Summer on the River (28 page)

Just for one glorious moment he wonders if this could be a replay of the regatta week: maybe she'll suggest he stays on in Dartmouth.

‘After all,' she's saying, ‘you didn't see her in the summer and I know she'd be thrilled if we stayed for a few days. The Mayhews are down at their cottage for half term. They always enjoy a get-together. Maybe that would be more fun than just staying here for the whole week.'

Charlie's heart sinks. ‘Maybe it would,' he says.

She looks more cheerful; suddenly her frown clears and she smiles at him, as if this new idea is bringing some kind of relief.

‘I suggest we do that,' she says. ‘What d'you think? I'll text Mummy and say we can drive down on Thursday after breakfast. Are you OK with that, darling?'

It's unlike Ange to use endearments and he is touched by guilt and frustration. It is crazy to want to see Jemima, to see her smiling at him: what can it possibly achieve except more heartbreak once she is gone? Ange is watching him with an odd expression: anxiety mingled with suspicion.

‘Sounds fine,' he says quickly. ‘Just fine. Phone your mum and see what she says. Shall we go and have a cup of coffee in Dukes?'

‘Yes,' she says, cheerful again now at the prospect of Polzeath – and of Dukes: he knows she likes the deli. ‘I need to dash into Boots, though, so you could go ahead and grab a table if you like.'

As he turns away, Charlie sees Jemima crossing the road. He stops quite still to stare at her, his heart jolting with a combination of joy and pain. She's with another woman and they are in animated conversation. Jemima, wearing a long corduroy skirt, leather boots and a short, smart wool jacket, is carrying a clipboard and they pause for a moment on the corner, referring to something on the board, serious now and intent on their discussion.

Charlie watches her, wondering if he can possibly stroll up and greet her; wondering what her reaction might be. Yet something prevents him: this is not quite the Jemima of regatta. This is a woman intent on her work, busy in her own life, amongst her own people and in the place she loves so much. It is inconceivable, at this moment, to imagine her in London, amongst his own set, a part of his life.

He tries to imagine how he might be able to have Jemima in his life and can only see destruction, and yet she looks so familiar, so dear, so
necessary
. If life with her would be a betrayal of everyone and everything he loves, so does the prospect of life without her seem unbearably bleak.

Jemima parts from the woman and vanishes round the corner just as Ange comes out of Boots behind him.

‘Still here?' she asks, surprised.

‘I thought I'd wait for you,' he answers, and the look she gives him – friendly, pleased – makes him feel even more desperate.

‘Come on then,' she says. ‘Let's get some coffee.'

Jemima locks up the holiday flat in Anzac Street, makes a few more notes, and then heads back to the office. As she hesitates on the corner, she sees Charlie and a woman come out of Dukes. Her heart flips over at the sight of him, she gives a tiny gasp, but before she can study Ange too closely – she guesses that it must be Ange – a man approaches, calling out to Charlie, raising a hand in greeting. Jemima recognizes him as the owner of one of the small restaurants in Foss Street.

She watches as they greet each other, the man shaking Charlie's hand and slapping him affectionately on the shoulder, leaning to kiss Ange's cheek. Ange is a pretty woman with a smooth helmet of chestnut-coloured hair; not very tall and rather solid. She laughs, gesticulates, and suddenly turns to Charlie as if to ask him a question, and there is such easy intimacy as he bends towards her that Jemima's throat suddenly constricts with tears.

This is not the Charlie of regatta, the unattached man with no responsibilities – how easy it had been, during that magical week, to imagine him like that – this is Charlie the family man, with an established circle of friends, and a life in London.

She watches them, unconsciously pressing her hand to her heart, wondering how he would react if she were to stride over and greet him. Would his face change? Would he look embarrassed, shifty? She can't bear to take the risk. Yet this must be the pattern if she were to become part of his life. It is quite impossible to imagine Charlie giving up his life in London; abandoning Ange and his children to live here in Dartmouth, or in her tiny cottage. Even the thought of it is risible. So how can she possibly envisage any kind of life with him? Yet how can she manage, either, without that tiny glow of hope that's prevented her heart from breaking each time she thinks of him?

