‘Very rural,’ she remarked, and felt James look at her, unsure if approval or censure was implied. Then they were turning into a wide, gravelled drive alongside a stone-built house with a veranda running along the front of it.
‘Dad’s grandstand for cricket matches,’ James commented, seeing her glance at it. They drew to a halt next to another car, and he switched off the engine.
‘Well, here goes,’ he said.
As he held the door for her, Abigail heard voices coming through the open side gate.
‘They’ll all be in the garden,’ he added, and, taking her arm, led her to meet his family.
Everyone turned as they appeared, and Rosemary, conscious of their last unsatisfactory meeting, came quickly forward.
‘We got off to a bad start, my dear,’ she said, ‘but I hope we can be friends.’ And, bending forward, she kissed Abigail’s cheek.
‘Thank you,’ Abigail stammered, and saw to her embarrassment that the rest of them were lining up to meet her. James’s father was tall and straight, with plentiful grey hair and shrewd blue eyes. His handclasp was firm as he subjected her to a long, assessing gaze.
‘Welcome,’ he said briefly, and she smiled and nodded, turning as Tina approached. She had James’s colouring, though she was considerably shorter, and her shoulder-length hair was a tumble of curls. She smiled her welcome, but her brown eyes were guarded.
As each in turn was introduced, Abigail searched their faces for a possible ally. Not Tina, she thought regretfully – at least, not immediately; nor was she convinced Rosemary’s overture was genuine, after her previous hostility. Andrew would clearly need winning over, and Ben, who’d smiled at her kindly and was her best bet, was, as Tina’s husband, sadly out of bounds.
The children, pushed forward by their parents, she initially discounted, being unsure how to deal with them. Charlie had stared at her with frank curiosity, but there was a flicker of admiration in the eyes of fourteen-year-old Lily, and Abigail breathed an inward sigh of relief. Here, then, might lie her chance of infiltration.
Ben appeared with a tray of Pimm’s, and Abigail, released from being the centre of attention, was able to look about her. The garden was large and secluded, with several old trees and a lush, central lawn. Down near the end wall, she caught sight of an old swing, and memory knifed into her, making her catch her breath. Instantly, James was at her side.
‘All right?’ he asked anxiously.
It was an effort to smile. ‘Someone walking over my grave.’ Or someone else’s. She added quickly, ‘It looks an interesting house; what period is it?’
‘Early Victorian. It’s called The Old Rectory, and used to be owned by the church. Would you like to see over it?’
Abigail, always interested in interiors, brightened. ‘Would anyone mind?’
‘Of course not.’
They entered the house through the open doors of a conservatory to find themselves in the family sitting room. The large fireplace was obviously original, as were the cornice and ceiling rose, and the deep cream walls and turkey-red carpet were in keeping with its age. In room after room, Abigail found much to admire. The Markhams had achieved an elegant blend of old and new, even the bathrooms, with all their modern accoutrements, seeming appropriate to the style of the house. Two of its six bedrooms had been transformed into en suites and the old scullery was now an up-to-date utility room. The house had been built, Abigail reflected, when the clergy had large families, but she doubted if any man of the cloth could afford to live here now.
They reached the kitchen, a large, cool room where a tempting array of food was laid out, as everyone was coming in from the garden to collect their lunch. Plates and cutlery were at one end of a central table, and they slowly circled it, selecting their meal from the various dishes.
Back outside, Abigail was careful to seat herself next to Lily, who greeted her with a shy smile.
‘Thank you for giving up your Saturday,’ she said. ‘I bet you’d rather be doing something else!’
The girl flushed. ‘Not really,’ she muttered.
Her brother, across the table, wouldn’t let that pass. ‘She wanted to go riding,’ he said, and received a savage kick for his pains.
Another jolt from the past. Though Abigail’s throat constricted, some comment seemed called for, and she made herself ask, ‘So you’re into horses?’
