‘You don’t think he’ll do that again?’ I asked anxiously.
‘No, I really don’t. I think that moment has passed. You know they’re going to Australia? Him and Christina?’
‘Peter said. To see Etta.’
‘Yes, but I think it’s with a view to staying permanently. Taking the children. Hugo wants to teach.’
‘Oh, he’d be so good at that!’
‘Exactly, and Christina, too – PE, sports. They thought they’d retrain together out there. Etta’s going to help them with visas and things; apparently teaching is a good way in. She’s on the case.’
‘They’ll have a totally different life.’
‘Quite. And obviously thousands of miles from Belinda.’
I was thoughtful. ‘So she’s lost both her children.’
‘Well, one she doesn’t appear to care much about, and the other has got to go.’
‘The house hasn’t sold yet, has it? How long is she staying there, d’you know?’
‘I haven’t heard. There’s talk of her moving to Wadebridge with her sister. Iris even told Roger she was looking forward to it.’
‘No.’
Tommy shrugged. ‘Why not? Might even be a colossal release for her, too, who knows? But no one really mentions Belinda. Roger’s moved out, though.’
‘Babs said that was about to happen. When?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘And they have some plan to keep her house, but actually spend most of their time on some extraordinary boat?’
Tommy smiled. ‘He’s sold all his smart dinghies and bought this thing at auction. It’s huge and ancient and he’s got it into his head they can sail it from Southampton to Barbados together. First thing he’s shipping down to his cabin, by the way, is his portrait. Together with crates of booze, obviously.’
‘Obviously. How old is Roger?’
‘Well, quite. He’s still in short pants. But he’ll make it. They’ll make it.’
‘If they don’t fall overboard intoxicated. But, actually, what heaven for him.’ I sipped my wine. ‘I’m sure he only stayed with Belinda out of a sense of duty. Losing the house must be a huge wrench, though.’
‘He hasn’t said a word, and actually, I’m not so sure. I personally think the house is what kept him there, loyalty to past generations of Bellingdons. But it was a tie. Now it’s gone he doesn’t have to stay. I actually think this whole affair will be pretty liberating for him.’
‘Yes, you’re right. God, once this is over he’ll be like a pig in clover. It’s actually the best thing to happen to that family.’ I hesitated. ‘Well. Except, maybe …’
‘She brought it on herself, Flora,’ he reminded me.
‘I know, but still.’
‘Hey. Don’t start getting all angsty about that woman. Don’t you dare even attempt to state her case or I’ll put down this very strange dish of sausages wrapped in batter which is weirdly growing on me, and allow you to ravage me, again.’
‘Oh, like the ravaging is always my idea?’
‘Honey, I haven’t been so thoroughly seduced since I spent six months in Rome with a divorcée who couldn’t keep her knickers up.’
‘Tommy, why would I want to know about that?’
‘It’s a good story. I’ll tell Peter instead. When he’s back from his outing with Janey.’
‘Do shut up.’
‘I don’t see why, I’m very good for you, Flora. You take yourself far too seriously.’
It was true, I did. And my son. All that was to change. But not quite in the way I imagined. I’d resigned myself to Peter loving New York, where he’d been for the past month doing an internship, but in fact, he found it rather sharp and frantic. A bit too full on, he’d told me on the phone. At least right now. A bit too Wall Street. Maybe later. In a few years’ time. A taster had been a good idea. The best. He started at Oxford in October – thankfully he hadn’t given up his place – so that by the time I flew out to see Tommy in December, he was almost at the end of his first term, and coming with Mum, for Christmas, in a couple of weeks’ time, in fact. We were all going to Tommy’s mother’s house, or, actually, his sister’s, on the Connecticut coast.
Tommy’s mother, of course, I’d met before, and had adored. Neither of us could really believe our luck as she walked into Tommy’s apartment in New York to visit us. We hugged, and then she stood back and took both my hands in hers. As we faced one another in Tommy’s book and picture filled drawing room overlooking the Museum of Natural History on the Upper West Side, the years slid away: back to the two of us in my studio in London, where she’d shyly brought a few pictures to show me and admired mine.
‘I’m so pleased, my dear,’ she told me, blinking hard. ‘It’s the most wonderful Christmas present I could possibly imagine. I don’t mind telling you you’ll be so good for Tommy.’
‘And him for me,’ I assured her.
She glanced down at my hand. ‘May I see?’
I proudly showed her my engagement ring. Which, naturally, had been another story.
‘You don’t think it’s too soon? That we’re being too hasty?’ I’d asked Tommy, after he’d presented me with it in Central Park, on our way back from the Museum of Modern Art. It was a sunny, frosty morning and we were huddled together on a park bench in a patch of winter sunshine, hugging each other close. I twirled it on my finger, mesmerized. ‘I mean, obviously, yes, please, with all my heart. I’m completely thrilled. But—’
‘You’re right,’ he agreed suddenly. ‘We’re far too young. Let’s wait till at least one of us is in our bath chair.’ He went to snatch it back but I was too quick. I held my hand high above my head as he reached for it.
‘Not so fast, Mr Rochester. This ring is staying right where you put it, but I think you’ve forgotten something.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’m English. You haven’t asked my mother.’
For a split second I had him. I saw it in his eyes. Then he narrowed them. ‘Oh God. You’re something else, you know that? And for that, I jolly well will, as you say in that funny little country of yours. I’ll ask her.’ He did. He rang her. Obviously I’d spoken to her first, but still, it was lovely of him. And then she came over for Christmas.
When she arrived at JFK Airport with Peter, whilst Tommy and I stood waiting for them, she looked tiny. Minute. Peter, to be fair, was huge, six foot three, but still, my eyes filled as she came towards us in her old black coat, at a trot. Suddenly I was ducking under the barrier and racing to meet her.
We held each other tight. ‘So pleased, darling. So pleased at your news,’ she whispered in my ear.
‘You all run at airports?’ Tommy had mused a few minutes later, as he’d loaded a trolley with their baggage, Peter helping him. ‘I must remember that. Some kind of family tradition?’
‘It’s that famous English reserve,’ Peter told him, throwing his bag on top. ‘The moment it’s dropped, they’re insane. Only the women, though. But it’s a worry. Can be scary.’
‘Oh God, thanks for telling me. Any more tips?’
‘Hundreds. You’re going to need all the help you can get. It’s as well we’ve got a day at the ice hockey on Wednesday.’
‘That bad, eh? Reckon we’re going to need another? The New York Rangers are playing in Boston on the twenty-eighth.’
‘I’d say it’s pretty much mandatory.’
‘Consider it done, Pete. And don’t forget, it’s all in the name of family harmony. All in the name of keeping the future Mr and Mrs Rochester firmly on the right tracks.’
And with Mum and me protesting and laughing, we all sailed out of the airport together, pushing a loaded trolley across a road filled with yellow taxis, into bright, horizontal, December sunshine. As the light momentarily dazzled my eyes, I knew I could live happily by that light, paint with it, love by it, and generally do wonders with it.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published by Michael Joseph, 2019
This edition published by Penguin Books, 2019
Copyright © Catherine Alliott, 2019
Excerpt from Serious Concerns by Wendy Cope reproduced on page 23 with permission from Wendy Cope and Faber and Faber Ltd
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover images © Getty Images and © Arcangel Images
ISBN: 978-1-405-94073-3
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A Cornish Summer Page 35