Charlotte decided she must be the only sane person on the planet. Not one of the other adults around her seemed to share one whit of her sense of urgency.
For goodness’ sake! thought Charlotte. We have only this morning to pack our suitcases, tidy the villa and meet the agent to get our bond back, and then we have to get all seven of us, plus our luggage, into two laughably small vehicles, drive to the airport and catch our respective flights. The Lawrences would be going home a month early, Michelle had informed her, because they’d run out of money, and, as their house was still being rented, they’d have to bunk down with Chad’s parents — which, Charlotte recalled, Michelle was not looking forward to, her relationship with her mother-in-law being on somewhat the same footing as that between slugs and salt.
Thank God that Benedict, Aishe and Gulliver are making their own travel arrangements, thought Charlotte. They’re the most disorganised of the lot. Well, not Benedict, she amended. He’s been chivvying the other two since breakfast, and with scant result. Then Aishe and Gulliver had the audacity to persuade everyone else to go into the village for gelato! They insisted they’d only be half an hour, Charlotte fumed, and that was forty-five minutes ago. Benedict and I met in the hallway just before, both lugging other people’s suitcases. Neither of us had the energy to do anything except roll our eyes at each other.
Part of Charlotte had to admit that she was glad of the distraction. Despite being urged to stay, Ned had left immediately after Patrick had taken Tom into the living room and Charlotte had not seen him since.
I suppose that’s only to be expected, she thought, given that I’ve not had a chance to tell him what happened at the pizzeria — which is that my dreams were shattered, popped like so many soap bubbles by a Marigold-glove-clad finger.
That night, when Charlotte had gone to bed, she’d cried and cried, shedding countless tears of disappointment and rejection and humiliation. But in the morning, lying in her bed, with the sun making a glowing wand of the gap in her curtains, Charlotte had found she was nowhere near as unhappy as she’d expected to be.
It was like when you’ve been thrown from a horse, she thought, and you’re flat on the grass, convinced that the impact has broken every bone in your body. But then you move your arms and legs and realise the only thing that’s been damaged is your pride and the riding crop that you fell on top of.
Has only my pride been hurt? wondered Charlotte. I suspect it goes a bit deeper than that. But I’ll live. And Patrick apparently bears me no ill will. He has been nothing but kind, and generous enough to say that if I still want my job, he’ll be happy for me to stay. It’s up to me, he said. He is a very good man.
Ned is a good man, too, she thought, with a pang of sadness. I really wish I could have the opportunity to say goodbye.
Charlotte glanced at her watch and experienced a small flutter of panic. What do I need to do now? she thought. She ran through a mental checklist, and decided it would be sensible to take one last look around the grounds to see if the children had left any toys or items of clothing. Because, sure as eggs are eggs, whatever is left will be the one thing that child simply must have, and they will raise creation until it’s returned.
Outside, she could hear frantic barking. Typical, she thought. Aishe has left the dog to its own devices, unsupervised.
Flea had managed to jump up on the stone wall that separated the villa grounds from the lake, just by the gate that led down to the boat dock. The wall was not too high, Charlotte thought, for moronic Labradors.
‘What are you barking at, you stupid animal?’ she said as she approached.
Charlotte reached the wall and leaned over. ‘Ducks. Wonderful. Surely you have seen a duck before?’
The ducks in question were paying no heed to the clamour above them, and were circling lazily, giving the occasional quack.
‘Come on!’ said Charlotte to Flea, pointing at the ground. ‘Down!’
The dog ignored her, and in the next instant, to Charlotte’s horror, made a flying leap off the wall and landed with a great splash amid a cacophony of quacking in the water below.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’
Charlotte looked over, and there was the dog, head up, swimming merrily after the one duck that had decided not to fly away. The duck, Charlotte observed, was paddling without apparent haste but fast enough to keep a constant distance between it and its pursuer.
Duck and dog were both heading away from the wall, towards the deeper water of the lake. That idiotic dog is going to follow that duck until it exhausts itself, was Charlotte’s realisation. And then the stupid thing will drown!
Charlotte ran back to the villa, and yelled for Benedict. He did not appear.
Curse him, thought Charlotte. He’s probably gone to hustle the others back from the village. Now what?
She dashed back to the wall and peered over again. The dog was even further out, still precisely the same distance behind the duck.
Curse everyone, thought Charlotte. Duck, dog, absent humans! What on earth can I do? I can’t let it drown.
Glancing to her left, she spied the rowing boat, tied up at the dock.
Oh, Lord, she thought. I suppose I’ll have to. With luck, the oars will be locked in the shed.
The gate to the boat dock was locked as always, but Charlotte could climb over it. She made her way down to the rowing boat. The oars, she saw with dismay, were lying in the bottom.
