Summer on the River

by Marcia Willett

  Jemima locks up the holiday flat in Anzac Street, makes a few more notes, and then heads back to the office. As she hesitates on the corner, she sees Charlie and a woman come out of Dukes. Her heart flips over at the sight of him, she gives a tiny gasp, but before she can study Ange too closely – she guesses that it must be Ange – a man approaches, calling out to Charlie, raising a hand in greeting. Jemima recognizes him as the owner of one of the small restaurants in Foss Street.

  She watches as they greet each other, the man shaking Charlie’s hand and slapping him affectionately on the shoulder, leaning to kiss Ange’s cheek. Ange is a pretty woman with a smooth helmet of chestnut-coloured hair; not very tall and rather solid. She laughs, gesticulates, and suddenly turns to Charlie as if to ask him a question, and there is such easy intimacy as he bends towards her that Jemima’s throat suddenly constricts with tears.

  This is not the Charlie of regatta, the unattached man with no responsibilities – how easy it had been, during that magical week, to imagine him like that – this is Charlie the family man, with an established circle of friends, and a life in London.

  She watches them, unconsciously pressing her hand to her heart, wondering how he would react if she were to stride over and greet him. Would his face change? Would he look embarrassed, shifty? She can’t bear to take the risk. Yet this must be the pattern if she were to become part of his life. It is quite impossible to imagine Charlie giving up his life in London; abandoning Ange and his children to live here in Dartmouth, or in her tiny cottage. Even the thought of it is risible. So how can she possibly envisage any kind of life with him? Yet how can she manage, either, without that tiny glow of hope that’s prevented her heart from breaking each time she thinks of him?

  Charlie and Ange and the man are moving away towards the Boat Float and Jemima quickly crosses into Foss Street feeling utterly miserable and almost crashing into Benj as he comes striding towards her.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, catching her shoulders, peering down at her. ‘Where’s the fire? Are you OK?’

  ‘Oh, Benj.’ She clutches him, wanting to weep, to be silly. ‘I’ve just seen Charlie and Ange.’ She stares up at him. ‘It was awful. They’ve just met a friend and they all look so … normal. What shall I do?’

  He glances at his watch. ‘Have you got another appointment?’

  ‘Not till three o’clock. I was going to take Otto for a walk and grab something to eat on the way.’

  He still holds her shoulders and now he gives her a little shake. ‘This is going to happen, Mimes. You’ve got to learn to deal with it.’

  She is grateful for his strength and common sense.

  ‘I know,’ she says. ‘I know that. It was just this first time, I suppose. Seeing him like that, with Ange, and not like we all were during regatta. You know?’

  ‘I know,’ he says.

  There is such compassion and affection in his face that she wants to clutch him even harder.

  ‘Honestly, Benj,’ she says. ‘I am just a complete twit. Take no notice of me.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ he says. ‘I’ve finished here for today. The car’s in Mayor’s Avenue car park. Let’s go and have some lunch somewhere. Fetch Otto and I’ll bring you both back to your car afterwards.’

  She nods. ‘I’ll drop this stuff off.’ She hesitates, feeling foolish. ‘Sorry, I lost it. Thanks, Benj.’

  He watches her go into the office, then glances back down the street lest Charlie and Ange are around. This is what he’s been dreading ever since they arrived: that there would be some kind of accidental meeting, a confrontation that might give the game away. He gives a little sigh of relief that no harm has been done, but neither is there any kind of resolution.

  He feels very lucky and very happy: he’s coming to terms with the divorce; Laura is loving her job – and Billy; Evie has given him a lifetime’s use of the house, and he’s enjoying all the different types of work that are coming his way. On top of it there is Jemima: he loves her yet he is not in love with her. He is happy with her and there are none of the insecurities, anxieties or responsibilities that are a part of passion and desire and wanting to possess.

  He suspects that she feels the same. Of course there are odd moments when a purely physical need tempts him to think that it would be good to take her to bed, but he knows that it would change the whole dynamic between them and he also suspects that a brief moment of such relief would not be worth the loss of this other precious relationship.

