The front hall was empty and, beyond the green baize door, the kitchen seemed quiet, too, but I already knew Hugo was back. I’d met Iris in the stable yard when I parked my car. She’d been mucking out one of the loose boxes. She pretended she hadn’t seen or heard me, but I walked across and put my head over the stable door.
‘How is he? Do you know? Hugo?’
She turned. Rested on her pitchfork. ‘He’s back,’ she told me, nodding up to his window which was above the back door. ‘Belinda went to fetch him at six o’clock this morning.’
‘Belinda did?’
‘Beat Christina to it. And she knew they’d release him early, they always like the empty bed.’
‘Typical.’ I seethed.
‘But Christina’s made of sterner stuff.’ Iris lowered her voice and came to the door. ‘Once Hugo was upstairs in bed, she came down and asked if I’d take the children riding. I got one of my girls to do it. When they’d gone, Christina tracked Belinda down in her sitting room, where she pretends to sew, entry to mere mortals forbidden, and had a stand-up-knock-down with her. It all came out. For the whole house to hear.’ She eyed me carefully. ‘And I mean, everything. Including his sexuality. I wouldn’t mind betting it had been sanctioned by Hugo.’
‘Good for her.’
‘They’re going back to London. She’s packing now.’
I nodded. ‘Was Roger devastated?’ I asked softly. ‘When he heard about the business?’
‘I don’t know. Tommy’s gone to find him, I think, to have a chat. But Christina was crystal clear on the water front. She said that yes, he was a grown man, and yes, he should be responsible for any bad decisions, but Belinda’s influence had been insidious and devastating. Roger would have heard that.’
I nodded. ‘Good. Do you think he knew all along about Hugo being gay?’
‘No. Not that he’d have minded. I mean, eventually.’
‘Did you know?’
‘Of course,’ she said in her sphinx-like tones.
Of course. And for the first time, I thought there was something wrong about Christina, Iris, and Etta’s loyalty to Hugo: their conspiracy of silence. When, after all, has being an ostrich ever been much of a success? Yes, it was Hugo’s secret, but look how much damage keeping it quiet had done. I was pretty sure if I’d known, or Roger, it would have come out. At least, we’d have persuaded Hugo to let it come out. Roger wouldn’t have even have bothered to do that, he’d have just foghorned out the news over lunch one day.
‘So you’re gay, boy. Well, fine, each to his own. But for God’s sake own it. Be yourself!’
It would be a bit crass, a bit awkward, as Peter would say, sure. But as I often pointed out to my son, there were worse things in life than awkward. And it would have put out Belinda’s nasty little fire in one great sloshing bucket. Broken her horrid little threatening, tugging, umbilical cord, alternately cloying, then withdrawing. Yes, there was a lot to be said for Roger’s approach to life. And there was surely a lot of danger in well-meaning, non-confrontational silence. Iris would no more have shared that news than reveal her own true self, which only meant a life less lived, as far as I was concerned. I loved Iris: at many times had wished I was more like her, but the fact remained I was firmly in Roger’s camp.
I went down the hall away from the kitchen and into the empty gunroom. Turning the easel around, I unclipped the portrait. I paused, regarding it in my hands: smiled fondly at my ex-father-in-law. Then I went back down the corridor and took it out to the car, stashing it carefully. Next I went back for the easel, and finally my paints. I hesitated as I closed the boot on it all. Really? Just sneak away? Not tell anyone you’re leaving, not say goodbye, just leave without a word? Of course I couldn’t. But I quaked at the thought of Belinda. And Roger was out of the question right now, so shattered, so sad – probably crying, which he did a lot. I remember witnessing it, years ago, when we’d watched a documentary about the Somme. Roger was a very emotional man. I decided to go upstairs and track down Christina, packing. Knock on her bedroom door.
I went back in, but bypassed the main staircase. Instead I crept softly to the far end of the house where the back stairs were. Unobserved, I nipped up the narrow flight, but unfortunately, someone else was nipping down. Tommy. He and I came face to face, and since he was descending at speed, we very nearly cannoned into each other. The stairs gave him more than his usual height over me, and when we’d both recovered from our surprise, he looked down at me. His face was suddenly impenetrable, his blue eyes unusually guarded. He glanced at the car keys in my hand.
