by Hilary Boyd
Luca nodded his agreement. They were a good team. She knew he was completely reliable and would shepherd the passengers onto the ferry, then the minibuses at Menaggio.
‘I can stay and help you with Walter,’ Terry said quietly. ‘You might need two.’
Connie was grateful, but she saw the frown on Sandra’s face. She obviously didn’t approve of her husband’s uncharacteristic bid for freedom.
‘Thanks, Terry. But I think I can manage,’ she said, although Walter was tall and heavily built. If he was still wobbly …
‘I’ll do it. You take Sandra and Dinah back,’ Jared told Terry, his voice firm, as if he were taking charge.
Dinah nodded her approval. ‘Yes. Jared can help you, Connie.’
Connie saw Terry’s fleeting look of disappointment and smiled at him. She would rather have waited with Terry than Jared – with whom she felt slightly awkward. But the decision had been made and she was not going to argue, with Walter still pale and silent beside her.
Connie watched the retreating figures of the group as they hurried back down the cobbled street and turned the corner towards the waiting ferry. Walter still appeared a bit vacant, clearly bemused by what had happened. But the colour was returning slowly to his cheeks, helped, presumably, by the pill he’d swallowed and the cup of tea – a pallid Lipton’s teabag, of course – that Jared had acquired from the concerned waiter behind the bar.
‘So what’s the company protocol in a situation like this?’ Jared sipped the double espresso he’d ordered for himself. Connie had asked for a latte.
She eyed him, trying to gauge if there was any criticism behind his words. But she couldn’t detect an edge to his question. ‘Well … company rules state that I should stay with the group at all times,’ she replied, with a smile. ‘I’m not even allowed to pick up a passenger who’s fallen or put a plaster on a cut. Dear old Elf and Safety. But, finally, I’m supposed to use my common sense.’
Jared laughed. ‘A commodity in short supply, these days.’
As he laughed, his face lit up and he looked properly at ease for the first time since Connie had met him. It was as if he’d stepped out of the stiff, slightly diffident costume he’d been wearing for the tour. Is he cowed by his indomitable godmother?
‘It’s a bit like being a parent,’ she said. Which was true. You had to keep a constant eye open, be aware on a visceral level of the integrity of the group at every minute of the day. When she’d first started, she’d been so terrified she would lose the tickets, their luggage, even one of the passengers, or miss the trains, that she’d hardly slept, arriving home after a week abroad a nervous wreck. But very soon she had realized she was capable of sorting out most situations thrown at her with comparative ease.
‘Hear that, Walter?’ Jared nudged the American. ‘Connie’s your new mum.’
Walter smiled weakly. ‘Fine by me.’
There was silence for a moment between the three of them. It was getting chilly: the evening sky had clouded over and a breeze was filtering up from the lake.
Then Jared said, ‘Well, I think you’re brilliant.’
His words were delivered so simply, but with such feeling, that Connie was taken aback and felt an instant blush rise to her cheeks. She gave an embarrassed laugh, quickly looking back to the American.
‘How’s it going, Walter?’ she asked. ‘Do you think you’re OK to start walking down to the harbour? You can lean on me. We’ll go really slowly.’ She knew her tone was slightly forced, but she was confused by Jared and needed to shift the focus. He’d said nothing much, certainly nothing contentious. But it was the way he’d said it – and being in the beam of his strange eyes – that unnerved her.
Connie was glad when Walter nodded. ‘Let’s give it a go.’
Later that evening, Walter in bed and given the all-clear by the brusque Italian doctor the hotel had summoned, Connie closed the door of her bedroom with relief. Although she was pretty sure that Walter had never been in mortal danger, there was always the chance that he might have become really ill and needed hospital treatment – with all the attendant worries that would have entailed.
She undressed and washed, taking a few minutes to open the French windows and step out onto the balcony in her bare feet. Her room faced the gardens at the back of the hotel – no lake view for the tour manager – but the air felt cool and soothing on her face, the stars an extraordinary display in the clear spring night.
