TAVISTOCK

On Tuesday morning the cottage in Chapel Street is filled with sunlight: clean, newly painted, empty, it waits now for new life. Kate stands for a moment in the narrow, well-fitted kitchen that looks onto the garden where a path leads towards the shady pergola at its far end. She passes through the hall into the sitting-room with its glass-fronted alcoves on each side of the charming Victorian fireplace. Across the passage is a room with two walls lined with bookshelves, which will make a useful living-room. She will put the big table in here – the kitchen is too small to eat in – and make it all very comfortable and welcoming. Upstairs she pauses on the landing to look down over the garden. Tall, pale Japanese anemones grow in the long border under the garden wall, and nasturtiums sprawl across the winding path. The Rambling Rector has covered the pergola and its rosehips glow orange and scarlet in the October sunshine.

Three bedrooms, one no bigger than a boxroom, and the bathroom are set about the small square landing. Kate comes downstairs and sits on the bottom step. Even here, it seems, ghosts wait. This cottage has been owned or rented by other naval couples – people whom she knows – and she sees them passing through these rooms, calling to each other on the landing above, eager with plans, excited about the future, waiting – as she waits now – for the removal van to bring her furniture out of store. She remembers other naval quarters, hirings; tiresome married quarters’ officers and helpful removal men. Jess, with her army background, will be familiar with all this.

Kate wonders what Jess will think of the cottage, of Johnnie and Lady T, and Cass and Tom, and feels again a strong sense of misgiving. Well, it is too late now: she glances at her watch and gets up. The removal men will be here very soon and the hard work will begin, but she has remembered the essentials for a happy move: the kettle, mugs, teaspoons, milk, tea, coffee and sugar are all waiting in the kitchen to be unpacked.

*   *   *

‘You know we love it when you come home,’ says Cass to Oliver, as they drive together into Tavistock, ‘but I have the oddest feeling that this time you have an ulterior motive for being here. Are you going to tell me what it is?’

Oliver shrugs, looks blank as he negotiates the narrow bridge over the River Meavy. He remembers how, years ago, he scraped his father’s car on these unforgiving stones when he was learning to drive – and the row that followed.

‘I like to see for myself how you’re both doing,’ he says, ‘that’s all. I’m being filial. It’s not new.’

‘Mmm.’ Cass is sceptical. ‘But you usually dash off after a day or two of being filial to put another iron in a fire somewhere. This time it’s like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.’

‘Oh, I am,’ says Oliver quickly. ‘I’m waiting to meet Jess. She’s arriving on Friday so I thought I’d stay on to see this Infant Phenomenon who’s won David’s highly prized Award. No harm in that, is there?’

‘No,’ says Cass, but she’s not convinced. She is unsettled, on edge. ‘Only I’d be grateful if you’d stop winding your father up while you’re waiting. It doesn’t help. He’s very upset about Gemma’s threats to leave Guy and your levity isn’t helping.’

‘Sorry, Ma,’ he says. ‘I was trying to lighten him up a bit, that’s all. You usually say it helps to keep things cheerful.’

‘I know I do.’ It’s quite true, but just at the moment she doesn’t know what she wants. Nothing is right. ‘I’m all jangly, Ollie, as if something cataclysmic is about to happen.’ She laughs. ‘I sound like Kate. She’s always the one with the signs and portents, isn’t she? I used to say that it was she who should have been called Cassandra, not me.’

‘Do you want to drop in and see her?’

Cass thinks about it. She is very pleased that Kate might be coming back to Tavistock after three years: she’s missed their close relationship, the impromptu dropping in and meeting up. St Meriadoc is only an hour and a half away but to have Kate near by again would be very good news. Tom has become more grumpy of late: he’s wearying of the hard work that is required to keep the Rectory and its grounds in good shape, and it’s an effort to keep jollying him along. The prospect of Kate close at hand, supporting and encouraging, is wonderful. Or, at least, it was until the subject of divorce between Gemma and Guy loomed. Now she and Kate are skating warily round this subject. It is the elephant in the room, and effort is required to avoid outright comment about who is to blame. Each of them is sensitive, ready to protect her own child, and Cass doesn’t feel up to the stress of the cut and thrust of it this morning. She wants to shop, to buy something elegant to wear from Brigid Foley and browse in Crebers for a delicious treat to eat for lunch; she simply longs to relax and be happy.

‘Kate will be busy,’ she says, ‘getting the cottage right and all that stuff. Moving in is such hell, isn’t it? Especially if Jess is arriving on Friday.’ A pause. ‘How did you know she’s arriving on Friday?’

‘Kate texted,’ he answers.

‘Oh.’ Cass feels slightly hurt. ‘She didn’t phone me. I wonder why not.’

‘Perhaps,’ suggests Oliver, ‘for the same reason you’re not dropping in to see her this morning.’

Cass is silent.

‘I’m going to Book Stop,’ says Oliver, ‘so we’ll park at the Bedford and meet up for coffee or a drink when you’ve finished shopping. Does that sound OK?’

‘Yes.’ She glances sideways at him. ‘Shall you go and see Kate?’

She doesn’t want him to visit Kate. She feels it will put her in a bad light if Kate knows she’s in town and isn’t popping in to see how she’s managing. She feels guilty and restless and cross.

‘No,’ says Oliver. ‘We’ll leave Kate to her settling-in today and phone later to see if she’d like any help tomorrow. I’ll text her. Stop worrying, Ma. We’ve come to have some fun, remember? That’s what you said to Pa, anyway.’

‘Yes,’ Cass says at once. ‘We have. And that’s a good idea about texting Kate. We can come over again tomorrow if she wants us to. Do that, Ollie. Give me an hour and then I’ll buy you a pint.’

‘Sounds OK to me,’ he says.

*   *   *

Jess is heading west; driving across the motorway bridge spanning the River Exe. She glances quickly at the sheet of paper on the seat beside her, pulls into the inside lane and takes the turning off the M5 onto the A30.

‘The quickest way to Tavistock,’ Kate told her, ‘is to come down the A30 and turn off at Sourton. It’s much more dramatic to drive over the moor but this is quicker and we can explore the moor later if you want to.’

She’d liked Kate at once: they hit it off straight away. There was a direct simplicity about the older woman that appealed and they’d laughed together about how they hated having to dress up.

‘At least you scrub up well,’ Kate commented. ‘My default mode is bag lady. I can’t wait to get back into my jeans.’

Jess grins, remembering. And it’s really weird that Kate should have known her grandparents way back. They’d talked about service life, the moving around and the separation, and it was like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other for ages.

It’s good to be this happy, she thinks: to have won this really prestigious Award, to have a good Honours degree, and to have a whole year off to think about what direction she should take for her future. The Award money has bought her some space – just as it’s bought her this little old car and real independence. Jess can feel her face positively beaming but she can’t help herself: life just hasn’t been this good since Daddy died – and part of it is because she’s going to the place where he was born, where her grandparents met, to chill out for a few months.

Kate, in one of her emails, suggested Jess should come down and explore, meet some of her grandparents’ friends, and offered her this cottage in Tavistock so that she’d have somewhere to stay.

‘You can be alone if you need to be, but I can show you around and introduce you to some people,’ Kate said – which is really cool because she can’t quite decide what she’ll want or how it will be. Sometimes she needs to be alone, have her own space, but it’s good, too, to have a few friends nearby. Meanwhile the sun is shining and she’s in her little car, listening to Jamie Cullum, with nearly all her belongings packed into the boot because at heart she’s a minimalist. And all the while, at some deeper level, she’s noticing the shapes and patterns and colours of the green, rounded hills and small, square fields; the crimson, crumbly earth being turned by a rackety old plough and the grey and white cloud of gulls streaming behind it; tall trees and boxy hedges, their leaves scorching with autumnal fire.

So here she is, on the journey to the west, feeling good.

*   *   *

Kate waits nervously: she prowls, checking the rooms, wondering what Jess will think and if she will approve. Last evening she phoned Bruno. He answered straight away and she knew he’d been expecting her call.

‘What am I doing?’ she asked. ‘Am I mad or what? I don’t know this girl and now she’s coming to stay. Why did I do it?’

‘Because you felt it was right. Forget what you feel like now. That’s just nerves. What you felt then is what really counts.’

For three years she and Bruno have been friends in the best possible way; they’ve spent hours talking about the messy muddles that have been their lives, trying to make sense of things, admitting failures and fears, laughing and weeping alternately, giving each other courage. She’s missing him now, wishing she’d stayed at St Meriadoc and simply let out the cottage in Chapel Street.

