Summer on the River (23 page)

‘Spit it out,' she says lightly.

‘Well, Ange was saying that it would be good to bring the girls down for half term.'

Her eyebrows shoot up, partly in dismay and partly with amusement: Ange is really raising the stakes.

‘Really? Was she? Goodness. I can't remember the last time she brought the girls to Dartmouth. Well, well.'

‘I know,' he says miserably. ‘Look, I'm sorry, Evie. She's just got this silly bee in her bonnet about Benj and I keep telling her that it's none of our business but, well, you know what she's like.'

‘Oh, I do,' agrees Evie. She isn't ready to tell Charlie about her new plan just yet. She's still in two minds about it, but she's not quite prepared to commit either. ‘Well, let's see, shall we? We need to remember that it's Ben's home at the moment – or have you asked him already?'

‘I did just mention it,' admits Charlie, looking even more miserable, ‘and he was cool with it. Says it's a family house and so on.'

‘Mmm,' says Evie thoughtfully, ‘and so it is. Are you meeting him for lunch?'

‘I said I'd see him in the pub for a pint after he's finished with Jemima's boss.'

‘Well, I expect you'll find Claude there. In fact he's probably there now.'

‘Bit early, isn't it? It's barely a quarter to twelve.'

‘You know Claude. He says the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere. In fact I might join you all. Let's sit for a minute, shall we?'

They sit down on one of the benches in companionable silence and watch life on the busy river: the ferry edging out of Kingswear, yachts at their moorings, the guardship with its bunting fluttering.

Evie watches the passers-by: a couple attracts her attention. The woman is small and neatly dressed in tiny shorts and a halter top; her body is honed, polished, and stripped of every spare ounce of weight. Head down, she watches her bare legs as she walks, studying them as if amazed by their quick movement, their sharp bird-bones and smooth bronzed colour. Her man is bow-legged, bald; he wears baggy shorts and an unattractive vest. He struts importantly, chin thrust forward, lips puckered aggressively.

Evie studies them, wondering what it is that brought them together and keeps them together. Human relationships fascinate her. She thinks again about Jason and Mikey. At least there is a chance now of a reconciliation after all these years. It's clear that Jason is still antagonistic but she mustn't allow herself to become foolish about it; to imagine things.

‘How did you manage, Evie?' asks Charlie after a moment. ‘You and TDF?'

She doesn't pretend to misunderstand him. She puts Jason and Mikey out of her mind and concentrates on Charlie.

‘By not wanting too much, I suppose. What we shared was very precious but completely separate from his life in London. Marianne was rather like Ange, Dartmouth wasn't really her scene except for occasional weekends with a little house party, but TDF had always spent time here. Oh, just a few days here and there, sometimes alone, sometimes with Claude, but he'd always done it so there was no particular change to his routine. I was busy working, and I'd never been used to a live-in relationship so that was no hardship either. I don't really know how it worked for TDF but I think like most men he was able to compartmentalize his life to adapt to it. Of course, it was hard sometimes; there are things you want to share with people you love, but you get on with it, don't you? And then we had twelve years together. That was an unexpected bonus.'

‘And didn't you find that difficult? Adjusting to being together after all that time apart?'

‘Sometimes. I was still working for the first eight years and TDF was busy modernizing the Merchant's House and redesigning the garden, so we still had a certain amount of independence. Oh, but it was great to have him here.' She turns to Charlie, smiling, close to tears. ‘I really miss him, you know. I don't mean to sound tough and hard but we shouldn't have been doing it and we wanted to be certain that you and your mother were untouched by it. Of course, you'd already started work. I remember TDF saying that he'd rather have liked you to go to university but that Marianne was not keen.'

‘I would have liked it,' admits Charlie. ‘But I expect she was right. It seemed a bit silly when my future was already planned out and the job was there.'

And, thinks Evie, some pretty girl might have tempted you away from Ange.

She smiles at him. ‘No chance to sow wild oats?'

He smiles back at her. ‘None at all.'

‘Well, make the most of this moment,' she says.

