‘I’m sorry,’ Karen said again, watching as Carrie turned to Tony.
‘Will you take me home, please? I don’t belong here tonight.’
‘The door is this way,’ Karen said, thankful a scene had been avoided but saddened by the look on Carrie’s face. She led them to the front door rather than taking them out through the garden, the way they’d come in.
As they reached the door, Carrie turned and said, ‘Please give my apologies to Mr Adams and tell him I’m sorry for the intrusion, today of all days. I won’t be coming back.’
‘I’ll pass the message on,’ Karen said. Closing the door behind them she pressed her forehead against the wood. She felt emotionally drained. Goodness only knew how Bruce would have felt if Carrie Penfold had told him why she’d come this evening. At least the girl had left saying she wouldn’t be back, so there was no reason to mention details of the incident to Bruce tonight And maybe, just maybe, it was something she ought to keep to herself anyway. Bruce would be devastated if Gabby had never mentioned a previous baby to him.
‘I think we need a drink while you tell me what’s been going on here. Why am I due an apology from that young lady for intruding tonight?’
Karen closed her eyes and kept her forehead pressed against the door for several seconds before turning to find Bruce standing there, regarding her quizzically.
*
The drive home from the cottages was mainly silent. Carrie was lost in her own thoughts and appreciated the fact that Tony didn’t feel the need to talk about what had happened. Then, when they were about ten minutes from home, Tony turned the Land Rover into the car park of a restaurant cum pub. She turned to him in surprise.
‘Thought we’d have dinner here,’ he said casually. ‘The food is almost as good as mine.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Carrie said. ‘I’d really like to go home.’
‘I’m starving and I’m having dinner here. You need to eat too. I promise I’ll drive you straight home after we’ve eaten, so come on.’
A reluctant Carrie followed Tony into the restaurant and obediently sat on the chair the waiter pulled out for her in what registered as being an upmarket kind of place.
She placed the leather menu the waiter handed her on the table, not even bothering to glance inside before smiling at the waiter. ‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’
She looked at Tony. ‘You choose for me. Just remember I don’t do spicy food of any description and don’t expect me to eat a large portion of whatever you order.’
‘That won’t be a problem here – they don’t do large portions,’ Tony said, leaning forward to whisper.
Carrie smiled in spite of herself at his remark.
‘That’s better,’ Tony said. ‘I’m sorry you got the news you did this evening. I feel I should have checked up beforehand and told you the sad news myself, not taken you there to find out. I’m sorry.’
‘Tony, it’s not your fault. I just feel so sad I got my hopes up about at least meeting one of my biological parents. I wanted to ask her some questions too.’
‘Like?’
Carrie took a deep breath. ‘Mainly about regrets. Did she ever regret giving me up for adoption? In his letter, Robert said it broke her heart, so why didn’t she try and keep me – especially after he offered to help financially? Instead she gave me away and never saw me or him again. It doesn’t sound to me as if she really loved him.’
‘I can only tell you what I know of Robert’s feelings,’ Tony said. ‘He never forgot your mother and he never forgave himself for abandoning you. His later life was filled with regret, that I do know. The photograph of Gabby as a young woman you found? It’s always been on his desk for as long as I’ve known him. And he never married. He once told me in a drunken moment that the picture was of the only woman he’d ever truly loved. That he’d loved and lost her through his own stupidity.’
‘It’s just so sad,’ Carrie said. ‘I feel I ruined two people’s lives by being conceived and born. Perhaps she should have had that termination he wanted her to have in the beginning.’
‘You didn’t ruin anyone’s life by being born,’ Tony said, holding her hand across the table and gently squeezing it. ‘They were two grown-up people who made a bad decision about their relationship. Besides, remember the life you’ve had. The joy and happiness you’ve brought to your parents. I’m sure they couldn’t love you any more if you’d been their natural child. They won’t have any regrets about adopting you. You made them into the family they wanted.’
The next morning, sitting down by the stream, Carrie tried to marshal her thoughts into some sort of order. Both biological parents were dead: so that closed the whole matter. Except it didn’t really. There was still Gabby’s husband in the picture.
