by Fanny Blake
‘Look at me.’ Terry put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, eye to eye. She felt the first intimations of alarm. He clasped her hands, holding them on her lap. ‘This won’t take long, but I just wanted to say sorry. I know I’ve been impossible for the last few months. This redundancy was a bugger to deal with.’
‘I know that,’ said Eve, squeezing his hand back, feeling supportive but guilty.
He hesitated, as if he was about to say something important, then clearly thought better of it. ‘I, er . . .’ He stopped, then screwed up his face with a slight shake of his head. ‘I’ve got something for you. Twenty-five years is a hell of a long time, and I want you to know how much it’s meant to me and how much you mean to me.’
All Eve’s senses were on high alert. This wasn’t Terry at all. Emotional outpourings were something they tended to avoid. Not his thing. But he hadn’t finished.
‘I know I haven’t been much good at showing it recently.’ He turned away to open his bedside drawer and pull out a small, neatly wrapped parcel, which he handed to her.
She hesitated, embarrassed by the memory of the inadequate silver birch sapling that she’d bought hastily the previous day and that was waiting for him downstairs. How on earth were they to get it home? She should have thought. She would get him something else. ‘I was going to give you yours later.’
‘That doesn’t matter. Open this. If you don’t like it, you can change it.’ But she could tell he was pleased with his choice. It would be earrings. Always was. She didn’t need a sixth sense to tell her that.
She peeled away the white and silver paper to reveal a box, identical to the one given her by Will only days earlier. Two Tiffany boxes in one week . . .
‘A girl could get used to this.’ She smiled at him, knowing he had no idea of the real meaning of her joke.
He’d already removed the white ribbon, so all she had to do was lift the lid. Taking as long as possible so the tension and pleasure built in equal measure, she peeled back the tissue paper. And there, lying on a white foam backing, was a thin woven bangle in silver, absolutely identical in every way to the one given to her by Will.
She gasped, as stunned by Terry’s deviation from form as by the awful coincidence. Aware that he was waiting eagerly for her response, she looked up. ‘It’s lovely, Terry. Really lovely.’ Genuinely touched, her eyes welled up with unexpected tears as she leaned forward to kiss him. They laughed, awkward, unsure which of them was most surprised by this unusual moment of intimacy. At that exact moment, she remembered the other bracelet, this one’s identical twin, sitting by her wash bag on the shelf in the bathroom in plain sight.
‘Steady on, old thing. It’s only a bracelet. But I thought you deserved something a bit special for putting up with me for all these years.’ A note of pride entered his voice. ‘Twenty-five of them. And I know it hasn’t always been easy.’ He stopped, then realised she wasn’t going to agree or disagree, so began again. ‘And there’s something else I’ve . . .’
But Eve wasn’t listening any more. By now, she was sobbing – whether from gratitude or guilt she had no idea. Everything was muddling up in her mind. Giving something so generous was quite out of character for her ever-thrifty husband, the man who thought that, apart from the customary earrings, a decent Christmas present was a set of percale bed sheets or a replacement non-stick saucepan. Knowing how hard it was for him to say something so personal and appreciative made everything much worse. His words were an awful reminder of how her behaviour was threatening their marriage and how devastated he would be if he found out.
Terry inched towards the edge of the bed and stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ she gulped, still unable to control her tears.
‘To get you a tissue.’ He patted her shoulder and went towards the bathroom.
‘No!’
He turned, surprised by her urgency. ‘It’s no trouble,’ he reassured her.
‘No, no, I’m fine.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, to prove she didn’t need anything, and sat up straight, her towel falling to her waist. Was that hope in his eyes as she yanked it up over her breasts and tucked the end in tightly. Come on. She wasn’t that grateful! ‘Honestly, I am. Come back here.’
But too late. He had disappeared through the door. She could hear him moving around, then . . . silence. Eve lay back on the bed, holding her breath, waiting. There was no escape. This was the moment she had feared, done everything she could to avoid – the moment of discovery. Now she understood even better what Daniel must have been feeling that day: dread, shame, guilt, despair, desire to do anything but face up to the reality of their situation. Whatever was said in the next few minutes could determine the course of their future together.
