An Ocean Apart

by Robin Pilcher

  Clive looked at David, a brighter look on his face. “How does that sound to you?”

  “That sounds fine to me. I really don’t need that much,” David replied, relieved that the idea hadn’t fallen foul at the last hurdle.

  Clive looked over to his secretary, who was sitting with a huge grin on her face, seeing that her plan had been accepted. “You never cease to amaze me, Dotti,” he said proudly. “You keep coming up with such wonderful ideas!” He ushered David to the door. “Now, give me a call on Monday evening and tell me how it went, and if you happen to have a new address by then, let me know.”

  David nodded and shook his hand. “I will—and thanks again.”

  As he headed off down the sidewalk, Clive remained standing at the window, watching him as he went.

  “What a nice man,” Dotti said, a smile in her voice.

  “Yes, he is,” Clive said slowly, “But quite a mystery, methinks.”

  Dotti got up from her desk and came over to stand beside him. Together they watched David’s distancing figure. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t really know.” He turned from the window and walked back to his desk. “One could have quite easily taken him for a banker or some high-flying executive, but I don’t know if you noticed his hands, Dotti. They’re all calloused and as hard as leather. I mean, that man really has been a labourer.” He sat down with a thump and let out a long sigh. “I hope we’ve made the right decision, Dotti. Do you think he’s all right?”

  “Yup, I think he’s great,” she said, making her way back to her own desk. “But I don’t think he’s Scottish, Clive. I mean, does he sound Scottish to you?”

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  David took his time walking back to North Harlens, trying to work out in his mind whether his recent action was prompted by fateful inspiration or whether it was quite simply irrational stupidity. On a number of occasions, he stopped and thought about turning back there and then to cancel the job, as his mind churned through considerations of duties and responsibilities that he held for both his children and his parents. And then, on the other hand, if he did take the job, he would have to tell Richard of his plans fairly promptly, something made more difficult by the fact that his behaviour over the past few days could not have qualified him for The Perfect House Guest award. As he walked, he eventually came to the decision that it would be best not to say anything to anyone for the time being. He would go to the new job on Monday, and if it didn’t work out, he would just pack up and return to Scotland midweek, without anyone ever being the wiser.

  But then, he really didn’t want to go back just yet. No. Again that wasn’t true at all. Of course he wanted to go back—he wanted to see the children more than anything, and he knew that he couldn’t expect his father to fill in for him at Glendurnich for ever. Nevertheless, a return to Inchelvie at that very minute, with all its inherent connections with Rachel, would be a retrograde step, and even now, as he walked along the sidewalk, he felt his stomach knot tight with apprehension and foreboding at the thought of it. He was quite simply not ready for it, and he knew deep within himself that he could mend right here in Leesport, with its quiet, sunny surroundings, its gentle pace, and its friendly inhabitants who could take him at face value, without constantly having to make allowances in the way that they treated him.

  That was, of course, everyone except Richard. Even though his friend could not have been more kind or understanding, he knew too much about him, and as such would always represent a link to his past and a threat to his anonymity in the future. If he were to stay, then he needed to get away entirely, to find a place or even just a room to rent to allow himself the space and time to get his mind straight again.

  Having made a number of unnecessary detours in order to collect his thoughts, he arrived back at the house to find an old convertible Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the driveway. Its faded hood was folded down as far as the rusting support struts would allow, disclosing an interior that was littered with paint tubes and brushes, free-offer leaflets, chocolate-bar wrappers and empty Coca-Cola cans, while the steering wheel and gear-shift were freckled with tiny irregular twin grooves cut deep into the plastic, making it look as if both had been subjected to attack on numerous occasions by an inebriated rattlesnake.

