JAKE HESITATES IN the doorway of Salago, keeping back in the shadows, his eyes fixed in amazement on Kit, who sits at a little table at the edge of the pavement outside The Brioche. When he drew a blank in London Jake’s instinct brought him to the West Country; to The Keep, where the Chadwicks have lived for centuries. He booked a room at the Royal Seven Stars Hotel in Totnes.
Way back, Kit always drove him from London to The Keep in that crazy little car she called Eppyjay because the number plate was EPJ: a Morris Minor convertible. She always preferred to drive than to go by train and he was surprised that, after all these years, he remembered the journey so clearly, though he was more cautious once he turned off into the lanes around Staverton and headed towards The Keep.
Finding nobody at home he decided to go back to Totnes; to explore the town the Chadwicks loved so much and which he’d visited with Kit all those years ago. He drove slowly in the narrow lane, his window down, observing the cows crowded together in the shade of a huge oak tree, tails swishing at the tormenting flies; a family of swallows balancing on an overhead wire; a tangle of creamy-pink dog roses in the hedge. The lane was rutted with dry pink earth, ditches choked with bleached feathery grasses and tall purple loosestrife, the air was hot and shimmering blue. The scents drifting through his window were rich and sweet, and evocative of summers long past.
Jake let the engine dawdle. He had only to close his eyes to see them all, that great extended Chadwick family – and Kit, his love, his friend, his soul mate. Yet they’d lost each other. Had they been too laid-back, enjoying their relationship whilst wondering if there might be something more, something better, further on? Perhaps they’d both believed, deep down, that they would finish up together but they’d pushed their luck too far. He’d been afraid to drop the mask of light-heartedness that hid his very real love for her lest it should frighten her off and Kit – despite his regular proposals of marriage – had been unwilling to commit until it was too late.
And now, coming upon her unexpectedly, he stands in the shadows watching her as she laughs and talks with her companion. She is showing him something she has bought from one of the stalls in the market across the street: a scarf, which she throws around her neck with a flourish whilst he smiles his approval. Jake recognizes him: Sir Mungo Kerslake, actor and director, sixties theatre and film icon. It is such a shock to see her there, as if his thoughts and memories have given her life, brought her into being. A shock, too, that though many years have passed she is still so like the Kit of his heart. Perhaps it is because he has been looking for her, hoping to see her, that he sees through the changes that time has made, but it is still a shock to find her so quickly, so easily; sitting with the pretty scarf thrown around her neck, clasping the mug of coffee, smiling at Sir Mungo. There is an ease between them, a casual give and take that indicates a comfortable friendship. Jake’s instinct and experience tells him that they are not lovers, but this scene has taken him by surprise. He wonders if she is staying with Sir Mungo rather than at The Keep, and he realizes that he knows very little about her private life. They exchange birthday cards each year, which sometimes contain small news items, but nothing has indicated that she has ever been deeply involved with another man.
Suddenly he feels nervous. The impulse that drove him to write to her, and that has buoyed up his spirits for so long, shrivels in his gut. He should have waited for a response to his letter instead of acting on his instinct that it was foolish to waste time; to come to find her. As Jake hesitates, Mungo gets to his feet and strides off down the street. Kit picks up her cup and leans back in her chair, relaxed, watching the market traders. Hoisting up his flagging confidence, pulling on a mask of light-heartedness he is far from feeling, Jake moves out of the shadows and into the sunlight at the edge of the pavement beside her table. She glances up at him idly, the mug halfway to her lips, and freezes into immobility as she stares at him.
‘Jake?’
He sees the word form, rather than hears it, and he smiles at her and slips into the chair that Mungo vacated. She puts the mug down, still staring at him – in horror? In disbelief? He can’t quite decide, but knows he must seize the moment before his courage utterly deserts him.
‘I love the scarf,’ he says. ‘And I recognized Sir Mungo Kerslake. What exalted company you keep.’