  Poor old Charlie, he thinks. No relief for him, but no compensation either. He wonders how Charlie will continue to make his visits to Dartmouth with the temptation of Jemima always before him. Because it must remain a temptation all the time she is unattached. There will always be the small voice questioning whether he would be happier, more fulfilled, if he were to give in and take the chance.

  Jemima comes out of the office with Otto on his lead, glances anxiously down the street, and then grins at him.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’

  He appreciates her courage, her determination not to give in to her emotions, and he folds her arm into his and hugs it to his side.

  ‘Onward,’ he says. ‘It’s a nice warm day. We’ll go and sit outside at the Maltsters.’

  Instinctively he guides her away from the main thoroughfare, crossing the little square that leads to the car park. They encourage Otto on to the back seat, and then Jemima climbs in and lets out a big breath.

  ‘Phew,’ she says, as he gets in beside her. ‘I feel safe now. Silly, isn’t it? I’ve got to do better than this, haven’t I? I’ve got to learn to chill when Charlie’s down.’

  But as he drives along the Embankment, round the Boat Float and up the hill, Ben sees that she is peering out of the car window, her whole attention focused on the possibility of catching a glimpse of Charlie, of seeing him again.

  Jason side-steps the couple, a tall dark man and a blonde woman that he thinks he’s seen somewhere before, clutching each other in the middle of Foss Street, and makes his way towards the Boat Float to meet Mikey. He’s had the call from Bristol about his job and he’s heard that, though everyone is sorry for his bereavement, no allowances will be made. It’s over: finished.

  His heart flutters with an irregular beat, and his stomach churns so that he feels nauseous; his knees tremble. The bank is after him about his overdraft, and the mortgage company is threatening to repossess the flat. Now he has no job and nobody to help him. Life is so bloody unfair. He wants to scream and rage – and then he sees her: Evelyn Drake, across the Boat Float, with a short elderly guy.

  Instinctively he steps into the shadow of the hedge, watching her. He feels so weak, so angry, that he longs to rush round the Boat Float, grab her and fling her down into the water. At the same time he knows that she will save him. She must be made to see that it is time to make amends for betraying his mother, stealing from his father, and refusing to give him, Jason, the chance that would have made his life quite different. It’s pay-back time.

  He’s shaking so much that he has to take the water bottle from his rucksack and have a quick gulp, and then another. Jason heaves a deep breath. That’s a little better now. The drink has steadied him, calmed him down a bit. He watches Evelyn Drake and the man, who are now approaching him. He takes one last swig, thrusts the bottle back into his rucksack and steps out into their path. Their surprise makes him want to giggle; he feels very slightly unsteady but less disabled. He can hack this now.

  ‘Hi,’ he says to her. ‘I was hoping I’d see you.’

  ‘Hello, Jason,’ she says, very cool, very collected, but he sees just that tiniest flicker of apprehension at the back of her eyes and he experiences a visceral jab of exultation; of power.

  ‘You’ve spoken to Mikey,’ he says. ‘I expect he’s told you about our troubles.’

  ‘Yes,’ she says.

  She answers so calmly that he’s taken by surprise. He assumed she’d ask him what troubles. After all
, Mikey doesn’t yet know Jason’s lost his job. He doesn’t know about the bank, or the mortgage company. The question was meant to wrong-foot her.

  ‘He told me his mother has died,’ she says. ‘I am so sorry. Claude, this is Jason Dean.’

  Claude says, ‘Hello,’ but Jason ignores him: Claude is negligible, totally unimportant.

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ Jason says. ‘That’s only a part of it. It’s time we had a serious chat.’

  She raises her eyebrows with that same cool surprise, and suddenly he doesn’t want to giggle any more. He wants to grab her by the neck and scream at her. She must see something of his reaction in his face because she takes an involuntary step back from him, just as the old guy steps forward protectively, and at that same moment Jason hears Mikey’s voice calling to him.

  ‘Hi, Dad. Where have you been?’

  He glances round to see Mikey waving at him, then remembers he was supposed to meet him. This must wait; he can’t do this with Mikey listening. Frustration grips him and panic takes possession.

