Seven Days in Summer

by Marcia Willett

  ‘No, of course not. Though, knowing Miles, he’ll probably take her along. She’s a very obliging old bitch.’

  ‘Which is more than can be said for Annabel,’ says Janet, and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t persecute poor old Baz once they get to Bristol,’ says Dave, closing the dishwasher and setting it to go. ‘Oh dear, I see trouble ahead.’

  ‘So let’s face the music and dance,’ suggests Janet. ‘We need to get through the next twenty-four hours and then I shall be able to relax. Not that I’m looking forward to Sofia going, but I must admit that I couldn’t go on much longer like this. At least we don’t have to pretend with Baz. That’s one good thing. But Sofia … Well, she’s like a cat on a hot tin roof.’

  ‘Where was she going? She seemed in quite a rush.’

  ‘She said she was going to Kingsbridge and if you want my opinion I bet she and Baz are together somewhere even as we speak.’

  ‘Really?’ Dave raises his eyebrows and begins to laugh. ‘Surely not. It’s barely ten o’clock.’

  ‘What’s the time got to do with it?’ retorts Janet. ‘In fact, we could seize this opportunity ourselves to sneak upstairs and have a little excitement.’

  She puts her arm about his waist and whirls him round humming ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance’.

  ‘Are you crazy, woman?’ he demands, laughing. ‘Anybody might come in.’

  Janet sighs, shakes her head regretfully. ‘You’re just no fun any more, old man. I see that I should have been cosying up to Baz all this time.’

  ‘I simply don’t believe that he and Sofia are in some sort of lip lock at ten in the morning.’

  Janet laughs. ‘I’ll bet you any money they’re canoodling in some quiet spot.’

  ‘Well, we shan’t know, shall we?’ Dave says.

  ‘Not unless I ask him,’ agrees Janet.

  ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ says Dave, shocked. ‘Would you?’

  Janet makes a face at him, pats his cheek. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she says.

  ‘This has become our place, hasn’t it?’ asks Sofia.

  She sits at the corner table, in Harbour House, smiling at him. The text suggesting that he should join her here was sent on an impulse. She hadn’t really believed he’d take her up on it so promptly.

  ‘And at least Annabel won’t be in this morning,’ Baz says, smiling back at her. ‘She’ll be far too busy organizing her lunch party.’

  Sofia makes a face. ‘I’m dreading it,’ she admits. ‘I’m quite glad, to be honest, that we don’t have to go on doing this for much longer.’

  ‘So am I.’ Baz looks serious and her heart thumps anxiously.

  ‘But everything’s OK, isn’t it?’ she asks him.

  He has that odd look he was wearing yesterday at the Beach Hut and she reaches for his hand. He holds her hand tightly but he still looks thoughtful.

  ‘Nothing has changed,’ he says. ‘Not the way I feel about you, anyway. It’s just those ghosts I mentioned yesterday. I’ve been thinking about them and I think I should try to exorcize them. I thought it would be better to wait until I’m back in Bristol but now I think it’s only fair that I should tell you before you go.’

  She feels quite frightened now. ‘What, here? Now?’

  ‘Not here.’ He glances round. ‘It’s too public. Will you come and sit in the car with me? I’m so sorry, darling Sofes, but I think we need to clear all this right out of the way. And I think this is …’ he hesitates, ‘the perfect opportunity,’ he finishes.

  It is almost as if he is quoting someone and she nods, still clutching his hand. ‘OK.’

  They get up and go out together into the mizzling rain, hurrying across the road like fugitives to the safety of the car. He helps her in and then goes round to the driving seat and climbs in, too, turning to face her and taking the hands she reaches out to him.

  He hesitates, clearly wondering how to begin, and she squeezes his hands.

  ‘You’re frightening me, Baz,’ she says, trying to smile. ‘It can’t be that bad. Please tell me.’

  And then he begins to tell her about his wife, Lucy, about the baby born with cancer and Lucy’s anguish and depression; how she finally overdosed on Valium, having smothered the baby, and how he, Baz, had found them.

