‘There’s a rugby match on Saturday afternoon,’ he said, ‘and he’s suggested we might all meet up and watch Will play. What d’you think? Ben and Jules might like that, mightn’t they?’
And once again she swallowed down her wrath and agreed that they would. His voice sounded much more relaxed, almost ebullient, and she wanted to encourage the mood. Afterwards, though, resentment surged in her gut: why should she tiptoe round him, reading the storm signals and reacting to them so as to keep him happy? Why shouldn’t she have the luxury of speaking her mind and getting it out of her system?
At this point Oliver phoned.
‘Are you spitting nails?’ he asked brightly – and all her spleen and fury erupted and she raged at him.
‘Sorry,’ she said wearily at last. ‘Sorry, Ol. You just walked straight into that. But honestly! Can you get inside his head? I mean, what does he think, for Christ’s sake?’
‘I know, old love,’ he said, ‘but the point is: he’s here. That’s what you wanted. That’s what you were counting on. And he hasn’t come to say, “That’s it. Finis.” Listen, he’s cross. Oh, yes, he’s very cross. He’d worked himself into a good old self-righteous state by the time he got here but he can’t keep it up, dear old Guy. I took him to the pub last night and today we’ve been down on the Tamar with the Trehearnes and he’s relaxing nicely, coming off the boil, and, what’s more, he’s really connecting with his roots again. Waxing lyrical about the Tamar. He’s fallen in with the plan to meet up at the rugby match – I expect he’s told you – and a day’s sailing tomorrow will just be the final thing to put him right back on course. If you can’t work the old magic after that, well, I’ll be very surprised. I’ll clear out and you can stay here when you get back. I’ll give Guy the key.’
And when at last she saw him she knew that Oliver was right and it was a good thing that Guy had had the space and time to unwind before they met.
As he came into the hotel bedroom where she was waiting she recognized his relaxed, contented look that generally followed stringent physical exercise taken in a boat out at sea. She got up and walked into his outstretched arms and, as she hugged him tightly, her own tensions and resentment flowed out of her. Desire flared in her and she wanted to drag him down on the bed behind them. Instead she let him go just a fraction before he would have released her and smiled up at him.
‘Good day, by the look of it.’
She was instantly rewarded for her restraint.
‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘Sorry I’m late, but honestly, Gemma,’ he shook his head in a kind of bewilderment, ‘you should just see that place. God, I’d kill for something like that on the river. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is down there on the Tamar.’
She let him talk on, watching him, feeling a huge affection for him.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting them all on Saturday,’ she said at last. ‘It was a great idea that we should go to the rugby match. The twins are so excited at the thought of seeing you.’
‘Are they? Well, I’m looking forward to seeing them too.’ He looked around, stretched, suddenly seized by embarrassment.
But she was ready for that, too.
‘Shall we go down and have a drink?’ she suggested. ‘You look very respectable, given that you’ve been sailing all day.’
‘I stopped off for a quick shower at Chapel Street,’ he said. He was clearly relieved at the prospect of a drink; at the postponement of anything more intimate. ‘A beer would go down well. Or a very large gin and tonic.’
‘Come on then,’ she said lightly, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘You must be starving.’
Later, as they sat at their table with coffee, she decided that she must talk to him seriously. The dining-room was half empty and they’d been given a table in the bay window with no near neighbours. The chintzy curtains were drawn and there was a sense of intimacy. Guy’s face was calm but she could tell that he might withdraw into his more usual detachment at any moment. They would make love later, no doubt about that, but she didn’t want this crucial issue muddled with any emotion aroused by physical passion. She could use it to her advantage but it would be cheating.
‘This was a good idea of yours, coming here,’ she said, pouring some more coffee. ‘Can you imagine us at the Rectory with Ma dashing about trying to be tactful and Pa glaring at us?’
‘No,’ he said, his face lighting with his rare smile. ‘That’s why I went to Chapel Street.’
‘You must have been really pissed off with me,’ she said lightly, ‘not to tell me you were coming.’
