The Four of Us (40 page)

All in all, though Primmie had feared that she would feel isolated and lonely at Ruthven, she hadn't felt either. Which was perhaps just as well, for despite issuing invitations to Joanne, Millie and Josh that they come and stay with her for a few days, or even for a couple of weeks, none of them had taken up her invitation.

As she went upstairs to check on the state of readiness of her guest bedrooms, she philosophically shrugged the disappointment away. Her children would come down and visit her in their own good time and, until they did so, she had lots and lots to occupy her – her imminent guests, for one thing.

For a week she would be baking and cooking for five growing children, plus their carer. She was going to need to be organized where her grocery shopping was concerned, and she was going to have to think about entertaining them. Matt was no doubt right about the ways they would entertain themselves out of doors, but what if it rained? She would need to have plenty of jigsaw puzzles and games such as draughts, Monopoly, Cluedo, dominoes and Scrabble. Buying them wouldn't be an extravagant expense, for they would be useful to have in for her future bed and breakfast guests.

After reassuring herself that, where the rooms were concerned, all she had to do was air the beds, she went into her bedroom for her jacket and her handbag, intending to go into Calleloe to see what board games were on offer. Having children around her again, even if only for a fortnight, was going to be fun.

She heard the car coming down the rutted track towards Ruthven long before she saw it. Wondering who it could be, she stood by the window, waiting for the car to come into view.

When it did so, her eyes widened. Instead of being the kind of serviceable vehicle most people living in and around Calleloe drove – either a small car that was easy to park in Calleloe's steep, narrow streets or a Range Rover that took rough ground in its stride – the car was an open-topped, metallic-silver Ferrari. Despite the private road signpost, tourists seeking a secluded spot to picnic in occasionally ventured down the track to the cove. This obviously was one such and, by the look of the car, the tourist in question was extremely rich.

Five minutes later, as she drove the Corsa down towards the gates, it was to find the Ferrari parked smack on the other side of them. The driver – a woman – was still in the car, which was a relief. If she hadn't been. if she'd gone for a walk, then there was no telling how long she, Primmie, would have been trapped this side of the gates.

Musing on the oddity of the Ferrari driver's choice of parking space when there was the entire headland she could have parked on, she continued driving towards the gates, her mind half on what she was doing and half on the necessity of ordering foodstuff for Maybelline for the winter.

At her approach, instead of turning on the Ferrari's engine and driving away in order to give access to the lane, the driver opened her door and stepped out of the car.

She was tall, slim and spectacularly well groomed. Glossy black hair was coiled into a sleek chignon. Her jacket and its matching knee-skimming slit skirt were ice-white and French couture elegant. Primmie felt her mouth tugging into a smile of amusement. Whoever she was, she was hardly a typical tourist. Perhaps her interest was the church not the coastline. She was just about to roll her window down and ask if she could help in any way when the woman rounded the bonnet of the Ferrari and she saw her full on for the first time.

Though the Corsa was only crawling along, she slammed her foot on the brake with all the urgency of an emergency stop at speed. It was thirty years at least since she had last seen Geraldine, but there was no mistaking that beautiful, classically sculpted bone structure.

She scrabbled for the door handle, flinging the door open, half falling out of the car in her haste.

‘Geraldine!' she shouted, regaining her balance, beginning to run.
‘Geraldine!'

Geraldine came to a halt, flashing her the same dazzling smile with which she had greeted her on their first day at Bickley High.

‘Oh my God!' Primmie felt as if her heart was about to stop beating. ‘It
is
you! What are you doing here? How did you find me?'

As she was tumbling the words out, she was pulling the gate wide.

‘Primmie!' Geraldine's black-lashed, violet-dark eyes were bright with tears. ‘Dearest darling Primmie!'

Seconds later, the gate no longer between them, they were hugging as if their lives depended on it.

‘It's been so long!' Primmie's voice cracked and broke. ‘Why didn't you keep in touch, Geraldine? You haven't changed. You haven't changed one little bit. I would have known you anywhere!'

