First Friends (42 page)

‘No, no. I know that.' She was embarrassed that he might think that she considered herself irresistible. ‘It's just your reputation I'm thinking about. Up and coming tycoon and all that and I imagine that Tavistock, like most small towns, has its share of gossips?'

‘Oh, quite. But I happen to live out of the town up on the moor. The only raised eyebrows will belong to the sheep or the ponies. Now let me tell you how to get there.' He gave her detailed directions, which included where she would find the key to the cottage.

As she replaced the receiver Harriet experienced a moment of sheer terror. What on earth was she doing? Nothing, yet, she told herself
firmly. Just going to Tavistock to look at houses and having a talk with Michael is nothing to panic about. After all, I've been thinking of making changes for ages now. It's really nothing to do with Tom. At the thought of him her terror faded and she felt full of strength. She must clean the house, pack, get the car ready. As she put the coffee mug in the sink in the kitchen she thought of how Tom and she had embraced almost where she now stood, before he had left. You never know, she told him silently, next time you come home I might just be down there waiting for you.

Oliver was lounging at the kitchen table when the telephone rang.

‘Phone, Ma!' he bellowed, making no attempt to rise from his chair. Presently the bell was silenced and he heard Cass's voice in the hall, exclaiming with pleasure.

‘Who can it be?' Oliver asked Gus, who was sitting at his feet and receiving pieces of toast dipped in tea. ‘Don't slobber, you disgusting animal.'

‘Well.' Cass appeared. ‘That was Daddy. The boat's in at Devonport for a few days—some engine problem—so he's coming home while they sort it out. What a nice surprise. And here's another surprise!' She brandished a postcard at Oliver. ‘It's from Harriet. She's staying with a friend near Tavistock.' She smiled to herself. ‘Quite a coincidence.'

‘Why?' Oliver pushed Gus away with his foot and slumped over the table, head on arms. ‘Why is that a coincidence?'

‘Oh, well. It just is, darling.'

Cass was longing to know what, if anything, had happened in Lee. Since that weekend Tom had not been home and she had heard nothing from Harriet, not even her usual bread-and-butter letter or telephone call to thank Cass for the weekend. That in itself was significant. Cass could well imagine the difficulty of composing such a letter in the circumstances. Since her own wonderful Sunday afternoon with Nick in the Mallinsons' cottage she was even more obsessed by
him. Never before had Cass conducted an affair with a very experienced man who was a great deal older than she was. Her previous lovers were all naval officers, all men of her own age and all much of a type. A few months of knowing Nick had shown her that, although to begin with, military life tended to make young men grow up quickly, give them responsibility and mature them faster than their peers outside, it also protected them from ordinary life. Many of them found it difficult to cope without a book of rules and without the safety of the hierarchical parameters. To help them to deal with non-military situations they often tried to categorise civilians into senior officers, junior officers and lower ranks and then treated them accordingly which often caused resentment. They were used to a social life and a working environment which encouraged them to drink too much and often behave in a childish and irresponsible way when they were off duty. All this to Cass—having been brought up with the Army and having married into the Navy—was the norm and Nick was an overwhelmingly new experience. He fascinated her. His very differences made him interesting and, because they were new to her, the more acceptable and desirable. She was like a child with a new and absorbing toy and nobody was going to take it away from her.

To know that Tom and Harriet were having an affair would ease her conscience. It would also keep Tom occupied. But how on earth was she to find out? She felt fairly confident that Harriet would give the show away quite quickly but she wasn't so sure about Tom. It occurred to her that if she saw them both together, especially if they weren't expecting to meet each other, she'd know at once. ‘Love and a cough cannot be hid.' She'd read that in a book and it was probably true. She looked again at the postcard and realised that she had the means to hand. It seemed a bit cruel but at least she'd know where she stood. Nick, whom she had found to be a tender, exciting lover, had suggested a few days away together and Cass longed to go. Everything would be that much easier if she knew that Harriet and Tom were involved with each other. She turned the postcard thoughtfully in her hands. She would invite Harriet for tea on Sunday, by which time Tom
would be home. Neither would know whether Tom's telephone call or Harriet's postcard had come first so she could pretend that it was all a great surprise. With luck, they'd be too shocked to think it through properly. Cass couldn't help smiling.

‘What are you grinning at?'

‘Nothing. Take your arm out of the butter and go and get dressed. It's nearly eleven o'clock and Daddy will be home for lunch. Someone's dropping him off. Have you got any plans for the weekend, darling?'

‘Nope!' Oliver hauled himself out of his chair and wandered to the door. ‘I shall sleep and watch television.'

‘Honestly, Ollie! Anyone would think you were fifty. A good long walk with Gus would be much better for you. Children these days are so lazy. When I was your age . . . '

‘Oh, Ma, don't start on that! I bet at my age you were wearing a mini-skirt and lying about smoking pot. “If you go to San Francisco,” he sang, in a ghastly falsetto, whilst swaying his hips and rolling his eyes, ‘ “Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.” Were you a hippie, Ma?' He vanished into the hall and Cass burst out laughing. She was pleased with her little plan. She studied the postcard again. Harriet had put a telephone number at the top and Cass decided to telephone now before Tom arrived.

She dialled the number and waited. A man's voice spoke in her ear, a lovely deep warm voice.

‘Oh, hello. Have I got the right number? I want to speak to Harriet Masters.'

‘Yes, she's here. Who's calling please?' He made no effort to cover the receiver. ‘Harriet, it's Cassandra Wivenhoe for you.' There were fumbling noises and then Harriet's voice.

‘Hello, Cass. You got my card then?'