It’s as if this casual approach disarms her because she relaxes back into her seat and picks up the cup again and begins to laugh.
‘I simply don’t believe this,’ she says. ‘It’s crazy. Impossible. I was hiding from you, for God’s sake.’
And now he laughs too, though his heart is pumping violently and she will never guess at the depths of his relief.
‘I couldn’t find you in London so I came down to see if you might be at The Keep. May I join you?’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Pull up another chair for Mungo and go in and order some coffee. They’ll bring it out for you.’
He gets up, hesitates. ‘You won’t disappear while I’m gone, will you?’
She stares at him, and for the moment they are both quite serious. ‘Of course I won’t,’ she says. ‘I promise. Go and order the coffee, Jake, while I recover from the shock.’
He pulls another chair across from a nearby table and goes into the café, looking back at her, before joining the little queue at the counter.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mungo drops a bag on to the third chair and sits down. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I have,’ she says. ‘You won’t believe this. Jake’s here. In there,’ she jerks her head sideways, ‘ordering coffee.’
‘No!’ Mungo turns to peer into the interior of the café. ‘Don’t tell me he just walked up and said “Hi”?’
‘You don’t have to look so pleased about it,’ she says, irritated by his insouciance. ‘You look positively gleeful. I was supposed to be in hiding, remember?’
‘But it was never going to last, was it, sweetie? You’ve had time to think, we’ve talked it all over, but you were always going to want to see him.’ He leans forward. ‘Did you recognize him at once? What does he look like?’
‘You are impossible, Mungo,’ she exclaims. ‘This is not a movie set. This is my life.’
‘Of course it is.’ He settles back. ‘But you have to admit that it’s rather fun. Now come on. First reactions.’
She shakes her head, begins to laugh. ‘I give up. Perhaps it is a movie set. I can’t believe this is happening. He was just standing there … Here he comes. Oh God …’
Mungo stands up as a tall man in jeans and an open-neck shirt comes out of the café. He looks like an academic; iron-grey hair, dark brown eyes – rather George Clooney-ish.
‘Very nice, sweetie,’ Mungo murmurs appreciatively to Kit, before holding out a hand to the newcomer.
‘Come and sit down,’ he says. ‘Kit tells me that you’re Jake. I’m Mungo Kerslake.’
‘I know who you are,’ says Jake. ‘It’s a great honour to meet you, Sir Mungo.’
‘Oh, don’t do that,’ says Mungo, pretending embarrassment but really rather pleased. ‘Kit’s in shock at you suddenly appearing like the Demon King in the pantomime, but I’m not going to be tactful and disappear in a puff of smoke. I’m much too interested.’
He moves his shopping from the chair and Jake sits down, glancing at Kit, who rolls her eyes and shakes her head as if disassociating herself from the proceedings. But Mungo can see that Jake is quite pleased to have a third party at this reunion. It takes the pressure off and lends an air of celebration.
‘It’s tremendous luck,’ Jake is saying, with another cautious glance at Kit, ‘to meet right here, so unexpectedly. I went to Kit’s flat in London first but then decided to try her family.’
‘Ah, so you’ve been to The Keep,’ says Mungo approvingly. ‘Good detective work but, you see, she’s staying with me. You’d never have found us, tucked away in our valley, so you’re right. It’s a great stroke of luck that we should all be here today. It must be fate.’
‘Mungo,’ mutters Kit. ‘Shut up.’
Jake laughs. ‘No, no. Don’t stop him. It’s good to see the great impresario at work. I suspect he’s taking notes.’
‘To the creative mind nothing is ever wasted,’ says Mungo with satisfaction. ‘Ah, here’s your coffee, Jake.’ He waits whilst cups are cleared and then beams upon them both. ‘Now then, where shall we have lunch? My place?’ He raises an eyebrow at Kit, who gives a barely discernible nod. ‘Or do you have other plans, Jake?’