He looked at her, an intent look, as if he was measuring the gravity of her statement. ‘I was,’ he said at last. ‘Just blinding off into the blue with the boys, saying you weren’t coming back.’
‘I’m not going back, Guy,’ she said softly. ‘I meant it. And I did give you a few warning shots across the bows, you know. It can’t have been that much of a shock.’
He drank some coffee. ‘I felt as if I’d lost control,’ he said honestly. ‘That’s what really made me angry, I suppose. That you could just go like that and there was nothing I could do about it.’
She leaned towards him. ‘It was the only way, in the end, to make you hear me. I couldn’t take any more of it. You were always so silent and preoccupied. Short with the boys, arguing with your father. I felt utterly and absolutely alone.’
She noted the jut of his jaw, the way his eyelids drooped over his grey eyes, and knew that anger was not very far away. Still, she waited for him to speak; she would not think of placatory words that might help him to some face-saving way out, nor would she hasten to agree that she’d been to blame in the first place.
‘So what d’you suggest?’ he asked at last.
His long brown fingers turned his coffee cup round and round in its saucer, and he watched it, refusing to look at her.
‘Why did you come?’ she asked in return.
‘Oh, to have a good rant,’ he said. His eyes narrowed, as if he were laughing at himself. ‘To bawl you out and insist on your return.’
‘So what’s changed your mind?’
He looked at her then. ‘What makes you think I’ve changed my mind?’
She shrugged, holding his stare. ‘Something has, hasn’t it?’
He looked past her, his eyes widened as if he were seeing visions, and she held her breath.
‘I’d forgotten,’ he said at last, ‘how beautiful it is here in the West Country. And how much I feel a part of it. Oh, Canada is beautiful too, in a different way, but this is … home. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.’ He shook his head, suddenly embarrassed. ‘It sounds crazy.’
‘Does it? Not to me,’ she said. ‘It’s why I came back. This is where I belong and I want it for Ben and Jules. If we’d been wonderfully happy out there perhaps things would have been different, but we weren’t. And it’s not just me, Guy, it’s you too. You’re not happy. I love you and I want to be with you but not like that. Oh, I know it’s not fair on you and that it’s my fault we went in the first place. Do you think I ever forget that? So I wanted to give it a try to make up for everything. And you wanted to go too, didn’t you? It had been in your mind for a while so it was an obvious solution at that time. And we’ve both given it a try but it hasn’t worked.’
‘So what now? What about my father?’
She sighed. ‘If I really thought Mark would care it might make a difference. But he won’t. He doesn’t like me – he makes that very clear – and he’s not particularly interested in the boys. And as far as you’re concerned I think it’s more a question of him needing to be in control. He will be angry, just as you were when I walked out, but there won’t be a great deal more than that behind it. I’m sorry to be so brutal but that’s how I see it. And his cold approach seems to rub off on you so that our relationship suffers too. I really can’t cope with any more of it, Guy. If it sounds like an ultimatum that’s because it is.’
There was
a little silence, and then she said, ‘What were you seeing just now, Guy?’
‘Boats,’ he answered. ‘Boats out on the River Tamar and an old grey house and a sail loft.’
She pushed back her chair and stood up, and he looked up at her quickly, and just for a moment he looked anxious and frightened. She held out her hand to him.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
* * *
Now, as she makes tea and takes the slices of toasted cheese from under the grill, remembering how she and Guy made love, she can hardly keep herself from smiling. Yesterday they had the whole day to themselves, exploring old haunts, and this morning, after breakfast at the hotel, the drive across the moor was magical. Now she must prepare for the rugby match, for Guy’s reunion with his sons, and for the meeting with these new friends. Oliver has sent a text saying that he’ll see them at the school.
Guy appears behind her. ‘How are we doing? The match starts in less than an hour.’
‘It’s ready,’ she says, piling plates and mugs onto a tray. ‘We’ll have this in the living-room. By the way, I never asked you how Oliver was with Jess.’
He follows her down the hall, watches her put the tray on the table.
