CHAPTER NINETEEN

Earlier, down at the cottage, the sun was already shining into the small paved area as Guy carried his coffee outside and sat at the green-painted, cast-iron table, his eyes turned seawards, Bertie curled at his feet. Thick soft mist drifted gently above the silvery water, fingering the fringes of the little fields, dissolving and shredding as the sun drew it upwards. The luscious dew-soaked meadows spread fan-wise round the bay edged all about by woody hills and tiny villages to the east: Bossington, Allerford and Selworthy, still folded in the shadow of Bossington Hill. He heard the stutter of a blackbird’s warning call in the coombe behind him, followed by the quarrelling of harsh-voiced jays, and breathed a great sigh of quiet delight.

This week, dropping suddenly as an unexpected gift from nowhere after an arrangement to collect a boat from Falmouth had fallen through, was a real bonus. It was Gemma who had suggested Exmoor, telephoning around her friends until she found that the Hamiltons had a last-minute cancellation, and he was looking forward to a few days at sea on this coast. He’d sold the boat, a Hurley 26, to Matt some months earlier and an offer to sail in her had been made along with the deal: Guy suspected that Matt would be a pleasant, quiet companion, not one of those endless chatterers who drove him mad. He’d never been able to explain his deep-down need for solitude: for periods of silence away even from those he loved best. He’d managed it at school with difficulty and only then with the connivance of his own twin brother, Giles. Later he’d started his small business – a yacht brokerage – and when the opportunity had arisen to collect a boat from down in the Med, he’d seized it without a second thought. Perhaps, once he was married, he should have explored other aspects of the business but Gemma seemed content with their rather unorthodox life and rarely complained. As a member of a naval family she was accustomed to the idea of separation; nevertheless he’d expected a change of attitude with the arrival of the twins.

Stretching his legs in the sunshine, smoothing Bertie’s head which rested against his knee, Guy felt a warmth of gratitude towards his pretty, good-tempered wife: presently he would take up a mug of coffee for her. He looked again towards the sea, frowning a little, watching for any evidence of a breeze as the sun climbed higher, burning the glistening drops of moisture from the green leaves of the fuchsia bushes, and warming the damp rocky outcrops. After a while he stood up and went back into the cottage to make some more coffee.

Upstairs, beneath the thin cotton sheet, Gemma turned and dozed, half-consciously listening for the early-morning sounds of the twins. Reaching sleepily across the empty spaces of the bed she realized that Guy had already risen, remembered where she was and sighed pleasurably to herself. Soon he would bring her coffee but meanwhile she could relax and plan her day. There were several old friends she could look up, places to visit; she began to plot carefully so that the truth might be told – but not necessarily all of it. She’d learned the art of throwing a little dust in everyone’s eyes so that nobody could be absolutely certain where she might have been at any one time.

‘I was having lunch with Sophie, darling – or was it tea? D’you know, I simply can’t remember which but, anyway, she sent you her love . . .’

Oh, she knew it was dangerous – Gemma shivered instinctively, pulling the sheet a little closer – but then that was the whole point of this delightful game. Just as Guy needed those periods of solitude, sitting on a boat somewhere at sea alone, so she needed the forbidden excitement of the chase: those electrifying moments of awareness, the eye-meets and apparently casual introductions. These made her feel twice as alive and, afterwards, she was filled with a glorious sense of well-being. Of course, Guy had never suspected a thing – again that tiny shiver of fear prickled her warm skin – but there was no reason why he should. It made no difference at all to their marriage apart from lending it an extra dimension which, she told herself, was a plus factor. These tiny excursions kept her happy and lent a glow to her relationship with Guy.

She loved him, of course she loved him, there was no question of that: those others were simply a rather delicious taste of icing on a very good cake and it was nonsense to suggest otherwise; and, anyway, she’d never been able to understand what all the fuss was about when it came to seizing a few moments of fun. It would be different, of course, if she were to start a long-term, serious affair, but that was never in question although there was always the chance that one of these brief meetings might lead on to something more serious. Her mother had begun to talk about it once, beginning to relate something that had happened to her when she was young, but Gemma had stopped her.

‘Too much information, Ma,’ she’d said, embarrassed – and, truth to tell, very slightly frightened. Had she suspected something? Gemma shrugged. Even if she had, Ma would never speak about it to anyone else.

The door opened and Guy came in carrying a mug of coffee. She pretended to stretch sleepily and felt his light touch on her shoulder: hidden beneath the sheet Gemma’s mouth curled into a smile.

‘Coffee,’ he said. ‘It’s a fantastic morning though we could do with a bit more wind. There’s hardly a breath at the moment.’

Still hidden from sight, Gemma’s eyes opened warily.

‘Does that mean you won’t be able to sail?’ Her voice was lazily concerned, merely faintly anxious that he should miss a day at sea, nothing more.

