Janet and Dave are working in the garden, dead-heading, mowing the grass, happily occupied. Sofia waves at them and sits on one of the chairs under the tree. Janet comes to join her.
‘I ought to be helping you,’ says Sofia, ‘but I’ve been looking at jobs on my laptop.’
‘I’m just fiddling about,’ answers Janet. ‘Is it time for a cup of tea?’
‘Well, that’s just the thing,’ says Sofia quickly, not sure why she’s feeling guilty. ‘I’ve just had a text from Liv. She’s invited me over for a cup and a kite-flying session with the twins.’
‘Oh.’ Janet looks surprised and pleased, and something else Sofia can’t quite decipher. ‘How nice. Well, you’ll go, of course?’
‘Yes. Yes, I thought I might, if that’s OK? Um, she didn’t say anything about you or Dave or … But I’m sure …’
‘No, no,’ says Janet quickly. ‘This is just something for you two young people.’
Is there a subtle emphasis on the word ‘young’? Sofia knows that she is being too sensitive and smiles quickly at Janet.
‘That’s great then. I’ll dash off.’ She stands up, hesitates. ‘Thanks, Janet. See you later.’
Janet remains seated, watching Sofia hurry away, then hears her car start up and drive off. Dave finishes a section of the lawn, empties the grass cuttings on to the compost heap and strolls over.
‘Problem?’
‘No.’ Janet shakes her head, frowning. ‘It’s just that I wish you hadn’t said what you did about Sofia and Baz last night.’
Dave sits down, watching Janet. ‘Why? What did she say?’
‘Nothing. Only that Liv’s invited her to tea and she looks sort of glittery and excited. Not like you’d look going to tea with another girl and her children, if you see what I mean?’
Dave frowns a little, thinking about the party and the look he’d seen pass between Baz and Sofia: that oddly intimate look. And he’d noted Sofia’s reaction to it and the tension that remained between them.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ he says.
‘That’s not what you said last night,’ says Janet rather sharply. ‘You told me that if there were not the age gap you’d say it was a case of love at first sight.’
‘I’d had too much to drink last night,’ says Dave irritably, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. ‘It was just a bit of a joke.’
‘I don’t think it was,’ says Janet. ‘And just now she looked … well, like I said. All bright and happy.’
‘I thought you wanted her to be all bright and happy?’
‘I do. But not like that,’ she answers obscurely. ‘Anyway, I’m sure that Baz wouldn’t … you know.’
Dave grimaces, gives a tiny shrug. He wouldn’t blame old Baz for fancying Sofes: a nice change from the harpy Annabel pestering him.
‘What?’ Janet is staring at him almost accusingly.
‘Nothing,’ he answers defensively. ‘I’ll finish the lawn. Why don’t you get the kettle on?’
Annabel glances at her watch and ponders whether it’s a bit early for the first gin and tonic of the day. She wonders where Miles is, what he’s doing. He’s probably in the drawing-room with the newspapers all over the sofa. She glances round the kitchen, tidy now after her cooking blitz, and feels a sense of satisfaction. She loves her modern, shiny kitchen: loves the thought that the freezer is full of delicious food ready for her perfectly orchestrated dinner parties, and she’s ready now for the lunch party she’s planning for Baz on Friday.
It was Miles who made her think of lunch rather than the usual dinner.
‘We could stretch lunch out a bit,’ he said, ‘and then it would be time for tea and then a drink.’
It certainly means that she’ll see much more of Baz than if it were simply a supper party. There will be the usual guests: Dave and Janet, Baz, of course, and Liv. She’ll have to invite the godchild – what was her name? Sofia. But that would balance out Liv. And a few other neighbours, specially selected. She wouldn’t have bothered with El but for some reason Baz likes her, and there’s a nice if dull fellow in the village, Jeff, that Annabel always pairs off with her, though nothing ever seems to come of it.
Annabel stretches; she feels happy. There was something a bit different, a bit special, about Baz yesterday. He seemed slightly on edge, lively, and she felt that he was very aware of her. She opens the drawing-room door and raises her eyebrows at Miles, immersed in the Sunday colour supplements whilst Daffy snoozes at his feet.
