‘And what about you?’ Charlie seems to be making an effort to bring his concentration back. ‘How do you really feel about being alone?’
Ben knows that he must be truthful now, which will undermine what he said earlier, but he can’t lie to Charlie.
‘I have a weird kind of sense of relief,’ he admits. ‘I feel free of anxiety and responsibility. Laura is up and running, and more or less independent. She and I will continue as we always have done, and I can live how I want to live.’
Charlie’s face has cleared; he looks hopeful. ‘So you believe, in the long run, that it was all for the best?’
Ben searches for the right words. ‘I suppose it can’t be right to cheat on someone,’ he says reluctantly, ‘but it’s very difficult to judge people, isn’t it? Perhaps Kirsty was lonely within our marriage and needed something, or someone, to fill the gap. I can’t blame her for it. I’d let things drift. At least she was honest about it.’
He watches Charlie filing away his words, weighing them, deciding how they might apply to him in the future.
‘It worked for my father and Evie,’ he says.
Before Ben can speak his mobile rings two notes: a text message. He seizes it whilst Charlie sits forward eagerly.
‘A message from Jemima,’ he says. ‘She’s suggesting I go out to see her cottage and she’ll buy me a pint. Seems like an offer I can’t refuse. Oh, and she mentions meeting you.’
‘Does she?’ Charlie can’t help himself from grinning broadly. ‘Does she say anything else?’
Ben shakes his head. ‘And she doesn’t say when.’
‘She thinks I’ve gone,’ Charlie says. ‘What shall we say to her?’
‘What d’you mean, “we”?’ Ben counters. ‘I shall accept and ask her to give me a time.’
‘But soon,’ pleads Charlie. ‘I’ve only got a week. Tell her I’m still here and we’ll all meet up together. Come on, Benj. No harm in that.’
Ben sighs. ‘OK. I’ll suggest we have dinner at the Torcross Boathouse tomorrow evening. Then it’s up to her.’
He taps out the message, sends the text, gets up to check the lasagne. He’s mixed a salad and there are the remains of some nice cheese. He gets the plates ready, takes a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge. His mobile rings its two tones and instinctively they both reach for it.
‘Sorry,’ Charlie says. He draws back his hand and crosses his arms as if he is defending himself from rejection. ‘What does she say?’
Ben reads the text and smiles. ‘She says it’s on. Six thirty-ish so as to give us time to see the cottage first. Says she’ll book a table.’
‘Phew,’ says Charlie. He looks as if he’s been winded. ‘Fantastic.’
Ben takes the lasagne from the oven. He feels anxious but exhilarated: he wants to see Jemima again and he wants Charlie to be happy – but he is fearful of the outcome. Now, there is no going back.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JASON WAKES EARLY in the morning and immediately has a panic attack; the clenched fist in the gut, the sick churning and terrible fear. He reaches out across the empty bed for Helena and is stricken anew with the sense of loss that is fresh each morning and must be dealt with over and over again.
He curls on his side, hands over his eyes, and weeps silently so that Mikey doesn’t hear him. Something good must happen soon or he really won’t be able to carry on; something positive to change the direction of his life and fill him with hope. Money is becoming a real problem. His meagre savings are vanishing quickly now that he has no job, and the mortgage must be paid or he’ll have to sell the flat.
He remembers that last night, before he fell asleep, he’d been hatching a new idea about Evelyn Drake. From down amongst the darkness of his anger and his hatred, a worm of a plan had wriggled up into the light. Suppose he were to screw her for money for Mikey? Not immediately, of course, but by first cunningly allowing her to become friendly with the boy. Watching them together on that bench it was clear that she was drawn to Mikey – no doubt because he is very much like his grandfather – so why not encourage it? Then, perhaps, he could remind her of her obligations; allow her to make amends for her disgraceful behaviour thirty-five years ago.
Jason stretches himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He feels slightly calmer, distracted by this new plan. Last night, after a quick double whisky – as a special treat he’d taken Mikey to supper in the Royal Castle – it seemed a brilliant idea, but this morning he can see flaws. There isn’t much time, for a start, and how is he to effect a meeting with her? The familiar sense of despair, of disablement, begins to blot out his weak grasp on optimism and he drags on his old towelling robe and goes quietly into the kitchen to make coffee and take his medication.
