Hugo nods. ‘It’s his bridge day. Won’t be back yet.’
Jamie takes a deep breath. ‘Good. Listen. You won’t guess who I unexpectedly met up with today in some bistro in Truro. Wanna try?’
Hugo shakes his head, but his heart beats fast and his gut lurches. ‘Who?’
‘Only Ems.’ Jamie flings himself round, strides down the kitchen and back again, grabbing at chair backs for support. ‘Ems! Can you believe it? I’m having a coffee and in she walks. Recognized me straight off.’ He pauses. ‘It was odd, actually. She didn’t seem that surprised. I still can’t get over it. And what’s more, get this, she wants to see me again. She says she has something to tell me that’s very important.’ He raises his shoulders, his hands, his eyebrows, miming amazement. ‘Like, seriously? After twenty-eight years? Actually, I was bloody glad Adam could drive me back as far as The Court, though he had no idea what I was really feeling.’
Hugo lets out a very slow breath. He didn’t know that Emilia was in Cornwall and he experiences an overwhelming mix of apprehension and a bittersweet remembrance of things past. This is the worst that could have happened and what’s frightening is Jamie’s reaction. His normally cool, calm approach to any kind of surprise has vanished. He’s edgy, excitable, seeking a reaction.
‘We need to talk,’ Hugo says, aware of the total inadequacy of this remark. ‘I should have told you something before.’
Jamie stops striding up and down, sinks down on to a chair and stares at him. ‘What? Told me what?’
‘I was in Wadebridge,’ Hugo begins quickly. ‘I was in Relish when I saw this girl. I thought I recognized her and then I realized that it was because she looked so much like Emilia. She saw me staring at her and I thought she might think I was trying to get off with her or something so I said this silly thing about how much she reminded me of someone I’d known way back.’ He shakes his head. ‘Forget all the conversational flim-flam. It turned out that she was Emilia’s daughter.’
Jamie is watching him intently. ‘So Ems has a daughter living in Wadebridge?’
‘No,’ says Hugo quickly. ‘No. She lives in Geneva but she and her husband have just bought a holiday cottage in Rock.’
Jamie raises his eyebrows. ‘You got off pretty quick on one short glance.’ His expression changes slowly, as if he is working something out; his eyes grow cold. ‘Are you going to tell me that you’ve seen Ems and didn’t think it was worth mentioning to me?’
Hugo shakes his head. ‘I haven’t seen her, no, but it was on the cards and I should have warned you.’
‘Yes, you bloody should have,’ Jamie shouts. ‘So Ems’ daughter has bought a cottage in Rock. OK. It’s a bit of a shock. But I can’t see Ems spending much time in Rock.’ He takes a breath, shrugs. ‘Well, that explains why she’s around.’
‘I suppose so.’ Hugo hesitates.
Should he go further, declare his suspicion?
‘She didn’t talk about her family,’ Jamie’s saying. ‘But why should she want to see me again? There was something weird about it. Not just, “Let’s try to heal old wounds and mend bridges” stuff. Something more than that. She was very insistent.’ He roots in his pocket and drags out a piece of crumpled paper. ‘Look.’ He smooths it out. ‘She’s written an address and a mobile number. See?’
He shakes his head, trying to work it out, and Hugo knows that he must take the risk.
‘This is going to sound bizarre,’ he begins, staring at the piece of paper. ‘The thing is, Lucy has a little boy of about – oh, I don’t know – eighteen months? Two? I’m not good at babies’ ages. Anyway, when I looked at this little fellow, little Daniel, I thought I could see a kind of likeness …’ He risks a glance at his cousin, who is staring at him, baffled.
‘What?’ Jamie asks impatiently. ‘Get on with it. What are you saying?’
‘He reminded me of you,’ Hugo blurts out. ‘He looks just like you did at that age. Same colouring. Same way of holding his head. It’s probably nothing but I’m just saying … and that might be what she wants to tell you,’ he finishes feebly.
There is a silence. When he speaks, Jamie’s voice is almost unrecognizable.
‘Do you mean that Ems wants to tell me that she had a daughter twenty-seven years ago and that the child was mine but she didn’t bother to mention it? Are you really suggesting that?’
Hugo looks away from the anger on Jamie’s face and quite suddenly is calm. He turns to face him squarely.
