The Catalyst

by Angela Jardine

  He wanted to tell her how Francesca had ridiculed him at every opportunity before finally leaving him in one last, very public, act of humiliation. The memory of Francesca’s infidelity had hung about his neck like the Ancient Mariner’s albatross for years but the pain was too much and he did not feel he would ever be able to tell any one of such things.

  Even worse, and to his intense embarrassment, the painful memories of Francesca’s betrayal now brought tears to his eyes but, before he could hide the fact he was on the verge of weeping, Sunny, mentally berating herself for her insensitivity, left her meal and hurried to his side. What had she been thinking asking him about a woman he had so obviously loved so deeply, an irreplaceable woman?

  Angry at herself and her stupid attempts at amateur psychology, she knelt down beside him and put her arms around him without thinking. She had always had the strange, so far unproven, idea that if she could just hold someone close enough when they were distressed she could somehow impart strength to them as if in some sort of spiritual transfer.

  It had never occurred to her she might not have enough emotional strength to share with anyone else, she had simply offered it from her fund of overwhelming tenderness for those in difficulties. The only other thing she had underestimated was the effect this gesture might have on a man who loved her.

  Edward was both stunned and comforted by her action and automatically responded by putting his arms around her. He hardly dared breathe, aware of the flowery scent of her hair and the warmth of her body, and only just stopped himself from reverently kissing the top of her head. At some point though he knew he had to detach himself from her before he made a fool of himself. He knew she was just trying to comfort him and he should not, could not, take advantage of that fact.

  Despite this knowledge he still found himself unable to let go of her and it was Sunny who withdrew first, though she remained kneeling by his side.

  ‘Edward, I am really sorry … that was very stupid of me.’ She was genuinely contrite but even so she wondered how on earth he was ever going to get on with his life if any mention of his ex-wife affected him like this after years of separation. ‘I was only trying to help ... sometimes it can help to talk about things, you know? It can help people to come to terms with what has happened to them.’

  Even as she said it she wondered if that was strictly true. Perhaps the past was best forgotten and buried under new experiences rather than being relived in words and thoughts. She wished more than ever that she had kept quiet.

  Edward felt calmer now. He thought about her words. Could he? Would it help him or would he just break down again? He knew if there were anyone he could share the misery of his failed marriage with it would probably be Sunny. Surely she wouldn’t have the same opinion of him as Francesca, surely she wouldn’t think he was a spineless, snivelling wimp? He was startled at how easily Francesca’s mocking words came back to him.

  In the end he decided against confiding in Sunny, confiding in anyone. He could not face talking about the woman who had destroyed him.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m not convinced it would really help … and anyway I don’t think it’s necessary, it was such a long time ago. I’ve got over it, really I have. I can’t think why I just reacted like that ...’

  He faltered, trying to brazen it out, knowing he had failed to convince her. He did not want to hurt Sunny’s feelings when she so obviously wanted to help him but he did need to protect himself. Perhaps a time would come when he could let it all out but that time was definitely not now. Briskly he brushed away any lingering dampness from his face and they resumed their meal.

  For a time there was silence as each of them thought about the incident and drew their own conclusions. Just as Sunny had suspected Edward’s emotional damage, Edward now knew that Sunny was far too open and trusting for her own good. She was also eminently desirable and therefore just as vulnerable as he had feared.

  So far the evening had gone well off course and he seemed no nearer to warning her about Jimmy Fisher. He simply could not allow himself to dwell on his own need for her, those thoughts would no doubt torment him later that night when he went to his empty bed. All he had discovered for now was that he had another, deeply and inconveniently personal, reason for keeping her out of Fisher’s clutches.

  For her part Sunny was now convinced that Edward suffered from a terminally broken heart over Francesca’s defection, the one true love of his life, and as a card-carrying romantic she felt desperately sorry for him.

  Underlying that however was a strong streak of practicality that ran through her like the word ‘Blackpool’ through a stick of rock. He needs to move on, needs ‘closure’ she thought in the facile psycho-speak she had learnt from her friends when they had rallied to support her in her bereavement. Even in her mind the word ‘closure’ appeared in speech marks.

  Now that she felt she knew the root cause of his gruffness and irascibility she wondered if she could, or even should, help him in some way. It seemed presumptuous, after all he was her boss and she could hardly count as a close friend but she knew she would at least be more understanding of his moods in future. As to Edward’s actual thoughts, she suspected nothing of these.

  Strangely enough, despite this unfortunate start, the meal went well. Neither of them alluded to Francesca again and gradually the good food and the wine worked their own sort of magic on them. If there was some sort of gentle formality between them Edward told himself, it was only to be expected, they had only ever talked about work before. Relaxed conversation would take a familiarity he would have to work on but always, at the back of his mind, was the real reason for the meal and he was still aware he had had no opportunity to talk about Jimmy.

  ‘Sunny, I need to tell you something,’ he said finally, knowing he just had to go for it, knowing he risked losing this precious new friendship between them forever. Aware that he had got her attention he swallowed hard. Just get on with it, man, he urged himself internally.

