Summer on the River

by Marcia Willett

  He stares at her with such amazement that she bursts out laughing.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ he says firmly, almost anxiously.

  ‘Why not?’ she counters. ‘It’s my house. I can do what I like with it.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s always come down on Charlie’s side. It wouldn’t be right at all.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asks again. ‘Don’t you think Charlie has enough?’

  Ben looks uncomfortable. ‘That’s not the point. It’s the whole tradition thing, isn’t it? It’s important to Charlie. Apart from anything else, he’d be hurt, wouldn’t he? Why should you choose me over him? He’s TDF’s son.’

  ‘But it might so easily have gone the other way, mightn’t it?’ she suggests recklessly. ‘Suppose your great-grandfather had inherited instead of Charlie’s?’

  To her surprise, he bursts out laughing. ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ he says. ‘In that case there wouldn’t have been anything left to inherit anyway. No, no.’ He shakes his head. ‘My side of the family would never have been the custodians that Charlie’s were. They grafted and they deserve it. Let them keep it. I’ll just enjoy the fruits of their labours for a little while.’

  Another silence.

  ‘Very well, then,’ she says. ‘I’ve got another idea. Supposing I leave the Merchant’s House in trust to you for your lifetime and then, when you die, it would revert back to Charlie or to his estate?’

  He stares at her, frowning. ‘Could you do that?’

  She shrugs. ‘Why not?’

  ‘So I could live here but Charlie would have it – or his children would – ultimately.’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  He turns to look down across the garden to the house, as if he’s never seen it before.

  ‘Could it work, d’you think?’ he asks at last.

  ‘I don’t see why not. They could all come and stay if you wanted them. It could still be a family house. You wouldn’t be able to sell it or raise money against it but you could be here, enjoying it.’

  ‘It sounds rather too good to be true,’ he says at last.

  ‘Of course,’ she adds drily, ‘I’ll have to die first but meanwhile – here you are and here you can stay.’

  ‘I don’t think I quite know what to say.’

  ‘Then don’t say anything. And this is strictly between ourselves. I’m off. I’ll phone Claude and make a plan about you picking him up. See you later.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, almost mechanically. ‘See you later.’

  Back in the boathouse, in the dim, watery light of her big room, Evie walks across to the glass windows and gazes at the river. On the hill, Kingswear is still in sunshine: pretty houses and steep streets, crowding down to the marina with its dense thicket of masts.

  She puts her hands in her pockets and her fingers encounter the rosebud and the acer leaf. She brings them out carefully.

  So, she says silently to Tommy. Did I do the right thing?

  Suddenly she remembers the etchings and how she’d planned to find new frames for them so that the two cartoons could be put back into the originals. She smooths the acer leaf between her fingers, puts it on the table and finds the cut-glass specimen vase for the rose. Then she goes into her study and takes down the two etchings from the wall. Putting them on her desk, she removes the pins and carefully edges the backing and the frames away.

  As she puts the separate pieces out on the desk she sees that behind each of the etchings is a carefully folded sheet of blue airmail paper. Picking one up, she unfolds it and stares at Tommy’s tiny writing. There is a 2 at the top of the page so she picks up the other:

  1

  So this is my ‘letter in a bottle’, darling Evie. Probably madness but worth a try. If you’re reading it then I am not around and you’ve probably decided to put these original frames back on the cartoons. I wonder why. Perhaps you want to rehang them? Perhaps someone’s missed them? I know what a shock it will be to you when you find out that I’ve left the Merchant’s House to you. I always wanted it to be there for you, Evie; your house, your home, for whenever you might need it, to live in it and be happy in it when the boathouse is a bit beyond you. That’s what is most important to me and why I’m not just going to leave it in trust for you. It’s no good discussing it with you. You’ll refuse it, you’ll say it belongs to Charlie, to the family. But it’s your home, Evie. And after that, well, I have a feeling that somehow the future will reveal the solution but maybe I’m just passing the buck.

