‘You are sure you won’t change your mind about letting me go on the boat with Nan, aren’t you?’
‘Davie, for heaven’s sake! That must be the dozenth time you’ve asked me that!’ his mother said, sleepily. ‘No, I promise I won’t change my mind, and yes, you may go home on the boat with Nan. Though I can’t deny I’ll be happy to see you back on terra firma, as you well know.’
‘Mother doesn’t like water,’ Davie confided to Fergus. ‘She saw some drowned people once and it frightened her.’
Fergus had heard the story – or as much of it as Annie had cared to tell him. ‘Yes. I know.’ He looked across at Annie. She had turned her head to look out of the carriage window; the evening sun burnished her dark hair almost to copper and glinted in the sweep of her lashes. Fergus Cameron was no romantic; quite the contrary, he had always positively prided himself upon being a restrained and temperate man. But studying the smooth, pale, intelligent face with its wide cheekbones and soft dark eyes, watching the pulse that beat at the base of her throat, the droop of her eyelids as the drowsy warmth and movement of the train lulled her, he felt – not for the first time – an uncharacteristic surge of excitement. Of real desire. His first marriage had been long, worthy and dull. It had produced two equally worthy and dull children. He had worked hard all of his life, been moderately successful and always irreproachably respectable. Yet in these past months he had discovered that for all the sober, avuncular image he showed to the world he was as capable of love – and of lust – as any other man. The discovery was as exciting as it was unexpected.
Annie sighed, stretched a little. Her full, soft breasts lifted against the bright silk of her dress. She opened her eyes, glanced out of the window, blinked herself awake. ‘We’re nearly there. Halesworth is the next stop.’ She stood up and reached up to the luggage rack for her hat and jacket.
‘Let me.’ Fergus scrambled to his feet. Smiling, she turned to let him slip her jacket onto her shoulders. As she bent her head to button it her heavy hair fell away and he saw the white skin of the back of her neck, smooth and soft and vulnerable. More than anything he had ever wanted in his entire life, he wanted now to put his arms around her. To kiss her. He cleared his throat and reached for Davie’s jacket and cap. ‘Here you are, young man.’
It being Friday evening, the little train to Southwold was packed. Davie, inevitably, got into conversation with the woman sitting next to him. By the time they reached their destination, Annie noted with wry amusement that the woman knew who Davie was, where he lived, where he was going and that his Nan’s dog was called Brandy, but ‘I don’t know what sort he is.’ He was still talking as they got off the train. ‘Nan calls him a Heinz Variety dog—’
‘Come on, Davie.’ Smiling apologetically at the woman, Annie took her son’s hand. ‘There is Brandy, look. He’s brought Nan to the station to meet us—’
‘So – have you named the happy day?’ Jane Renault looked at her daughter across the kitchen table. They were buttering bread and making sandwiches for supper. Davie and Fergus were in the little front parlour playing ludo. Beyond the window the sun had disappeared behind building clouds; the sound of the distant sea washed through the open door.
Annie sliced cucumber with stoic precision. She did not look at her mother. ‘No. We haven’t decided yet.’
Something in her tone made Jane cock her head a little as she looked at her. ‘So – I don’t have to rush out and buy a big hat just yet?’
Annie smiled faintly. ‘No. Don’t worry. We’ll give you plenty of notice.’
There was a small silence. Jane cut the sandwich she had made into neat triangles and arranged them on the plate with the others. ‘He’s a nice man,’ she said softly, her eyes still on her daughter’s face. ‘I like him.’
‘Yes. So do I.’
‘He obviously gets on well with Davie—’
‘Yes. At least—’
‘At least – what?’
‘I’m not sure that Davie’s really keen on the idea of our marrying.’ Annie reached for a slice of bread. She still did not raise her eyes to her mother’s.
‘Has he said so?’
‘Not in so many words, no.’
‘Then what makes you think so?’
‘Just – I know Davie. I just sense that he isn’t happy about it.’
‘And is that why you haven’t set a date?’ Her mother’s voice was gentle.
