‘Please, Penny.’ He’d made another effort. ‘Look, I don’t have to stay in the Navy if you hate it that much. Of course I can imagine how much you miss your family, especially when I’m at sea. Look, we can all go to New Zealand. Why not? Make a new start together.’
‘Are you crazy?’
She’d stared at him in such horror that he’d realized with a shock that the idea of him being with her in her own country, amongst her own people, was completely unacceptable to her. Mentally she’d already moved into a new life; a life where her lover, Brett Anderson, had usurped him. It was because Brett had broken off their engagement that Penny had come to England in the first place. Now he wanted her back.
‘I think I must have been in love with him all the time,’ she’d said pathetically, seeing the reaction on his face at her instinctive response, quickly trying to engage his sympathy and divert his anger. ‘Only I did love you, George. I still do. Oh Christ! This is terrible. Can you love two people at once?’
‘Yes,’ he’d wanted to shout. ‘Yes, you bloody can. I should know. But you can at least try to fight it.’
Instead, he’d grimaced bitterly, unable to hide his feelings but feeling betrayed by her readiness to break up their marriage at Brett’s sudden reappearance.
‘He left you before,’ he’d said, ‘he might do it again. And what about Tasha? She’s mine too. How often am I going to see her with you in New Zealand?’
‘You don’t see her much now,’ she’d answered unforgivably, upset by his pain but determined not to give an inch, ‘you’re away at sea so much.’ And then, seeing his expression: ‘I’m sorry, George,’ she’d said sadly but with finality. ‘I just belong back there with my family and friends – and with Brett. I realize that now. Please don’t make it difficult for me with Tasha. She needs to be with me. What sort of life could you give her? You’d have to put her into some kind of childcare so you could work, wouldn’t you? After all, you could hardly expect your mother to manage, and you’re away for months at a time. You couldn’t put a three-month-old baby into someone else’s care for months on end. Please George, if you really love her you’ll do what’s best for her.’
He’d felt so angry by this manipulation of his love for her and their baby that he’d been obliged to walk out: striding away from the little house on the edge of Meavy village, climbing up on to the moor above Burrator. An icy wind pinched, cold-fingered, at his face and passed on across the waters of the reservoir, shivering and splintering the reflections on the surface. Black-faced sheep, with tiny, jug-eared lambs pressed against their woolly flanks, huddled in the lee of humped boulders. The tall stately conifers at the water’s edge made a dark green wedge of colour in this bleached, dun landscape; patches of bracken, rich and bright in the late-afternoon light, rusted on the slopes of Sheep’s Tor where a scattering of snow iced the granite peaks.
Staring westwards, beyond Plymouth far into Cornwall, where the sunshine showered insubstantial shafts of dazzling gold upon the distant, mysterious hills, he’d thought of Joss – and felt the balled fist of guilt deep in his gut. It was Joss who’d listened whilst he’d talked, pouring out his worries that Penny missed her family, was lonely when he went to sea, wasn’t managing too well with the baby: Joss, with whom he had fallen suddenly in love, between one glance and the next, realizing with a blow to his heart that his feelings for Penny were a dim reflection of this shattering experience. However, he’d been determined that it should not be allowed to affect his commitment to Penny.
This is what Penny feels for Brett, he’d told himself later, when Brett had reappeared and Penny was clearly being drawn back to him. George believed that they should fight for what they shared and for the security their marriage gave their baby. Yet, the moment Brett beckoned, Penny had been prepared to jettison it all without a backward glance: he could almost laugh at the irony of it all. The guilt was there, though: had he, in any way, allowed his feelings for Joss to colour his relationship with Penny? If he had never loved Joss in the first place would Penny have succumbed so quickly to Brett’s overtures? And part of him, if he were truthful, longed to chuck it all in and turn with relief to Joss …
Now, he reached for his overnight bag, took a gasping breath to steady his nerves and climbed out of the car.