  Sofia is silent with compassion and horror, but then Baz goes on to say that while he was in this state of shock, in his rage and despair, he had agreed with a friend to cash in illegally on some insider information.

  ‘I’m making excuses,’ he says, crushing her hands in his, looking her in the eyes. ‘There’s no excuse really.’

  ‘What did you do with the money?’ she asks him calmly.

  Baz sighs, relaxes. He looks bleak. ‘I gave my share to a cancer research charity. Not that it makes it any better. My partner in crime was a clever artist and by then I was running a gallery in Bristol. Each time he needed some of his share I bought a painting from him.’

  ‘And that was it?’

  He frowns. ‘I never did it again. I don’t know if he did. He still asks me from time to time if I’d like to, but I never have. And you need to know,’ he adds, ‘if we hope to have any kind of relationship. Even Liv doesn’t know. Only Andy,’ he hesitates, ‘and one other person.’

  He watches her anxiously whilst she wonders how to respond.

  ‘What a terrible thing,’ she says at last, ‘finding Lucy and the baby like that. Horrible. You must have been out of your mind.’

  ‘If you are saying,’ Baz says carefully, ‘that you think I was not of sound mind when I did this deal then you might be right. I remember that I was full of anger, of impotence, of misery and guilt. It was a kind of two fingers to life, the universe and everything, but that doesn’t excuse it.’

  ‘How old were you, Baz?’

  ‘I was twenty-eight,’ he answers. ‘Not a child.’

  ‘No, not a child, but no great age either to be widowed in such devastating circumstances. How old was Matt?’

  ‘He was three. My mother was looking after him in Bristol because Lucy was so ill. I moved down after she died. I took over the running of the gallery and we all lived together until my mother died. So, there you have it.’

  He straightens up and looks through the mist-covered windscreen. Sofia lets go of his hands, leans forward and kisses him. It is difficult to know how to proceed without diminishing all that he has told her, whilst encouraging him to move forward. It would be ridiculous to tell him to forget the past; to put it all behind him. It’s not possible to dismiss the past like that. It defines us and makes us what we are. But, Sofia thinks, we can at least try to accept it. He turns to look at her and she smiles at him.

  ‘OK,’ she says, feeling her way, ‘you’ve told me and it makes not the least bit of difference to you and me and how I feel about you. Will that do for starters?’

  ‘Oh, Sofia,’ he says. He wraps his arms around her and she feels his mouth against her head. ‘Oh, that will do very well indeed. For starters.’

  She kisses him but she knows that now they must part, that this mustn’t disintegrate into gratitude and more explanations on his part and reassurances on hers. They must separate and meet again in more normal circumstances that are not supercharged with this emotion. She feels almost glad now that they will next meet at Annabel’s party.

  ‘I must get back to the Store Stump and my darling mice,’ she says lightly, ‘before they get suspicious.’

  Baz begins to laugh and she looks at him.

  ‘What?’ she demands.

  ‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head. ‘Yes, you must go and so must I. Thank you, darling Sofia. Thank you.’

  She kisses him quickly, slides out of the door, and hurries away to her own car. Perhaps she should feel more upset, more concerned about what he has told her, but it all seems so long ago. There is a little hoot behind her as Baz drives past and she waves to him and then starts the engine and heads back to Janet and Dave.
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br />   CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ANDY DRIVES INTO Rock, parks outside the cottage and gets out of the car. Today the peninsula is shrouded with soft cloud, drifting on the sea’s surface, hiding Padstow across the water. He crosses the road, knocks on the front door, hesitates and then opens it and walks in.

  ‘Hi,’ he calls, ‘anybody home?’

  ‘I’m in here,’ Catriona’s voice answers him, and he pushes open the door and goes into the sitting-room.

  Most of the furniture has gone but she sits cross-legged on a small sofa, looking at her laptop. She glances up at him and her eyes narrow a little.

  ‘You’re early,’ she says.

  ‘Am I?’ He stands in the doorway, leaning against the lintel. ‘I wondered if you might like some lunch before we do the run to the tip.’

