‘What did you do with Rick Wentworth’s letter?’
A slight pause. ‘What letter?’
‘The one he sent to Kellynch shortly after – after I came back from France,’ Anna said, through clenched teeth. ‘And don’t pretend you can’t remember!’
‘If you mean the letter that Walter opened by accident–’
‘Oh, come on – surely you can do better than that? It must have been a classic case of noblesse oblige – he saw it was addressed to me and opened it anyway, to protect the family name!’
‘Calm down, remember who you are–’
‘Have you or Walter ever let me forget?’
‘Imagine what your dear mother–’
‘My mother’s no longer here, Minty.’ Anna was surprised at how steady her voice sounded. ‘And I’m not my mother, however much you may want me to be.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now, what did the letter say?’
‘Nothing that you didn’t already know,’ Minty said, frostily. ‘He wasn’t much of a writer then, and I don’t suppose he’s any good now – and I certainly won’t be buying his book to find out.’
But Anna wasn’t going to be put off that easily. ‘If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to ask him myself the next time I see him.’
Silence. Then Minty said, ‘You’ve met him, then?’
‘On Sunday, at Uppercross.’
‘And?’
Anna swallowed. ‘He made it very clear that he wasn’t interested any more, if that’s what you mean.’
A pause. ‘So why do you want to know what the letter said?’
‘Because I’ve got nothing to remind me of the happiest time of my life – except a few memories and a lot of regrets!’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, darling.’ Minty’s voice was muffled now, as if she was choking back tears. ‘I was simply doing what I thought was best – and what your dear mother would have wanted.’
Anna closed her eyes. This was Minty’s defence for most of her actions and, as neither point could be disproved, arguing with her was hopeless. At the first opportunity, Anna ended the call.
By now, there was a tight knot in her chest that even an hour of yoga couldn’t unravel. On the way home, she went through the motions of conversation, on tenterhooks in case Jenny asked who’d phoned her. But if she was dying to know, she didn’t show it. One of the things Anna loved about her friend was that, despite having an opinion on everything and everyone, she didn’t pry; she was content to wait to be told.
The week dragged by. Anna made a determined effort to get to know her new students and inject enthusiasm into her lectures, cursing Rick Wentworth for disrupting her life all over again. Time after time she looked at his number in the list of calls on her mobile, but couldn’t bring herself to ring him. It was over; it really was.
Thursday brought more texts from Mona: ‘L + R in Lyme Regis Sat.’, then ‘Me + C too!’ and, finally, a cryptic ‘Asked H’. Even these brief headlines were too much information; they nagged like a dull ache at the back of Anna’s mind.
Then, that evening, another phone call. She was slumped in front of the TV watching a repeat of Friends; normally her comfort food, but tonight it may as well have been a documentary on spread betting. When she saw that the phone number was withheld, her mouth went dry and her heart started to thud. It must be him. In a fever of justification, she reminded herself that her mobile had run out of battery and she hadn’t yet put it on charge, which meant he’d had to get her landline number. He was ringing to ask why she’d emailed him that October, and he was withholding his number so that she wouldn’t ignore the call.
She picked up the receiver, ready to tell him everything.
‘Anna?’ A man’s voice, but not his … ‘Are you there?’ the voice prompted, anxiously.
Charles. Her shoulders sagged. No wonder he’d withheld his number; she’d told him last Sunday not to contact her for a while. Their little chat had been a rushed, awkward exchange beside her car – while he was checking her tyre pressure, with Mona watching them the whole time from Harry’s bedroom window. Still, Anna felt that she’d got her point across. Ollie’s embarrassing revelation at lunch had been a wake-up call, made her more assertive and less guilt-ridden. She’d told Charles that he had to decide before it was too late: was he going to waste the rest of his life on regrets – or make the most of what he’d got?
How she’d cringed at her own hypocrisy.
Now she said quietly, ‘Why are you ringing me?’
‘Because I’ve got a big favour to ask.’
She closed her eyes and counted to ten.