Would he talk to her? Tell her what Gabby had been like? Mentally, Carrie shook herself. She’d guess, from what the woman, Karen, had said last night, about how he and Gabby had tried desperately for a family only to have to accept Gabby couldn’t have children, that Bruce had no idea about her existence. Did that mean Gabby had lied to him about not being able to have his child – or had she deliberately kept quiet about the child she’d given away? Afraid to admit the truth to him.
Carrie bit her bottom lip – she had to accept that yesterday evening had signalled closure on her finding out more about her adoption. When she’d initially said she was going to look up her birth mother, she’d said she didn’t expect to be involved in her life now, so nothing had changed really. Just that the opportunity to choose had been taken away.
If she selfishly went back to the cottages, spoke to Bruce and told him who she was, she might be accused of destroying his memories and possibly ruining the rest of his life. She couldn’t risk that happening for her own selfish reasons. Decision made. She’d told Karen she wouldn’t be back and she intended to keep her word.
Her phone in her jeans pocket vibrated. Pulling it out she said, ‘Hi.’
‘You OK this morning?’ Tony asked.
‘Yes. I owe you thanks for yesterday evening.’
Tony ignored her. ‘Good. Because I have a favour to ask.’
Carrie waited.
‘I wondered if you could look after Lola for me today? Take her for a long walk. Work off some of her energy. Mum’s not too good today and won’t manage to do more than let her out in the garden.’
‘Of course I will. I’ll come and pick her up from the pub in about twenty minutes.’
‘She’s at mum’s. Church Close, No. 7. I’ll tell her to expect you. Thanks. The fresh air will do you good too.’ And then he was gone.
*
The day after Gabby’s memorial party Bruce couldn’t settle. Everybody had agreed it had been a great send-off, that Gabby would have approved. It was just, try as he might, he couldn’t forget the couple who had turned up and then left abruptly. Karen’s explanation – that they thought an old friend of theirs had lived in one of the cottages – was too pat, too unconvincing. The apology for intruding on a private occasion also had a hollow ring to it. And why had the young woman said so definitely that she wouldn’t be coming back. Why would she have any reason to say that if they’d truly made a mistake with the address?
Bruce ran his fingers through his hair. He had a feeling Karen had fobbed him off with a couple of lies. Why though? He thought back to the night of last year’s Regatta Ball. It was the first time he and Gabby had ever been and Bruce had looked forward to it. Chris had got a group of them together and it had promised to be a fun evening. Only it hadn’t turned out like that.
Gabby hadn’t wanted to go in the first place and had agreed reluctantly. He remembered the young man from last night had arrived with Chris’s old university friend, Robert Trumble. Younger than them, they’d thought at first he was Robert’s son, but Robert had quickly put them right, saying he was just a good friend from the village who shared his surname. Tony. That was his name. He ran the village pub somewhere or other, inland a bit. H
e hadn’t spent all evening with them. He’d gone off with a group of his own friends for an hour or two. Had the girl been among them? Bruce didn’t think so.
Other memories of that evening started to come flooding back. Gabby clinging to his arm tightly – unusual for her, as she liked to be independent and dance with everyone who asked her. Now he thought about it he couldn’t remember her dancing with anyone but him the entire evening. At some stage they’d had a group photo taken, which Gabby hadn’t bothered to have framed. Said she hadn’t enjoyed the evening enough to want a constant reminder of it on display. They’d left early, he seemed to remember. Gabby had developed a migraine.
Wondering if she’d thrown the photo out or merely stuffed it out of sight, Bruce started to rummage in the kitchen drawer christened by Gabby as the ‘pot luck’ drawer, as you never knew what you might find in it. Miscellaneous things with no proper home tended to be thrown in there and forgotten.
It was quicker to simply tip the lot out on the work surface, he decided. Corks, box of matches, stubs of candles, pencils, batteries, timer, rubber bands, dice, Sellotape, packet of seeds. Bruce picked those up and put them to one side; he’d scatter them later. And there was the photo. Very creased but everybody was still recognisable.
