From A Distance

by Gloria Cook

  He was smiling at her. She smiled back with ease. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment, Jim?’ Then she ran outside to tell Alan and Martha the news.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben was wandering down a Paris street. He’d completed all the business he intended to in choosing new wines and an order of some fine table vintages was to be shipped over to England, to arrive at Truro docks within the week.

  What to do now? He was in no mood for shows, clubs or casinos and had spent too many lonely evenings at his hotel. During the day, after leaving the sweeping vineyards, he had stayed in the countryside and gazed across peasant farms. He had taken advantage of the hospitality offered him at two small farms. Both farmers had been blessed with brawny young sons and he had left feeling isolated and cheated. He was bored. Fed up. Lonely. As bleak as he possibly could be. He wished Emilia was with him. He’d enjoy showing her the sights. More so, he would enjoy her company. So very much.

  He should telephone Brooke and say he was coming home. He’d do so at once. No, he wouldn’t. It was disturbing how he had hardly missed her and Faye, how he had lingered here in a foreign country. The French had an eternal love affair with wine – they said it had a soul. Ben wished he felt that way about something or someone. He had thought he would stay in love with Emilia for ever, and then the same thing with Brooke. But he had thrown away what he might have had with his first love and now his feelings for Brooke were drifting away. But he was longing to see Emilia again. While thoughts of Brooke gave him a sour taste in his mouth, like bad vinegary wine, thoughts of Emilia reminded him of how a Sauterne would unfold slowly and lovingly in the mouth. He had made love to Emilia only once. How could he have caused that rift and forsaken that wonderful pleasure again? She had always had so much to give, and now she was a mature woman: so much more passion! So he would go back soon. There could be something exquisite waiting for him there. Tris had mentioned that Emilia and Alec were having problems. She might like to talk to him about them. She might lean on him. Allow him to get closer to her. Fall in love with him again. He wanted that. More than anything. He’d give up everything he had for Em.

  Some men, tourists, pulled up in a cab and got out, laughing. They sauntered into a fine building. A brothel. Here in France, brothels were something of a valued institution, a key part of the Gallic psyche. They were clean and well run – many, like the one he was soon to pass by on dreary legs, were, apparently, opulent inside, with custom-made furniture. Their clientele, men and women, included famous writers, artists, film stars and politicians, and they would arrive openly. It was said the prostitutes, if one became a regular, offered tenderness as well as their usual services. Ben was sure it was only an illusion, but he was carnally frustrated, and he had an unbearable yearning to be the centre of attention to someone, even if only for a short time. It was several months since he had made love with full passion and reaped total satisfaction. To go inside the brothel was tempting. But there was Brooke. Although his business associate Dougie Blend was ‘a bit of a lad’ and often pressed his spare women on him, Ben had never thought to be unfaithful to Brooke. Until now. Except with Emilia, but he didn’t see loving with her as some sordid affair. The thing was, Brooke was failing in her wife’s duty. An hour or two in the brothel would be for sex only. It wouldn’t mean anything. What Brooke didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But there was also Emilia. He’d be unfaithful to her too. But as much as he wanted her, needed her, Emilia wasn’t here. He was a virile young man. He had needs. And right now he needed a little uncomplicated company.

  He fought with himself another five minutes, then he entered the house of pleasure.

  * * *

  Tristan Harvey found Emilia tending her rose beds, but he didn’t speak to her straight away, taking time first to savour the exquisite sights and scents. Her dedication, her skill at pruning and keeping disease and pests at bay, and protecting the roses from the disposition of the weather, resulted in bushes and shrubs in formal outlays and random arrangements, in the ground and pots and containers, in mixed colours or colours of the same. And climbers and ramblers crawling along arches, walls and pergolas. Most were presently in bud, some of colour beyond imagination, pink, scarlet, honey, gold, cerise, amber, lilac, yellow, off-white and peach; in soft shades and bright and flamboyant and tinged and iridescent. A secluded corner was dedicated to the memory of Jenna in gently blossoming miniatures of mimosa and cream. Tristan drew in the scents, sniffing individual blooms, taking in whole bushes, knowing some scents wouldn’t be apparent until the evening. He indulged himself, picking out, as well as the warm or strong perfume of rose, hints of musk, lemon, spice, myrrh, aniseed, honey, citronella and many more. Some roses had no discernible scent at all but gave a feast to the eyes. He went on treating himself, and Emilia, absorbed in deadheading a rambler, had no idea he was there.

