‘SUCH ENERGY,’ SAYS Mungo, watching Joe pedalling at high speed round and round Camilla’s yard on a brightly coloured plastic tractor. ‘Can you remember being like that?’
He feels he has seen Joe somewhere before but can’t think where.
Camilla frowns. ‘I don’t remember much before I was about seven and had my first pony. Anyway, it’s difficult to know what it is you actually remember and what is received wisdom, isn’t it? I think I was rather a bossy little girl. Archie says you were always making up games and bullying your friends into taking part. Either that or playing with pretend friends. He says you preferred pretend ones because they always did exactly as you told them.’
They both laugh.
‘Not much change there then,’ says Mungo. ‘It was clearly an excellent apprenticeship for my career.’
‘Did you read that review in the Telegraph of whatshisname’s autobiography? He says you were an absolute martinet. Terrified him into submission when you were directing him in some play or other.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Mungo indignantly. ‘I was like a father to him. Taught him everything he knows. Millie, that child will get heatstroke if he goes on like that. I left Mopsa in the kitchen because the midday heat is too much for her.’
‘Emma’s due back any time now.’ Camilla glances at her wristwatch. ‘Are you sure you won’t stay to lunch? I wish you would.’
‘I’ll wait and see if I like her,’ says Mungo candidly. ‘We’ll have a code so that there’s no embarrassment. Now what shall it be?’
‘Too late,’ says Camilla. ‘I hear a car coming up the drive.’ She calls to Joe, who is still circling on the tractor, ‘I think Mummy’s back,’ and then walks round the side of the house where a small car has come to a stop. ‘Yes, it’s Emma.’
Mungo follows her, waiting at the entrance by the barn whilst Camilla goes forward to greet her. He stares in astonishment. It is the girl from the Dandelion Café; the girl who was in conversation with the tough young man. And, of course, that’s where he saw Joe: the little boy drinking the milkshake. He is seized by curiosity. Camilla has told him that this Emma’s husband is out in Afghanistan, so who was the man with her in the café?
Camilla is bringing her forward, introducing her, and Mungo takes her hand, delighted by this new development.
‘Hello, Emma,’ he says warmly. ‘Camilla says that you’re settling in very happily at the cottage. I’m just up the lane if you need any help. You must come and see me.’
‘Thank you,’ she says.
‘I’ve been invited to lunch too,’ he says, beaming at Camilla. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not,’ Emma says. She glances behind her at the car. ‘I think I need to get Dora out. It’s so hot, she’ll be boiling.’
‘Well,’ murmurs Camilla, as they watch Emma leaning in, unstrapping Dora from her seat, ‘it didn’t take you long to make up your mind.’
‘You didn’t tell me that she was so pretty,’ he says, ‘but remember that I’m no good with babies. You must deal.’
Joe appears beside them. ‘I’ve been riding on the tractor, Mummy,’ he shouts. ‘Come and watch me.’
Camilla takes Dora from Emma. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she says tenderly to Dora. ‘Just a few minutes,’ she says firmly to Joe, ‘and then you must come in and wash your hands. Lunch will be ready by then.’
Talking to Dora, she carries her off into the house. Mungo glances at Emma to see if she minds Camilla’s appropriation of her role, but Emma looks quite content with this relief from her responsibilities.
‘She’s amazing with them,’ she says, as if answering his unspoken question. ‘It’s wonderful when somebody else takes charge for a moment.’
‘Yes,’ says Mungo. ‘It must get tiring coping all on your own.’
‘Bath-time is the worst,’ she tells him. ‘But you get used to it. Still, it’s great to get out and have a break and meet up with friends …’
She falls silent and they stand for a moment, watching Joe, who is showing off and pedalling as fast as he can. Mungo is aware of a certain tension emanating from her. From the corner of his eye he sees her fingers clench and unclench on the long strap of the bag that hangs over her shoulder.
‘You must meet Kit,’ he says lightly. ‘She’s a very old friend who is staying with me at the moment. You might have seen her already in the lane with my dog, Mopsa.’
Emma looks at him quickly, and then away again. ‘I don’t think I have,’ she says uncertainly. ‘Though Joe mentioned someone out in the lane with a little dog. He said she looked like a princess or a witch, but a nice one. He couldn’t make up his mind.’
She smiles but he can feel the weight of her anxiety, perhaps even guilt, and he feels immensely sorry for her.
‘A witch or a princess. That sounds like Kit,’ he says cheerfully. ‘I can never make up my mind about her, either.’
Camilla appears.
‘I’ve found the highchair for Dora,’ she says. ‘She’s all settled. Come along,’ she calls to Joe. ‘Time to wash your hands. Quickly now.’
Obediently Joe climbs off the tractor and runs towards her. ‘What shall we do after lunch?’ he asks, seizing her hand and going inside with her. ‘Shall we take the dogs up on the moor?’
Emma watches them disappear, raises her eyebrows, and gives a little shrug. ‘I wonder how she does that? It would have taken me at least twenty minutes to get him off that tractor and indoors. What’s her secret?’