Sometimes he wonders if his medication is messing with his brain, and he knows he ought to make an appointment to see his GP, but now that Helena isn’t here to make him go he keeps putting it off. His doctor asks too many questions. He’s fine; he’s absolutely fine as long as people leave him alone and he keeps taking the happy pills. And today he should hear about the library job at the university. Russell Dean is still revered in Bristol and Jason had no compunction in using his connections. The interview went well – though it was the least bit tricky explaining why his job in the bookshop had come to a rather sudden end without saying that it wasn’t his fault that the manager there was a complete loser – and he was fairly confident that he was in with a chance. He explained that he would be away for a week, and they agreed to phone his mobile, so he must be ready for the call. The signal in the flat is poor so after breakfast he and Mikey will go out into the town.
Jason breathes deeply: he feels sure that his luck is turning. He knows that he shouldn’t be drinking, that Helena would be gutted, but he’ll be fine. This isn’t serious stuff and, anyway, he can handle it now. It won’t be like it used to be; he’s changed. It’s just that he needs a little treat now and then and, hell, he deserves it, doesn’t he? After all he’s been through? With Helena gone and Mikey away at school, what’s he supposed to do? Life’s so bloody empty, so pointless, without that little drink to lift his spirits; to make him feel good. He needs something to look forward to; everyone does.
Jason swallows his tablets and drinks his coffee. He thinks about his plan for Evelyn Drake, his spirits rise again, and the black dog draws back a little into the shadows.
After a rather uncommunicative breakfast at the boathouse, Evie is beginning to get quite worried about Claude. He seems edgy, almost irritable, at the prospect of meeting Jemima again and when Evie asks him if there’s a problem he gets quite cross.
‘Of course not,’ he snaps. ‘Why should there be?’
‘You tell me,’ she answers pacifically. ‘I thought you’d like to see her again. You don’t have to be here, you know, if you’re not in the mood.’
He looks so anxious that she wonders if he’s feeling well; or it might be that he’s been cast down by one of his little grieving bouts. She’s always prepared for that; for moments when memories of his and Jilly’s earliest days here in Dartmouth come back to haunt him. This isn’t quite the same, however: this is less like grief and more like fear.
He decides to walk out to the Castle, saying that he might call in on the boys on the way back, and Evie is relieved to see him go. She glances at her watch: it’s not much after nine and the walk will probably take an hour and a half. Plenty of time to prepare for Jemima’s arrival.
She clears the table on the balcony ready for coffee, tidies away newspapers, piles up books, and looks around to see that all is in order. It’s always a delight when people visit the boathouse for the first time. She loves to see their expressions when they walk into the big room, pausing to exclaim before being ineluctably drawn out on to the balcony. This room is at its best on a sunny morning like this: full of brilliant, refracted light and watery reflections. She wishes that Mikey could see it; he was clearly loving Dartmouth so much. It’s so strange to meet him here –
Russ’s grandson – and to be reminded of that earlier part of her life. She would like to talk to Mikey about his grandfather, about his pioneering television work, his great success in making dry-as-dust history fascinating. She’s honest enough to know that it’s not a purely altruistic desire. She’s quite aware that it would make her feel better about her own role in Russ’s life; that it would bring a kind of healing.
Ben texts: he and Charlie are off on a jaunt to Totnes and is it OK to use the garage when they get back, just for today. Parking is at a premium in the town so Evie texts suggesting that he can use the garage for the rest of the week.
When Claude comes back still looking preoccupied, saying that the boys aren’t at home, and she tells him that they’ve gone off to fetch the car and have a morning in Totnes, he looks so relieved that she thinks he might actually be about to pass out.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ she asks curiously.
‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Honestly. I think I’ll just stroll down to Pillar’s and get the newspaper. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Right,’ she says. ‘Take it slowly, Claude. That’s quite a walk you’ve just had.’
He grimaces, acknowledging the truth of this, but before he can answer there’s a ring at the doorbell and Jemima comes in through the open door calling, ‘Hi. Anyone at home?’