‘No. No, of course not. We’ve been busy, that’s all.’ The words did not ring true even in her own ears. She buttered the bread ferociously. Brandy, sitting at her feet, cocked his head interestedly and looked hopeful.
‘Darling – there isn’t anything wrong, is there?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Call me an interfering old bat if you like, but you can’t let a ten-year-old run your life, you know, even if he is your son. Davie’s bound to have some reservations. Children don’t like change, and they don’t like the prospect of change. The sooner you do it, the sooner he’ll come to terms with it—’
Annie lifted her head at last and treated her mother to a swift, rueful grin. ‘You’re an interfering old bat,’ she said mildly.
Unruffled, Jane laughed and reached for the plate. ‘Fair enough.’ She lifted her voice as she carried the plate to the door. ‘Davie? Fergus? Supper’s on the table.’
When Annie woke the next morning it was raining, a fine, drenching mist of rain that drifted in from the sea like heavy fog. She pulled on a skirt and jumper and went down to the kitchen. Brandy greeted her with a yelp and danced around her ecstatically like a circus dog on his hind legs.
‘Ssh! You’ll wake everyone up! Wait a minute; let me get my jacket on.’ She pushed her arms into the old waterproof jacket she kept by the back door, tied a scarf over her head, slipped her feet into wellington boots and opened the door. With the little mongrel bounding dementedly around her feet, she set off towards the beach.
From a window under the eaves her mother’s thoughtful eyes watched her go.
It was very early. The beach was deserted. Annie crunched along the shingle, hands in pockets, collar turned up against the chill air and the melancholy drift of the rain, face preoccupied. As was his habit, Brandy chased the waves, snapping and barking joyously.
As she walked, and as she had been doing almost constantly since Thursday evening, she tried to assemble her thoughts into some kind of rational order.
Richard had simply asked her out to dinner. That was all.
She wasn’t married to Fergus. Not yet. She could go to dinner with anyone she pleased.
So – did she want to go to dinner with a virtual stranger?
Yes. She did.
And here, as many times before, in honesty she had to ask herself: what did that say about her relationship with Fergus?
She bent to pick up a handful of stones and stood for a moment absently tossing them into the sea one by one. Brandy came to sit by her side, watching her expectantly. She stooped to fondle the dog’s wet ears. ‘What do you think?’ she asked him. ‘Would it hurt? Just once? Something just a little exciting, a little romantic? Where’s the harm?’ She straightened, pulled a face. ‘You know full well where the harm might be, my girl,’ she told herself aloud. ‘The altogether different question is, do you care?’
Boots scrunching on the shingle, she walked on.
As the day went on the weather improved, so after lunch at the Swan Hotel they escorted Fergus on an exploration of the little town, and especially of the lovely old church of St Edmund. Jane, who truly loved the place she had chosen for her home, kept up an informative running commentary, aided and abetted by Davie, who knew almost as much about the place as she did. After the church they strolled towards the sea, and stood looking out across Sole Bay from the low cliffs of Gun Hill, trying to imagine the day in 1672 when a great and bloody sea battle had raged, fought between squadrons of the English and Dutch navies. ‘The Duke of York made them break down the bridge across Buss Creek, so the people couldn’t run away if the Dutch landed,’ Davie said. ‘It must have been pretty scary standing here watching, knowing that, don’t you think?’
‘It certainly must,’ Fergus agreed. He was watching Annie, who was looking out to sea with a faraway expression on her face. ‘Who won?’ he asked.
Annie did not even notice the question.
‘Mother.’ Davie tugged at her hand. ‘Uncle Fergus is talking to you.’
‘What? Oh, sorry – I was miles away…’
‘I asked who won. The battle?’
Annie looked vague for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone did, though both sides claimed they had, of course. By all accounts it was a very fierce affair.’
‘There were tons of wounded,’ said Davie. ‘And ever so many died. Where are we going to have tea?’
That evening, at Jane’s suggestion, Annie and Fergus went for a stroll on their own. ‘Don’t hurry,’ she said, ignoring Annie’s half-hearted protests. ‘Davie and I will be all right on our own. Pop into the Crown for a drink—’
It was the last thing that Annie wanted and she was sure her mother knew it. That Fergus knew it too became clear almost as soon as they left the house.
