Kitty Davies said they settled into Lundy quicker than anyone else who had been in Robert’s cottage, and what was more Lundy settled into them, too! They took this to mean that they were more conventional than most of Hausmann’s guests, and during their occasional evenings at the hotel they socialized easily with the twitcher community, the fishermen and the dedicated conservationists.
Judith thought of their island life as being on two levels, and was deeply grateful for ‘Kitty’s level’, as she labelled it. It included the sense of solitude, of living with nature, of ceasing to measure time by her watch. Her eyes registered degrees of light and darkness, her nose – which Jack told her twitched like a rabbit’s every time she left the cottage – kept her up to date with the coming of winter, though she admitted it also delighted in the morning smell of bacon from the hotel. The gulls assaulted all ears every morning, but were gentler during the daylight and evening hours. All the birds knew about the weather, too, and could accurately warn of a coming storm. Their cries mirrored human feelings beyond any other language. Plaintive nostalgia seemed their speciality at this time of the year, when the ever-present herring gulls said goodbye to the kittiwakes and the last of the auk family and settled on the cliffs like colonies of welcoming committees – awaiting the arrival of the winter birds.
Apart from Kitty the regular human residents of Lundy tended to keep themselves to themselves, but Jack struck up an acquaintance with the shepherd who looked after David Davies’s considerable flock. Kitty told them he had arrived one summer years ago, intending to sit on a crag and write poetry. ‘It works very well with looking after our flock. They keep his feet on the ground and he does write some lovely stuff. I never quite understand it, but it’s like music – you got to listen to it. Then you see it.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s magic between two covers. But takes him ages. He doesn’t mind that, he’s very happy.’
Judith nodded; she knew that she and Jack could allow Lundy to settle into them in just the same way. Already the daily phone calls and texts from Matt and Len, and the odd one from Martha too, had an intrusive quality about them. It was good to know they were together back in Bristol and the ‘deal’ was going through. It was surprising – but not shocking – to hear that Toby was not going to join them after all. He was keeping the service in Perth operating until a good offer was finalized over there. Jack was of the opinion that Toby had no intention of returning to England. ‘He’s had a steady girlfriend for a long time. And he loves Australia – big open spaces – plenty of air.’
Judith understood that need, too. She had made sketches of several parts of the island, and was now experimenting with some of the Davieses’ hens’ eggs and a cache of powder paints discovered beneath the bed. She told Jack that egg tempera took more stirring than a dozen Christmas puddings.
She said absently, ‘Perhaps we could go to see Toby during their spring or autumn, Jack. I like the idea of viewing an enormous landscape from the air.’
‘You could take photographs.’
‘Yes. Work on them later. We’ve seen something like that recently – an exhibition. Where was it? D’you recall?’ He shook his head just as she remembered. ‘It was at the Bristol College of Art. A collage piece.’
There was a silence, then he said, ‘I do remember. Naomi told me. You went with her.’
She stopped her gentle stirring, suddenly alert. He said, ‘Come on – don’t look like that. We said we would be open with each other. She had enjoyed it, and she thought I would be pleased that you and she were still friends. Actually, I was horrified.’
She recognized his facial expression and said fiercely, ‘You come on, Jack! Don’t you see how manipulative that makes her? It was part of the game – she was playing both sides at once.’
He said nothing, and she put a paint-smeared hand on his arm. ‘I thought we were so happy here, accepting what had happened and starting again.’
‘We are – oh, we are, Jude. And it’s so great that you’re working … trying things out … making a mess …’ He laughed and rubbed at his arm. ‘I wish in a way I wasn’t such a quick-fire artist – I love seeing you becoming immersed in making a painting.’
‘You send such a message, Jack. Straight from the shoulder.’ She laughed too, but she had noticed that he had not yet started on anything.
He shrugged. ‘Short-lived. Wrapping for fish and chips. Totally ephemeral.’
‘Not the impact. That will linger and grow for years.’
‘Sometimes. Perhaps.’ Jack signed. ‘I kept poor old Fish going when I hung about in Perth and then, quite suddenly, he became totally … irrelevant. I suppose if I’m honest, I was bored stiff with him.’
‘No, you weren’t. You came over loud and clear when you handed him over to me!’
He looked up. ‘Our first contact, Jude.’
‘I know.’ She smiled across the table. ‘Come on. We mustn’t get maudlin. Get your notebook and start on a script. I’ll finish this, then I’ll make tea and heat up some Welsh cakes – you can’t have anything until you’ve scripted a strip – and that’s not easy to say!’ She was spluttering over her words, and as he started to laugh again she added sternly, ‘I mean it – remember, one line is better than two, and that includes scripts.’
He grumbled, but fetched his notebook and settled at the other end of the table. She was silent, mixing methodically, watching the tempera settle into a wonderful shimmering aquamarine. She stood the saucer on the windowsill and went to the cupboard for the tin of Welsh cakes. She forced herself not to think of Naomi and the kind of games she had played; instead her mind flipped unexpectedly to Sybil and the time they had spent at the top of Lynmouth combe last month. She shook the griddle, and the Welsh cakes slid easily to one side and waited to be turned over. She used the fish slice and flipped, and then made tea. Had Sybil known what sort of man her husband really was?