Lily nodded, her embarrassment fading at the show of interest. ‘I love them,’ she said.
Oh God, what could she say now? ‘So did I, at your age.’
Lily turned to her interestedly. ‘Did you have your own?’
Abigail’s hands clenched. ‘I did, yes.’ Why was she pursuing this? Lily’s potential friendship was costing her dear.
‘I’m getting one for my birthday. I can hardly wait!’
‘We’ve stipulated she’ll have to look after it herself,’ Ben put in, ‘but we have a fair bit of land round about, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’
Tina, feeling that since her family was fraternizing, she should do the same, cleared her throat. ‘James says you’re an interior designer. What exactly does that involve?’
An olive branch, and, even better, a change of subject.
‘It’s a wide spectrum,’ Abigail replied. ‘Sometimes people send me a diagram of their room, detailing its size, aspect and any fixtures, and ask me to suggest a new colour scheme, complete with curtains and soft furnishings. Or I might be approached by a building firm to furnish a show house, or by businesses, for ideas on modernizing their foyers or board rooms.’
‘It sounds fascinating.’
‘I was pretty nervous about her seeing the flat,’ James put in, ‘but it seems to have passed muster.’
He was relieved the conversation had moved to a subject she seemed comfortable with; he’d not missed her reaction when riding was mentioned, and it was brought home to him yet again how little he knew of her past. Was it the thought of riding itself that distressed her, or simply the reminder of her childhood? And in either case, why?
Helped by more general conversation, Abigail relaxed and consciously set herself to charm them with amusing comments and questions about their interests, gratified that the atmosphere had noticeably thawed.
Among other snippets, she learned that Rosemary, as well as being a pillar of the church, had been a magistrate for some years, and was thankful she wouldn’t have to appear before her; she didn’t doubt her hostess would penetrate with ease the fragile web she’d so carefully woven about her.
As the meal came to an end, James rose to his feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to take this opportunity to invite you to a wedding in London on the eighteenth of next month. Formal invitations will follow, but this is advance notice so you can note the date in your diaries.’
There was an outbreak of exclamations.
‘So soon?’ Tina, thinking of Sylvie, who’d been told to wait for a spring wedding.
‘But that’s only – what? – three weeks away!’ Rosemary.
‘Three weeks today,’ James confirmed. ‘Time enough to buy a new hat, Ma!’
‘But – aren’t there things to arrange?’
‘Nothing major. Obviously, we’ll be living in my flat, and Abigail will lease hers. She’ll use the converted loft as her studio.’
‘Is there any heat up there?’ Andrew, ever practical, enquired.
‘I’ll get one of those portable radiators; it won’t be a problem.’
Soon afterwards the party broke up, and having helped carry dishes inside and had their offers of further assistance declined, the guests made their various ways home.
‘What did you think of her?’ Andrew asked, as he helped stack the dishwasher.
Rosemary straightened, rubbing her aching back. ‘I’m not sure. She’s intelligent and charming, and, of course, stunning to look at, but – I don’t know. There’s something I can’t put my finger on that makes me slightly uneasy.’
‘She seems to adore
James.’
‘So I should hope, after causing this upset.’
‘And he her, of course.’
Rosemary sighed. ‘Poor Sylvie,’ she said. ‘I’d be much happier if it was she who was joining the family.’
‘What did you think of her?’ Charlie enquired of his sister, as they lay in the long grass of the meadow.
‘She’s all right,’ Lily replied, guarded as always in her brother’s company, since she never knew when her comments might be repeated. In truth, she was torn, being fond of Sylvie, whom she’d known all her life. But Abigail was glamorous and sophisticated, and her clothes and shoes were to die for. What was more, she liked horses, a sure way to Lily’s heart. All in all, she was just the role model she’d been looking for.
‘Actually,’ she added more honestly, ‘I rather liked her.’
‘What did you think of her?’
With no meal to prepare, Tina had joined her husband in their sitting room.
