Dangerous Thoughts (17 page)

“Like on the swings!” broke in Barnaby. “Right up, high, high, and then down again! Edwin turned us sideways, so that the big waves could
throw
us against the wreck, didn’t you, Edwin? Four, five, six, lots of times!”

How much of all this Richard had heard I will never know. He came behind us noiselessly — or was it that the wailing of the wind and the surge of the incoming tide blotted out the sound of his footsteps in the sand?

His voice, slashing into our midst like a hand grenade, was the first we knew of his approach.

Never had I seen him so uninhibitedly angry. His fury extended even towards Sally. What did she think she was
doing,
risking her life — and Barnaby’s too — on this lunatic escapade? Hadn’t he
told
her that …?

“Oh, darling, I know you said you were going to find out about it, currents and tides and things, but you weren’t there, you see. And Edwin
was,
he happened to come down on to the beach just after we got there. And there were these boats, all drawn up ready; there wasn’t even anyone taking money and all we had to
do was just take one. And so we did. We dragged it down to the sea, and we got into it—Oh, darling, it was such
fun
! And we were perfectly safe, truly we were, Edwin is marvellous at managing a boat, really he is …”

“I see. He’s marvellous. And if, in the interests of being as marvellous as all that, he’d drowned you both …”

“Oh, Richard, darling, you’re being a silly old thing, you really are!
Of
course
we weren’t going to be drowned!
Of
course
it was safe; Edwin knew it was, or we wouldn’t have gone, would we, Edwin? And anyway, here we are, safe and sound, which just proves …”

“Do you realise, Sally, that if the tide hadn’t happened to be still coming in, you’d never have got back? The current out there …”

“Oh,
darling
,”
she interrupted again, clutching his arm, clinging to it lovingly, but, for once, receiving no answering pressure: “it didn’t
happen
to be coming in, Edwin knew it was coming in, didn’t you Edwin? I told you, he’s marvellous about …”

“Yes. I heard you. You’ve already explained how marvellous he is.”

And here Barnaby, who had been following intently the to-and-fro of the altercation, must have caught that look of utter hatred in his father’s eyes which I had glimpsed this morning; for he burst into sudden and uncontrollable sobbing.

“Daddy’s cross!” he sobbed; and his mother bent down hastily to console him.

“Daddy’s not
really
cross, sweetie,” she began, “he’s only …” but the child pushed her roughly away.

“He
is
really cross,” he sobbed. “He’s
too
cross! He’s crosser than a Daddy ought to be!”

He was, too: and perhaps Richard himself realised it. Anyway, he controlled himself, and swung his little son up in his strong arms, and kissed him, albeit with an upper lip all too used to being stiff. But it was enough. Barnaby, reassured, brought his frightened sobbing quickly to an end.

“Daddy!” he squealed, “Daddy, be a horse!” and Richard, hoisting the child on to his shoulders, complied, as well as he could with his painful leg.

Barnaby, on his high perch, bounced with joy.

“Gallop,
Daddy,” he cried, “Gallop really fast, like Edwin does!”

It was a chastened and rather silent party which wound its way up and over the sandhills towards Coburn’s Farm. Richard, having gently and decisively set his child down on the ground, was now striding rapidly ahead, regardless of whatever pain his leg might be causing. For a few paces, Sally tried to keep up with him, but so total was his lack of response to her presence that she soon fell back and rejoined the rest of us.

“I’m sorry about all that fuss,” she apologised. “He can be
such
an old worry-guts at times. But never mind, I’ll soon bring him round. He never stays cross with me for long. Never!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” I said warmly, and she nodded, smiling, radiating the utter confidence of one who is utterly loved. She glowed with it, basked in it, despite the chilly wind whipping around her soaked clothes; and once again I felt a stab of sharp, uncontrollable envy shooting through me. Though I was glad for her sake. At least, I think I was. In view of what came later, I hope I was. I would hate to think that any envious thought of mine had spoiled that moment for her, her bare, brown feet happily scuffling through the soft, still-warm sand.