  ‘We’ll speak soon,’ he says to Evelyn Drake, and he elbows the old guy aside and hurries to meet Mikey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  BACK AT THE Merchant’s House, leaving Charlie reading the newspaper in the breakfast room, Ange decides to have another little look around. The drawing-room has a much more lived-in look to it. A basket of logs stands beside the fireplace where a heap of ash bears witness to a fire. On a long low table a music system, with a pile of CDs beside it, is plugged in next to the sofa and a small pile of books are toppled together on the rug beside an armchair.

  She bends to look at one of the CDs – Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater sung by Emma Kirkby and James Bowman – and she raises her eyebrows though she doesn’t quite know why she’s surprised. What music does she expect Ben might enjoy?

  She goes out and into the other bedroom and through to the little dressing-room: no sign of the cartoons anywhere. She resolves to speak to Evie, just to let her know that she hasn’t forgotten, and wonders if there’s anything more she can do to undermine Ben’s sense of security. There is much more evidence this time that he is taking possession of the Merchant’s House and, not only that, Ben himself seems to be more confident. The fact that he’s lost his wife and his home doesn’t seem to be having a negative effect on him. He is calm, even happy, and somehow unget-at-able. Her usual campaign – walking in, taking over, assuming ownership – doesn’t seem to be achieving the required result. And now Evie and Claude are moving over to the Merchant’s House for Christmas, meaning that when Charlie does his usual present exchange visit he will have to sleep up in the attic room.

  ‘So what?’ he asked when she challenged him about it. ‘It’s very nice up there. It’s not a problem.’

  She pauses outside the bedroom door, listening, then she nips quickly up to the next floor. Ben’s bedroom is reasonably tidy, though he hasn’t made his bed, and she opens his office door and glances round. There’s the usual scatter of cameras and equipment, the laptop on the table – and then she gets a shock.

  Hanging on the wall behind the desk are the cartoons. She does a quick count – and yes, there are seven of them. Evie must have given them to Ben and he’s hung them up here in his room where nobody else will ever see them.

  Ange is seized with fury. This, like nothing else, confirms Ben’s growing sense of entitlement and Evie’s partisanship. She hurries out and down the stairs, and then stands indecisively before she makes the second descent. Her instinct was to rush down to Charlie, to confront him with this proof of her fears, but suddenly she hesitates. Charlie is still in an odd mood and she is uncharacteristically reluctant to insist that he must take some action. She knows that he will shrug it off; say that it is unimportant. Instead she decides that she will confront Ben; ask him why he has appropriated the cartoons; or maybe she will ask Evie.

  She descends the stairs and goes into the kitchen to make some tea.

  The shadows are beginning to gather; lights glimmer out on the choppy water where the tide is running out, turning the boats at their moorings as if it would drag them all out towards the darkening sea.

  Claude pours them each a drink whilst Evie is lighting the lamps and candles, though she resists drawing the curtains and pulling down the pretty blinds. She hates the dying of the light and is so grateful to have Claude with her, his bulky presence a defence against her fears and loneliness. Jason’s confrontation has unnerved her. She’s explained the little history to Claude, who is annoyed by Jason’s behaviour and clearly anxious for her.

  ‘You could report him for harassment,’ he said, as they walked home together. ‘The man’s seriously unhinged. I think he’d been drinking.’

  ‘I have to think about Mikey,’ she said. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if he should be on his own with Jason, but he has an aunt and uncle who must have seen that Jason is not well.’

  ‘People like Jason can be very clever,’ Claude said. ‘Especially with his bereavement to sidetrack everyone. Did you see how his hands were shaking? It’s not fair to the boy.’

  ‘Let me think about it,’ Evie said. ‘I can’t risk Jason imagining that Mikey and I are conspiring against him.’

  She feels frightened, though; she remembers Jason’s confrontational behaviour in the Royal Castle when she had tea with him and Mikey – and now this. But what should she do? With difficulty she pushes it to the back of her mind and changes the subject.

  ‘Am I imagining it,’ she asks Claude, ‘or is there a slight change in our Ange? Do I detect the least touch of indecisiveness? And why?’