  ‘It’s been dealt with,’ she says, looking at her screen. ‘One of the locals was glad of the money. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come.’

  He looks surprised. ‘Really? Why not?’ and all the while he wonders what is coming next and prepares himself to meet it.

  ‘I don’t think you really believed me, did you? I didn’t actually need Matt’s help. You can buy that kind of help any day of the week. Anyway. That’s over.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Andy. ‘Matt’s at the Beach Hut for the next week. Or at least, he ought to be well on his way now. I had a text from him earlier saying he was off and hoping I’d get over to see them.’

  ‘Well, I won’t offer to join you.’ She grins at him maliciously. ‘Though I can imagine how much you’d all enjoy it. I shall be going back to London later today.’

  ‘Today?’ He can’t hide his surprise though it’s good news to him. He wonders if the miracle has occurred. ‘Why so soon? You said you didn’t have to be back until Monday.’

  Still she smiles that enigmatic smile. ‘I have things to do,’ she says. ‘Something’s come up.’

  He makes a little questioning face. ‘So? Good? Bad? What sort of something? Or is it a secret?’

  She hesitates, as if she is coming to a decision.

  ‘It’s very good,’ she says at last. ‘In fact, it’s amazing. It seems I’m being head-hunted by an investment bank in New York. I applied for a job there last year and was turned down. Apparently, the job is still available and they are offering it to me.’

  ‘Wow!’ He is so relieved that it is easy to act amazement, delight, even awe. ‘Hey, that’s pretty good, isn’t it? Congratulations. I’m seriously impressed.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, watching him with that cat-at-a-mouse-hole look with which he is so familiar. ‘So. A surprise, eh?’

  ‘Well, I always believed you’d get there one day. After all, it’s been your great ambition, hasn’t it? It was bound to come sooner or later.’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Just, the timing seems a bit odd, right now.’

  He makes sure his expression contains just the right mix of curiosity and indifference.

  ‘Is there ever a right time or a wrong for anything this good?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ She seems to have relaxed just a little. ‘But I have some loose ends to tie up. Including selling this place.’

  ‘I thought there was talk of you letting it.’

  ‘Oh,’ she makes a face, ‘that was just going along with Matt. Crazy, really, and especially if I’m going to be in New York. No, I shall sell it. The agent has three interested buyers so I shall see who comes out top.’

  Andy lets out a breath of relief. He realizes that he wouldn’t want this cottage, though he might have made an offer if it meant that she could move on more quickly. As he stands there, looking around him, it seems that the little house is full of the smell of despair, grievances: the vibes are bad.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks, amused. ‘Were you going to make me an offer for it?’

  He laughs, too, remembering how foolish it was to underestimate her.

  ‘Could I afford it?’ he counters. ‘It must be worth a small fortune.’

  ‘Well, it is. In easy reach of all those wonderful beaches and only a ferry ride from Padstein. But from what I hear,’ she says, ‘you have a small fortune, don’t you, Andy?’

  ‘Don’t believe everything you hear,’ he answers lightly. ‘Now, what about that lunch? You can tell me about this job. We could go to the pub. For old times’ sake?’

  Briefly her expression changes. The cool mask slips and he glimpses, just for a moment, a look of regret, of loss. He is reminded of their childhood: of the small Cat, tearing up their childish pictures, breaking a toy; of how she would hold Zack’s teething-ring tantalizingly just out of reach while keeping one foot on the front of Charlie’s little bicycle so that he couldn’t push himself forward. He wonders what drives her and he feels a great sadness for her. Yet he knows how dangerous she is and he represses it.

  ‘OK,’ she’s saying, closing the laptop, climbing down from the chair. ‘The pub it is. Your treat.’

  She hesitates at the door, looking round. ‘I’ve finished here. The agent can deal with what’s left. He’s got the spare keys.’

  He watches her sizing up the cottage in which her grandmother and then her mother lived; the little garden filled with tamarisk.

  ‘No regrets?’ he asks gently.

  Cat looks at him with amused contempt. ‘Are you kidding?’

  She pushes him outside, locks the door behind them, and he follows her down the path.