‘It was crazy,’ she said, ‘to bring the rest of the furniture out of store. It’s best to let the place unfurnished. I should have waited until I’d really decided where I want to be.’

‘It needed to come out and be used again,’ Bruno answered calmly. ‘Jess may decide to stay there and be your tenant. Stop panicking, Kate. Leaving the place unfurnished wouldn’t have helped you make up your mind. You’ve got the cottage here – I shan’t evict you in your absence – and being at Chapel Street, actually living there, will help you make your decision properly.’

She pictured him, Celt-dark, wandering about the kitchen in his usual jersey and jeans, preparing his supper; carrying it into that amazing central room with its out-flung window that seems to hang right over the sea. The sofa would be piled with books and newspapers and his collie bitch, Nellie, curled up at one end of it in front of the fire.

‘I miss you,’ she said. She said it quite lightly, feeling a bit of a fool.

‘Missing people is good,’ he answered. ‘Makes you realize how much you love them.’ And then, before she could think of an appropriate answer, he asked: ‘How’s Flossie liking Chapel Street?’

She stared at Flossie, who was curled in her basket beside the radiator. ‘She’s OK. I left her with Cass when the removal men came but she’s settled very well this last couple of days. Cass and Oliver were brilliant yesterday, helping to get the place into shape. I hope Jess likes it.’

‘It’ll be fine, Kate,’ he said gently. ‘Stop worrying.’

He hadn’t said, ‘Move in with me. Let’s be together,’ and, even if he had, how would she have answered him? She was used to having her own space, privacy when she needed it, when her family visited her – and so was he. Being together might ruin everything. They’d been to bed a few times, usually after a long, late supper when the deep level of their shared emotional intimacy required some kind of physical expression, and it had been good. Yet they both held back from the ultimate commitment.

Now, waiting for Jess, Kate sees that he is right; she must trust the instinct that has resulted in inviting Jess here and turning Chapel Street into a home. She doesn’t need to make a decision just yet. Even as she heaves a great sighing breath of relief, and puts her anxieties aside, there is a knock at the kitchen door. Flossie barks and Kate glances at her watch – too early for Jess yet – and then she hears Oliver’s voice and she hurries out to meet him.

‘Shall I be in the way?’ he asks. ‘I wondered if you might be needing a bit of moral support. I can go away if you’d rather.’

‘Absolutely not,’ she says. She is suddenly excited again, delighted to see him. ‘This is just perfect. Much easier for Jess if you’re here too.’

‘It’s a nice little house, Kate.’

He looks in through the sitting-room door at the alcoves full of pretty things and at the comfortable armchairs; and then he crosses the hallway and wanders into the bigger room, which now has the big table under the window and a variety of chairs around it. There are books on the shelves, and paintings hanging, and a long sofa against one wall.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Her confidence is restored. ‘Why don’t I make some coffee? Jess texted at Exeter so we’ve got another half an hour, I’d say.’

‘Shall I open the front door?’ he asks. ‘It’s so much more welcoming, isn’t it, than having to knock and wait? The sun’s simply pouring in and Flossie can sit outside and watch for her.’

*   *   *

So it is that Jess, driving slowly along the street checking house numbers, first sees a retriever standing eagerly at the gate and the front door flung wide in welcome. As she stops the car, leaning from the open window, the dog’s feathery tail begins to wave and a tall, blond man wanders casually out into the small paved front garden.

She assesses him: is this one of Kate’s sons? He’s very good-looking. Very cool. Mid-thirties, perhaps a bit older? They look at each other, and she feels an odd desire to laugh, to leap out of the car, as if she is coming home to people she knows and loves.

‘Jess,’ he says: not a question, just a statement. And he opens the gate.

The dog is at the car door, tail wagging madly, and Jess gets out, the laugh really bubbling up now, and here is Kate, dashing out of the cottage to welcome her.

‘This is Oliver. He’s the son of friends of mine who knew Juliet and Mike,’ she is saying. ‘And Flossie. Are you going to offer your paw, Flossie? Gosh! It’s great to see you again, Jess.’

And Jess shakes hands with Oliver, hugs Kate and strokes Flossie’s shining, feathery coat, and then they all bundle into the house together.

At once she knows she’s going to like it here. Always, she knows straight off with people and places whether they will be right for her. Even as a child she’s had this strange gift: a kind of second sight, which warns or encourages, and she’s learned to take it on trust.

This cottage, for instance, has good vibes. It’s a home and a place in which to feel relaxed. The dog has climbed back into her basket, Kate is pouring coffee, Oliver perches on the end of the table and asks about the journey.

She likes him; she likes the way he looks at her as if she is Jess, first and foremost, and a female after. It’s as if he sees the important things about her and she intuits that she can trust him. This strange gift has grown more and more crucial since her life was smashed apart, first by her father’s death and then by her mother’s new relationship and her move to Brussels.

Kate passes her a mug of coffee and Jess looks around her. She’s been happy enough at school and at uni but she’s learned to toughen up, to fight her corner. For three years the little house in Bristol, which she shared with her student friends, was home – not the smart flat in Brussels – and since all that finished she’s felt rather rootless and a bit scared. Now here she is, sitting in this sun-filled, comfortable room with two new friends and the dog. Everyone is very relaxed; there is no formality here, no third-degree questioning to discover what she’s been doing or what plans she might have; they’ve simply accepted her into their lives and are giving her space.

Kate is unwrapping a small parcel. She shows the contents to Oliver, and Jess sees that it is a painting.

‘I brought this with me. I thought you might like to see it,’ Kate says, passing it to her. ‘David painted it nearly twenty years ago. He was staying on Dartmoor with a friend of mine and when she died she left it to me. I hadn’t met him then but he told me that it was the first time he’d really taken an interest in the botanical aspect of painting and that’s when he began to study it properly.’

Jess takes the painting: it is a sketch of an old stone bridge over a river, and a part of the bank beneath it where a group of foxgloves grow against the sun-warmed stone. It has been lightly colour-washed, and sunlight glimmers on the water, which seems to flow and splash even as she looks at it. Deft, tender strokes reproduce the foxgloves, the texture of the crumbling stone and the tiny springing cushions of moss that cling to it.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she murmurs, tilting it, examining it. ‘It’s so accurate and yet so imaginative. How did he do that?’

‘I thought you might see it as a sign,’ says Kate. ‘Or a portent. I mean, it being the one that started him off along the botanical painting path. And the fact that he was around here when he did it.’

‘Do you do signs and portents?’ asks Oliver. ‘Or are you more practical?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jess stares up at them, still holding the painting. ‘Yes, I think I do do signs and portents, actually. But now I’m on my own I have to be careful.’

She feels a fool, wishes she hadn’t said it: it sounds childish. She bends her head over the painting, studying it. To her relief, neither of them reacts: they don’t say: ‘Oh, but you’re not on your own now,’ or other embarrassing things, they just leave her alone.

Oliver is saying, ‘Ma’s talking about lunch tomorrow, if you both feel up for it,’ and Kate says, ‘That might be good. Will you thank her and tell her I’ll phone later on? Flossie will need a walk soon so I thought Jess and I would take her up on the moor when she’s settled in a bit.’

While they talk, Jess turns the painting slightly and reads the words scrawled across the corner: ‘Bless you for everything. It’s been perfect. Love D.’

She feels an odd little twinge of sadness and wonders who the woman was and what happened to her.

Oliver is going and she gets up to see him off. He kisses Kate, smiles at Jess and walks away down Chapel Street.

‘Come on,’ says Kate. ‘I’ll show you your bedroom and you can unpack.’

*   *   *

Oliver drives out of the town, through Horrabridge and Dousland and up on to the moor. He thinks about his reaction to Jess – apart from the normal physical response to a young and very attractive girl. He’s picked up on the complications of her character: strength and vulnerability; determination and fear; an openness to outside influences and a strong sense of self. He ponders on the fact that everyone is shaped by external events, and wonders what Jess might have been like if her father hadn’t been killed in Bosnia and her mother hadn’t remarried and gone abroad.

‘Now I’m on my own I have to be careful,’ she said revealingly: careful how she responds to signs and portents now that she has nobody to catch her if she misreads them and crashes. She has no margin for error, no safety net, she’s saying, and he’s rather taken aback by his strong reaction to protect her. Luckily he has too much experience to verbalize it, and a great deal of practice in hiding his feelings. He’s let the moment pass. The age gap between them is a big one and he mustn’t make a fool of himself: he’s done that before.