  2

  And maybe it’s not you reading this, but someone down the years who doesn’t know us. What an unsettling idea. When we sat on the top terrace on your birthday and you opened these little presents I thought of you at some future date taking them apart, removing the frames and finding my ‘letter in a bottle’. I had a strong sense, then, that all would work together for good. Blessings, my darling, and thank you.

  Evie holds the thin sheets of paper in her hand. They bring Tommy so near to her; she can hear his voice in the words. It’s as if he has presided over the afternoon in the garden, and has confirmed the things she said to Ben, so that she is filled with relief and with confidence.

  So this is why he left her the house: not so as to avoid taking a decision between Ben and Charlie but so that she might feel that the house is hers to move into, to live in, to look upon as her home. Still holding his letter she glances around her study; at the bookshelves, the cupboards, her desk with its laptop and its Anglepoise lamp. Now that it is no longer inhabited with the ghosts of her characters, the desk is bare of documents, lists and reference books. There is an odd kind of emptiness, an impersonal atmosphere. She leaves the etchings on her desk and takes Tommy’s letter into the big room where she reads it again, thinking of him holding it, and then lays it down with the acer leaf.

  She longs for him: for the touch and the smell of him; for the sound of his laugh and the sight of his eyes smiling into hers; his voice calling to her, ‘What’s the plan?’

  Her heartache is intolerable, but she has a plan. The plan is that Claude is coming to stay, Charlie and Ange will be down for half term, and then there is Christmas. Perhaps Ben is right to suggest that she and Claude should spend Christmas in the Merchant’s House. It is something to plan for: the first step in making the move.

  And there is Mikey. She’s had two cards, both pretty watercolour sketches of Bristol scenes, from him; rather formal, informative up to a point, as if someone – Jason? – was looking over his shoulder: school is good, it’s the rugby term, they’re beginning rehearsals for a big choral Christmas concert in the cathedral. He put his home address at the top right-hand corner of the card so she replied to it, taking her tone from his: Dartmouth is very quiet after regatta, she’d taken a river-boat trip to Totnes, perhaps she’ll see him at half term? The second card was along much the same lines, he was home on an exeat weekend, but added that they would be in Dartmouth for half term and were looking forward to seeing her and the boathouse.

  Evie looks around the big room. She hopes that Mikey isn’t just being polite, that he really would like to come here to see her again. It’s odd how touched and pleased she was to receive these cards; that he took the trouble to write to her. It’s as if – and she knows she’s being foolish – as if she is being forgiven for her youthful indifference: for her selfishness in ignoring Pat’s feelings and for her refusal to give financial help for Jason’s school fees.

  Russ and Tommy. They were alike in their ability to compartmentalize their emotions, in their enthusiasms and in their absolute respect for her own work. Perhaps it was because they were both older than her by a decade that they had the kind of confidence and experience that the men of her own age seemed to lack. Or perhaps it was – more simply – that she’d fallen in love.

  The sun has disappeared, Kingswear sinks into shadow, and cold river-light trembles on the ceiling and the walls. It is time to light the lamps.

  Ben picks up the mugs and stands in the ga
rden, looking down towards the house, aware of the gathering twilight and the atmosphere of warmth and security between the high, sheltering walls. He goes down the wide shallow steps, carrying the mugs, trying to contain an up-welling of joy and excitement. He longs to share this amazing news with someone; to tell somebody that he has the right to stay here for all of his life. It is an extraordinary sensation.

  When he walks into the kitchen he looks around him as if expecting that the room will look different; that this new sense of belonging will manifest itself in some different way. Yet everything remains comfortingly the same – nor would he wish anything to change: he would simply like to share this revelation with somebody special.

  He rinses the cups and stands them beside the sink, thinking about Kirsty and what she would say if he could tell her. Suddenly he misses her: or rather he misses that old, easy intimacy of a long relationship, the ability to put his arms around someone and hug them, to share with them. Well, that’s all over now: finished. He wishes that Laura would come walking in – ‘Hi, Dad,’ she’d say. ‘How’re you doing?’ – but even then he couldn’t tell her. Evie said that it must be between the two of them and that’s how it will be. Oh, but it will be hard not to share this with Laura.

