TAMAR

After the funeral it seems as if everything goes into mourning for Rowena. The long spell of fine autumn weather changes: Atlantic fronts sweep in from the west, bruise-coloured clouds piling and toppling into downpours of rain. Rivers run high and fast, burst their banks, and smash small ancient bridges. In waterside communities, cottages are flooded and shops and cafés are under water; the local news is filled evening after evening with woeful stories of damaged stock and ruined carpets. Westerlies of gale force propensities sink small boats and fell trees, which crush cars beneath their flailing boughs.

Then, suddenly, all is quiet again. The storms race away to the east and a waning moon, cast about with a shawl of stars, rises in the clear night sky. The temperature drops, hoar frost whitens bare twigs and fallen leaves, and puddles creak and splinter underfoot as ice begins to form. Unprecedented low temperatures for early December are forecast and there are hints of a white Christmas.

In the drawing-room, Johnnie switches off the television and looks at Sophie, who is sitting in a big armchair with her legs tucked beneath her, writing a letter. Her fine fair hair falls forward across her cheeks and she frowns slightly as she writes. He settles himself more comfortably in the corner of the sofa, reaching a hand to Popps, who is curled beside him. Popps is missing Rowena and is trading on it by demanding more attention and extra treats. Sophie is allowing her to get away with it because she feels that, in ministering to Popps, Johnnie is allowing himself his own form of grieving.

‘She’s missing Mother, poor old Popps. How she loved this little dog, didn’t she, Sophes? She had such a soft spot for the dogs.’ And he’d give Popps another little treat and stroke her head and murmur to her.

‘Snow’s forecast,’ says Johnnie. ‘Going to be another cold night. Black ice warning.’ He chuckles. ‘How Mother hated that expression. Black ice. “What does it mean?” she’d say. “How ridiculous!”’ And he chuckles again with affection.

Sophie nods. The house seems oddly empty without Rowena’s stringent, critical presence, and she is glad that Oliver will be over tomorrow – and Jess is coming back, too.

‘I wonder if it’ll be a bit cold out in the sail loft for Jess,’ Johnnie says, as if he reads Sophie’s mind. ‘Should she be in the house, d’you think?’

‘I did mention it.’ Sophie puts aside her letter. ‘Especially after she’s had that wretched cold since the funeral, but she really wants to be out there. I think she needs to be, somehow.’

Johnnie looks puzzled and Sophie casts about for some reason that Johnnie might be able to accept. She believes that Jess is coming to terms with something personal, something private, and that the sail loft is a good place for her to be while she’s doing it.

‘Her work,’ she says. ‘You know what creative people are like. They need their own space. She’s trying to get a portfolio together while she’s here. The sail loft must be a perfect place for that, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Johnnie agrees. ‘I hadn’t thought of that aspect of it. And she can come inside if the weather gets colder. Old Fred’s back this week, too.’

He looks thoughtful and Sophie frowns.

‘I still think it was rather odd of him, just taking off like that,’ she says.

‘He said something about meeting up with an old friend.’ Johnnie shrugs evasively. ‘You know Fred. Fairly typical.’

‘I suppose so. Oh, and Oliver’s coming over tomorrow.’

‘Good.’ Johnnie sits forward. ‘I want to talk to him about this scheme of Guy’s. Oliver’s emailed me a few things. I really think it could work.’

‘I hope so,’ she says. ‘It may well be a great thing for all of us. It’s something we can all be a part of, isn’t it? You, me and Fred. Even Will, when he’s around.’

‘It would bring new life in,’ Johnnie says. ‘People coming and going and all sorts of offshoots like the RYA courses, which Fred and I are qualified to run, and skippering the boats on the day-runs. We could all take a turn at that. Lots to talk about, of course, but I feel very positive about it. I can’t wait for Fred to come back so we can tell him about it.’

Sophie laughs. ‘He’ll be in his element. And it’ll be so nice for Guy to have you both encouraging him. So long as the figures stack up.’

‘Oliver’s looking into all of that,’ says Johnnie. ‘He’s got a head on his shoulders, that fellow. No wonder he’s made a packet.’

Sophie feels a little thrill of pride. ‘I haven’t actually discussed it with him,’ she says, unable to resist talking about him but not quite knowing what to say. ‘He’s an odd mix, isn’t he?’

‘Well, he’s certainly sharp when it comes to business. He seems such a laid-back kind of chap as a rule and then you realize that under that amusing veneer is quite a tough nut.’

‘I think he is,’ she agrees. ‘He was telling me that one of the things he’s doing is providing the seed capital for a group of young scientists who have found a cheaper way to make solar panels. To quote Oliver: “It’s green, they’re great, and we shall all make money!” He’s insisted that they form a limited company and he has a seat on the board. He says it’s his job to provide the seed capital and the inventor’s job to make things grow.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Johnnie glances across at Sophie as he gently pulls Popps’ ears, wondering whether to take a more personal direction. She catches his eye and smiles defensively, not ready yet for confidences.

‘Time for Popps’ last outs,’ she says casually.

‘I’ll do it.’ Johnnie takes the hint and encourages Popps down from the sofa, and they go out.

Sophie folds the sheets of her letter and tidies the drawing-room, piling the cushions together and putting the guard in front of the fire, and goes out to the kitchen. She guesses that Johnnie knows exactly what she is feeling but she can’t bring herself to talk about those emotions just yet. She is still trying to form a plan that will enable her and Oliver to move forward without making any drastic changes to their lives. It is very difficult, with Oliver based in London, to allow the relationship to take the usual course of dating, and it would be so odd, now, to arrange to meet him at a restaurant, say, or even in a pub. It’s as if they’ve already moved far beyond that – yet she hardly knows him. Now, with his connection to Guy’s scheme and Johnnie’s enthusiasm for the project, he’s become part of the family and it’s even more difficult to play it in a more normal way. She’s glad that Johnnie hasn’t questioned her or teased her; he approves of Oliver and he’s on her side, and that’s all that matters at the moment.