And now he, too, sees the ghosts of past years: beloved Phyllida, for whom he’d cherished an agonizingly romantic infatuation but who preferred to remain happily married: beautiful Claudia, with whom he had a brief but very physical and passionate affair; and sweet Chrissie, who adored him, but was too young for him to take seriously enough for a long-term relationship.

As he turns in between the gates of the Old Rectory he sees Tom cutting the grass on his sit-on mower and feels relief that there won’t be an immediate third degree on Jess. He knows that Tom’s questions will embarrass him.

The minute he sees Cass, however, he realizes that something much more important has happened and Jess is no longer the hot topic. His mother is looking excited but anxious and she glances past him as if she fears that Tom might have followed him into the house.

‘Oh, darling,’ she says at once, ‘Gemma phoned. She’s coming home next week with the twins. She says she’s fed up with discussing the question of divorce with Guy, who simply pretends it isn’t happening, and she’s had a terrific row with Mark.’ Cass drags Oliver into the kitchen and shuts the door. ‘Your father is furious,’ she says, speaking quickly, still holding his arm, one eye on the door. ‘He thinks we are sanctioning the separation by allowing them to come here. But what else can she do? She’s made no real friends there and we have to think of the twins. Deep down Tom didn’t believe she would actually leave Guy. He thought it was just one of those blips and that she’d get over it. He says it’s absolutely wrong of her to behave like this with no plans or arrangements made.’

He releases himself gently. ‘And what do you think?’

Suddenly she looks frightened. ‘I don’t know any more. Of course I want Gemma and the twins nearer than they are in Canada, and I want her to be happy, but I don’t want her marriage to break up. Guy’s not really my type – he’s too much like his father – but he’s been good with Gemma and the twins. Your sister hasn’t been exactly…’ she hesitates, searching for a word that isn’t too blunt, ‘… easy,’ she says at last.

Oliver laughs. ‘I thought that was rather what my dear sister has been. Isn’t that how the trouble began?’

Cass stares at him for a moment. He sees that she doesn’t quite know whether to be outraged on Gemma’s behalf or amused – and then she laughs too.

‘Honestly, though,’ she says, ‘what on earth shall I do?’

‘You’ll welcome them home and give her breathing space,’ he says. ‘Don’t get heavy about this. What has she said to the twins?’

‘She hasn’t told them the absolute truth. She’s said that they will be coming back to live here and Daddy will come when he can. Meanwhile they think they’re having an extended holiday from school.’

‘Fine. So let them go on thinking that.’

‘But what about Tom? You know what he can be like.’

Oliver thinks about it. ‘It’s a pity that Jess has turned up at this precise moment,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘Gemma and the twins could have stayed in Chapel Street.’

‘But I want them here,’ protests Cass. ‘We haven’t seen them for months. What’s she like, by the way?’

‘Jess? She’s lovely. Rather boho. Definite personality. Look, I still think that this whole Gemma thing needs to be regarded as a time for getting things into perspective. Don’t turn a drama into a crisis.’

There is a telling little pause.

‘Great,’ says Cass. ‘And shall you tell your father that or shall I?’

*   *   *

As she sits on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair, thinking about the day, Jess sees that Kate has put the painting on a specially made, small wooden lectern and placed it on the little chest beside the bed.

A sign or a portent. Bless you for everything. It’s been perfect.

Jess gazes at the painting; she feels on the brink of something very mysterious and important. She is touched by the warm welcome she’s been given. It’s as if Kate and Oliver have always known her, accepting her and making her feel easy in an almost casual way while, at the same time, cherishing her as someone special. She’s already texted her two closest friends, who are travelling together in Thailand, to say that she’s arrived. Now she picks up her mobile and stares at it, wondering whether to try to explain to them how great everything is.

How, she wonders, could she describe the space and silence of the moors where she and Kate walked whilst Flossie ran ahead, tail waving with the joy of it all? In that space and silence there was a sense of peace and healing and, as she sits there on the edge of the bed, Jess remembers how deeply she breathed, drawing in great gasps of the clean moorland air. The cold grip of loneliness that has curled around her heart for so long was eased as she took those deep breaths. When Kate pointed to a sinuous, dazzling glint of water away in the west and said, ‘Look, that’s the Tamar,’ Jess’s heart, freed from that chill, habitual constriction, suddenly bumped with an odd sensation of recognition. Her roots were here: here, in this part of the West Country, her father’s family once lived. Just for a brief moment she experienced a feeling of closeness to him, as if he were beside her, encouraging her, approving her journey.

Jess puts her mobile on the little chest beside her bed: there is simply too much happening to condense it into text-speak. She looks again at the little painting and, seized with a confusing mixture of excitement, happiness and terror, she switches off the light, slips quickly beneath the duvet, curls into a ball and prepares to sleep.

*   *   *

‘I can’t get over it,’ Tom says for the third or fourth time. ‘She’s Juliet to the life. She’s gorgeous.’

Kate has brought Jess over for lunch and he is absolutely captivated by her. Now, after supper, he sits with Cass in the drawing-room, remembering the parties down on the Tamar and the lovely Juliet.

‘You’re salivating, darling,’ Cass says, leaning forward to switch channels. ‘Not very attractive.’

Tom makes a little face behind her back. Meeting Jess has made him feel young again: strong and virile.

‘Well, you’ve got to admit that it’s true,’ he says. ‘It’s an extraordinary likeness. Wait till Johnnie sees her, and old Fred. We really must have a thrash to celebrate. Who else do we know who’d remember Mike and Juliet? What about the Mortlakes? Stephen always lusted after Juliet. He got quite serious about her, actually, way back before he was married.’

There’s an odd little silence. Cass seems to be engrossed in River Cottage, her head slightly turned away from him towards the television, and Tom remembers that Stephen was also very attracted to Cass, much later on after they were all married and settled with children. He’d been a bit of a pest – but then Stephen had always been a chancer.

Anyway, that was a long time ago, water under the bridge; Tom makes another little face and finishes his glass of wine. Funny how Jess has really jollied him up. Oh, he’d been aware of Oliver’s sardonic eye on him through lunch, but that hadn’t stopped him. He’d been on form; a bit of a devil. Jess likes him, he can tell. He settles back to watch Hugh – ‘Sod it, where’s the corkscrew’ – Whittingstall and, glancing sideways, Cass can see that he is now totally engrossed.

But Cass is wrong. Tom is staring at the television screen but the pictures he sees are quite different from Hugh doing clever things with ducks in his kitchen. He has slipped back forty years in time and is seeing the ballroom on HMS Drake; Juliet twirling in Mike’s arms, laughing across his shoulder, her long skirts floating and clinging to his smart uniform.

*   *   *

Tom stood at the edge of the floor, waiting for Cass to come back from the heads, watching Juliet and Mike. Juliet’s beauty was not ethereal, though she was graceful and slender; her hair and eyes were a strange mix of red and brown, the colour of a vixen’s coat. She was of the earth, earthy. The long thick hair was piled up high tonight, but long shining strands fell around her throat, and Tom imagined himself taking the hairpins out, one by one, and watching that heavy shining mass fall down around her shoulders and over her bare breasts.

Cass tiptoed up behind him. ‘Keep your eyes in the boat, darling,’ she whispered, and he jumped and turned quickly, a self-defensive denial ready in his mouth. But Cass, as usual, forestalled him.

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘the lovely Juliet. Well, she is lovely. Oh, look. Al has cut in. Doesn’t Mike look grim?’

And Mike did indeed look grim though he tried to laugh it off, to pretend that he didn’t care if his best friend and oppo was making up to his wife. He shrugged, headed for the bar, but even Tom, who wasn’t particularly analytical, could see that Mike was cross.

‘Al’s the limit,’ Cass was saying. ‘He’s holding her too tight. He will do that. Lots of my chums say the same. It’s damned annoying. He knows we daren’t slap his face or make a fuss, especially with his father sitting over in the corner looking on. No girl wants to get her husband into Dickie’s bad books. Al trades on our good manners.’

Tom muttered something about it not being that bad. He felt uncomfortable. He thought it was a fuss about nothing but Cass was right about one thing: none of these young men was going to be pleased if his wife showed herself up in front of a senior officer. After all, nothing much could happen on a dance floor. He said so to Cass, who asked sharply how he’d feel about being touched up every time he danced with a woman.

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he said, laughing it off. ‘I certainly wouldn’t mind if it was Juliet, I can tell you.’

He glanced at Cass, wondering if he’d gone too far, but she was laughing again and he felt a great surge of gratitude: God, he was lucky to have her. She was so ready to laugh, to enjoy life, and his friends lusted after her almost as much as they lusted after the divine Juliet. He was damned lucky. And here came Stephen Mortlake, wanting a dance, taking Cass away, and Tom waved them off good-naturedly and went to join Mike in the bar.