CHAPTER TEN
Pamela knew at once that there was something wrong. The postcard instead of a telephone call, his intention to come alone, these things had aroused her suspicions. Now, his physical presence confirmed them. Once she would have seen from his body language that there were problems here. Now she could only intuit these things from the tones of voice, the quality of the silences. Nevertheless, she smiled steadily into the darkness, waiting for him to come to her and kiss her; putting up her hands to clasp his broad shoulders, to touch his hair. His lips grazed her cheek, his ‘Hi, Ma’ was a warm breath in her ear, and then he’d moved away whilst her hands still sketched the empty, airy shape of him before they dropped to her lap.
‘What a morning,’ Rafe was saying cheerfully. ‘You must have got away early, George. We weren’t expecting you quite yet. Have you got snow on Dartmoor?’
Pamela could hear the sounds of coffee being prepared, the screech of chair-legs as George sat down, the exchange of pleasantries, and she tensed, waiting for the blow to fall. Already she’d mentally rehearsed the possibilities: financial difficulties? Well, they’d certainly extended themselves when they’d bought the cottage in Meavy.
‘Penny thinks that she’d like to be in the country,’ he’d told them, ‘and especially now with the baby coming. With me being at sea so much I think she has the right to live where she’s happiest.’
Privately, Pamela had feared that Penny might miss her friends in London, the bustle of the town, but she and Rafe agreed that Meavy was a delightful village and Tavistock only ten minutes away: a wonderful environment to bring up a family. Penny and George had got a good price for the flat but the asking price for the cottage was certainly on the upper edge of the limit they’d set themselves.
‘We are simply so lucky,’ Pamela had said to Rafe, when they’d seen the estate agent’s particulars and gasped and rolled their eyes with shock at the price tag. ‘Thanks to Honor we can live in this fabulous place for an almost silly rent. I simply don’t know how people cope with these huge responsibilities. I hope they’ll be OK.’
Listening to Rafe setting out mugs, she wondered if they hadn’t been OK. Perhaps they’d come seriously unstuck and needed help. Her mind ranged to and fro, wondering how she and Rafe might raise money. With the onset of her blindness, Rafe had resigned from his teaching posts and worked instead for the Open University so that he could be at home with her. They’d managed to save a small amount over the years but, with three children, the sum wasn’t going to stretch too far.
Perhaps Penny was lonely and asking George to resign his commission? The trouble with that was, what could George do outside the Navy that would earn him the same kind of money so as to support his family and the mortgage? And would George be happy outside? He loved his job and was doing well …
Pamela realized that an uncomfortable silence had fallen and grew instantly alert, listening: the kitchen clock ticked with an unnatural loudness, the sea whispered unceasingly from beyond the window, Rafe cleared his throat. A chair creaked suddenly and she heard the ring of spoon against china.
‘Look,’ George was saying, ‘I expect you’ve both guessed that this isn’t just a friendly visit. The thing is …’
She could hear him swallow, knew that his throat was dry, and was gripped with a spasm of pity and love for him.
The thing was, apparently, that he and Penny had decided to separate, things weren’t working out; they’d agreed that it was the best way and that Penny would be returning to New Zealand.
Rafe murmured something – she could imagine his shocked expression – and she guessed in the pause that followed that George was gulping a reviving draught of hot coffee.<
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‘Darling,’ she said shakily. ‘Oh, George, this is terrible. You’ve always seemed so happy. And what about Tasha … ?’ Her voice trailed away uncertainly and, out of sight, her hands twisted together whilst her mind raced to readjust her ideas. Oh, how petty her former anxieties – so easily surmountable now, compared with the reality – had been.
Rafe was attempting to ease his son’s path through the daunting thickets of explanation: perhaps Penny had been too much alone or had George … ? Might this be a temporary misunderstanding? One of those ‘funny five minutes’ that could occur in any partnership or marriage? Another silence.
Pamela pressed her lips together, resolutely holding back the questions that she wanted to shout at him, forcing herself to wait until he was ready. If only she could see his face, read between the lines. The tension was palpable, the air was thick with it, but there was something she couldn’t quite grasp, some emotion just out of reach …
‘Is there someone else?’ she asked sharply – and heard George’s swift intake of breath. She knew that Rafe and her son were looking at each other. ‘No Slips,’ she cried. ‘Not now. This is much too important. What is it, George? What has happened to make you take this step?’
