‘You really said that? To Laura? She’s worse than Rose when it comes to taking advice. Can you imagine either of them pandering to a man?’
Rose scowled at him. Hadn’t she just cooked him a meal?
‘Worse than Rose? Impossible,’ Arthur said, then decided he was on dangerous ground and concentrated on the strange-looking fish which had appeared on his plate.
Evelyn watched the interaction between Rose and Jack. Yes, she thought, Jack’s feelings are obvious, how strange that Rose isn’t aware of her own.
14
For the next couple of days the weather was unsettled until finally the thunderstorms cleared the air and gave way to scorching heat and summer proper.
Rose had not met Maddy’s daughter. She had decided that it was too much to expect of Julie to make herself known to strangers as well as the mother she had never known over a two-day visit. She had also persuaded her parents to prolong their stay.
‘In that case we’ll all have a proper holiday, and no arguments, my girl,’ Arthur had told her. He had wanted to take them to the Isles of Scilly but accommodation was at a premium in July and it was impossible to find anywhere with both a single and double room available. Instead, the day after Joe’s funeral, they drove up to Devon, to the South Hams, and stayed at a farmhouse where they idled away the hours, soaking up sunshine in the garden while they read or taking long, leisurely walks on paths winding between ripened crops which were almost ready to harvest. There was a heavy summer stillness and the roughness of dried grasses rasped their legs as they walked. The hedgerows were filled with red campions, dog violets, bush vetch and stitchwort. The flowers of the brambles were interspersed with green and red berries, hard now, but they would be ready to pick in another month. Rose named those plants her parents did not know. She had drawn most of them for Barry’s notelets. There were cream teas and strawberries and a bus ride to Bigbury where they crossed to Burgh Island in the sea-tractor and had cocktails in the 1920s art deco bar of the luxury hotel. The days passed quickly and they slept deeply at night, then suddenly it was over.
On the last afternoon Rose had taken her sketch-pad out with her and her parents had watched in fascination as she quickly outlined the buccolic scene spread in front of them, then she drew the farmhouse and its garden, washing it in subtle watercolours before presenting it to Evelyn who hugged her in gratitude.
‘In return for my jug,’ Rose told her.
‘She’s itching to get back to work,’ Evelyn said as they were getting ready for bed that night.
‘I know, but the break’s done her good. She needed it. I can’t recall when she last had a holiday.’
‘I won’t hear of it,’ Rose declared at breakfast when Arthur suggested they drove her home before setting off themselves. ‘You’ll almost double the length of your journey. Drop me at Plymouth station and I’ll go back by train,’
They did so and Rose watched them drive away, sad at their going but knowing she was ready to get back to the routine of her life. She felt refreshed and was full of ideas for future work. Sitting on the train, her thoughts drifted from the holiday to Jack and to the events of the past few weeks and how fate, like most things, held a mixture of give and take.
Two people I know, two friends, and one has lost a son while the other has found a daughter. But Etta was a survivor. The sad day of the funeral had been and gone and now that she had Sarah on her side again it would be easier for her to get through the awful months which lay ahead. And Maddy, overjoyed that the child she had seen only briefly on that one sad occasion had come back to her, was now looking forward to a second visit.
The train neared Penzance. It slowed as the track took them through Marazion marshes. Rose saw St Michael’s Mount rising out of the bay. Home, she thought, as she always did whenever it came into view. Feeling lazy she took a taxi home and opened the door to the thickness of stale heat. There was a mound of post and telephone messages to deal with and then a trip to the shops for food. It was after five before she had re-established herself.
Jack rang as she was pouring her pre-dinner wine. He was back at work, he said, and was just ringing to see if she had enjoyed herself and got home safely. ‘And I wondered if you’d like to go out to eat? I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to do any shopping.’
‘Not tonight, thanks, Jack. I’m ready for a night in.’