The loo flushed and she heard running water, followed by the sound of tissues being ripped from the dispenser for her. Any moment now. The door handle moved and the door opened. She lay back on the pillows, her eyes tight shut, waiting for him to speak, unable to think of any kind of convincing explanation. She felt the bed give as he sat down again.
‘Here you are. Feeling better?’
What? She opened her eyes to see him holding out the tissues to her. She took them and blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What on earth for? Nothing I’ve given you has made you react like that before. I guess you must like it.’ Smiling, he took his place beside her.
By some miracle, he’d failed to notice the other bracelet. Eve felt like crying with relief.
‘Don’t start again, old girl.’ He patted her hand.
‘Don’t worry. I’m all right now.’ She slipped the bangle on to her arm and laid her hand on his. ‘There.’ Then she kissed him lightly, disaster averted for the moment. ‘Now, let’s get ready. We mustn’t be late. I’m first in the bathroom.’
‘But you’ve only just finished in there.’ She didn’t even stop to acknowledge his protest. Her mind was on one thing only as she shut the door, locked it and grabbed Will’s bracelet from behind the hairbrush that she’d forgotten she’d left there. She ran her finger around it before wrapping it in loo paper and stuffing it into one of the hotel sanitary towel bags. Terry would never look for it in there, not in a million years. She rammed it to the bottom of her wash bag, just to be doubly sure.
22
The Trevarrick library harked back to the days of Rose and Terry’s father. One of his passions, before he was almost always too drunk to do much more than prop up the bar and throw what few hotel profits there were down his throat, was reading. He devoted one room in the hotel to his extraordinary collection of natural history, local interest and history books. On the walls not given over to packed bookshelves hung some of his collection of paintings by local artists, several of them famous now, capturing the local sea and landscapes. When Rose, Terry and Daniel had inherited and renovated Trevarrick, Rose had unpacked the others that he’d kept in storage and hung them around the hotel. These were paintings to be enjoyed, not hidden away in case they were stolen.
The first time Rose brought Daniel to Trevarrick, she had been beyond nervous about how he might react to her parents. She needn’t have worried. His delight in this part of the south coast of Cornwall coloured his attitude to them. In his book, no one who lived here, as interested in what it had to offer as her father was (or at least had once been), could be as wilfully bad, as negligent as Rose had portrayed them. The first time he entered this room, his eyes had widened. He’d gone straight to the shelves on the left of the bay window. She could picture him standing there now, torn between the view across the garden to the sea, and her father’s bird books.
‘Look at this.’ He’d pulled out Bonhote’s Birds of Britain and their Eggs, one of her father’s favourites. ‘Nineteen thirty, and look at these illustrations.’ He sat in the window seat, turning the plates with reverence. ‘Fantastic.’
After that, she always knew where to find him when he had a spare moment. He’d be holed up
in the library, buried in one of the antique volumes. His love for Trevarrick was sealed in this room. When the three of them decided to make something of the hotel, this was the one room that, beyond essential repair and paintwork, hadn’t really changed. The old spring-bound leather chairs were reupholstered so they were better for comfortable reading, the carpet replaced. But the shelves remained the same, and the collection had been a source of fascination to many a hotel guest since, but to Daniel most of all.
Whenever Rose wanted a quiet moment, she would come here too. As a child she’d hide away here when her father was pissed in the bar and her mother ‘resting’ upstairs. As an adult, she’d come to browse through the books, often finding Daniel following up something he had spotted on a walk, or recently heard about, or adding a new book of his own to the collection. She loved the books too, but her interest lay in the ones containing the botanic prints, always impressed by the devotion with which the painters recorded every detail.
Now she sat quietly in the chair by the window, remembering.
She jumped at the sound of the door handle turning. Groaning inwardly at having to engage with one of the guests before the party began, she was relieved to see Jess.
