High Tide

by Veronica Henry

  ‘What about your grandmother? I thought the whole idea was she wanted to stay at Southcliffe.’

  ‘She and I are going to have an annexe at the back.’ He made a face. ‘Annexe sounds ghastly but I’ve made sure it won’t be. The architect’s got it all planned, specially kitted out for when she does finally lose her sight. I’m the sort of host-cum-manager, so I need to live on site. Though I’m a bit worried about how I’m going to deal with tricky customers. Tact is not my forte. Which is why I’m after Angelica.’

  ‘How are you going to manage that? I mean, isn’t Luca your friend?’

  ‘Ah, well, I’m trying to persuade Luca and his business partner to invest. I want Luca to oversee the menus, and train up my staff. I really want this to be a local project, as far as possible. Pennfleet has changed so much lately – for the better in some ways, but that isn’t always good for the people who come from here. I want to use local staff, local suppliers, but I need really good people in place to make sure they are up to the job.’

  He was really warming to his subject. Kate could sense his passion and his vision. She was surprised. She had assumed him to be a selfish, out-for-himself kind of person. A user. A charming user, but a user nonetheless. But maybe she’d got him wrong. Or maybe he’d grown up.

  ‘It sounds like a fantastic project,’ she said. ‘But none of this is why you wanted to have dinner with me, is it?’

  Rupert looked at her, startled. ‘No,’ he admitted, and looked down.

  ‘I’m guessing you want Belle Vue. For your portfolio.’

  ‘Belle Vue?’

  He frowned, puzzled, as if he didn’t understand. Kate smiled to herself. She would have given him more points if he’d put his hands up.

  ‘My parents’ house. I assume you want it for Pennfleet Holiday Cottages?’

  He scowled. ‘Who told you that?’

  Kate felt a flicker of triumph. She was one step ahead of him.

  ‘I’ll give you first refusal. But I don’t want any messing about. I’ve got a fair price in mind. It would suit me not to have to put it on the open market.’

  Rupert sat back in his chair. He took a thoughtful sip from his glass.

  ‘Is that really why you think I asked you for dinner?’ he asked.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  He stared at her evenly. ‘I know you probably don’t think a great deal of me, but I’m not that crass.’

  Kate felt a flicker of doubt. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions?

  ‘If I wanted Belle Vue, I would contact you through your solicitor and make a formal offer. Not schmooze you like some sleazy wheeler dealer.’

  Kate’s cheeks started to burn. ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘It’s impossible to offend me. If you want to sell your house, we can talk about it. But not now. This is supposed to be taking your mind off things.’

  Kate didn’t know what to say. She’d thought she was so clever, and she’d got him totally wrong. Unless this was a double bluff, and he was making her feel guilty on purpose. Either way, she shouldn’t have mentioned Belle Vue.

  ‘I’m so sorry—’ she started, but he put up a hand to cut her off, then refilled her glass.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said.

  They chatted amicably throughout the rest of the meal, Kate regaling him with stories of her rather ridiculous lifestyle, and Rupert filling her in with his siblings’ escapades. After pudding, which was a sinful damson crème brûlée, Luca the chef came out of the kitchen with a bottle of vintage port to go with the cheeseboard and sat down with them. With his wild dark curls tied back in a bandana, and brooding eyes, he cut a romantic figure.

  ‘I love your cooking,’ Kate told him. ‘It was like a taste of England for me. It makes me wish I didn’t have to go back.’

  ‘It’s a great time of year for food,’ said Luca. ‘I love the autumn. I can be strong and robust again. Get some depth of flavour.’

  ‘Yeah, OK, Luca,’ said Rupert. ‘We don’t need a gastro-lecture.’

  Luca punched him on the arm. ‘Hey. I’m passionate. Not bloodless, like you.’

  ‘You’re preaching to the converted, mate.’

  Angelica came to join them as the dining room emptied. Luca forced them into trying different cheeses, and the quince jelly he had made, and his special oat cakes, and the more glasses of port went down, the more they laughed.