*   *   *

Johnnie strolls across the lawn. The air is icy and the moon’s reflection swims clear and cold in the calm water of the river. Higher up the valley an owl hoots, a long wavering cry. He stands at the balustrade in the sea garden and stares towards the sea. He thinks about other Trehearnes who have stood here, waiting and watching, and he puts out a hand to Circe, whose skirt is smooth and slippery to his touch.

Turning, he glances up at Rowena’s window as if he expects to see her light shining out as usual.

‘Goodnight, Mother,’ he mutters and, calling to Popps, he goes back across the grass to the house.

*   *   *

When Sophie sees Oliver again she is seized with a most uncharacteristic fit of shyness.

‘Hi,’ she says, opening the back door to him, leading the way into the kitchen. ‘Johnnie’s in the Growlery getting on with the book but I was about to encourage him with coffee. Would you like some?’

He nods, and the amusement in his eyes suggests that he quite understands the reason for the shyness and isn’t going to embarrass her by drawing attention to it.

‘How is Johnnie?’ he asks. ‘Rowena’s death can’t exactly have been a shock but he must be feeling it.’

‘He does. We both do,’ she answers as she fills the kettle. ‘She was such a major presence. It feels really weird without her around somewhere. I think he’s working on the book to take his mind off it.’

‘Guy’s scheme will take his mind off it,’ Oliver assures her. He puts a laptop case on the table. ‘Johnnie and I have been exchanging emails but I think he forgets that I’m not a sailing man so I need some translation. But it’s looking good and I like Johnnie’s ideas of diversification. Old Unk, the chap who took me into his business, used to say that to be successful you have to have a widget.’

‘A widget?’

‘Mmm. The crucial thing around which the business is built. In this case it’ll be the boat itself, of course, but the more things we can think of to utilize the widget the better it’ll be. Johnnie says that he and Fred are Instructor Members for the RYA, which he seems to think will be a positive asset. What exactly does it mean?’

Sophie’s shyness has quite disappeared now. She leans with her back to the Aga rail and crosses her arms.

‘It means that both of them are qualified to teach people to sail, which might be very useful to Guy, although I’m sure he’ll want to become qualified, too.’

‘Hang on. Qualified by whom? By this RYA?’

‘Yes. It used to be called the Royal Yachting Association but they call themselves the RYA now. They’re the body appointed by the Government to issue certificates of competence and teaching certificates. If you weren’t such a landlubber you’d know that they’re very highly respected and their certificates are recognized all over the world. Johnnie could use Alice, and Fred could use his boat, come to that. It’s something they’ve often done as volunteers but at their ages they wouldn’t want to take the responsibility of trying to make it work commercially. You and Guy running the show will give them the chance to become much more involved, won’t it?’

‘It sounds like it, but I’d have to check it all out properly. Insurance and so on. And Johnnie would be happy with all these people passing through? He’s really thought about it?’

‘He’d be in his element.’ She turns round as the kettle begins to boil and pushes it to one side while she puts coffee in the percolator. ‘He’s at his best when the family comes to stay but, now that the children are older, visits have to be geared to the school holidays, so it’s not like it used to be when they were little and everyone was coming and going a lot. I think with Rowena gone he’s going to notice the draught and this would be a perfect solution.’

‘And you?’

‘Well, I’d love it, too,’ she begins, and then hesitates. She’s implying that she’ll be staying here, that they won’t be together, and she feels confused. She makes the coffee, tells herself not to be a fool, and turns to look directly at him. ‘I want us to be together somehow,’ she says firmly. ‘At least, I think I do. But I still can’t see how it is to be done.’

He comes round the table to her, puts his arms around her and kisses her. She holds on to him tightly and then relaxes.

‘We’ll sort it out,’ he says lightly, letting her go, and at once she is full of happiness and relief. He seems to understand her so well, and she feels that she can trust him. She senses that he will allow their love to develop at its own pace, embracing the people around them and the events that are taking place. There will be no dramatics, no upheavals, and she is profoundly grateful. There’s been a sense of sadness and emptiness since the funeral, but Oliver brings the prospect of change and purpose that is all a part of this exciting new love growing between them.

‘Go and say hello to Johnnie,’ she says, ‘and tell him coffee’s ready. And then you can show us how far you’ve got.’

*   *   *

‘You’ll stay with us, won’t you?’ asks Johnnie. ‘While we’re getting all this sorted out? Have you got a bic for Popps, Sophie? She’s been such a good girl all morning.’

He pours the coffee, pushes a mug towards Oliver, and sits down at the table.

‘Well, that would be very kind.’ Oliver looks pleased. ‘I’d like that.’

‘I think we all would,’ says Johnnie with a sly glance at Sophie, who is giving Popps a biscuit. ‘Tom and Cass won’t think we’re poaching?’

‘You’re joking. My father has quite enough on his plate with Gemma staying with them.’

‘But old Tom must be absolutely thrilled with this scheme, isn’t he? Of course, he was never a great sailing man but, even so, if it gets Guy and his family back home again it’s got to be good news.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be very pleased,’ agrees Oliver, ‘as long as the scheme is viable. It’s got to pay its way.’

‘It would be wonderful,’ says Johnnie, ‘getting another boat or two out on the river. People going to sea, learning to sail. Wouldn’t it make a great postscript to my book? Another generation working the river. Young Will growing up and being a part of it. And Guy’s boys, too. What could be better than to be part of such an enterprise?’

Oliver smiles at Johnnie’s infectious enthusiasm and wishes Guy was there to witness it.

‘It’s sad,’ he says politely, ‘that your mother won’t be here to see it all happening.’

