His fingers were threading themselves between hers. She should pull them away.
‘Your head was looking for someone else to go to and save you from the situation. I was someone you didn’t know—’
‘Don’t try to rationalize it, May. I’ve done that and it hasn’t worked. It wasn’t someone that brought me back to life that day, it was you. I’ve only existed in between the times I’ve seen you this past week – I haven’t really been living. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
May opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come out. Yes, she had felt it; and no, it wasn’t because she’d been looking for someone to repair the heart that Michael had shattered. It defied rationalization because it wasn’t rational. But it was powerful and frightening and undeniable. And thrilling.
Then the sound of a car driving up to the house smashed into their perfect moment.
‘That’s Pauline,’ said Frank.
May pointed. ‘Is that the back door?’
‘Yes,’ said Frank, banging his head with the heel of his hand as if trying to knock something out of it.
‘Tell her, Frank. Don’t marry her for the wrong reasons. Don’t be bullied into thinking they’re the right reasons.’
Then May slipped out of the back door.
Just before it shut she heard Daisy’s shrill tone: ‘You’ll never guess what happened to us today. One of those London bitches was going to glass me.’
Chapter 77
Only Lara slept soundly that night. May’s head was too full of poor Frank to allow her brain to rest, and Clare was woken by a nightmare in which she was at work and couldn’t go home until she had completed a pile of accounts, but the figures kept changing as soon as she had added up the columns. And whichever pen she used the ink turned to water and wouldn’t write, however hard she pressed the nib down onto the paper. She got up at three o’clock to take some Nurofen and lay in the dark trying not to think about anything until they took effect, but that proved to be impossible, even with the thick thrumming pain in her temple.
Her mind strayed to Raine and Seymour and their story: falling in love, Seymour carrying her from the lagoon, standing up for her against the mighty Reverend Unwin, sacrificing his immortal soul for her by being buried in unconsecrated ground. She could imagine Ludwig doing those things for her. She couldn’t envisage Val Hathersage putting himself out at all, even for a woman he purported to love. She wondered if he loved Colleen Landers. Probably – as much as he could. Some people could only love a little. Life must be less complicated for them, Clare thought. She didn’t know if she was one of the unlucky or lucky ones, feeling everything so deeply and wanting the full fairy-story ending.
As the dull throb in her head began to lessen, Clare drifted off into a light, dreamless sleep, waking just after nine. She went down for a swim in the lagoon, diving deep into the bright water, to a world devoid of the pressures found in the life above. The lagoon would stay for ever in her memories as a magical place, symbolizing a time when she took a step out of the madness of her existence to stop and smell the roses. There weren’t enough of those times in her life and she couldn’t even predict when she would have the chance again.
She slipped out of the cave and into the main sea where the waters were decidedly cooler. She swam with a huge shoal of small fishes that didn’t seem in the slightest bit disturbed that a big pink fish with black hair and odd-coloured eyes had decided to join them. When she looked up, she saw Raine waving down.
‘I’ll come up,’ Clare shouted on a whim, doubting that she would be heard, but Raine nodded and wheeled herself back into the cottage.
Wrapped in a towel, Clare made the long journey up the cavern steps to High Top. Either she was getting fitter or someone had reduced the number of steps, she thought, as she took the last thirty at a run. Raine had opened the door for her and was waiting for her guest with a delighted smile on her face.
‘I’m so glad you could visit me again,’ said the old lady. ‘Sit down. Put that blanket around your shoulders.’
Clare sat down on the sofa next to a stretched-out Albert, who was asleep, his paws twitching in a dream. In less than three days Albert and Raine and High Top would be part of her past, and who knew if she would ever see any of them again? It was a thought that she had to push back because the further it advanced to the front of her mind, the sadder she felt.
‘I don’t want to make your sofa wet,’ said Clare.