  Kate smiled to herself. Pennfleet was turning out to be full of surprises. Not what it seemed on the surface at all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a sybaritic evening. Everyone in New York was so in control, and talked about the same old things. Tonight was an eye-opener for her. There was passion and humour and wit and debate in the conversation. She was having the time of her life.

  At half eleven, Rupert saw that she was wilting. Recent jet lag, port and bereavement were not happy bedfellows.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Much as I would love to sit here till four o’clock in the morning, you wouldn’t thank me.’

  She was taken aback by his consideration. And charmed when he insisted on paying for dinner. Kate hugged Luca, then Angelica, and neither of them seemed to mind in the least.

  ‘Thank you for the loveliest evening. It’s been a tough week, and it’s made everything seem brighter. It’s been one of the best nights of my life.’ She knew she was gushing but she’d had more to drink in one night than she usually drank in a month. And she meant it. Even though she went to more A-list parties than she could count, it had been more fun than she’d had for a long time.

  Rupert insisted on seeing her home.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me in Pennfleet?’ she protested.

  ‘You never know. Some wayward pirate might swoop down and take you off on the high seas.’

  ‘I’ll risk it.’

  But he wouldn’t hear of it.

  They walked up the hill together. Every now and then Kate found herself brushing against him. Too much wine, she thought, and steadied herself. And then he took her arm, wordlessly. It was a chivalrous rather than predatory gesture. And it provided her with the balance she needed.

  To make sure he didn’t think she was reading too much into it, she babbled away.

  ‘I can’t believe how much Pennfleet has changed. The whole vibe is totally different from when I was last here.’

  ‘Vibe?’ he laughed. ‘I don’t think we have a vibe. Not just yet.’

  ‘Don’t take the mickey.’

  ‘You’ve definitely been in New York too long.’

  ‘Vibe is more of a California word.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He did a fake American accent.

  ‘You’re impossible.’ She dug him in the ribs with her elbow.

  ‘I am not,’ he told her. ‘I’m very very possible indeed.’

  She fell quiet. She had no idea what he meant by that.

  They came to a halt outside Belle Vue. She looked up the stairs, and suddenly felt dread. It would be so quiet inside. And still. And empty.

  She didn’t want to go back into the house. She didn’t want to face the memories, or the decisions, or the questions. And it was all such a mess inside.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Rupert.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  Rupert didn’t say a word. He just put his arms around her with no question. She pressed her face against his chest. His jumper was as soft as a kitten. Cashmere, definitely. It smelled of wood-smoke and sandalwood.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It just got to me. I had such a lovely time tonight and I’d sort of forgotten. And now I don’t want to go in. It’s going to be cold and …’ she gulped. ‘Lonely. And it’s a total tip. And I ran out of oil. It’s freezing.’

  ‘Why don’t you come back to Southcliffe?’

  She looked up at him in surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘Granny won’t mind. In fact, she’d be furious if I didn’t offer. There’s al
ways spare beds made up. You can lie in as long as you want. I can make you breakfast and drop you back tomorrow when you feel up to it. Come on.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You absolutely can.’ He grinned. ‘And I can show you my ideas. You can tell me what you think. I bet you’ll think of a million things I haven’t thought of.’

  He gave her a gentle push.

  ‘Go on. Go and get your things. We’ll walk back down the hill and grab a taxi.’

  Kate just stood there, not sure what to do.

  ‘If you don’t hurry up, there won’t be one. They all turn into pumpkins at midnight round here.’

  She needed no second telling.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?’

  Daniel Fisher stood in the middle of the kitchen, his face dark with rage. He couldn’t believe what his grandson had just told him.

  Nathan sat with his feet up on the kitchen table, his hands round a cup of tea. ‘I was trying to get my head round it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to get your bloody head round, lad. Malcolm Toogood thinks just that. That he’s too good for everyone else.’