  As he skirted round the car, studying the assortments of dents and scratches that adorned its orange bodywork, a loud splash sounded out from Richard’s swimming pool, followed by the manic barking of a small dog. He climbed the stairs to the deck and, walking over to the side rail, looked down onto the pool. A girl in a fluorescent yellow swimsuit was swimming lengths in a rapid overarm crawl, her long streaked-blonde hair flowing out across her back as her powerful strokes created a wake that washed against the side of the pool, soaking the orangy-brown miniature poodle who, barking incessantly, accompanied her length by length.

  As she turned at the shallow end, the dog realized that it was caught up in a hopeless endeavour and sat down panting, continuing to watch her mistress through woolly eyes as she swam up to the deep end. David turned away to go into the house, but his movement was caught by the dog, and it came running round the edge of the pool and took up position at the bottom of the steps, squinting up at him and yapping furiously. Hearing the commotion, the girl, who by now had made it back to the shallow end, stopped swimming and stood up, wiping away the water from her face with the flat of her hands.

  “Dodie! For goodness’ sakes, be quiet!”

  She blinked a couple of times to clear the sting of chlorine from her eyes, then, visoring them against the glare of the sun, she looked up at him. “Hi! You must be David. At last we meet! I’m Carrie.”

  “Oh, hi!” David replied, holding up his hand to acknowledge her greeting, a sign which the dog immediately took as a threatening gesture to its mistress, and resumed its high-pitched bark.

  “DODIE!”

  The dog turned and jumped up onto one of the sun-beds and sat there, scratching at its tight mat of untrimmed curls and yawning loudly.

  “Sorry about the dog,” Carrie said, sinking down into the pool and slowly breast-stroking the water away from her body. “She gets quite protective. Not that she could do much. She’s only got two teeth!” She looked back up at him. “So, how’re you feeling now?”

  “Much better, thanks.” He held up the bunch of flowers. “I bought these for you, just to, well, thank you for supplying me with all that food over the past couple of days—and to apologize for being so antisocial.”

  Carrie waved her hands in the air. “Oh, that is so sweet of you! God, you mustn’t think anything of it! I just, well, feel so sorry—you know—for what happened to your wife. That was such a terrible thing.”

  David nodded and glanced down at his feet for a moment, before turning towards the house. “Listen, I’ll go and put them in some water. Is Richard in?”

  “I think so. I haven’t been inside yet. I only just arrived before you and jumped straight in here, so I’m really not that sure. But hey, I’m only going to do another couple of lengths and then I’ll be right in.”

  “Well, please don’t hurry because of me.”

  “Okay!” Carrie said, and with a flourish of her hand she turned and duck-dived into the water and resumed her swim. Dodie, obviously feeling restored after her brief respite on the sun-bed, let out another of her high-pitched yelps and took up position once more at the side of the pool.

  David had just finished putting the flowers into a jug of water on the draining-board when he heard the sound of Richard’s footsteps on the upstairs landing.

  “David?” he called out, as he came down the stairs.

  “Yeah?”

  He walked into the kitchen. “God, where the hell have you been? I was about to send out a search party.”

  “Sorry, I should have left a note. I decided on the spur to go out for a walk—see a bit of Leesport.”

  Richard smiled at him. “Good for you. So—how are you feeling?”


  David nodded. “Better, thanks. Kicked off the flu, anyway.”

  “Right. And, er, how about, well, sort of in yourself?”

  “Okay—I think.”

  “Good.” They stood, an uneasy silence between them, the reservation of their male emotions making it difficult for either to know how to react to the other. The moment was broken by Carrie, who appeared through the French windows, rubbing her hair dry with a huge blue bathing-towel.

  “Hi, Richard!” she said in a singsong voice. “What a nice friend you have! Look what he brought me!” She walked over to the jugful of carnations and took a deep inhalation of their sweet smell before turning back to David. “That really was the nicest thought!”

  She was wearing a pink cheesecloth dress pulled over her wet swimsuit which made it cling to the contours of her slightly overweight body. Not a classically pretty girl, David thought, her nose was too pointed and her front teeth protruded a little. Nevertheless, she had an inexplicably attractive aura. Her skin was clear and unwrinkled, belying her age, which David reckoned as being not far off his own, her mouth seemed to be set in a permanent smile and her eyes sparkled with life.