Johnnie looks thoughtful. ‘Probably just as well,’ he says with devastating honesty. ‘To be perfectly frank, my mother never quite trusted anybody’s ideas but her own. We’d have had the devil of a job getting her to see the possibilities. She was very protective about the old place and I think she’d have been nervous about one or two aspects of our scheme. Not surprising at her age but, well, as it happens, it’s worked out for the best. She liked things done her way but now it’s time for change.’

‘“The generations of living things pass in a short time,”’ quotes Oliver idly, ‘“and like runners hand on the torch of life.”’

‘Yes,’ says Johnnie, after a moment, ‘that’s exactly it. Who said that?’

‘Lucretius,’ says Oliver.

‘’Course it was,’ says Johnnie. ‘So what have you got to show us on that smart-looking laptop? Let’s have some more coffee and get down to work.’

*   *   *

‘It can work,’ Oliver says to Sophie. Johnnie, having studied spread sheets and specifications of various classic boats, has gone back to the Growlery taking Popps with him. ‘I don’t mean Guy’s scheme. I mean us. We don’t have to be conventional to make a relationship work.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ admits Sophie. ‘I even wondered whether we could have our own quarters in the sail loft, but Johnnie has plans for it being a kind of clubhouse for beginners to learn the rudiments of sailing before they actually take to the water.’

‘A kind of perpetual Swallows and Amazons,’ murmurs Oliver. ‘I can just see it. Dear old Guy must think he’s died and gone to heaven.’

‘What luck that you brought him here,’ agrees Sophie. ‘It’s certainly a marriage made in heaven.’

‘D’you mean us?’

‘No. Well, yes, in a way,’ says Sophie, flustered. ‘I just meant that putting Johnnie and Guy together was a miracle.’

‘All thanks to Jess, really. She started it all.’ Oliver thinks about the photograph. ‘Something’s bothering Jess, but I don’t know what it is. Do you?’

Sophie shakes her head. ‘I knew there was something going on right from the beginning when Johnnie saw Kate in the Bedford and she told him about Jess winning the Award and about her being Juliet and Mike’s granddaughter. Rowena began to be really quite odd after that. Very preoccupied and secretive, and getting all those photographs together of the parties in the sea garden, and of the boys when they were young at Dartmouth. You remember I told you, Johnnie said he thought that Rowena was just enjoying the opportunity to talk about Al.’

‘But you didn’t believe that was true?’

‘Not entirely. I thought it might be more to do with the fact that Al died in a drowning accident and I wondered if there might have been something going on. You know?’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Well, it sounds a bit fanciful but look at it like this. Al and Mike are bosom pals and they both fancy Juliet but it’s Mike who gets her. Supposing there’s a bit more to it than that and they have a row about it when they’re out sailing and Al goes over the side?’

Oliver raises his eyebrows. ‘Goodness.’

‘Well, it sounds very dramatic,’ says Sophie defensively, ‘but I just know that there was something going on.’

‘But if Rowena suspected that Mike killed her son, would she be particularly keen to meet Jess?’

‘I can’t quite see any reason why Rowena was so anxious to meet Jess,’ says Sophie frankly. ‘That’s the whole point. She’s a sweet kid – I like her – but I still say it’s a bit odd. And now Rowena’s dead.’

There’s a silence.

‘So do you wish Jess wasn’t coming back?’ asks Oliver.

‘Good grief, no,’ says Sophie. ‘I told you, I really like her. And I feel terribly sorry for her. She was so thrilled to be here, where everything happened, and then Rowena had that attack and poor old Jess was really upset. And then, of course, she was there when Rowena died.’

‘Yes. Actually, I was surprised that Jess was so keen to come back.’

‘So was I. But I’m glad, too. Perhaps we’ll find out what this mystery is.’

‘You definitely believe that there’s a mystery?’

‘Yes,’ says Sophie firmly. ‘I do. I thought she might have said something to you.’

‘I know less than nothing about it all,’ says Oliver, remembering his promise. ‘Apart from my old pa being a member of the group way back when. I’m not much help, I’m afraid. Perhaps, now that Rowena is dead, Jess might be a bit more forthcoming.’

‘She might be. Anyway, let’s forget all that for moment. I’m glad Johnnie’s asked you to stay. Have you got any stuff with you?’

‘I have. I drove down from London, left very early and came straight here, so my bag’s in the car.’

‘Very convenient. Let’s go and sort out a room for you. Are you sure you’ll be happy in this rather communal atmosphere? Jess will be in and out, and Fred, when he gets back.’

‘I rather like it. My happiest time was when Unk and I were getting the business up and running. A friend of ours had written a very successful series of books for children called Percy the Parrot, which was made into an iconic TV programme. I had this idea of making a soft, cuddly Percy the Parrot toy and it just took off. There were T-shirts and mugs and all sorts of spin-offs. Even Unk was astounded by its success. His niece and her daughter and our designer, we all practically lived together, bouncing ideas off each other, making things buzz. As it grew and became successful we took on more and more staff and started to delegate, so that all that fun side of it became less and less necessary. The original team gradually split up after a few years and then Unk died. It had got too big, too impersonal, and that’s when I got out.’

‘I don’t think this will be like that, will it?’ asks Sophie anxiously.

‘No, no,’ he assures her. ‘This is quite a different proposition. I can see young Will and Guy’s boys coming into it and taking over when the time comes. We’re definitely in for the long haul.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ says Sophie happily.

*   *   *

The temperature drops again; there is a brief light fall of snow.

Jess drives very carefully in the icy lanes though she is still aware of the bright berries in the hedgerow and the sharp black thorns. She would like to get out and take some photographs but she is anxious to keep going lest more snow should fall and she should get stuck. Despite the anxieties that flutter in her mind, her instinct tells her that she is doing the right thing; that as a part of this story, it is her turn to take another step that will move her right into the heart of it.

She feels both terror and exhilaration and, as she drives around the curve in the lane and sees the river, dazzling in the brilliant sunshine with its two bridges slung across its shining width, her heart leaps up with joy. How strange and wonderful is this strong sense of home-coming. She turns right by the finger post at the little junction and drives down the steep hill, crosses the lane and begins the final descent to the river.