Even as she gasped the words, still hugging and being hugged, she knew they weren't a hundred per cent true. Geraldine
had
changed. She'd always been as slender as a reed, but now there was a certain fragility to her slenderness and her wonderful cheekbones were a tad too pronounced and hollowed.

‘It's been thirty-one years, three months,' Geraldine said, at last pulling away so that she could take a proper look at her. ‘And
you
have changed, Primmie! You look every inch a countrywoman. Do you always wear Wellingtons when you go out in your car, and what are those clinging to your skirt? Feathers?'

Primmie grinned. ‘Yes, they'll be from the hens. Oh, Geraldine, it's so good to see you! You can't know how often I've wished and wished you would just turn up out of the blue. I always imagined that if you did, though, it would be in Rotherhithe. How did you find me? You
did
find me, didn't you? This isn't just the most amazing piece of luck, is it?'

‘No, of course it isn't just luck.' Geraldine tucked her arm in hers. ‘Your message on the Friends Reunited website said you were living on the outskirts of Calleloe, on the Lizard. I didn't need to be Brain of Britain to find you. I simply made enquiries at the post office in Calleloe.'

Primmie hugged her arm tightly and, ignoring both cars, began walking her up the track towards the house. ‘Now you're here, you're going to stay, Geraldine, aren't you? I've got masses of room. You
have
to stay. There's so much to catch up on. So much I want to know. Are you still living in Paris? I saw your photograph in a newspaper gossip column a few months ago and you were with a very handsome Frenchman. Are you married?'

With a smile of amusement, Geraldine held up a left hand bereft of rings.

Primmie giggled. ‘Well, then. Have you
been
married? What have you been doing for this last thirty years?' The giggles died. She stopped walking, turning to face her. ‘And why didn't you keep in touch, Geraldine?' she asked, a world of bewilderment in her voice. ‘Neither Artemis nor I ever understood it.'

‘Aah, that needs a little explaining, Primmie.' Geraldine's eyes darkened fractionally and for the first time Primmie noticed that there were shadows of tiredness beneath them. ‘Perhaps later, over a bottle of wine or a couple of strong scotches?‘

Primmie nodded, feeling a stab of concern. Was Geraldine not very well? And what had happened in Paris, all those years ago, that she was still reluctant to talk about to her?

Geraldine smiled across at her, the fleeting darkness in her eyes no longer discernible. ‘What made you move from London to Cornwall, Primmie? And this isn't a smallholding. It's a farm!'

They were nearly at the house now and the meadow, where Maybelline was grazing and the hens were roaming around free, was on their left-hand side, the paddock on their right.

‘Hardly.' Primmie couldn't keep a giggle of happiness out of her voice. ‘It is wonderful, though, isn't it? I was left it by an aunt – not outright, but to live in and enjoy for my lifetime. It once supported quite a lot of animals, but I only have a cow and hens – and the hens were here when I came.'

‘And the cow?' Geraldine asked, not knowing when she'd last felt such fun fizzing in her throat.

‘I bought Maybelline a short time ago. She's very beautiful. Very tame and gentle. When I've milked her she loves me putting my arms round her neck and stroking her behind the ears.'

‘
You
milk her?' Geraldine rolled her eyes to heaven and Primmie was immediately transported back in time, remembering how she'd had to stifle her giggles when, on that first day at Bickley High, Geraldine's mother had asked her to look after Geraldine and, behind her mother's back, Geraldine had rolled her eyes to show just what she thought of such a needless suggestion.

‘I'll have you know that I'm getting very accomplished at milking,' she said with mock severity. ‘A friend, Matt, taught me how. He isn't a farmer – he was a fisherman until he retired, a year or so ago – but he can turn his hand to anything.'

Geraldine quirked an eyebrow. ‘And is he single and good looking?'

Primmie had the grace to blush. ‘As a matter of fact, he is. But I don't think he's looking for a wife. He's never been married and so I don't imagine he'll start thinking about it now.' They'd reached the house and she came to a halt. ‘Well, here we are. This is Ruthven.' Pride shone on her face and filled her voice. ‘What do you think of it, Geraldine? Isn't it marvellous?'