‘That’s the penalty,’ he said, ordering a Horse’s Neck, grinning at Mike, ‘for having a beautiful wife. You and me both.’

But Mike wasn’t in joshing mood. He looked glum as he downed his drink and his eyes were fixed on Al and Juliet as they slowly circled the floor. And then Johnnie and Fred arrived with the usual brace of pretty girls they always produced for a ladies’ night or a party. Tom made a little face, jerked his chin towards Mike so as to warn them, but Johnnie and Fred weren’t likely to pander to Mike’s mood. They’d suffered too much from his bullying in the past.

‘Been stood up?’ asked Johnnie genially, and Fred asked, ‘Would you like me to go and cut him out for you?’ and Mike snarled at him, ‘When you’re big enough you’ll be too old,’ and took another pull at his drink.

Johnnie and Fred made comical faces and, grinning at Tom, ushered their girls out onto the floor. Stephen Mortlake brought Cass back.

‘Says she’s had enough,’ he told Tom.

‘Of course she has,’ said Tom. ‘That’s why I married her. She’s got such good taste.’

And he took Cass in his arms and they moved away onto the floor as the band began to play ‘California Dreaming’.

*   *   *

Tom’s thoughts return to the present; he reaches for Cass’s hand, smiles at her. Cass takes a tiny breath of relief and relaxes a little. Stephen Mortlake’s name has raised old ghosts, reminding her of a younger, naughtier Cass, who took chances, got caught out. Clearly, Tom hasn’t made quite the same connections but she doesn’t want to pursue the topic of conversation just now. Let him think she’s jealous; that will do nicely. It will massage his ego and put him in a happier frame of mind. She squeezes his hand in return and they settle more comfortably together on the sofa.

*   *   *

‘Who was the woman who owned the little painting?’ Jess asks. Her first few days in Tavistock have been very busy – meeting Cass and Tom, exploring the moor – but even with all these new experiences it is the painting that continues to fascinate her. It is the first thing she sees when she wakes in the morning and the last thing before she switches out her light.

‘Felicity,’ says Kate. Her voice is thoughtful, rather sad. ‘Felicity was a naval wife too, like me and Cass and Juliet. She had a cottage up on the moor over near Mary Tavy. Anyway, when Felicity was in her forties her husband died of cancer. It was very quick and unexpected…’

‘Did she have children?’ Jess feels that a little prompt is necessary.

‘No. No children. Felicity was the least maternal woman I ever met. No, she just carried on, as one does because there’s nothing else to do when someone you love dies.’ Kate hesitates again. ‘Well, you know that, don’t you?’

Jess nods, remains silent.

‘Well then, David came down to visit his daughter, who lives near Moretonhampstead, and decided to have a bit of a painting holiday. Remember, I didn’t know him then. Anyway, he began a painting of Felicity’s cottage, which is a beautiful old long-house, and she saw him sitting out there in the lane, found out who he was, and invited him in for a cup of coffee. They became lovers.’

Another pause.

‘And?’ asks Jess, fascinated by this little history.

‘And David spent a wonderful few weeks discovering a different direction in his work whilst having an affair with Felicity. They were both widowed, but she’d had a lover for some years – an extra-marital diversion, you might say – so her reputation led David to believe that she would be quite happy when it was time for him to return to London.’

‘What happened?’

‘A tragedy happened. David genuinely believed that it had been one of those perfect little gifts that life sometimes gives us but he never imagined it as a long-term commitment. Felicity saw it differently. She’d unexpectedly fallen in love with him. After he’d gone back to London she tried to contact him, unsuccessfully, and then one evening she had too much to drink combined with too many of the tablets that she took for her migraines.’

‘Oh, my God…’

‘Yes. He couldn’t ever forgive himself.’

‘How terrible.’ Jess remembers the words: Bless you for everything. It’s been perfect. ‘How could you get over something like that?’

‘He didn’t. Even though it was an accident – which everybody accepted that it was – he said that she wouldn’t have been drinking so much if she hadn’t been so unhappy. I met him a year after it happened and he told me all about it. I was able to fill in some facts about Felicity, which made it slightly more bearable for him, I think, but he never really got over it.’

‘But you said it was Felicity who left you the painting.’

‘She did. She left me everything she owned. I’d been divorced and I was struggling to make ends meet. Since I was the one to end the marriage I refused to take anything from Mark, except for Guy and Giles, and I think for some reason she felt sorry for me. I’d had an affair too, after my divorce, so I understood what she was feeling. I stopped my affair because I thought it might become a difficult relationship for the boys: they were still very young. I was in love with him so it was very painful. Felicity thought I was crazy. One day the boys would leave me, she said, and I’d be alone and, by the time she met David, that was true. Loving David changed Felicity. It softened her, made her vulnerable, and she poured it all out to me; how she loved him and how she felt so different. When I met him afterwards it was all such a shock. He came to my house looking for someone else and the first thing he saw was the painting, and so it all came out.’

‘And you got married.’

‘After a while. It took me a bit of time to leave the safety of not feeling anything. Loving hurts but at least you know you are alive. David was a good man. He wanted to give; to share. He persuaded me that it’s better to cut your feet on the glass than never to feel the sand between your toes. So I took my shoes off again and married him.’

Jess shakes her head. ‘It’s all so weird,’ she says.

Kate looks at her sympathetically. ‘Oldies emoting about their pasts? It’s a bit gross, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ cries Jess. ‘No, I don’t mean that. It’s just that, coming here, it’s like walking into a story. You and Cass and Tom knowing my grandparents and all being young together. And hearing all this about David. David Porteous! I mean, he’s like an icon to me and now you’re telling me all this stuff and that little painting is a part of all of that. Those words he wrote on it.’

‘Poor Jess. Rather overwhelming as stories go, I’d say.’

‘No,’ says Jess vehemently. ‘It’s good. I’ve been kind of shut in since Daddy was killed and Mum took off to Brussels. Being an artist –’ she looks faintly self-conscious, as if she might not deserve the title – ‘it keeps you on your own a bit. It’s something that makes you need to be alone for most of the time. Well, it does for me, anyway. And then not wanting to keep having to explain about Daddy, and Mum getting married again, all those things kind of keep you a bit apart. And suddenly I’ve wandered into like a tapestry or something, with all these figures, and they’re all coming to life round me. Hearing Tom talking about Granny was really, really bizarre. And the way he couldn’t get over how much I was like her. Even after all these years he remembered her.’

‘Tom never forgets a beautiful woman,’ says Kate drily. ‘However many years it might be. I’m just glad you’re not overwhelmed.’

‘No. It’s amazing. I feel a part of something again. I belong in the story.’

‘Good,’ Kate says. ‘Well, let’s hope the Trehearnes add something good to the story. We’ve been invited to lunch next week.’

*   *   *

Next morning Oliver telephones just after Kate’s waved Jess off in her little car on a solo expedition. She’s supplied Jess with an Ordnance Survey map and a flask of coffee, and explained that mobile phone signals are unreliable out on the moor.

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ she tells Oliver. ‘She’s very self-sufficient. So what’s happening?’ Oliver is using his mobile so she suspects that this is a private call.

‘Gemma and the boys arrived yesterday,’ he says, ‘and Ma is wondering whether you’d like to come over to see them. I think she’s going to phone in a minute, so this is just to prepare you.’

Kate is silent. She wrestles with the strong urge to say something rude. She’s shocked at how much she does not want to see Gemma. Gemma has played around and messed up her marriage with Guy, and she, Kate, is going to find it difficult to stroll in and greet her daughter-in-law with the usual affection. Of course, there are the twins …

‘Kate,’ Oliver is saying, ‘if you need time, just don’t answer the phone. I thought you might find it hard to refuse if you were taken by surprise. They got an early flight and I went up to fetch them yesterday morning.’

‘Then they’ll all be exhausted,’ says Kate quickly. ‘I’ll wait a few days, Oliver. Thanks, though.’

‘Ma thought you’d want to see the twins.’

‘And I do. Of course I do. But…’

‘But it’s rather tricky seeing them all here happily in the bosom of their family? And poor old Guy left in Canada?’

Kate gives a bitter little snort of laughter. ‘Absolutely right. Can you imagine how hard that will be? Does Cass? How am I supposed to react? I don’t know how to handle it and I don’t see why it should be at the Rectory. I shall be outnumbered.’