‘Annie – what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?’
‘You’ve barely said a word all day.’
‘That isn’t a crime, is it?’ She knew how hurtfully snappish that was. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added quickly. ‘I’m just a bit out of sorts, that’s all.’
‘Something to do with me?’ he asked quietly. ‘With us?’
‘No. Nothing to do with anyone.’ She shook her head irritably. ‘It doesn’t have to be anything to do with someone, does it? I just got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, I suppose. That’s all.’
They were walking through a small square, its neat garden deserted in the quiet evening light. Fergus stopped and turned to face her, holding her lightly by the shoulders. He studied her face for a long moment. ‘Annie – please? Let’s settle down, name the day and make the arrangements? I can’t tell you how much I want us to be married. Wait…’ His hands tightened as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘I know I’m not very good at these things, but I want to tell you something. I love you. I hadn’t realised how much I loved you. You made me so very happy when you said you’d marry me. Please, Annie, don’t have second thoughts. Not now. It would’ – he cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the emotive words, but determined to speak them nevertheless – ‘it would break my heart, I think.’
Annie was staring at him, astonished – not to say appalled – and completely at a loss for words.
‘You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?’ he asked, unable to keep the anxiety from his voice.
And, ‘No. Of course not,’ she found herself saying.
‘And you will set a date? Soon?’
‘Yes.’
He beamed. Drew her towards him. Kissed her, very gently.
Annie closed her eyes and tried, entirely unsuccessfully, to fight off the sense of helpless dismay that was threatening to envelop her.
The next day Davie was almost beside himself with excitement at the thought of going back to London by boat. Annie, fiercely anxious and, what was more, faced with the thought of the train journey alone with Fergus and his unexpected – and unwelcome – new eager attentiveness, did her best not to fuss or snap, but it was not easy. Her mother watched her with shrewd sympathy. ‘You’re sure you won’t come with us?’ she asked.
They were walking down to the pier, Davie dancing ahead of them. Annie shook her head. ‘Mother, I can’t. You know I can’t. I know it’s stupid. But just the thought of the water…’ The words tailed off. ‘I can’t even think about it without getting panicked,’ she confessed after a moment. ‘I always thought I might grow out of it but,’ she shrugged, ‘if anything it’s worse. I’ll never forget the trip across from France. You must remember? I thought I was going to die of fright. It makes me feel ill just to think about it. No, you two go ahead, and enjoy the trip. You’ve got the key to the house? Just in case we get held up?’
‘It’s coming! It’s coming!’ Davie pointed.
‘I’ve got it.’ Jane patted her handbag and took Davie’s hand. ‘We’ll see you later. Oh, by the way,’ she paused for a moment, ‘I forgot to mention that when I took Brandy over to Mrs Ludley she said the parish meeting has been postponed until next week, so I can stay an extra few days if that’s all right with you. I thought I might do a bit of shopping in town. Wait a minute, Davie, there’s ages
‘We mustn’t miss it!’
‘We won’t. I thought perhaps till next weekend. Is that all right?’
‘Yes. Of course it is,’ Annie said faintly.
‘Bye, Mother. See you later.’ Davie flung his arms about her neck. ‘And don’t worry. We’ll be quite safe.’
She squeezed him, dropped a kiss on the top of his fair head. ‘Of course you will. I’m just being silly, I know that. Look after Nan for me, won’t you?’
Davie beamed. ‘Come on, Nan. You will wave to us, Mother, won’t you? Like a proper ship?’
‘Yes. I’ll wave.’
‘We can pretend we’re leaving Portsmouth or somewhere, to go to America, can’t we?’ Still chattering excitedly, Davie dragged his grandmother at an unseemly pace towards the landing stage.
Annie, bracing herself to watch them sail away, tried very hard not to think about the unexpected and disconcerting fact that her astute and sharp-eyed mother would not, as she had expected, be discreetly tucked away in Southwold when Richard came for his answer on Thursday evening.