He stares at her, his smile fading, and she shakes her head.

‘Sorry,' she says. ‘That was totally out of order. I'm really sorry, Charlie. It was irresponsible. I've no excuses, except that I love you and I love to see you happy.'

‘But … but I'm not sure I could handle things the way TDF did. He was so tough. So sure of himself. Oh, in a good way and all that, but I think the guilt would get to me, you see, and I don't have the courage just to walk away from Ange and the girls and my responsibilities in London. And I don't want to.' He smiles ruefully. ‘Like most people I want my cake and to eat it, too, but I'm not sure it's possible.'

She watches him, not knowing what to say.

‘Don't sound ashamed, for goodness' sake,' she says. ‘I'm just so glad you've had this week.'

‘Thanks, Evie. Thanks for that. And I love you too.'

She sits in silence, thinking of – and rejecting – things that she might say to him, and in the end she gets up.

‘Come on,' she says. ‘I'm going to buy you a drink.'

Once she is out of the town, Jemima pulls into the side of the road and takes the oblong of glass from her bag. It seems to her to be a symbol: the strength of the glass, the simplicity of the design, the freedom of the little boat and the two birds: her own little bit of sea.

She holds it up as he did, against the sunshine, tilting it to enjoy the richness of the colours. How will she manage without that adrenalin rush of seeing him, without the joy of being in his company? It will probably be easier for Charlie: he's going back home to his family, his work, his life in London. She knows that here she will be always looking for him, that she will see him everywhere: along the Embankment, around the Boat Float, walking up Foss Street; coming out of the Royal Castle with Claude; sitting across the table from Benj in Alf's with a newspaper and a cup of coffee. Charlie will be here for ever, caught like a fly in amber, in her memories of this regatta week.

‘For goodness' sake,' she tells herself, ‘you are such a drama queen. Get a grip.'

It was funny that down on the Embankment he guessed that she was imagining them both in some kind of film sequence, thinking of the soundtrack. Her old ma had always said that life would be so much easier if it were set to music; that we'd feel nobler if all our dreary little setbacks and emotions were lived to something dramatic like Brahms or Mahler, or heart-wrenchingly evocative like the voice of Nina Simone.

Despite herself, Jemima smiles. Frummie was quite right, though she can't quite imagine which composer would be the right one for this particular moment. She simply mustn't let herself dwell on the future: that way madness lies. Moment to moment is the way. She wishes she had Otto with her, sitting in the back, ears alert, hoping for a walk. At least, once regatta is over, he will be able to come in with her to the office again, to lie under her desk waiting for those trips out into the country, up on to the moor, to check out properties, welcome visitors, deal with any problems. She's not prepared to leave him up in the Park and Ride car park, however, so just this week he has to stay at home.

Jemima tries to concentrate on the positive side to the end of regatta but her gut lurches as she stares at her little piece of glass and sees Charlie in her mind's eye, holding it up to the sun, turning to smile down at her.

Cursing under her breath, she puts the glass away safely, switches on the engine and drives off towards Dittisham.

They celebrate Ben's new project in the garden in the early evening once Jemima has arrived, walking across from the office to join them, up on the terrace where champagne is waiting, glasses set out.

It's best this way, thinks Claude. Tomorrow night, the last night of regatta, this would be too emotional. We can do all this this evening and tomorrow evening something else must happen. Ben and Charlie can take Jemima down to see the fireworks, have supper at the pub, anything rather than all sitting here knowing it's the last time, wondering where we'll be next year, and all that gut-wrenching stuff of saying goodbye.

We can laugh now, raising our glasses to Ben, telling him how great it is, all of us being a bit silly and emotional and over the top, and underneath each knowing what the others are really thinking and able to allow ourselves a little bit extra foolishness because tonight we have this excuse. Tomorrow it would be agony.

‘To Ben,' he cries, as the champagne foams into the tall flutes.

‘To Ben,' they all cry, raising their glasses.