  He remembers her visit a few weeks ago. Back from backpacking to Peru, and before setting off for Adelboden, she came down to see them all, making them laugh with stories of her adventures. She took over the attic room with her few possessions – ‘I like to travel light, Dad,’ – and told him, one evening at supper in the breakfast room, about Billy. Billy is the brother of a boy she’s been at uni with: he’s twenty-three and has spent several seasons working in Swiss ski resorts. He speaks fluent French and Italian and now he’s got a catering job in one of the hotels.

  ‘I know it’s crazy,’ she said, her brown eyes huge with love, ‘but he’s just, like, special. He’s going to help me with my skiing. There’s a group of us going out together so it’s going to be amazing.’

  Ben was filled with joy and fear, and a twinge of jealousy, that her eyes should shine so brightly for this unknown Billy.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said diffidently, ‘you could invite him down while you’re here. He might like to see Dartmouth.’

  She laughed, shaking her head, making a face. ‘Don’t worry, Dad, he’s quite respectable but it’s not really Billy’s scene, meeting the rellies. Not just yet, anyway. Maybe when we get back.’

  ‘Got a photo of him?’ he asked hesitantly, not wanting to be pushy but needing to share with her.

  She turned on her phone, got up and came around the table to stand beside him, scrolling through the images. He gazed at them: a tough, stocky, cheerful-looking fellow grinned back at him from different attitudes and locations.

  ‘He looks fun,’ he said at last, glancing up at her.

  ‘Oh, he is,’ she answered, her fixed eyes on Billy. ‘He’s … well, he’s great. Perhaps I could bring him down after Christmas.’

  ‘That would be fantastic.’ Ben tried not to sound too keen, he didn’t want to play the heavy father.

  She looked down at him, her face bright with love, with joy, with all the expectation and optimism of youth, and he is seized with a whole range of emotions: delight, love, fear, anguish. She is so young: so hopeful and so confident.

  ‘Be happy, sweetheart,’ he said foolishly, and she bent and gave him a quick kiss, and then went back to her chair, talking about how she was going out with Claude the next morning on his scooter.

  He let the moment pass. He didn’t have to ask her to stay in touch – Laura is very good at texting and emailing – but his heart sank at the prospect of her absence. He was going to miss her random visits: those occasional weekends, those unexpected few days, here in the Merchant’s House.

  Now, remembering, the joy and gratitude bubbles up in him again. It might have been so different. He might have been living somewhere all alone, wondering how to plan his future. Instead he is here, living in the house he’s loved all his life, with Evie across the road and dear old Claude down again soon. And then there’s Jemima: they’ve had a lot of fun during these last few weeks. She’s taken him to see some of the cottages so that he can take photographs for the brochure, they’ve had a few pub lunches and he’s cooked supper for her and Evie. They don’t talk about Charlie but his presence is almost visible with them. It’s as if he is there, sharing the jokes, enjoying the jaunts across the moor or down to the coast. Sometimes it’s frustrating but at least it prevents any misunderstandings and it allows a freedom within the friendship that is very precious to him.

  Ben switches on the kettle: it’s too early for a drink but he’ll make some tea. He simply must do something to celebrate his extraordinary good fortune.

  Jemima’s mobile rings just as she leaves the office: Miranda.

  ‘Hi,’ Jemima says. ‘No, it’s OK to talk. I’m just on my way home. How’re things?’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve got a bit of a problem with Maisie. No, she’s fine but my mum’s got people staying and Maisie’s kicking up about staying with her on Saturday night. I suppose you couldn’t help out, could you Mimes? I could bring her over on Saturday morning …’

  Jemima thinks about it as Miranda continues to outline her weekend, remembering that she and Benj were going to meet up. It was a bit vague, but even so …

  ‘Tell you what,’ she says. ‘Bring Maisie into Dartmouth and I’ll meet you in Alf’s. Eleven thirty-ish? No, it’s fine, honestly.’

  ‘She’s being a right little madam just lately. Anyway, if you’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘See you at Alf’s then. Thanks, Mimes.’