‘Anna?’
‘I told you not to contact me, you and Mona need some space.’
‘I know, and I took on board what you said – well, most of it – and things have been a bit better.’ A pause; then, in that familiar wheedling tone, ‘But Lou and Rick are meeting in Lyme Regis this weekend, and Rick told me that he’s looking up a mate of his who lives there, and it just happens to be Ben Harville, the guru on fishing management. So I said I’d pop down for the day, but Mona thought it would be a good idea for us – her and me, that is – to have a weekend away.’
‘And you want me to look after the boys.’ At least that would leave her little time – or energy – for thinking.
He gave a rueful laugh. ‘No, they’re going to Mum and Dad’s, it’s Mona I need you to look after. And not just to keep her off the booze. You see, she says she’ll be bored while I’m talking to Ben, and of course Lou will just want to be with Rick, so she’s asked Henrietta along.’ Another pause. ‘I have this horrible feeling she’s going to try and split Lou and Rick up, then wheel in Henrietta as Lou’s replacement.’
‘That’s absurd.’ Anna couldn’t help a flicker of hope that the first part of Mona’s supposed plan would succeed, but not the second.
‘Not to Mona, anything’s possible as far as she’s concerned. So I need you to keep an eye on her, you can manage her better than anyone.’
‘That’s not saying much. And she certainly won’t want me there.’ A deep breath. ‘The answer’s no.’
‘But Anna–’
‘I said no.’ It wasn’t so much Mona; more the thought of having to watch Rick with Lou …
‘You don’t understand how important this weekend is.’ Charles hesitated, then went on, ‘It’s make or break with me and Mona. Looking at it positively, it’s a chance to get to know each other again. And being negative, if she messes things up for Henrietta or Lou, then God help me I’ll–’
‘That’s emotional blackmail!’
‘It’s not, it’s asking my sister-in-law – and very close friend – for a big favour. The last one for a long time, I promise you.’
‘Get lost, Charles.’ And she put down the receiver.
Chapter Twenty-One
Eight o’clock on Friday morning, and the first of Rick’s daily phone calls from Lou. He’d tried ignoring them earlier in the week, but she kept on ringing until he answered. He supposed he should be flattered by her persistence.
He let her voice wash over him, his thoughts elsewhere.
‘… And I wish I could get out of this Pony Club thing tonight, but I can’t. It’s their anniversary year and Mum’s giving a speech.’
‘Mmm?’ The word ‘anniversary’ caught his attention. In a couple of weeks it would be Sophie and Ed’s fifth wedding anniversary; maybe he’d get back into Sophie’s good books with a special present …
‘I just want to be with you – now. And the thought of waiting until tomorrow is driving me crazy.’
‘Deferred gratification’s good for the soul,’ he said, forcing a laugh.
‘And how come a quiet little weekend, just the two of us, has turned into a bloody group outing?’ Her mood had changed abruptly; she sounded sulky and cross. ‘I knew it was a mistake when you invited Charles. Now we’ve got Mona, Henrietta and Anna as well–’
‘What the–?’
‘Didn’t
you know? Mona’s asked Henrietta along and Charles has retaliated with Anna. I’m bringing Henrietta tomorrow, but the others will get there this evening. Lucky you.’
So, this evening they’d meet for the first time since that phone call. How would she react? Would she even speak to him? He cursed his own stupidity; he was building her up into some sort of threat, when she was just someone he used to know …
Lou went on, ‘Although for once Anna played hard to get.’
‘What do you mean?’ Something made him add, ‘Did her boyfriend object?’
‘Boyfriend? Hasn’t got one as far as we know, seems to prefer her men to stay between the covers of a book, especially if it’s a nineteenth-century Russian novel. I’m not sure she’s had anyone serious since Charles – hang on, won’t be a minute, I just need a word with Mum before she goes out.’