I'm not sure I can bear it, thinks Evie. That look on Charlie's face is breaking my heart. And Jemima is being so amazing, so brave, and she looks so beautiful in her pretty long skirt and with her lovely fair hair all over the place. It's odd, really, that they seem like my children, these three. Dear Ben looking so pleased and proud but trying to disguise it. He's not used to being the centre of attention and he's really very touched that we're all so happy for him. And Charlie, pulling his leg and pretending his own heart isn't breaking, and my dear old Claude trying to make it special, buying the champagne and celebrating because it's the last night, really, and we all know it.

‘To Ben,' she cries. ‘Well done. Now you won't be able to leave us. What a lovely thought.' And she raises her glass to him.

Charlie grins at Benj and claps him on the shoulder, and all the while he wants to seize Jemima and tell her he loves her and say that they all belong here together: he and Benj and Jemima and Claude. And how, he wonders, can I ever go away and leave them? How is it to be done? And how can I ever behave naturally again with Ange and the girls and go back to my old life as if nothing has happened? And how am I going to get through this lovely supper that old Benj has planned for us. The last supper. Oh Christ …

‘Congratulations, Benj,' says Charlie. ‘Fantastic. Go on, my son!'

They're like my family, thinks Jemima. It's so weird. Like I've known them for ever, and I love them and I never want it to end. And this, really, is the end. Never mind the Red Arrows and the firework display and the rest of it. Regatta is ending here, tonight, in this magical garden with the smell of the lavender and the fizz of champagne, and yes, there should be music to go with this but whatever could live up to it? And I think I'm going to cry at any minute.

‘To Benj,' she cries, ‘and to the very best, wonderful, fantastic brochure we've ever seen. Hurrah!'

And any moment, thinks Benj, this is going to spiral completely out of control and I've got to get them all back on track. I love them, and it's wonderful, and agonizing. I wish old Charlie wasn't going back but however would it work out if he stayed? And if we drink much more without eating something then we'll all go right over the top and get maudlin and that would be utterly disastrous. Bless old Claude for thinking of champagne, and Evie for wanting me to stay. God, I am so lucky. But now I must do something. Take Jemima down to help me with the supper, while Charlie organizes the wine? Separate them just for a while and keep them busy? It just needs something to turn it around, but what? Something silly to take their minds off things. I know …

‘Thanks,' he says. ‘I shall do my best to make you proud of me. And now it's nearly suppertime. But first …' he holds up his glass, strikes a pose, and calls out: ‘
An Officer and a Gentleman
.'

There is a complete and surprised silence and then Jemima starts singing ‘Up Where We Belong' in her clear voice and they all join in – Charlie's light tenor, Claude's croaky old bass, Evie's off-tune contralto – and the garden is full of music and laughter.

IT'S STILL WARM
enough, up on the top terrace, to sit in the October sunshine with a mug of tea before the sun slips away behind the hill. Here in the garden there is a special kind of peace; of quiet waiting. Not the expectant longing for spring, waiting for life to burst from the frozen, sealed-in earth, but the contented satisfaction of something completed and the prospect of a well-earned rest. Pink and white cosmos and Japanese anemones, fragile and elegant, are still in flower in the border beneath the crab-apple tree, but most of its fruit has been picked and transformed into rosy jelly though a few scarlet globes remain on the highest branches, half hidden amongst the ivy that trails over the wall.

In between sips of her tea, Evie clips and prunes, sweeps up the crimson-tipped leaves of the acer japonicum. Tommy planted the acer, cherished it and watched over its growth, and, on an impulse, she picks up one of the leaves, lays it on the table and gently smooths it out: so delicate and miraculous. Carefully she puts it into her jacket pocket and then drinks some more tea, sitting down and breathing in the earthy scents of the garden: rich, ripe scents of the passing season. She thinks about Tommy, longing for him to come striding up through the garden, calling out to her, and she is stricken with the pain of loneliness.

Just recently, when she's come across to have supper with Ben, she's stayed overnight, sleeping in the bedroom she shared with Tommy; keeping a spare set of clothes and washing things just for those occasions. She looks forward to these evenings: Ben is a good and innovative cook, and sometimes Jemima joins them.