Another week passed before Geoff Carter renewed his dinner invitation. Rose accepted it. They travelled to St Ives by train, the two carriages rattling along the line of the coast, miles of golden sand spread out way down below them. The azure sea was frilled with white foam as it rolled across the flat beach. They ate sea food and drank Chardonnay in glass goblets then returned home by taxi.
Over the scallops Rose learned that Geoff was divorced, that his wife had left him for another man. He had been honest enough to admit that he had previously been unfaithful but had realised his mistake; an affair might seem exciting but living with the woman was not at all the same thing, and he had gone back to his wife.
‘It was downhill from there,’ he said as he poured more wine. ‘I hadn’t learned my lesson, you see. When she found out for a second time, I was, quite rightly, shown the door,’
Rose had known immediately that things would progress no further, that even if Geoff had changed, which she doubted, she had gone past the stage of being prepared to be in a relationship where there could not be total trust. Geoff was handsome and relaxed and entertaining company but he lacked a sense of permanence. The Hammonds were a recent example of how much harm disloyalty could produce.
Each morning Rose left the house with her painting equipment in the back of the car or slung over her shoulder in her green canvas bag. She walked miles over rough ground, becoming fitter and browner each day. Where she worked depended upon her mood. Sometimes it was inland amongst rocky outcrops where the fern tips were already touched with brown and the lichen on the boulders was beginning to yellow. On other days she sat on a headland and tried to capture the colours of the sea, frustrating work as they changed so often, but now and then she sighed with pleasure, knowing she had got it just right.
One afternoon she sat on a cliff with the sun on her head and a gentle sea breeze blowing in her face and unscrewed her thermos flask. It contained the black coffee which sustained her whilst she was working. The steam rose and distorted her vision, making the horizon quiver. She lay on one side, ignoring the discomfort of the hard ground beneath her and the prickle of dry grass stalks through her skirt. Where is my life going? she wondered, thinking of the evening she had spent with Geoff Carter and the odd nights out she had with Jack.
Laura teased her, as Laura always did, but Rose had not returned Geoff’s hospitality and had left the question of seeing him again unanswered. They would meet as friends or on a business footing, but no more than that.
‘Anyway, you can bring him to my end of summer barbecue if you want. I’ve already invited Jack,’ Laura had told her.
‘That’s typical of you. No one else I know would think of celebrating the end of something,’ Rose had replied with a grin, ignoring her allusion to Geoff Carter. The discussion had taken place in the Swordfish bar during one of their companionable nights out. ‘What if it’s raining?’
‘Then we’ll go indoors. Live dangerously, that’s what I say.’ Laura had laid a hand on Rose’s arm, her corkscrew curls bobbing as she laughed. ‘Forget I said that, you’re the last person to need encouragement.’
The night of the barbecue was not far off. Maddy’s daughter, who was coming down again before the university term started, would be there. Rose was looking forward to meeting her. She had gone over to Maddy’s for supper one evening and learned that she and her daughter had found many things in common and had taken to each other at once. With great pride Maddy had shown Rose the photographs they had taken. The physical likeness between the two women was astonishing.
This isn’t getting me anywhere, Rose thought, as
she squinted through the long grass. Ants ran purposefully along the lengths of the stems and bees were busy amongst the heather. She found herself wondering which of them any daughter she and David might have produced would have favoured. A pointless conjecture, she decided, but without sadness or regret.
She sat up and looked around. There was no one in sight. For a while she had the world to herself, unless she counted the wildlife with whom she temporarily shared the headland. Her canvas was propped against a rock. She studied it for several minutes. It was good as far as it went, but there was something lacking. Without thinking she picked up a brush and began to work. It was a further two hours before she was satisfied and only the rumbling of her stomach dictated that it was time to go home.
She walked back to where she had parked the car and unlocked it. The trapped heat enveloped her as she opened the door. Make the most of it, she told herself, knowing that in a few short weeks things could be very different.
The coolness of the kitchen was welcome. Rose left the back door open while she unpacked her gear and the carrier of food she had purchased on her way home, including local strawberries which would soon be coming to an end.