  ‘It will be a miracle,’ says Claude, putting Evie’s glass on the low table in front of the sofa, ‘if Charlie has managed to disguise the fact that he’s fallen madly in love. Even Ange might pick up on it, though she probably won’t guess what it is that’s happened to him.’

  ‘Do you find Charlie changed?’ She sits down and curls her feet under her. ‘He was very sweet with me, but of course he knows that I know. He’s delighted that we’re moving over to the house for Christmas.’

  She’s rather touched by Charlie’s relief.

  ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ he said when she told him. ‘And great for old Benj. I think he gets a bit lonely all on his own in the evenings. It’s the obvious answer that you should all be together, and especially for Christmas. I only wish I could be here too.’

  Then Ange came into the room and he talked about Christmas in London, what the girls were doing, but before the moment passed she asked him if he’d be coming down for his usual pre-Christmas visit.

  ‘I hope you’ll manage it,’ she said, smiling at him, making certain Ange heard. ‘Of course, Claude and I will have moved over by then but you’ll be happy up in the attic room, won’t you? Thank goodness TDF put in that shower and loo up there. Of course,’ she added, glancing at Ange, still smiling, ‘if you all decided to come you could use the boathouse. That would be lovely.’

  Ange quickly disclaimed: she couldn’t possibly get away so close up to Christmas – so much to do, the girls had so many invitations – but Charlie accepted just as quickly on his own behalf.

  ‘Must do the annual Christmas present exchange,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It’s a tradition, isn’t it? Just two nights. Of course I shall come.’ And he gave Evie a private, grateful glance.

  Now, Claude throws the cushion on to the floor and sits down at the other end of the sofa. ‘I’m sure he’s pleased. I think he worries about you going up and down the steps in the dark. Poor old lad. I wouldn’t be in his shoes for anything.’

  Evie feels a little clutch of sadness when he says this: she loves Charlie so much and she grieves for him.

  ‘He and Jemima must come to terms with it,’ she says, ‘one way or another. Lots of people fall in love and never tell. At least Jemima knows. They simply have to settle for those occasional moments of joy, like regatta. He’s coming just before Christmas as usual. We must try to see th
at they have another moment then.’

  ‘And you think that’s wise?’ Claude asks. ‘It won’t put too much strain on them? To be together without … you know?’

  She smiles at him. ‘It sounds odd, doesn’t it, but if they can then these times might be like oases that they can draw strength from – or, of course, it might simply fade.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that?’

  Evie shakes her head. ‘How can I tell? It’s not like some passing physical attraction. It’s much more important, much more special. If they can deal with it without letting it destroy them it could be infinitely precious to them.’

  ‘If you say so. But you think Ange might have guessed that something’s up?’

  ‘I’m just saying that she’s a little less aggressive; a little more careful with Charlie. They came down to make sure Ben doesn’t feel too secure, to assert their rights, but without the girls it isn’t quite so effective and she’s bored already. And, anyway, Ben has a new strength, which Ange can’t possibly guess at. I just hope I’ve done the right thing. It’s not real restitution – after all, the house will still go to Charlie and his descendants – but the crucial thing is that Ben will have the right to live there for all his life if he wants to.’

  ‘And meanwhile you can use it just as TDF hoped you would? This won’t make you feel differently about that?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Not at all. Well, it’s perfect for me, isn’t it? I’m not sure I would want to live in it alone and we can split the bills. It will be rather nice to have someone around during those drear winter months. Oh, I can see that there might be problems but nothing is perfect. What d’you think, Claude? Am I crazy?’

  She watches him, anxious for his approval.

  ‘It’s certainly unusual,’ he says at last, ‘and some people would say that it might be fraught with difficulties, but knowing you and Ben as well as I do I think it’s a very good arrangement. You’ll get on each other’s nerves sometimes but there’s enough space to get away from each other, and anyway that’s no different from ordinary family life. I’m lucky to have an annexe next door to my family but I am very aware that I need to respect their privacy and I have a horror about just walking in, or disturbing them at the wrong moment and seeing their faces drop. So now I tend to wait to be invited, or until they come round to see me, which rather takes the point off being close. In your case I think the good things outweigh the disadvantages. If it works you could rent out the boathouse next year as a winter let.’