Johnnie comes to meet her, Popps bouncing and barking beside him, and he gives her a hug, his face alight with welcome.

‘I’m glad you’ve come back to us,’ he says. ‘I thought you might be put off, you know.’

‘Oh, no,’ she says, smiling up at him. ‘How could I be? Only it was awful, of course…’

She dithers, not wanting to sound too happy when Johnnie’s mother is so recently dead, but so pleased to see this warm-hearted, kindly man.

‘Awful,’ he agrees. ‘Terrible. But she was ill, Jess. We mustn’t forget that. Now, come in. Sophie and Oliver have gone to do a big shop in Tavistock just in case the weather gets worse, but you’ll be needing a cup of tea to warm you up. Sophie says that you’d still like to stay in the sail loft even though it’s so cold. She’s put an extra heater in for you.’

‘But you must let me pay towards the heating and food costs,’ Jess says firmly. ‘It’s bad enough me coming to stay, without asking you to pay for my upkeep. Honestly…’

‘Nonsense,’ he says at once. ‘You’re one of the family now, you know…’

And they argue amicably about it as they go into the warm kitchen.

‘Mother hated it in here,’ says Johnnie. ‘She could never see why Sophie and the children all congregate here. It’s nicest now when it gets the late-afternoon sun.’ He pushes the kettle onto the hotplate and turns round to smile at her. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’

She’s sliding the photographs out of her big bag and now she pushes them towards him.

‘Rowena gave them to me,’ she says. It’s not true but it doesn’t really matter. The moment has come: it is now or never. ‘I love this one.’

She indicates the top one, the wedding photo, and he leans forward to look at it. His expression is cautious.

‘Such a beautiful girl,’ he murmurs. ‘And you’re so like her. I’m glad Mother gave it to you. She was fiercely possessive about these, you know.’

‘Perhaps it was because she knew that I’d never really known Juliet and Mike,’ answers Jess, watching him. ‘I’d never seen any picture of them when they were young. Daddy didn’t have anything. He and Mike really fell out, you know. They didn’t get on at all.’

Johnnie frowns, still staring at the photograph. Jess moves it so that the other one is exposed.

‘She gave me this one, too.’

The kettle begins to whistle but Johnnie doesn’t move. He stares down at the group of young happy faces and his own face grows sad and anxious. He takes a deep breath and turns to make the tea.

‘I know who you all are now,’ Jess says. But he keeps his back to her. ‘This is Al and this is Mike and this one is Stephen Mortlake. And this is you, isn’t it?’

He turns at last and stares at the photograph. He nods. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘And this is Tom and that one’s Fred?’

He nods and she heaves a great sigh and picks the photos up.

‘I needed to know, you see.’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I can understand that. But do you mean to say that my mother knew the truth all the time?’

Jess smiles at him compassionately. ‘She thought she did but she’d got the wrong man. She thought it was Al.’

He frowns, trying to puzzle it out. ‘What did she say to you?’

‘She showed me lots of photos of all of you when you were young but this was the one she was leading up to. She was very clever. She hoped that I might recognize someone.’

‘Recognize someone? How could you? Well, Mike, perhaps. You might have seen photos of him as a young man, but how could you possibly have recognized anyone else?’

Jess looks at him, remembering. ‘It was a terrific shock,’ she says quietly, ‘but her hunch was right. But by then I’d become suspicious, you see. She was so intense about it all; asking questions about Daddy. I didn’t recognize any of you but there’s one face there that is so much like his at about that age that I gave a kind of gasp and then I knew I’d given the game away. She saw my shock and I deliberately misled her and pointed to a face I didn’t know and said, “Who’s that?”’ She gives a little groan. ‘It couldn’t have been a worse choice.’

‘It was Al,’ he says.

She nods. ‘She was absolutely jubilant. She was waiting for it and hoping for it, and the shock of it sent her into that terrible attack.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘I felt so guilty and ashamed. I was terrified of seeing her again and of what she would say. And when I did see her again that was all she wanted to hear me say: that Daddy was Al’s son.’

‘And you did?’

Again Jess nods. There are tears in her eyes. ‘She looked so ill, but she was so happy. She thought I was Juliet, you see. She said, “It was Al’s son, wasn’t it?” and I just nodded and put my head down on her wrist so that she couldn’t see my face, and then she died.’

Johnnie comes swiftly round the table and puts his arm round her. He presses his cheek against her head and she leans into him, weeping.

‘Poor Jess,’ he says. ‘Poor little Jess.’

‘I had to say something,’ she sobs. ‘You’ve all been so kind. I’m sorry.’

His arm tightens round her. ‘It’s not for you to be sorry,’ he says. ‘Will you give me just a very little time to sort things out, Jess? I promise you it’s going to be fine.’

She puts up a hand to grasp his own, nodding, wiping her cheeks with the knuckles of her free hand. Popps suddenly begins to bark, bouncing out of her basket and running to the door, and Johnnie straightens up.

‘Damn,’ he says. ‘That’ll be Oliver and Sophie back. Are you OK?’

Jess nods, sliding the photos into her bag, slipping from her chair. ‘I’ll just go and tidy up,’ she says, and disappears in the direction of the little cloakroom.

Johnnie goes back to his tea-making, takes some mugs down from the dresser. Sophie and Oliver come in, laden with bags.

‘The forecast isn’t good,’ says Sophie cheerfully. ‘We might get snowed in. Thank goodness Jess has arrived safely.’

‘Just got here,’ says Johnnie. ‘I’m making some tea.’

‘It’s freezing,’ says Oliver. ‘And me with my London clothes.’

‘There are plenty of spare jerseys,’ says Sophie. ‘Oh, hi, Jess. How are you?’