While he waited, he mulled over this new information. Anna had gone out with Charles in her first year at Oxford – but was it before she’d tried to email him, or after? And what did the email say? ‘I’ve got someone else, and I’m over you’? Or ‘I’m not interested in anyone else, because I still love you’?
And did ‘serious’ mean ‘sleeping with’? How many men had she slept with? He knew he’d been her first, that weekend on the boat …
Something stinging at the back of his eyes; he shut them, tight.
‘Which is half the problem, if you ask me,’ Lou was saying in his ear. ‘Makes Charles think Anna’s at his beck and call – Rick, are you still there?’
‘Yes.’ He opened his eyes again. Better now. Back to normal, in fact.
‘But this time, when he asked her to come along and look after Mona – who’s on the way to becoming an alcoholic, in case you hadn’t noticed – Anna refused. She changed her mind in the end, though, when Mum put her oar in. Anna’s far too soft-hearted for her own good.’ She giggled. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to entertain them on your own, by the time they arrive at Lyme you’ll be in the pub with Ben. Anna’s got a hair appointment in Bath – or is it the dentist? Anyway, Charles and Mona aren’t picking her up from wherever it is until six o’clock and he reckons it’s a two-hour drive at that time on a Friday.’
When at last she rang off, he let out a long, ragged breath. If only Charles hadn’t invited Anna. What should have been a straightforward weekend had become more … complicated.
The journey from Bangor to Lyme Regis took even longer than expected, as a result of road works on the M5. He passed the time chatting to Dave; or rather, punctuating a seven-hour monologue on model railways with appropriate questions. Strange that he’d uncovered the man’s secret passion with a random comment about his misadventures as a student on the North Wales Coast trains. And strange that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d talked about anything with as much enthusiasm as Dave.
Inevitably his thoughts returned to that summer in France, when he’d had several passions on the go and none of them secret. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve – about teaching kids how to sail dinghies, about conserving marine life and about wanting Anna Elliot. Especially about wanting Anna Elliot. He’d known from the start that she was different from the others, but he’d thought it was simply because she was younger and more innocent. So, until that weekend on the boat, it had been a slow burn of a summer … Especially as they had no privacy; he shared a dormitory with three others and, although she had her own room, her cousin’s kids were always around.
In the end, he was so focused on physical self-restraint that he completely underestimated the other effects Anna had on him. Like the way the sun only seemed to start shining when she came to the sailing club; or the urge he had in the middle of the night to phone her, just to hear her voice. And he only realised all this when it was too late, when he was in too deep …
They reached Lyme Regis just before five and checked into the hotel. It was situated up a hill on the outskirts of the town and called – optimistically, given the blanket of mist – the Cobb View Hotel. Rick took an instant dislike to the proprietor, Evan Pargeter, a long-faced stork of a man with black greasy hair and an oily smile.
He confirmed arrangements with Dave for the next day – there was an event at eleven-thirty in nearby Dorchester – then inspected his room. The second best in the hotel, Pargeter assured him; only an earlier booking by another ‘celebwity’ had deprived him of the best, known as the ‘pwesidential suite’. Rick’s room was certainly a good size, although the decor was a bit too flowery for his taste. A quick shower and a change of clothes, and then it was time to meet Ben.
Dave had the night off and anyway, after the long journey, Rick needed a walk. He set off at a brisk pace, following the directions Ben had given him, and by six o’clock was ringing the doorbell of a neat little terraced house. The smart, bottle-green door opened tentatively and a curly-haired, snotty-nosed child – three or four years old, he guessed, and of indeterminate sex – stared up at him as if he’d just landed from outer space.
‘Hi there,’ Rick said, slightly disconcerted by the blood-curdling yells from upstairs. ‘Is your dad in? Or your mum?’
The child just gawped.
And then someone else came to the door; a face he knew, although not one he was expecting.
‘James!’ Rick groped for the few details passed on by Ben over the years about James Benwick, a contemporary of theirs at Bangor. Teaching at some poncy boys’ school in Sussex; presumably English, his degree subject. Engaged to Julie, the girl he’d immortalised in excruciatingly bad verse all those years ago in the student magazine; it only got printed because James was the editor. And he recalled that James was still writing poetry and now publishing stuff on the Internet; Rick hadn’t yet steeled himself to look at the website.