‘Yes,’ he answers coolly. ‘I am suggesting that. If Emilia seems so insistent on seeing you I suspect that, now Nigel Kent is dead, she thinks it might be time to tell the truth.’
‘That I’ve had a daughter for the last twenty-seven years? And now a grandson? Christ, Hugo! Can you possibly be serious? And why the hell didn’t you tell me before?’
Never has Hugo seen Jamie so angry. This cold rage is much more frightening than a violent loss of temper.
‘Remember that I know nothing. But I’ve seen the boy. Daniel.’ It seems important to keep repeating the child’s name. ‘To begin with I didn’t put two and two together but it nagged at me. The likeness is undeniable. But, yes, I put off mentioning it because it’s so bizarre and I was afraid that it might … cause problems for you.’ He glances at Jamie and looks away again. ‘It might possibly be that Emilia believed that Lucy was Nigel’s child. She looks so much like her mother and I imagine that …’ He hesitates, not quite knowing how to go on. ‘… that she could have been Nigel’s child.’
‘You mean that she was running us both at the same time?’ Jamie’s voice is icy. ‘Yes, I think you can assume that.’
‘Well,’ says Hugo helplessly. He raises his hands and drops them again. ‘You see where I’m going with this?’
‘Absolutely. The child pops out looking just like her, huge relief, and no forward thinking like, “OMG, supposing she should have a baby twenty-five years from now who looks just like that bastard Jamie?” Yes, I get that.’
His rage and bitterness are so palpable that Hugo is silent. He cannot begin to imagine what Jamie must be feeling and his main concern is that this will make Jamie ill; precipitate a vertigo attack, the dizziness, the headaches.
‘Will you go to see her?’ he asks at last.
‘Oh, yes! I’ll bloody go!’
Hugo knows that he must try to bring Jamie back from the edge and he casts around for something that will speak to Jamie’s natural instincts for reason; that will help to regain his instinctive coolness.
‘What worries me, too,’ Hugo says at last, ‘is how Lucy will feel? Assuming that all this is true, of course. I imagine that she won’t know either. It will be a terrific shock to her, too.’
He looks at his cousin and he sees that Jamie is regaining control, the peak of his fury is past and common sense is taking hold again. Hugo glimpses the military man back in charge. Jamie is attempting to catalogue and file all the data he’s been given in the last seismic half an hour. But he is still very angry.
He stands up, turns away from Hugo; picks up his leather jacket.
‘I’m going to take the dogs for a walk,’ he says abruptly. ‘Come on, boys.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asks Hugo diffidently. ‘I’m just thinking … Are you OK?’
‘I expect the dogs will come home if I fall over in a fit,’ Jamie answers. ‘And then you’ll have to come and find me.’
He and the dogs go out together. Hugo drags out a chair and collapses into it, his head in his hands. He feels that he has somehow let Jamie down, that he has misjudged the situation and he has no idea how to go forward.
Adam waves goodbye as the MGB pulls out of the drive. He’s forgotten that Dossie is in St Breward. In the kitchen he finds a note propped against a plastic bag with a tin in it.
Just in case you’re at a loose end when you get back, I promised to take this over for Jakey. You might like to drop it off for me. Thanks. Hope you had a good day. Back about seven-ish. If the
re’s nobody around (it’s half term and they might have gone off somewhere) just leave it at the back door and drop in and have tea with Janna!!
Adam thinks about it. He might as well go. It would be nice to see Jakey, Clem and Tilly, and the rain has stopped. He feels extremely restless after the day out and further distraction would be good. He dashes off for a pee, grabs the bag, and goes out again.
His car feels very dull and ordinary after the MGB and, as he drives towards Chi-Meur, he thinks about Jamie. The disabling effect of the migraine attack has shocked Adam. Although Jamie recovered on the way back, Adam wishes he was able to summon up the courage to insist on driving him home. But there’s something just the least bit intimidating about Jamie that keeps you slightly at arm’s length.
When he drives in through the gates, Adam sees at once that Clem’s car is missing. He gets out anyway, knocks at the front door, wanders round to the back, but there’s nobody about. A football lies on the path and a trampoline is parked in the middle of the small lawn. Adam smiles as he remembers how he and Jakey played football out in the lane; running, barging, Jakey shouting, ‘Pass!Pass!’ He’s a tall boy, and very like his father, though he doesn’t show any signs of Clem’s stillness; his austerity. When they came in to tea, Clem grinned at Adam, noticing his breathlessness, his heightened colour.