‘I thought you’d be skulking in here, both of you. I’ve finished in the kitchen and I think I deserve a drink. It’s just occurred to me that those wretched twins will have to come to my lunch if Meggie can’t look after them. It will be quite impossible with two smalls and that dog.’
‘Jenks can keep Daffy company,’ answers Miles, heaving her weight with his foot as he stands up. ‘Can’t he, old dear? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Daffy wags her tail obligingly and Annabel sniffs contemptuously.
‘We must check that Meggie’s free,’ she says. ‘She can have the twins and the dog.’
She is looking forward to her lunch for Baz and, meanwhile, she might just drive over one morning and hope to find him on his own. She sits down and watches Miles pouring the drinks. Life is good …
Miles pours them each a gin and tonic, not too strong. He wonders if Annabel noticed anything odd in Baz’s behaviour yesterday but guesses not. She’s too cheerful, too optimistic. And anyway, maybe he has misjudged the way Baz reacted to Sofia. There was a definite double take when she came into the kitchen with Liv in the morning when he’d driven over to deliver the wine. Baz looked almost shocked, though he recovered very quickly. Not that anyone would be surprised at his reaction. Sofia is an incredibly striking girl. Well, thinks Miles, perhaps a woman, not a girl. Apparently it’s almost pejorative these days to call a woman a girl, but she and Liv seem young to him; the same age as his own daughter. Of course, Annabel wasn’t there to see Baz’s reaction and she’d already dismissed Sofia as negligible. She can see nothing striking in that amazing combination of copper-coloured hair, green eyes and creamy freckled skin. Annabel calls the hair carroty and she thinks that freckles are disfiguring. It wouldn’t occur to her that other people might find that colouring attractive. It’s exactly the same with El: because she is not obviously pretty, doesn’t make a fetish of dressing up, Annabel dismisses her.
Miles fetches ice and lemon, thinking about El and wondering when he might see her again. It was such a joy to be with her, to talk with her on such a wide range of subjects. As he passes Annabel her drink and sits down again on the sofa, he wonders if El enjoyed it as much as he did.
El is out on the cliffs. She carries her rucksack, with a sketchbook and a few supplies, and gazes in awe at the colours and textures of the land and the sea, knowing that she can never reproduce them. Nevertheless she will enjoy trying, though nobody else will see the results. High above her, white vapour trails are laid straight as railway tracks across the blue spaces. Sumptuous cushions of golden cumulus are piled along the distant western horizon and the translucent sea is a milky turquoise. El loves this sense of infinity all around her, the springing turf beneath her feet, stunted hedges of golden furze, plump cushions of pink thrift. It’s odd that she never feels alone, that she is always aware, even in this apparent emptiness, of that ‘so great a cloud of witnesses’ that bears her company. She thinks with affection of those more tangible friends with whom she spent time yesterday and wonders what they will be doing. She can make a good guess. Janet and Dave will be planning supper together. Baz and Liv will be dealing with the twins’ bath and bedtime. Miles will be pouring Annabel a drink.
Dear Miles. El is seized with affection, sadness and a longing for his happiness. She wonders what is at the root of Annabel’s need to be the centre of attention, to be so destructive, so possessive. Maybe some rejection as a child drives her along this unhappy path. Her insecurity has damaged her relati
onship with her own child and with Miles. Yet how might she be healed?
El looks around her, eases her shoulders out of her rucksack and puts it on the grass. She takes out her provisions – a small flask of tea, a sandwich and some fruit – and lifts out her sketch pad and pencils. Sitting cross-legged on the short turf, she prepares to draw.
As the light fades, Baz strolls along the water’s edge. The breeze has dropped and the water rests gently against the land, sky and sea merging into misty infinity. The beach is scattered with evidence of the twins’ earlier activities. Shell patterns, pictures drawn in the sand, a spade, all are witnesses to the magical afternoon spent in their company with Liv – and with Sofia. Baz draws a deep breath and pauses to gaze out to sea. A smile touches his lips. He cannot remember when he last enjoyed a woman’s company so much. She is so natural, so easy and so much fun. And she is stunning; gorgeous.