  However, all this ethereal beauty was more than offset by the appearance of her constant companion, Do-die. Seen close up, she looked as though someone, heavily under the influence of an hallucinatory substance, had set about her coat with a pair of curling tongs, so that she resembled more a discoloured old powder puff than a poodle. Only she didn’t smell like one. Having jumped up onto the sofa, she now sat panting, looking directly at her mistress, and a doggie odour filled the room of which all except Carrie seemed to be aware.

  “Jesus, Carrie,” Richard said, wrinkling his nose up in disgust, “do we have to have Dodie inside? Can’t you leave her in the car?”

  “No, I can’t,” Carrie retorted, bending down to the dog. “Can I, Dodie-wodie? Last time I was cruel to you like that, you ate my steering wheel, didn’t you, my little darling.”

  The dog responded by giving Carrie’s face the onceover with its tongue.

  “Jeez, Carrie, that is quite revolting! Her breath stinks!”

  “Oh, well, you get used to it!” Carrie said lightheartedly as she straightened up. “Say, I’m kinda thirsty after that swim. Any chance of a beer?”

  Richard glanced up at the wall clock. “Are you being serious? It’s only eleven o’clock!”

  “Well, it’s Saturday, so there’s nothing doing, and it’s a beautiful day, and I want to get to know your friend.”

  Richard gave this a moment’s contemplation before shrugging his shoulders and glancing at David. “She’s right, of course. Always is.” He made his way over to the refrigerator. “Three beers coming up then!”

  They spent the rest of the day together by the pool, talking only when they felt like it and at odd intervals heading off into the house to bring out food and more beer. During the course of their intermittent conversation, David found out that Carrie was an artist whose itinerant lifestyle had, in her own words, resulted in her being “more successful at capturing scenes on canvas than men in matrimony.” Yet there was not an ounce of bitterness or self-pity in the way that she said it. Both she and Dodie were free spirits, she said, living totally for themselves in their little house down by the marina.

  That evening Carrie prepared a meal for them that was the complete antithesis to the inedible mess that David had had to endure on his first night in the house. They ate outside on the deck, the light of the setting sun bathing them in a warm red glow which seemed to match the spirit of the occasion. Carrie then succeeded in reducing both men to tears of laughter by recounting stories of her hippie days in San Francisco and her brief involvement with Hare Krishna.

  “I was chucked out! I mean, I thought I was so cool at it! Then one day, I was out on the street and no one, I mean no one was interested in what I had to say about reaching the higher echelons of pure life enhancement, so, well, I had these big Doc Marten boots on, and I just sort of levelled a kick at this guy who was passing—and, er, I caught him between the legs. By mistake, I promise! I didn’t mean to—sort of not, anyway!”

  As night closed in around them, David sat back in his chair, a smile on his face, quite happy to allow the good-humoured, laid-back atmosphere flow over him, while Carrie continued to dominate the conversation, her scatty, disconnected monologues now directed towards giving a full account of her past painting trips abroad and the “true fulfilment” that each had brought her.

  “Talking of which,” she said, glancing at Richard, a sudden look of trepidation on her face, “do you have any idea when Angie’s getting back?”

  “Well, I spoke to her last night at your mother’s and she thinks Wednesday. I hope to hell it is because I want to get this wretched conversion finished.” He let out a deep sigh. “In her infinite wisdom, she decided to put off all further work until she returned.”

  “Uh-huh,” Carrie replied absently.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, it’s just that, well, I’m heading off to Florence to paint for a couple of months, and she did say that she wouldn’t mind looking after Dodie.”

  Richard groaned. “Oh, God, yes, she did mention that. I thought life was looking too good. When are you heading off?”

  “Well, the flight’s tomorrow evening.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes! What’s going to happen to the dog between then and Wednesday?”

