by Connie Monk
Reaching the five-acre plot where the nets were already spread around the lower trees it was as if she became a different person. Phillipe Rodriguez was already working his way along the bottom row of trees, leaving a shower of nuts on the ground as he moved from one to the next. Taking a large round basket from the shed, she set it on the ground by the first tree and started to gather up the nuts. As she worked she sang softly (not full volume as Maria did) hardly aware that she did it. It was one of life’s special moments: the hot sun on her back, the deep blue of the cloudless sky above, the sound of a tractor passing along the seldom-used road, a tractor pulling a trailer taking nuts from some grower further along the empty road to the cooperative depot. Rather than feeling like a novice at the game, she was filled with pride that nuts grown in the grove of Finca el Almendros (home of Giles Lampton, she conceded with a mixture of pride and annoyance) wouldn’t be taken to the cooperative but would be weighed and packed by her and sent independently to fill her orders.
When she saw Giles hurrying down the sloping drive to the growing area by the road her happiness was complete. Never had he sought her out down there, although she always hoped that he would. One look at his face told her that he had something special to tell her; this was the Giles she had first fallen in love with: vital, interested in life. In his hand he held the letter she had taken in to him.
Ten
Tessa watched Giles packing. Was it only in her imagination that she didn’t exist for him? Suddenly his life had colour and purpose, purpose in which she played no part.
‘How long do you think you’ll be away?’ she asked. He seemed not to hear her, his mind taken with selecting which suits to fold carefully for the largest of the three cases he had put out ready. ‘An evening suit? I thought this was a working trip?’ She tried to tease him into at least noticing she was there.
‘That’s what I intend it to be. But I’m sure there will be occasions when I need to dress. I don’t care how sociable I have to make myself; I’ll fight all the way to see my work isn’t ruined. Based on books by Giles Lampton, screenplay written by whoever it is, and then they have a free hand to make what he will of my characters.’ He sounded bitter, even angry. ‘I have to be there. I want a say in who is to be cast. What will they know of the characters in an English village?’
‘People may not be so different in America.’
‘What?’ Clearly he had simply been voicing his thoughts aloud, not talking to her. ‘The same? How can they be? We are all as circumstances have made us. We may learn to understand each other, but we’re certainly not the same. Ties . . . about eight, I should think . . . Put socks and underwear in the smallest case of the three for me, will you?’
She got off the bed where she had been sitting and went to his chest of drawers. But she still hadn’t had an answer to her original question.
‘You’re packing more than you take when you go to London. Do you expect to be away longer than usual?’
‘I’ve no idea how long I shall be.’ Suddenly she had his full attention and something in his expression made her wish she hadn’t pressed him for an answer. ‘I intend to stay as long as it takes to make sure my work doesn’t end up as some fast-moving action-packed ninety minutes of screen entertainment.’ He hesitated. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that – as if she were some sort of problem he wasn’t sure how to solve. Not a word that he would get home as soon as he could or that he would miss her. ‘You know I’m restless, frustrated, cooped up here with just you and the child – and Maria’s constant voice.’
His tone took her by surprise.
‘Well you needn’t hurry on my account,’ she retorted, hating herself for wanting to hurt him. ‘I have plenty of interests. I shall be too busy to even notice you’ve gone.’
Packing was forgotten as they held each other’s gaze across the bed. What were they doing? Hadn’t she told Naomi how she liked him to go away because it helped him see the preciousness of what they shared here? But was it precious to him, or did he come home because he got bored with what he found somewhere else? Ever since his last visit to London he had been different. Most of the time lately he’d wanted no company but his own, and there was even something different in their love-making. It used to be an exciting adventure, rapturously uniting them. But lately she was sure he feigned sleep when he was actually wide awake. Sure that whatever was wrong between them could be put right if they found each other in the ultimate joy of loving, sometimes she tried to arouse him. If his body responded there was none of the former lingering joy of anticipation; instead he would move on to her, unable to restrain his quick movements and almost immediately it was over. It wasn’t love, it was simply satisfying his sexual desire so that he could escape into sleep leaving her frustrated and resentful.
As they glared at each other, she holding a pile of underpants and he a small box of studs and cufflinks, all those memories crowded back. So often she tried to push them out of her mind but now she welcomed them – they added to her armoury.
‘If you’re going to be away a long time perhaps you’ll realize how stupid you’ve been in refusing to have a phone in the house. I suppose, as long as you’re comfortable, you won’t care if something goes wrong here – Millie ill, or me breaking my leg. It was damn fool pig-headedness. You always think you know best.’
‘As invariably I do. However, if I’m leaving you alone here, except for the child, you ought to have a telephone. I’ll leave you to arrange it.’ She tried to see his capitulation as a sign that he wanted her to feel safe while she and Millie were alone and with no near neighbours. She tried but she didn’t succeed. There was no caring warmth in his voice as he added, ‘I’ll write a letter giving the instruction to have it installed; they may not ask for my authority, but if they do you’ll have the letter to give them.’