By the time we reached the house, the new moon had come into view, white and thread-like above the tussocky crest of the sandhills behind us; and at the door, by some tacit agreement, we turned and paused, just looking. The sky had cleared, it was not yet dark, and the pure silvery green was pricked as yet by only the brightest stars. Sirius, low down on
the south-eastern horizon, and Jupiter right above the roof of the old stable.

I have wondered, since, what Edwin was actually thinking as the three of us stood taking in the incomparable beauty of it all. Or what was
I
thinking, come to that. Such parallel anxieties were surely preying on us both, parallel lines that never meet. And Sally? She, I hope and think, was simply enjoying a nice bit of her holiday. Leaning with effortless grace against the door jamb, her perfect profile tilted skywards, her bright hair floating, she was perhaps enjoying the beauty of the scene less consciously than I was, being herself a part of it. That feeling of participation in all things lovely is vouchsafed for a little while to the very young, the totally loved, and the effortlessly beautiful.

I hope so, anyway, I hope it was like that for her. I shall always hope so.

*

The coq au vin was a fair success, despite the vicissitudes attendant on its creation. Rhoda had finished the preparations in
her
way, and I could hardly complain, having abandoned my post as head cook so precipitately; though I
certainly
wouldn’t have added all those cloves. One or two, yes, but not so that you got one in almost every mouthful.

Not that it mattered much. Leo not having arrived after all, it was no longer a celebration meal, and didn’t have to be perfect. Nor did the conversation have to be particularly jolly; which was just as well, because the atmosphere, dulled by a sense of anticlimax, was subdued, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Laboriously, we made conversation — well, we women did. The men, as so often happens, seemed to feel no social obligation to keep things going, they just concentrated on their food, keeping their eyes down.

Things got just a little easier as the coq au vin came to an end and the trifle was brought in. No one had bothered to decorate it since Leo wasn’t here, but it was still very nice — and the talk became almost lively over the question of whether it was easier to
keep a dog in London or in the country. The obvious answer, ‘in the country’, was getting a severe going-over from Rhoda. What with the sheep, and the bird sanctuary, and the rabbit snares, and the shooting, and the lorries charging along narrow lanes, a dog not kept on a lead will either be dead or have landed its owner in court within a …

And at this point, the phone went. For me again: Daphne; and as soon as I realised that our conversation was going to be a long one, I decided to take it on the extension in Leo’s study; partly for privacy, and partly so as not to interrupt the half-fledged conversation which we had at last succeeded in bringing into being.

It was about Richard again. She was still worried. I had, of course, rung her up as promised as soon as I knew he was here, and that Sally was with him, but she was not satisfied, and I couldn’t entirely blame her.

“There’s something I don’t understand, Clare,” she was saying. “If it was one of his confidential assignments — a hush-hush job — I wouldn’t be worrying. Well, I would, but I wouldn’t be asking any questions, I’d be accepting it, as I always have, it’s his job.

“But it’s not that, it can’t be. According to Sally, what he said was that it was just a social visit, to see Leonard again, find out how he was, and to help them in any way he could; enjoy a get-together after all the traumas.

“But it
isn’t
that, Clare. I know it isn’t. Why did he decide so suddenly, between the beginning of lunch and the end? By two o’clock he was packed up and gone, having cancelled a
very
important appointment! Sally heard him on the phone, and that’s a thing he
never
does, letting his editor down at short notice. And then, why so insistent that Sally mustn’t accompany him if it was just a social visit? Normally, he loves having her with him on trips, whenever it’s possible, and they know they can leave Barnaby with me whenever they like. He’s perfectly happy on his own with me, and behaves a
lot
better, I may say.

“I don’t know what to think, I really don’t. My son is a very reserved man, Clare, as you may have noticed, he would never allow himself to show anything like fear or anxiety. But
I
can tell. I’m his mother, I
know.
When he becomes excessively calm and off-hand … that’s how he was when he left yesterday. He knew for certain that he was going into danger, grave danger.”

How right she was. I paused, at a loss for a reply. Daphne was a shrewd and intelligent woman, who would soon see through any soothing lies I tried to invent.

“Clare? Are you still there? What is it? For God’s sake,
say
something! Why are you …? It’s something terrible, isn’t it?”

This jerked me into speech at last.