  Jemima thrusts her phone into her bag and stands for a minute, full of indecision. Part of her is irritated at giving in to Miranda; not that she and Benj had anything particular planned, but having a six-year-old around narrows the options. At the same time she knows it’s difficult for Miranda to find reliable childcare at such short notice.

  ‘Doesn’t she have any other friends?’ Benj asked once when something similar occurred and they’d had to postpone a visit to the cinema at Dartington.

  ‘I think she’s too busy,’ Jemima answered tactfully, not wanting to tell him that Miranda’s neediness tends to keep prospective friends at arm’s length. ‘And she works antisocial hours. Her mother is very useful, of course, but she’s elderly and not very strong so sometimes she can be demanding, too.’

  Now, on an impulse, she walks back to the car, lets Otto out for a quick pee and then drives up to Southtown. Ben hasn’t been in the office today but he might be at home. She’s lucky: there are several parking spaces not far from the Merchant’s House and there’s a light shining out from the breakfast room. She parks, slides out, and crosses the road to bang on the front door.

  Benj opens the door. ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Come in.’ He hesitates. ‘Did I know you were coming? I haven’t forgotten something?’

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘And I’ve got Otto. It’s just I’m feeling cross and bitchy and stuff like that. Miranda wants me to have Maisie this Saturday and I know we were going to do something or other. And anyway, I just don’t feel like it.’

  He roars with laughter, opening the door wider. ‘You poor old lambkin,’ he says. ‘Go and get Otto and come on in.’

  She hurries back to the car, releases Otto, grabs her bag and they go in together, through to the breakfast room.

  ‘I feel in a real old strop,’ she admits, dumping her bag on a chair whilst Otto sniffs around and then drops down contentedly near the table. ‘Oh, yes, please. A cup of tea would be great. Don’t take any notice of me.’ She frowns a little, studying him curiously. ‘You’re looking very chipper, though. Someone given you a present?’

  He thinks about it, smiling to himself as if he knows a secret.

  ‘Yeah. Actually, you could put it like that.’ He pushes the mug of tea towards her. ‘So what’s this about Saturday?’

  She’s
slightly hurt that he’s not going to tell her his secret but she won’t show it.

  ‘Oh, it’s just that I feel obliged to help out, even if I’ve got things organized, and then I get cross with myself for always giving in and saying “yes”. Plus, it’s more difficult keeping a child entertained when the evenings draw in. Walking on the beach in the dark isn’t so much fun, somehow.’

  ‘But what’s really the trouble?’ he asks, wandering from the kitchen to the breakfast room, sitting at the table. ‘It’s not just Maisie, is it?’

  She perches on the edge of the table, makes a face. ‘I just didn’t fancy going back to be on my own, I suppose. Doing the drive in the dark, deciding what to have for supper. All that stuff. I’ve just felt edgy all day.’

  ‘Thinking about Charlie and Ange coming down for half term?’

  She stares at him, almost affronted by this direct question.

  ‘Probably,’ she says reluctantly. ‘Well, of course I am,’ and at once she realizes that this is at the root of her low spirits. These few weeks with Charlie back in London she’s been able to keep in control, to stay busy, to enjoy those jaunts with Benj and suppers with him and Evie. Now, as half term draws closer, the possibility of seeing Charlie again makes it so much more difficult to suppress her foolish hopefulness; the longing to see him.

  ‘Anyway,’ she says. ‘Never mind that. What have you been doing to make you so cheerful?’

  ‘I’ve been planning Christmas with Evie,’ he says. ‘You know Claude will be here, too? Well, I suggested that they both should stay here rather than us making sorties to and fro. Those stone steps can be lethal in the dark.’

  ‘And did she agree?’

  ‘Well, she did. She said she was wondering whether to move over for the winter anyway.’

  Jemima feels an odd little pang: jealousy? Surely not. Yet she feels regret that these moments that she and Benj share so easily and casually might not be so readily available.

  ‘Sounds very sensible,’ she says. She can hear her voice sounding the least bit brittle and tries to warm it up. After all, she’s very fond of Evie. ‘It must get a bit lonely there all on her own.’