‘With Jess?’
She glances up at him. ‘He’s rather taken with her. Trust you not to notice. He’s afraid that he’s too old for her.’
Guy frowns. ‘I should have said that it was Sophie he was rather taken with, not Jess.’
‘Sophie? But he’s only just met her, hasn’t he?’
Guy shrugs, takes a bite of toasted cheese. ‘How long does it take?’
Gemma grins at him. ‘It took you quite a while,’ she says. Then, suddenly serious: ‘What are we going to do, Guy?’
He finishes his toast and drinks some tea. ‘I don’t know yet. I need something to come back to and we need somewhere to live. Dad won’t set me up here. Why should he?’
‘But you’ll come back?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, I’ll come back.’
‘Oh, darling.’ She wraps her arms round him quickly, wanting to forestall any remark – ‘What choice do I have?’ or ‘You’ve twisted my arm’ – that might lead to a downturn of self-pity. To a different kind of man she might have said ‘Let’s go to bed,’ but Guy isn’t that sort of man. He’d suspect the suggestion as a feminine attempt to strengthen her position by exploiting his physical need and she rejects it. Her position is a tricky one: she can’t openly exult because it will look as if it’s been a game that she’s won. If she expresses gratitude he will be uncomfortable.
Guy solves the dilemma in his own prosaic way. He hugs her, releases her, and says: ‘If you don’t get a move on we’ll be late for the match.’
Gemma wants to weep with relief but she doesn’t. She plays it by his rules. She can afford to: she’s won.
* * *
While he waits for her to get ready to go, Guy remembers again those early, happy days and he smiles reminiscently. She made a chink in his carefully constructed, self-protecting armour and through it injected her warmth, her easy light-heartedness and love of life. With her, he was more able to relate to other people, to take life more lightly. Without her, his future looked bleak. Her ultimatum, back then in the form of the note through his door, was just as effective as her flight from Canada is now.
‘What are you thinking about?’
Gemma stands at the door, ready to go, watching him.
‘I was remembering chasing you up over the moor twelve years ago, and that boat trip from Fowey a few weeks afterwards,’ he answers.
She knows at once what he means.
‘I was remembering it earlier. I always think of it when we drive along that way like we did today. Through Cornwood and Wotter, across to Cadover Bridge. I remember your lights flashing in my mirror and my hoping it was you but afraid to stop in case it wasn’t.’
‘And you remember us bringing the boat back from Fowey?’
She laughs. ‘Of course I do. You were quite romantic in those days.’
‘It was fun, though, wasn’t it?’ he persists. ‘We enjoyed those trips collecting and delivering boats, when we used to go to sea together, before we had the boys.’
She looks at him, slightly puzzled. ‘Yes, it was good. Why?’
He looks thoughtful, shakes his head. ‘Nothing. Just a little idea.’
‘We should be going,’ she says. ‘Have you got the door key? Come on, we’ll be late.’
* * *
‘I think it’s outrageous,’ Tom says. ‘He’s been back in the country for five days and hasn’t had the courtesy even to come and see us. We’ve been looking after his wife and children for a month…’
He’s been working outside all day, sweeping leaves; his ancient navy jersey is unravelling at the cuffs and the knees of his old cords are worn bare. He stands in his thick white submariners’ socks, with his back to the sink, arms folded across his chest. Cass is making tea and he knows he is in the way but he isn’t going to move. He stands sturdily, stockily, chin jutting.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ cries Cass, deliberately jerking his elbow as she reaches for the sugar. ‘She’s our daughter. They’re our grandsons. Stop talking like some Victorian spinster aunt. Guy and Gemma need to get things sorted. How are they going to do that here with us around? Use your sense.’
‘They’ve been in Chapel Street.’
‘But Kate isn’t there, is she?’
‘Guy didn’t know that, did he?’
