Summer on the River (36 page)

‘Yes, of course I do,' he reassures her, though he feels utterly distracted. ‘I'll see you later,' and they get up together and go out into the cold, damp air. He kisses her quickly and heads down to the river, his whole mind concentrated on Laura, planning to come home with Billy for Christmas.

Claude is out in the town. He can't remember when he's enjoyed himself so much. Of course it's wonderful to be with his family at Christmas but he's always aware of his role of father and grandfather: that he mustn't take decisions without a great deal of consultation and that he is treated almost like a privileged, elderly guest.

In the Merchant's House there are no such boundaries. It is assumed that he will pull his weight, be constructive, take responsibility.

‘I'll organize the tree,' he says – but then wonders if that is Ben's prerogative. He doesn't quite know what the form is; but then none of them does. Christmas has never been quite like this in the Merchant's House.

‘Great idea,' says Ben. ‘Where should it go? In the drawing-room?'

‘Yes,' says Evie. ‘TDF said there was always a tree in the drawing-room when he was growing up with the aunts so we kept up the tradition.'

‘But it would be nice, too,' suggests Claude, ‘if we had one in the breakfast room. In the window, so that people walking past can see it. Children will love it.'

This is greeted with such enthusiasm that he is gratified and takes the responsibility of the purchase of the trees upon himself. Now, as he wanders in Foss Street, studying the seasonal window displays, he thinks about what to buy Evie for Christmas. Very small presents, nothing extravagant, she says. It's a good rule but he would like to repay her for her generosity. Of course he's been contributing with food and wine and treats, but he still feels the need to mark this wonderful time he's spent in Dartmouth.

He decides that he might make it a present quite separate from Christmas; something just between the two of them. He peers into the Rowcroft Gallery: a little watercolour of some aspect of the town might be a good idea. Someone touches his shoulder and he turns to see Jemima.

‘Choosing presents?' she asks, smiling at him.

He pretends to groan. ‘Praying for inspiration.'

‘I've just been having coffee with Benj,' she says. ‘It seems as if Laura might be home for Christmas. That'll be fun, won't it? I'm on my way back to work. I must dash.'

She hurries away, turns into the office, and Claude continues to stand quite still, thinking about Laura and how she was when they saw her in the autumn. He's very fond of Laura: of her generation she's the one who is most like TDF and Charlie and Ben. She has inherited their brown eyes and dark hair, and their laid-back confidence. She went out on the scooter with him for a little jaunt to Stokeley, and on another day they all went on the river-boat to Totnes. She has that same grace that TDF had: the ability to share their own special qualities with those around them so that, briefly, those in their company feel blessed.

Laura, coming home for Christmas: this is wonderful news. He wonders if Evie knows yet. Perhaps Ben is telling her right now. Claude abandons the idea of buying a present and sets off along Foss Street, back to the Merchant's House.

‘How exciting,' Evie is saying to Ben.

They stand together in the breakfast room whilst Ben tells her how Laura sounded, how taken aback he was, apologizing for agreeing that Laura and Billy can stay for Christmas without checking with her first.

‘It'll be terrific fun,' she tells him. ‘Stop worrying, Ben. We can fit them in one way or another.'

She is touched by his anxiety, his excitement, and she is filled with delight at the prospect of Laura's happiness. It's always wonderful to see two young people in love, planning a future together.

‘It'll be a squash,' he says anxiously. ‘Unless … I wonder if they're … well, you know?'

‘Sharing a room?' She smiles at his discomfited expression. ‘You'll have to ask.'

He looks so horrified that she bursts out laughing. ‘You could simply offer them the boathouse, then they can sort it out for themselves.'

His relief is so palpable that she laughs even more.

‘That's a good idea,' he says. ‘If you're sure. Shall I do that?'

‘Why not? They'll have more freedom. More space for Billy whilst he gets acquainted with us. And we can all get together here for meals and so on. Let's not panic about the details just yet. Send her a text or an email suggesting it, so that she and Billy can talk about it.'

‘I'll do that,' he says. ‘That's great, Evie. Thanks. It's good, isn't it?'