‘I think it will be embarrassing all round,’ he says. ‘I don’t think Ma has quite taken it on board. Pa is angry but trying not to show it because of the boys. I really do believe it will be sensible to stay cool and prevent this from turning into some great drama.’

‘I know you do. And I think you have a point – when I’m not feeling very angry. None of this is Guy’s fault, after all. What am I supposed to say to Gemma? “How lovely to see you, darling. Welcome home. Shame the marriage didn’t work out because of your flirtations and infidelity.” What about my loyalty to Guy?’

‘I do understand, Kate. That’s why I’m phoning. I think everyone needs a bit of space.’

‘Sorry, Ollie,’ she says. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing to do with you. Sorry.’

‘It’s OK. Just don’t answer the phone.’

‘I shall go and do some shopping,’ says Kate. ‘Take Flossie for a walk. Thanks, Ollie.’

‘See you soon,’ he says.

*   *   *

Driving slowly in her little car, Jess gazes out at the unfamiliar landscape. The tors, piled like untidily squashed granite pillows, rear up out of fold upon fold of close-nibbled turf where small, hardy ponies graze, and whitish, bundly-looking sheep wander at the grey road’s edge. She carefully manoeuvres the car around them, afraid that they might suddenly dash beneath the wheels, and then pulls up on the verge so as to be able to take in the unexpected glory that presents itself. She has no idea where she is but this doesn’t worry her; there is a kind of magic in being lost in these untamed surroundings. She notes crimson berries clustering on a silver-lichened thorn; the herringbone pattern of the trampled bracken. It is the minutiae, the tiny details, that fascinate, though the strange power of this bleak wilderness beneath its infinite sky-scape continues to assault her senses.

She drives further off the road, into a small ancient quarry, switches off the engine and reaches for the flask of coffee. It is sheltered here, out of the sharp north-easterly wind, and Jess steps out of the car. She pours the coffee, wanders away, pauses to sip. The sun is hot and she turns towards it, closing her eyes, listening to the sore-throated rasp of a raven somewhere nearby. A rowan tree clings to the edge of the quarry’s lip and, between its exposed bony, tenacious roots, she sees the faded foxglove.

Jess sets down her cup upon a ledge of rock and feels in her jacket pocket for her camera. The foxglove immediately brings David to her thoughts and she photographs it along with a patch of stunted yellow tormentil. She climbs a little way up the worn path out of the quarry but the wind is cold up here and she turns back to drink her coffee perched in the car with the door open to the sunshine.

‘Some people are frightened on the moor on their own,’ Kate told her. ‘I’ve never felt that. The moors and the sea have always been important to me. That sense of infinity makes me feel very peaceful. My problems are reduced by the sheer size of them and that calms me and heals me. Rather like God. Anyway, stick to the big roads and you’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not frightened of being on my own,’ Jess answered. ‘I’m used to it. Daddy encouraged me to be self-sufficient. He must have been fairly tough when you think about it. To come all the way from Australia at eighteen to join the army. Of course, he’d been born here so he had a British passport, and he had a few relatives here, but even so, it was a brave thing to do. He used to say that we shouldn’t allow our lives to be controlled by fear and desire but I was too young, back then, to understand what he was really trying to tell me. I think it was important to him, though.’

She felt a bit foolish then, wondering if she sounded rather like a silly pretentious kid, but Kate didn’t say toe-curling things like: ‘He’d be so proud of you,’ or anything like that. She simply held out an Ordnance Survey map and the flask. ‘Enjoy,’ she said.

Sitting in the sunshine Jess finishes the coffee, thinking about Kate and Oliver, Tom and Cass and David; she feels that she belongs amongst them, that she is a small part of their story. She is completely happy.

*   *   *

‘I can’t get hold of Kate,’ Cass is saying. ‘She’s probably shopping.’

‘Just as well,’ says Tom grumpily. ‘For goodness’ sake, Cass, give us all a breathing space.’

Cass stares at him. ‘What is the matter with you? Anyone would think you aren’t pleased to see your daughter and your grandchildren.’

‘I don’t particularly want to see them like this,’ he hisses, an eye on the door. ‘Not without Guy. Not talking about divorce. I don’t want this for them. You know that.’

‘Neither do I,’ she protests. ‘Of course I don’t. But things had come to a head and Gemma needs somewhere to go.’

‘Well, just don’t expect Kate to come rushing round with cries of joy,’ he snaps. ‘How d’you think she’s feeling about it, for God’s sake?’

‘I’m sure Kate will understand,’ says Cass rather uncertainly. ‘She can see that Gemma had to make a stand…’

‘She can see that Gemma was unfaithful, that she got herself into a mess and that Guy decided that the move to Canada was a nice clean break. Gemma very gratefully agreed. She didn’t want to leave Guy then, remember? She said it very loud and clear.’

‘I know all that,’ whispers Cass crossly. ‘But things haven’t worked out. Mark was supposed to be retiring and leaving the running of the boatyard to Guy. But he hasn’t. He’s stayed around and Guy’s just doing what he’s told and getting very frustrated. Gemma says she can’t stand it any more. I don’t blame her. I remember Mark of old, and how he was with Kate. I should think she’d have every sympathy with Gemma.’

‘I don’t agree,’ says Tom stubbornly. ‘Guy gave her a chance, a really big chance, and she should be giving him one now. Not running home to us with the twins. If they want to sort it out they should be doing it on neutral ground where nobody else is involved. It’s difficult for us and impossible for Kate—’

‘And embarrassing for everyone if Gemma or the twins hear you,’ says Oliver, stepping through the slightly open door and closing it behind him. ‘Amazing how whispering carries, isn’t it? And just because it is whispering it makes one want to listen even more. They’re all still asleep, actually.’

Tom glares at him and Cass laughs. ‘God, you frightened me. Look, can’t we have a kind of what-d’you-call-it? A moratorium, is it? Just a space of time where everyone comes off the boil and nobody asks questions.’

‘It’s interesting, isn’t it,’ says Oliver quietly, ‘that Gemma doesn’t want to discuss the divorce now she’s here? I think she’s bluffing.’

Cass and Tom stare at him and he nods at them.

‘I think she’s given Guy an ultimatum. It’s not working as they’d hoped in Canada and she wants out, for all of them. Guy is dithering. He’s busy, frustrated, confused and he won’t talk. So she’s decided to make the move. She’s hoping that the shock will make Guy see sense. OK, it hasn’t worked, she’s told us all that. Guy and Mark quarrel, Guy can’t really do what he wants to do. He’s into the internet side of the business and Mark doesn’t want to know. So let Guy come home and do it here and Mark can retire just like he planned. That’s what Gemma wants, but they’re at an impasse and Gemma has decided to break it. It’s a big chance but I think she’s quite right. She’s threatened divorce and it hasn’t worked so she’s simply walked out on him. But I don’t think it’s a divorce that she wants. She’s hoping he’ll follow them home before very long.’

‘And what would you know about it?’ Tom is still cross but he’s listening; he would like Oliver to have a point, though he’ll never admit it.

‘Oh, I know I’ve never been married and all that, but I know Guy and my sister very well indeed and I think it’s worth giving it time. Why not look on it as an extended holiday? If you start questioning Gemma about the future she’ll begin to panic and think about making other plans and then other complications might arise.’

‘I’m sure he’s right,’ Cass says quickly to Tom. ‘I agree it’s worth giving it time, anyway. We’ve got nothing to lose.’

Tom snorts. ‘Except the cost of supporting three extra people indefinitely.’ He glances at Oliver. He’d like to say ‘four extra people’ but Oliver contributes very generously to the household when he’s staying and Tom can’t, in all fairness, make such an accusation. Oliver grins at him.

‘And on a fixed income,’ he adds, using one of Tom’s favourites phrases. ‘I’ll sub Gemma and you look after Ben and Julian. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

Cass bursts out laughing. ‘I’m sure we’ll manage between us. So that’s settled then. No questions, no decisions.’

‘And what about Kate?’ asks Tom, reluctant to quit the field without a last small victory. ‘I still think it’s a bit much to expect her to come here knowing that Gemma has walked out on Guy.’

‘I agree,’ says Oliver. ‘I think, to begin with, Gemma should take the twins to see Kate in Chapel Street. Once the first meeting is over it’ll be easier.’

*   *   *

Two days later Gemma is driving back from Tavistock. Her meeting with Kate is over and she feels equal measures of guilt and relief. She’s glad now that she decided to leave the twins at the Rectory. She and Kate couldn’t possibly have had a heart-to-heart with Ben and Julian within earshot. Each time she thinks about her boys Gemma’s gut twists with fear at the huge risk she’s taking. It’s impossible to imagine her life without Guy, and however could she explain to the nine-year-old twins that Daddy wasn’t coming back to live with them? At the same time it was also impossible to remain in such a damaging situation.