‘Mum! You look gorgeous. New dress?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised! Simon helped me choose it. He’s got a good eye, it turns out. What about yours?’
Jess’s boldly flowered mid-calf dress that flared out from a wide belt cinched round her waist was perhaps less of a success.
‘Do you like it?’ Her daughter gave a twirl.
‘Lovely.’ Rose was careful. Her daughter was sensitive to anything that might be interpreted as a comment on the baby weight she’d had such trouble shifting.
‘Yep. Found it in TK Maxx. Adam thinks I look like a herbaceous border, but I like it.’ Jess threw herself into the chair nearest to Rose with a loud sigh. ‘Thought I’d find you in here.’
Rose knew from experience how exhausting managing Trevarrick was. Everybody wanted a piece of you all the time, whether staff or guests or suppliers and tradesmen. Even being off-duty didn’t deter the demands.
‘Not many residents use this room any more.’ Jess was thoughtful. ‘In fact, I was wondering about getting rid of the books and turning it into a winter sitting room now we’re opening up the snug with all that glass. I’ve seen some gorgeous wallpaper in—’
‘You can’t do that,’ Rose interrupted, horrified. ‘The library was put together by your father and your grandfather before that. There are some valuable books here.’
‘Exactly. I wouldn’t break up the collection, but try to sell it as a whole.’
‘Sell what?’ Anna stood in the open doorway. The look she’d chosen for the evening bordered on ethereal, and it suited her. Her hair was knotted on the crown of her head so that stray wisps curled around her face. Her long floaty green dress was held up by the thinnest of spaghetti straps and showed off her slight tan. On her feet were the most minimal of sandals, aquamarine varnish on her toenails. Yet again, Rose was struck by the differences between her daughters.
‘I saw you coming in here and thought I’d ask if there was anything I could do now I’ve finished the flowers.’ She floated across the room and took the window seat, leaning back on her arms, ankles crossed. ‘They look great. You must go and see them, Mum.’
‘Actually, everything’s done, thanks.’ Obviously pleased to be able to refuse the offer, Jess let her arms hang over the sides of the chair.
‘That’s all right then.’ Anna waved at someone through the window. ‘Millie,’ she explained. ‘In leather trousers! Are they part of the dress code? Anyway, sell what? What are you talking about?’
Jess shifted into a more comfy position. She sat sideways in the chair, her legs over the arm. ‘Only these old books.’ She waved a hand airily to indicate the shelves, just in case Anna was in any doubt.
Anna leaped to her feet at once. ‘But you can’t!’
‘Not you too.’ One of Jess’s shoes fell to the floor, revealing a small hole in the toe of her tights. She lifted herself up and tugged at the bodice of her dress, which was beginning to gape at the buttons, pulling it straight. ‘Anyway, since when were you so interested in what happened to this hotel? Only months ago you wanted Mum to sell it.’
‘Not these! Look how wonderful some of them are.’ Anna took a book from the shelf, eyes shining, reminding Rose of Daniel’s enthusiasm. ‘Look at this one. Beautiful Flowers and How to Grow Them.’ She showed them the grey cloth binding with an art nouveau illustration of three irises, then opened it. ‘Horace and Walter Wright. These illustrations are heavenly. You just can’t get rid of them on a whim.’
‘You’d forgotten all about them,’ Jess objected, angry at being told what she could and couldn’t do, shades of her father emerging. ‘You’d forgotten because you don’t care. It’s out of sight, out of mind with you. You’ll forget Dad before you know where you are.’ There was a loaded pause as they all looked at each other, shocked by what she’d said. She rushed onwards as if that would make her words go away. ‘And anyway, business comes first. If you’re ever going to make a success of yours, you’d better learn that right now.’
‘Jess, Jess. There’s no need for any of that.’ Rose was appalled to hear how heedlessly cruel one of her daughters could be to the other. Jess had the decency to look shamefaced. She heaved herself up and went over to Anna, attempting an affectionate hug, but Anna backed out of her embrace. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
‘I’m really sorry. I’m so tired, I don’t know what I’m saying. Just forget it. Please,’ Jess begged. But however sincere her plea, it came too late.
