If only … If only he’d been home a bit more. If only the other wives had been more fun. If only she hadn’t been so young – only twenty when she met Jamie, twenty-four when she married him – and had been ready for the responsibility of parenthood. And it was then, when the glamour was rubbed thin and loneliness was pressing in, that she met Nigel. Fifteen years older, experienced, amusing, hedonistic, and popular. The sitcom he was appearing in was a huge success; everyone adored him. She simply couldn’t resist him.
I was still so naïve, Emilia reminds herself defensively, and Jamie was away so much.
She can still remember the shock on Jamie’s face when she told him. They’d been making love – for how could she refuse him when he was just back from his Falklands detachment? – and then as she poured him a glass of wine she began to explain, in halting, hesitating, anxious phrases, how she thought that their marriage wasn’t going anywhere; that it had been a mistake. He listened to her with a mounting disbelief, told her that she was just having a funny five minutes and that she’d get over it. She was unable to make her case and when he asked her if she’d met someone else she instinctively denied it. They made love again; he was passionate, loving, possessive, as if by this intense physical activity he could bring her back to her senses, and as soon as he left the next morning she ran away to London; to Nigel.
Emilia turns back into the room. She feels confused, remorseful, emotional. Suddenly she longs to see Hugo again. What must he have thought of her? She wonders if she might be able to make him understand – and give her news of Jamie. She feels quite sure that Hugo would have married and had children, though Lucy told her that he was alone when she saw him in the Relish café.
‘He was with a group of people in The Chough,’ she said, ‘but not with anyone special as far as I could see. I hope you meet up with him, Mum. He seems really nice.’
On an impulse, Emilia picks up her bag and hurries out. She gets into the car, reverses out of the space, and heads towards Wadebridge.
It is only when she is sitting at a table beneath the flowering cherry trees, with a pot of tea in front of her, that it occurs to Emilia that she might not recognize Hugo even if she were to see him. She recalls him in her mind’s eye: tall, broad-shouldered, a mass of dark curly hair and very blue eyes. It is indeed amazing that he has seen the resemblance to her own young self in Lucy, but would he recognize this older Emilia? After Lucy told her how they’d met she peered into the mirror, trying to trace that young girl’s lineaments in this middle-aged face. She doesn’t look too bad, she tells herself, though her red-brown hair began to grey quite early and she decided to colour it. Nigel didn’t like the thought of her being grey-haired, he enjoyed having a young and attractive wife, and he encouraged her to dye it. Poor darling Nigel never quite recovered from his inability to replicate his early success on television and in the end became rather needy; anxious to be recognized, remembered by the public.
Sitting in the dappling sun, Emilia watches two women with a boy of about ten laughing together at another table and wonders what Hugo is doing now. She knows that he joined the BBC but she lost touch with him once she and Jamie were divorced, though she followed his career with interest. She wonders what he looks like – how foolish of her not to ask Lucy – and how she would react if he were to come walking in now. She knows that this new strange neediness to see Hugo, to reconnect with him, is a longing to revisit the past and in some strange way to receive absolution from him for preferring Jamie – for abandoning both of them. She let them both down. She wants to tell him her own side of things and to make him understand. How easy it is to mistake that terrible, urgent need, that overwhelming lust and longing, for the real thing. How good it would be to talk to him now, to have his approval, now that they are all older and wiser.
Emilia sips her tea and wonders if she is, actually, all that much wiser. Might not the much-vaunted wisdom of old people be simply the loss of passion? She did love darling Nigel, of course she did, but wasn’t it that same treacherous glamour, that seductive scattering of gold dust, that made her believe that she was in love with him? And wasn’t it that within a few weeks of leaving Jamie – oh, the difficulty of writing that letter! – she discovered that she was pregnant? What choice did she have? Nigel was utterly delighted. They’d been lovers for a while and this confirmed to him the rightness of their liaison. He felt as if in some way they were being blessed; absolved. And how he loved Lucy; how proud that she looked just like her beautiful mother.