He picked it up and went into the sitting room with it. On the surface the group of them looked happy enough. It wasn’t until he looked closely at Gabby’s unsmiling face and the way she was standing that he realised how unhappy she’d truly been that evening. Her migraine must have been very painful at that stage. Maybe she’d had a point about not wanting a reminder of that evening. Karen, standing next to Derek, looked strained in the photo too.
Ah, Karen. Tomorrow he planned to finish the sorting out of the room upstairs. He’d ask her to give him a hand, see what she said was the best thing to do with the designer dresses and things. It would also give him the opportunity to ask her about last night’s visitors.
‘I’m sure there was more to it than she told me,’ he muttered to Girly, who’d come and sat by him, eager for a stroke. ‘I’ll make sure tomorrow she tells me the truth.’ He smoothed the photo out and placed it on the table.
*
No. 7 Church Close was at the end of a terrace tucked away behind the church. Like its neighbours, the house itself was well maintained with gleaming windows and a shiny brilliant-yellow front door – living up to its Sunshine Cottage name. The garden was a riot of colour – roses, daisies, foxgloves and tall hollyhocks all crammed together.
Lifting the horseshoe-shaped door-knocker with its Devonshire pixie sitting in the curve, Carrie heard Lola bark and smiled.
The woman who opened the door half a minute later had a big smile on her face. ‘Carrie – we get to meet at last. I’m Jeanie. Come on in.’
Before Carrie could respond, Lola had rushed past and was jumping up at her. Not quite into her arms, as she did with Tony, but high enough.
‘Lola, get down,’ the woman scolded as she turned to walk slowly back into the house. ‘Robert spoilt that dog – and Tony is no better.’
Following Jeanie, Carrie could see that Tony had been right. His mum could barely move herself, let alone take the bundle of energy that was Lola for walks.
‘You’ll have a cuppa before you go, won’t you? Kettle’s always on in this house,’ Jeanie said.
‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make it?’ Carrie said, concerned, watching Jeanie struggle to reach the work surface with the kettle.
‘Good idea, thanks.’ Jeanie collapsed on a chair near the table and proceeded to issue instructions as to where Carrie could find everything. Once the biscuit tin was open and the tea poured, Carrie sat down opposite her.
‘He was a lovely man, your dad.’ Startled, Carrie almost spilt her tea.
‘A real gentleman. He had that twinkle in his eye, you know?’ Jeanie said. ‘The one that says “I’m willing if you are”? Well, he did for me anyway.’ She laughed. ‘Mind you, that only happened after I became a widow.’
Carrie sipped her tea. ‘Was he a ladies’ man then?’
‘Ladies’ man, yes. Womaniser, no. He loved women and knew how to charm but he never stepped over the mark.’ Jeanie looked at Carrie. ‘You ask anyone in the village about Robert Trumble and they’ll all say the same – a real gentleman.’ Jeanie sighed and took a drink of tea. ‘It’s a shame he never had the chance to meet you.’
‘Or me him,’ Carrie said quietly.
‘He would have spoilt you rotten given the chance. He loved children.’ Jeanie laughed. ‘You should have seen him dressed as Father Christmas. Every year he’d dress up at the village children’s party. He knew all the children by name – sadly there aren’t that many of them these days. Chose and bought their presents himself. Generous to a T was Robert.’
‘What happened last Christmas? Did anyone take over?’ Carrie asked.
‘My Tony did. Guess he’s got the job for life now,’ Jeanie said. ‘Good job he likes children too.’
Carrie finished her tea and stood up. ‘Shall I wash up?’
‘Just pop them in the dishwasher, thank you, love. Tony tells me you’re a vet? We could do with a local vet – the one in the village retired. The building the practice was in was purpose-built – such a shame to see it empty. Right, Lola’s lead.’
As Carrie bent down to clip Lola onto her lead she realised Jeanie was saying something about Robert’s house.
