Summer on the River (16 page)

Charlie shakes his head; it's all quite crazy. He levers himself upright, hears footsteps below and peers over the wall. Claude is climbing up, pausing to take a breath, and coming on again.

‘Hi,' Charlie calls down to him. ‘Where are you off to so early in the morning?'

‘Alf's,' says Claude, reaching the pavement and pretending that he isn't breathing heavily. ‘I fancy a nice old-fashioned full English breakfast and Evie hasn't surfaced yet. Want to join me?'

‘Love to,' says Charlie promptly. ‘No sign of Benj yet, either. I was just seeing Ange off.'

‘Ah,' says Claude. ‘Week of freedom, eh?'

Charlie grins at him. ‘You said it. And what a way to start it! I haven't had one of Alf's breakfasts for years. Just think what I'm missing! God, I feel like a kid again.'

‘My heart bleeds for you,' says Claude. ‘All those tiresome visits to foreign vineyards, wretched wine-tastings, boring dinners with rich clients, when you could be living here in Dartmouth, having breakfast at Alf's whenever you feel like it. You poor deprived boy. Come on. The treat's on me and afterwards, if you're good, I'll take you for a ride on the big dipper and then buy you an ice cream.'

‘But we could be really quick,' Maisie is pleading, perched at the kitchen table, holding up Princess Poppy as if to aid her request. ‘And then we'd still be in time to meet Mummy at Dartington.'

Jemima stacks the dishwasher, fighting the desire to agree; to dash into Dartmouth for an hour to let Maisie experience the joys of regatta again whilst hoping to bump into Charlie before he goes off to Cornwall.

‘We can't manage it on the bus,' she explains. ‘There just isn't enough time to get there and back again and then drive to Dartington. I've promised to meet Mummy in Cranks by one o'clock. She's coming straight on after her shift. We'd have to take the car to the Park and Ride and I can't leave Otto in a hot car for a couple of hours.'

‘But Otto could stay here,' wheedles Maisie. ‘He wouldn't really mind. He'll be asleep for most of the time anyway.'

Jemima knows that this is true. Otto's already had a good walk, and will be perfectly happy stretched out in his basket, but she still fights the proposition simply because she wants to agree to it so much.

‘I probably wouldn't be back until three o'clock,' she begins reluctantly, but Maisie senses victory is imminent, slides off her chair and comes to hug her.

‘
Pleeeze
, Jemima,' she begs. ‘Maybe
you'll
win something this time.'

‘OK,' says Jemima. ‘But we shan't be able to stay very long. Let's clean those teeth and get you packed up.'

Maisie cheers and runs out and up the stairs whilst Jemima follows more slowly, determined not to change her clothes or make any great effort with her appearance. She's wearing one of her favourite long skirts, made of pale turquoise floral cotton, with a loose white cotton over-shirt. Her hair is loosely tied back with a long narrow scarf. Yesterday she was wearing jeans, her hair bundled into a knot, and very little make-up. She wondered if he'd noticed.

She oversees the teeth-cleaning, checks Maisie's room, and packs her small case whilst discussing which toys or books she wants to carry in her little rucksack. Back downstairs, Jemima fills Otto's water bowl and tells him to stay when he prepares to climb out of his bed to come with them. He watches reproachfully but with resignation for a moment, then settles down again, and finally they are ready to go.

When Evie comes out of her bedroom she knows at once that Claude is not there. His bedroom door is slightly ajar and even before she arrives in the kitchen she guesses that he's gone out to Alf's for breakfast: one of his holiday treats. It's odd how different a house feels when there are other people around: the sense of presence, of other life. She fills the kettle, switches it on and goes to slide open the doors to the balcony. The sunshine pours in and she stands at the rail, her eyes closed, her face turned towards its warmth as she listens to the river sounds. She still feels on edge after Ange's attack about the cartoons.

‘I thought for a minute you were going to blurt it all out,' Claude said when they got back to the boathouse.

‘I nearly did,' she admitted, ‘except that it would have been very unfair to Ben and Charlie. But gosh! I longed to see her expression if I'd taken her up on the question of inheritance.'