‘Very good,' she says reassuringly, alert to the uncertainty in his voice. ‘Laura's a sensible girl. She won't be bounced into anything she doesn't want to do.'

‘No,' he says. He heaves a deep breath of relief. ‘No, she won't. Though I don't know what Kirsty is going to say. Laura's very young to be engaged.'

‘That's between Kirsty and Laura,' Evie says firmly. ‘And Laura and Billy are no younger than you and Kirsty were. Stop worrying and just look forward to having your lovely daughter and her Billy home for Christmas. Ah. Here's Claude. Now you can tell him all about it while I organize the lunch. It's a bit too early for a drink to celebrate. We'll do that later.'

JASON MANAGES TO
find a space for the car on the Embankment, hitches his rucksack on to his shoulder and wanders out into the town. He hadn't expected Dartmouth to be so busy. He walks slowly, keeping his eyes open, looking out for Evelyn Drake or the old guy. He scarcely notices the lights and the decorations, he's just looking for her, hoping to take her unawares.

He walks around the streets, past the lighted windows, past the Royal Castle – but then he hesitates. One little drink won't hurt; it'll steady him, keep him calm. And she might be in there with the old guy having a late lunch. He goes in, takes a quick look round, remembering when he first saw her sitting by the window, but she's not there.

He goes to the bar and orders a small Scotch; just a single shot. Oh, it's good. Straight down in one go; there's nothing like it. He'll save the second for afterwards as a reward. As he walks out of the Castle, away from the Boat Float, he reminds himself of Mikey's description of the house and the address, and a few minutes later he's staring down, over the wall, at the boathouse.

Just for a moment he's distracted by the charm of the little cottages and the converted boathouses that cluster beside the river; the irregular roofscapes and the ancient walls. Then he climbs down the steep stone steps, crosses the paved pathway between the boathouse and its neighbour, and rings the bell.

There is no answer. He stands back, stares around him, at the blank windows of the neighbouring house, at the flowerpots standing along the wall, still containing the last of the summer blooms, decaying now in black, damp earth. The place is deserted. He rings the bell again, bangs on the door: still nothing. He feels his old enemies crowding in: panic, rage, despair – and he hears Helena whispering in his ear.

‘Breathe, Jay-bird. Keep calm now.'

He takes a deep breath and thinks more clearly: he will go for a walk around and come back. He climbs the steps, pauses to catch his breath at the top, leaning for a moment on the wall. A tall dark man comes out of the elegant house opposite and strides away down the hill and Jason follows him more slowly.

It's a gloomy afternoon and already the wintry twilight is engulfing the town. The Christmas lights sparkle more brightly and once again he seeks comfort in the bar of the Royal Castle. It's warm here, with the log fire burning, and he sits quietly allowing the drink to comfort him. He's calm again, now; no stress. He'll go back soon and she'll be there and he'll reason with her and she'll see his point of view. He ought to get on with it, though. He doesn't want to be driving home in the pitch-dark.

He finishes his third whisky and with a huge effort he gets up again, hauls on his coat, picks up his rucksack and goes out into the chilly afternoon. Up the hill, he trudges – God, he feels tired, now – climbs down those steep, dangerous steps on trembling legs, and crosses to the front door.

Jason rings the bell, waits, hammers on the door. He stands staring at the house, willing her to answer him. There are no lights, no movement, and he wonders if she is hiding in there, looking out at him; watching him, mocking him.

‘Open the bloody door,' he screams. ‘Open it,' and he aims a kick at the solid, unyielding wood.

Still no answer, and suddenly he is washed with futility and despair. He begins to weep like a child, sobbing uncontrollably, lashing out, punching the air in his fury. Turning, he sees the earthenware pots standing against the wall, and he bends to pick one up. Its weight catches him off balance and as he swings the pot at the blank window he staggers so that it smashes against the wall instead and he is covered with dank wet earth. Beside himself with frustration he seizes another one but his feet slip on the mud and he lands on his knees, the pot breaking beneath him, a sharp earthen shard cutting into his face. The pain seems to sear his cheek, blaze in his head and explode into a violent ball of rage. He gets to his feet, trampling among the earth and the broken clay, so determined now to smash all the pots against the windows that he doesn't hear the voices or see the people looking over the wall and hurrying down the stone steps.

