His voice grew faint. ‘You’re going to get better, Gracey.’
‘You’re going to get better . . .’ Grace opened her eyes to see Freddie’s anxious face gazing down at her. ‘You’re going to get better, Grace,’ he repeated.
She frowned up at him. The dawn light was already sliding through the gaps in the shutters. ‘What happened?’
‘You had a bad dream, darling,’ said Freddie, wiping her damp hair off her forehead.
‘No, I’ve had a good dream.’
He smiled. ‘You’re awake now.’ When she continued to look confused, he added: ‘You were saying you’re dying. But you’re going to get well. I’m not going to let you die, now that I’ve found you again.’
She returned his smile and placed her hand on his stubbly cheek. ‘Darling Freddie. I’m glad that wasn’t a dream.’
He bent down and kissed her forehead. ‘So am I.’ He swept his eyes over her face and Grace felt her stomach lurch, as it used to when he really looked at her. ‘I forgot how beautiful you are in the morning,’ he said softly.
‘Then stay.’ She held his upper arms to detain him. ‘It’s early. There’s no rush. Come back to bed.’ She saw the old Freddie in the mischievous grin that now spread across his face, and she smiled back as she had done that day by the river, when Freddie was all she saw.
Chapter 28
Three months later Trixie stood on the snow-covered gravel in front of Big’s front door, and rang the bell. She heard the scuffling of dogs on the other side. She peered through the glass panel to see Big’s pack of mongrels wagging their tails and panting, and tapped it, which excited them all the more. A moment later Big herself appeared in a bright yellow cardigan and tartan trousers, and opened the door.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ she said, smiling cheerfully. ‘Goodness, Trixie, you look in rude health. What have you been up to? New York shouldn’t make you glow like that.’
‘I’ve given up smoking,’ Trixie replied proudly.
‘About time, too. Come on in. It’s bitter out there.’
‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ Trixie exclaimed. ‘The sun is out, the sky is bright blue and the snow is twinkling like diamonds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the island look so lovely.’
‘I suppose it does look pretty when it’s fresh. It won’t be long before it looks a little tired, though. Would you like a hot drink? Hot chocolate?’
‘I’d love a hot chocolate.’
‘Fancy something stronger to give it an edge?’ Big asked with a wink.
‘No, just plain milk and chocolate for me, thank you.’
‘I’ll go and tell Hudson, he’ll be delighted to have something to do. It’s been a very dull day so far. You’re my first visitor. I don’t suppose anyone wants to go out in the snow but the very brave. Go into the sitting room and warm up.’
Trixie took off her coat and wandered over to the fire in Big’s airy sitting room. Big’s home was unpretentious, with shiny wicker sofas and pale-blue cushions a person could sink into and never want to leave. A large display of winter berries was placed in the middle of the glass coffee table, surrounded by glossy hardback books on art and Island living. Big liked to support local craftsmen and her house was full of baskets, scrimshaw and painted antique furniture. Trixie flopped onto the sofa where she had sat so many times in her life and gave a satisfied sigh. It was good to be on Tekanasset, surrounded by the people she really cared about. She noticed Mr Doorwood curled up on the other end and reached out to give him a gentle stroke. He purred in his sleep, his fat body rising and falling contentedly. A moment later Big returned and sat regally in the armchair by the fire.
‘How’s your mother?’ she asked.
‘She’s getting better,’ Trixie said happily. ‘It’s miraculous, really. The doctors had written her off, but I really think she’s going to beat it, Big.’
‘She’s looking well, that’s for sure,’ Big agreed. ‘I put it down to the power of prayer. Miracles happen in our modern world to remind us that in spite of our technological advances, God is still mighty and all-powerful.’
‘The most surprising part of her recovery is that she and Dad are getting along so well. It’s like he’s a different person.’
‘I think he’s just grateful to have her back. He thought he was going to lose her.’ Big inhaled through dilated nostrils. ‘We all thought we were going to lose her.’
‘It’s early days, but she’s certainly feeling stronger, which is such a relief. I need her now more than ever.’