‘Yes. It was a lovely surprise. Are you staying long and are we going to see you?'

‘Well, I shall be here for a week or so . . .

‘Splendid. We're hoping that you'll come and have tea tomorrow.'

‘Oh. Tomorrow? When you say “we,” do you mean . . . ? Have you . . . ?'

‘Well, the boys are home for the weekend, but you know what it's like here, lovey, anything could happen. Oh, and do bring your friend, he sounds rather nice.'

‘Well, I don't know. I'd have to ask him. Hang on a minute.' Silence. ‘Hello Cass? Yes, thank you. We'd both love to come. About three, then?'

‘Lovely. See you tomorrow. ‘Bye.'

Cass stood in the hall for a moment. For a fleeting moment she wondered if she might be opening Pandora's box. Then she thought of Nick and her doubts fled.

T
OM, JOLTING ALONG IN
Lieutenant Harrap's Citroen Diane, was barely listening to the stream of chatter issuing from the lips of Angela Harrap who was driving them home. She and Peter were obviously delighted to have the Captain travelling with them and Angela was doing her best to play the part of a loyal naval wife whilst indicating, subtly, that she was an attractive woman in her own right and found him just as attractive. Shifting in the uncomfortable passenger seat, Tom reflected that he'd seen it done better. Anyway, he preferred a different approach. He remembered a woman at a cocktail party telling him that she considered that his job as Captain was purely an ego trip and that it disgusted her to see all his young officers, who did all the real work, fawning over him and treating him like some sort of deity. He'd taken her out to dinner afterwards, and later . . .

Tom smiled reminiscently and glanced sideways at Angela: slight, dark, long legs stretched out to the pedals. Not unlike Harriet, he thought and his heart contracted. He'd tried to phone her last night from the Mess and at regular intervals thereafter and, finally, had assumed her to be away and given up. Certainly Cass had been right. When the first nervous moments had passed, Harriet had displayed a depth of feeling that Tom would never have guessed at. How well she had hidden it from him all this time. It had been rather touching and
terribly flattering and it would have taken a stronger character than Tom's to resist such an opportunity. After all, Harriet was a widow now and a free woman and was quite old enough to take responsibility for her actions. She knew that he was a married man and must realise that there was no future to it; nevertheless, it would be pleasant to have a compliant eager mistress living not too far away. Harriet was an old friend and there would be plenty of reasons for going to see her. He'd been tempted to rush off to Lee this morning but it was probably sensible to stay close to the boat. The First Lieutenant had been left on board but, nevertheless, Tom could be recalled at any time and, with the boat in his home port, it would be odd if he asked to be contacted anywhere else but at his own home and embarrassing if Cass discovered that the boat was in. He wondered when he would see Harriet again—they had agreed not to write to each other—and turned to smile at Angela. Dammit! He'd probably have to invite them in for drinks.

A
S THE
V
OLVO, WITH
Michael driving, climbed up from Meavy on Sunday afternoon Harriet had a presentiment that the afternoon was going to prove a disaster. How could she face Cass now? It was one thing to tell oneself that Cass deserved some of the same treatment that she'd served out but quite another to feel justified in being the one redressing the balance when one was a mile or two from her front door. She remembered all Cass's kindnesses of the past years: the hospitality, the support after Ralph's death, and her spirit writhed within her. It didn't help that she was now pretty sure that Tom was not the poor wronged husband that she had always believed him to be. He was taking it all too calmly, too naturally for that to be the case. During the years of blind infatuation she had talked herself into believing that it was almost her duty to rescue him from Cass, that she had a perfect right to show him what real love and loyalty was all about. When her conscience had pointed out that it was to Ralph and not to another woman's husband that these admirable qualities should be displayed, she excused herself on the grounds that she had never really been in
love with Ralph nor he with her and so it wasn't the same. How easily we delude ourselves, rationalising and excusing our own failings, whilst seeing the weaknesses of others in such a clear, harsh and unforgiving light.

She had told herself that the reason she had sent a postcard to Cass and put a telephone number on it was because she knew that Cass's feelings would be hurt if she found out that Harriet was in the area without having let her know but the truth was that she hoped that Tom might find it and get in touch. Why had she promised not to write or ring? Surely a letter to the submarine would have been quite safe? Tom had been adamant, disquietingly so. It was another pointer that he knew quite well the rules of this particular game and had no intention of breaking them. Realising that she was being a very poor companion, Harriet pulled herself together and looked about her. Almost there: her heart jumped with nervousness.

‘It's off to the right here,' she said, hoping that her nerves didn't show in her voice. ‘Just up past the church here and it's those big gates. Just drive straight in. Oh, God. There's Cass in the garden.'

‘Harriet. How lovely.' Cass, who had been waiting to intercept them, hurried to the car and hugged Harriet as she climbed out.

Would she be hugging me like this, wondered Harriet, if she knew that Tom and I had slept together? Everything has changed and I'm not going to be able to behave as I have done in the past. I shouldn't have come.

Michael was shaking Cass firmly by the hand and they were moving towards the house. Cass was wearing a blue twill skirt with a crisp white shirt and Harriet had never seen her look so well. She seemed to glow with superabundant health and well-being. Beside her, Harriet, in jeans and a sweater, felt positively dowdy, though Michael, in brown cords and a Guernsey, seemed totally unmoved. It was apparent that Cass approved of him and, as they went through the front door, she took an arm of each and guided them towards the sitting room.

‘Darling!' she exclaimed, pausing in the doorway. ‘Look who's here!'

She felt Harriet's arm stiffen beneath her fingers as Tom, who had been half asleep, rose from the sofa, the Sunday paper falling from his hands.