Mungo smiles at her; gives her a tiny wink. ‘She was saying earlier that she was always bossy, you know. Even as a child. Old habits die hard.’
She laughs at his little joke and just for a moment she looks relaxed and at peace. Mungo thinks of that tough-looking young man and can quite understand how he might wreck one’s peace of mind. He remembers Ralph and how terrible old love nearly destroyed them all, and he realizes that Emma reminds him of Izzy; not just her gamine, waif-like Audrey Hepburn look but that same vulnerability.
‘We’d better go and wash our hands,’ he tells her, ‘or Camilla will be after us. We shan’t be exempt simply because we’re grown up. Or pretend to be.’
Emma looks at him intently. ‘I don’t always feel grown up,’ she admits. ‘Sometimes I think it’s quite scary that I’m responsible for two small children.’
‘Terrifying,’ he agrees sympathetically. ‘We’re all the same underneath, you know. Putting up smokescreens so other people don’t know how totally helpless we really feel. Well, perhaps not all of us. Not Camilla. Camilla is very grown up. But I keep forgetting that she and your mother are old friends.’
‘They were at school together and they stayed in touch afterwards. She was really good when Mum and Dad got divorced. Mum’s a bit of a scatterbrain so I think she really appreciated Camilla’s practical approach. I think she was quite grateful to have someone to tell her what to do.’
‘Ah, well now, Camilla’s just the right person for that,’ says Mungo.
Camilla reappears. ‘Are you two ever coming? Joe and Dora are waiting for their lunch.’
Mungo and Emma follow her meekly into the house.
‘Told you so,’ he whispers to her, and Emma laughs. Mungo is pleased: he feels that he has broken down some of her defences and that a kind of rapport has been established. His curiosity is aroused and he longs to know more about Emma and the man in the café. He remembers their body language, their intensity, and he has the odd sense that she might be in some kind of danger.
Don’t be such an old drama queen, he tells himself. But the feeling remains.
Kit and Archie are enjoying Camilla’s picnic, anchored up in Old Mill Creek in the shade of the woods: the water soft and still as stretched silk, boats resting on their mirror images, trees leaning to embrace their reflections. A flotilla of ducks sets out from the shadowy shore, fracturing those images, splintering the smooth surface into a thousand shining ripples. Quacking encouragingly, they paddle hopefully around The Wave, waiting for some morsel to be thrown to them.
‘Poor things,’ says Kit sadly. ‘The trouble is that these sandwiches are so delicious I can’t spare a single crumb. Camilla is so clever. You are a very lucky man, Archie.’
‘I know,’ says Archie, rather smugly, as one who has been able to pick and choose, and has chosen the best. ‘And she’ll be having a wonderful time with young Joe. Funny little chap. Very serious. Probably because of his father being away so much.’
‘Have they got a dog?’ she asks, putting a tiny yellow tomato into her mouth, crunching on its sweetness. ‘We never had one at home because we lived in a very small house in Bristol but they were always there at The Keep for the holidays. Dogs are so good for children.’
‘Joe certainly loves ours, and Emma talked about getting one but she might think she has enough on her hands just at the moment with Rob away.’
They sit companionably in the cockpit, the picnic spread before them. Seagulls wheel above them, heads cocked, yellow eyes fixed on the possibility of food. Kit draws up her legs and wraps her arms around her knees.
‘If you had to do it all over again,’ she says, ‘what would you change?’
Archie breathes deeply, smiles contentedly. ‘Can’t think of anything. Wouldn’t have minded a nice ocean-going yacht, but no point really. Camilla’s not much of a sailor.’
Kit watches him as he cuts a slice of cherry cake, sprinkles a few crumbs over the side for the ducks, who come at once, quacking and splashing. How wonderful it must be to have no regrets, no feelings of remorse for those foolish mistakes of one’s youth. It is so peaceful to be with Archie, so soothing and so safe. Yet she knows she will not be able to tell him of her dilemma with Jake. Like Camilla, he would take the rational, pragmatic view of one who has never been at the mercy of a mercurial nature. He would try to sympathize, to understand, but there would be none of that genuine empathy that she finds with Mungo or, in the past, with Izzy.
‘What about you?’ he is asking idly, finishing his cake, dropping a few more crumbs to the squabbling ducks.
‘Not having my own dog,’ she answers quickly. ‘I always thought it wouldn’t really have worked in London but sometimes I wonder if I could have managed it after all. Thousands of people do.’
‘Well, you still could,’ he says, ‘though I always feel sorry for dogs cooped up in the city and only being able to walk in parks. Doesn’t seem quite right somehow.’