It was gone eleven, but only ten o’clock in England, so she got into bed and reached for her phone. ‘Did I wake you?’ she asked, because Devan sounded groggy.
‘No, no. Just watching some dross on the television.’
‘How are you? You didn’t answer my messages.’
She heard him shifting about, a low grunt.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, when he didn’t reply.
‘Yeah …’
‘You don’t sound it, Devan.’
There was an irritable harrumph. ‘Sorry about that.’
Connie winced at his sarcastic tone. She knew he must have been drinking and regretted calling. ‘OK, well, I’ll leave you to it, then,’ she said curtly, and was about to hang up when she heard his voice.
‘Connie, wait. Sorry, sorry … I’ve just had a bad day with my back and I’m feeling a bit low … missing you.’
Now she felt terrible. ‘Poor you,’ she said, more gently, searching around for something she could tell him that might cheer him up, and finding nothing. Recounting what a beautiful day it had been here would hardly cut it. This was new, the lack of spontaneity in their exchanges – they’d never been short of something to say to each other.
‘How’s it going with you?’ she heard Devan ask, obviously making an effort now. ‘Any PPs so far?’
She pulled herself together and adopted her brightest tone. ‘Ha! Well, I think that title goes to Sandra, who’s seriously Hyacinth Bucket and makes me nervous, because she always seems to be brewing a kick-off. But, to be fair, she hasn’t been too bad, and the rest seem reassuringly normal.’ As she said it, though, her thoughts returned to Jared Temple and his grand godmother. ‘Well, perhaps not entirely normal …’
She heard him chuckle and it lifted her heart. ‘I miss you too, you know,’ she said sincerely. Because in that moment she would have liked nothing better than to be sitting curled up on the sofa between Devan and Riley, pulling apart the TV drama they’d just watched, a glass of wine in her hand, the dog’s head warming her bare toes. ‘You’d like Varenna, where we were today. You come in on the ferry and there are these ranks of cute houses – terracotta and ochre, cream and red – nestling on the hillside around this gorgeous harbour. It takes your breath away.’
She heard him sigh. ‘Maybe you can show me one day.’
Connie loved the idea, but wondered if she ever would. Devan generally preferred to take his holidays in the Highlands, the Lake District or Northumberland, with the accompanying horizontal rain and peat bogs. And, although he seemed obsessed with them travelling the world, she wasn’t sure either of them was in the mood, at the moment, to take any trip together.
They talked on for a while, an easy, companionable conversation at this distance, during which Connie was able to daydream that Devan was back to normal and that things would always be good like this between them.
But when she said goodbye and lay down beneath the soft hotel duvet, she felt the sadness return. Can we only communicate properly these days when we’re nine hundred miles apart? she wondered, as she drifted off to sleep.
5
Dinah waved her over. ‘Our turn,’ she said, smiling, as Connie sat down at their table for dinner on the last day. They were not eating in the hotel that night, but at a restaurant just along the lake.
It had been hot for two days now, in the mid-twenties, but the evenings were still cool in May and Connie had assumed they would eat inside. But while most of the group chose to, Dinah and Jared had brought their jackets – Dinah also wore
a beautiful cashmere wrap, in delicate blues and greens – and were determined to brave the potential chill and eat al fresco on the restaurant’s terrace. The space, jutting out over the water, was covered with a wicker canopy and dotted with terracotta pots planted with lemon trees, their star-shaped white blossoms glowing in candlelight from the tables.
‘Isn’t it romantic?’ Dinah gave a long sigh as she gazed towards the coral sky and the setting sun throwing gold splinters across the lake. ‘I wish I were twenty again.’ Then she laughed. ‘Although, come to think of it, I was on the verge of marrying the ghastly Ambrose then. Such a brute. So maybe not.’
‘How could you tell, at twenty?’ Jared commented.
‘Exactly,’ Dinah agreed, then turned to Connie and laid a hand confidentially on her sleeve. ‘Do you have a family? You know all about us and we know absolutely nothing about you.’
Connie grinned. ‘I prefer to keep it that way.’