  ‘Grandad – I messed up and that’s the truth.’

  ‘Rubbish. His dad would be ashamed of him. Toadying up to the rich incomers like that. He’s always been the same, though, Malcolm. Nothing like his father. More interested in money. His dad would have done anything for anyone.’

  Nathan looked down into his cup of tea. His nan had always read his leaves for him. He looked at the black specks coating the bottom, and wondered what they held for him.

  ‘You heard from her, then?’

  Nathan sighed. ‘Who?’ Though he knew full well.

  ‘Your fancy woman.’

  Nathan sighed. When his grandfather was feeling adversarial, there wasn’t much point in having a conversation. He wasn’t going to mention the text.

  ‘No.’

  ‘There you are, then. She used you. All part of the service.’

  ‘Grandad, if you’re trying to make me feel better about any of this, you’re not. You’re making me feel worse.’

  ‘It makes me angry, that’s all. People today. They don’t know how to treat each other. There’s no loyalty. No consideration. No bloody manners. It’s all me me me.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Nathan was too tired to argue.

  ‘Just don’t turn into one of them, lad. I didn’t bring you up to be a user.’

  ‘Don’t worry. There’s not much danger of that.’

  ‘What you going to do for money, lad? It’s a long winter.’

  Nathan looked up at his grandfather. His earlier irritation was suddenly replaced by fondness. He cared so much, Daniel. He was old school. He would never understand the world and how it worked nowadays.

  ‘Something’ll turn up.’

  Nathan wasn’t too worried. He was resourceful. He had contacts. He could do some labouring for one of the local builders – there was plenty of that going on.

  ‘I’ve got people I can talk to,’ he said, but Daniel wasn’t listening. He was frowning, in another world. In a world where people treated each other with respect and consideration.

  ‘I wish your gran was still here,’ he said suddenly, and Nathan stood up to give him a hug. Daniel went to push him away at first, then relented, and let his grandson hold him, just for a second.

  ‘I’ll make another cup of tea,’ he said, his voice gruff, and he moved away towards the kettle.

  Southcliffe was about a mile out of Pennfleet, further down the river. The cab swept in through the stone gates, up the long, sinuous drive and then went clockwise around the circular lawn that lay in front of the house, crunching over the gravel chippings, and came to a halt in front of the entrance. The house was grey stone and heavily Gothic, with an arched front door and pointy mullioned windows. It should have been scary in the moonlight, surrounded by tall trees, the night breeze ruffling their branches, but the lights inside made it surprisingly welcoming.

  Rupert led Kate up the steps and opened the door, bounding into the hall, where two hairy lurchers leapt up with glee and came to greet him.

  ‘Jerry! Margo! Basket.’ He grinned. ‘Named after The Good Life. Granny’s favourite programme.’ The two dogs slunk off, wolf-like. ‘Don’t worry. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Kate watched them settle down again. She had always thought of Rupert as a wolf. A vulpine creature with a hard heart. Or possibly no heart at all. But it seemed the intervening years had made him kindness and consideration itself.

  ‘Granny’s in bed, obviously. I’ll pop in and tell her you’re here so she doesn’t get a shock if she finds you in the morning. I’ll show you to your room first, though. Unless you want another drink?’

  ‘Gosh, no. I’m going to feel like death tomorrow as it is.’

  ‘No. You were drinking good wine, and I’ll give you some water. Come on. You can have the yellow bedroom. It’s small, but it’s the prettiest room, I think.’

  He led her across the black and white marble floor and up the staircase. Kate felt like the heroine in a novel, being led to her fate. She could think of nothing but mad women in the attic, and the portrait of Rebecca that had gazed down on the hapless second Mrs de Winter.

  Happily, they reached the appointed bedroom without any interference from unstable first wives. Rupert opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

  ‘Don’t worry about what time you get up,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be in my office. Granny will be pottering about. She doesn’t get up till nine. Stay in bed till midday if you want. You probably need to catch up.’