Emilia sits quite still. She thinks back to those days, the shock when she began to miss her periods – the pill made her ill and she wouldn’t use it so sometimes precautions were a bit sketchy – and how she wondered if the baby might have brown eyes and black hair. Oh, the relief when they presented her with this pretty little daughter with a fuzz of reddish-dark hair and blue eyes. She burst into tears and Nigel was rushed in to share her joy. He ordered champagne.
The two women, one with silvery blonde hair, the other dark-haired with gypsy-looking clothes, are getting up from their table. The boy has gone ahead with a black Labrador that must have been lying under the table. He calls back to them.
‘Dossie,’ he shouts. ‘Dossie. Can you bring my jacket?’ and the blonde woman picks up the coat and waves it to show that she’s heard him, and they all go off together.
Emilia watches them leave. A breeze stirs the blossom and she shivers. She hasn’t noticed that the sun has vanished behind a veil of thin high cloud and that there is a chill in the air. She longs now for Hugo to appear, and she invents the scenario, rehearsing the words she will use in her head, imagining his response.
Down on the coast the tide turns. Out in the Western Approaches storm clouds begin to mass. The wind is rising and Emilia pulls her jacket more closely around her, but still Hugo does not come.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DOSSIE DROPS JAKEY, Janna and Bells off at the Lodge and drives away. She has several orders to deliver and then she is going to see Hugo and Ned. Hugo sent a text saying that Jamie was down and that she must come in to meet him. She is delighted to be included, to feel that she is a friend, though she is apprehensive. It is clear that Hugo slightly hero worships Jamie, that he is a more serious man than Hugo and, of course, his career as a pilot has been impressive. Dossie wonders if the usually relaxed, easy atmosphere might be dispelled, if Hugo might be different in the presence of this charismatic cousin, and she is determined not to be impressed.
She makes her deliveries and drives on to the house on the quay. Jamie’s MGB has been parked as far forward as possible beside the Volvo and she is able to pull in close behind it. She looks at the roadster for a while, then reaches to pick up a tin containing a variety of small cakes and gets out. Outside the door she hesitates and then opens it and calls, just as Prune does, ‘Hi, it’s me.’ The dogs begin to bark and Hugo comes out of the kitchen behind them as they race down the long passage to meet her.
‘Dossie,’ he cries, and she hears just the tiniest tension in his voice.
‘I’ve brought cakes,’ she answers cheerfully, and he beams at her as the dogs jump around them.
‘Joyous,’ he says. ‘Just joyous,’ and they both burst out laughing at this silly, familiar joke. So their entrance into the kitchen is a confusion of dogs, and Hugo leading her in, saying, ‘Dossie has brought cakes.’ The man sitting at the table looks up from writing in a card – a slightly quizzical, assessing look – and begins to get to his feet.
And she is shaking his hand – a strong, quick grasp – before turning to Ned who, not to be outdone by the younger man, is also getting up and demonstrating his privilege of established friendship by giving her a hug. She returns his embrace, indicating the tin.
‘I hope it’s not too late for tea,’ she says. ‘I took Jakey and Janna to Relish but that doesn’t mean I can’t have another.’
‘If we can hold Jamie off the gin and tonic for another ten minutes it will be a very good thi
ng,’ says Hugo. ‘Tea it is.’
Dossie looks at Jamie and sees how his smile creases the corners of his eyes before it reaches his mouth.
‘I hope you like cake?’ she asks, and opens the tin and holds it towards him.
He bends to look into it. He is taller than Hugo, his black hair only slightly touched with grey. He looks tough, fit, slightly formidable.
‘Of course he likes cake,’ says Ned impatiently, and Jamie looks at her and she sees that little smile again.
‘Does he take sugar?’ she asks of no one in particular, and they all burst out laughing and the tension evaporates.
‘I shall be delighted to have tea and cake,’ he assures her, and she smiles at him and begins to take the cakes out of the tin to cover a sudden and very foolish attack of shyness.