Her face was hot and she hoped she had not overdone the sun although she had taken the precaution of wearing her battered straw hat. It was Jack’s birthday in two days’ time – ought she to buy him a present, and if so, what? It was difficult to find suitable gifts for men. I could just take him out or cook him a meal, I suppose, she thought, but I’ll have to make sure he’s not working that evening.
At six thirty she opened her wine and prepared her food, drawing blood from a finger on a gurnard spike as she washed it. Once it was in the oven she went to the phone.
‘Jack, are you busy on Thursday?’
‘Why?’
Typical answer, she thought, find out what I want first. ‘I thought I might treat you to a meal.’
‘In that case, I’m not.’
‘Here? Will that be all right?’
‘You know I love your cooking, Rose. Thank you. I’ll bring something suitable to wash it down with.’
‘Wash it down?’
‘Don’t get teasy, you know what I mean.’
‘No, I’ll buy it. It is your birthday.’
‘Thank you. I’ll leave it to your impeccable taste then.’ He had thought she would not remember it this year and had been careful not to mention it because he had not wanted to embarrass her. At the same time last year they had been a couple. He wished they still were. ‘What time should I arrive and is it black tie?’
‘Six thirtyish, and wear what you like.’
Not long after this conversation Sarah arrived unannounced. ‘These are for you,’ she said, handing Rose a large box of chocolates, ‘for all you’ve done.’
Rose was touched. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I felt I owed you an explanation. After what I told you, I mean. You must’ve thought I was crazy going out with Mark that day.’
‘Yes, something like that. Fancy a glass of wine?’
‘Please.’ Sarah’s face reflected her pleasure. It was great to be treated as an adult.
‘Have a seat. Go on, then. Why did you?’
‘I was sure no one would believe me, apart from you, that is, certainly not the police. I was hoping to trick him into an admission. I realised when he telephoned that he couldn’t have seen me, he wouldn’t have sounded so like himself. I really believed I wasn’t in danger.’
‘You weren’t, not from that angle. And you couldn’t have known about the Hammond break-in.’
Sarah blushed. ‘But I was responsible for it.’
‘No. A man from up country was responsible. It would’ve happened sooner or later.’ Rose switched the conversation to Sarah’s career and later watched as she made her way down the drive. That she stopped to look at the view indicated to Rose that the girl was beginning to heal.
Two days later Jack appeared bearing a bunch of rather bedraggled flowers. ‘I bought them this morning. I should’ve put them in water.’ He kissed her cheek as he handed them to her.
‘Thank you. But it’s supposed to be your birthday.’ Rose found a vase and arranged the wilting blossoms then went to the small room off the kitchen which had once been a larder but now housed the washing-machine and freezer and several old pairs of shoes and coats. She had only thought of the champagne at the last minute and had put it in the freezer to chill. ‘Now, here you are. A very happy birthday, Jack.’ She handed him a flute in which the pale liquid fizzed and raised her own glass.
‘My, my. Do I deserve this?’ He grinned and raised his own glass in reply.
He was standing very close to her. Through the short-sleeved shirt he wore tucked into his jeans Rose felt the heat of his body. She smelled the crispness of freshly ironed cotton and his distinctive aftershave and moved away, wondering if it had been such a wise decision to invite him to dinner after all.
They sat outside enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine. Jack’s arm lay across the back of the seat but he did not allow his hand to drop to a position where his fingertips could rest on Rose’s shoulder. ‘How’s Etta?’ he asked.
‘It’s hard to say. Good days and bad.’
Jack nodded. ‘And Sarah?’
‘Almost human, Etta says.’ Rose knew that Sarah had come to the adult decision not to socialise with Amy and Roz any more. She would, as planned, stay on at school. Etta had no immediate plans, which Rose agreed was sensible. ‘I’m not ready to face the future yet,’ she had told Rose over coffee one morning. ‘I’m still taking life one day at a time.’