  ‘Hello, Em. A truly wonderful, impressive display again. They all look winners, as usual.’

  Tris! This is a nice surprise. Is Alec with you? And the family?’

  ‘Just Alec. I’ve brought him home. I wasn’t happy about the way he was sitting for hours just staring at the same empty spot on the lawn. Sometimes it was as if he was looking for something, other times as if he was actually seeing something. And he was talking to someone. It got to be quite unnerving. He’s even taken photos of the lawn and there’s nothing unusual on it. I must say it’s ruffled me, Em. I think you should make him see the doctor.’

  Emilia frowned. Anxiety chewed like a handful of worms in her stomach. What on earth was the matter with Alec? ‘I’ll ask the doctor to call. Alec won’t go to the surgery. Is he indoors? Has he spoken to Lottie?’

  ‘He said he was going straight to his darkroom. He stopped long enough to admire the repairs Tom’s made to Lottie’s pram.’

  ‘I hope she wasn’t rude to him. She’s been so hurt by his remoteness.’

  ‘Oh, he gave her one of the brooches she liked. She seemed happy with it.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. I hope the doctor can make sense of what’s going through Alec’s mind. What he needs is a proper holiday. Brooke suggested it to me. I’ll see if I can get him away. Just the two of us.’

  Tristan thoughtfully stroked each side of his lean jaw. ‘It’s a good idea, Em, but I’d counsel that what he needs most at the moment is to get back into his usual routine.’

  ‘Mrs Em! Second post’s come,’ Tilda called cheerily, heading down the garden. ‘There’s a letter for ’ee, from London.’

  ‘Must be from Perry Bosweld,’ Tris said, smiling. He liked the former army surgeon.

  ‘Probably,’ Emilia replied, keeping her feelings in check as she had trained herself to do. It was always horribly difficult. ‘Thanks, Tilda.’

  ‘Coming in for some of my elderberry wine, Cap’n Harvey?’ the jolly, freckle-faced, ginger-haired housekeeper asked. She was nearing sixty years but with her gleaming red cheeks and straight posture looked much younger. A fixture of the Harvey household since the Great War, she was content to serve the family, insisting, despite Emilia’s offer that she need not wear a uniform, to keep to her ankle-length grey dress and brilliant-white starched apron and frilled cap. She was a warm presence from the past and gave a comforting sense of continuity.

  ‘I won’t say no to that,’ Tristan said. He’d take some of the delicacy to Alec. He had no intention of allowing him to shut himself away in a dark, isolated atmosphere.

  ‘I’ll join you in a minute,’ Emilia said. ‘I’ll just tidy up here.’

  If Alec could hide himself away the instant he came home then she would linger here and read Perry’s letter. It was addressed just to her. He did that sometimes, knowing Alec never even glanced at the mail.

  Dear Em. There was a wonderful leap in her heart. Perry had called her Em but had until now written to her as Emilia.

  I was sorry to learn in the letter you enclosed in Libby’s birthday card that Alec is still suffering from the result of his accident. I do
hope his broken leg is well and truly on the mend and he has regained his spirit. I take it he has been somewhat depressed. Libby had a good birthday. She came up from school for the weekend, declaring she was too old for parties, so I took her out to dinner at the Savoy. She’s quite a young lady now. Selina sent her a telegram from Donegal; she’s taken a temporary post there in general practice. I wish you well with your roses this year. I’m sure they’re very beautiful. I must say I’m rather proud of mine again. It’s become quite a passion. One I’ll never give up. I’d be interested to learn how you get on at the village show. Best of luck.

  Thank you for the lovely snap you sent of Lottie. She is just like her mother.

  I’ll close now. With best wishes, as always.

  Perry.