‘How is Jakey?’ Ned is asking. ‘And Janna? We hear a great deal about Janna. You must invite her to meet us.’
‘Well, she said almost the same thing to me,’ Dossie answers, taking a plate from Hugo and arranging the cakes. ‘But I don’t think I shall get her here. She’d be too intimidated.’
‘Intimidated? By us?’ Hugo stops in the middle of his tea-making to stare at her in surprise. ‘Seriously?’
‘Janna’s a very odd person.’ Dossie is aware that Jamie is sitting down again, watching her, listening with interest, and she stops fiddling with the cakes and sits down at the table, turning towards Hugo. ‘She had rather a damaged childhood. Her parents were travellers and her mother died from drink and drugs when Janna was small. She’s still a gypsy at heart and I always half expect to find that she’s up and gone.’
‘Who is Janna?’ asks Jamie. ‘What does she do?’
Dossie turns back to look at him. She sees that he is really interested, not just being polite, and she warms to him.
‘Janna has had lots of jobs in pubs and restaurants on the north coast,’ she tells him. ‘Then one day she turned up at the convent, Chi-Meur, and they offered her a job, working in the kitchen, cleaning, anything that she felt happy with. My son, Clem, and my grandson, Jakey, were living there, too, back then. Clem was wondering whether to continue with his theological training after his wife died having Jakey. We all became very close friends. Janna lived in the caravan in the grounds, which suited her really well.’
She pauses, takes a breath, and glances at Jamie again to see if he is still really interested. He is watching her intently and raises his eyebrows as if inviting her to continue.
‘So when the convent became a retreat house, and the four remaining Sisters moved into the Coach House, they persuaded Janna to stay on to look after them. Much against her will.’
‘Why much against her will?’ asks Jamie.
‘It meant her moving in with them because one elderly Sister needed special care and so Janna would lose the independence and freedom of the caravan. Clem saw that two rooms at the end of the Coach House could be made into special quarters for her, with her own entrance and a little courtyard, as well as an adjoining door to the Coach House.’
Dossie stops again and glances round anxiously. Can they really be interested in all this?
‘And so she did,’ she finishes rather lamely. ‘It’s worked so far but Janna is slightly like a moorland pony that might kick up its heels, toss its head, and gallop away if it’s confronted by the unexpected or feels too confined. Sorry.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m making her sound … well, inadequate. Which she really isn’t. She’s very strong and brave and nice. But I still think she’d feel intimidated coming here to meet you all.’
She looks again at Jamie, now feeling a complete fool, but he is frowning, as if he is thinking about what she’s saying.
‘In that case then surely the best thing is for her to meet anyone new on her own territory,’ he suggests. ‘And probably one at a time.’
‘Me first,’ says Hugo at once. ‘I like the sound of Janna.’
‘Yes,’ says Dossie with relief. ‘That’s exactly right.’
‘Me next,’ says Ned, coming to sit at the table. ‘I want to meet her, too.’
Jamie meets Dossie’s eyes and gives a little grimace; a little shrug. He sighs.
‘Typical,’ he says sadly. ‘Littlest, least and last. Story of my life.’
In the uproar that follows Dossie sits back and lets out a breath of relief and happiness. She’s having the best time.
Ned reaches for a cake. Occasionally, when they are all sitting round the table like this, he feels like an elderly grandfather at a children’s party. He can see that Hugo is watching the interplay between Jamie and Dossie, aware that they find each other interesting, wanting Jamie to shine, though not so much that Dossie is completely dazzled.
Ned saw that brief expression of approval on Dossie’s face as Jamie got to his feet, the flicker in Jamie’s wary eyes, and he suspects that Hugo doesn’t stand a chance. He had his opportunities and he missed them, thinks Ned impatiently, yet he knows in his heart that the mysterious magic of attraction can’t be manufactured. Though it must have been hard for Hugo, sometimes, to live in the shadow of Jamie. Littlest, least and last!
Ned gives an almost silent snort at Jamie’s misrepresentation of the facts and Dossie looks at him enquiringly.