  ‘It’s about Jimmy Fisher …’ he foundered as he read something in her expression he could not quite fathom.

  Nor was he the only one. Sunny too could not have explained the expression that had appeared on her face at the mention of Jimmy’s name. She felt herself blush like a schoolgirl and knew it was because she had suddenly and vividly remembered the vibrant feel of Jimmy’s lean body against her own. His very name had shaken loose the fact she wanted him to stop by and see her and she was enough of a realist to be aware of all the possibilities that could arise from such a visit.

  The blush intensified and was noted by Edward, who matched it with his own heightened colour. He strove to stay cool, telling himself he only wished to warn her but the vivid montage of images of Sunny and Jimmy together playing in his head released savage and powerful emotions and he knew he could not stop now. He ploughed on relentlessly.

  ‘Sunny, I’m sorry but I do have to tell you this ... Jimmy is well-known around here for his …’ he hesitated, wanting to use some obscene expression, something coarse to really shock her into an awareness of how the locals talked of Jimmy and his many conquests, ‘affairs …’ he finished, knowing he would embarrass both of them if he used some filthy phrase.

  He still needed her to appreciate fully what contact with Jimmy meant in this part of the world, even if that contact was entirely innocent.

  ‘Your reputation would be …’ he searched for some word to fit, ‘sullied ... ruined,’ he corrected quickly, ‘by contact with him. You really don’t know what he’s like!’

  He knew he sounded like something out of a period novel but he didn’t care and the genuine anguish in his face stopped the old-fashioned expressions he had used from seeming comedic.

  Startled by his intensity Sunny found nothing comical in his outburst. Why it should matter so much to him escaped her and, although she was touched by his obvious concern, she felt ruffled by what appeared to be his obvious assumption that she and Jimmy were already lovers.

/>   Edward watched her nervously. It was not that he felt he had said too much, after all he had to tell her the truth, but he was aware that he might just have shown too much of how he felt. Now, he waited uneasily for her reaction as she mentally juggled with words to find a reply.

  Sunny was indeed at a loss to answer him. Her natural politeness warred with a sense of outrage at his assumption at first but then this was tempered with her natural tendency for honesty which admitted that, in her head at least, Edward may not have been too far off the mark.

  ‘Edward, look … it’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern for my … reputation.’ She wondered why she wanted to giggle nervously as she used that word. Did people still have reputations to guard these days? ‘And it’s very kind of you to care but I have now reached an age where I think I can decide which people I want to meet and which I don’t. I hardly know Jimmy Fisher...’ that bit at least was true, ‘but he was very kind to me when I needed help.’

  Then, feeling she had maybe been a bit sharp with him she added, ‘Anyway, I don’t think I will be seeing him again. So please don’t worry about me … there really is no need.’

  She smiled at him with a benign finality as she spoke and Edward’s heart sank. They both knew she was lying.

  Chapter 11

  The light was fading fast as Jasper finished chopping up the last of the fallen branches from the old trees in the orchard. It had been a satisfying few hours he thought as he started to throw them into a big pile in the old cart-house to dry. The hard physical work had helped to calm his mind, returning to the farm had raised conflicting emotions that still warred inside him.

  He would stack the logs tidily tomorrow, knowing he would find as much satisfaction in seeing the pattern they made end-on against the walls as in the practicality of providing a method of heating for the farmhouse. This was one of the better memories from his childhood, a job that had helped him release pent-up aggression against those who were supposed to protect and care for him. He shook his head, aware it seemed it was still providing a service to his emotions.

  The work had made him sweat and he liked the feeling. Somehow it seemed more worthwhile, more rewarding, than the sweat produced by playing squash at his health club in London, and a lot less expensive he thought with a smile.

  Straightening up at last he looked across at the windows of the farmhouse as he tried to ease his back. He could see Jenny at the table in the centre of the kitchen preparing their evening meal. There were no curtains at the windows and something about the soft, golden light streaming out comforted him and he was suddenly aware of a feeling of rightness about everything he was doing.

  In the business world, on paper, it made no sense, fiscal or otherwise, to be away from his business interests in London, to be away from his markets and his rivals but inside him, at gut level, at the level of intangibility, it all felt so right. It felt meant to be but he could not explain why.

  As he watched her, Jenny, as if feeling his gaze, turned and looked out at him. They regarded one another gravely for a few moments as if silently re-attuning the internal antennae between them, before smiling at each other and returning to their work.

  Jasper had been most surprised when Jenny had returned from her visit to Jimmy with the news that he had put up no resistance to her leaving him for a while. He had felt sure Jimmy’s strong streak of self-interest would have asserted itself and he would have promised to mend his ways and given her all the usual excuses men used to get their own way and keep the comfort of the status quo.

  There were a couple of possible reasons why Jimmy hadn’t made life awkward for her he thought, keen now to analyse the man he secretly saw as his adversary. First, he may no longer care about her. Perhaps he was seriously interested in this other woman, the one who had sent the compromising e-mail Jenny had inadvertently read. Rosie, was it?