Kit smiles to herself: this is the countryman’s view. Would Jake want a dog? She thinks about him, about how and where they might live together, and is seized with the now-familiar panic. Part of her longs to see him and part of her is in complete denial. She reaches for some cake and finishes her glass of white wine. Camilla has deemed it safe to allow them a half-bottle: no more, lest Archie should become careless. Archie is stretched out, knees drawn up, eyes closed, head pillowed on his rolled-up sailing smock, and Kit wishes she could stay here for ever in this quiet backwater, eating Camilla’s cherry cake. Jake is no threat here …
When Mungo read Jake’s letter he was silent for a moment and then raised his eyebrows and let a little whistle escape his lips.
‘Whew!’ he said. ‘This boy’s keen, sweetie. Rather touching after all these years. I’d like to meet him. He’s so direct and honest, yet there’s a tenderness too. It makes me feel quite emotional.’
She took the letter from him, folding it. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel the same but it’s such a huge step, Mungo. I remember the old Jake and he’ll be remembering me in the same way. It’s twenty years since we saw each other. Supposing we arrange to meet and we don’t even recognize each other? I couldn’t bear to see the disillusionment in his eyes. Imagine the horror!’
Mungo thought about it; she saw him entering into the whole spirit of it, preparing – as it were – to direct the scene. He’d be mentally casting the characters, setting the stage, writing the dialogue.
‘You were in love,’ he said. ‘And, even more importantly, you really liked each other. You were separated, never mind why and how, but the moment that he is free he thinks of you and asks to see you. You tell me that nobody has measured up to him. The trouble is that you feel resentful because he was the one who left and now he is the one who has decided to return. He’s calling the shots.’
‘Yes,’ she said at last, reluctantly. ‘That’s exactly it. I feel humiliated. He put me aside for Madeleine and now that she’s died he’s decided to pick me up again.’
‘But it wasn’t like that, was it? You said he became involved with her because you refused to commit to him, that he asked you to marry him but you didn’t want to be tied down. He was miserable and took comfort with this girl who adored him. Who shall blame him for that? Perhaps she got pregnant on purpose and poor Jake felt he must do the right thing.’
‘Oh, shut up, Mungo,’ she said irritably. ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Not mine,’ he answered surprisingly. ‘I’ll admit that I had every intention of persuading you against this. I don’t want to share you, sweetie. But this letter has made me feel differently. I think I’d rather like your Jake.’
‘Yes, I expect you would,’ she said drily. ‘He’s definitely your type! But that’s the point, isn’t it? It would change so much, including us.’
‘But there might be advantages, too. Try to be positive.’
‘I seem to have lost my nerve,’ she said. ‘It’s come as a shock and I’m afraid of upsetting the status quo, I suppose.’
‘Oh, don’t start telling me you’re too old and rubbish like that,’ he said impatiently. ‘How many people would love to have a second chance at life?’
Now, Kit rests her chin on her knees and gazes across the creek. A cormorant stands on a buoy, its wings extended, immobile in the sun; on the shingly beach waders wait for the tide to fall.
Archie regards her through half-open eyes. With her knees drawn up like that, staring over the water, she reminds him of many past days with her on the river. He wonders what she really regrets: he doesn’t quite believe that it’s simply a dog. Surely it can’t be the Awful Michael. He hadn’t cared much for the fellow but nor did he approve of Mungo’s brutal decision to put the boot in.
He said as much when Camilla told him that Mungo was planning to confront Kit.
‘But you can’t stand him,’ she cried. ‘She won’t be happy with him.’
‘I suppose we can’t know that,’ he answered uncomfortably. ‘It’s such a private thing, isn’t it? Just because we don’t like him …’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she said. ‘You know Kit far too well to believe that she’d be happy with a prosy, pompous old bore.’
‘I can be a prosy, pompous old bore,’ he muttered, hoping that she might contradict him.
‘Of course you can,’ came her devastating answer, ‘but you’re not like it all the time. Michael is. Kit’s much too good for him.’
He quite agreed with that. The prospect of losing Kit’s company on walks with the dogs or days out on the river was a big price to pay for the company of the Awful Michael. During the eighteen months of her relationship with him Archie really missed his times with Kit, though even now he can’t quite define the nature of his friendship with her. Perhaps, because she was first and foremost Mungo’s friend, it was as if he’d acquired a younger sister. Her social ease and naturalness made him feel as if he’d known her for ever. She fitted in.
‘Perhaps,’ Camilla said, ‘it’s because she’s a member of a large family. She just gets along with everybody. Or perhaps it’s because she has learned how to deal with her clients and instinctively responds to different people in the ways that are right for them. Whatever it is, she’s a great asset.’
He is pleased that Kit has Camilla’s seal of approval. These days out are precious to him. He is able to be silent – as they are at the moment – to let his thoughts wander, to enjoy the beauty of the river and the day; or to have an exchange of ideas that are always slightly unusual, and there is no stress. He doesn’t feel responsible for Kit, yet there is the pleasure of her company, of simply knowing she is there.
A motor boat putters by, The Wave bobs and rocks in its wash, and the spell is broken. Archie opens his eyes and sits up.
‘Tide’s on the turn,’ he says. ‘Just time for coffee and then we’ll have to head for home.’