‘That was fun,’ Adam said, almost defensively, whilst Jakey disappeared to wash his hands. ‘I really enjoyed it.’
‘Good,’ said Clem. ‘Great. So that’s the next few weekends booked out for you, then. And if you throw in going to the beach and up on the moor I might even let you have some time off for good behaviour.’
Tilly appeared then, smiling at Adam, asking how long he was staying with Dossie, laughing at his dishevelment. They were so welcoming, so accepting, that Adam could hardly believe that his visits hitherto had been so few and far between. He saw how easy and happy Tilly and Clem were together, and how Jakey and Tilly were rather more like brother and elder sister than stepson and stepmother. Briefly, he was gripped with the old sense of being the outsider, of not belonging, until he realized that he didn’t have to be – if only he could put the past behind him and look forward.
Then Jakey reappeared with Bells, and Adam crouched to accept her enthusiastic licks, while Jakey said: ‘Can we play football again after tea? Please? Can we?’ So he’d said: ‘I don’t see why not,’ and Jakey cheered whilst Clem grinned at him once more.
Adam puts the plastic bag with the tin in it outside the back door, but once he’s in the car again he hesitates, remembering the rest of Dossie’s note, and on an impulse he drives along and round to the Coach House. The sun is out now and Janna’s courtyard is a pretty, peaceful place, raindrops glittering on the petals and leaves. As he stands looking at it all, an elderly nun in a blue habit comes in at the gate behind him and smiles at him.
‘Welcome,’ she says with a little bow towards him, her hands folded together.
She says the word almost as if it is two words ‘Well come,’ and he returns her smile.
‘I was wondering if Janna might be around. Dossie told me to drop in on her.’
‘Dossie!’ The Sister’s face lights with love at the mention of the name.
‘I am her brother,’ he tells her. ‘Clem’s uncle.’
‘How wonderful,’ she exclaims.
He is warmed by the sincerity of her delight. ‘Clem’s not in,’ he explains, ‘so I just thought I’d check on Janna. It’s probably not a good time. I’m Adam.’
‘Now that is a good name,’ she says, taking his hand in hers. ‘And I am Sister Emily. Janna has driven Mother to a doctor’s appointment. She will be sorry to miss you. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Well,’ he glances around. ‘I wouldn’t want to be a trouble.’
Sister Emily looks puzzled. ‘Is it a trouble?’ she asks, genuinely surprised.
He can’t help laughing. ‘Not if you say it isn’t. Except that I only drink coffee.’
‘And so do I,’ she says serenely.
‘Oh, yes, I remember now,’ he exclaims. ‘Janna said that. You drink coffee but it has to be Fairtrade.’
‘Quite right,’ she agrees. ‘Sit there in the sun and I shall fetch us some.’
He decides to do as he is bid and not make an offer to help, and sits at the wooden table and relaxes in the sun. He closes his eyes and tries to make out the scents that drift around him: lavender, wallflowers, Daphne odora. Still with his eyes closed he stretches a hand sideways and ruffles some leaves in a nearby pot and then smells his fingers: thyme. A blackbird is singing.
There is a clink and a rattle and Sister Emily is back, putting a tray on the table. She places a mug of black coffee beside him and smiles down at him.
‘If Dossie were here there would be cake,’ she says. ‘But I have biscuits.’
She says this proudly, as if biscuits are a special treat, and he sits up straight and accepts one, smiling his thanks.
‘I’d like to stay here for ever,’ he says randomly, because just at this moment this is what he would like more than anything else in the world. ‘Not just here in this courtyard,’ he amends quickly. ‘Just here. In this amazing part of the country. It’s so beautiful.’
‘And can’t you?’ she asks innocently, as if it would be quite easy to throw everything up and move to Cornwall.
‘Well,’ he says, slightly taken aback. ‘It’s not quite that simple.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she asks, interested. ‘Why isn’t it?’
He gazes at her, knowing that she isn’t making fun or trying to be clever but just wants to know the reason. And he can’t think of one. He can’t think of a single reason why he should not leave London and move to Cornwall.