He was able to answer this honestly and did so.
‘Penny was engaged before she came to England,’ he told them flatly. ‘The man, Brett Anderson his name is, broke it off and she came here to start a new life. Well, he’s turned up again and she’s decided that she’s loved him all along and that she fell for me on the rebound. She says that her life is with him and her family in New Zealand.’
Pamela could imagine his shrug – a kind of relief that it was out in the open, a ‘there you have it’ kind of shrug.
‘And how did you react to that?’ Rafe asked the question almost diffidently, trying to probe the depth of his son’s pain.
‘I fought it.’ He sounded almost truculent. ‘What do you think I did? I suggested that we should all go to New Zealand. I know she misses her family and I can sympathize with that. We’d have managed if he hadn’t come looking for her.’
‘I can’t believe that anyone would deliberately break up a family like that.’ Pamela was listening for those tell-tale nuances. ‘It’s cruel.’
‘Penny was invited to London to see some Kiwi friends,’ he answered. ‘He just happened to be staying with them.’
The bitterness was there in his voice; and something more than bitterness.
‘But what will happen to Natasha?’ Rafe was asking. ‘Surely Penny can’t expect you to give your child up so easily?’
His short laugh had no mirth in it. ‘I’m between a rock and a hard place,’ he said. ‘I can’t keep her, can I? How would I look after a three-month-old baby? And even if I could think of some way round it, would it be fair to her? Penny has a big family to support her …’
He stopped abruptly and Pamela, knowing why, felt quite unreasonably as though she had let him down.
‘Oh, darling,’ she said sorrowfully. ‘I am so sorry. We’re not much use to you, are we?’
‘Don’t be silly, Ma,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s not your fault, how could it be? It’s simply that we have to face facts. I haven’t got anyone who could look after Tasha while I’m away at sea and I don’t know what the hell I’d do if I came outside. Tasha is better off with her mother than with strangers, however wonderful they might be, and Penny says that we have to do what is best for Tasha.’
‘Isn’t it best for a child to be brought up by both its parents?’ asked Rafe gently.
George’s laugh, this time, contained a note of resignation but some of the tension had gone out of it. ‘That’s very old-fashioned, Pa,’ he said. ‘You’re showing your age.’
Pamela was struggling with a variety of emotions: anguish for her son; despair at the thought of losing her grandchild; a momentary hatred of Penny, of whom she’d been so fond. Never had she regretted her lost sight more than at this moment. She longed to see George’s face, to look into his eyes and watch his expressions whilst she talked to him. She knew that he was loyal, independent, straight-talking, yet something nagged at the back of her mind; something was missing.
‘It must be really serious,’ she was feeling her way, ‘for Penny to react so drastically. Don’t think I’m not on your side, George. You know I am. But Penny has been a good wife to you. She’s supported you very loyally, although she’s missed her own family and spent a great deal of time alone. She must feel very strongly to be doing this.’
‘She does feel strongly,’ said George after a moment. ‘She says that she never stopped loving Brett, although she really did think she had. When she saw him again she realized the truth of it.’ She sensed his shrug, heard his sigh. ‘Well, I can understand that.’
She was on to it like a hound on the scent: this was what she’d been feeling for, this tone that indicated a true understanding of Penny’s dilemma. Oh, yes, there was bitterness, anger – but alongside those reactions ran a genuine sympathy: the very real sympathy of someone who actually knew the score and struggled with the same dilemma. She responded to it instinctively.
‘I think George should take his things upstairs and then have a serious drink,’ she said. ‘We all need a moment to re-group.’
She waited, listening to George’s departure, his footsteps on the stairs, and stretched her hand to Rafe who took it, holding it tightly, comfortingly.
