns his hand to practically anything. He’ll certainly be able to convert the barn into sleeping accommodation and he’ll knock up a stand for Primmie to milk Alice on in no time at all.’
‘And his phone number?’
As Matt gave it to her, Artemis said despairingly, ‘Orlando isn’t replying and Sholto’s mobile is switched off.’
‘Why are you ringing them?’ As she asked the question, Kiki crossed the kitchen to where Primmie was now carving thick slices of bread.
‘I need them to collect luggage I took with me on the cruise. Plus I want personal possessions I treasure taking out of the house before that bitch Serena rifles through them.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to do that personally?’ Hugo put the diagram for the proposed potager down on the kitchen table, giving her his full attention. ‘I could take you. I’d quite like a long drive to … where would we be going?’
‘Gloucestershire … but I couldn’t ask it of you, Hugo. It’s too far and besides …’ Her cheeks flushed pink. ‘Besides, collecting my things personally will be a little awkward.’
Kiki, busy forking slices of crispy bacon on to the hunks of bread, said impatiently, ‘For crying out loud, Temmy, how can it be awkward? It’s your home, for God’s sake. And you are going to fight for it, aren’t you? You’re not just going to accept this statement of Rupert’s that it’s his and he’s keeping it?’
‘No, of course I’m not.’ Artemis looked affronted. ‘Though I’ll only be doing so on principle. I don’t want to live in it again – not after Serena’s polluted it.’
‘Well, then,’ Kiki began passing around a plate stacked high with bacon butties, ‘what’s the problem?’
Artemis flushed even pinker. ‘Before I walked out of the house I was a little violent.’
‘Well, if you threw everything you could lay your hands on at him, no one could blame you.’ Geraldine closed her notebook. ‘Just as long as they were things he treasured and you didn’t give a damn for.’
‘They weren’t things at all.’
Everyone looked at her with interest.
Looking deeply uncomfortable, Artemis said, ‘I hit him. With my fist. On his jaw.’
Hugo choked on his coffee. Kiki gave a whoop of delight. Geraldine cracked with laughter. Primmie said incredulously, ‘You mean you decked him?’
Artemis nodded.
‘And hurt him?’
‘Well, he was flat on his back and not moving.’
Kiki and Geraldine collapsed in gales of laughter. Primmie tried to keep a straight face, and couldn’t. Matt looked horrified. Hugo looked dazed.
‘And so you see Hugo taking me to the house to collect things might be a little awkward,’ Artemis finished with masterly understatement.
All eyes turned to Hugo. Manfully he came to terms with the realization that his Rubenesque goddess wasn’t quite as helpless as he had imagined. He reminded himself of how shamefully she had been provoked and indignation, on her behalf, flooded through him. ‘Let’s set off now,’ he said decisively. ‘We can be there and back by early evening.’
‘But what will Rupert think?’ It was a reflex question born of thirty-two years of married life.
‘He doesn’t know you and …’
Kiki groaned. Geraldine rolled her eyes in despair. Primmie said patiently, ‘If Rupert was to say that his affair with Serena had all been a ghastly mistake and he wanted a reconciliation, would you agree to one?’
Artemis paused for an infinitesimal moment and then shook her head. ‘No.’
‘And so you want a divorce as much as he does?’
‘Yes.’ There was surprise at the realization in Artemis’s voice. ‘Yes, Primmie. I do.’
‘Then it doesn’t matter what Rupert thinks about you being in the company of a man he knows nothing about. Far better to have Hugo take you and for you to collect everything you want yourself than to ask one of your sons to do it for you, which is what Rupert – and Orlando and Sholto – will be expecting you to do.’
‘And if you don’t leave now, this very minute, I shall never speak to you again,’ Geraldine said in mock severity as Artemis still hesitated.
Artemis hesitated no longer.
‘I’ll get my handbag from the bedroom,’ she said to Hugo. ‘And be right with you.’
She was back downstairs a minute later, her clutch bag in her hand. Automatically, without thinking about it, everyone followed Hugo and her out to Hugo’s parked Mercedes.