That night, despite having a tired and happy Davie home after his adventure and snuggled safely in his bed, Annie dreamed about the drowned mother and child again. But this time the nightmare went further, as it sometimes did. This time, to the horror of the wan, water-bleached faces was added a haunting and terrible sense of evil, of fear and bitter shame. And this time, when she did wake up, she awoke standing beside Davie’s bed, weeping silently.
‘Richard’s coming tomorrow,’ said Davie.
His grandmother, standing at the sink scraping potatoes, looked up. ‘Richard? Who’s Richard?’
Davie was sitting at the kitchen table, his hand in the biscuit barrel. ‘A friend. We met him at the Gardens. He’s nice; you’ll like him.’
Jane flashed him a mildly caustic smile. ‘Is that an order?’
He laughed, sorting through the biscuits. ‘Yes. Who’s eaten all the chocolate biscuits?’
‘You have. So, is this Richard the same age as you?’
Davie pulled out a custard cream, and surveyed it critically before biting into it. ‘Oh, no. He’s a grown-up. I lent him a book. He’s coming to bring it back.’
‘I see. You’d better make that the last one, now. You’ll spoil your dinner.’
‘Richard lives in Paris some of the time. In the rue’ – Davie hesitated, brow wrinkled – ‘oh, I can’t remember. The rue something-or-other. You’ll enjoy talking to him about that, won’t you?’
‘Indeed I will. Now come on, rascal, help me lay the table.’
Davie jumped from the stool. ‘All right. What have we got for afters?’
Richard, when he came, arrived not just with the returned book but with flowers: not a large and showy bouquet but a pretty nosegay of early sweet peas. Rather more flustered than the small gesture warranted, Annie ducked her head to smell them. ‘You’re very kind. Thank you. They’re my favourite flowers.’ She stepped back from the door. ‘Do please come in. My mother’s here.’ Her eyes flickered to his face and away. ‘She’s very much looking forward to meeting you.’ Annie could not suppress a smile. ‘Davie’s told her all about you, of course!’
She led the way into the sitting room and made the introductions. Annie saw the slight widening of her mother’s eyes as she took in the easy charm and rangy good looks of Davie’s new ‘friend’. She left them exchanging pleasantries while she went to call Davie in from the garden. By the time she came back they were already chatting like old friends.
‘—I know it well. Annie’s father and I lived just around the corner when we were first married—’
‘Richard!’ Davie bounded across the room to stand in front of him. ‘Come and see my seaplane. I finished it yesterday.’
‘In a minute, Davie.’ Annie sent Richard an apologetic smile. ‘I can’t think what happened in this house to the notion that children should be seen and not heard.’
He stayed for barely an hour, most of which he spent chatting easily to Jane or talking to Davie. Annie poured drinks and sat quietly and apparently composedly beside her mother on the sofa, hiding the confusion of her had reasoned it out; she had been sensible. Right up to the point when Richard walked through the door she had fully intended to tell him she would not meet him for dinner. The instant she saw him she had changed her mind. Now, perversely, she was afraid that he might have changed his.
She need not have worried. As she saw him to the door he bent his head close to her ear. ‘You’ll come?’ It was only barely a question.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow,’ she said collectedly. ‘Where?’
‘I’ll meet you at Waterloo Station. Eight o’clock.’ He grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. ‘Under the clock.’ Before she could move he had bent swiftly, brushed his lips against her cheek, and then was gone.
‘What a charming man,’ Jane said from the open doorway behind her.
Annie jumped. ‘Yes. Isn’t he?’
‘Charming. Handsome. And the reason you don’t want to marry Fergus?’ The words were light, the gleam in her mother’s eye sharp.
Her daughter turned. She should, she supposed, have known better than to try to hide anything from this shrewd and too observant mother of hers. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But if you don’t mind looking after Davie for me tomorrow evening, I’ll do the best I can to find out.’
‘As long as you let me know,’ Jane said, unabashed. ‘I do like to know what’s going on.’
Annie put an arm about her shoulders. ‘You don’t say?’ she asked in entirely spurious amazement.