‘Off somewhere?’
‘Oh, yes. I – I just came to say goodbye.’
‘To who?’
‘To – well, to everyone, really.’ I floundered. ‘Well, no, Christina, I thought.’
His eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘Did you? Is that what you thought? Just Christina. Ask her to pass it on. And then – what, disappear? Just like that?’
‘Well, no, not just like that.’ I could feel myself reddening.
‘It’s a good moment to run, I’ll give you that. A good day to get away. No one will notice.’
‘I wasn’t running, Tommy. I just feel … I don’t know. Maybe I’m in the way.’
‘How very English.’
‘After all, I’m not really family.’
‘Lord, no. Not involved at all.’
I didn’t like his tone, but at that moment we heard Belinda clear her throat from below, and then her quick footsteps down the hall towards us. I froze. He jerked his head. Fear kicking in, I instinctively nipped upstairs after him, then down the passage and into one of the spare rooms off the landing, clearly his.
We listened from behind the closed door. There was no sound of Belinda following and he motioned for me to sit beside him on the end of the bed. I felt rather ashamed suddenly, rather foolish, and decided to speak first.
‘You’re right,’ I agreed. ‘It was shabby of me not to come and find you. But firstly you were with Roger, and secondly …’
‘Secondly?’
‘I … I thought you might be embarrassed.’
He blinked. ‘Me? Really?’
‘Yes. You know – by your, sort of – you know. Declaration.’ I could feel my face burning up.
‘Declaration?’
‘You know.’ He wasn’t going to help me out at all. ‘In Newlyn.’
His eyes widened in pseudo astonishment. ‘Oh, that declaration. That little outburst of frivolity and nonsense. Lord, no, I stand by every word of that.’
I stared at him in surprise. His smile was ironic, though.
‘You do?’ I said uncertainly, knowing at any moment he could wrong-foot me.
‘Jeepers, yes. You make a declaration, by God you stand by it. Where would America be if Jefferson hadn’t stood by his?’
‘Well …’
‘Or your own excellent little island, even. If William the Conqueror hadn’t nailed his colours to the mast, then stuck to them?’
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘God, yes. Absolutely yes. You see, the thing is, Flora, I think you’re the one who’s embarrassed. I think you’re the one who hasn’t allowed herself to think through what I’ve said, and work out what your feelings are. So you decided you’d just grab your portrait and scuttle off home. Dodge the whole issue. Hide away in your garret. But I’ve caught you, so you kind of have to give it some thought, otherwise – jeez, where does that leave me? Squashed? Rejected? Spurned?’
‘You’ve never been any of those things, Tommy Rochester.’
His mocking eyes changed abruptly. For the first time ever, I saw real hurt there. His chin went up. ‘Don’t make me do it again. That would be harsh.’
He did mean it. And he’d meant it at the time in Newlyn. I’d known that, too, and he was right, I’d shielded myself. It hadn’t been hard, a great deal had happened since then, but now I allowed myself to believe it. To believe that thi
s funny, handsome, confident, clever, wise-cracking, kind – incredibly kind – man, who could surely have any woman he wanted, could actually be in love with me. Had been in love with me, for a long time.
As I finally allowed myself to absorb the truth, it was as if a sluice gate burst within me. A torrent of emotion poured through. All the pent-up feelings of so many years released, because the thing was, I’d known this man for a long time, but vicariously, through other people. I’d never allowed myself to know him personally. I’d kept him at a distance. And perhaps deliberately misinterpreted him. Yet why would Hugo, the sweetest of men, not have a best friend who was thoroughly decent? Why would Peter turn to his adored godfather for advice over the years as I knew he did, rather than his own father? Yet whenever he was mentioned, I’d make a joke. ‘Oh Tommy,’ I’d say. ‘That old roué. What would he know?’ I’d spin him into someone different. Why? A defence mechanism? Mirroring Tommy’s self-confessed defence strategy, his snide mocking of me? Perhaps. Maybe we were both at it. When Shona had recently revealed a friendship, I’d questioned it immediately, had never allowed myself to know the real man, the one they all saw. And allowed was the right word. In case that way madness lay. More grief. More pain. Because recently, I’d learned how dangerous Tommy Rochester really was. He made me feel safe.