‘She seemed very edgy to begin with. Not that you can blame her.’
‘And?’
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said slowly, ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, when she and James are so obviously in love, but I got the impression that she’s deeply unhappy.’
‘Belated conscience, perhaps, for ousting Sylvie.’
‘I doubt if that worries her. No, this goes much deeper; an old unhappiness that she’s spent years fighting.’
Conscious of his wife’s stare, he gave an embarrassed grin. ‘Sorry to go all psychic on you, but you did ask. It was something in her eyes.’
‘Oh, so you’ve been gazing into her eyes, have you?’
He laughed. ‘You must admit they’re worth gazing into. Seriously, though, did you notice how she reacted when Charlie mentioned riding?’
‘Can’t say I did.’
‘She actually swayed in her chair. I thought she was going to pass out, but she quickly recovered herself.’
‘Oh, come on! You’re imagining things!’
He shrugged. ‘Possibly. All the same, I think there’s more to our Abigail than meets the eye.’
‘No wonder poor Sylvie couldn’t compete,’ Tina said.
‘Where shall we go on our honeymoon?’ Abigail asked idly, as they lay in bed on the Sunday morning. The sound of bells drifted in from several of the town’s churches, mingling and chiming in repetitive relay, and she felt a passing regret that they wouldn’t ring for her wedding.
James smiled. ‘That’s supposed to be a secret!’
‘I hate secrets!’ She propped herself on one elbow and looked down at him, her hair falling forward. ‘Tell me.’
‘Well, if you insist; I’ve booked us in at a very luxurious hotel overlooking Lake Garda. Everything laid on – gym, sauna—’
He broke off as he felt her stiffen, and her face took on the same haunted look that had alarmed him the day before. He reached up, gripping her bare shoulder.
‘Darling, what is it?’
She shook her head distractedly, hair swinging across her face. ‘I’m sorry – I can’t—’
‘Can’t what?’
She moistened her lips. ‘Go there. Oh James, I’m so sorry!’
‘But – why? I don’t understand. Don’t you like Italy?’
‘I love it, but couldn’t we find somewhere in the mountains instead?’
‘What have you got against lakes?’ he asked gently. ‘You can tell me, darling. You just said you hate secrets.’ Though he knew instinctively she’d meant other people’s.
She flashed him a quick glance, then lay down again, staring up at the ceiling. James waited, his heart unaccountably thumping, and after a minute she said in a low voice, ‘My father drowned in one.’
He was at once contrite and relieved: nothing untoward, then; she was simply avoiding unhappy memories. ‘You should have warned me, sweetheart. Of course we’ll go to the mountains.’
And as he bent over to kiss her, her arms came round his neck and she clung to him fiercely. He could feel her trembling, and struggled to think of the right thing to say. But before he could, she released him, giving him a shaky smile.
‘Sorry to be such a goose!’ she said.
The wedding passed off better than they could have hoped. Though the earlier heat had abated, the day was warm and sunny, the sky cloudlessly blue. Abigail wore a cream silk suit, a fascinator on her dark hair, and carried a bouquet of pink roses. She looked stunning, Tina thought a little sourly, noting the admiring glances she was attracting.
James, handsome in pale grey, impressed his bride’s friends, and everyone seemed determined to put reservations aside. The service was simple but moving, the following lunch excellent, and even Rosemary acknowledged it had all gone admirably.
When the newly-weds had left, Tina and Ben set off for home, needing to collect their children from a friend’s house. Rosemary and Andrew, however, had elected to stay on to see a show, and were spending the night at the hotel where they’d lunched.
When they finally reached their room, tired after the day’s crowded happenings, Rosemary stood for a moment, looking down at the bright lights and moving throngs of the unsleeping city.
‘They will be happy, won’t they, Andrew?’ she asked pensively.
He joined her at the window and put an arm round her. ‘I hope so, my dear,’ he said.