‘How long? You didn’t answer.’
He put the stud box into the case and came to her side of the bed. ‘I didn’t answer because I don’t know. Tessa, we need time away from each other. That such an important company has bought the rights to make a film about the people of Burghton is something of a blessing, to you as well as to me. You can’t pretend you’ll be heartbroken to see the back of me.’
She felt stunned by what he said. But was she being honest? She forced herself to look at him squarely as she answered. ‘I hadn’t even considered it,’ she said, speaking evenly and showing no emotion, for if she let her feelings show she would be lost. ‘I can’t say you’ve been much company lately. Even Aunt Naomi and Julian have noticed it. I imagined you were hungering for a fling with some of your lady friends who I’m sure are standing by, ready to oblige.’
‘Don’t, Tessa! I hate to hear you talking like that.’
‘The truth is – seeing that we are being so honest – that you aren’t interested in my talking at all. Yesterday I told you that old Señor Cajore is giving up his land over the road from here and I was considering using Gran’s money to buy it. And what advice did you give? Not a word. I might not have spoken while you stood there with an empty, bored look on your face. Well, if you’re interested, which I doubt, I worked it all out in the night and I have enough money and could still afford to hire help.’
‘You don’t have to earn a living, for God’s sake. You’ll never be short of money.’
‘It’s nothing to do with money. You can’t even begin to understand.’ As each one spoke, they slipped further down the slippery slope into the mire from which they couldn’t climb. She had no idea what went on in his mind, but as she faced him with her chin high and a look of defiance on her face, their glory days were forgotten and all she remembered was his obvious avoidance of her – and indeed of everyone – in recent months and the frantic and demanding love-making that held neither tenderness nor eroticism. ‘No, you pay me well for my services just like you’d have to pay any prostitute.’
She felt the sting as he brought his hand across her cheek. Then, before she could get her
breath, she was pulled into his arms and crushed against him so that she could hardly breathe.
‘God forgive me. What have I done to you?’ he muttered.
She drew back from him, clenching her teeth together and barely moving her lips in her battle against the tears that were waiting to gush. ‘We’re both to blame. Like you say, we need time away from each other.’ More sure of her voice, she went on, ‘If I’m driving you to Valencia, what time do you need to be there?’
‘I’ve already arranged with Diego Pastor to pick me up. He’s due in less than half an hour. I’ll be too late in London to look in to talk to Hector Milward tonight; I’ll have to see him tomorrow. I’m getting the morning flight to Los Angeles the next day.’
‘I see,’ she answered, her tone polite and unemotional. It was an attitude they both needed. She couldn’t let him go with hate hanging between them. But was this cool detachment any better? ‘Don’t forget your passport.’
‘I have it in my pocket.’
‘You’ll write, won’t you? I shan’t know where you are and I shall want to give you the telephone number when they connect us.’
‘Naturally I’ll tell you where I am and give you the telephone details. If you think of anything you need me for before I fly, I shall be at the publishers’ sometime tomorrow. You’ll find their number on the pad on my desk. Just ask to be put through to Hector Milward.’ Like strangers lost for last-minute words at a railway station, they didn’t quite meet each other’s eyes. ‘I’ve a few loose ends to see to in the study – and I won’t forget that note about the telephone. I’ll see you to say goodbye before I go. I’ll take these two larger cases down if you don’t mind bringing the small one.’
Wordlessly she picked it up and left the room as he held the door open for her, then, taking the two larger cases, he followed her down the stairs.
He’d been gone more than an hour. By now he must be getting near Valencia. Why had she let them part as they had? If only she could live the time again she would sink every ounce of her pride and beg him to – to what? To love her as he had in the beginning? Was it her fault he couldn’t find contentment? She’d always tried to understand his need to escape to the city, but since his last trip he had been different. Had he met someone else, someone with a mind like his own, someone cleverer than she was? But no one could love him as she did. Round and round in her mind went all the possibilities for the change in him and his need to get away from her.
Millie didn’t seem to notice any change in her as the nightly bath ritual was performed and the story read. Tessa congratulated herself on playing her part well as she kissed the little girl goodnight.
‘Didn’t say goodnight to Daddy,’ Millie announced, as always her voice firm and positive beyond her years. Millie was unlike either of her parents – a clumsy dancer and a straight no-nonsense talker even though she was only three.
‘You haven’t forgotten already? Daddy’s gone away for a little while.’
The child frowned. ‘He was here, I saw him ’safternoon.’
Had he forgotten to say goodbye to her? Surely that showed how far from them his thoughts had gone. The wave of misery that swept over Tessa almost destroyed her determination to act normally.
‘He went quite suddenly. I expect he couldn’t find you,’ she said with a bright smile, ‘but never mind, he’ll soon be home.’