  Emilia had put the photograph of Lottie, taken of her bottle-feeding an orphaned lamb in the kitchen and grinning up at the camera, as a sudden thought before sealing the birthday card in its envelope. She had wanted Perry to see her precious little girl, to send him something personal. Alec had taken the photograph but had not commented on it. She wanted someone outside the family to pay a compliment to her daughter, to see her loveliness, and Perry had, and he had included a word of love and affection for her too.

  She leaned forward and sniffed a perfect golden rose. It smelled like heaven. She was in heaven. Perry had always signed his full name before, formal and correct. The mention of roses and the passion he had referred to were a secret message of love to her. She couldn’t go to him, but that vague hope she kept in her heart increased a hundredfold. She re-read the letter twice, kissed it, then put it back in its envelope. She placed it inside her chemise. In a little while she’d slip upstairs to her bedroom and hide it on the top shelf of her wardrobe, in a box where she kept her childhood pictures and scraps of schoolwork, which she kept locked, hiding the tiny key behind a boring old book in the sitting room.

  Then she’d take a sip of elderberry wine with Tristan. With Alec too if he could be bothered to join them. She hoped he did not.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jonny Harvey came home for the first week of the summer vacation from university, but only to humour his father. As soon as he could get away he’d zoom up to London, where a group of his fellow students would be having a whale of a time, but not before visiting his Uncle Alec, who had raised him while his father was fighting in the trenches, and with whom he had a special bond.

  Adele had talked him into taking her down on the beach. The tide was coming in fast, splashing into the depressions left around a scattering of low, weather-sculpted slate rocks, making fascinating little pools. Adele gazed longingly at them. ‘Forget it,’ Jonny said in the superior, sometimes rude voice he had acquired during this, his first term away. ‘We’re not staying long.’

  Jonny had refused to allow her to bring her bucket and spade and shrimping net. Adele thrust her hands in the little gathered pockets of her plain white dress and glared up at his grumpy, handsome dark face. It was established now that he was even better looking than Uncle Ben, but she, an ordinary scrap of a girl, whose hair refused to mould trimly on her scalp, resented it. She resented her big brother showing so little interest in her. Even Will sometimes scrapped playfully with Lottie. ‘Why do you hate it here? Why do you hate me? You don’t talk to Vera Rose like she’s a nuisance to you. And you shouldn’t smoke. A man on the wireless said it’s bad for you.’

  ‘I don’t hate it here. I just want to spend some time with people my own age. Go to parties, that sort of thing. And of course I don’t hate you, although you are a bit of a nuisance at times. As for Vera Rose, she is my age, we have more in common. Don’t sulk, Adele. Look, when we go to Father’s shop later today I’ll take you into the nearest ice-cream kiosk and buy you the most enormous cone. And if I want to smoke, it’s none of your business. Most people do nowadays.’

  ‘Vera Rose says she’s going to smoke. All the film stars do. It’s sophist— whatever the word is. I suppose I might smoke too one day. Jonny -’ Adele hopped in front of him, spattering the pale golden sand over his bare feet – ‘take me to Ford Farm when you go to stay overnight. Please!’

  He bent low and said into her face, ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Ohh! I hate you. I want to see Uncle Alec.’ She folded her arms and walked on slightly in front of him, watching her little feet drag through the warm sand.

  ‘You’ve had him here practically all to yourself for ages.’

  ‘I want to see Aunty Em and play with Lottie. And Faye.’

  Jonny sighed. ‘I expect Father and Aunt Winnie will go to Hennaford for the flower and vegetable show. It’s coming up soon. You can go then.’

  ‘Uncle Alec says I should grow my hair long.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He says all little girls should have long hair. He doesn’t like the short styles.’

  ‘What a strange thing for him to say. Oh, look, there’s another little girl just come round those rocks. She’s waving to you. Go off and play with her. But we can’t stay long or we shall be cut off and I’ll be in trouble if I have to climb with you up the cliff.’ More than a bit of a daredevil, Jonny had climbed the cliff in many places, many times, but here the cliff was earthy in parts and easily crumbled. Roskerne was a short stretch away. He reckoned he could allow his sister fifteen minutes. The newcomers had, presumably, scrambled down at the other end of the beach via a reasonably easy climb.