‘Sorry, I missed that,’ she said, straightening up.
‘It’s a lovely house. Be good to have someone young living in it again full-time. Bring a bit more life back into the village.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘It’s not possible for me to live here full-time. My job is in Gloucestershire.’
‘Pity that,’ Jeanie said. ‘You’d fit in well. Think about it. Thanks for the company. Pop in any time.’
Carrie walked down past the church to where she’d seen a brown sign pointing to the hill behind the village and inscribed ‘To the Medieval Tower ruins – 3 miles’. A long walk was just what she needed to clear her head and make plans for her future. She’d also get to know the area more and hopefully tire Lola out. By the time she returned she should also have stopped laughing at her mental image of Tony Trumble dressed as Father Christmas.
The walk started gently enough as it meandered past the gated driveway leading to the castle, where Carrie could see tourists in the distance enjoying the gardens in the sunshine. She passed a couple of walkers on their way down who smiled briefly at her but went on their way without stopping.
As she walked Carrie tried to work out a plan of action. September would be here soon and she was no further forward in sorting things out than she had been when she’d arrived down here. First, what to do with the flat in Bristol? Rent or Sell? Ari, the solicitor, had told her there was a large demand for accommodation from both students and professors, particularly flats as nice as this one was. Remembering the bedsits she’d had to inhabit as a poor student she shuddered at the memory – and had a sudden brainwave.
Robert had left her a fortune. She’d use some of it to create a veterinary scholarship for somebody who was struggling to afford the fees. The flat could be their living accommodation while they studied. She’d get on to Ari to sort it. Tick – one decision made.
The path veered to the left as she climbed and she caught glimpses of the village through the trees. The church and cemetery. The Trumble Arms. The road past the village shop leading out of the village.
Carrie stopped and tried to place the low white building tucked back from the crossroads on the eastern side of the village. She couldn’t remember seeing it when she’d first explored. Maybe she hadn’t walked that far.
The path was getting steeper now. Even Lola was walking rather than pulling on her lead. There were lots of ancient granite stones lying haphazardly in the undergrowth on the sides and Carrie guessed the ruins of the ancient tower were getting closer. Reaching the top a few minutes later, she dr
ew breath and looked at the panorama of the countryside laid out before her. In the far distance she could even see the sea glinting. Another couple of weeks and she would be saying goodbye to it all.
Jeanie’s words floated into her mind. ‘We could do with a local vet.’ Her own automatic reply. ‘My job is in Gloucestershire’.
Jeanie saying, ‘Pity that. You’d fit in well. Think about it.’
Standing there, Carrie began to do just that. She loved the house already. Moving down here would solve the problem of what to do with it. She’d be able to keep it. And Robert’s legacy meant she wouldn’t have to worry about finding a job straight away – in fact she probably didn’t have to work at all if she didn’t want to – which she did. Being a lady of leisure didn’t appeal. Besides, she loved being a vet. She could always go on the register as a stand-in locum a little voice whispered.
What about her mum and dad? She mightn’t live at home these days but she still saw them regularly and would miss them. Malcolm was due to retire soon – she could find them a nice bungalow somewhere near. If they wanted to move.
And then there was Max. He’d been a good boss, she couldn’t let him down. He was expecting her back. She shook her head. No, the whole idea was just ridiculous.
So, what to do with the house? Well, she wouldn’t sell it right away. She’d keep it for at least a year. Come down as often as she could and see how it went. Elizabeth and Malcolm could enjoy a few breaks down here too. At the end of the year she’d decide what to do with it. A year would give her time to think about it and work out whether it was too much hassle in the long run.
She’d need to find a gardener to keep the place tidy in her absence. Maybe Tony would know someone. She’d ask him next time she saw him – which would be when she returned Lola.
‘Come on, Lola, time we went home. Things to do. At least it’s downhill all the way now.’
*
‘I wish you could stay longer,’ Karen said to Francesca as they had breakfast together. ‘You’ve hardly been here five minutes.’
Summer at Coastguard Cottages Page 17