‘You smell of the sea,’ said Raine, breathing in deeply. ‘You love it as much as I do, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know how I’m going to leave it behind,’ said Clare. ‘I wish I could fit it in my suitcase.’
‘Let me make you some tea,’ said Raine. ‘And warm you up.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Clare.
But Raine insisted. ‘You’re my guest and after all you’ve done for me, it’s the very least I can do for you.’
Albert sensed a knee and awoke to move his bones over to Clare’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind that they were chilly. He was asleep again in seconds, purring, kneading his paws on her skin. Clare could feel how thin he was as she lightly drew her fingers down his back, but at least he was content. She wished her life made her purr as much as his did.
Raine returned with the tea in a cup decorated with painted fish. Because she had to hold the cup while manoeuvring her chair, and had a slight tremor in her hands, she couldn’t avoid spilling some of the tea over her blanket.
‘Thank you,’ said Clare, drawing warmth from the delicate china cup.
‘An old friend of mine came around yesterday,’ said Raine. ‘She was very impressed with how the house looks.’
‘Ah, that’s good.’ Clare smiled.
‘She’s the housekeeper up at Carlton Hall. You can see it from the side window there.’
‘I’ll have a look in a minute,’ replied Clare. ‘I don’t think Albert would be too happy if I moved.’
‘Oh, Albert,’ Raine said fondly. ‘He thinks the world revolves around him. The trouble is, in this house the world does. Gladys brought us some trout. He ate his share and half of mine. I don’t know where he puts it; he’s so skinny these days.’
‘I’ll miss him,’ said Clare, surprising herself by bursting into tears which had been stored up inside her for so long. She rested the cup on a table to ensure she didn’t cover Albert in hot tea, then pushed her towel against her face. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’
She felt Raine’s hand enclose her own, and the old chilled skin gave comfort and a sympathy that made those tears flow faster.
‘Yes, you do know,’ said Raine. ‘You know only too well what’s the matter with you. You’ve got a wishbone where your backbone should be.’
Clare nodded. She couldn’t have put it better herself. The old lady knew her too well.
‘I’m in such a mess, Raine,’ said Clare. ‘The only time my life makes any sense is when I’m underneath the waters of the lagoon and I can leave everything behind me on the surface.’
‘Oh my dear Clare.’
‘I did the right thing saying goodbye to Lud. I was becoming less and less important to him and I’m fed up of being second best, so I had to let him go. But I miss him so much. I don’t want to live my life without him. I won’t even have a life when I get back to London. I don’t know what I’m doing any more.’
‘Do your friends know you feel this way? Have you talked to them?’
‘I find it hard to talk. Feelings aren’t “done” in my family.’
‘And yet you feel very deeply. I know this,’ said Raine. ‘We have a connection, you and I .’ She stroked Clare’s wet hair.
‘I’m all over the place,’ said Clare, recalling her less than satisfying interlude with Val Hathersage.
‘Sometimes,’ said Raine, her croaky old voice smooth as she whispered, ‘you have to fight your corner for your own happiness.’
‘To be happy,
I’d have to fight my parents, and you haven’t met them.’
‘You’re judging yourself through their eyes. You should only judge yourself through your very own special ones. Don’t you think your parents would want you to be happy?’
Clare lifted her head and her eyes engaged with Raine’s. ‘If I turned around to my parents and said that I wasn’t taking the partnership I’ve been offered because it would make me unhappy, they’d be furious. I’m thirty-three years old and I’m still seeking their approval. And if that isn’t pathetic enough, wait for what I’m going to say next – I finally got it, for the first time I impressed them . . . And to keep impressing them I have to live a life I don’t want, or fall back into the shadows again. I’m trapped.’
‘My darling girl.’ Raine enclosed Clare in her arms. ‘If I had a daughter, I would have wished her to be just like you, but above all I would want her to be content. My happy days have carried me through the years. I have loved meeting you. Our paths have crossed for a reason. A bigger power than us has brought us together and only good can come of it.’