Gemma wants to weep at the thought of Guy, back in Canada, furious that she’s simply taken the boys and left; returning from two days away, delivering a boat, and coming home to find her letter. But he’ll know why she’s done it. She’s talked, explained, pleaded, threatened divorce, but he simply won’t respond. Even now he is still in complete denial. Although she has texted him he hasn’t replied. He’s clearly very angry. She’s desperate to know how he is but some instinct warns her to remain silent now and wait. Guy has never been a demonstrative man but lately it’s been getting much worse. It’s like he’s morphing into his father and becoming detached and cynical and sarcastic. Gemma shakes her head, gives a little shiver. Soon this might begin to affect the twins more seriously and she simply can’t stand for it. And, just as importantly, it’s not good for Guy to be like this. It’s not just about her and the boys; it’s about Guy too. She’s simply got to get him home and she’s chanced everything on this desperate course of action: the sudden departure and the threat of divorce if he doesn’t follow. She clutches the steering wheel tightly as she imagines how Guy has reacted to her going. But the situation demanded a desperate remedy. Guy needs to come back and be in charge of his own life again. To be at the beck and call of his father is crushing him, sapping his confidence.

As she drives out of the town through Whitchurch she has to fight down her own guilt lest it disables her and makes her weak. If she hadn’t played around, had a silly affair while Guy was away, the drastic move to Canada would never have happened; the offer to run the boatyard, to take over so that Mark could retire, would have simply remained a possibility at the back of Guy’s mind. She knew very well that getting them out there had been a feather in Mark’s cap, a kind of two-finger gesture to Kate, and very quickly she’d seen that Mark had no intention of allowing Guy any kind of real power.

She’d been fascinated – not in a good way – to see how Mark maintained control over his son with a mixture of biting sarcasm thinly veiled with humour – ‘Can’t you take a joke?’ – irritation barely concealed, and detachment. It was rather frightening: Guy has that same detachment, the short fuse, but he is capable of great affection and loyalty – and his sense of humour is genuine and not cruel.

Watching him with his father she’d felt the first stirrings of genuine fear for them all – and it was her fault. This was the price she must pay for foolishness, disloyalty, a quick physical fix, all masquerading as a harmless bit of fun. Guy, continually humiliated and frustrated, began to withdraw from her; Mark simply ignored her or treated her as if she were mentally deficient. She’d grown angry, had a few rows with him, but he was quick to point out to her how dependent she was, so far from home and at the mercy of his goodwill. Guy, trying to keep a balance between them, ashamed at his own inadequacy in defending her, grew more morose. And now there is the new wife, who is very anxious to assert her rights. Mark always seemed cool with living in the flat above the boatyard and renting the manager’s house to Guy, but now his new wife doesn’t see why she should be in the flat when there’s a nice house going.

Gemma stops the car on the open moorland between Horrabridge and Walkhampton and gets out. Now that she has left, and Guy is on his own, what if Mark is able to influence him even more strongly; what if he persuades Guy that he is in the right, that he must not allow himself to be blackmailed? The conversation with Kate has made her a bit shaky, though Kate was understanding.

‘I’m really sorry, Kate,’ she said. ‘I really, really tried. I promise. But I still love him and I want him back. I have to take this huge risk. Have I got it wrong?’

‘Probably not,’ answered Kate. ‘If your instinct is telling you to do this then it’s probably right.’

‘It’s head and heart, isn’t it?’ Gemma said anxiously. ‘It seems absolutely right one minute and then I have the mother and father of a panic attack the next.’

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ said Kate drily. ‘So let’s hope you have very good instincts, darling.’

Gemma’s having one of those panic attacks right now. The cool little breeze fans her hot cheeks and she takes slow breaths. The deep rural silence washes over her, calming her, and she can see the square tower of Walkhampton church amongst the trees. It looks solid and reassuring; like a rock. Gemma feels she might burst into tears. She’s between a rock and a hard place: the slow disintegration of her family or divorce.

She gets back into the car and heads for the Rectory with dread in her heart. Everyone’s being so tactful and discreet, it’s humiliating. Even Pa is restraining himself. She can actually see the effort he’s making and she just can’t quite bring herself to explain about the ultimatum. Not just yet. Ma’s OK, but Gemma feels a bit like a bone between the two of them. Pa wants everything cut and dried, and then she says things she doesn’t mean and commits to things she’s not ready for simply to shut him up. Ma comes to her defence, which generally leads to a row. She doesn’t want it to be a big thing with the boys, and she’s praying her gamble comes off before any damage is done. They’re too young to know anything’s really wrong and they believe that they’ve come back to live here and Daddy will follow as soon as he can.

She tries not to imagine a conversation in which she has to tell them that Daddy isn’t coming back, and she thinks again about Kate and how she must be feeling; after all, Guy is her son. It was clear while they were talking that she was remembering her own relationship with Mark and trying hard to be fair about it all – but Guy is not Mark. Suddenly Gemma’s longing for Guy is intense; tears sting her eyes, but she braces herself. The twins will be waiting for her and she must be strong and cheerful.

*   *   *

From the landing window Cass watches Gemma drive in and park the car on the gravel. She stands for a moment, head bent as if she has forgotten something, but Cass knows that she is bracing herself and she wonders how the meeting with Kate has gone. Gemma turns, swinging her bag over her shoulder, hurries towards the house and is lost to sight below the window.

Cass stands still, listening to the voices of the twins greeting Gemma in the kitchen and Gemma’s cheerful reply. She wonders, not for the first time, why Gemma fell in love with Guy; why such a light-hearted, flirtatious girl should be attracted to a man who is so contained, so unknowable.

‘There’s much more to Guy than what you get to see.’ Gemma had said once. ‘That’s why I love him. He’s got something really special and it’s all for me.’

Well, that’s probably true; there is an integrity about Guy, a single-mindedness, which makes it all the more praiseworthy that he was prepared to forgive Gemma her faithlessness and give the marriage another go. Even so … Cass folds her arms, leans forward to rest her forehead against the cool glass. What Gemma has told her makes her afraid: afraid that as he grows older Guy might harden into his father’s mould.

She is glad that Gemma and the twins are home, away from Mark’s influence, and she will do everything in her power to keep them here. Those little boys are so precious to her, so dear, that she cannot bear to think of them exposed to Mark’s acid tongue and contemptuous glances. Guy, on the other hand, clearly adores his sons, and they him, so perhaps she is foolish to be so fearful.

All will be well now: they are home, safe, and if Guy returns then that will be good, and if not … Cass thinks of Kate and her heart aches. Kate is too honest to condemn Gemma for feeling about Guy as she once felt about Mark, but the truth is plain: if Gemma had not played around they’d all still be living happily in South Brent.

Cass straightens up, turns from the window as if escaping from something she no longer wishes to see, but the old familiar anguish grips her heart. Had she not been faithless all those years ago Charlotte, her first-born and Tom’s favourite, would still be alive. Even now Cass cringes away from a vision of Charlotte watching, listening, gradually piecing together the unpalatable truth. And the terrible irony was that when at last Charlotte made her move, the affair was over. Charlotte’s accusations involved other people and precipitated a terrible tragedy – even now Cass can hear the recriminatory words she screamed at her daughter – and then Charlotte, still in shock, saddled up and rode out on her pony, riding to her death. She was fifteen …

The twins come racing out of the kitchen. ‘Granny,’ they shout. ‘Granny, where are you?’ and Cass switches her mind away from these thoughts and hurries thankfully down to join them.

*   *   *

‘But the fact remains,’ says Kate to Jess later as they sit in front of the fire, ‘that part of me still feels very slightly resentful. Cass has always been able to disarm me, and Gemma is exactly the same.’

Kate was struck, during that conversation, by Gemma’s resemblance to Cass and to Oliver, with her long blonde hair swept up into a knot, her blue eyes anxious. Once again the ghosts edged closer: Kate remembered the delightful baby Gemma in her pram, the pretty schoolgirl, the beautiful young bride and, last, the extremely attractive woman who was watching her over the rim of her coffee cup.

‘Honestly, Kate,’ Gemma had said, ‘I had to do something. Mark is impossible and Guy just grows more silent and more unapproachable. You know!’

And Kate agreed; yes, she knows about that invisible barrier, which blocks any attempt at communication, the chill atmosphere and the numbing lack of physical affection.