  After lunch, and after Andy has driven away, Catriona closes up the cottage, puts her cases into the car and gets in. She sits for a moment, thoughtfully, and then makes a decision. She starts the engine and drives away towards Wadebridge. She feels very little regret as she passes the familiar finger-posts – Splatt, Stoptide, Pityme – she is almost glad to be free of those childhood memories: her mother’s angst, her resentment, her bitter loneliness.

  Instead she thinks of what lies ahead of her; the prospect before her. Yet she can’t help suspecting that somehow Andy must be involved in it. It’s too much of a coincidence that this offer has arrived just as she was uncovering some sort of mystery involving Maurice Leclos. She remembers him from her younger days with a mix of affection and fear and has no doubt that his tentacles reach far and wide. Yet she still can’t quite see the connection. Nevertheless, she has a little plan up her sleeve, a kind of insurance policy.

  Catriona smiles to herself as she turns west on the road to Truro. However it has been managed, it is clear that from now forward everybody will be expected to play nice, and, though she can’t prove anything, she feels she’d like just a little bit of help on her side. As usual, her spirits rise at the prospect of a challenge.

  She remembers the little price tags on the paintings: one hundred and fifty pounds each. Not much in the scheme of things and worth much more in her care, as a bargaining tool should it be required. With Matt out of the way this is just the opportunity she is looking for.

  Catriona parks her car in the car park behind the cathedral, takes a large bag from the back seat and hurries down the little lane, past the delicatessens and galleries and coffee shops, and into the bistro.

  It’s the quiet time at The Place, as she knew it would be. She closes the door behind her, looks around her, and gasps with shock. The paintings have gone. In their place hangs one big modern painting, splashed with bright primary colours. She stands quite still, staring at it, and then glances quickly round, wondering if the little market scenes have been hung somewhere else, but there is no sign of them. A man is coming towards her: a young man who has one foot in a surgical boot.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asks pleasantly. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late for lunch.’

  ‘I don’t want lunch,’ she says abruptly. ‘I want to buy the paintings that were hanging here. Four small watercolours of street markets. Do you know where they are?’

  He’s smiling at her now, shaking his head as if in amazement.

  ‘This is incredible,’ he says. ‘A man ca
me in earlier and bought them. Would you believe it?’

  He seems to be inviting her to share in his disbelief at this coincidence and she looks at him coldly.

  ‘Did you know this man?’ she asks. ‘Is he a regular?’

  He thinks about it, shakes his head. ‘I’ve seen him once or twice in the last few weeks, but I’ve been off with this.’ He indicates his boot. He smiles at her. ‘Sorry I can’t be more helpful. My name’s Joe. The boss is away at the moment.’

  ‘Do you know where the paintings came from?’ she asks, testing him.

  Joe shrugs, shakes his head. ‘We usually get them in from the local galleries. Might have been anywhere. You could ask around. Do you remember the artist’s name?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answers coolly. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Well, then,’ he says. ‘Perhaps you can follow that up?’

  He looks at her blandly, cheerfully, and she’d like to hit him.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I might just do that.’

  She goes out, back to the car, and she is raging with fury. Now she has nothing: no weapon, no proof. Yet, as she climbs into her car, she remembers something her mother always used to say: ‘You can manipulate people by frightening them. Once they are frightened they destroy themselves. They will do your work for you.’

  She has been offered a prestigious job in New York, and someone has removed the paintings. Perhaps there is already enough fear to cause damage.

  Catriona sighs with satisfaction and gives a tiny, secret smile as she heads towards London: towards New York.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  IT SEEMS TO Liv that everyone except Annabel is pleased when lunch comes to an end. There is an air of awkwardness, of suppressed emotions. Miles looks preoccupied, Dave and Janet seem slightly on edge, and Sofia is rather brittle. Only El seems as usual: detached, amused, calm.

  ‘Honestly, Annabel is just too much,’ mutters Liv to Sofia as they go into the drawing-room for coffee. ‘Poor old Baz. I don’t know how he puts up with her. Go and be nice to him.’