Kate's Progress (18 page)

‘How old were you when your mother died?’ Kate asked.

‘Six,’ he said. ‘Jack was only two, so he doesn’t really remember her.’

‘But you do,’ she said, seeing that there was something there, still, all these years later – a sadness. He made a sound that might have been a yes, and ate some soup to cover up. ‘How did she die? She must have been quite young.’ She held her breath, in case being asked annoyed him; but he didn’t seem to object.

‘Peritonitis,’ he said. ‘It was a tragedy. Only about ten per cent of cases die from it. The important thing is to get treatment quickly enough. My father thought she just had indigestion and sent her to bed with a hot water bottle. By the time he realized it was serious, it was too late. We’re quite a long way from the hospital, here.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘It must have been terrible for him.’

‘It was,’ he said. ‘He was always one for telling you to buck up and stop making a fuss. He didn’t believe in being ill. But he adored my mother. It broke him when she died. He blamed himself, of course.’

‘Did
you
blame him?’

He looked at her. ‘Oh, for a couple of years, when I was a teenager, I did. But you always find something to blame your parents for at that age. I soon realized that he just did what he thought was right. Besides, he punished himself for it far more harshly than I ever would have.’ She saw him shake himself mentally. ‘But this is no topic for the lunch table. Tell me about yourself. What brings you to Somerset?’

So she told him an abbreviated version of her life in London and her desire for change, Gaga’s legacy and – touching on it as briefly as possible – buying Little’s, jumping from there quickly to remembering Bursford from childhood, and Granny and Grandpa living in Exford.

There was a gleam in his eyes, as though he knew what she was up to and was amused. ‘PR,’ he said. ‘Now that must be an interesting job.’

‘It probably sounds more interesting than it is,’ she said. ‘And you really don’t want to know about it anyway,’ she added with a smile. ‘You’re just being polite.’

‘That’s what society is all about,’ he said solemnly. ‘You ask me a question and I ask you one. It’s tit for tat.’

‘And is the honesty of the answer also tit for tat?’

‘You,’ he said, looking into her eyes with devastating effect, ‘are a dangerous young woman. Where would we be if everyone answered all questions honestly?’

They were interrupted at that moment by Jocasta collecting their soup plates, and Mrs B on the other side dumping an enormous roast rib of beef in front of him. ‘Ah, I have to perform my carving duties,’ he said, and introduced her to Mrs B, who turned out to be a tall, strong-looking woman with short, curly grey hair and the remains of great beauty in her face and her still dark eyes. She didn’t smile at Kate, but gave her a slow, considering look that Kate didn’t take amiss. If she’d been looking after everybody for all these years, she was entitled to make judgement on the people they brought home.

Ed carved, laying slices on plates that were passed down either side, and since Kate’s other neighbour, the plump sportsman Eric, was busy talking to
his
other side, she occupied herself with studying the portraits around the room and finding no resemblance in the faces to either Jack or Ed. There were no very modern paintings, so none could be his mother, though there was one from the nineteen twenties or thirties, to judge by the clothes, which she supposed might be his grandmother.

Dishes of roast potatoes and vegetables had come in, and Yorkshire puddings, and gravy, and there was much handing up and down, while Jack got up and went round the table filling everyone’s glasses with wine, after which he dumped several bottles at intervals along the table and said, ‘You’ll have to help yourselves from now on.’ As he put a bottle down in front of Kate he gave her a searing look, part entreaty and part warning. She smiled gaily back, not having the slightest idea what he wanted her to do or not do. Perhaps he was just worried that Ed might be eating her up. They seemed to regard him as a bit of an ogre; but she felt she was well up to him. He hadn’t bitten her head off yet. In fact, he was talking to her remarkably freely. Long may it last! She loved his voice – sheer black velvet.

When Ed was settled again, she said, ‘You and Jack don’t look much alike. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t take you for brothers.’

‘We get that a lot. There are similarities of feature, when you get to know us.’ She was glad he had said ‘when’ and not ‘if’. ‘But I’m very like my father, and Jack’s more like our mother. She was very fair and pretty, and everyone loved her. My father was tall and grim, and people were wary of him. He didn’t have the knack of getting on with people. I’m afraid I take after him.’

