The Healing Stream (22 page)

Without realizing it she had started to speak her thoughts aloud, but the sudden shrill bell of the front door cut her short. Oh, damn! Who the hell could that be? Before she reached the door her silent question was answered. ‘Naomi, it’s me,’ Julian called. ‘Tell me to go away if it’s too late for you.’

Her spirits lifted before she even opened the door.

‘I think a visitor was just what I needed. I’m in the kitchen.’ She led the way. ‘I’ve been getting the accounts ready for the auditor.’

‘I say!’ He sniffed as they reached the doorway of the room where she had got through the evening sustained only by cigarettes. ‘You’ve had a rough evening if my nose isn’t mistaken.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been going over all the figures. They make for depressing reading.’

‘But you’ve done it; it’s a hurdle behind you.’ How utterly worn out she looked, he thought. His instinct was to reach his hand out to her, to lay it on her shoulder and force some of his own strength and energy into her. But he didn’t. Instead he put a bottle of wine on the table. ‘You’ve had a difficult evening and so, my dear, have I. So let us cheer ourselves up with the fruit of the vine. Glasses?’

‘In the dining room, in the sideboard cupboard. I’ll get—’ But as she turned towards the door he put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘You sit down, I’ll be waiter.’

‘We could go in the sitting room.’

‘Let’s stay here.’ He didn’t enlarge on why he preferred that they should stay where she had spent the evening, but the truth was that to go into the more comfortable sitting room would distance him from her ordinary day-to-day life. ‘Corkscrew?’

‘Right-hand drawer of the dresser. Are you hungry? There’s a new crusty loaf; we could have some bread and cheese?’ she offered.

So, five minutes later, they were facing each other across the table, each with a doorstep of bread thickly spread with butter Deirdre had churned, a slab of cheese and a glass of red wine.

‘I happened across Geoff Huntley in the village. He said he’d been to see you again.’

Immediately she was suspicious. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘No.’ But she wasn’t satisfied. She knew there was something on his mind and was on her guard. ‘No. I’m here because I wanted your company. These days I feel there is no purpose in my life. I came down to Devon thinking it would be a new start for Deirdre and for me. Like a fool I believed that in different surroundings I would be content with days of golf, fishing, useless time-wasters. Everyone needs a purpose – ambition, a shared life, a professional goal whether in art or industry. Had it not been for Deirdre’s accident I should have worked all my days. And when it comes to the point I’m no company for the child.’

‘She’s not a child; she’s older than Tessa was when she fell in love with Giles.’

‘How can she become an adult when she has no life, no experience, no company? I’ve failed her and ended up with . . . with . . .’

She reached across the table and took his well-cared-for hand in her work-hardened one.

‘How can you say you’ve failed her? She idolizes you. But, Julian, we must do better for her than letting her come here day after day to work all alone in the dairy. She ought to meet people her own age.’

‘What would they want with a girl who couldn’t join in their sort of fun? But, Naomi, my dear friend, you realize what you said? “We” must do better for her.’ His fingers gripped hers. ‘This evening I felt lower than I’ve ever known. I thought of you, of your courage, your never-changing love for Richard and I . . . I turned to you knowing we have a real and meaningful friendship. We have, haven’t we?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t know how I’d have got through without you.’

‘You would have got through. I’ve been no practical help at all.’

‘You’ve been there for me in my bad moments just as much as in my good ones. So, if you felt low this evening I’m glad you came here.’ She took a cigarette then pushed the packet across the table to him.

‘I had a letter from Tessa this morning,’ she said. ‘Apparently Giles is off to London again. Is it really necessary? You read of plenty of writers who live abroad; do they spend their lives hopping back to England?’

‘I suspect that for Giles it
is
necessary. Where they live is pretty isolated and Giles likes to hear the heartbeat of life.’

‘She deserves better.’

‘My guess is that in her sight there could be no better. He is pretty perfect just the way he is. Perhaps later on when Millie is bigger she’ll travel with him. You mustn’t worry about them. I don’t doubt his feelings for her, you know. Over the years he’s had plenty of women ready to dance to his tune, but with Tessa he is quite different.’