‘I was wondering,’ he says blandly, ‘when Adam will be down again. Is he here for the Bank Holiday?’
‘Yes, he is.’ Dossie looks pleased; surprised. ‘It’s great that he wants to come down again so soon.’
‘Well, we all had lunch at yours last time so it’s our call this time,’ Hugo says.
‘Perhaps he should come to the party,’ suggests Ned. ‘He’s already met Prune, and he knows Ben because of his being at The Chough. Do you think he’d like that, Dossie?’
‘I think he’d love it,’ she answers at once. ‘I didn’t know you were giving a party.’
‘It was just an idea so that Jamie could meet people,’ says Hugo. ‘You were on the list, of course, but we’ve pre-empted that now …’
‘So if there’s anyone else you think I should know,’ says Jamie to Dossie, ‘don’t hold back, now that you know I’m Billy No-Mates.’
She laughs at him. ‘I’ll give it my best shot. Perhaps you’d like to meet Sister Emily and Mother Magda? It depends how many people you’re planning to invite.’
‘Since you’ll be the one catering for it,’ says Ned drily, ‘perhaps you should be the one to answer that.’
‘Hang on,’ protests Jamie. ‘That’s a bit tough on Dossie, isn’t it? If we’re giving a party I’ll do the catering.’
There’s a moment’s silence and Ned smiles to himself as he sees that Hugo is taken aback and that Dossie is gratified: she’s not used to people offering to cook for her.
‘It’ll have to be good,’ says Hugo, pulling himself together. ‘Dossie’s an expert.’
‘Then I’ll have to try to impress her,’ answers Jamie matter-of-factly, looking at Dossie. ‘Won’t I?’
And Dossie seems at a complete loss for words. She begins to get up, saying something about going home, whilst Hugo suggests she should stay for supper and Jamie continues to watch her with that slightly quizzical expression that says nothing and everything. Ned can see that she’d like to stay but won’t allow herself to accept.
‘No, no,’ Dossie is saying. ‘I’ve got stuff to do and … but thanks. Maybe another time. And you must bring Jamie over to see The Court, Hugo. Bring the dogs this time …’ She goes out with Hugo hurrying after her, the dogs at his heels.
Jamie sits staring at his plate, with an odd inward look.
Love, thinks Ned with sudden exasperation. Wonderful, terrible old love. Damn it. I hope this doesn’t ruin everything.
There is a moment’s silence after Dossie and Hugo go out. Jamie sits still, unwilling to meet Ned’s eyes. He hadn’t expected such an attractive, amusing woman to be a close part of the household.
‘Fun, isn’t she?’ asks Ned casually, reaching for his stick and standing up.
‘She’s left her cake tin behind,’ says Jamie, pushing back his chair. He has no intention of allowing Ned to trick him into any admissions. ‘And the cakes.’
He begins to clear the table, putting the cakes back into the tin.
‘Not a problem,’ answers Ned comfortably. ‘She’ll be back.’
Hugo comes in. ‘It’s raining quite hard and it’s cold. I wish she’d stayed to supper.’
Jamie wishes she had, too. He’d seen the momentary hesitation and thinks about it.
‘So when is this party going to be happening?’ he asks. ‘If I’m going to be catering for it I shall need notice. Our lovely Rose will help me.’
‘You won some brownie points there,’ observes Ned. ‘Dossie isn’t used to being catered for.’
‘It looks like we shall have to wait for Adam now,’ says Hugo. ‘The more the merrier. Maybe by that time we shall have met Janna and she’ll be persuaded to come. That will even out the numbers a bit. I’ll text Dossie and tell her to get it organized.’
He picks up his phone and Jamie watches him, slightly surprised that he should text her so soon after seeing her. It hasn’t occurred to him that Hugo might be interested in Dossie other than as a friend. Hugo has never been particularly romantic. At the parties in London Hugo was always the brotherly figure and, apart from that time with Ems … Jamie frowns at the remembrance.
Homecomings Page 11