‘I’m good,’ says Jess, embracing Sophie and then Oliver. ‘It’s great to be back. I’m totally determined to try to get some work done.’

‘In this weather?’ Sophie shivers. ‘Not many flowers around at this time of the year. Listen, are you sure you want to be in the sail loft? There are bedrooms going spare, you know.’

Jess glances quickly, anxiously, at Johnnie. ‘I do, really,’ she begins. ‘I love it out there.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ agrees Johnnie. ‘Give her twenty-four hours, anyway. See how she copes.’

‘OK then,’ says Sophie. ‘But don’t blame me if you get snowed in.’

Jess and Johnnie exchange another glance. ‘I won’t,’ she says. ‘Thanks.’

*   *   *

After supper, they watch television and talk about the new scheme. Oliver and Johnnie work out an email to send to Guy, setting out some new ideas and suggestions.

‘Remember,’ warns Oliver, ‘that he mustn’t know that I’m too involved yet. He needs to be so keen and excited that he doesn’t care where the funding will come from.’

‘I should have thought he was at that stage long ago,’ says Sophie.

‘We must allow him his pride,’ says Oliver.

Johnnie goes off to the Growlery to send the email and make some phone calls, and comes back in time to say goodnight to Jess.

He gives her a kiss and murmurs, ‘Tomorrow morning, after breakfast,’ in her ear. She smiles and nods.

Oliver and Sophie, with Popps, walk Jess to the sail loft and check that it’s warm and that she has everything she needs. Sophie draws the curtains in the big room to keep it warm but, once they’ve gone, Jess draws them back. The moonlight drenches the room in a cold white light, which is chopped into fractured slivers in the black water. She stands for a moment, gazing on the magic of the night, and then goes quickly up the little staircase and into the warm cosiness of her bedroom.

*   *   *

Jess wakes to that strange but now-familiar sensation that there are other people with her in the sail loft. She washes and dresses quickly, then goes out onto the gallery-landing, and down the stairs into the big room, and all the while she is aware of a presence: the echo of a light footstep on the shining wooden boards, muffled laughter suddenly quenched. She turns her head, listening, but she isn’t frightened; she is filled with an odd kind of joyfulness as she makes her tea and carries it to the balcony window. She doesn’t slide it open but stands sipping her tea, as she did once before, watching the mist drifting above the river.

As the sun rises so the hills opposite are washed in a brilliant rosy-gold light, which slides gradually down the little sloping fields and along black hedges, chasing the night shadows, until it touches the uneven slate roof-scape of Cargreen. A small rowing boat moves out from the darkness of the walls and slips across the water. As it approaches Jess can see the man at the oars, pulling strongly, glancing over his shoulder now and then so as to avoid the few boats still at anchor out in the channel. This time he doesn’t stop. The dinghy comes on, ripples spreading across the water from the rhythmically dipping oars, until it disappears from view almost beneath her.

She takes a deep breath and turns back into the room, waiting. A shadow goes past the window and there is a light knock at the door: he is here at last. He comes towards her, looking at her intently, and she stares back at him, still holding her mug of tea tightly in both hands.

He smiles, as if he has made a great discovery, and taking her by one elbow leads her back to the big window, still gazing at her. She stares too, trying to see her father’s features in the face of this tall, broad-shouldered, much older man.

‘When did you guess?’ he asks. He is so excited, so pleased, that her remaining fears fall away and she laughs.

‘I think it was when I first saw you,’ she said, ‘rowing out of the mist and climbing onto your boat. You waved to me.’

‘But we saw each other before that,’ he reminds her. ‘That very first day you were walking along the river.’

‘Yes,’ she cries. ‘Yes, I remember. You were on your boat and I waved to you.’

‘You looked so like Juliet that I wanted to leap into the dinghy and row ashore to you.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ she asks, her smile fading. ‘I wish you had.’

He looks at her and there is sadness in his eyes. ‘Juliet forbade any contact. She said nobody must ever guess. Even when I knew that your father had come back she held me to my promise. Oh my God, there’s so much to explain, Jess. Jess.’ He repeats her name. ‘I never thought I’d meet you.’

‘But what shall I call you?’ she asks. ‘This is so weird, isn’t it? After all this time not knowing you I can’t just suddenly call you “Grandpa” or “Granddad”.’

‘It sounds rather odd, doesn’t it?’ he agrees. ‘Can’t you simply call me Freddy?’

*   *   *

They sit together at the table, looking at the photographs while Jess repeats the story she told to Johnnie.

‘Gradually I eliminated them all,’ she says. ‘Al, Mike, Stephen,’ – she points to them in turn – ‘Johnnie, Tom, Freddy. You and Stephen were the last ones I identified. Kate told me, but somehow, deep down, I had a strong feeling that the one who looked so much like Daddy must be you. Seeing you out on the river, rowing in your dinghy. Somehow you were always just in the shadows, emerging from the mist, silhouetted against the sun, and I could never quite see you. You came and went when I wasn’t around. I thought it must be you and yet it seemed that you were the least likely candidate.’

‘Ah, but that was my strong suit, you see. I was always littlest, least and last. Young Fred, little Freddy. Nobody took me seriously. My mother was Dickie Trehearne’s cousin. My father was killed at the end of the war and Dickie let us have the cottage in Cargreen and treated me as if I were another son, like Al and Johnnie. He was a lovely man. Johnnie’s just like him. But Rowena always put me and my mother in the dependent relative category, you see; that’s why it would have never occurred to her that the gorgeous Juliet would seriously prefer little Freddy to the glorious Al.’

‘Did you know she guessed Juliet was having an affair?’

He shakes his head. ‘I was away at sea when Mike met Juliet and got married. When I first saw her I was completely taken aback all standing. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I simply couldn’t hide my infatuation for her. To my surprise she responded to it. I never quite believed my luck.