‘It was only then,' he said, ‘that I realized I've never asked you whether the contents of the house were left to you with the building itself.'

‘Well, they were actually. By the time TDF and I were married, and living there, Marianne had long since taken anything really valuable to London. The cartoons hardly came into that class. They were just a bit of charming family history, along with a few small pieces of old china. But now, legally, they belong to me. I keep them in my study simply because I wanted to be on the safe side. It's typical that Ange should settle on the one thing that could actually be a threat to her.'

‘Thank God she's off tomorrow,' he said. ‘I can't see her dropping it, can you?'

No, thinks Evie, now. I can't see her dropping it.

It occurs to her that two of the cartoons have remained unframed ever since Tommy used their frames for the small etchings he gave her. This was when he'd first discovered those long-hidden pieces of paper – and then taken all the cartoons apart – but he'd refused to replace those two cartoons in their original frames and had put them into plastic folders until other frames could be found; but they never were.

Maybe now is the time to find new frames for her etchings and restore the two cartoons to the originals. Ange is certain to want to see them; and maybe they should all be rehung in the little dressing-room. Whatever the decision, Evie knows that an important crossroads has been reached.

She turns, leaning back against the rail, looking up at the Merchant's House washed with morning sunshine, and she thinks of Tommy.

What shall I do?
she asks him silently.
What's the plan?

That was one of their phrases: Tommy always had a plan, a project, a new idea. The cartoons are vivid in her mind and, alongside them, the etchings he'd chosen and framed for her. She remembers how he watched as she unwrapped them on her birthday: intent, almost as if he were willing her to discover something very special. They were beautiful and very simple: a dipper balancing on a stone midriver, and a wren perching on a holly branch.

That was the last birthday she had with him. She always opened her presents at tea-time up on the top terrace if the weather allowed. It was a hot July afternoon, tea had been carried up, and the table was strewn with cards and presents. She always kept Tommy's until last.

‘They're beautiful,' she said. ‘How amazing that you should find my two favourite birds. I love them. But I still wonder if you should have used these frames.'

Knowing now what they both did, about the cartoons and the secret they'd hidden for so long, she felt slightly anxious about the frames.

‘I wanted you to have them today,' he said, ‘but the time might come when you want to change them, find new frames, and put the cartoons back. You'll know when it's right.'

It's as if she can smell the lavender again, taste hot tea in the thin china cup: she remembers the warmth of his hug, the scent of his aftershave.

OK
, she says to him, still silently.
I'll get them reframed. Find new ones for the etchings. That's the plan, then
.

Suddenly she feels calmer, as if this is the right decision, the next step. She makes coffee and toast and carries it out to the balcony. A skiff shoots downstream, the rowers bent low to their oars; a white ketch motors out to the sea; a cormorant flies upriver, skimming the surface of the water, black wings outstretched.

Evie watches the little scene beyond her balcony, thinking of Tommy; missing him. Later she will go out, wander round, enjoy regatta. She wonders if she will see Mikey again, or Jason. It would be wonderful if some kind of reconciliation could be effected. She would like it so much if she and Mikey could be friends.

Jemima spots her among the crowds on the Embankment and waves. Evie's face lights up with recognition and they all meet together with delight.

‘I was hoping we'd see each other again,' says Evie, and Jemima feels a warmth at the older woman's genuine pleasure. ‘I wanted to invite you to see my boathouse but it seemed a bit pushy when we'd only met so briefly.'

Jemima knows exactly what she means. There are some people who, however long you know them, never become close; whilst others you recognize at once as friends who will be very special. When she met them at Torcross she felt this about Evie and Claude – she wanted to hold on to them – but, like Evie, she felt it would be rather odd to say so.

Now she beams at Evie. ‘I'd love to see it,' she says. ‘Thank you.'

‘Well, why not now?' asks Evie, smiling down at Maisie. ‘Come back and have coffee. I'm sure I can find something for Maisie. I've got orange juice and apple juice.'

‘Oh, I wish we could,' says Jemima regretfully. ‘There just isn't time this morning. I've got to get Maisie to Dartington to meet her mum and we've still got a few more treats to get through.'