Left probably by Chad, Charlotte thought, who should have known better. Now, thanks to his negligence, I have no excuse whatsoever.
She peered out over the lake, to see if there were any handy old men fishing close by, but for once there were no boats within shouting distance.
Sod, she thought, and gingerly stepped into the boat. Then she untied it from its mooring, slotted the oars into the rowlocks, and began to row away.
It had been many years since Charlotte had rowed, but she was pleased to find she had not lost the knack. She caught up with the swimming dog with relative ease. However, Flea was still intent on chasing the duck, and ignored Charlotte’s orders for him to come towards the boat.
‘You beyond stupid animal!’ she said, resisting the urge to shake her fist at it.
Charlotte manoeuvred the boat around in front of the dog’s path, cutting off his line of sight to the duck. It had the desired effect. Flea gazed up at the boat with an expression of doggie puzzlement and began to swim alongside it. Which was when Charlotte realised that there was no way he could climb aboard without her help.
‘God save us,’ she said. ‘I shall have to haul you in bodily.’
And setting the oars inside the boat, she reached down and managed to grab hold of the dog’s collar. She gave a heave that lifted the dog out of the water enough for him to place his front legs over the side. Flea scrabbled his paws on the wood, but he could not gain purchase.
‘Come on!’ Charlotte gave another haul on the collar, her arm muscles straining with the effort. ‘Jump!’
At her command, Flea lunged forward, and the movement and his extra weight combined to tip the small boat sharply towards him. Flea took advantage of the lowered boat to scramble in. The momentum of his effort sent him skidding to a halt against the far side, causing the boat to rock violently. And Charlotte, off balance, her hold on the dog lost, was tipped suddenly and ungracefully over the side.
The lake was cold and, as she surfaced, Charlotte spluttered with shock as well as indignation. Her cotton sundress offered no protection, and its full skirt, now waterlogged, was dragging her down. Flea, she saw, was standing up in the boat, looking at her, his tail wagging. He gave her a doggie grin, and barked.
The boat had started to drift, Charlotte observed. I won’t waste my energy yelling at the imbecile animal, thought Charlotte, and she began to swim, as best she could in the heavy dress, towards boat and dog.
From the lakefront came what sounded like a splash, but as the swim required all her effort, she did not turn her head to look. The rowing boat, she saw to her frustration, was drifting slowly but inexorably away from her. It’s become the duck, she thought, and I am now forced into the role of the idiot canine.
Panic began to swirl in the pit of her stomach but Charlotte suppressed it firmly.
If I panic, I’m done for, she told herself.
She became aware of more splashing behind her, and to her astonishment, a head suddenly emerged from the water right next to her, and an arm grabbed hold around her waist.
‘’Tis all right,’ said Ned. ‘I’ve got thee.’
The relief of being held up out of the water was immense, and Charlotte found herself clinging to Ned, who seemed to be treading water with ease. He also seemed to be entirely naked, but Charlotte had no time to confirm this. She could see that the boat was still drifting.
‘Stupid dog,’ she said, and pointed.
‘I’ll have t’ put thee on tha back,’ said Ned. ‘That OK?’
‘Can’t be any more humiliated,’ said Charlotte.
Her teeth were beginning to chatter from the cold and shock. Ned didn’t delay; he slipped one arm under her, hand on her chest, and used his other arm to swim towards the boat.
He’s strong and fast, thought Charlotte. Thank God for that.
Ned was so strong that he almost threw Charlotte into the boat. She tumbled over the side and became wedged between the seats in a pike position — rear down, feet up. As she lay there, momentarily stuck and gasping for breath, Flea licked her face. My degradation is complete, thought Charlotte, as she pulled herself up and onto the damp wooden seat. The holy prankster has tossed his banana skin and I have prat-falled right on cue. At this moment, I have hit the absolute nadir.
Ned, she observed a mite resentfully, lifted himself into the boat with seemingly effortless grace. The boat rocked hard, nonetheless, and Charlotte clutched onto the sides, cursing under her breath. As Ned took the rower’s seat, she could see that he was not, in fact, naked, but wearing a pair of underpants, made, Charlotte observed, ironically, by Superdry.
Despite the heat of the sun and the relief of being out of the water, Charlotte’s teeth were still chattering.
‘I hate rowing boats,’ she managed to say.
Ned, rowing steadily, said, ‘Tha were brave, taking off after t’ dog like that. We were watching thee from shore.’
‘My, how entertaining that must have been,’ said Charlotte bitterly.
Then she remembered her manners. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for undertaking a rescue effort that was considerably more successful than mine.’
Ned gave her a quick glance and looked away. ‘Could hardly let tha drown.’