Charlie and Ange and the man are moving away towards the Boat Float and Jemima quickly crosses into Foss Street feeling utterly miserable and almost crashing into Benj as he comes striding towards her.

‘Hey,' he says, catching her shoulders, peering down at her. ‘Where's the fire? Are you OK?'

‘Oh, Benj.' She clutches him, wanting to weep, to be silly. ‘I've just seen Charlie and Ange.' She stares up at him. ‘It was awful. They've just met a friend and they all look so … normal. What shall I do?'

He glances at his watch. ‘Have you got another appointment?'

‘Not till three o'clock. I was going to take Otto for a walk and grab something to eat on the way.'

He still holds her shoulders and now he gives her a little shake. ‘This is going to happen, Mimes. You've got to learn to deal with it.'

She is grateful for his strength and common sense.

‘I know,' she says. ‘I know that. It was just this first time, I suppose. Seeing him like that, with Ange, and not like we all were during regatta. You know?'

‘I know,' he says.

There is such compassion and affection in his face that she wants to clutch him even harder.

‘Honestly, Benj,' she says. ‘I am just a complete twit. Take no notice of me.'

‘Tell you what,' he says. ‘I've finished here for today. The car's in Mayor's Avenue car park. Let's go and have some lunch somewhere. Fetch Otto and I'll bring you both back to your car afterwards.'

She nods. ‘I'll drop this stuff off.' She hesitates, feeling foolish. ‘Sorry, I lost it. Thanks, Benj.'

He watches her go into the office, then glances back down the street lest Charlie and Ange are around. This is what he's been dreading ever since they arrived: that there would be some kind of accidental meeting, a confrontation that might give the game away. He gives a little sigh of relief that no harm has been done, but neither is there any kind of resolution.

He feels very lucky and very happy: he's coming to terms with the divorce; Laura is loving her job – and Billy; Evie has given him a lifetime's use of the house, and he's enjoying all the different types of work that are coming his way. On top of it there is Jemima: he loves her yet he is not
in
love with her. He is happy with her and there are none of the insecurities, anxieties or responsibilities that are a part of passion and desire and wanting to possess.

He suspects that she feels the same. Of course there are odd moments when a purely physical need tempts him to think that it would be good to take her to bed, but he knows that it would change the whole dynamic between them and he also suspects that a brief moment of such relief would not be worth the loss of this other precious relationship.

Poor old Charlie, he thinks. No relief for him, but no compensation either. He wonders how Charlie will continue to make his visits to Dartmouth with the temptation of Jemima always before him. Because it must remain a temptation all the time she is unattached. There will always be the small voice questioning whether he would be happier, more fulfilled, if he were to give in and take the chance.

Jemima comes out of the office with Otto on his lead, glances anxiously down the street, and then grins at him.

‘I'm ready,' she says. ‘Let's go.'

He appreciates her courage, her determination not to give in to her emotions, and he folds her arm into his and hugs it to his side.

‘Onward,' he says. ‘It's a nice warm day. We'll go and sit outside at the Maltsters.'

Instinctively he guides her away from the main thoroughfare, crossing the little square that leads to the car park. They encourage Otto on to the back seat, and then Jemima climbs in and lets out a big breath.

‘Phew,' she says, as he gets in beside her. ‘I feel safe now. Silly, isn't it? I've got to do better than this, haven't I? I've got to learn to chill when Charlie's down.'

But as he drives along the Embankment, round the Boat Float and up the hill, Ben sees that she is peering out of the car window, her whole attention focused on the possibility of catching a glimpse of Charlie, of seeing him again.

Jason side-steps the couple, a tall dark man and a blonde woman that he thinks he's seen somewhere before, clutching each other in the middle of Foss Street, and makes his way towards the Boat Float to meet Mikey. He's had the call from Bristol about his job and he's heard that, though everyone is sorry for his bereavement, no allowances will be made. It's over: finished.

His heart flutters with an irregular beat, and his stomach churns so that he feels nauseous; his knees tremble. The bank is after him about his overdraft, and the mortgage company is threatening to repossess the flat. Now he has no job and nobody to help him. Life is so bloody unfair. He wants to scream and rage – and then he sees her: Evelyn Drake, across the Boat Float, with a short elderly guy.