‘No.’ Jake looks startled. ‘That would be extraordinarily kind. Are you quite sure? I must admit I had no plans.’
‘That’s settled then. You have a car?’
‘It’s in the car park of the Seven Stars Hotel. I’m staying there for a few days.’
‘Then we can pick you up as we come past and you can follow us out.’
‘I can’t believe my luck,’ says Jake, smiling at Kit.
‘He’s even a good cook,’ says Kit drily. ‘Which, as you will probably remember, I am not.’
‘Oh, I remember all sorts of things,’ he answers, smiling a little secret smile.
Disconcerted, Kit bites her lip and Mungo beams delightedly upon them. His Machiavellian tendencies have come to the fore again and he’s decided to encourage this second-time-around love affair. If Kit doesn’t want this gorgeous man she must be crazy; meanwhile it will be fun watching things develop.
‘I suppose you know what you’re doing?’ asks Kit later, as she drives her bright yellow drop-head Volkswagen Beetle through The Plains towards the hotel. ‘I don’t remember this being in the script.’
‘We hadn’t got as far as the script, sweetie,’ says Mungo. ‘We were just considering the options. I like your Jake. Look, there he is, hovering in the gateway there. I’ll wave to him. That’s it. Onward. Keep him in sight.’
Confused, nervous, Kit drives on, glancing from time to time in her rear-view mirror to make certain that Jake is behind them. She’s unprepared for this feeling of joy that has engulfed her at the sight of him – and at the odd sensation that they have met again after a few short weeks instead of twenty years. It’s crazy to feel like this. And Mungo, sitting beside her, humming happily, isn’t encouraging her to behave sensibly.
‘We’ll have a ménage à trois at the smithy,’ he’d said, as they’d walked back through the market to the car park while Jake headed off to the hotel. ‘You and Jake can move into the barn. What fun!’
‘You are impossible,’ she cried. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side.’
‘Oh, I am, sweetie,’ he said. ‘Not many people get a second chance, you know. You should grab it with both hands.’
‘And who would you like a second chance with?’ she asked sharply. But he simply shook his head.
Now she can see him peering in the wing mirror, keeping an eye on Jake’s car, and she laughs.
‘I think you’ve fallen for him yourself,’ she says.
‘It wouldn’t take much,’ he agrees. ‘He doesn’t sound very French, does he? I imagined someone more Gallic.’
‘His mother was English and he was brought up in England. He went to Ampleforth and the LSE. His family are bankers. Actually, one of the things I was imagining was that he’d have become much more foreign, a stranger, which would have made it so much easier, of course. But he’s just the same. Older, of course, but still utterly Jake. Gosh, it was a shock to see him standing there.’
Actually, she’s relieved that Mungo is here. She can’t imagine how she would have handled that scene outside the café without him. Mungo has managed to turn it into something rather fun, something quite natural, whilst giving her a breathing space. At the same time, he makes her feel nervous. She can feel the vibes coming off him; she can see the excitement of it sparkling in his eyes at the prospect of this new production.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ she says, ‘don’t invite him to stay at the smithy. Not yet, Mungo. Promise me.’
‘It seems a pity,’ he answers, rather reluctantly. ‘It would be such fun. Though you might be right. Mustn’t rush things.’
‘If you do, I shall go straight back to London,’ she warns him, ‘and I shall never speak to you again.’
‘Indicate early,’ he advises, ignoring this, ‘so he knows you’re turning right. Give him plenty of warning.’
Feeling irritated, excited and anxious all at once, she drives across the bridge and turns towards Ashburton.
‘He’s still with us,’ says Mungo. ‘Good. I give him full marks for coming to find you. I do so approve of that. I like a man who knows what he wants. Let’s face it, left to you, you’d have just sat and talked about it. He’s got up and put himself out on a limb. And he really has, you know. It must have cost quite a bit of courage to confront you like that after all these years. Don’t underestimate it.’