Clare dried her tears. She wished she could believe that some mighty force had been unleashed by her meeting with Raine and would whisk her away to Happy Land, but she was too much of a realist. It had been bred in her. She was told at a very early age that Father Christmas did not exist but she was forbidden from spoiling it for more delusional children who might. Magic was not allowed to exist in the Salter household, but she had wanted to believe in its existence so very very much.
‘I wish I had your backbone. Yours and Seymour’s,’ said Clare. ‘I don’t even have a wishbone where mine should be, just a floppy, useless piece of string.’
‘And yet you were brave enough to say goodbye to a man you loved,’ said Raine. ‘I think you’re a very strong woman. But you’re using that strength against yourself, not for yourself. This is your life, Clare – no one else’s.’
‘And I know that – deep down, I do know that,’ said Clare, wiping her eyes with the towel.
‘Clare, release yourself from your own prison.’
That’s what it felt like. As if she were in a prison, and yet in her hand was the key to the door.
‘I only wish I could.’
‘You will.’ Raine lifted Clare’s chin with her finger. ‘You are too special to be unhappy.’
Raine took the edge of the towel and gently wiped the tears from Clare’s cheek.
‘There. That’s better.’ Raine’s heart creaked with pain for this beautiful girl with eyes like the jewelled waters of the sea. If only she could make her believe that everything was going to be all right. Although for that to be so, they would never have to meet again.
‘I’d better get back to the others,’ Clare said. She lifted Albert from her knee and gave him a kiss on his whiskery cheek. ‘I’ll come and see you again before I go on Friday. I want to leave you with better memories of me than sitting in a wet towel crying on your shoulder.’
Raine had thought long and hard about what she was going to say. She had sworn to herself that never again would she interfere in the affairs of Ren Dullem, but she was about to break that vow. She leaned her head near Clare’s ear and whispered.
‘I have a secret for you. You’ll know what to do when the time is right.’
Clare listened, gasped and then couldn’t remember why she had drawn in such a breath. ‘I’d better get back to the others. I’ll come and see you before we leave,’ she said, wondering if she had said that before.
Raine opened her arms, wrapped them around Clare, and kissed her cheek. ‘My lovely Clare,’ she said. ‘Never forget how unique you are. And never let the people around you forget it either.’ As they parted, she gripped Clare’s hands firmly in hers. As icy as they were, they were still many degrees warmer than her own parents’ hearts.
Raine closed the door and listened to Clare’s footsteps retreat into silence.
‘Goodbye, my dear Clare,’ she said. She wouldn’t see her again. The wind was bitter to the taste now. It was almost time.
Chapter 78
Lara awoke to the smell of frying bacon and eggs and her stomach rumbled. She opened her bedroom door to find May, with a spatula in her hand, standing at the oven.
‘Ah, Mr Bond. You’ve arrived,’ said May in a Russian accent. ‘Fancy some?’
‘Fried bacon and eggs are very bad for you,’ replied Lara sternly.
‘Not to mention the mushrooms and fried bread . . . You didn’t answer the question.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘You take this one, I’ll make some more.’
‘No, I’ll—’
But May wouldn’t take no for an answer.
‘Oh, May, your poor face. And your poor arms and your poor leg,’ said Lara.
‘I’ll live,’ replied May, although she was very scratched indeed.
‘You look as if you’ve been attacked by Edward Scissorhands.’
‘I feel as if I have been as well.’
‘Clare swimming?’ asked Lara through a mouthful of egg.
‘The secret door in her room is open so I expect so.’
‘This is delicious, May. I don’t know how I’m going to go back to early mornings – and with nothing but an espresso before lunch.’
May sighed. There were a lot of things she wondered if she could do without after this holiday: long unhurried talks with gorgeous friends, taking time to sit and feel the sun on her face, being in the orbit of Frank Hathersage.