‘We began this mad affair. Mike was away at sea a lot, which helped, and Rowena invited Juliet here, which was rather tricky because Al was around and we began to suspect we were being watched. She’d slip away and I’d row across and meet her. Sometimes here.’ His glance flicks around the sail loft. ‘It wasn’t like this back then but she loved it here. We were crazily happy. And that was the problem. It was crazy. It was the whole mood, that summer, of magic. Those parties in the sea garden with the little lights glinting in the darkness and reflected in the river. The girls in long dresses and all of us in uniform or black tie. We had style, you know, back then. And then Juliet got pregnant. We knew it was mine. She’d had her period just after Mike went back to sea for six weeks so there was no doubt about it. We didn’t know what to do. I wanted her to leave him but she was frightened. We were so young, you see, and she knew that her parents would be furious. Not to mention Mike …

‘Well, then Al made his move. He’d been watching us, spying on us. He told Juliet that if she didn’t sleep with him he’d tell Mike. She was very frightened then. She told him she was pregnant, hoping he’d believe it was Mike’s, of course, and that she wasn’t well and all sorts of things. He held it over her, though, and she broke it right off with me. She said she simply couldn’t cope with it all and that I must promise never to admit anything to anyone. I was a fool to go along with it but Juliet was a strong character and Mike was coming home. Fool that I was, I gave in.’

‘And what happened then?’

‘Things carried on much as usual. With Mike back home Juliet was safe from Al. The four of us, Mike and Al and Johnnie and I, went sailing. A gale was brewing up. There was an accidental gybe and somehow Al went over the side. We never found his body.’

Shocked, Jess stares at him in silence. ‘Do you mean…? What are you saying?’

Freddy shrugs. ‘Johnnie and I were below. Suddenly there was a lot of shouting and the boat gybed and when we got on deck Mike was bawling out that a squall had hit us and Al had gone over. He threw a lifebelt over the side and we did the man overboard drill but we never found him.’

‘Oh my God. Do you think that Mike … well, hit him or pushed him over?’

‘We’re never going to know the answer to that one. Johnnie thinks that Al said something provocative to Mike about Juliet and Mike hit him. Johnnie always maintained, privately to me, that he heard raised voices before the boat gybed. But it was almost certainly an accident. Nobody could have done more than Mike did to find Al.’

‘How terrible. Oh God. Poor Rowena.’

‘Mike and Juliet went to Faslane and then Mike transferred to the Australian Navy. Juliet said that Mike never talked about that summer to begin with, but then they tried for another child and nothing happened. Eventually they had tests and it showed that Mike was sterile. On top of that Patrick, your father, was growing to look more and more like me. Juliet said that as he grew up it became almost intolerable. I begged her to leave Mike and come back to me with Pat but she told me that Mike still loved her and that she owed it to him to stay. She said it was better when Pat came to England, though she missed him terribly. And then he was killed.’

Jess stares at him wordlessly, tears filling her eyes, and he stands up, pushing his chair aside, and holds out his arms to her. She gets up and stumbles into them, weeping.

‘I miss him too,’ she cries. ‘I can’t bear it,’ and he holds her tightly and mutters against her hair, though she cannot hear the words. She feels the soft cotton of a handkerchief pressed against her cheek and takes it gratefully.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘Sorry. Only it’s all been such a shock.’

‘None of it’s your fault,’ says Freddy. ‘Poor Jess. When Johnnie told me you’d turned up we agreed to play it very carefully. I kept a very low profile but the first thing I did was to phone Juliet. We always stayed in touch secretly, just so that I knew how Pat was, to begin with, and then, later on, you. Neither of us expected that you’d turn up quite like this. We had to assume that you were happy and well cared for but when you came here looking for your past I was determined that Juliet should lift the ban she’d imposed. She agreed to talk. I flew out to the States and she came from Oz and we met up in Los Angeles. She’s got friends there. It was the first time we’d seen each other for more than forty years.’

Jess stares up at him in amazement. ‘You met her? You met Juliet?’

He shrugs. ‘The time had come. No Mike to worry about now. Pat gone. It was time to think about you. To sort things out. I didn’t think that it would be too much of a shock for you. After all, you never knew Mike very well and it wasn’t going to affect Pat, so I got a bit bolshie about it. I tried to persuade her to come back with me so that we could tell you together, but she wouldn’t. She says it’s too late for us, and I agree with that, but that she hopes to see you again before too long.’

‘You did that for me?’

He smiles at her rather ruefully. ‘I suspect I wouldn’t have been a very good father, sweetheart, but I’d like to give our relationship a damned good shot. I have Juliet’s permission to tell you everything. That’s what I went for. And I got it.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Johnnie’s thrilled to bits.’

‘He knew all the time?’

‘Oh, yes. Johnnie knew everything. After the first shock he thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to set things right at last. But then he began to get a bit anxious about Rowena. He said she was behaving very oddly. He had no idea she knew anything about it, you see.’

‘She’d guessed that Juliet had had an affair, and that the baby wasn’t Mike’s, but she assumed it was Al’s child.’

‘Johnnie told me that when he phoned last night after you’d talked. It was a complete shock that she knew anything at all. It’s been a very difficult few weeks, sweetheart, but Johnnie’s just so happy about it. He hates subterfuge and lying, but we agreed that I should keep well out of the way at first. I watched you at a distance.’

‘It’s been so odd,’ she says shakily. ‘When I first came it was like I belonged, you see.’

‘And you do, sweetheart. It’s your home. My family have been here for generations. You’ve come home, Jess.’

When Johnnie arrives they are sitting together drinking tea, still talking. Jess gets up and goes to him.

‘You’re my cousin,’ she says. ‘Freddy’s told me. Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘Yes,’ he says, hugging her. ‘It’s wonderful.’

‘We’ve made a plan,’ says Freddy. ‘I’m going to take her over to the cottage now and bring her back this evening on the tide. You’ve been selected from a host of applicants to tell Sophie.’