‘Oh, I know what Guy can be like,’ Kate says now to Jess. ‘And I know it’s not always easy for someone like Gemma to cope with that unemotional, rather austere kind of character, but they’ve known each other all their lives so it’s no good complaining about it at this late date.’

‘How weird that must be,’ says Jess, curled up at the other end of the sofa. She’s fascinated by this new angle of the story. ‘Were you pleased when they got married?’

‘Yes,’ says Kate, trying to remember. ‘Yes, I was, because they seemed to be so much in love, but I was a bit anxious because they are so completely different.’ She hesitates, wondering how much she ought to tell Jess; how far she can go without being disloyal.

‘You might as well tell her,’ Gemma had said. ‘She’s going to be around for a while so it’s easier for everyone, isn’t it?’

‘It’s odd to think,’ says Jess, ‘that if Juliet and Mike hadn’t gone to Australia I might have been part of all this. Daddy might have gone to school with Oliver and Guy.’

‘Your father must have married very young,’ says Kate.

Jess nods. ‘He was twenty-two. I think it was because he was on his own over here and he wanted to have his own special person. Mum’s parents had died in a car crash when she was quite young and they were a bit “babes in the wood” together, if you know what I mean. They looked after each other, though they were both quite strong people, and we had army friends, of course. But when Daddy was killed and Mum went off to Brussels all that fell apart. I think this is why it’s so fascinating hearing all this stuff. It’s like I’m being given a family again.’

‘We haven’t talked much about Juliet and Mike, though we probably will when we go to lunch with the Trehearnes. Johnnie knew Mike very well. Didn’t Tom say that Juliet and Mike met at one of the Trehearnes’ parties? You’ll love the house. It’s on the River Tamar, and the views are spectacular. In the summer they used to hold the parties outside in the sea garden.’

‘The sea garden? What’s a sea garden?’

‘It used to be an old quay built up above the saltings. Now it’s grassed over, with a wonderful curving stone balustrade around the edge of the lawn, and the most amazing old ship’s figurehead, Circe. She looks downriver towards Plymouth and the sea. The Trehearnes’ ancestors were traders and in the old days the ships used to come right upriver. Circe was taken from one of them and she’s simply magnificent. The legend has it that the sea garden was built by one old chap when he could no longer go to sea so that he could go out and stare down the river and listen to the gulls and watch the tide come sweeping up over the mudflats.’

Jess tries to imagine it. ‘And is that where Juliet and Mike met?’ She has a sudden vision of pretty girls in long dresses and handsome men in uniform moving in the sea garden; lights are strung above the balustrade and gleam on the dark water in the gathering dusk. She blinks, surprised at such a vivid mental picture.

‘That’s what Tom says.’ Kate notices that Jess says ‘Juliet and Mike’ not ‘Granny and Grandfather’, as if she is seeing them now as the young couple they were then; as if she is in the story with them. ‘Tom served with Mike, so he must have got to know him pretty well, though Mike was a couple of years older than Tom.’

‘I wonder why they went to Australia,’ says Jess rather wistfully.

‘Exchanges happened quite often back then,’ Kate says. ‘Between us and Australia and Canada. Mark, my ex-husband, transferred to the Canadian Navy and then bought into a boatyard business when he retired from the service. Guy was doing yacht brokerage and delivery work over here, which is why he thought it might all work out when they moved to be with him.’

‘You must be pleased that they’re back.’

‘I shall be happier when Guy’s back, too. I can see why Gemma’s given him the ultimatum but I hope she knows what she’s doing.’

‘You’re cross with her for taking the risk?’

‘I suppose I am, a bit,’ admits Kate. ‘That’s what I meant about feeling resentful. Gemma had been playing about, you see, and Guy found out and it all got rather unpleasant. He decided that he would join his father in Canada so as to make a clean break from the mess here and she must choose whether to go or end the marriage. Gemma agreed that it was a fair deal. It worked for a little while but Mark is showing no sign of passing the business over to Guy, which was the plan, but has been playing a rather heavy hand and allowing Guy no scope. Meanwhile, Guy has been growing disenchanted and grumpy and Gemma is missing her friends and family. She’s tried to persuade Guy to come back and now she’s given him this ultimatum. I can well imagine that between Mark and Guy she’s had a tough time, especially now Mark has married again, but it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t played around in the first place.’

‘But did she play around because she was … well, bored with Guy?’

Kate sighs. ‘Gemma simply can’t resist a flirtation. Cass used to be the same. They have a kind of blindness. They don’t see it as cheating: simply as harmless fun. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that, though when Guy found out that she’d actually had an affair he was very understanding about it. He could see that Gemma had been left alone too much whilst he was at sea, and he was prepared to give the marriage another try. She certainly wanted to. That’s why she was prepared to go to Canada. We were all gutted that they’d be so far away, of course, but that was Guy’s condition at the time. Now it’s Gemma calling the shots.’

‘Poor Kate. It’s a bit tough on you, isn’t it?’

‘It’ll be tough on all of us if Gemma’s misjudged Guy. This is a very flawed and damaged family you’re taking on, Jess.’

‘That’s why it feels so real,’ says Jess contentedly.

*   *   *

‘Stop looking so hunted,’ Oliver says. He pushes his sister’s glass of wine a little closer to her. ‘There’s nobody here we know. No one’s going to pop up and question you.’

‘I know.’ Gemma relaxes a little, picking up the glass, glancing round the bar of the little moorland pub. ‘But it’s getting me down a tad. I just wish Pa would stop giving me little lectures about playing fair and about how it was all my fault in the first place. It makes me want to pack up and go somewhere else. I know he’s right but I still think that this is the way I’m going to save our marriage.’

‘Then stay with it.’ He drinks some water. ‘You know, they both played the field a bit, our dear parents, and I think Pa’s frightened that you might lose something you love because you’re not taking it seriously enough.’

She stares at him; gives a disbelieving little laugh. ‘What? Sorry, Ol. Have I missed a point or something? You sound like “Thought for the Day”. Anyway, what d’you mean “played the field”? After they were married? Come on.’

He hesitates. ‘OK then, but this is in absolute confidence.’

She pulls a face. ‘Good grief, Charlie Brown. OK. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

He smiles a little at the phrase from their childhood but quickly looks serious again; his gaze is inward, remembering.

‘I expect you don’t remember much about Charlotte. She was about fifteen when she died and you were about six. Do you remember her?’

Gemma thinks about their older sister. She frowns, trying to separate true memory from stories and photographs. She shakes her head slowly.

‘It was such a long time ago,’ she says. ‘I just have this feeling of a kind person.’

‘Yes, she was a gentle, quiet girl. Well, Ma and Pa had been having a slight relationship problem and they’d both been finding comfort elsewhere. On the day Charlotte went out on that fateful pony ride she’d found out something a bit unsavoury about Ma and they’d had a row. She was very upset and, as you know, the pony slipped at the edge of the quarry and they both went over. Ma can never forgive herself. She told me about it when you went out to Canada. She said that it had brought back terrible memories and she and Pa were just so relieved that you and Guy had sorted things out and the twins were happy.’

Gemma gazes at her brother with horror and fear. ‘Charlotte found out something?’

‘Ma didn’t give me any details. Perhaps Charlotte overheard something – perhaps a telephone call – and confronted Ma. Apparently there was a very bad scene and Charlotte just dashed out and got on her pony and rode off without putting on her hard hat. Ma said that the bitter truth was that her affair had been over for a while but Charlotte still suspected her of infidelity.’

‘I can’t believe that Ma would have messed around.’

‘Can’t you? I should have thought that it would be quite easy for you to understand the quirk of character that leads you to have flirtations and play the field.’

‘Thanks,’ she says grimly. ‘I asked for that. But even so…’

‘One doesn’t like to imagine one’s parents in that situation? True. Look, I’m saying this because they’re both anxious that nothing like this should happen to you. Or the twins.’

‘Shut up. Just shut up. You’ve made your point.’ There are tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t take it in. Charlotte … Oh my God. Why are you telling me now?’

‘For two reasons. First, so that you can understand a bit better why Pa is going on like he is. He doesn’t want history to repeat itself. Second, I think you’ll get another chance with Guy and you should think very carefully about it.’

‘It’s awful.’

‘Yes, it’s awful. But it explains things a bit, doesn’t it?’

She nods. ‘It’s just such a shock. I mean, I know Charlotte was killed falling off her horse, but putting it into this kind of context makes it … Oh, I don’t know. Oh God, however did they live with it?’

‘With a great deal of heartbreak and difficulty. But they had to carry on. Shit happens. Deal with it.’