“
No
!” I assured her. “Nothing terrible has happened at all. Leonard’s plane is late, that’s all, he isn’t here yet. But Richard’s fine, I assure you. He’s absolutely OK — except for his leg, of course, but I suppose that’s bound to take a bit of time. He never talks about it, so I don’t know what sort of injury it was, but …”

“It wasn’t an injury,” Daphne’s voice was harsh. “It’s sciatica — it’s been troubling him off and on for over a year, but he hates to talk about it. He’s ashamed of it, it makes him feel old. If it
had
been an injury — a real injury, sustained in the course of duty, he’d be much less furtive about it. An honourable wound, you see … That’s how he looks at things. Always has.”

“Oh.” Again I couldn’t think what to say. This new bit of information was surprising, but nevertheless entirely in keeping with Richard’s character as I knew it. I felt the time had come to bring the conversation to a close, and so, reiterating my promise to keep in touch, and to telephone as soon as there was any news, I ended by urging her not to worry. What a futile injunction! It infuriates me when people try it on me; all it means is that they can’t think of anything in the least helpful or encouraging to say: and so, to make amends, I added, “And if there’s anything I can do in the meantime …”

Rather to my dismay, there was. My words (as is commonly the case) had been more a polite form of bringing the conversation to an end than a serious offer to add anything further to my already complex burden of preoccupations. However …

Richard’s heart. Did I remember her mentioning it once before? Well, yes, now she mentioned, I did, though I had more or less forgotten about it in the interval, so unlikely a person did he seem to have a heart problem, and so few signs had he shown of any such disability — but then he wouldn’t, would he?

His heart, then. What was she asking me to do?

“His pills, Clare, his heart pills. He’s left them behind; they’re still on his table, and the trouble is he needs to take them regularly, especially if he’s involved in any strenuous physical activity. Really, he should be leading a quieter life altogether; the doctor has warned him several times. There’s heart trouble on both sides of the family, you see. But of course he won’t take any notice of that sort of advice; he loves his work, and
nothing
will induce him to ease up in any way. I know that, I understand it completely, his father was the same, but
at
least
he should take his pills. And Sally’s no good,
she
won’t remind him, she hates having to think about it, she likes to feel that her husband is infinitely strong, physically perfect in every way. And
he
likes her to think like that about him, and so between them … Look, Clare, I don’t know if this is too much to ask, but if you
could
find out if he’s got a supply with him? And if not, persuade him to get a prescription from a doctor there …?”

Well, yes, in a way it
was
too much to ask. There would be Richard’s pride to contend with, as well as the fact that it was none of my business, as he might trenchantly point out. I would have to be superhumanly tactful, and, at the moment, I could think of no acceptable way of broaching the subject with such a man. Then I thought of Daphne, alone and desperately worried
in her big empty house, and felt that I couldn’t refuse at least to try.

Uneasily (though I hope the uneasiness didn’t sound in my voice) I said I would do what I could; and then, at last, we
did
ring off. But not before I’d heard the faint click of an extension being put down in some other part of the house.

It was just a little disconcerting. Had someone been listening-in to the whole conversation? Edwin, of course, was the ‘someone’ I had in mind; but it occurred to me that even if he had been eavesdropping, it really didn’t matter much. I could think of nothing we had said which could be news to him. For Daphne’s sake, I had been extremely careful not to betray any of my suspicions, and certainly I had given no information as to what was going to happen next. Well, I didn’t know, did I? It was in Edwin’s brain, not mine, that the scenario for the coming nights and days was taking shape.

So, pushing the matter from my mind, I decided to take advantage of Jessica’s kindly suggestion that we should use the telephone whenever we liked. I made a couple more calls: one to my temping organiser, telling her that I was still unsure of when I’d be home; and another to Jason, just to hear how he was getting on.

Just fine, apparently. Everything was OK, except that the milkman hadn’t left any milk this morning, had I cancelled it, or something? We sorted that one out, and then chatted on for a bit, about this and that. Our recent contretemps over the boletus had evidently been quite forgotten, or forgiven, or both, and we had a pleasant, laughing conversation, as of old. I finally rang off feeling a lot better. At least everything was all right at home.