Heart's Ease

by Sarah Harrison

‘Shell-shocked.’

  But the thing was that now they knew. Whatever anyone said, whatever the world thought, whatever the future held, they had said the words that bound them together in the eyes of the law.

  ‘At last,’ he said dryly, ‘the respectability we craved!’

  ‘I never craved—’

  ‘A very lame joke.’

  ‘One thing we must do. We must tell my family.’

  ‘Indeed we must,’ he agreed. ‘Your parents in particular.’

  He could not for the life of him imagine this meeting, or the exchange that would take place. For him and for Charity, getting married was an entirely personal choice, a statement of intent. It removed uncertainty and, for him, ensured the future for the wife who would probably live the entire second half of her natural term without him. He had rewritten his will. But her parents were going to have to accept that she had tied herself to a man at least ten years older than them, without warning or discussion. Since leaving the army, Mac had spent his entire adult life running a school which espoused, and celebrated, liberal, democratic values. But the thought of telling the Blyths made him sweat tacks. The phrase ‘dirty old man’ lurked threateningly in the back of his mind – is that what they would think?

  Knowing her parents as she did, Charity was less anxious. One thing was certain, there would be no scene. Their natural openness and good manners would prevail. Afterwards, they’d have to process it, and after that was when her mother would want to talk. She would make it plain that she was ‘on her side’, always, and that’s what would make it difficult – that decisive moment of separation, of gently but non-negotiably aligning herself with Mac. That, Charity told herself, would take some handling.

  ‘Shall we go down tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘While we can?’ They had both taken a couple of days off before the start of term. This was generally a busy time for Mac, preparing for the start of the academic year and the new intake, but under these special circumstances he had left the maths master to deputise for forty-eight hours. All these people, he reminded himself, would have to be informed if he and Charity were to conduct any sort of normal life at the school, however intermittent. He was not a draconian head – part of Brushwood’s ethos was that he should lead by example – but a marked churning in his stomach reminded him that this was how pupils must feel when asked to come and see him.

  ‘I think we should,’ he said. ‘Grasp the nettle.’

  Charity rang three times and received no reply, before calling Honor, who told her they were away.

  ‘They’ve gone on a cruise to celebrate the house sale. Or get over it.’

  ‘A cruise?’

  ‘I know, they always said they wouldn’t, but they liked the idea of the Eastern Med – they’re going to some incredible places—’

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘A fortnight. They’ll be back in a week, and straight into the rented house till the one on Cliff Parade’s ready.’

  Honor could hear her passing this information on to Mac.

  ‘Have you told them yet?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you wanted to come down?’

  ‘You guessed it.’

  ‘It’ll be fine, you know that,’ said Honor.

  ‘You haven’t said anything have you?’

  ‘Of course not! Not to anyone. But I’m just sure it will be. Moving from Heart’s Ease was such a huge decision, especially for Ma, it’s given them a whole new perspective. They don’t expect everything to stay the same any more.’

  Hugh put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  ‘Look at us,’ he said. ‘Like a couple in an advertisement.’

  He felt her laugh. ‘Sanatogen?’

  ‘I was thinking more Campari.’

  ‘They were in a balloon, weren’t they?’

  ‘That was Martini.’

  ‘Picky.’

  ‘All too long ago.’

  They were leaning on the rail of the Princess Marina, the black shot silk of the sea all around. Band music floated on the warm air. Tomorrow they’d be putting in at Heraklion, whose lights were visible on the far side of the ship, but from here there was just the shimmering sea, and a sky fizzing with stars.

  ‘We did the right thing,’ said Hugh. ‘Coming away, doing this.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Marguerite. ‘It’s good to gain some perspective on everything … the house, the family … I get so tangled up.’

  ‘That’s what I think.’

  ‘I know I worry too much.’ She touched her head briefly against his shoulder. ‘It must be quite wearing to live with.’

  ‘Ye gods! I’m worn out!’

  She smiled. ‘Stop it. I’m trying to be more self aware.’

  ‘I knew what I was getting into.’

  They relapsed into silence. It was late in the evening and the band had moved into a slower phase. Hugh swayed gently to the tune of an old Nat King Cole number.

  ‘Listen.’ He joined in softly. ‘“… it will be forever, Or I’ll never fall in love … in a restless world like this is …”’

  ‘Care to dance, Daisy?’