  ‘You’ve been so kind,’ murmured Kate, wondering just how dreadful she looked. Her make-up would have all worn off by now.

  He lingered for a moment, looking awkward.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘The reason I asked you for dinner … I wanted to apologise. For how I treated you at my brother’s party.’

  Kate blinked.

  ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘I know. But it was terrible behaviour. The truth is, I didn’t think you were going to come. I hadn’t heard from you all week. I didn’t think you were interested. I thought you’d got better things to do.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Kate couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘I thought you were amazing. You weren’t like any of the girls I knew. You weren’t stupid and spoiled. If I’d known you were going to turn up …’

  He looked mortified.

  ‘Oh.’ Kate was nonplussed. This was the last thing she was expecting. She didn’t think Rupert had given her a second thought after their night in the boathouse.

  He was leaning against the door jamb, looking at the floor. ‘That’s all I wanted to say, really. Sorry, I mean. For being an arrogant little cock.’

  Kate laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Honestly. I mean, God, it was years ago. I’m kind of over it. I had therapy.’

  He looked up, horrified. ‘Really?’

  She gave him a gentle push. ‘No. Of course not. It was teenage-rite-of-passage stuff. I was teasing. But thank you for being sweet. And for dinner. And for this.’

  She nodded her head towards the room.

  He held her gaze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Then he nodded.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ His voice was gruff. ‘Goodnight.’

  And he walked off down the corridor.

  She watched after him for a moment, then turned and walked into the bedroom.

  It was a delight. With walls and silk curtains the colour of daffodils, it was lit by two lamps on either side of the bed. Who had turned these on? Kate wondered. It was almost as if she had been expected. She was too tired to speculate, and still fuzzy from the surfeit of wine. She went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, slipped into her nightdress and crept into the bed.

  It was like climbing onto a cloud. The softest mattress, the warmest duvet, the plumpest pillows. She turned on her side and drew her legs up underneath h
er. In her somnolence, she felt a hot-water bottle in the middle of the bed, piping hot, but she was too sleepy to wonder who had put it there.

  As she drifted off, she thought of her cheek on Rupert’s chest earlier. She had felt his heart beating.

  It had been beating rather fast.

  24

  Kate woke up bathed in golden-yellow light, astonished to find that not only had she slept through until quarter past nine without waking once, even though she had forgotten to take her sleeping pill, but also that she had no hangover. She smiled to herself as she jumped in the shower and got dressed. Maybe that was the solution to her sleeplessness – to get plastered every night on expensive wine.

  She packed her few things up, tidied the bed and made her way down the staircase into the hall. The house was quiet, but she strained her ears and caught the sound of movement down a corridor. At the end of it she found the kitchen, and Rupert’s grandmother, Irene, sitting at the table in jeans and a blue Guernsey, a scarf tucked into the neck. She had her dark glasses on, but didn’t seem to need her stick in the confines of her own kitchen.

  ‘Mrs Malahide,’ said Kate. ‘It’s Kate. Joy’s daughter.’

  Irene stood and greeted Kate with warmth.

  ‘Kate. Rupert told me you might stay the night,’ she said, as if it was usual for strange women to find their way into her kitchen of a morning. ‘I popped a bottle in the bed but I do hope you weren’t cold?’

  ‘No, I was just right. Thank you. I slept like a top. But let me help.’

  ‘No. It’s fine. It’s a nuisance, this eyesight thing, but it’s surprising what I can still manage. Rupert makes a terrible fuss. Of course I can’t drive or anything, and it will get worse, but otherwise … I just have to do things more slowly. Sit down.’

  Kate took a seat at a long table covered in a red oilcloth. She imagined all the Malahides crowded round it in their youth, Irene distributing rations. The kitchen was so out of date it was almost fashionable again. She watched as Irene put the kettle on the Aga – three times the size of the one in Belle Vue – and pulled a saucepan out of the cupboard.