Geraldine saw an unremarkable-looking, large, slate-roofed stone house. It stood four-square and sturdy, its only redeeming feature its green French-looking window shutters.

‘It's wonderful,' she said, well aware of just how wonderful it would seem to someone who had never lived in anything other than a London council house. Her mouth tightened fractionally as she remembered that Primmie had, once upon a time, lived somewhere very different. When they'd been at Bickley High, she had lived, Monday to Friday, at Kiki's.

Primmie hadn't yet asked if she'd renewed any contact with Kiki, but she would, and when she did she would have to tell her that, where Kiki was concerned, her feelings hadn't changed. Even at this distance of time, she had no intention of seeing or speaking to Kiki, ever again.

‘This is the sitting room,' Primmie was saying, continuing with her guided tour of the downstairs rooms. ‘It looked very dowdy when I arrived and so I painted the walls white and recovered the sofa and chairs in yellow.'

It was a lovely large room with an open fire-place and bookshelves floor to ceiling in the recesses at either side of the chimney breast. In the nearby hearth a copper kettle was stuffed full of marigolds, their colour the exact shade of the many Penguin paperbacks on the shelves.

‘I haven't had to decorate the guest bedrooms,' Primmie said as she led the way upstairs. ‘My aunt provided holidays for children in residential care and all the bedrooms – except the one that was her own and is now mine – are all beautifully decorated. These two rooms,' she indicated the two rooms on the left-hand side of a spacious landing, ‘both look out over the headland.'

‘And are you going to provide holidays for under-privileged children as well?' Geraldine asked, as Primmie led the way into the first of the two bedrooms.

‘Only unintentionally. There are five children arriving here in ten days'time, only I didn't know until a few hours ago.' She sat down on the neatly made-up single bed as Geraldine strolled across to the window to look at the magnificent view. ‘What I will be doing is becoming a bed and breakfast landlady. I've already got myself a fire safety certificate and someone from the local council has been out and has approved the amenities I'm offering. It means I'll be included in the list of B&Bs in local tourist brochures. I've left it too late to really get under way this year, but by next spring I'll be up and running.'

Geraldine remained standing at the window, looking out over the headland to the church and the enormous vista of sea and sky. The house would make a wonderful B&B. And a wonderful holiday home for children. Thinking about children prompted thoughts of Artemis.

Still looking at the stunning view, she said, ‘Are you still in touch with Artemis, Primmie? I'd love to see her again. I know about the child she lost. I saw the death notice in
The Times
. It must have been a terrible time for her. Absolutely ghastly.'

The expected response – the agreement that it had been an utter nightmare for Artemis – didn't come. There was no response at all. Only a ringing silence.

Wondering if perhaps Primmie hadn't heard her, she turned her head and looked towards her.

Primmie was still seated on the bed, but this time her face wasn't glowing with happiness at their reunion and her eyes weren't shining with the pride she felt in her home. She looked as if she were on the edge of some terrible abyss, as if Artemis's tragedy hadn't occurred twenty-five years ago, but was a tragedy that had occurred only recently; a tragedy she was still struggling to come to terms with.

‘I'm sorry, Primmie,' she said, shocked at the depth of Primmie's reaction to what she had said. ‘I didn't mean to distress you. I should have realized you would have known the child, that you wouldn't just feel bad about what happened on Artemis ‘s behalf, but that you would have grief of your own. She would have been like a niece to you, wouldn't she? It was a little girl, wasn't it? And I seem to remember she had an unusual name. A name that didn't seem at all like the kind of name I would have imagined Artemis choosing.'

‘Artemis didn't choose the name.' Primmie's hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. ‘I chose the name.'

Geraldine frowned, not understanding, only the sensitive subject preventing her from asking if Artemis had been unable to think of a name for herself.

‘And Destiny wasn't like a niece to me, Geraldine.' Primmie's eyes held hers, harrowed. ‘She was my daughter. She was my baby and, because I wasn't married when I had her, because I couldn't give her all the things I wanted her to have, Artemis and Rupert adopted her.'