‘So how long are you here this time?’ Big asked.
Trixie looked as if she were about to burst with happiness. ‘I’m staying,’ she announced, dropping both hands onto her knees with a decisive pat. ‘I’ve quit New York and the magazine. I need a total life change. I’ve decided to come home for good.’
‘Well, that is a surprise and I’m not often surprised.’ Hudson appeared with hot chocolate and cake, and Big watched Trixie take a mug off the tray. ‘Have a slice of cake. You look like you could do with some feeding up. You young girls survive on nothing but air these days and it’s not attractive. People look a lot better with a little flesh on their bones, especially pretty girls like you.’ Hudson put the cake on the coffee table and Trixie took a small slice. Hudson handed Big the largest slice on a china plate. ‘Thank you, Hudson,’ she said, biting off the end and giving a moan of pleasure. ‘I think chocolate cake is your secret weapon.’
The old man smiled with gratitude. ‘Thank you, Miss Wilson.’
Big chewed happily. ‘And I think you know it, too,’ she chuckled. ‘So what’s your plan, Trixie?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I assume you have a plan and you’d like my help.’
‘As I was saying, I want to come and live here. I’m going to learn how to be a beekeeper and help Mom with her gardens. She’s not very strong but she loves horticulture so much she doesn’t want to stop. So I’m going to be her assistant,’ she announced gleefully. ‘I’m very excited about it.’
‘But you don’t want to live at home?’ Big guessed.
‘No, I think I should be independent.’
‘You’re right. So I imagine you want my guest house?’
Trixie smiled sheepishly. ‘I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but I was hoping you might rent it out to me for a while.’
‘My dear child, you can have it for as long as you want it. I’ll charge you a peppercorn rent to cover the costs.’ Big smiled mischievously. ‘It’ll be lovely having you close by, and you can walk to your mother’s along the beach.’
‘I know, that’s what I thought, and I love to be by the sea. It’s so romantic’
‘It is. Which brings me to the question, why have you suddenly decided to move back home? I thought New York was a great success?’
‘It was.’ She grinned secretively. ‘Something has, well, changed my perception of the world. It’s made me realize what’s important. I love this place. It’s where I’ve always been happiest. I’m not ambitious any more. There are more important things than making lots of money and being a success. Quality of life is my priority now.’
‘You’re right about that. It’ll make your parents very happy to have you here. So when would you like to move in?’
‘As soon as you’ll have me. I haven’t told Mom of my plan yet. I thought I’d sort out my accommodation first.’
‘Well, you can tell her now. The guest house is yours. The heating is on to stop the pipes freezing, so it’s perfectly habitable. Are you sure you won’t have something stronger to celebrate?’
Trixie shook her head. ‘Hot chocolate is fine, thank you. And you’re right. That cake is delicious. May I have another slice?’
Trixie hurried down the snowy path through the trees to the beach. The snow sparkled defiantly in the weak winter sunlight but the wind had blown it into thick drifts against the dunes and it would be weeks before it melted. Big’s guest house stood facing the sea, nestled against the grassy bluff, sh
eltered by large shrubs and small trees. It was built in the same grey-shingled style as most of the houses on the island, with a sturdy veranda now laden with snow. It looked forlorn there, gazing out across the ocean with dark, empty eyes, but to Trixie it was romantic in its solitude, and she couldn’t wait to claim it as her own and fill those eyes with life.
She put the key in the lock and pushed open the door. As she stepped over the threshold she was struck immediately by the familiar damp smell of the sea, which filled her heart with a warm sense of nostalgia. She looked around at the cosy hall with its polished wooden floorboards and the staircase that swept up to the first floor in a graceful curve, and sighed with satisfaction. This was where she belonged. She inhaled deeply: home at last.
She wandered through the rooms. Big had hired a decorator for her guest house and the woman, well known on the island, had stuck to her trademark nautical theme, using blues and whites and a lot of wicker furniture. Trixie decided she’d add some crimson here and there to make it her own, and to see her through to spring with its vibrant warmth. She wandered into the sitting room, which was arranged around a fireplace, and sat on one of the sofas. Sunshine shone feebly through the glass, illuminating the blue-and-white rug that softened the floor and dominated the room. The silence of the empty house filled her with peace. Outside the waves lapped the snowy beach with weary regularity, as if the cold had robbed their strength.