She stares at him, shocked. ‘There’s no need to be so brutal about it.’

‘I don’t feel brutal. I’ve had more chance to get used to the truth and, like you said, it happened a long time ago. It’s just that I don’t want everyone going off half-cock. OK, Pa’s being tiresome but now you know why, you’ll be less likely to do something silly and rush off in a fit of temper. We have to think of Ben and Julian. They need stability right now.’

‘I know they do,’ she says defensively. ‘I know that. This is for them just as much as me. More, if anything. They weren’t particularly happy out there lately, you know.’

‘OK. OK.’ Oliver raises his hands pacifically, palms up. ‘But it’s going to be better now. They’ll go to Mount House next week for the assessment and with luck they’ll go straight in. It’s amazingly lucky that the school has got space for them.’

Gemma subsides into the corner of the seat. ‘I know. And I’m truly grateful that you’re prepared to sub us the fees if they do get in, Ol.’

He grins sardonically. ‘I hope Guy will feel the same. He and I were never great buddies and I suspect he’ll find it just a shade difficult to cope with.’

‘I know he will.’ She makes a little face. ‘That’s tough. I am utterly thrilled at the chance to have Ben and Julian at Mount House. I think it helped with Mr Massie to know that they had a father and a few uncles there before them. That’s going to be another shock for Pa. That you’ll be shelling out for two sets of school fees.’

He shrugs. ‘I can afford it and I’m their godfather as well as their uncle. He should be pleased to know they’ll be settled.’

‘He is, but he still feels it. It must be a bit tough for him knowing how wealthy you are.’

‘I cry all the way to the bank. Are we going to have some lunch?’

She sits up straighter. ‘Did you bring me here just to tell me that? About Charlotte.’

‘It had to be said. I don’t see how you ever get over losing a child, for whatever reason, but they’ve struggled on and tried to come to terms with it. It’s easy to make harsh judgements about people when you don’t know the truth about them. You’re a big girl now and I reckon you can take it.’

‘Would Mum mind you telling me?’

He shrugs. ‘Probably not now. She didn’t absolutely say it was a secret but I’d rather you didn’t mention it to her. And certainly not to anybody else.’

‘Good grief, no.’ She shudders; frowns suddenly. ‘D’you think Kate knows?’

He hesitates and then nods. ‘Almost certainly. They’ve always been so close, haven’t they? Come on, let’s order.’

She watches him as he goes to the bar and she sees a reflection of herself: tall, elegant, blond, attractive. She wonders why he’s never nailed a relationship, never committed; after all, there have been plenty of contenders.

‘I get bored too quickly,’ he said once. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

Selfishly she’s rather glad; he’s such a mate, always there when something crops up. More importantly, he’s always on her side. A wife or partner might be a bit of a nuisance. The point about Oliver is that he doesn’t make judgements, which is why, when he does get serious, she listens. Like just now …

Gemma drinks some more wine and tries to remember Charlotte. She reflects on the big age gap between six and fifteen, and the fact that Charlotte had been away at school for so much of the time. Oh, but how ghastly for Ma: what a price to pay for some foolish flirtation. How terrible it must be to have an argument with your child and then never see her alive again; to live with the aching thought that if she hadn’t been so upset she’d have taken more care. She thinks about her twins, out with Kate for the day, and her heart is squeezed painfully with love and fear and a longing to protect. It occurs to her that Pa isn’t simply being bloody-minded and cross with her; he, too, is trying to protect her – and the boys – from her actions.

Oliver glances across from the crowd around the bar, gives her a little wink. She grins at him and her whole body suddenly relaxes: thank God for Ollie.

‘I shall be coming home sometime in the next fortnight,’ she said to him on the telephone. ‘Is there any chance you could be there? Can you make some reason for visiting? It’ll be so much easier if you’re around.’

And there he was, acting as a buffer state, making her laugh, taking charge of the twins, who adore him. Oh, he can afford to do as he pleases, she thought, he’s made a packet, but not everyone in his position would be as kind as her big brother.

‘So tell me about Jess,’ she says as he sits down again. ‘I still haven’t met her yet. Is she as gorgeous as Pa says?’

‘She’s certainly a looker but not in an obvious way. She’s got very long, very dark reddish-brown hair and her eyes are almost exactly the same colour. A very sweet, neat face, but not in any way vacuous. She looks keen, alert, very alive.’

Gemma’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Well. That’s a very detailed description. I can almost see her.’

‘Kate’s taking her down to meet the Trehearnes. You remember them? Mad Lady T and dear old Johnnie. Apparently they knew Jess’s grandparents back in the day. I felt quite sorry for the poor kid to begin with, but she’s absolutely loving it all. I like her a lot. Pity about the age gap but there it is. Clearly I’ve taken on Unk’s mantle and I’m destined to be everybody’s uncle.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. If I were just out of uni with my way to make in the world I’d think you were a jolly good catch.’

‘I’ll introduce you,’ he says, ‘and you can put in a word for me. Do you want another drink?’

*   *   *

Tom puts the newspaper aside and glances at his watch; a bit too early for the one o’clock news. Cass is off playing bridge, Oliver and Gemma have gone out to lunch, and he ought to be feeling a sense of freedom and relaxation. Instead he feels scratchy and cross. He doesn’t want to have to think too much just at the moment. Gemma’s return and the arrival of Jess have brought all sorts of memories rushing back, some of them good. He likes to remember those days when he was a young cadet, before he met Cass, hanging out with Johnnie Trehearne and Freddy Grenvile. The Trehearnes were very generous with their hospitality and he went home with Johnnie and Fred from Dartmouth on many occasions for a weekend. The three of them became good friends though he was never quite so keen on sailing as the others. He never let on, of course; it did him no harm at all to be a close oppo of Dickie Trehearne’s son and he took advantage of it.

Seeing Jess has brought it all back. He was knocked sideways by Juliet but she was more taken up with the older ones: Al and Mike and Stephen Mortlake. Now he tries not to admit the fact that he’s slightly jealous of Oliver’s growing friendship with Jess and the way that his elder son attracts women. Anyway, Oliver’s too old for the girl, nearly twice her age. And he’s got far too much money. It’s always been a mystery to him that old Uncle Eustace was so impressed with Oliver; taking him into the business, leaving him his shares. He had a very high opinion of Oliver. And Oliver was very fond of Unk.

‘It’s not the same,’ he said after Unk died. ‘There’s just no fun in the business any more. And it’s grown far too big. I’ve had a very good offer for it and I shall take it.’

And so he had. He didn’t ask advice from his father, talk it through with him, nothing like that. No. Just, ‘I’ve had a very good offer and I shall take it.’

‘For goodness’ sake!’ Cass cried when Tom said this to her. ‘So what? Leave him alone. Why can’t you be proud of him for doing what he does so successfully?’

Tom refolds the paper irritably, glances again at his watch. He was glad when Cass went off to her bridge morning, giving them both a breathing space. There have been quite a few rows lately about Gemma’s predicament and – indirectly – Oliver’s involvement.

‘We’ve lost one daughter,’ Cass shouted, ‘and I don’t intend to lose another. Gemma and the twins stay here until she’s ready to move on.’

She actually said that: ‘We’ve lost one daughter.’

He sees her clearly: Charlotte. She’d never have behaved as Gemma has; she was so sweet and gentle and loving. How he misses her and what a comfort she would have been to him now. He stands up and walks away from the table as if he can walk away from his pain; away from the fear that Gemma might precipitate just such another tragedy.

‘That’s simply nonsense,’ Cass says, exasperated by his anxiety. ‘This is all completely different. The twins aren’t adolescent girls with feverish imaginations, and Gemma isn’t playing the field any more. For God’s sake, get a grip.’

He knows her anger is an outward expression of her own remorse and grief but that doesn’t help. What will happen if Guy takes a firm stand and Gemma has to face the future alone with the twins? He asks Cass this question and she simply shrugs.

‘Other women have managed,’ she says.

And they both know that Oliver would take care of his sister and his nephews. Tom tries to decide why this knowledge irritates him so much; after all, he doesn’t want to see Gemma and the boys suffer. He gropes towards an answer but can’t find it. All he can see is Charlotte on one side, the scapegoat for his and Cass’s misbehaviour, and Gemma, nonchalantly and uncaringly recreating just such another disaster, on the other. It’s as if Charlotte has suffered for them all and his own sense of guilt seeks to assuage her spirit by punishing Gemma.

He needs a drink and it’s time for the news. Tom makes himself a gin and tonic, switches on the television and sits down at the table.