This is true, but also she doesn't want to miss her last chance of seeing Charlie. And anyway, part of her would like to visit Evie without the responsibility of Maisie. She feels that it's something she would like to do alone. Maisie clearly agrees with this: she doesn't want to waste her precious morning visiting someone's house. She tugs at Jemima's hand.

‘Come on, Jemima,' she says. ‘We need to get to the funfair.'

Evie smiles at Jemima. ‘Come and see me next week,' she suggests. ‘Or tomorrow for coffee?'

‘I'd love it,' says Jemima. ‘Coffee would be good. Where exactly are you?'

Evie gives her directions, whilst Maisie hops up and down impatiently, and then they part. Jemima, watching out for Charlie, hurries with Maisie towards the noise of the funfair. She's on edge, alert; everything seems to be brighter, noisier, more vivid. At any moment he might appear, familiar yet mysterious; light-hearted but so important. She simply cannot believe that she won't see him again.

‘
I SAW JEMIMA
and Maisie in the town,' Evie tells Claude later. ‘She's coming in for coffee tomorrow. It's odd but I feel very drawn to her, as if she were a favourite child or a niece or something. Do you know what I mean?'

‘Mmm,' says Claude noncommittally, trying to hide his initial dismay. Evie has been up in the garden, picking roses, and she is rooting in a cupboard for a vase whilst he sits at the big table reading the newspaper. He wonders if he should tell Evie that Charlie has met Jemima, how they looked together, but he can't quite think of the words to describe it or how to begin. After all, Evie is hardly likely to criticize. This was exactly how she and TDF began their long relationship. He tries to analyse his feelings: he always supported Evie and TDF so why should this new revelation be any different?

He enjoyed his breakfast at Alf's with Charlie, which they sat over for quite a long time drinking several cups of coffee. It amused him to watch Charlie tucking in with such frank pleasure, eating all the toast, looking around him with the delight of someone who has returned home after a long absence.

Claude was rather moved: he remembered times past – Charlie home from school, down on holiday with TDF and Ben – and suddenly he felt sad and very old.

‘Do you ever think,' he asked Charlie, ‘that you might retire to Dartmouth when the time comes, like TDF?'

Charlie smiled a little, raised his eyebrows, as if imagining this delightful possibility.

‘
I
might,' he said, ‘but Ange wouldn't begin to consider it. She's a Londoner, Ange is. She likes to be where it's all going on.'

‘Rather like your mum was?'

‘Yes, you could say that. But Dad always enjoyed his jaunts to Dartmouth, same as I do. It's great now old Benj is here. I shall come and stay with him.'

‘You don't mind him being there, then?'

Charlie pushed aside his plate. ‘Why should I?'

‘Well,' Claude pursed his lips, gave a little shrug, ‘Ange doesn't seem to be too happy about it.'

A cloud passed over Charlie's happiness. ‘She's got a bit of a thing about it, to be honest. Afraid that he'll dig in and get squatter's rights or whatever. Crazy. To be honest, it's wearing me down just a tad. After all, it's Evie's house and it's not as if Ange has ever been particularly keen on it.'

Claude noticed that from time to time Charlie glanced towards the door; he did it again now.

‘Expecting someone?' Claude asked.

Charlie looked taken aback and then he grinned. ‘Not specially. But you never know your luck.'

Now, as he watches Evie arranging the roses, cutting the stems, stripping off leaves, Claude remembers that look on Charlie's face – part shamefaced, part hopeful, part pure joy – and his heart contracts with anxiety. He tells himself that he's an old fool. He wants Charlie to be happy, to have what he wants, as if he's a little boy again.

‘How did it work for you?' he asks Evie suddenly. ‘All those years when TDF was in London?'

Evie's hands are stilled; she stares down at the roses in them. ‘When I was his mistress, you mean?'

‘Yes,' he says. ‘How did you feel?'

She arranges the roses in the vase with quick decisive jabs and then sits down at the table, folding her hands together as if she is praying.

‘I'd never been so happy,' she says. ‘I had it all. Someone to love who loved me, my work, this house. I mean, what's not to like?'