He must have seen some sort of awakening in my eyes, some sort of realization. A yielding and an acceptance. I didn’t know – couldn’t know – if I loved him yet, but that light was enough for Tommy. I’m sure he’d seen it a lot over the years, and it had surely never taken so long, but recognize it he did and Tommy wasn’t slow. He took me in his arms and kissed me and I didn’t resist. Not for one moment. In fact it was lovely. I had been kissed, quite recently, by Ted, but not like this. And never like this by Hugo, Tim, or Rupert – this was in a different league. I felt myself joining in with such enthusiasm that when Janey opened the door, we were both oblivious. Obviously we sprang apart a moment later – or, rather, I sprang away from Tommy.
Janey stared in surprise. Then a slow smile spread over her face. It became a huge grin.
‘Oh my,’ she drawled. ‘Now isn’t that what this house needed? And there was I thinking it was all doom and gloom. All gothic novel and Fall of the House of Usher. This is much more like it.’
‘Butt out, Janey,’ Tommy told her.
‘Oh, I’m well on my way. And frankly, I couldn’t be more pleased. Santé!’ She swept an elaborate low curtsy with lots of hand-wafting and left the room backwards. ‘Carry on!’ she told us before she shut the door. And, after Tommy had nipped up to lock it, I’m ashamed to say … we did.
32
A few hours later I was driving back to London with the window open, Dire Straits blaring, and a banging heart. I also had a huge smile on my face. Tommy had agreed we’d take it slowly, take it gently, this courtship, but with a huge smile on his face, too, and somehow, I knew he wouldn’t.
‘The thing is,’ I’d whispered earnestly, my head on his chest, wondering what on earth I was doing having sex in Belinda Bellingdon’s best spare room at this particularly tragic moment in time, ‘the thing is, Tommy, it’s obviously early days. Yes, we’ve known each other for years, but we haven’t seen each other. I don’t really know you.’
‘God, no, you’re right.’ He contrived to look terrified. Inched away from me. ‘How chilling. I could be anyone. Who the hell are you?’
‘Seriously, though, Tommy, let’s not rush into anything, just because – you know.’
‘You’ve slept with me? Seduced me? While the whole house is in mourning?’
I covered my face in shame, moaned low, and slid under the duvet. He roared.
‘Stop shouting,’ I hissed, popping my head up.
He composed himself with difficulty. ‘Tell you what,’ he said in a stage whisper, ‘I’ll leave my calling card whenever I’m in town, which is about twice a year, and then we can perambulate around Regent’s Park together taking the air. How’s that?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s—’
‘Too slow? OK, OK. So why don’t we skip the formalities and ship you and your easel over to New York for a bit? You can paint a few pictures and have the whole Village at your feet, and then in no time at all we can move to Connecticut and have loads of children?’
‘Well no, obviously that’s out of the question—’
‘So somewhere in between?’
‘Ye-ess,’ I said, confused. ‘Somewhere in between.’
‘OK, I’m all ears. You run me through that little scenario.’ He locked his hands behind his head on the pillows and grinned cheerfully at me. ‘I leave on Tuesday, by the way.’
‘You do? Oh.’ I propped myself up a bit and frowned down at him. ‘And you’re back?’
‘In the fall. After Thanksgiving. Actually, maybe nearer Christmas.’
‘Oh.’ My face fell.
He rolled over on top of me and regarded me in delight. ‘You already know you’re going to do it.’ He chortled. ‘You already know that for once, Flora Bellingdon, you’re going to say damn it, this isn’t a rehearsal. I will follow this devastatingly handsome man with his spectacular sexual magnetism across the pond. I will walk across Central Park every day to the studio he’s found me in SoHo. I will succumb to his irresistible charm.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You already know!’ he said happily. ‘You will, you’re in love with me.’