‘But what about
her
? She is an intelligent girl, and a hard worker, too. She’s not some dolly bird to be picked up and put down at his convenience.’

His thoughts moved to something Deirdre had suggested: that it was time they took a holiday and couldn’t they drive down and see Tessa and Giles – and Millie who was fifteen months old and taking her first steps without their ever having seen her. He had agreed to the idea and only in his secret imagination did he see Naomi joining them. But it seemed she was no nearer giving up the battle of Chagleigh.

As Giles’ car drove down the drive and disappeared from view, Tessa felt more desolate than she was prepared to show. Not that there was anyone to see, for Maria was much too engrossed mopping the already clean marble floor of the huge sitting room to waste time looking out of the window. As she worked she sang, as was her habit. Sometimes Tessa wondered whether she was even aware that she did it, yet it wasn’t a soft hum of contentment; rather she belted forth as if she were in grand opera – although the songs she sang were traditionally Spanish, melodies she had been brought up with and passed on to her children.

Millie was surrounded by toys in her playpen on the patch of coarse grass. When Giles had picked her up and planted a perfunctory kiss on her forehead, she had struggled to get back to things of more importance. Seeing Tessa coming towards her she beamed with delight and obligingly offered her her favourite rubber doll, a present from Deirdre who always kept her eyes open for small things which might please the child whom she had never seen.

‘Let’s take her down to see Timus,’ Tessa said, swooping the little girl into her arms, complete with doll. ‘See, I’ve got the shawl, so up we go.’ She already had a large, brightly coloured shawl around her shoulders and, now, with one deft and experienced movement, she lifted Millie over her head on to her back, where she held her with one hand while with the other she managed to wrap the shawl round them both, gypsy fashion. Then with the child firmly anchored to her back, she tightened the material and tied it securely. ‘Off we go.’ And, knowing it was a game Millie enjoyed, she put a skip in her step and was rewarded by the baby’s chuckles.

As she started down the sloping drive she looked at the almond grove and saw that Timus was there, just as she had hoped.

‘I see that Giles has driven away.’ He greeted her. ‘How long will he not be here?’

‘Who can say, Timus,’ she answered, forcing a light note.

But Timus was a sensitive soul and recognized that was the way she wanted to play it. So, with a wide smile of welcome, he passed her a rake.

‘Then I hope I may be looking forward to two helpers?’

‘There’s nothing I’d like better, but I can’t vouch for Millie. She soon gets bored when she’s held so tight to my back. And the ground here is too rough to let her free.’

But Timus had the perfect solution. Since the advent of Tessa at the finca, and especially during Giles’ periods away, he had become a frequent visitor to the house. Never was he an invited guest, but he often carried Millie home and stayed a few minutes playing with her or chatting to Tessa or Maria, so he knew exactly how to fold the playpen to carry it down to the almond grove. Waiting for him Tessa looked around her, letting the atmosphere of the place she had come to love come between her and the image of Giles driving mile after mile northward as he moved from the world they shared to one that was alien to her.

‘I come with her things.’ Timus’ voice broke her reverie. ‘One rug so that the ground does not hurt her, one pen, one hat and two toys. Maria stopped her song to choose what I bring.’ He spoke in imperfect English, with the native good humour of his race.

‘Now we’re all set. Thanks, Timus.’ Tessa answered in Spanish, although there were times when her vocabulary let her down. So, between the two of them, a natural bond had developed, made all the stronger by the challenge of learning. ‘Giles never talks about this bit of land. You said he had refused to sell it so I suppose he just enjoys knowing it is
his.
Timus, is it very important to you and your family that you harvest it?’ As she talked she held Millie while he set up the pen in the shade of a tree, then she plonked her down on her bottom and gave her her drum and the rubber doll for company.

‘For the amount of nuts, no. It is but a small plot. But it is neighbour of our ground and we would not like to see it neglected.’

‘Is there a written agreement, what in England we call a lease?’ She gave up the struggle and reverted to her natural tongue.

‘It was a friend-to-friend arrangement. My father and Giles did a shake of their hands.’

For a few seconds Tessa looked around her, seeing into the future. Then she shared her idea with Timus. As they talked, so their enthusiasm grew. Never before, within a couple of hours of Giles leaving her, had she been filled with such excitement.