He is still screaming with the injustice of it all when his wrists are fastened behind him and he's carried away up the steps and put into the police car.

Ben dumps the shopping bag on the breakfast-room table and goes upstairs to the drawing-room. Evie is standing at the window.

‘What's going on over the road?' he asks. ‘Seems to be quite a lot of coming and going. Is everything OK?'

She turns round, grimacing at him with an almost amused despair.

‘My neighbour has just been up to tell us that some drunk nutter has been smashing all her flowerpots. She came home to find him trampling around in the debris, having broken one of the boathouse windows in the process. The police have taken him off and Claude's down there helping to clear up and waiting for the glazier.'

‘Bloody hell,' says Ben, going to the window to peer down. ‘You didn't hear anything?'

Evie shakes her head. ‘It's a long way down, and with all the windows shut and the radio on we didn't hear a thing. You can't see from here, either. You have to go and peer right over the wall. I went down with Claude and it's the most terrible mess. Lucky there wasn't more damage.'

‘So who was it?'

Evie comes back into the room and sits down on the sofa. ‘No idea. Some poor deranged soul with a grudge against flowerpots? Or perhaps it's a personal grudge against the Carters? It's lucky that they were out or he might have injured them.'

‘You might have been injured, too, if he broke a window,' Ben points out. ‘It's a good thing you were up here out of harm's way. Shall I go down and see if Claude needs a hand?'

‘That would be kind,' she said. ‘I came back to find someone who could make the window secure.'

‘I'm off in a minute to have supper with Jemima,' he says, ‘but I'll just check if Claude wants any help first.'

Evie watches him go. They've all had lunch, talked about Laura and Billy coming home for Christmas and Laura's engagement to this young man whom none of them has met. She senses the confusion that is going on in Ben's head and she feels a huge sympathy for him. She understands the muddle he is in about Jemima, guesses why the affair has started, but has grave doubts that it will survive. To begin with, Jemima is in love with Charlie, no matter how she might try to project that love on to Ben. And Ben is not ready for a relationship, he doesn't want any kind of commitment, but nor is he able to handle an affair with the same light-heartedness that Jemima will bring to it.

Evie wanders back to the window and stares down. She sees Ben come out of the door below her, cross the road and disappear out of sight down the steps, and then she looks across the rooftops to that glimpse of her own balcony.

The trouble was, she thinks, once I met Tommy nothing was ever quite the same again. And I think that's true for Jemima and for Charlie. Ben and Jemima are giving each other a kind of comfort but there's no future in it. Even if Claude and I weren't here it would make no difference. They're trapped now by their affection for each other. It needs something to break the pattern. But what?

‘
LOVE IN THE
Afternoon
,' Jemima says later. ‘Wasn't that the name of a book? Or, in this case it should be
Love in the Early Evening
.'

Ben, propped on one arm, looks down at her. ‘And is it love?' he asks.

Immediately her smile fades; just for a moment she looks distressed, and he curses his clumsiness and rolls away from her warm, ample, generous body to sit on the edge of her bed. Nevertheless the question hangs between them.

Jemima shifts herself up on the pillows. ‘Leurve,' she says, drawling out the word, trying to make a joke of it. ‘How do you define it?'

He doesn't look at her as he hauls his shirt on and she puts a hand out and touches him lightly on the shoulder as if to reassure him.

‘What are we doing, Mimes?' he asks, still with his back to her. ‘What happens next?'

‘Well, according to my personal experience,' her voice is still jokey, ‘you tell me that you've got a wife or a girlfriend stashed away somewhere that you've discovered you can't manage without and suddenly it's “so long, and thanks for all the fish”. You tell me, Benj. What happens next?'

‘I don't know.' He stands up, pulling on the rest of his clothes. He doesn't know how to say, ‘I do love you but I'm not in love with you.'