Cass rolls her eyes, pours the tea. ‘Kate is his mother. Naturally he went there first. Just as Gemma came to us. How would you have felt if Gemma had gone to Kate first when she and the boys came home? It was just lucky that Oliver was there. And, anyway, what does it matter as long as things get put right between them? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’
Tom is silent, trying to overcome a huge attack of self-righteous rage. He feels that Gemma has cheated and lied to them: allowing them to think she was still with Debbie when she was with Guy and then staying at Chapel Street instead of coming back to the Rectory.
‘She’s not twelve any more,’ says Cass. ‘She’s a married woman with children. Do you want this tea or not?’
‘That’s what I said when she wanted to run back home in the first place,’ he cries indignantly, ignoring the tea. ‘That she should take responsibility for herself and her marriage, and not come back to us when she falls at the first hurdle.’
‘Is this a private war?’ asks Oliver from the doorway, ‘or can anyone join in? Just to say I’m off to this rugby match. See you later.’
He disappears before Tom can answer. Cass dashes to the door.
‘Tell Guy we’d love to see him if it can be fitted in before he goes back,’ she calls after him. ‘Perhaps lunch tomorrow with the twins?’ Oliver raises a hand in acknowledgement and Cass comes back into the kitchen.
‘Fitted in,’ snorts Tom. ‘I notice we aren’t invited to this match with our grandsons and the Trehearnes.’
‘The boys aren’t playing.’ Cass sits down at the table. ‘Will is playing. Jess and Sophie are going and it’s a chance for all the young people to be together.’
‘What about Johnnie?’ demands Tom at once. ‘I bet he’s going.’
‘Probably he is,’ answers Cass wearily. ‘Tom, what is your problem? From the few texts that Gemma has sent Oliver it looks as if this whole thing might work out. Guy has come over, as Gemma hoped he would, and it seems as if he might be prepared to move back. This is what we’re all hoping for. What is the matter with you?’
Tom fumes silently. He cannot say that the matter is all bound up in his jealousy of his elder son who, like some latter-day Machiavelli, seems to be organizing everyone as usual.
‘I’m fed up with being used,’ he says. ‘We stand about waiting to be told what’s happening, grateful for a crumb of information, whilst Oliver goes in and out as if we’re a bloody hotel. I mean, what’s
he doing here? He’s been hanging around for weeks. Why isn’t he doing whatever it is he does in London or wherever, and making himself even more money?’
‘Oh, come on,’ says Cass impatiently. ‘Do you understand nothing about your children? It’s my guess that Gemma told Oliver that she was planning to make the dash back home and she wanted him around as a buffer. She’s always relied on Oliver to help her through difficulties since she was a little girl. He came down so that he could be at hand if she needed him. And she did. He’s got the boys into Mount House, kept her spirits up and effected an introduction to the Trehearnes.’
Tom stares at her indignantly: why should Gemma need to rely on her brother when she has a father to support her? And what’s this about an introduction?
‘How d’you mean?’ he asks. ‘We’ve known the Trehearnes for ever. Why should we need Oliver to introduce any of us to them?’
‘I didn’t say we did. But he’s introduced Guy to them, and now Gemma will meet them.’
‘And?’
Cass is silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she says at last. ‘I just think that somehow it will be important.’
* * *
‘I’m dreading going back to the Rectory,’ Gemma confides to Oliver at half-time. They stand a little apart from the others at the edge of the pitch. ‘I just know there’s going to be a huge scene with Pa.’
‘He deserves his chance to blow off some steam,’ says Oliver tolerantly. ‘Ma was getting an earful when I came out. He’ll get over it.’
‘D’you think we should all go over to lunch tomorrow? We could pick the twins up after church and take them up to the Rectory.’
‘Definitely not,’ says Oliver at once. ‘Dear old Guy seems in an unusually mellow mood just now but I think that that would be a step too far. Pa simply won’t be able to help himself saying something provocative and all our good work might be undone.’
Gemma’s eyes stray to the tall, lean figure of her husband, deep in conversation with Johnnie.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she says unhappily, ‘but I just feel a bit bad about the Aged Ps. They’ve been very patient.’
The Sea Garden Page 17