‘They make a nice couple, don’t they?’ Primmie said as Hugo opened the passenger-seat door for Artemis.
Geraldine chuckled. ‘Give them time, Primmie. Artemis only left the marital home yesterday.’
‘Maybe; but her marriage has been over for ages, probably for years – though I don’t think she’s aware, yet, of just how long it’s been dead.’
‘It sometimes takes a long time to realize things.’ Kiki’s eyes were on the Mercedes as Hugo drove it out of the yard and on to the track leading down between the fields to the gates. ‘I realized something only this morning.’
‘And that was?’ Geraldine, too, was still watching the car.
‘That yesterday, when you said that my running off with Francis on your wedding morning was the lowest, shittiest, most despicable act possible – you were right. It was. And I want to tell you that I’m sorry, Geraldine. I shouldn’t have done it.’
Primmie, standing only a foot or so away from them, waited for Geraldine’s response with bated breath.
It was a long time in coming.
At last, as the Mercedes turned out of the gates inland, beginning to pick up speed, she said, without turning her head towards Kiki, ‘Apology accepted – and there’s something I want to say to you, too.’
Kiki looked towards her, her eyes apprehensive.
Aware that Kiki was expecting her to say something heavy, the corner of Geraldine’s beautifully sculpted mouth twitched slightly. ‘Congratulations on taking Rags to the beauty parlour. He looks the bee’s knees.’
Later, as Geraldine walked with her across the meadow, towards the hen arks, Primmie was tempted to say how glad she was that the estrangement with Kiki had finally been laid to rest. She decided against it. Just because an apology had been given, and accepted, didn’t mean the subject matter was no longer hurtful.
‘Do you always keep the hens in their runs until midday?’ Geraldine asked, breaking in on her thoughts. ‘I thought they were happiest running free.’
‘They are.’ Primmie put the basket she’d brought with her on the grass and knelt beside the first of the arks. ‘And this is when I let them out – at midday, when they’ve finished laying. If I let them out earlier they lay their eggs under hedges and all over the place and I never find half of them.’
She slid the door back that gave access to the nesting boxes.
Watching her as she began lifting the eggs and placing them in the basket, Geraldine said, ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Primmie.’
Primmie stopped what she was doing and leaned back on her heels, her tummy muscles tightening. This was the moment she’d been waiting for – and dreading – ever since she had realized that Geraldine was ill.
Geraldine sat down, her long legs coiled elegantly beneath her, her back against the wire mesh of the hen run. ‘I’m suffering from something called severe aplastic anaemia,’ she said starkly. ‘Unless I have a bone marrow transplant and the chances of having one aren’t high – it’s terminal.’
The blood drained from Primmie’s face. She felt her head swim and for one dizzying moment thoug
ht she was going to faint.
Aware of the effect her news had had, Geraldine said. ‘I’m sorry, Primmie. It isn’t the kind of news that can be broken gently.’
It was the understatement of all understatements.
Primmie pressed the back of her hand hard against her mouth, knowing that for Geraldine’s sake she had to remain calm. If she were to give way to the howls of protest and anguish clutching at her throat, then Geraldine’s self-control – control she must have battled hard and long for – would also break down.
Licking dry lips, her voice raw, she said, ‘What is aplastic anaemia, Geraldine? I’ve never heard of it.’
‘It’s a blood disease.’ Her voice was perfectly steady. ‘Instead of blood-producing cells in my bone marrow, all I have are fat-producing cells.’
‘And a bone marrow transplant will rectify that?’
Geraldine nodded, her violet-dark eyes grave. ‘Yes. If I have one.’
Primmie stared at her, confused. ‘I’m sorry, Geraldine. I don’t understand. If a transplant will cure you, why haven’t you already had one? You have money. You’re not dependent on NHS treatment.’ Despite all her fierce determination to remain calm, there was the unsteadiness of fear in her voice. ‘So what’s the problem? What is it you haven’t yet told me?’
Geraldine shifted her position in order to avoid the attentions of a Rhode Island Red that was trying to peck her hair through the wire mesh. ‘Transplants are only usually carried out on patients under the age of forty who have a brother or a sister as a suitable match – and I’m fifty-two and an only child.’