‘I don’t think you’re grim,’ she said – rather daringly, all things considered. ‘And you don’t seem to be having any trouble getting on with me.’

He levelled a look at her. ‘Are you flirting with me?’

She laughed. ‘If you think that’s flirting, you obviously don’t have much experience of the thing. Why do you think you haven’t the knack of getting on with people?’

‘I don’t suffer fools gladly,’ he said. ‘Or dishonesty. Or people who don’t keep their word.’

She nodded sympathetically. ‘And as so much of social interaction is based on dishonesty, I can see why you’d find it a burden.’

‘Not a burden, exactly. It just – doesn’t interest me.’ He did that mental shake thing again – it was as if he realized he was getting too far in and needed to change direction – and said, ‘Tell me about the Great Rescue.’

‘What – Chewy? It was hardly that.’

‘You were a fool to approach a strange dog in a situation like that. You could have been badly bitten.’

‘I was careful. Anyway, he was so tangled up, he couldn’t really have reached me.’

‘He could have bitten you when he got free.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, he didn’t. And I couldn’t just leave him, could I?’

He nodded. ‘We’re all very grateful to you.’

‘And you’re showing it,’ she said. ‘This splendid lunch! It’d be bread and cheese at home. And Jocasta’s going to take me riding.’

Now the cautious look left his face for the first time. ‘You like horses?’

‘Love them. I used to ride as a child, here and in Dublin, but of course opportunities are limited in London.’

‘That’s why I come back every weekend – or part of the reason, anyway. I must show you the stables after lunch. When are you and Jocasta riding?’

‘We haven’t made a date yet,’ she said, glad that he, at least, didn’t tell her not to let Jocasta be a nuisance.

He nodded, but didn’t follow up the question. He was looking at her with interest now, and she felt a pang of connection with him, accompanied with that quaky feeling in the stomach. He began to say, ‘I wonder—’ when his other neighbour, Steph Holland, sitting on his left and opposite Kate, finished what she was saying to the Brigadier, and turned to Ed to say:

‘What have you heard about the War Memorial restoration, Ed? Surely something ought to be decided soon, if they’re going to have any chance of getting the work done before November?’

Ed turned to her and they fell into a discussion of local affairs that meant nothing to Kate. Eric was still busy on his other side, so Kate concentrated on her dinner, which was delicious. Mrs B was evidently what was called a ‘good plain cook’, but the phrase did nothing to convey the pleasure good plain cooking could impart.

A movement further down the table made her look that way, and she saw Jack staring at her with raised eyebrows, mouthing some question at her. She had no idea what it was, so she just smiled at him, and he looked relieved, threw her a wink, and went back to his conversation.

After pudding – rhubarb crumble and custard, very traditional, but raised to new heights by the addition of a hint of ginger – they all went back into the drawing room for coffee. Large brandies, whiskies, and Cointreau on ice for Susie Orde were distributed. Everyone settled deeply into their seats for a long afternoon of drinking and gossip, except for Jocasta who, with Hilary trailing in her wake, disappeared with the dogs, evidently accepting for the moment that Kate was one of the grown-ups for the purposes of this afternoon, and was not to be annexed for her own pleasures.

Kate found herself on a sofa somewhat out of the main scrum with the Brigadier, whom she found fascinating, and who had plenty of stories to tell her, since he had served both in Iraq and Afghanistan, and didn’t mind talking about it. From there it was an easy step to what he was doing with his retirement from the army.

‘Well, I have a house and a few acres I inherited from my father, and the army pension, which is enough to live on in a small way, but not enough for what I want to do.’

‘And what
do
you want to do?’ Kate asked.

‘Get married,’ he said. Kate’s mouth said a silent, ‘Oh,’ and she thought of Camilla, but she managed through great strength of mind not to look at her. The Brigadier hurried on. ‘I couldn’t support a wife on my pension alone. And besides, I can’t sit about doing nothing. I’m not used to it. So I’ve set up a business which I’m in the process of expanding – a consultancy.’

‘Consultancy in what?’

‘A sort of specialized employment agency, placing people as bodyguards, either long-term, or for specific events.’

‘Ex-army personnel?’ Kate guessed.