‘I’m not,’ replies Kit rather crossly. She’s torn between being irritated at his criticism of her cowardice and flattered by Jake’s determination. ‘But I still have to feel right about it, don’t I? It’s not just to do with how brave Jake is.’
‘No, of course not,’ says Mungo, rather contritely. ‘I just don’t want you to miss out on something good. Better a sin of commission than a sin of omission.’
‘You always say that.’
‘Well, think of a situation where it isn’t true. Aren’t most of your regrets for things you didn’t do rather than for things you did?’
‘Oh, shut up, Mungo. I can’t concentrate on that now,’ she says, her eyes darting to the mirror to check that Jake is still there and then signalling left. ‘I’m in an advanced state of shock, can’t you see? Stop nagging at me and tell me how to play the next scene.’
Following them, Jake is also in shock. He has an odd desire to burst out laughing with the sheer relief and joy of it all. To see Kit sitting there, so much like herself, her greeting and then Mungo’s arrival have all combined to make him feel almost euphoric. It is eight months since Madeleine died. He misses her gentle presence but it was never a marriage of real fusion. Her hero-worship for him quickly morphed into strong maternal care for her four daughters, and then for their children. She was most herself when she was pregnant, with her little brood around her, and then as a devoted grandmother. They were happy enough but they never shared the fun, the closeness, the passion, he’d known with Kit. It was as if an essential part of him had withered. Yet in London, in the West Country, that once vital essence began to stir again. Driving back from The Keep, the memories returned, fresh and vivid, and when he saw her at the little table he felt reconnected with that Jake of the past; the Jake who loved Kit.
He was faithful to Madeleine in his fashion; he loves his children, and their children, and nothing can change that. Surely now, though, there might be a chance for him to be complete, to be whole again, without disloyalty and damage.
He follows the little yellow Beetle – how typical of Kit to have a yellow Beetle – as if his life depends on it. Weaving through the town of Ashburton, diving down narrow lanes, he feels as though he is plunged into adventure. Mungo has added an extra dimension, given them the opportunity to renew connections within a secure framework, and Jake is very grateful for it. He knows, though, that he must go carefully. Kit’s reluctance to commit might still be a real problem. He hardly dares believe that it is her love for him that has prevented her from making any other lasting attachment.
Yet at the end, she offered to go with him to Paris, to marry him. He remembers his pain, the disbelief.
‘Twelve bloody years,’ he said to her, ‘and you’re three months too late.’
He closed down on the pain; put it away. He was able to compartmentalize his life so that those years in London became a part of his past that he rarely visited. Remembering, he wonders how he and Kit managed to survive so long back then as lovers without any proper conclusion to the relationship. Of course, Kit had been sharing a flat with Cynthia – nicknamed Sin – since student days and neither of them seemed to have any inclination to disturb the status quo: Sin working as an archivist at the British Museum; Kit at the art gallery in Kensington Church Street. Kit often spent nights at his flat and Sin was never short of boyfriends. The three of them were content to keep a measure of independence, have fun, share outings; he and Sin were regular guests at The Keep. To an outsider it must have looked as if they were having the best of all worlds, and then Kit met Mark. He was giving her advice about starting her own business and she was clearly attracted to him.
Now, Jake wonders why that was the breaking point: the last straw. Immersed in his own anger and jealousy, back in Paris for his grandmother’s funeral, he allowed himself to be comforted by Madeleine who’d loved him since she was a child. She knew Kit, had met her, knew Jake loved her. Later, Madeleine told him: ‘I saw my chance and took it’ and occasionally he wonders if she hoped that a child might be the outcome. He is still capable of a twinge of guilt when he thinks about it – he was so much more experienced and he should have known better – but it comforts him that she had so much joy from her children and grandchildren, that they shared many happy family moments. But now he is alone and free to follow his heart – and his heart has brought him back to England and to Kit.
The yellow Beetle passes a cottage, indicates left and slows down. Mungo is clambering out and coming towards him, showing him where to park. He has arrived.