Evie hurries to meet her, drawing her in, exclaiming with pleasure. Jemima smiles warmly at Claude and then looks beyond him and says: ‘Oh, gosh! Wow! This is … Wow!’ She walks forward into the room, gazing around her, the flowers she has brought for Evie still clasped in her hand.
Evie beams at Claude, who seems to relax at last, taking a deep breath and letting his shoulders drop. It’s as if he’s suddenly given in to something, accepted the inevitable, though Evie still can’t guess what it might be. Jemima has walked through to the balcony and stands at its rail, leaning forward, still exclaiming with delight.
‘God! This is just amazing,’ she says, turning back to them. ‘Sorry. Gosh! Sorry, I was completely blown away. Look, these are for you.’ She hands over the flowers, her face bright with the pleasure of the moment, and Evie feels touched by her warmth.
‘Coffee?’ she asks. ‘Or do you prefer tea?’
Jemima shakes her head. ‘Coffee will be great. Thanks. Gosh! I thought my old flat in Salcombe was pretty good when it came to views but this beats it hollow.’
She wanders back out on to the balcony and whilst Evie finds a vase for the flowers, makes coffee, it is Claude who goes out to join their guest.
Now that Jemima is here all his anxieties have faded away, dissolved in her warmth. He watches her face – such a lovely, sweet face – as she looks with delight at the river scene.
‘You lived in Salcombe?’ he asks, hardly able to take his eyes from her. There is an aura of joy about Jemima that fascinates him. He can utterly see why Charlie has become entranced.
‘I rented a flat there for a while,’ she is telling him. ‘Right on the water like this. It belonged to the RNLI and then they needed it for their staff so I had to go. I lived in Kingsbridge for a bit but I missed living by the water so much that when the little bit of cottage came up in Torcross I went for it.’
‘Do you rent it?’
‘Goodness, yes! I couldn’t hope to afford a house in Torcross. Even one as small as mine.’
She turns as Evie comes out with the tray of coffee, a plate of pains au chocolat, and gives a sigh of pleasure. ‘How wonderful to sit here and have your coffee and watch the river. Have you lived here very long?’
‘Twenty-five years,’ Evie tells her. ‘I’ve been very lucky. But I’m wondering if it might be time to move on.’
Claude stares at her in astonishment but Evie pours the coffee quite calmly. Jemima is exclaiming in sympathetic dismay at the prospect.
‘Oh, but why? How could you bear to leave it?’
‘I suppose it might depend on where I might go,’ Evie says. ‘I’m getting a bit creaky, you know. You came down those steps, didn’t you?’
‘They are the least bit ankle-twisting,’ admits Jemima, ‘but even so …’
‘And we lose the sun early,’ Evie is continuing. ‘I’m beginning to find the winters rather long and dark.’
Claude continues to gaze at Evie, taken aback by these admissions to someone she barely knows. The boathouse is Evie’s safe harbour, her beloved home. He can hardly believe she is sitting there saying these things so calmly.
‘I’m the other way round,’ Jemima is saying, accepting a pain au chocolat. ‘I get all the afternoon sun. It does help in the winter, I must admit. But where might you go?’
Evie sips her coffee; she gazes rather dreamily across the river towards Kingswear.
‘Actually,’ she answers, ‘I might go just across the road.’
‘Oh!’ exclaims Jemima. ‘One of those wonderful houses. I don’t feel nearly so sorry for you, then. I work for a holiday letting company and we have one on our books. They are pretty amazing and the views are spectacular. Actually, I met someone who is living in one of them, though he says it doesn’t belong to him. His name’s Ben Fortescue. Do you know him?’
‘You could say so,’ answers Evie serenely. ‘My late husband was his cousin and the house is mine.’
Claude sets down his cup: he feels shaky and unsettled. He no longer fancies his pain au chocolat. He was hoping to avoid all mention of Ben and Charlie, relieved that there was no chance of their arriving unexpectedly, but now it seems that everything is to be revealed. Jemima, too, looks slightly nonplussed.
‘Well,’ she says, and gives a little snort of amusement. ‘That certainly answers my question very comprehensively.’