  She didn’t answer, but stepped inside his waiting arm. Together they moved gently, from light to shadow and back again, in time to the distant music.

  Twenty-Seven

  The young man from the estate agent’s was fifteen minutes early, so he let himself in. Truth be told he’d got here early on purpose. He really liked this house, Heart’s Ease. The office had wanted to take out the apostrophe, which was nothing but a nuisance, but the vendors had insisted it be left in.

  Nice people, the vendors. He could tell it was a wrench for them selling up, and he could see why. The house wasn’t the biggest or grandest they’d had on their books but in his humble opinion it was the nicest. The all-important location was second to none (he always mentioned, though never needed to point it out again – people gasped), but it wasn’t only that. The place had a good atmosphere, the lovely garden with its view over the bay and especially the interior.

  He left the door open and went for a wander. Even empty, the rooms had a soft, sweet smell that breathed welcome. The kitchen could do with a re-furb and the decorative order wasn’t great – the gloss on the skirting boards was chipped, and you could tell how long it was since the walls had a lick of paint because there were ghosts where the pictures had been. Lots of pictures. And books! When he’d first come to do the valuation he couldn’t believe how many there had been, not just on shelves and in cases, but piled on tables here there and everywhere, how could people have so many books? He didn’t have the heart to tell them that this number of books could actually put people off – that these days potential purchasers liked to see a bare, pared-down house so they could project their own ideas … In the end it hadn’t made any difference. Out of the six lots he’d shown round two had fallen in love with the place instantly, and one couple – the one he knew would be stretched on the price – had hung in there as if their lives depended on it, and the woman was coming for a final look-round before completion.

  There were a lot of keys and he didn’t bother to undo the door into the ‘loggia’ (they’d had to look that word up, a conservatory in normal language). He went upstairs and into the master bedroom. There was a little single bedroom leading off it, a dressing room. He’d pointed out that if the two were knocked through you’d have a magnificent double-aspect bedroom into which an ensuite could be incorporated, or a glitzy walk-in wardrobe … but for once his heart hadn’t been in this selling point. He liked the place as it was.

  He stood for a moment in the bay window overlooking the garden. In September the rhododendrons formed a rampart of glossy green, one or two of them so big that through the gaps in their branches you could see the dark cave inside. And there was the hill with its crown of scotch firs, known as the Fort, what a garden for kids to play in, and this was only about a third of it! He was just turning away when a movement caught his eye. He paused, eyes narrowed, peering. He thought he’
d seen a figure, someone looking back up at him from among the leaves … but there was nothing there now.

  As he started back down the stairs he heard tyres on the drive, and glanced out of the window on the half-landing. The purchaser’s battered Volvo was just drawing up. He ran down the last flight and went out into the porch to greet her.

  She was a lovely, rather scatty lady, all the prettier for not knowing how pretty she was. She sent him a wave and a ‘Hi, hang on—!’ and bent to undo a child seat in the back. After a brief struggle she hauled out the baby – going by his sister’s he reckoned it was about a year – and came over with it sitting on her hip.

  ‘Hello! Sorry if I kept you waiting, the others are at school, and I was hoping to come unencumbered but my arrangement fell through, so here we are …’ She bustled past him, her mane of hair swinging merrily. ‘You know, I can’t believe this is ours, that we’re actually going to live here!’

  She turned to him, a massive smile on her face.

  ‘I may have to hand him to you for a moment while I wield my tape measure, is that alright?’ She was already passing the baby as she spoke, and he took it from her.

  ‘All part of the service.’

  ‘He’s used to being passed round, he won’t give you any grief.’ She felt around energetically in her bag for tape measure and notebook. ‘He’d probably like the garden if you could be bothered.’

  ‘OK – sure.’

  He went out of the front door and carried the baby – heavy, soft and warm, no trouble at all – round the side of the house and out on to the lawn. For no particular reason except that he’d not done so before, he climbed the three tussocky steps on to the Fort. He could see the mother, busy busy, reaching up to measure the hall window; she gave them another quick wave.

  The baby was studying him calmly at close quarters.

  ‘Hey, look over there …’ He pointed, and to his surprise the baby did, also stretching his arm, copying. ‘That’s yours, that is. Not bad, eh?’