The replacement hotel offered all the amenities of the original, and was surrounded by majestic mountains, the higher ones already snow-capped.
Abigail had said nothing further on the change of venue or the reason for it. That her father had drowned was still all James knew about her family or, indeed, her life before they met, but he was confident that in time she’d confide in him more fully, and by talking through her worries, they’d be able to eliminate them.
They walked on the mountains, swam in the hotel pool, soaked up the sunshine and luxuriated in the excellent food and wine on the menu. And the other guests, indulgently smiling at the honeymoon couple, could have had no inkling they were virtually strangers to each other.
One afternoon, as they sat high above the town, their picnic lunch in a hamper beside them, Abigail reached for James’s hand.
‘Oh, darling, I wish we could stay here for ever!’
He laughed. ‘I bet all honeymooners say that.’
‘But I’m serious. We’re together, just the two of us, away from everyone and everything.’ Her grip tightened, and he felt her shiver. ‘I’m frightened, James.’
He frowned. ‘What on earth of?’
‘Of being so happy. I’ve no right to be, and I’m terrified it will all come crashing down.’
‘Everyone has a right to be happy,’ he said gently, ‘and I’d say you more than most.’
She gave another little shiver, then the tension went out of her. ‘The pursuit of happiness,’ she said reflectively. ‘Isn’t that part of the Declaration of Independence? But pursuing it doesn’t mean you’ll find it, does it?’
And he could think of no reply.
So the two weeks passed, and Mr and Mrs James Markham returned, however reluctantly, to the flat in Inchampton.
In their absence, autumn had arrived. A couple of storms had stripped most of the trees, the clocks had been put back, and daylight was fading soon after four o’clock.
It took their combined efforts to manoeuvre the larger items up the new ladder, and Abigail spent some time that first week running up and down as she set out her equipment. James had promised to put up some shelves, but in the meantime her books and files were stacked neatly against the wall.
The loft, though well lit, was dependent on skylights, denying her a bird’s eye view of the square; yet despite its limitations, she was pleased with her eyrie and happily embarked on her work. With James back at the office, they settled comfortably into a new routine, and the family, watching from a discreet distance, allowed themselves a tentative sigh of relief.
It was a week or two later that the first inciden
t occurred. It was a Saturday morning, and they were at breakfast when they heard the clatter of the letter box and the thud of mail landing on the mat. James ran downstairs to retrieve it, and flicked through it as he came back into the room.
‘There’s a postcard for you, darling,’ he remarked, ‘but they’ve forgotten to write the message! Hope we didn’t do that with any of ours.’
He dropped it, picture side up, in front of her, glancing over her shoulder at the view displayed.
‘Looks a nice place. Where is it?’
When she didn’t reply, he glanced at her and saw she’d frozen, staring at the card as though it were a poisonous snake while the colour leached from her face.
‘Abigail? Whatever’s the matter, love?’
Very slowly, still with her eyes on the card, she pushed her chair back from the table. Then, with startling suddenness, she sprang to her feet, brushed him aside and ran from the room. Seconds later, James heard her vomiting in the bathroom.
He hurried after her, staring helplessly at the locked door. When the retching finally stopped, he tapped on it gently.
‘Darling, come and lie down and let me get you something.’
Silence.
‘Abigail? Are you all right?’
Still no reply, and he knocked more loudly. ‘Darling, please let me in. I’m worried about you.’
He heard her voice then, faint and hoarse. ‘I’m all right. Please leave me alone.’
He waited a moment longer, rattling the handle in his frustration. Then, defeated, he slowly returned to the living room. The card lay where he’d so casually dropped it, and he picked it up and studied it.
It showed a lake, surrounded by hills, and though his first thought was that it was in Italy, the caption identified it as the English Lake District. It must have been the lake that upset her, he reasoned, but surely that in itself couldn’t account for such a traumatic reaction? Thank God her father wasn’t run over by a bus! he thought, with gallows humour.
Thicker Than Water Page 4