So what did her future hold? Ever since she had left Jasper in Walbridge she had known for certain that she would never love another as she loved him. At that time she had believed she might find someone to share her life with; after all, she was young and perhaps second best was better than nothing at all. She had many years ahead of her and life was lonely on one’s own. But in the last few days it had become blissfully clear that she didn’t need a man after all, not even Jasper. She had discovered that she had returned to America with a stowaway: a tiny part of Jasper hiding out in her belly and slowly growing. The love she already felt for her child would be enough to sustain her for the rest of her life. They’d be fine, just the two of them. They’d be perfectly happy. Nothing mattered now but this beautiful little soul. She put her hand on her stomach and silently thanked God for His compassion.
Chapter 29
Three years later
The autumn sun cast long shadows over Sunset Slip and set the purple clouds aflame in a dramatic display of crimson and red. Trixie walked up the beach with her son, Arthur, and cast her eyes out to sea, where the splendour of sunset was reflected on the water. The beauty of it strained her heartstrings and she gave in to a wave of melancholy, stopping a moment to savour the splendour of another sunset on Tekanasset, the magnificence of which never lost the power to disarm her. Arthur ran across the sand in pursuit of a piping plover. The child’s gurgling laughter was carried on the breeze with the lone cry of a gull.
It was the end of summer. Soon the plovers and terns would fly off to warmer shores and the winds would grow strong and cold, and moan at night outside her bedroom window. She loved Big’s guest house. She loved the beach. She had never been happier.
Jasper’s letters, so ardent at the beginning, had now dwindled as she thought they might, given that she had never encouraged him by writing back. Perhaps he believed that she no longer loved him. That thought gave her pain and she had often put pen to paper to bare her soul, only to regret her impulsiveness and toss the unfinished letter into the fire. No good could come of it. There was nothing she could do. She was powerless to change the past and unwilling to alter the present. At least she didn’t have the destruction of his family on her conscience.
She watched Arthur and recalled her parents’ surprising reaction on learning that she was carrying Jasper’s child. The old prejudices upheld by their generation seemed so trivial in the wake of Grace’s illness. They had learned that life was a gift and that love was the only important thing in it. Ultimately they simply wanted their daughter’s happiness. When the baby arrived they embraced him with joy. Grace said he looked like her father, Freddie claimed a resemblance to his mother. But later, as her son grew, Trixie saw Jasper in his smile and in the grey-green colour of his eyes. And they all appreciated the gift of love he had brought into the world and the enormous pleasure he gave to every one of them.
Trixie had made many new friends on Tekanasset since she had moved back three years before. Lucy Durlacher, recently divorced from Ben (who had exchanged his drumsticks for a suit and now worked for an investment bank in Washington), had returned to the island with her three children, and surprisingly the two women had grown close. It seemed that Tekanasset was the place to settle when life got too hectic, or when the soul was in need of its healing waters. Its beaches were balm to battered hearts and the vast skies of shifting colours and shades lifted the spirit and gave the lost an invaluable sense of belonging. When Trixie gazed out at that immense horizon she was reminded of what was important: friends, family and home. Boiled down they all meant the same thing: love.
She wrapped her cardigan about her body and folded her arms. The sun was setting and it was chilly in the shadows. She saw a figure in the distance walking towards her. Probably a man with his dog, she thought, shifting her eyes to her son who now crouched on the sand, playing with a piece of bright-blue sea glass. She decided to turn back to the house. ‘Arthur,’ she called. ‘Come on, darling. Time for tea.’ The little boy stood up and ran towards her. As he put out his arms, she lifted her gaze to see the man, closer now, walking faster and with intent. She bent down and lifted the child into her arms. She hugged him close, relishing the solid feeling of his body against hers.