  Or second, he does genuinely care about her and, having seen how seriously he has hurt her, is belatedly trying to make amends. Maybe he thinks she will only be away for a short time? He wasn’t sure that sounded like the Jimmy Jenny had described to him.

  He had felt like a coward letting her face Jimmy alone but they had both thought it likely that seeing Jenny with another man, even if he was only a friend, might just have brought out some latent possessive streak in Jimmy and he would have been less inclined to let Jenny go without a fight. Metaphorically, or maybe even actually, speaking.

  For his own part Jasper had been struck by how easily the old link had reasserted itself between himself and Jenny. It was almost as if they had never been apart and he had to admit that, despite his earlier misgivings, he was now beginning to really enjoy this unforeseen time with her.

  Being together in a landscape he now realised he still loved passionately added to his feeling of wellbeing. Only the memories of his past life here disturbed his equilibrium, that and the thought that sometime he would have to return to his London life. He was trying hard to ignore the fact that this rural idyll could not be for long and he would have to go back to his real life, back to Amanda.

  As usual he managed quite easily to brush away any stray thoughts of Amanda and now bent to pick up the pieces of bark that had fallen off the wood as he had chopped it, collecting it together to take in and dry by the fire for kindling. Such work felt clean and honest, a million miles away from the pressures and subterfuges necessary to the way he really earned his money.

  Reluctant to leave the beauty of the evening he piled the bark on the back doorstep ready to take inside before going for a last wander around the overgrown orchard beside the farmhouse.

  The day had been warm and peaceful, filled with the soft, bleached sunshine peculiar to the first days of September. There were ripening fruit on the damson trees. The gentleness of the early spring, common on this western extremity, had meant the blossom had set and the hot summer had ripened the fruit easily and now the damsons were as purple as the approaching shadows.

  Picking what fruit he could still see in the gathering gloom, he stood enjoying their smooth coolness in his hands, rubbing their dusky skins with his thumb. He filled his pockets and lingered beneath the old trees, appreciating that here was something freely given in abundance by Nature. Running a hand lightly over the tree trunks he enjoyed the roughness of their lichened overcoats as he took a long last look around at the farm and surrounding countryside.

  Across the other side of the valley he could still just make out the tiny meadows of pasture land, lying unchanged through the millennia. Timeless and lumpen with a myriad of immovable rocks, protected by their high stone hedges, they gave out a reassuring feeling of stolid steadfastness.

  The sun was now setting behind the deep blue whales-back of Beacon Hill, filling the sky with streaks of deepest orange and grey as the hush of an imminent darkness settled on the land. A last minute squabble for roosting rights erupted from the sparrows hidden in the hedgerow and Jasper breathed in deeply of the dark as it enveloped him like a hen settling down over her chicks.

  The smell of early fallen leaves lying damply under the trees and the desultory wood smoke drifting from the bonfire he had lit earlier, comforted him. Life will go on like this even when we are part of the earth, he thought, becoming aware that even the dread of death seemed insignificant to him in this place.

  He continued to mull the thought over as he wandered beneath the fruit trees, unwilling to leave the moist softness of the night air just yet. It was fully dark by the time he picked up the kindling he had left on the doorstep and pressed down the latch of the farmhouse door with his elbow.

  Stepping into the warm firelight he smiled at Jenny as she looked up. She returned his smile, saying nothing as she ladled a thick stew into two bowls. Again he was struck by a sense of rightness, of belonging to her and this farmhouse again although he supposed he would have good times and bad times in his relationship with the farm.

  For a moment he stood taking in the scene as he shucked off his Welling
ton boots at the door. So far the kitchen was still only sparsely furnished but in the soft light from the fire the room already looked welcoming and comfortable. They had scrubbed it thoroughly and had gathered what was salvageable from the rest of the house. It was precious little but Jasper had decided that they ... he ... could collect old furniture from junk shops to add to it.

  While Jenny had been talking to Jimmy, Jasper had gone to buy two single beds in Dehwelyans. Despite his ingenuity in using an upturned table as a bed he didn’t want to repeat the pleasure again, although sleeping with his arms around Jenny had been a not inconsiderable compensation. Now the beds were assembled and made up with new bedding in two separate and well-scrubbed bedrooms and the old beds, along with all the other furniture too decrepit to save, was out in the yard waiting to be burnt.

  Neither of them had felt like entering Jasper’s old bedroom however, so it lay with its lingering aura of despair, mildewed and abandoned for the time being, at the other end of the farmhouse.

  He heaped the kindling down on the hearth to dry and then emptied his pockets of damsons, putting them into an old earthenware basin on the table.

  ‘I found these in the orchard. There’s quite a bit of fruit out there ... though the apple trees are a bit scabby.’ He gave a wry smile as he heard himself and realised the city boy now sounded like some sort of smallholder. ‘Hark at me, anyone would think I grew the stuff for a living.’

  He took the bowl of stew Jenny offered him and sat down heavily in a deep armchair at one side of the fire. After all the physical activities of the last couple of days he now felt dog-tired and it gave him an awareness of how exhausted his father must have felt for most of his life. It was an insight that helped him a little, a way of excusing his father.