‘Oh, we’ll go.’ He sounded confident. ‘We’ve got an engine, of course, but no-one wants to use an engine if they can sail. We’ll probably pick up a bit of breeze once we’re out in the Channel.’

‘I expect so.’ She sat up, the sheet sliding away from her, reaching for the mug. ‘Anyway, you’ll be able to keep in touch. I shan’t worry about you if you just let me know you’re OK and when you’re getting in so that I can meet you. Or will Matt drop you off?’

‘Probably. I don’t know yet. We might go into the Ship for a pint and some supper. You could come down and join us. Just remember to keep your mobile switched on, that’s all.’

‘I do generally.’ He didn’t see her swift, private grin. ‘I think it’s more likely that I’m out of signal or something when you can’t get hold of me. Pass me my cigarettes, darling, would you? Thanks.’

She inhaled luxuriously, smiling at him, eyes narrowed against the smoke, her unclothed body posed comfortably but slightly suggestively against the pillows. Guy turned away wishing, as he sometimes did, that she was less obvious: more modest. Just occasionally he would have preferred her to be interestingly unavailable – not quite so predictably up for it – yet even as he thought it he cursed at himself for being an ungrateful fool.

‘Matt should be here soon if we’re to catch the tide,’ he said casually. ‘I’d better get my stuff together and have some breakfast. Will you be down or do you want to have a lazy morning in bed?’

‘Oh, I’ll be down,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps I’ll come and see you off.’

She knew before he spoke what his answer would be.

‘No, don’t bother,’ he said. ‘It’s simply not worth it. By the way, don’t forget that Bertie will need a walk. I’ve given him a little run down the road but it’ll do him good to stretch his legs.’

He smiled at her before he went downstairs, reminding himself how lucky he was – that it was very touching that she liked to know where he was and that he was OK.

Gemma watched him go, smoking her cigarette reflectively. She knew that he hated any kind of public demonstrations of affectionate farewells but she’d made the offer: now she could think about the rest of the day ahead. As she pushed back the sheet she chuckled to herself: thank goodness for the mobile telephone. Matt arrived as she was pulling a T-shirt over her head and she quickly fastened her shorts and went downstairs.

They were laughing together, easy and relaxed, Guy towering over the shorter, stockier and much older man who turned as Gemma came into the room.

Guy saw that Matt was clearly rather pleased if surprised by her kiss and felt the usual mix of irritation and resignation. He’d hated that easy familiarity with which she greeted virtual strangers – kissing them as though they were old friends, touching them lightly – and it had taken several years and a great measure of self-control to learn to accept it as part of her character. Although he knew that it meant no more – probably less – than the caress with which she now greeted Bertie, he could not quite control that twinge of fastidiousness that reacted against such gratuitous displays of affection. Matt was watching her with admiration and Guy frowned slightly as he picked up his sail-bag.

‘We’ll give you a buzz when we’re heading in,’ he told her, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. ‘Have a good day.’

She kissed him, conscious of Matt’s envious eyes, and went with them to the gate. Matt’s car was parked behind their own in the parking space and she watched as he turned the car, waving as they sped away down the toll road towards Porlock. She listened until the sound of the engine died away and bent to pat Bertie who waited patiently by her side, rather dejected by Guy’s departure.

‘We shall have a lovely time,’ she promised him. ‘Honestly. You shall go for a really good walk in a minute when I’ve made a few calls.’

She went inside and, taking her mobile from her bag, pressed some buttons.

‘Tilda,’ she said warmly into the mouthpiece. ‘It was really great to see you and Piers yesterday. And Jake too. He’s terrific. And did I say thanks for leaving all the stuff in the fridge? Listen, any chance of coffee somewhere? . . . Oh, gosh, poor old Felix. Isn’t he a sweetie? Of course I quite understand . . . Well, no, I can’t do lunch after all. Sophie’s invited me for the day but I hoped we could meet up before I dash off . . . Look, don’t worry about it, we’ve got all week. Shall I give you a call tomorrow? Great – and listen, I hope Felix is OK.’

Gemma put the telephone down and went to the fridge. Pouring milk onto her cereal she picked up the mobile and pressed more digits.

‘Hi.’ Her mouth curled into a smile. ‘Guess where I am!’ She chuckled. ‘Of course I managed it, what did you expect? So where shall I meet you? . . . Sounds good. I have got a dog with me . . . I know, I know, but imagine if I’d had the twins as well . . . Oh, it’ll be an hour at least, I haven’t had my breakfast yet . . . Sounds perfect. Just give me some directions . . .’

Presently, ready at last, she let Bertie into the back of the car and, throwing her bag onto the passenger’s seat, she climbed in and drove away from Porlock over the toll road towards Lynton.