Summer on the River (20 page)

Claude rubs his head, frowning confusedly, almost as if he is startled by his own outburst.

‘I love Charlie like he is my own boy,' he says. ‘I want him to have it all. I just don't want him to be hurt but …' He shrugs, makes a face, pulls down his mouth. ‘It's not up to us. They're grown-up people. All we can do is to stand by to pick up the pieces if it should go wrong.'

‘I'm not sure I find that very comforting,' Evie says lightly. ‘I tell you what, Claude. I'm really glad that you're going to be around. Do you actually have to go back at all?'

He laughs, and she can see he feels better.

‘I only packed for a week,' he says. ‘I think I shall need a little more than a few summer things as winter comes on.'

Nevertheless, she feels comforted by the prospect of his presence. And, after all, perhaps little will come of it. Regatta madness: nothing more.

Mikey bites into his beefburger, swipes the ketchup from his chin, one eye on his father, who is standing a little distance away talking to Aunt Liz on his mobile. His free hand gesticulates, balls into a fist and pumps the air; Dad has got the job, he is victorious, he is happy.

Mum wouldn't have let Mikey have the beefburger from the stall – poison burgers, she called them – but Dad isn't into stuff like that. As long as it's quick and easy he doesn't care too much. Mikey tries to think of all the things Mum taught him so as to guide the shopping list when he's home for the holidays, to make sure they both eat lots of fruit and veggies, but it's quite a responsibility. Sometimes it feels like he's the grown-up and Dad's the child.

That's why he's really glad Dad's got the job at the university and that he's happy. It's a bit embarrassing when he's full-on; Mikey wishes that when he's happy Dad wouldn't get quite so over the top, but that's the way he is.

‘No halfway measures with your father,' Mum used to say. ‘He's up or he's down.'

Before – that's how he phrases it now to himself, just ‘before' – he was able to get out of the way, when he wasn't at school. He'd stay in his room or go out into the garden, slip off to see one of his friends. Now, he isn't able just to walk away; it seems selfish and unkind to leave Dad on his own, having a strop or feeling mis. Even so, he'll be really glad to get back to school though it does mean leaving Dartmouth, but Dad has promised that they can come down for half term.

Mikey finishes his beefburger, wipes his fingers on the paper napkin and throws it in the bin. Should he push his luck and ask for a Coke? He's wondering, now that Dad is back on top, whether he should mention meeting Evie. He doesn't like having secrets, and he's afraid Dad might find the card, so it might be better if he were to mention, just casually, that he saw her.

Dad's finishing his call, coming towards him. ‘She's really pleased,' he calls out. ‘That's great, isn't it? Don't we love your aunt Liz?'

Mikey nods, feeling a bit silly with people looking, then takes a chance.

‘Could I have a Coke, please, Dad? Just for once?'

‘Sure,' he says immediately. ‘Sure you can. We'll both have one and then how about a visit to the funfair? You enjoyed that, didn't you?'

They stroll along together, swigging from the cans, and Mikey takes another chance.

‘I met someone who knows Grampy the other day,' he says, glancing sideways to watch for any negative reaction. Dad can be funny about Grampy. ‘She's a writer. Evelyn Drake.' He can't remember her other name just for the moment. ‘Then I saw her in M&S and she told me she knew you when you were a little boy.'

To his surprise Dad is looking amazed but in a good way, like it's something he wanted to happen. He doesn't ask about the meeting, he just begins to laugh.

‘I don't believe it,' he says. ‘Fate works in a mysterious way.'

Mikey doesn't understand but he doesn't push it.

‘Anyway, she said to say “hello”. She gave me her card in case you wanted to meet her or anything.'

Dad bursts out laughing again, shakes his can at the sky and shouts, ‘There is a God.'

Mikey feels like he might die of shame the way people are staring at him, but he's also just so relieved that Dad's OK with it and that it needn't be a secret any more.

‘Why didn't you tell me?' Dad asks.

‘Oh …' He shrugs; some instinct warns him to be cool about it. He won't say that Evie thought he looked just like Grampy. ‘I forgot, I suppose. Didn't think it mattered. So do you remember her?'

‘Oh, yes,' says Dad. He smiles a secret, satisfied smile that makes Mikey feel anxious. ‘Oh, yes, I remember Evelyn Drake very well indeed. And I intend to know her even better. And so will you, my son. Come on. I think this calls for a ride on the big dipper to celebrate.'