Primmie struggled to remain calm. It wasn’t easy – not when she wanted to sob in anguish at the unfairness of it all. How could Geraldine be facing a death sentence when they had only just found each other again? When, together with Kiki and Artemis, they had so much to look forward to? It was too utterly monstrous. Too vile. Too bloody, bloody cruel.
‘But the over-forty thing won’t be impossible to get around, will it? Not when you can afford to go anywhere in the world for treatment?’
‘And the sibling issue?’
Violet eyes held grey.
‘There are donor registries, of course, and my consultant in Paris will be in touch instantly if a suitable match is found.’ Geraldine gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Until then I’ll be travelling between here and Paris pretty regularly for treatment.’
‘Which is?’
‘Blood transfusions and antibiotics.’
She saw the sudden hope that lit Primmie’s eyes.
‘The prognosis is a year, Primmie,’ she said gently. ‘Maybe less.’
Primmie didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She took hold of Geraldine’s hand, their fingers intertwining.
‘I’m not going to tell Kiki and Artemis.’ Geraldine looked across the sunlit field to where Maybelline was placidly grazing. ‘Not yet. Artemis would go to pieces – and I’d find that hard to cope with.’ Black humour entered her voice. ‘And Kiki would begin treating me differently. She might even start being sensitive and caring – and that would unnerve me completely.’
Incredibly, Primmie felt the corners of her mouth twitch in response. The grimmer things were, the more important laughter was going to be. And, fortunately for Geraldine and her, laughter had never been a problem.
‘The name is Brett Kenwyn. Are you Miss Grant?’
Primmie regarded the leather-jacketed and jean-clad Brad Pitt lookalike in bemusement.
‘No. Are you the builder she’s expecting?’
‘That’s me.’ White teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. ‘She said she had quite a bit of work for me. A barn to convert, a custom-made goat shed to build, a patio to lay.’ He swung a heavy tool bag easily from his shoulder on to the ground. ‘Which has priority, d’you know?’
Primmie registered that, as if all his other handsome attributes weren’t enough, he also had a slight cleft in his chin, and said, ‘The goat shed. Geraldine is having a rest at the moment, but I’ll show you around and you can decide where it would be best placed. I’m Primmie Dove. Would you like me to show you the barn? Then you can tell me how much work will be involved.’
As she was talking, Primmie was leading the way across the cobbled yard towards the farm buildings. ‘I have another two friends, as well as Geraldine, living with me, and as I’m going to be giving holidays to groups of children I desperately need more sleeping accommodation.’
As they came to a halt in front of the dilapidated barn, Brett Kenwyn tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and assessed it.
‘Is it going to be an impossible job?’ Primmie asked anxiously.
‘Nah.’ Brett eyed the exterior with a knowing eye. ‘It’ll be a piece of cake. Miss Grant said dormitory accommodation was wanted.’
‘Yes. We thought young children would find a dormitory more fun. And we’ll need very safe access for them – ladders with handrails.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, shooting her another dazzling smile. ‘And what about the goat shed? Do you want it squeezing in around the yard, next to the cow shed, perhaps? Or d’you want it tucked out in the field where she grazes?’
‘Next to the cow shed, if you can manage it. It will be less of a trek when I milk her.’
‘I charge seventy pounds a day,’ he said, ‘and if you want me to start work right away, I can.’
Primmie smiled sunnily. ‘Then please do, Mr Kenwyn.’
‘The name is Brett. Do you want the goat-shed roof thatching?’
‘Yes, please, Brett. And call me Primmie.’
‘OK, Primmie.’ She was treated to yet another dazzling smile. ‘Then I’ll start digging the foundations out now.’
‘If he were on the books of the agency I’ve just divested myself of,
he’d be earning himself a fortune,’ Geraldine said an hour or so
later as, standing at the side door, a mug of tea in her hands, she looked across to where Brett Kenwyn, naked to the waist and muscles rippling, was hacking out foundations for the goat shed with a pickaxe.
Primmie’s eyes widened. ‘Did you have men escorts on your books, as well as young women?’