Clare had obviously been crying when she emerged fully dressed but wet-haired from her bedroom. She’d put on some make-up but her eyes were decidedly bloodshot.
‘You all right?’ asked May, putting a mug of coffee in front of her.
‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ replied Clare, convincing no one, not even herself. ‘I’m going to miss Raine so much. I’m going to miss the lagoon, I’m going to miss being in this cottage with you two.’
‘We’ve been having similar thoughts,’ said Lara, pushing the sugar bowl towards her funny-eyed friend.
‘Let’s not get holiday blues whilst we’re still on holiday. We’ve got two full days to go.’ May tried to jolly them along. ‘Get your drinks and let’s go and sit on the terrace. It’s a gorgeous morning.’
They picked up their mugs and took them outside. The daft pudgy clouds did nothing to take away the heat of the day, thank goodness, even if they did get in the way of the sun’s brightness.
‘Oh, your poor face,’ said Clare. ‘That looks so painful.’
May had told them, of course, about what had happened to Frank the previous day and why she came home looking as if she had just done four rounds with a combine harvester.
‘I only hope Frank is feeling better today,’ said May.
‘Well, it won’t be his last migraine unless he tells Daisy the wedding is off,’ said Clare, dunking a shortbread finger in her drink.
‘Oh. My. God. What a frigging mess,’ was Lara’s verdict. ‘Do you think he will?’
‘Probably not,’ said May. ‘He feels too bad about the accident.’
‘Imagine feeling that trapped and not letting yourself do anything about it.’ Lara blew her fringe up in a gesture of disbelief. Clare didn’t say anything.
‘There’s something else I haven’t told you about Frank,’ said May suddenly. ‘He said . . .’
‘What?’
‘He said that . . .’ May coughed. ‘He had feelings for me.’
Lara huffed. ‘Well, that’s no secret. And I expect that having that attraction to you made him realize that he didn’t have any attraction to Daisy. Am I right? Of course I’m right.’
‘Well, I suppose I have my uses. Our brief interlude has at least woken him up to some home truths.’
‘Can’t you just move here and marry him?’ asked Lara.
‘Yeah, of course I can,’ replied May. ‘Because life is like that. Oh, I really hope Frank finds the courage to stand up to the Unwins. He’s such a gentle
decent man. Probably too decent. And they don’t come along very often.’
May knew that only too well. She’d never been good at relationships. Her first big love dumped her when she was in her first term at university. She was single for five years then met Trev who stole and pawned most of her jewellery. Then came Barry who played very strange and cruel head-games. She was just healing from the nasty fall-out of their break-up when she met the ‘kind, sensitive’ Michael and thought all her best dreams had come true at once. He had left her feeling more unvalued and lonely than she ever had before.
Lara nodded. ‘I wish life were like a book sometimes. At least some people get their fairy-tale endings.’ She looked pointedly at Clare.
‘More coffee?’ said Clare, standing up with her mug. The others shook their heads. ‘I do. Back in a minute.’
‘What about you and Gene? Is there a spark there, Lars?’ asked May.
Lara gave a hoot of amused laughter. ‘Don’t be daft. He’s a Yeti with a foul temper.’
‘You went with him to see puppies, though. And he bought you breakfast.’
‘And there the story ends,’ said Lara. ‘Because he hates women.’
‘He liked you enough to tell you he hated them.’
‘Okay, then, I’m a bit too old for holiday romances,’ parried Lara.
‘And yet I’m two months older than you and you’re encouraging me to have one,’ May threw back at her. ‘Always harder to take your own advice than give it, isn’t it, Lara Rickman?’
‘The difference is that Frank Hathersage and you have an obvious attraction to each other. Gene Hathersage, on the other hand, is about as far away from “my type” as it is possible to get.’
‘Maybe that’s the point,’ said May. ‘The types you seem to pick have turned out to be rather crap, haven’t they? You even manage to make me look like a good judge of character.’
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