  Carrie bit at her lip to stifle a laugh. “Well, I thought she could have just stayed—”

  “Oh, not in the house, Carrie!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’ll stink the place out! Anyway, I’m going to be at work all day, so there’ll be no one to let her out. She’ll just pee and shit everywhere!”

  “She will not either! I’ve left her all day in the house. She just sleeps. I promise you, Richard, she has a constitution of a camel—or is it a hen? Please, Richard, all you’ll have to do is let her out into the garden in the morning and when you come home in the evening.” She paused and looked pleadingly at Richard. “It’ll only be two and a half days.”

  Richard glanced a long-suffering look towards David, then took a long gulp from his wineglass. “Oh, what the hell! Okay, I’ll agree to it on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you give me full permission to attack her with a bottle of shampoo and some toothpaste every now and then!”

  “Sssh!” Carrie held her index finger to her mouth and looked round through the fly-screen to where Dodie lay prostrate on the sofa in the kitchen. “Don’t say it too loud or she’ll hear.” She turned back to Richard. “You can certainly try, but it never seems to make any difference!”

  “Well, I’m going to give it a go, anyway.” He tilted his head in the direction of the dog. “AREN’T I, DODIE?”

  Dodie immediately lifted her head and pricked up her ears, then letting out one single bark, she flopped once more onto the sofa.

  “Richard!” Carrie exclaimed in open-mouthed horror. “That is so cruel! You promise me you won’t make her into a nervous wreck while I’m away.”

  “What is she now?” Richard laughed, then seeing his sister-in-law on the verge of rising to the bait, he leaned across the table and patted her arm in mock reassurance. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after her as if she was my own.”

  “Yeah, I bet!” Carrie gave him a distrustful look which she immediately managed to convert into one of sweet seduction. “Could you keep an eye on my house as well? Just when you’re around, that is.”

  “Okay,” Richard replied resignedly, leaning forward and pouring out more wine into their glasses.

  “Thanks … and, Richard?”

  Richard’s face broke into a smile at the persistence of her requests. “Yes, Carrie?”

  “There wouldn’t be a chance,” she said slowly, as if already expecting a negative answer to her question, “that you could get Star Limos to take me to the airport?�
�

  “On my account, I suppose!” He laughed. “What time tomorrow?

  “About four-fifteen?”

  “Okay, I’ll organize that,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Just a pity it’s not Monday. You could have shared a car with David.”

  “Oh, are you going back to Scotland on Monday, David?” Carrie asked, and the sound of her voice resounded out loud and clear into the evening as a sudden profound silence descended upon the table. Her two dining partners eyed each other in turn, the smiles no longer on their faces.

  Richard eventually cleared his throat and rubbed at his chin nervously. “I hope that’s all right, David. I actually, er, spoke to your mother on Wednesday just to say that you weren’t, well, quite up to scratch, one way and another, and I thought that you’d probably want to get back to Scotland as soon as possible. So I thought the Monday-evening flight would probably be the best one. Your mother said that there’d be someone to pick you up at Glasgow on Tues——”

  He tailed off at the end of this explanation, realizing that David was not really listening to him. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him.

  “Listen, my friend,” Richard continued quietly, “I’d hate you to think that I’d gone behind your back. It’s just that, well, I was actually quite worried about you, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was meant to do.”

  David smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s me that should be apologizing—not you. You’ve both been brilliant over the past few days, and I know that I haven’t really shown you much appreciation for everything you’ve done.” He shifted his weight on the chair, sticking his hands under his thighs. “It’s just that…” He released one of his hands and scratched at the back of his head. “… Look, I have something to tell you which will no doubt come as a bit of surprise to you. I actually went into the little employment agency in Leesport this morning and lined up a job for myself as a gardener, and I’m, erm, starting Monday.”

  There was a complete silence, and David looked up to find both Richard and Carrie staring at him with looks of disbelief.