‘It’s the only way, but it works.’ Rose said. She had mentioned Laura’s barbecue knowing that, had Joe been alive, he would certainly have been invited. ‘Are you and Sarah going?’
‘I think so. I know Sarah will. I never know how I’m going to feel when I wake in the mornings. Laura just said to turn up if it was a good day.’
‘It might do her good if she does go,’ Jack said when Rose had related the conversation.
‘It’s still early days, Jack, she might feel disloyal.’ Jack frowned. ‘I know, it’s daft. But after David died, after about a year, I suppose, I felt guilty if I felt the slightest happiness even though he would have wanted it for me.’
‘I think I understand.’ Jack reached beneath the bench but the champagne bottle they had placed there to keep cool was already empty. Their conversation had been easy, comfortable, that of old friends, and they had hardly noticed how much time had already passed. The nights were pulling in and a few stars glittered in the growing dusk. A half moon hung at an angle over the bay and a cricket chirruped somewhere near the shed. Rose had cleared it out, throwing away years of accumulated rubbish, and it had become another place where she could work.
‘Are you ready to eat?’ They stood up and went inside.
‘You don’t know how much I appreciate this,’ Jack said as he picked up his knife to spread home-made crab pâté on crusty bread. Conversation seemed unnecessary as they ate the meal Rose had taken such trouble in preparing.
When they had finished they drank coffee and brandy in the sitting-room. Music played quietly in the background.
‘Jack, that day when you found Sarah and were shot at, did you get into trouble over it?’ He had given Rose an abridged version of what had happened that evening, but it was enough for her to guess that he had acted out of character, prompted by his belief that she had been with Mark and Sarah.
‘Yes, but not as much as I could have done. Fortunately, I was the only injured party. I was very lucky to get off with a warning.’ And he had been, he knew that. There could have been a diciplinary hearing, he might even have been demoted. He paused. ‘You know that I thought you were in there, Rose. I would never have acted in that way otherwise.’
‘Yes, you did tell me.’ There seemed nothing more she could say. Rose bit her lip, unsure how she would respond if he became more intimate. She was curled in an armchair
, her legs tucked beneath her. Any movement would have broken the mood they had created.
It was dark now, but she had not turned on the table lamps. Across the bay the lights of Marazion twinkled, echoed by the stars overhead. Jack’s shape loomed over Rose without her having been aware he had risen. He reached out a hand, tilted her face up and kissed her on the lips. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time, Mrs Trevelyan.’
She froze, her emotions in conflict. She wanted him to go but she wanted him to stay. It had been hard not to respond. The next move was hers.
Jack waited, knowing what was going through her mind. She had come to a decision. She stood up slowly and took his hand. ‘Well, it is your birthday.’ Her smile turned into a frown. ‘What is it, Jack? What’ve I said?’
‘You really are a bitch sometimes, Rose.’
Pale-faced, she took a step backwards ‘Jack? I don’t understand.’
‘It was a lovely meal, a really special meal, thank you, but it’s time I went home now.’
‘You can’t just walk off like that – what’ve I done now to make you angry?’
‘You made it sound as if you were doing me a favour just because this happens to be a celebration of the day I was born.’
‘Oh, honestly, how sensitive can you get? It was a joke, Jack, you know, something to do with a sense of humour, something you obviously don’t possess.’
‘Then why now, after all these months? You laid down the ground rules; friendship, you said, nothing more. And until tonight you’ve stuck by it, and so have I, as difficult as it’s been. Why the sudden volte-face?’
‘Well, you started it by kissing me.’ But what he said was true. Damn the champagne. It had been a bad idea to invite him. And what if they had gone upstairs and spent the night together, what then? What would he have expected afterwards? She had it in her power to hurt Jack again and she did not want to do that, nor did she want to lose his friendship. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, I behaved foolishly. You’d better go now.’
Betrayed in Cornwall Page 18