Baz laughs at himself, mocking this craziness. He’s like a teenager newly in love, wanting to jump and shout but at the same time wanting to hug this feeling to himself, to thumb through his private memories of the afternoon. He sees Sofia sitting cross-legged on the sand, an arm around each twin as she reads them a story; running with Jenks and throwing stones for him; and, best of all, rowing in the dinghy, just the two of them.
‘This is fun,’ he said, pulling on the oars, smiling at her, and she beamed back at him and said, ‘Isn’t it just?’
Then the twins came racing to the water’s edge, calling that it was their turn now, and he looked at Sofia and gave a little shrug, a smiling look of regret to which she responded as if she understood and that she, too, hoped that their moment together might be prolonged.
He longed to make another date to see her but didn’t quite know how. He couldn’t imagine having the same kind of fun sitting with her with Dave and Janet at hand, although he could invite her to the Beach Hut, of course. As it was, he didn’t have to, because Liv did it for him as they walked Sofia back to her car.
‘Come over any time,’ Liv said. ‘We could have a jaunt just along the coast to the café at South Milton.’
Baz was not certain whether he would be included in this jaunt but Sofia merely said that she needed to check whether Janet and Dave have made any plans, but that she’ll text. She gave Baz a last, smiling look as she climbed into the car and he looked down at her as he closed the door for her.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ he said, so that only she could hear, and she shook her head almost vehemently as if the suggestion was impossible to contemplate.
Now, Baz stands quite still, hands in his pocket, suddenly remembering Lucy. She was the same kind of girl – warm, loving, impulsive – but underneath there was a vulnerability, a tendency to depression, to insecurity. He remembers how she reacted when the consultant told them that the baby, Benedict, had cancer: a frozen disbelief before a storm of tears. Lucy toppled into depression, unable to function, refusing to let the baby out of her sight. She was prescribed Valium, which calmed her, or so it seemed, until one day Baz came home to find the baby smothered, dead in Lucy’s arms, covered by her vomit, her cold arms locked around him.
Now he stands, his own arms wrapped about himself, reliving the horror. So long ago but never forgotten: too awful ever to risk something similar happening again with another woman. Is it fair of him to encourage the attraction between himself and Sofia? She’s still young enough to get married and have a family, whilst he is a father and a grandfather. Yet this is not just an idle flirtation on his part. There is something special here. He can’t define it, he can’t pin it down, this connection between them, but it seems too precious to walk away from simply because he lacks courage. And, after all, Sofia is not a child. There will be the chance to talk, to make choices …
Footsteps crunch across the sand behind him, and here is Liv, warm, vital, alive. She slips an arm in his and smiles at him.
‘You look very serious,’ she says. ‘The twins simply won’t sleep until you’ve read them another chapter of The Wind in the Willows. It’s your own fault for being so good at doing the voices.’ She frowns slightly, peering at him. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, of course I am,’ he says, grateful for her warmth, her love. ‘Lead me to it. I’m enjoying it myself, actually. It’s a long time since I read it to Matt.’
‘I thought it might be too old for them but they’re loving it. Ratty and Mole and all that messing about in boats.’ She squeezes his arm. ‘Clever old Baz. You go on up to them and I’ll get supper on the go.’
Baz climbs the stairs, smiles at the twins sitting up expectantly in their beds clutching their soft-toy companions of the night: a penguin, Pengy, and a floppy dog, Douggie Doggy. He picks up the book and sits on the floor between them.
‘Here we are, my hearties,’ he says. ‘“Chapter Two. The Open Road”.’
CHAPTER TEN
LOOKING BACK ON the day, Matt is hardly able to take it in. He sits in the small attic bedroom above the bistro and attempts to put his feelings into some sort of order. He is still surprised that Catriona proved such good company. Always ready to take her at Liv’s valuation, he was not ready to find her an amusing and entertaining companion.
He walked round early to meet her at her hotel, not wishing to be caught on the back foot up in this little flat at The Place, and saw at once by the swift raising of her eyebrows and her smile that she knew exactly why he was there waiting for her. However she made no great deal of it; there was no sarcastic remark. Instead she gave him a very quick kiss on the cheek and was leading the way to the car park before he regained his composure. It had been agreed already that she should drive.