‘Forget it?’ The hurt trembled in Anna’s voice. ‘How can I forget it when you say something like that? I’ll never forget Dad, never. And at least I was with him when he died.’ She ran from the room in a clatter of bangles.
Jess looked as if she’d been slapped. Rose didn’t know whether to stay with her or go after Anna. There was enough animosity in the air already. Where had her daughters’ extraordinary capacity for rubbing each other the wrong way come from? Usually, as now, it appeared with impeccable timing. And yet mysteriously their relationship always repaired itself. As quickly as the rows started, the sisters would make up, able to obliterate the hurtful things they’d said that left Rose still smarting.
‘I deserved that.’ Jess took Anna’s place on the window seat. ‘And you’re both right about the books. I know that too really. The hotel wouldn’t be the same without the library. I’m getting ahead of myself, and I can’t afford to do that at the moment . . .’ She busied herself straightening the magazines on the low glass table so Rose couldn’t see her expression.
‘Perhaps just before the party isn’t really the best moment to discuss it.’ The last thing Rose wanted right then was more confidences. ‘We can do that tomorrow. We should go and see what’s happening.’ But her attempt at encouragement fell flatter than a pancake. Jess didn’t move.
Around them, the hotel was beginning to wake up for the evening: footsteps on the wooden floors, talking in the bar, laughter. Outside, one or two guests drifted across the lawn.
‘Mum, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. Not about Anna – I promise I’ll make up with her. Promise. She’ll understand when I explain.’
Rose doubted it would be that easy, if she knew anything about her other daughter. But she had been wrong before. She said nothing, just waited for Jess to say her piece.
‘It’s about Adam and me.’ The tendency to blush that had embarrassed her so much as a child meant that Jess’s chest and throat were suddenly flushed, her cheeks fiery.
Not their marriage too. Could this day possibly get any worse? Were there any members of their family left who hadn’t fallen out with one another? Rose’s longing for Daniel was suddenly so strong that it hurt. But she had to cope without relying on his leadership or his support. This was how it was to be. Whatever turmoil she was
feeling inside, they needed her to appear calm, practical, straight-thinking.
‘It’s early days,’ she said, groping for the right words. ‘Marriage needs work, patience. You can’t expect moonlight and roses all the way. The only way to get through a bad patch is to talk to each other.’ That was hopelessly inadequate, but it was a start.
Jess raised her head, looking mystified. ‘Marriage? What are you talking about?’ A smile crept across her face. ‘I’m not talking about that. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am with Adam. He’s the perfect husband. Without him, all this . . . I couldn’t. No, it’s just . . .’ She paused, twisting a bit of her skirt in her hands as she nerved herself to say whatever it was that was troubling her. ‘It’s just that I’m . . .’ She shut her eyes as if Rose was about to exact some terrible punishment.
Rose waited, concentrating on picking at the cuticle of her thumbnail. Resignation, terminal illness, zero bookings, financial ruin – all manner of potential disasters ran through her head. Then . . .
‘Pregnant.’ There it was. The word fell into the gap between them.
The relief Rose felt was sweet. ‘But that’s wonderful news, isn’t it? A brother or sister for Dylan.’ She crossed the room to hug her daughter close. ‘I thought you were about to tell me something terrible.’
Jess gave a wry laugh. ‘It is wonderful, yes, but . . . just not right now. Not when I’m going to be needed here with all the building work and then we’ve got the relaunch next spring when the pool’s done. And Adam’s work is going so well. He’s had interest from a couple of galleries in Plymouth and Birmingham. I really want this to go well for him at last, so I need to be able to support us in the meantime.’
Like so many important familial conversations, this one could have been had at a better time. The clock was ticking, and they both needed to be there for Eve and Terry’s party as planned. But right now, Jess needed Rose too.