‘Goodness, but you’re naive, Primmie! Of course I did. They had to be intelligent, though, as well as good-looking. When women are paying for a man to escort them to public functions they don’t want it to be obvious, the minute he speaks, that he ‘s hired out by the hour. My agency was top-of-the-market and all the escorts who worked for it were deluxe in every sense of the word.’
‘And you now have nothing at all to do with it?’
Geraldine’s mouth tugged into a smile. ‘That’s right. My pimping days are well and truly over – though looking at our builder, I can’t help seeing dollar and pound signs. There must be well-heeled women in Cornwall who would be happy to pay for a handsome young escort – especially one with such a torso.’
Primmie didn’t know if Geraldine was teasing her or not, but was taking no chances. ‘Well, if they are, you’re not going to be the one providing them with someone,’ she said spiritedly. ‘I could explain a lot to Matt, but not that!’
Geraldine eyed her curiously. ‘Forgive me if I’m being a little too nosy, Prim, but is having Kiki; Artemis and me here cramping Matt’s and your style?’
Primmie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Well, it is a little bit,’ she said truthfully. ‘But Matt has a very cosy little cottage in Calleloe – and I shall probably begin spending the odd evening or so there.’
‘Or the odd night or so?’
‘Or the odd night or so.’ She smiled. ‘Good men are hard to find. Matt reminds me of Ted – and I loved Ted with all my heart and still miss him.’ Her eyes were overly bright. ‘I’ll always miss him, because what we had together was so very perfect.’
‘And is it perfect with Matt?’
Primmie’s smile deepened. ‘Not yet, but I think it will be some day. And that’s worth working towards, isn’t it?’
/> When Kiki came back after an Oxfam trawl with Rags, it was late afternoon.
‘There’s a bloke digging to Australia next to the cow shed and he’s playing one of my Rock ‘n’ Roll Greats CDs,’ she said indignantly. ‘Who lent it to him? I don’t want him sneaking off with it.’
‘No one.’ As the sound of Gene Vincent singing ‘Blue Jean Bop’ drifted from the far side of the farmyard, Primmie continued laying the kitchen table for three, certain that Artemis wouldn’t be back from Gloucestershire till late. ‘The bloke in question is the builder who’s going to convert the barn and make a shed for Alice. His name is Brett and if he’s playing a rock and roll CD it’s his own. That sequinned beret is nice. Did you find it in Calleloe?’
‘Helston, in a boot sale.’
In skin-tight jeans, leather jacket and gaudily sequinned beret, Kiki strode back out of the kitchen and into the porch, opening the side door so that she could hear the music more clearly. ‘Blue Jean Bop’was followed by Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’.
‘Are you sure it isn’t my CD?’ she shouted back to her, over her shoulder.
‘Positive.’
‘Forgive me if I’m not convinced. I’m going over to check.’
Geraldine, who had been sitting in the rocking chair near to the Aga, put down the gardening magazine she had been leafing through. ‘How old would you say Brett Kenwyn is, Primmie?’
‘Early thirties.’ Primmie put a bottle of Merlot on the table. ‘Why?’
‘No real reason.’ It wasn’t the truth, but there was no point in putting her thoughts into words. Kiki had always done exactly as she wanted to – and Brett Kenwyn looked like a young man who could take care of himself.
After dinner, Geraldine, looking desperately fatigued, went straight to bed and Kiki announced she was going into Calleloe, to meet Brett Kenwyn for a drink.
Primmie, assuming Kiki’s interest was entirely musical, was quite glad of her plans. It meant she would have time to herself until Artemis returned, and time to herself was something she had wanted ever since her talk with Geraldine out by the hen arks.
Going into the small room that looked out over the front garden, she sat at Amelia’s big old desk and switched on her laptop. Five minutes later she was online. She didn’t check in on the Friends Reunited website. Instead she entered ‘Missing Persons, USA’ in her search box. Geraldine might not have a brother or a sister who could give her a bone marrow transplant, but she did have a cousin. Minutes later, knowing that her search would be long and involved, she typed in ‘Francis Sheringham’.
The Four of Us Page 38