Evie smiles at her. ‘Fancy you knowing Ben. And why hasn’t he mentioned you to us?’
‘It was only two casual meetings. Once at Stokeley Farm Shop and once in Alf’s. But, since you mention it, we’re all going to the Torcross Boathouse this evening for supper.’
‘All?’ asks Claude rather faintly.
She looks at him with that same luminous joy. ‘Yes. Me and Ben and Charlie.’
Evie looks surprised; pleased. ‘You’ve met Charlie, too?’
Just for a moment Jemima looks slightly discomfited; a bright flush washes her cheeks. She looks away from them, out to the river. ‘Just once,’ she says. ‘He’s so like Ben, isn’t he?’
‘Extraordinarily alike,’ says Evie. ‘They might be brothers.’
Claude glances at her. She looks interested, alert, but slightly amused.
‘How amazing,’ says Jemima, recovering her composure, ‘that you should be his … their …’ She hesitates over the exact word for Evie’s relationship to Ben and Charlie.
‘I’m Charlie’s stepmother,’ says Evie.
Jemima stares at her; her smile has faded and she looks wary. ‘Stepmother?’
‘Mmm.’ Evie nods. ‘But it’s not quite like it sounds. I didn’t marry his father until Charlie was nearly thirty. We were married for only twelve years, though I was his mistress for ten years before that.’
Claude can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. All his terrors of this meeting have now very nearly been fully realized. It only needs for Jemima to admit that she and Charlie have fallen madly in love to cap Evie’s revelations.
Jemima is staring at Evie with an expression in which awe, amusement and respect are nicely blended.
‘Gosh!’ she says. ‘That’s … well, that sounds fascinating.’
‘Does it?’ Evie bursts out laughing. ‘It’s not a particularly unusual story. Would you like some more coffee?’
‘Yes, please,’ says Jemima enthusiastically. She leans forward. ‘So where did you meet Charlie’s father?’
Claude gives a tiny groan and pushes back his chair. They glance up at him questioningly, very slightly impatiently, as if he is distracting them from their conversation.
‘Going to get the newspaper,’ he says. ‘No more coffee, thanks. Good to meet you
again, Jemima. See you later, perhaps.’
He hurries away from them, stops for a quick dash to the loo, and goes out into the sunshine. As he climbs the steep steps to the road above – heart pounding, legs aching – he thinks of what Evie has said about these steps; about the lack of sunshine in the winter. All true, of course, but even so, just blurting it out like that to a stranger – and telling her she was TDF’s mistress! After all his anxiety, he thinks bitterly, lest Evie should discover Charlie’s meeting with Jemima and his entrancement with her, or Jemima should be taken aback by the boys bursting in unexpectedly, and then they just blurt it all out and settle down for a gossip.
‘Women!’ he exclaims aloud, as he gains the road.
He turns down Bayard’s Hill, making for the Dartmouth Arms. Damn the paper: what he needs is a stiff drink.
After Claude has gone, Jemima settles more comfortably. She’s been aware that Claude was a little on edge once they started discussing the house and Ben and Charlie. She can understand that: he is more reserved, less able to let it all hang out. She likes Claude: likes him a lot. There’s something stable about him; something reassuring.
‘Don’t worry about Claude bolting like that,’ Evie is saying. ‘He always bolts when things get a bit emotional.’
Jemima laughs. ‘Sorry. It’s just that word always makes me think about my dear old late-lamented mum,’ she says. ‘My sister always called her the Bolter. She left Brigid with her father and bolted off with mine, then she bolted again, taking me with her, though. Her last bolt was to Portugal when she was in her seventies. She had a lot of fun.’
Evie smiles at her. ‘Perhaps that’s why you weren’t shocked when I said I’d been Tommy’s mistress.’
Jemima shrugs. ‘Why would I be shocked? So his name was Tommy.’
‘Mmm.’ Evie seems surprised at herself. ‘I usually don’t use it except to myself. That was just between him and me. His wife called him Thomas and his family called him TDF.’
Jemima is fascinated. ‘TDF?’
‘They were his initials. Thomas David Fortescue. His aunts and very old friends called him The Darling Fellow.’
Summer on the River Page 14