That was the first time Giles made the journey by road; usually she had driven him to the railway station. But the journey was tedious, with two changes of train before he reached the ferry. Even more than Tessa had realized, he had craved the sense of freedom. It was more than a week before he crossed the channel, for he had no reason to hurry and preferred to deviate from the main roads, engage in conversation with rural folk and spend two nights in Paris before driving on to Calais and thence to Dover. Once he was back in his London apartment he telephoned Tessa, prepared to hear how worried she had been by his long silence and how empty the place was without him.

‘Oh, Giles,’ she greeted him as soon as she recognized his voice, ‘I’ve been hoping you’d phone. I’m so excited. There’s such a lot to tell you. That silly operator won’t keep interrupting, will he?’

What could make her sound like that? Oh, God, no! Surely she wasn’t pregnant again. Tessa’s excited voice soon banished his fear. ‘That five-acre plot the Rodriguez boys use – I thought you had leased it to them. But Timus said it was just an agreement that they could look after the trees and add the almonds to their own.’

‘Are you telling me they want to give up? Damn. They were only interested because it adjoined their boundary. What a—’

‘Stop talking and listen. Giles, I want to use it. Timus says he’ll help me and he’s already taught me an awful lot about looking after the trees.’

‘What the devil would you want with five acres of almonds?’

‘I know no one could make a living on a plot that size.’ Then with a chuckle that seemed to bring her right into the room with him, ‘But I’m not looking to earn my living – I’m a kept woman, remember?’

‘When you talk like that, my sweet Tessa, I wish I were there with you. What the hell am I doing in this noisy, smoky city? Right this minute I could make you forget almond trees . . . make you forget everything . . .’

She was sitting at his desk, something she often did when he was away, as if that would hold him closer. Now she closed her eyes as she heard his words. ‘Giles,’ she whispered, ‘I wish that’s how it could be – right this minute like you said.’ Then, pulling herself back on track, ‘But listen, Giles, I was telling you about the trees and what I want to do. Timus said they will be quite happy not to use this year’s crop so what I mean to do is write to the really posh shops in London. When we harvest them—’

‘We?’

‘Timus and me, that’s the “we”. Giles, my plan is that when we harvest them I shall pack them in red netting bags with, say, three quarters of a pound of nuts in each and with a label attached saying they were grown and packed by me at Finca el Almendros and then the address. It makes them so much more personal for people than just going to a shop and buying any old nuts, not knowing where they’ve come from or anything about them. I could have a picture of the finca on the label. What do you think?’

‘If that’s what you want to do, of course you can. You’re my wife, so it’s your land as much as mine.’

‘But I wouldn’t dream of doing it – well, that’s a lie, I certainly
would
dream of doing it, but I wouldn’t actually
do
it if you didn’t agree.’

‘I give you permission to do anything you like. That label, though – it might be a selling point with those “posh shops” you say you want to write to, if you said the nuts were grown and packed at Finca el Almendros, the Spanish home of Giles Lampton, by his wife Tessa. A name people know carries weight.’ He changed the subject. ‘Tessa, I shall be in London for perhaps a couple of weeks and then I thought I’d drive down to have a night or so with Julian. I’ll look in at the farm, too.’

It was only after she’d put the phone down that she realized that until today on hearing that he was going to see Naomi her first thought would have been that she wished she were to be there too. But on that early summer evening her head was too full of plans. Usually, when Giles was away, she ended her days hating the emptiness of his side of the bed, dreaming of when he was home again and he would draw her towards him; that night her mind was in a whirl, it flitted from red netting bags and whether she could buy them or, if not, where she could get them made, to the wording on the labels, to how many bags could be filled from each tree – and finally to what her replies would be from her introductory letters.

Alone on the stile which divided Lower Meadow from the top field where the sheep seemed to watch her with curiosity, Naomi lit another cigarette (her third since she’d been sitting there). She ought to have been aware of how many she’d had, for she and Richard had always been careful never to throw their stubs down. Each time she came to the end, she lit a new one from the burning tip of the old, carefully crushed the old stub against the wood of the stile then, satisfied it was out, put it into the empty packet she kept in her pocket for the purpose.