Millie grunted. ‘He didn’t look for me. Me and Maria were making biscuits.’
‘That sounds good. Cuddle down and go to sleep, love.’
Closing the bedroom door behind her, Tessa put an end to the charade. Her footsteps on the marble floor seemed to echo through the emptiness of the house. Going to his study she sat by his desk where he had left the note instructing that the telephone be connected. Even that emphasized the separation that had come between them, a separation far greater than miles.
Uninvited and taking her by surprise she thought of her grandmother. ‘Gran,’ she whispered as at last the tears gushed. ‘What’ll I do, Gran? He’s all there is, everything. He’s fed up with me. Not angry – that wouldn’t be so hopeless – but bored, bored. His thoughts are miles away. I haven’t changed; I’m like I was right from the start. Perhaps he didn’t really want to marry me. Wouldn’t care if we had to be poor or if I never saw an almond tree; wouldn’t care about anything if he’d just want me still.’ Her thoughts were tangled: Giles, Amelia, Giles, the almond grove, Giles, the wild excitement of the weeks when she’d first known him, the gradual deepening into what she felt for him now. Probably he’d only wanted her because she’d been a virgin, not like the others he’d had in the past – in the past and since, too, probably. Making herself sit straighter in his chair, rubbing her handkerchief over her tear-blotched face, she consciously forced herself to imagine the future she could make for herself. She’d show him she could manage very well on her own. She’d surprise him with the success she’d make. One day she might even make him proud of her. Tomorrow she’d go and see Señor Cajore and tell him she was prepared to pay his price. The elderly man was keen to sell his land quickly and join his daughter in Granada; he had agreed to leave this year’s crop to be harvested. Probably the workers would stay on. Yes, she would do it. She’d advertise in the county magazines in England, an advertisement with a picture of Finca el Almendros, the Spanish home of Giles Lampton and his wife Tessa. She would write a short paragraph to the effect that while Giles Lampton was writing, his wife Tessa tended the almond trees. Under that there would be a second picture, one she had taken of the almond grove last February when it had been a sea of blossom. She had a goal, although at the back of her mind there was the knowledge that in part the challenge was to prove to Giles that she was capable. She would let him see that she was a force to be reckoned with. And so her day ended, her mind set firmly on the success she would make.
The flight to Los Angeles never seemed to end. Giles sipped the champagne the stewardess brought him, but when it was lunchtime he only played with his meal. Thankful to be alone, away from everyone he knew, he let his mind go back some two months to the evening of his arrival in London when he had met Adrian Wilmot at a cocktail party in London.
‘Yes, Giles managed to get here in time. Come and meet him,’ he’d heard Claudette Malone, one of his numerous acquaintances, say. ‘Giles, I have an admirer of yours wanting to meet you. This is Adrian Wilmot, Giles Lampton. I’ll leave you to get to know each other; I see Hamish just coming in.’ And she’d left them while they’d been at the handshaking stage.
‘I feel I know you already,’ Adrian had said, his greeting taking Giles straight back to the afternoon he had met Tessa. ‘The pictures you paint of that village, Burghton, and the folk there; I tell you, they do what every good book should: you read and get transported. It’s as if one knows every bend in the village street, every flower in Mrs Boyce’s hat.’
‘That’s what every writer likes to hear. They’ve all been part of my own life so long now that they’re pretty well family,’ Giles had answered, making sure his manner was what his new acquaintance would expect. But Adrian’s reply had taken him completely by surprise.
‘I boast about you back home. A stretch of the imagination, I guess, to say that we’re cousins, but if your mother had brought you over with her when she married my uncle that’s how we would have been. Couple of young bucks around the same age.’
‘My mother? I’ve had no communication with her for years. Is she well?’
‘Gee man, you didn’t get told? She died, oh, I guess it must be about four years ago. And it was a mercy to see her go after the way she had changed. I remember her as a bright and pretty woman when I first knew her.’
Bright? No. Bright wouldn’t have been the word Giles would have used when he remembered the years at the rectory, years when even as no more than eight years old he had looked forward to boarding school. Looking back down the years he’d answered with more honesty than tact.
‘Children don’t see their mot
hers as pretty, I don’t expect. She and I were never close; we didn’t like each other.’
‘But that’s awful, man! To love your mother is just human nature.’
‘To me it wasn’t. You say she changed, changed from the pretty, bright creature you first remembered, that’s what you said.’
‘I guess there are many facets to the disease. No one guessed what was wrong when she started getting moods of depression. She had every comfort money could buy and a husband who idolized her. No one could understand the reason for her depression and flashes of temper, not even her doctor. As she got worse she was under a psychiatrist but nothing snapped her out of it. As time went on, her walk got unsteady and her movements sort of uncontrolled. That’s when the medic put her on to a specialist.’
‘So what was wrong with her?’