‘Telephone Bruno,’ she told him urgently. ‘Tell him to get hold of Joss and cancel supper. Tell him why if you have to. Hurry, before George comes back.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bruno picked up the message when he left his study to make himself some lunch. He kept the telephone in the kitchen, permanently on answerphone with the bell switched off, and checked it at moments when he was unlikely to be distracted from his work. Now, he saw the red winking eye and pressed the Play button. Rafe’s voice sounded odd: deliberately kept low, as if he feared to be overheard, but with a kind of compelling haste. Bruno listened, his brow furrowed with surprise.
George had a problem and it was best that Joss didn’t come to supper: it wasn’t likely to be a particularly jolly evening. Could he contact her and warn her off?
As he cut bread for a sandwich, gave Nellie a cuddle and fed her, poured a glass of apple juice, Bruno pondered on this message. He had an unwelcome premonition that he might have guessed the possible reason for George’s problem and presently he checked his almost indecipherable address book and telephoned a number. Joss answered in the rather flat voice that indicated that she was with a patient.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said. ‘Message from Rafe. Supper seems to be off for one reason or another. George isn’t on form.’ He heard her breathing rather quickly and imagined that narrow, focused look. ‘Make sense to you?’ he asked lightly.
‘Yes,’ she said shortly.
‘I thought it might.’ He hesitated. ‘Want to come in on your way home?’
He could hear her thinking about it: a desperate, almost violent mental exercise with half her mind still on her patient.
‘Could I?’ she asked. ‘Thanks, Bruno. Yes, I would like to. About six?’
‘Great,’ he replied. ‘See you then.’
Nellie had brought her toy to his feet, a brightly coloured rubber bone with a tinny bell in it that Bruno detested. She looked from it to him, tail wagging, flopping ears pricked hopefully, and he kicked it across the kitchen. She leaped after it, paws scrabbling, seizing it with delight.
‘Daft animal,’ he muttered. ‘No, take it away.’ But she placed it beside him again, tongue lolling as if she laughed at him, and, unable to help himself, he laughed back at her.
‘What is it about this place?’ he asked her. ‘A refuge for females in distress or what?’ and he kicked the bone again, watching her skidding across the slates and fetching up against the larder door, remembering her arrival at The Lookout.
‘She’s the last one,’ Mousie had sa
id, standing just inside the kitchen one December evening, the puppy in her arms, rain dripping from her hat. ‘The farmer found homes for the dogs but nobody wanted the bitch.’
Various apt retorts had risen to Bruno’s lips, none of them politically correct, and she’d beamed at him, sensing capitulation.
‘She’ll be good for you,’ she’d promised. ‘Make you get out and exercise.’
‘I walk miles every day, Mousie,’ he’d said drily. ‘Perhaps you just haven’t noticed me about the place?’
‘Walking’s nicer with a dog,’ she’d said, nodding sagely, clinching the argument.
‘Then why don’t you keep her?’ he’d suggested. ‘After all, you spend all day driving round from patient to patient. You get no exercise at all.’
‘Oh, it wouldn’t be fair to keep her in the car all day,’ she’d answered, as if reluctantly refusing a treat. ‘No, no. You must have her.’
She’d set the puppy on the floor where it had immediately crouched and made a puddle; in the tiny silence that followed Mousie hadn’t quite met Bruno’s eyes.
‘Must dash,’ she’d said brightly. ‘Oh, by the way, I thought you might call her Nellie. It seems to suit her, don’t you think?’
Bruno, slamming the door behind her with unnecessary vigour, had stared at the black-and-white bundle that was now cautiously exploring his kitchen.
‘Welcome, Nellie,’ he’d said, resigned. ‘I hope you like sausages because that’s all there is, apart from porridge. If you’re going to live here you’ll need to be adaptable.’
And Nellie had been adaptable. She was an easy-going companion, provided that she was allowed to share the sofa and was fed regularly, but she had an independent streak and enjoyed her solitary morning constitutional, pottering round The Row and visiting the Paradise gardens.
Now, after Rafe’s message, Bruno decided that a walk would probably do them both good. The prospect of seeing Joss later was already distracting him from his work and once again the world of St Meriadoc was threatening to displace that other world where he most longed to be. With luck, a walk might start the creative juices flowing again. Anyway, he wanted to see Mutt.
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