‘And Oliver,’ adds Jess quickly.

‘Thanks,’ says Johnnie drily.

Freddy grins at him. ‘We must go while there’s still enough water. Come on, Jess. Put on something warm, it’s freezing out there.’

They all go down to the dinghy, Jess climbs down into the boat and sits in the stern. Freddy follows her, sitting down midships and shipping the oars. Johnnie drops the painter into the boat and pushes them off.

As Freddy rows, Jess watches him searching for things that will link him with her father. She recognizes the way his hazel eyes crinkle up before he smiles and she sees that the iron-grey hair would have been that same dark brown. He is strong, still vigorous, and she feels a sense of pride in him: this is her grandfather.

‘Don’t think,’ he says, between strokes, ‘that I don’t want you to stay with me. I hope you will, but it’s only fair that you see the cottage first. And anyway, I think I’ll have a bit of tidying up to do.’

Jess is glad that he hasn’t offered. The sail loft, between the big house and Freddy’s cottage, is neutral territory. Just for now it’s her own space in which to come to terms with the unexpected happenings of the last few weeks.

‘I’m glad you’re a sailor, though,’ he is saying, and he smiles at her; his son’s smile.

She feels a strong desire to burst into tears but she smiles back at him, and turns to wave to Johnnie.

Johnnie continues to watch them for a moment, raising a hand in response to Jess’s wave, and then turns back towards the house, rehearsing the story in his head.

*   *   *

‘I knew there was a mystery,’ says Sophie, her cheeks pink with excitement. ‘I just knew it. And you’ve kept it a secret all these years.’

Breakfast still isn’t over. The shock has made them all hungry and Johnnie has fried a second helping of bacon while Sophie makes more toast.

‘There wasn’t much to tell until Jess turned up,’ Johnnie says. ‘Juliet kept in touch in a very low-key way with Fred but he wasn’t allowed to write to her in case Mike saw the letters. When Pat came to England Fred begged to be allowed to see him but Juliet was absolutely adamant. Poor old Fred used to tear himself into pieces as to whether he should simply go against her wishes but, at the same time, he had no idea whether it was worse for Pat to go on believing that his father – Mike, that is – didn’t love him or to discover that his mother had been…’

He hesitates over the word and shovels more bacon onto Oliver’s plate.

‘Not a good place for poor old Fred,’ agrees Oliver. ‘And the longer it went on, I expect, the more difficult it became.’

‘And the trouble with that kind of mad affair,’ adds Sophie thoughtfully, ‘is that it’s generally based on simple lust, and Juliet probably wondered what it would be like if she actually threw caution to the winds and came back to Fred.’

‘We’ll bow to your experience in the “simple lust” department,’ says Oliver, ‘and assume that poor Juliet was between a rock and a hard place.’

‘There’s much to be said for that theory,’ says Johnnie, ignoring Sophie’s side-swipe at Oliver’s swiftly ducked head. ‘Fred was the youngest of us all, even younger than Juliet, and you wouldn’t have seen any sign of gravitas in him back then that might have helped Juliet to make the decision to leave Mike. Freddy was in his final year at Dartmouth and Mike was already third hand on Optimist.’

‘How awful it must have been for her,’ says Sophie, suddenly serious. ‘Pregnant with another man’s child, having to keep it a secret, and then going so far away from home. Poor Juliet.’

‘But before that happened,’ says Oliver, ‘Al died.’

Johnnie looks at him quickly. Oliver finishes his bacon and pushes his plate to one side.

‘Sophie was right about there being a mystery,’ he says, ‘but the point is that Rowena seemed to be tied up in the middle of the mystery.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ agrees Sophie. ‘It was Rowena who made me suspicious in the first place before Jess arrived.’

Johnnie is silent. He puts down his knife and fork and pours some more coffee.

‘I had no idea at the time that Mother suspected that Juliet was having an affair,’ he says at last. ‘Remember, it was one short summer fling, that’s all. I knew because Fred and I were so close. More like brothers than Al and I had ever been. We swam and sailed together, went fishing. All our lives we’d been inseparable. Johnnie and Fred. Freddy and John. My father and Fred’s mother were cousins and there had always been a close connection. Living across the river from each other, same schools, Dartmouth.

‘When Fred told me about him and Juliet I was very envious. Well, you’ve seen the photographs, you’ve seen Jess – what young man wouldn’t be? But even then I guessed that dear old Freddy was very slightly out of his depth. There was magic all around that long hot summer and he was enchanted. It was all a midsummer’s night dream and he was Bottom to Juliet’s Titania. When he found out she was pregnant he was horrified and then elated. “She’ll have to leave him now,” he said to me, but he was reckoning without Juliet’s streak of common sense. The dream was beginning to fade and Oberon was on his way home. Mike had specialized and he was now a submariner. Fred was still at Dartmouth. I think Juliet panicked and self-preservation came to the fore. Luckily she was just about in the time frame for Mike to believe the child was his – and anyway, he had no reason to doubt it…’

‘Until Al told him?’

Johnnie nods at Oliver. ‘That’s very quick of you. Al had guessed at the affair. He’d spied on them, and now he saw his chance. He’d always fancied Juliet.’ He sighs. ‘He was the golden boy and he wasn’t used to coming second. He threatened her, said that unless she slept with him he’d tell Mike the truth.’

Sophie stares at him in horror. ‘Oh God. What happened?’

‘Juliet attempted to reason with him, said she was pregnant and tried to stall him, but there was a bullying streak to Al and I can imagine that she was frightened of him. She told Fred it was all over, that they simply couldn’t risk being found out by anyone else. He was desperate but he did as he was told.

‘Mike came home from sea and we all went out sailing together, the four of us. Me and Fred. Al and Mike. It was something we did a lot. We’d been racing out in the Western Approaches and were on the way home. Fred and I were below. Al and Mike were on watch.’ For a moment he is silent, remembering the raised voices, the boat’s sudden gybe. ‘Al was steering. The boat gybed and he went over the side.’