‘I know the roads so well,’ she said. ‘I might as well. You can sit back and relax. I promise you I’m a good driver.’
And she was: competent, quick, safe. It was nice to be a passenger, to gaze out of the window, and enjoy the scenery. She talked about her job, how she’d like to work in one of the big investment banks in New York, how she’d applied for a job last year but hadn’t got it. He listened with respect for her toughness and ability.
She drove fast along the A39 to Wadebridge and then turned off and took it more slowly along the lanes and through villages and hamlets with odd names: Splatt, Stoptide, Pityme.
‘It’s rather mean of me,’ she said, pulling in beside a ditch to allow a tractor to pass, ‘to put you to work on your morning off. But I am very grateful. There’s so much personal stuff to be shifted and it’s difficult with strangers. It’s not as simple as moving furniture.’
A tourist in an Audi, fearful for his paintwork, stopped in the middle of the lane and stared at them over his driving wheel with anxious determination not to give way. Catriona sighed and backed swiftly and dexterously along the lane and into a gateway.
‘You’re obviously used to driving in these lanes,’ Matt said, unable to mask his admiration.
‘I’ve been coming here since I was a baby,’ she answered, pulling out again and driving on. ‘It will be odd not to have the cottage to escape to.’
‘But it will still be here for you,’ he pointed out.
She gave a quick little frown. ‘Yes, but it’s not the same with a tenant in it, is it? Not the same anyway, without Granny or Mum to come home to.’
He felt another quick stab of compassion for her, wondering what to suggest, but she was driving into Rock Road and pulling into a space against the sea wall opposite a tile-hung cottage with pointed eaves and a small pretty garden full of tamarisk.
‘It’s delightful,’ he said, his sympathy increasing. It would be hard indeed no longer to have access to such a charming little house.
‘It is,’ she answered, switching off the engine, looking up at it and then across the estuary. ‘And with wonderful views of Padstein.’
‘Padstein?’ He wrinkled his brow and she laughed at his expression.
‘Padstow, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Local joke. Keep up.’
He began to laugh too, slightly t
aken aback by the endearment but enjoying the joke.
‘Sorry, yes. I’d forgotten Rick Stein’s fish-and-chip shop.’
‘I wondered whether you might like to take the ferry and go over for lunch, but actually I’ve booked us into Outlaw’s at The Mariners. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to earn it. Come on.’
Now, Matt sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, his hands clasped loosely together, and remembers their lunch: eating rump of lamb followed by sticky toffee pudding at a table on the wooden decking overlooking the harbour and watching the Black Tor Ferry plying to and fro. It was so good simply to sit there, nothing being demanded of him, and just chill.
Remembering about it makes him feel guilty. He should have been thinking about Liv and the twins instead of enjoying the sunshine and drinking a pint of Doom Bar. But worse than this – the scene his thoughts have so far been resolutely ignoring – was that moment, just a very brief moment in Cat’s bedroom.
They got back from lunch and she said, ‘Oh, just one last thing, Matt, if you can bear it. Something going to the auction room that I’d like to get downstairs ready with the other stuff in the sitting-room. It’s a bit heavy and it’ll be tricky trying to get it down the stairs.’
He followed her up the narrow staircase without really thinking about it, and into the bedroom. It was clearly her room. A scatter of feminine things, the bed still rumpled. The little cabinet was beside the bed and she pulled it out, struggling a little so that instinctively he went to help her, and then somehow, she half fell on to the bed, almost pulling him with her.
‘Sorry,’ she gasped, smiling up at him, her hand clasping his arm. Then her expression changed, her clasp tightened, and kneeling with one knee on the bed, his face inches from hers, he knew that if he wanted her he could have her; easily, lightly, all just a little bit of fun. The two pints of beer, the sunshine, the companionship of the day, the proximity of her slender body, that intent way she looked up at him, all very nearly worked their spell, and it was with a huge effort that he dragged his gaze away from her and stood up again. He seized the little cabinet and carried it from the room, whilst she followed him, talking naturally, as if nothing had happened.
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