Driving with Ben to Torcross in the early evening Charlie wonders if he is living in a dream from which he might wake at any moment: to be here in Dartmouth during regatta week with no family commitments and old Benj to keep him company; Evie and Claude wandering over for tea or a drink; the sounds and smells and the whole atmosphere of regatta. And on top of it the prospect of seeing Jemima again. His conscience reminds him that simply because Jemima texted Ben, that Ben has made the arrangements to see her, it doesn't mean that it's all perfectly innocent. It warns him that it is specious to pretend that this is an ordinary, friendly meeting. At the moment, however, he isn't listening to his conscience. He is persuading himself that just for this one magical week he and Jemima are beyond the conventions; the rules and regs by which other people live. It's like some kind of fairy story, or a film; he can almost imagine the soundtrack. A tiny miracle has come to pass. One minute he is at Ange's beck and call, and now here he is driving with Benj along the coast road to Torcross: to Jemima.

‘This is all so weird, Benj, isn't it?' he murmurs, gazing at the wide scoop of the bay shimmering in the hazy early evening light. ‘God, it's beautiful. I always forget how beautiful it is. You are so lucky to be living here.'

And then he remembers that poor old Benj's marriage has just broken up, he has no home, no money and no security.

‘Sorry,' he mutters. ‘That was tactless.'

Ben grins sideways at him. ‘That's OK. I told you, I'm fine with it.'

Charlie wrenches his mind away from Jemima and thinks about how Benj is really feeling. He drives his little VW Golf with great confidence, backing up for nervous tourists in the narrow village street of Stoke Fleming, whizzing down the hills. After his own very smart Audi, the battered, elderly Golf leaves a bit to be desired in the comfort stakes but somehow Charlie rather envies his cousin the sense of freedom; of fun and independence.

‘Will you stay in Dartmouth?' he asks.

‘For the winter, at least,' answers Ben. ‘As long as Evie is prepared to let me stay. She could get a huge rent for the house next summer. I might look for somewhere else.'

‘I think she likes having you there. She can use the garden and the garage, and the place isn't getting damp and cold. Do you find it a bit big, all on your own?'

‘I don't really use the first floor at all.' Ben changes gear as they start up the winding hill from Blackpool Sands. ‘I suppose I might use the drawing-room in the winter, but it's slightly imposing. I tend to live in the breakfast room when I'm not working. It would be quite nice to have someone sharing. Someone to chat to in the evenings, especially when winter draws in.'

‘I'll come and stay,' Charlie promises, but even as he says it he wonders how it might be achieved. Maybe Ange will encourage it so as to keep tabs on Benj.

They swoop down the hill by Strete Gate and on to Torcross Line, and Charlie is clenched again with excitement and terror. It's pathetic but he's really glad that Benj is with him. Rather like having Maisie there, Benj's presence prevents the whole thing from toppling out of control. He's not quite ready for that yet. Jemima seemed so strong and confident; so amusing and fascinating. Being with her was like entering into another sphere; a completely magical experience that he longs to repeat.

His mobile beeps and he digs it out of his pocket and checks it. It's a text from Ange and immediately his stomach sinks and knots into a kind of leaden lump: he feels guilty and remorseful, yet he cannot turn back: not now; not yet.

‘Ange,' he says briefly. ‘Just to say everyone's OK.'

He sends a text, switches the phone off – it could be embarrassing if she rings during the next few hours – and stares ahead. The last thing he needs at the moment is a reminder of his family: how uncomfortable it is to be disloyal. Benj is turning into the car park, manoeuvring into a space, digging in his pocket for change for the parking meter.

‘I'll get it,' says Charlie.

He gets out and stands for a moment gazing out to sea, stretching and relaxing and concentrating on the evening ahead: on Jemima. Just at this moment, nothing else matters.

Jemima is watching for them. Standing at the window of her sitting-room she sees them leave the car and stroll along the path beside the ley. At this distance she can barely tell them apart though she guesses that it is Ben who leads the way, pointing out the activities of the ducks on the water, pausing to study the scene as if he might be sizing it up for a photograph. Charlie waits, hands in the pockets of his jeans, scanning the houses as if he is looking for her.