Oliver waits but Sophie rushes in.

‘Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?’

Johnnie rubs his hands across his face. He’s thought about it a thousand times. ‘How can we know? The wind was really getting up. Mike said a squall hit the boat. It took Al by surprise and the boom knocked him over the side. And that’s when Mike began to shout for help. But I heard the voices, you see. I heard angry voices before the squall hit the boat. I’ll tell you how I think it was, but this is just between us. We were running before the wind and I think that Al would have been steering. Well, suppose Al taunted Mike about Juliet? Suppose a row started and Mike swung a punch at him? Al always liked to stand up to steer. He would have overbalanced, fallen backwards and swung the tiller to port. Result: an accidental gybe. The boom could have knocked Al over the side. Mike would have felt guilty, horrified, which is exactly how he behaved. When Fred and I got up on deck, Mike had flung the lifebelt over the side and was beginning the man overboard routine. We searched all night but we never found him.’

‘How ghastly,’ says Sophie. ‘How utterly awful for you all.’

‘And now you believe that your mother knew all the time?’ asks Oliver.

Johnnie gives a little groan. ‘The trouble is,’ he says, ‘when you know something to be the truth, you never imagine anyone else seeing it differently. It never occurred to me that she believed that Al and Juliet were lovers. One thing it explains, though, is why Mother was very ready to accept Mike’s story about the accident. You’d have expected her to rage about Al’s death, to question us all, and blame everyone but Al. But she was very quiet, very guarded. If she believed that Al and Juliet had been having an affair she wouldn’t have wanted to expose him; to force Mike to any kind of admissions that might prove embarrassing. But it never occurred to me that my mother had guessed about the affair until we knew Jess was coming and Mother began to behave so oddly. Even then I didn’t put two and two together. It was Jess who told me that my mother believed that Patrick was Al’s son and that she was his granddaughter. But now my guess is that Mother knew at the time about the affair but she’d assumed that it was Al who was Juliet’s lover, not Fred. She’d never have suspected little Fred of being Juliet’s lover. Al made no secret of his lust for Juliet and it probably irked my mother that Juliet had chosen Mike over Al. She probably saw much more than I ever suspected. So much of it happened here, in the sea garden, that summer. I’m beginning to think that, over the years, she’d built up a little dossier of facts to support her fragile theory that Juliet had had Al’s son. No wonder she was so excited when Jess appeared on the scene. She hoped, at last, that she’d be proved right. It would have been so important to her, you see. She made that little test for Jess with the photograph, hoping that Jess might identify Al through some likeness to her father. Poor Jess, trying to come to terms with her own shock at seeing the photo and trying to protect herself and Fred, quite by accident allowed her to believe it to be true. Mother was so elated that she had an attack and then she died before the real truth could come to light.’

‘How extraordinary that Jess should by chance point to Al,’ says Sophie. ‘Good God! What a muddle.’

‘Thank heavens she didn’t point to me,’ says Johnnie. ‘Imagine the explaining I’d have had to do!’

Both Sophie and Oliver begin to laugh at his horrified expression.

‘And at least poor Rowena died thinking that Jess was Al’s granddaughter and that his genes were being passed on. That would have meant a great deal to her,’ says Sophie.

‘It could have been much worse,’ says Oliver. ‘From what you’ve told me about Rowena, if she’d lived she’d have probably demanded some kind of restitution on Jess’s behalf.’

‘You mean that she should be living here instead of me?’ Johnnie nods. ‘Then the truth would have had to come out and poor Mother would have been devastated. It was bad enough for Al to be displaced by Mike – but by little Fred? Oh dear.’

‘And Jess is coping with all this?’ Sophie asks. ‘I mean, what a shock for her. She comes down to look for her roots and finds them with a vengeance. Thank goodness Freddy is so pleased. And to think of him going out to America to meet up with Juliet. That’s just so amazing.’

‘Freddy never forgave himself for giving up so easily on Pat. As soon as I told him that Jess was coming to visit us he began thinking of a way to persuade Juliet to break her silence. I wonder, now, whether Juliet suspected that Al had said something to Mother and that she might know the truth, or some of it. Anyway, with the three major players no longer with us she clearly believed that she could break the silence and give Jess and Fred the opportunity to get to know each other.’

They sit in silence, each thinking about this little piece of history; the story that is still unfolding.

‘You’ll tell the girls?’ asks Sophie.

‘Of course,’ says Johnnie. ‘An expurgated version. They’ll be delighted. They adore old Fred.’

‘And Will and Jess are cousins,’ says Sophie contentedly. ‘Several times removed, but cousins. He’ll be ecstatic.’

‘Thanks, Johnnie,’ Oliver says, ‘for including me in on this. I feel very honoured to be taken into your confidence.’

‘Oh, well.’ Johnnie pushes back his chair and stands up. ‘You’re part of the family now.’ He looks from Oliver to Sophie and back to Oliver. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘He’s on probation,’ says Sophie primly.

‘Yes, indeed,’ agrees Oliver thoughtfully. ‘It sounds like I might have rather a lot to live up to.’

‘Well, let’s have none of that creeping about corridors at night,’ says Johnnie. ‘I can’t stand that sort of thing. Bumping into people when I’m going for a pee. I went through all that when the girls were young. If you’re going to do it, then just get on with it.’

‘But not when Will or the children are here,’ says Sophie firmly. ‘Then Oliver stays in his own quarters until we’re sure that…’ She hesitates.

‘Until we’re sure that this is not one of those affairs that are based on simple lust,’ Oliver prompts her. ‘What fun it’s going to be, finding out.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say so,’ says Johnnie. ‘I like to think of people enjoying themselves like we did. When we were … well, you know…’

‘Back in the day?’ suggests Oliver.

Johnnie beams at him. ‘Back in the day,’ he says.