She saw Jared smiling too, but Dinah was not giving up. ‘A husband? Children?’
‘I have one daughter and a husband, Devan. He’s a doctor, a GP.’
‘Devon with an o, like the county?’ Dinah queried.
‘No, an a. He’s Irish, from Dublin originally, although he was brought up mainly in Scotland. His father worked as a golf professional in the Borders.’
‘Golf … Oh dear.’ Dinah’s face fell. ‘My second was a fanatical golfer. He practically lived at the club. When he wasn’t playing, he was drinking himself to death with his cronies in the clubhouse. Ghastly game. Poor you.’
Connie wondered how many husbands she’d had. She caught Jared’s eye and saw an amused smile playing around his mouth as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘The golfer was Connie’s father-in-law, Dinah. Her husband is a doctor,’ he said.
For a moment Dinah seemed confused. But she quickly recovered. ‘I’m not dotty,’ she said reprovingly, and turned to Connie. ‘So, tell me about Devan.’
‘Well, he’s recently retired –’
Dinah interrupted with a wave of her hand. ‘I really do not approve of retirement. It’s a lot of nonsense, putting a perfectly capable person out to grass just because he’s not in his first flush. My third husband retired – foolishly, I did warn him – and died within the month.’
Jared began to laugh, his turquoise eyes lit by the candle in the middle of the table. ‘He was ninety-two …’
Dinah shot her godson a sharp look, then her face broke into a tender smile. ‘Gordon was such a dear, wasn’t he? The best of a very bad lot.’ She laid a hand on Jared’s arm. ‘I wish you’d settle down, darling. You’re always rushing off hither and yon. Never in one place long enough … I do worry.’
Connie thought Jared looked distinctly uncomfortable. He took a hasty sip of wine, his mouth twitching in a half-smile. ‘You know me, Dinah.’
His godmother gave him a considering look, one eyebrow slightly raised, implying she was not sure she did. Then she said, ‘I suppose after that dreadful business with Charlotte –’
‘Please,’ Jared interrupted, frowning beseechingly at Dinah. ‘Connie doesn’t want to know about that.’
Dinah turned, as if surprised to see Connie still sitting there. But with a lifetime of honed social skills, she segued seamlessly into an amusing anecdote about a visit to Monte Carlo with the dastardly Ambrose for her twenty-first birthday.
Connie’s meal was delicious: pumpkin and pecorino ravioli, lake fish fritto misto, a green salad with a dressing to die for. Dinah entertained them with hilarious and frequently naughty tales of her four husbands: it turned out Gordon was not the last – a misguided interlude with one charming but profligate Thurston being her final hurrah. Connie was so entertained, she almost forgot she was on tour and working.
Dinah was nothing like her mother, but they were of the same generation, and her vocabulary, her attitudes, her independent mind reminded Connie of Sheila. Throughout the meal, it felt as if she and Jared were strangely allied, laughing as much with Dinah as at her foibles. He obviously loved his godmother very much but saw her clearly for what she was.
It was such a beautiful night, the air crisp and fresh, the lights along the lake piercing the darkness like clusters of winking fireflies, the sky a sea of stars. They opted to walk back to the hotel. Even Dinah, leaning heavily on Jared’s arm, insisted a taxi would be an insult on a night like this. Connie agreed. She was feeling lightheaded and even light-hearted this evening. A combination of more wine than she usually allowed herself and the lively company had relaxed her. She wanted to enjoy these moments before the long slog home and what awaited her there.
Some of the group were already back at the hotel, gathered in the bar adjoining the foyer. As Dinah said her goodnights, Jared still supporting her towards the lifts, she made a small moue of regret at what she was missing.
‘There was a time I’d have closed the bar in the early hours,’ she said to Connie, standing straighter for a moment, head swept back, allowing her a small glimpse of what must have been the striking, magnificent woman of her youth.
‘Join us, Connie?’ She heard Ginty’s drunken tones and turned to see her and Ruth beckoning her from where they sat with the others, around two tables pushed together. It’s the last night at the lake, she thought. Tomorrow they would take the train to Paris, spend a night there, then onwards to London. So maybe she could stay for a quick one. She had no desire to go to bed right now.