She runs down the stairs, through the kitchen and the conservatory, and goes out to meet them. Charlie sees her come out of the gate and his serious expression is transformed with delight. He takes his hands from his pockets and starts forward as if he might cross the road to embrace her. She takes several deep breaths but can't prevent herself from beaming back at him, though she stays where she is.

Ben is turning and now he is smiling too so that they both arrive together and, to her relief, this prevents any kind of formal or emotional greeting. Everyone has something to say, which all gets muddled up together, and she goes back into her little yard, where Otto is waiting, and ushers them into the house.

The men both stop to speak to Otto, to smooth his head and pull his ears, so that any kind of awkwardness is over very quickly.

‘I did warn you that it's only a little bit of house,' she says. She feels breathless, slightly overwhelmed, as they come into the conservatory. ‘Three is definitely a crowd in here.' Fearing that this might be misconstrued she hastens on: ‘This is my garden.' She indicates the wide windowledge with all the pretty pots of flowers. ‘You can see the ley and pretend you're outside.'

‘It's lovely,' Ben says warmly, ‘especially with the evening sun pouring in. And the kitchen is through here?'

He goes ahead and Jemima glances at Charlie, who smiles at her so intimately that her heart bangs about as if it is trying to escape from her breast. She hurries after Ben who is now examining the kitchen.

‘I see so many people's houses,' he says. ‘They never cease to fascinate me.'

‘But not little ones like this,' counters Jemima. ‘You only do big, posh places.'

‘Not true,' he protests. ‘I sometimes do holiday lets. Cottages, barn complexes, that sort of thing.'

‘Do you?' She's momentarily distracted. ‘Our photographer's moving upcountry. Wouldn't like some work, would you?'

He looks at her quickly. ‘I would,' he says. ‘Are you serious?'

‘Well, he's definitely going. And I don't think we've advertised yet.'

‘Could you ask them? It would be great just at the moment.'

‘With your portfolio, or whatever you call it,' says Charlie, ‘I should think they'll bite your arm off.'

He looks delighted at the prospect and Jemima is touched by his partisanship.

‘Of course I will,' she says. ‘I'm back to work tomorrow so I'll have a word. Go on upstairs and have a look at the sitting-room and then we'll have a drink. We can have it up there if you like, or in the conservatory.'

They both opt for the conservatory and she takes a bottle of white Bordeaux from the fridge and puts a plate of nibbles on the glass-topped table. Otto cocks his head hopefully and she says, ‘Leave,' very firmly. His ears flatten but his tail wags once or twice as if in acknowledgement of her instruction. She'd seen Charlie's quick look of disappointment when she mentioned going back to work after the Bank Holiday and she wonders how long he will be in Dartmouth without his family. She can hear them coming back downstairs and she takes three glasses from the cupboard.

‘I love your little bit of house,' Ben says. ‘I see what you mean about the view. You know, I think if I had to choose, I'd rather have a view of the ley than the sea. There's more going on and you must be able to see the changes of the seasons much better from this side. We'll have to do a return match, won't we, Charlie, and show her the Merchant's House?'

‘Definitely,' says Charlie.

Jemima can feel his relief that Ben is taking charge, turning it into something manageable and easy and fun. She feels the same and she relaxes, holding up the bottle.

‘Shall we have a drink?'

‘Small one for me,' says Ben. ‘I'm driving.' He crouches down to talk to Otto, who struggles up gratefully in his basket and picks up a very battered teddy to offer to Ben. ‘Thanks, old boy,' he murmurs. ‘Just what I've always wanted.'

Charlie and Jemima stand smiling at each other, separate again just for a moment. He holds out his glass to touch it briefly against hers as if he is pledging something, and she feels quite weak and foolish – and terribly happy.

REGATTA: THE FUN
of the bungee rowing in the Boat Float; two spectacular firework displays; the hauntingly beautiful illuminated river procession; a review of classic craft with its wonderfully informed commentary; the heart-stopping Red Arrows. Ben takes photographs, wanders amongst the happy visitors and provides a safe anchorage from which Jemima and Charlie sail out from time to time to conduct an odd, unlikely love affair. They contrive never to be alone yet there are moments when they can draw apart and enter into their magical, private world: holding hands as they watch the flare and drama of the fireworks; Charlie's arm protectively around her as the Red Arrows scream up the valley, turning and twisting just feet above the masts of the moored yachts; laughing together as they cheer on the tug of war in Coronation Park.