‘That’s right. Trained men, many of them personally known to me, and plenty of contacts within the army for vetting those who aren’t. There’s a supply of men coming out of uniform all the time, looking for a job. And it’s a growing market, with so many celebrities and millionaires around.’

‘You’re right,’ Kate said. ‘In my business – PR – we’re coming across more and more of them. You hardly used to see a bodyguard, but now everyone seems to have them. What a good idea!’

‘Thank you. I’m hoping at least that it will make my fortune.’ He gave an apologetic smile.

‘And then she’ll marry you?’

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Well, that’s the hope. Bit of a hopeless hope, all things considered.’

‘But why? I mean
, why
won’t she marry you?’ Kate asked on the burst. ‘I’d marry you like a shot.’

He laughed. ‘You do blurt out the first thing that comes into your head, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I know,’ Kate said, blushing. ‘It’s a terrible habit of mine – comes of having five sisters who share absolutely
everything
. Conversation without the filter.’

‘It’s refreshing,’ he said. ‘Most people are so guarded, you never get near what they really think. You have to guess, and if you get it wrong – it’s a minefield!’

‘It’s a minefield saying what’s in your head, too.’

‘That’s true. Especially in a country community like this. But your secret’s safe with me. You can say what you like to me, and be sure I won’t pass it on.’

‘Army discretion?’ Kate hazarded. He nodded, smiling. ‘What about Ed?’ She felt a ridiculous thrill in getting his name into the conversation. ‘He doesn’t look like a man who’d pass things on.’

‘No, he’s no gossip – one of the things I like about him. But of course people pass things on
to
him.’

Kate wasn’t sure if there was a warning for her in that, and if there was, what it might refer to.

Every now and then there was a sort of ‘general post’ and people changed seats for fresh conversation. In one of these Kate was corralled in a corner by the fireplace with a coffee cup in one hand, a brandy glass in the other, and Phil Kingdon blocking her escape. Close up, she saw that the skin of his face was strangely shiny as though he used moisturizer, and the smell of his aftershave was competing with another fragrance, perhaps deodorant or some kind of man-cologne. It made her want to sneeze. There was something trap-like about his mouth, and his eyes were grey and dead-looking, like boiled fish eyes. She didn’t like him.

‘So, having a good time?’ he asked her.

‘This afternoon, or in general?’ she parried.

‘Well, I can see you are this afternoon. It must be nice to get away from that slum of a cottage, even though it’s only for a couple of hours. Must be uncomfortable and lonely for you there.’

‘Oh, I don’t notice it. I’m so busy, time just flies.’ She didn’t know where his line of conversation was tending, but just in case he was thinking of asking her out, she wanted to lay in an excuse beforehand. ‘And I’m too tired at the end of the day to do anything but flop into bed.’

He took a sip of coffee. ‘What are you going to do with it when you’ve finished?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ she said warily. She had been here long enough to gather that selling houses as holiday cottages was not universally smiled upon.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, you can’t be thinking of staying on and living there,’ he said positively.

This was an unexpected line. ‘Why not?’ she asked.

‘You’d miss London, the bright lights, and so on,’ he said, waving a hand to express all that London meant. ‘There’s nothing to do here. You’d hate it.’

‘It’s a lovely place,’ she objected.

‘Oh, it’s all right at the moment, when it’s warm and summer’s coming, but you’d never stand the winters here. They’re long, and very cold. Endless rain, freezing winds, and when the snow comes down you’re cut off. You’d be utterly miserable.’

Why all this care for my welfare?
she wondered. ‘A lot of people do live here,’ she pointed out.

‘People who’ve lived here all their lives,’ he said. ‘And Little’s can never be made comfortable, not the sort of comfort you’re used to. It’s a farm-worker’s cottage, and it’ll never be more than that, whatever you do to it. You’d do better to sell it.’

‘Well, it’s one possibility,’ she said cautiously. ‘As I said, I haven’t decided yet.’

He looked away across the room. It was a relief not to have his eyes on her, and she relaxed a smidgen. ‘You may have difficulty in finding a buyer,’ he said, without emphasis.

‘The estate agent didn’t seem to think so,’ she said, matching his indifferent voice.

‘Oh, they’re bound to say that, to get you to buy it. I expect you paid too much for it, too.’