Almost before she had sat down, Ruth plonked a glass containing amber liquid and crushed ice in front of her.
‘We’re on to the Amaretto,’ she said.
Connie thanked her and took a sip, the sweet bitter-almond taste rolling smoothly over her tongue. She and Devan weren’t big spirits drinkers, their preferred poison a good red wine. But this was hitting the spot for her tonight and she smiled, raising her glass to the group, all clearly in a celebratory mood.
‘We’ve had the best time.’ Ruth beamed at her, clinking her glass. ‘You’ve made it perfect for us.’
‘She really is the best,’ a voice from behind her agreed.
Turning, Connie saw Jared. As before, when he had remarked so emphatically that she was ‘brilliant’, she felt embarrassed by his praise. It didn’t sound quite the same as Ruth’s or Ginty’s. It had a note of something else that unsettled her – although not in an altogether unpleasant way.
He pulled up a chair next to her, peering into her glass. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’
She told him and he pulled a face. When he came back from the bar with a tumbler of whisky and chinking ice, he turned to her. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry you had to endure all Dinah’s stories tonight. Neither of us got a word in edgewise. But that’s how it always is with her.’
‘Goodness, don’t apologize,’ Connie said. ‘I loved it. She’s a force of nature, your godmother.’
Jared chuckled. ‘She’s wicked about her poor husbands. I only met two of them, but they were nothing like as bad as she makes out. Just outmanoeuvred and outclassed, poor sods. They didn’t stand a chance.’
For a while the conversation became general. Favourite moments of the tour were mooted and challenged. But all the while Connie was conscious of Jared by her side, contributing little, but quietly attentive to what she was saying. She found she was enjoying it.
By the time she got up to her room she was pleasantly drunk. She twirled in front of the mirror and smiled a goofy grin to herself, smoothing her hands down her hips, the jersey of her blue and white paisley dress warm beneath her fingers. Then she sighed and sat down on the bed. She would be home in a couple of days and she returned to the question that had been flitting uneasily around her brain during the tour. If I retire, will it change things for Devan? Or did his discontent go much deeper? It was pointless for her to throw in the towel – this, for example, had been such a fun trip – if the real problem was not her work at all but something else that was wrong.
A knock at the door interrupted her thought
s.
Opening it, she found Jared, barefoot, his linen shirt pulled out of his trousers, looking apologetic.
‘Sorry to disturb you so late, Connie.’ He glanced up and down the corridor. ‘I wondered if I could have a quick word.’
Connie hesitated. He was looking as if he didn’t want to be overheard, so she opened the door more fully, leaning against the edge to prevent the spring lock banging it shut again. Jared took a step forward, stopping respectfully on the threshold, although Connie found herself instinctively crossing her arms at the sudden intimacy she sensed between them.
‘Dinah asked me to give you this.’ He pulled from his pocket a cream envelope – one of the hotel’s, with the pale, cursive script of the establishment’s name in the top left-hand corner – and held it out to her.
It was normal for passengers on tours to tip the tour manager at the end. Given a comments sheet on the last train home – to rate the tour itself and her performance – they were encouraged to include a tip for Connie when they handed back the forms. But this envelope was bulging.
‘Oh.’ Connie took it and they stood there in silence. ‘Wow, thank you.’ She gave Jared a self-conscious grin. ‘That’s very kind of Dinah.’
He shrugged. ‘I keep telling you, you’ve been marvellous.’
There it was again, the tone that kept making her cheeks hot.
‘I’m just doing my job, Jared.’
His gaze seemed serious, as if he were giving great weight to her reply. She felt his presence strongly, the warm smell of him, his face lit only by the bedside lamp from inside the room and the glow through the open French windows from the security lights in the garden. As the silence lengthened, the atmosphere thickened between them. Connie didn’t want to examine why, to name the feeling that was making her breath stutter in her throat. He should go, she thought. But it was as if someone had stopped the clock.