Instinctively he steps into the shadow of the hedge, watching her. He feels so weak, so angry, that he longs to rush round the Boat Float, grab her and fling her down into the water. At the same time he knows that she will save him. She must be made to see that it is time to make amends for betraying his mother, stealing from his father, and refusing to give him, Jason, the chance that would have made his life quite different. It's pay-back time.

He's shaking so much that he has to take the water bottle from his rucksack and have a quick gulp, and then another. Jason heaves a deep breath. That's a little better now. The drink has steadied him, calmed him down a bit. He watches Evelyn Drake and the man, who are now approaching him. He takes one last swig, thrusts the bottle back into his rucksack and steps out into their path. Their surprise makes him want to giggle; he feels very slightly unsteady but less disabled. He can hack this now.

‘Hi,' he says to her. ‘I was hoping I'd see you.'

‘Hello, Jason,' she says, very cool, very collected, but he sees just that tiniest flicker of apprehension at the back of her eyes and he experiences a visceral jab of exultation; of power.

‘You've spoken to Mikey,' he says. ‘I expect he's told you about our troubles.'

‘Yes,' she says.

She answers so calmly that he's taken by surprise. He assumed she'd ask him what troubles. After all, Mikey doesn't yet know Jason's lost his job. He doesn't know about the bank, or the mortgage company. The question was meant to wrong-foot her.

‘He told me his mother has died,' she says. ‘I am so sorry. Claude, this is Jason Dean.'

Claude says, ‘Hello,' but Jason ignores him: Claude is negligible, totally unimportant.

‘I don't mean that,' Jason says. ‘That's only a part of it. It's time we had a serious chat.'

She raises her eyebrows with that same cool surprise, and suddenly he doesn't want to giggle any more. He wants to grab her by the neck and scream at her. She must see something of his reaction in his face because she takes an involuntary step back from him, just as the old guy steps forward protectively, and at that same moment Jason hears Mikey's voice calling to him.

‘Hi, Dad. Where have you been?'

He glances round to see Mikey waving at him, then remembers he was supposed to meet him. This must wait; he can't do this with Mikey listening. Frustration grips him and panic takes possession.

‘We'll speak soon,' he says to Evelyn Drake, and he elbows the old guy aside and hurries to meet Mikey.

BACK AT THE
Merchant's House, leaving Charlie reading the newspaper in the breakfast room, Ange decides to have another little look around. The drawing-room has a much more lived-in look to it. A basket of logs stands beside the fireplace where a heap of ash bears witness to a fire. On a long low table a music system, with a pile of CDs beside it, is plugged in next to the sofa and a small pile of books are toppled together on the rug beside an armchair.

She bends to look at one of the CDs – Pergolesi's
Stabat Mater
sung by Emma Kirkby and James Bowman – and she raises her eyebrows though she doesn't quite know why she's surprised. What music does she expect Ben might enjoy?

She goes out and into the other bedroom and through to the little dressing-room: no sign of the cartoons anywhere. She resolves to speak to Evie, just to let her know that she hasn't forgotten, and wonders if there's anything more she can do to undermine Ben's sense of security. There is much more evidence this time that he is taking possession of the Merchant's House and, not only that, Ben himself seems to be more confident. The fact that he's lost his wife and his home doesn't seem to be having a negative effect on him. He is calm, even happy, and somehow unget-at-able. Her usual campaign – walking in, taking over, assuming ownership – doesn't seem to be achieving the required result. And now Evie and Claude are moving over to the Merchant's House for Christmas, meaning that when Charlie does his usual present exchange visit he will have to sleep up in the attic room.

‘So what?' he asked when she challenged him about it. ‘It's very nice up there. It's not a problem.'

She pauses outside the bedroom door, listening, then she nips quickly up to the next floor. Ben's bedroom is reasonably tidy, though he hasn't made his bed, and she opens his office door and glances round. There's the usual scatter of cameras and equipment, the laptop on the table – and then she gets a shock.