‘Best thing I ever did,’ his old friend Barnaby said earlier, over lunch. ‘You should give it a try. Swimming, surfing, coastal path walking. What’s not to like? And you’ve got family here …’
‘And how nice that would be,’ Sister Emily is saying, as if she has read his thoughts, ‘for your family. For Clem and little Jakey. And for Dossie, of course.’
Adam picks up his cup and sips the hot strong coffee, remembering that game of football out in the lane.
‘Maybe I should,’ he says. ‘After all, I’ve nothing to leave. I haven’t exactly done a lot with my life.’
There is a little silence. The late afternoon sun is warm now, and the little courtyard is full of light and shadows and an odd kind of magic.
‘It depends,’ says the patrician old voice, ‘on how you define doing a lot with your life, I suppose. How do we know how much we might do when we touch people’s lives?’
He looks at her, puzzled, and she smiles at him.
‘People feel that their lives must be dramatic, successful, to achieve anything of importance, but think of Jesus Christ. He was born in a stable – not a very inspiring beginning, despite the rumours of wise men and angels – and then nothing is heard of him for twelve years. Next we hear briefly that he has been a very naughty boy, run away from his parents on that visit to Jerusalem, and they find him showing off in the Temple. Another silence for eighteen years. And then this thirty-year-old man appears. No money, no property, no transport, no job. Rather odd friends: itinerant fishermen, tax collectors, ladies of dubious reputation. He is rude to his mother at Cana, he loses his temper with spectacular violence in the Temple and finally dies a criminal’s death. And all in three short years. Yet here we are talking about him more than two thousand years on. And loving him. So it depends, you see, on what you mean by “I haven’t done a lot with my life”.’
There is a silence: a bee drones. Adam has never heard the life of Christ described in quite these terms and especially not by a nun. Sister Emily sips her coffee reflectively. She is not afraid of the silence that stretches between them.
‘I suppose there was a bit more to it than that, though, wasn’t there?’ he suggests at last. ‘Making people see and hear? That sort of stuff?�
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‘Ah, yes. Opening people’s eyes to realities, making them listen to unpleasant truths.’ Sister Emily nods. ‘Inculcating a true sense of awareness. That’s always miraculous. Mind you, I don’t think the Pre-Raphaelites did Jesus many favours portraying him with all that long fair hair and blue eyes. “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” I imagine him as young, tough and charismatic. Have you noticed that he always answered a question with another question? Leading people forward? Making them think? He would have made a first-rate barrister.’
Thoroughly confused now, not knowing what to say, Adam finishes his coffee and puts the empty mug back on the tray. He glances at her and she smiles that delightful smile, full of joy and the expectation of good things.
‘Thank you,’ he says. He hesitates and an idea occurs to him. ‘I suppose you don’t go to parties? Only we’re hoping to give one soon. Me and Dossie at The Court. Janna’s coming. And Clem.’
If he’s imagined that he might disconcert her he is disappointed. She beams at him mischievously.
‘I should love to. I so enjoyed the last party Dossie gave at The Court, though your parents were alive then. Thank you.’
He begins to laugh as he stands up. ‘I shall very much look forward to seeing you there. I shall come and collect you and Janna, and bring you home afterwards. We have a date.’
‘We have a date,’ she repeats, as if relishing the phrase.
He doesn’t quite know the form when it comes to taking leave of a nun, so he simply smiles at her, gives her a little bow.
‘Thanks for the coffee.’
‘Happiness is always on the road ahead,’ she says. ‘Courage, mon brave.’
He stares at her for a moment, then he gets into the car, reverses, and drives away. Clem’s car is not there so he carries on past the Lodge and turns into the lane. After a mile or two he begins to laugh again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AS THE DAYS pass after the trip to Truro, Ned watches his nephews with growing unease. The atmosphere is strained and it is clear that the two of them have fallen out. Jamie is preoccupied, irritable, and Hugo is anxious, treading warily where his cousin is concerned. He’s stopped whistling the theme tune from Mission Impossible each time Jamie mentions Dossie. She and Adam are looking after Jakey for the last few days of the half-term week and she hasn’t been over recently. Prune’s presence helps to keep things on an even keel but it is Rose who precipitates a reconciliation between Hugo and Jamie. Nearly a week after the Truro trip she comes in just as they are finishing breakfast, drops her bag on a chair and stares at them.
Homecomings Page 19