I knew nothing of the sort, I thought, palms rather sweaty on the wheel but still unable to stop smiling as I roared up the slip road to the M5. I was nothing short of outraged, frankly, at the magnitude of his arrogance and gall.
In the event, of course, I did it. I went. In an embarrassingly short space of time. Well, three months. Just before Christmas, there I was, stepping off a plane at JFK Airport. Just for a visit, I’d told him on the phone. But as I flew into his arms at Arrivals I knew it was forever.
‘You ran,’ he said huskily in my ear, when we’d kissed.
‘Did not.’
‘You did, dragging your bag. Look – it nearly lost its wheel.’
The notion of forever was confirmed, ridiculously, in my mind, as we sailed over Robert F. Kennedy Bridge minutes later in his sensationally smart something-or-other. I’m rather afraid it might have been an Aston Martin. Tommy was casually spinning the wheel with one hand and looking extremely handsome, and I was sneaking glances and wondering if I could really be so shallow as to be incredibly impressed. Another glance at his knowing, grinning profile told me he knew I was impressed and that the whole thing was hopeless. I broke into a grin and felt my heart soar.
To be fair, prior to all this frivolity, the preceding three months had been of a much more sobering variety. Infinitely grimmer. A great deal had happened. Tommy had delayed his departure on the Tuesday and stayed another week in London. During that time, he and Hugo had gone, with Roger, to a meeting of the Environmental Audit Committee at the House of Commons. There, in hallowed chambers, they’d confessed that the strict maintenance guidelines imposed by the Environment Agency had, indeed, been breached. They cited pressure from the shareholders to maintain profits, but realized that was no excuse. The devastation, and the raw sewage spills, which, when Shona was given the go-ahead to investigate, with the help of Ted, who was like a rat up a drainpipe – were colossal.
According to Babs, Shona’s report made the national as well as the local news. I didn’t watch it. Neither did Peter. Apparently, Hugo even allowed himself to be interviewed. He admitted that many mistakes had been made. He held himself entirely accountable, fell cleanly on his sword, and resigned forthwith. Babs said it was rather moving and dignified. She said that Shona had said very little. Had let him do the talking. She said the footage of the cracked and broken water pipes, unearthed from the ground and leaking into rivers with dead fish floating in them, was not pretty. Mum saw it, too, in London. The fine levied on the company by the sentencing council was the largest ever
imposed on a private company; they were made an example of. Bellingdon Water lost its account with South West Water. That accounted for seventy percent of its business and the company collapsed and went into liquidation.
Having said he was going back to America, Tommy, in fact, flew back to London fortnightly. I saw him as much as possible, but mostly he was in oak-panelled rooms in the City with Hugo and Roger and the receivers – and a lot of angry workers. He was doing what he did best: helping people and trying his best to salvage something. A few investments Roger had made were what remained, once the terms for redundancy pay had been scrupulously adhered to. Trewarren House and the estate were to be sold. Roger, Tommy said, after his initial shock, was measured and patient. If he became scandalized by or angry at the trail of Hugo’s woefully bad decision-making, which now became glaringly apparent, he simply left the room. Had a walk around Liverpool Street and then came back. And anyway, they didn’t dwell on the mistakes, but the absolute commitment to do the very best for the workers Roger had known for years. To make sure they were all right. He and Tommy did most of the talking with the receivers, I gather, but Hugo was in full agreement.
Hugo, Tommy told me, when yet again he’d returned to my flat well after ten at night, exhausted, slumped on the sofa with the supper I’d cooked hours ago on our knees, was strangely calm. In fact, he’d almost go so far as to say Hugo was relieved by the turn of events.
‘It’s weird. It’s almost like he’s been waiting for this day.’
‘I can imagine that,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s probably worse living with such tremendous pressure, a guilty secret. A knowledge that you’ve done wrong. Once it’s out and the axe has fallen – well, you can’t go any further down.’
‘Particularly when you’ve attempted suicide already.’
A Cornish Summer Page 34