  ‘It’s Christine! Christine Shaw. She’s staying at the hotel for the summer with her nanny. They often come to this beach. Miss Johnson can’t be far away. We play together a lot.’

  ‘Good. Run off then. I’ll watch. Keep away from the water and come at once when I call you.’ While Adele shot off to her friend, Jonny parked himself on a rock well back at the foot of the cliff. He was glad to be rid of his half-sister’s constant chatter. She was sweet enough but the eleven years between them was too large a gap for closeness. He shut his eyes and turned his face up to the gently burning sun. Life was pretty good. His studies for his physics degree were on target – his wealth of intelligence saw to that. And he was wise enough to avoid getting continually and stupidly drunk, as a few of the fellows did. There were women in the colleges and locally who were entertaining and obliging. Some couldn’t see why they shouldn’t have free and easy sex on equal terms with men, and nor could he. He had much to look forward to, finally his chosen career in the Royal Air Force as a flyer. It wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with his family before tootling off to his pals for some fun and games.

  ‘Christine, dear, if you want to paddle, come to me and I’ll hitch up your dress.’ Jonny had been hoping to avoid the nanny – probably some plain and stuffy old maid type. The soft, harmonious quality of the educated female voice made him snap his eyes open and look down near the shore. A young woman, side-on to his gaze, perhaps about twenty-five, was calling to the girl playing with Adele. The nanny didn’t notice him, and puffing lazily on his cigarette he took her all in. A nice filmy dress, a pretty sun hat and sandals. A lovely trim figure, long shapely arms which were pleasingly bare. Not tall, not short, willowy and blonde, and oh, so soft and feminine. Her hair was unfashionably long, lying just below her shoulders, stirring beguilingly in the gentle, warm breeze. He tossed the cigarette down. ‘Mmm. I’ll take a closer look at this.’

  The nanny was occupied in hitching up the skirts of both girls so they could paddle in the pools. ‘Just a few minutes now. Watch out for the splashes as the breakers come in.’

  ‘Hello. Is that your little girl playing with my sister?’ he said, as if he didn’t know the truth.

  ‘Oh!’ She had not heard his approach. ‘Oh, I mean, I beg your pardon. No. I’m her nanny. I’m pleased Adele has someone with her. I was getting quite concerned.’

  ‘Jonathan Harvey. Jonny.’ The woman straightened up, leaving the girls to scamper off. He offered his hand, smiling a smile of practised charm. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…?’

  �
�Johnson. Angeline Johnson.’ She took his hand. ‘Adele has spoken of you often. You’re something of a hero to her, you know.’

  ‘We adore each other. Your accent’s not local. Are you down on holiday?’

  ‘We’re spending the summer here. Christine’s parents are away in Monte Carlo.’

  ‘May I ask if you’re staying at the Watergate Bay Hotel? I often have dinner there. Adele has obviously played with Christine before, so you must know we live at Roskerne, just a little way along above the beach.’

  ‘I saw you in the restaurant last night, with your parents. I have spoken to Mr and Mrs Harvey on an earlier occasion.’ Angeline Johnson looked at her charge. ‘They have kindly invited Christine to play at Roskerne.’

  ‘Then you must come soon, today if you like. Poor little Adele is starved of company her own age. The tide will shortly forbid any more play here.’ Jonny was wondering why he hadn’t noticed this delectable young woman last night. She was soothingly pretty, with an interesting, sagacious expression. ‘My father and stepmother stood me a very nice rare steak last night. I’m presently down from Oxford.’

  ‘May I ask what you’re studying?’ She returned her soft gaze to him. She wasn’t afraid to look him in the eye, therefore she was not shy. He was glad about that. He’d have to be careful not to give her any old flannel, she wasn’t the type to buy it, and she wasn’t the sort to treat like that anyway, someone just to look for sex with. He told her of his ambitions. Angeline Johnson added, ‘I’d have liked to have gone to university.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  A wave rode up over the lower rocks where the girls were playing, splashed up in peaks and showered them with spray and they shrieked with laughter. Angeline Johnson laughed too. ‘Another three minutes, girls.’ Back to Jonny. ‘I simply had no means to.’