‘Good to see you.’ James’s response was muted, but that could have been due to the deafening noise from above. ‘Ben won’t be long – the twins had simultaneous bowel movements, so he’s changing one nappy and Megan’s doing the other. Cassie, let Uncle Rick in.’
The child – Cassie – shuffled aside and Rick stepped into the tiny hall. It was surprisingly free of clutter – thanks, he assumed, to the neat array of cupboards lining one wall. And the same in the sitting room; just a small pile of toys in one corner that Cassie scampered to defend, as though Rick had designs on her dolls.
He grinned at James. ‘Good to see you too, Ben didn’t say you were coming.’
‘Didn’t know myself until a few hours ago, just needed a weekend away.’
‘How’s Julie?’
James’s face darkened. ‘Ben obviously hasn’t kept you up to date – she’s run off with the art teacher.’
The bitterness in his voice made Rick wince.
At that moment Ben came in, a matching baby in each arm and an apologetic grin on his face; he’d obviously heard James’s last words. ‘I was hoping to tell you about that as soon as you got here, but the twins conspired against me. Anyway, how are you, mate? Here, James, take Joshua.’ He thrust one of the babies at James and shook Rick’s hand for several seconds.
Rick answered automatically, ‘Fine, thanks.’ But he wasn’t; he was stunned by James’s news. In their university days, he’d mocked James and Julie for being too wrapped up in each other. Then, in France, he’d experienced for himself that all-consuming need to share every moment with another person. He’d decided to apologise to James and Julie when he next had the opportunity; now it seemed he never would.
Ben gave him a shrewd look. ‘Megan’s having a few girlfriends round to watch a film so I thought we’d eat at the pub up the road, since we’re going there anyway. Do you want to let your mate know?’
Just as Rick was texting directions to Charles, Megan came downstairs. He’d met her only once before, when she and Ben had visited him in Australia a few years ago. She didn’t seem to have changed much; still those frequent, amused looks at Ben and that infectious laugh. He couldn’t help comparing this couple – with their well-organised house a
nd relaxed, team-based approach – to Charles and Mona.
Once they got to the pub and downed a few drinks, Rick started to feel better. He and Ben did the talking; James sat hunched over his pint and gave monosyllabic replies to their questions. Towards eight o’clock the pub started to fill up and Ben suggested getting ready to order the food as soon as the others arrived. No menus, just a neatly written list on a blackboard by the bar. Rick went over to take a look and glanced discreetly at his watch. Anna could walk in any minute now; he’d keep his distance, behave as if that strained phone call had never taken place, avoid any further conversation beyond the basic courtesies. What was there to say? That chapter of his life was closed and, now that the potential pregnancy issue was out of the way, he had nothing to reproach himself for.
Because I emailed you in the October and you never bothered to reply.
He closed his eyes briefly, then flicked them open and gave his full attention to the blackboard. The seared salmon with a lemongrass-honey sauce sounded good, as did the slow-cooked pork and red cabbage–
To his left, the door of the lounge bar swung open and three people entered. Charles, looking harassed and scanning the room anxiously. Mona, turning her discontented face to the mirrored alcove opposite and checking her make-up. And Anna, staring down at the floor. A subtly different Anna, yet startlingly familiar; dark hair now cut short, drawing the eye to the slender neck that, once upon a time, his mouth had traced and tasted on its slow, sweet journey to the base of her throat …
He twisted blindly away and elbowed a path across the room to the door marked ‘Gents’.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Odd that Rick’s not here,’ Charles said. ‘I’ll ring him.’
Anna touched her hair nervously. She usually just had it trimmed, but today – on some mad impulse – she’d asked for something more drastic. Now she was regretting it; Rick might think she was trying to recapture the past.
Persuade Me Page 12