There was no shortage of helpers on the boat dock. Chad gave Charlotte a hand to get out of the boat, while Aishe grabbed Flea by the collar and hauled him out, whereupon he shook himself, vigorously, showering everyone with droplets of cold lake water. Darrell had thought to bring two towels, and she wrapped Charlotte in one, and handed the other to Ned, who had tied the boat to the mooring, and was now standing on the dock, apart from the group, looking almost as if he’d prefer to dive back into the water.
‘Come on.’ Darrell placed her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. ‘Let’s get you changed out of those wet clothes.’
The gate was unlocked, and Charlotte saw that everyone else was gathered on the terrace, waiting for them. Chad, and Aishe, after she’d sent Flea running into the garden with a slap on his rump, rejoined the group. When Ned stepped through the gate, Charlotte saw Michelle’s eyes widen.
‘Honey?’ she said to Chad. ‘How come you don’t look like that when you take your shirt off?’
Benedict said, ‘Who does? My entire torso is about the width of his calf!’
‘No wonder you got a pounding,’ said Aishe to Patrick. ‘He looks like Atlas.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Patrick, scowling. ‘Carrying supplies every day ten miles up a vertical fucking slope will do that for you.’
Charlotte, who had paused, felt Darrell’s hand on her back.
‘You shouldn’t let yourself get any colder,’ Darrell said.
‘I’m all right,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ll come inside in a minute.’
And she walked to where Ned was standing by the gate, holding the towel as if he’d forgotten it was in his hand. He had an expression of militant embarrassment on his face, which intensified as Charlotte approached.
‘I’m afraid if I go and get changed, you’ll vanish,’ she said to him. ‘And I would very much like to say goodbye.’
‘Tha’s soaked,’ he said. ‘Tha needs t’ get changed.’
‘Will you wait?’
‘Aye,’ he said, after a fractional hesitation. ‘I’ll meet thee by loggia.’
And he scooped his overalls from the wall where he’d obviously flung them, and walked off, Charlotte supposed, to the shed.
Back inside the villa, Charlotte grabbed clothes from her suitcase, not caring that she was disrupting her orderly packing, and showered and changed with haste. The letting agent had arrived to inspect the villa, and she did not care about that, either. She was only pleased that his arrival had distracted everyone else, most of whom were, she saw with added satisfaction, scurrying around doing last-minute tidying.
She half-expected the loggia to be empty, but there was Ned, back in his overalls, waiting for her. Charlotte ran up to him and went on tiptoe to kiss him, but he ducked his head to avoid her.
‘Don’t,’ he said, and added, ‘please.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Charlotte, crestfallen. ‘I just wanted to thank you.’
‘Hard enough t’ say goodbye,’ said Ned. ‘Almost changed my mind about meeting thee here.’
‘I’m so glad you didn’t,’ said Charlotte. ‘That would have made me very sad indeed.’
Ned’s expression of combative embarrassment returned. ‘Tha’ll forget about us soon enough,’ he said. ‘Back t’ your home, and job, and … well, tha knows who.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Charlotte. ‘Him.’
She looked Ned straight in the eye. ‘I’d better confess that I’ve been very foolish about all that.’
‘That so?’ Ned’s tone was cautious.
‘I knew he didn’t love me,’ said Charlotte, ‘but I had hoped that I might be able to sway his affections. But Patrick is very much in love with his wife, and that is unlikely to change any time soon.’
‘And how’d tha feel about that?’ said Ned.
‘Chastened,’ admitted Charlotte. ‘I thought I was smart, and for that hubris fate has punished me soundly.’
Ned scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot. ‘D’ thee think it’s impossible t’ make someone love thee, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Charlotte truthfully. ‘I suppose it depends on the people involved, and the circumstances.’
‘If t’ people were tha and us,’ said Ned, after a moment, ‘and t’ circumstances were that I came back and got job in England, what would thee think then?’
Charlotte’s heart leapt, but it would not do to be anything less than scrupulously honest.
‘I would admire your bravery,’ she said. ‘I’d also add that I’ve always believed in going after what you want, because one can never know until one tries.’
‘No promises, though?’
‘Well, I warn you that my life hasn’t exactly been filled with raging successes where love’s concerned,’ said Charlotte. ‘But I can promise to be open to the idea. Is that enough?’
Ned’s half-smile appeared, directed at first at his feet, and then at Charlotte.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘’Tis enough.’
He scuffed his toe in the dirt again. ‘Haven’t had much success, neither. Suspect I need to learn t’ play better wi’ others.’ He smiled at her, properly this time. ‘Less pawing and bellowing.’
‘Quite possibly,’ said Charlotte. ‘Will you let me kiss you now?’
‘I will,’ he said, taking her in his arms. ‘But I might have t’ carry thee off t’ shed if it gets too much for us.’
‘That’s perfectly acceptable,’ said Charlotte with a smile. ‘After all, it has just been cleaned.’