She was about to turn around when she noticed something familiar about the man’s gait. He moved with long strides and, as he got closer, he seemed to pick up his pace. She froze. It couldn’t be. How could it? It was just her eyes, playing tricks on her. Hadn’t she thought she had seen him countless times before? Hadn’t she been crippled by disappointment every time she realized she was wrong? Surely this was simply one of those times. She swallowed back tears, cursing the red sky and golden sea for making her emotional. She was perfectly happy. Perfectly fine. She had Arthur. What more could she wish for?
But the man began to run. His long legs raced over the sand and his voice was carried on the wind. She was sure he was calling her name. ‘Trixie . . .’ She blinked to focus, but the tears blurred her vision and she saw nothing, just her own longing, now falling in streams down her cheeks.
‘Mummy cry,’ said Arthur, concerned. She kissed his cold face. But she couldn’t reply. Her voice was lost, squeezed to death by her constricting throat.
And then he was before her. Panting, red in the face, desperate. They stared at one another for a moment, neither knowing what to say.
‘She’s left me,’ Jasper said at last. His eyes took in the child and his shoulders dropped in defeat. He was too late.
Trixie read his mind and she smiled through her tears. ‘Jasper, this is Arthur,’ she whispered, moving her shoulder so he could see the child’s face. The little boy turned around and stared at the strange man shyly, his grey-green eyes large and enquiring. Jasper looked at his son, then back at Trixie. Words were now inadequate. He shook his head in astonishment, strode forward and wrapped his arms around the two of them, drawing them close.
Trixie rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. ‘You came back,’ she said softly.
‘Because I cried tears into the harbour waters,’ he replied. He squeezed her hard. ‘But more truthfully, because I love you,’ he added, squeezing her harder. ‘I love you, Trixie, and always will.’
Acknowledgements
My most frequently asked question is: how do I come up with stories for my books? Well, in this particular case, it all began one summer’s evening in 2012 when I was pulling out weeds in my cottage garden in Hampshire. I noticed a ball of bees clinging to the bricks beside my daughter’s bedroom window. I had never seen anything like it and wa
s naturally quite alarmed. It was enormous. I called my father, who lives next door, to come and have a look, and soon the whole family stood beneath, staring up in bewilderment at the seething ball. My father suggested they might move away the following morning, so I thought nothing more about it until I woke up at dawn to loud buzzing outside my window. The air was thick with thousands of bees who clearly had no intention of leaving. My father called the local beekeeper who keeps hives on his farm, and his daughter arrived to explain the situation, that basically they were trying to find a new place to build a hive. ‘Not in my brickwork!’ I announced defiantly. As much as I like bees, I didn’t want them settling inside my wall. She told me that if they formed a ball again she would come that evening and literally scoop them into a basket and take them home with her, to try to introduce them to one of her father’s vacant hives. As it happened they did eventually leave on their own. But I reflected on how good the title ‘The Beekeeper’s Cottage’ sounded and an idea began to form. Later we changed the title, but that ‘evening of the bees’ was the catalyst for this book.
While I was in the process of researching I happened to talk to a very nice grandmother at a match tea at my son’s school. She told me that she enjoyed my novels and asked what I was currently working on. I told her: a beekeeper’s daughter during the Second World War. Her eyes lit up and she declared that her father had been a beekeeper during the war. I was less astonished than she, because every time I embark on a novel, I send out a request for help and it’s amazing how everything I need just happens to fall into my lap. Elizabeth Kennerley, you fell into my lap and I thank the angels for organizing the meeting! Before we met I knew very little about bees. Now I know a great deal. Much more than I was able to put into the book. Thank you for all your advice and for lending me a beautiful old book that was so informative I really didn’t have to look anywhere else.
I based Tekanasset Island on Nantucket. I always like to invent my own locations because that way I have the freedom to design it just as I want it, as well as knowing it better than anyone else. I spent a heavenly week on Nantucket with Peter and Flora Soros many years ago but I remember thinking, even then, that one day I would base a novel there. So, thank you, Peter and Flora, for a fabulous holiday and for sowing the seed that eventually flowered into this book.
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