Jack said, ‘How about Fish-Frobisher taking on a DIY job and managing to puncture a gas pipe?’
‘Sounds very Fish-like. Make it a water pipe. They can cope with a flood, but an explosion is a bit much.’ She looked over his shoulder and took in some of the story. ‘I like the fact that he is doing it so that his wife can boast to her sister about his DIY skills.’ She watched while he conjured up an enormous spanner and a soldering iron. She said, ‘Have you done anything about Moss Jessup?’
‘Of course not. I thought we’d settled that we wouldn’t ruin his wife’s memories.’
‘Yes. I was wondering whether she knew what he was doing. Ruining other people’s lives. Putting other people under suspicion.’
‘I doubt it. You said she was besotted.’
‘True.’ She put the cakes on to the table and added two mugs of tea. ‘Shall we eat at the hotel tonight? Kitty’s David will be there, and can tell us about tomorrow’s weather.’ He nodded absently, still involved with his comic strip.
She nibbled one of Kitty’s Welsh cakes and finished her tea. ‘I’ll leave you in peace and go over – book two meals. Don’t forget your tea, it will be cold.’
‘Oh Lord, I had.’ He drank deeply. ‘You were right, I must get back to work.’ He glanced up ruefully. ‘It’s not easy, Jude.’
‘I know.’
She breathed deeply as she walked to the top of the track and turned right into the path that led to the hotel. Below, the tide was out and several small boats had been pulled on to the dry sand. The evenings were dark early now, she must remember to bring a torch later.
David Davies was already on one of the bar stools, and several birdwatchers were scattered around the lounge comparing notes, looking at the photographs on their mobile phones. They lifted their hands in greeting, and David offered her a drink.
‘Not now, David. I’ve come to book a table for later. It seems very still this evening – that’s probably a sign of poor weather to come.’
‘Could go either way.’ The farmer covered himself. ‘Kitty says the cows are lying down but the birds are flying high. So take your choice.’ He grinned. ‘The post has only just arrived, the barman will be in with it any minute. The place is half-empty though, no shortage of tables. I think Kitty’s cooking tonight – chef ’s in Porlock.’
The barman appeared, holding a bundle of envelopes neatly separated with rubber bands. She took two letters from him, one for Jack embossed with the Magnet logo, the other in Sybil’s handwriting. She tucked them into her pocket and thought how strange it was that Sybil had come into her thoughts only an hour ago. She dreaded reading the letter: it would probably be a diatribe against poor Nathaniel Jones, and probably include some bitter allusions to Hausmann too.
Jack had closed his notebook and was sitting back, eyes closed. He took his letter and weighed it in his hand. He spoke as if to William Whortley. ‘I’m going back to it tomorrow, William – I promise. Not inspired at the moment.’ He opened the thick envelope and drew out just a single page. A photograph fluttered on to the table. He was suddenly all attention.
‘Good Lord, listen to this, Jude. William says he’s almost certainly got proof that Moss Jessup is our man. He actually wants me to start work and get something to him as soon as possible!’ He screwed up the letter and threw it on the fire. ‘Good job we decided against doing it – William sounds almost voracious! This is the fox hunter in him!’ He grinned. ‘He’s not going to think much of poor old Fish-Frobisher and the water pipe!’
She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Neither do you, Jack. If you did you’d still be sitting at the table with an open notebook in front of you!’
He looked at her, surprised. ‘I’m just a bit tired, love. That’s all.’
She let it go. ‘This is from Sybil. It’s thick. Good job we’re not cooking.’
He laughed and went to the sink to swill his hands and face. She opened her letter and started to read. After the first page she sat up straight and reread it. Then she moved to the table under the lamp and spread out the next three pages and read them avidly.
‘Jack. She did know. All the time she knew what Moss was doing. It sounds, my God, it sounds as if he was some kind of sadomasochist. She was all right with that for some time, and then when he got deeper and deeper into the phone-hacking, she liked it less and less. She says she was glad when he died before he could do any more damage to her and to other people. She made plans, started work again – then she came to Castle Dove and met Nat and thought everything would be all right. But Nat backed off for some reason. She must have told him about Moss … told him the wrong way … she might have pretended that she thought he was clever. It was the sort of picture she painted for me. Pride?’
Judith looked up at Jack, who came to the table and sat down next to her. Then she went back to the letter. ‘Anyway, she was at a pretty low ebb when she heard from Moss’s solicitor. The will is being contested. Moss was already married, and his wife is still alive. There are four children. Oh my God, Jack! He didn’t want children with Sybil – because he already had four daughters!’ She put the letter on to the table and stared at Jack. He put his hand over hers.
She felt her eyes fill. ‘Poor Sybil. What a swine of a man! How could he string her along? She fell for him because he reminded her of Hausmann! And then Hausmann showed her someone else who had loved her always. And he let her down, too! Oh, Jack! She borrowed my nightie and it was bad luck – and she still has it!’ Her voice rose to a wail and she covered her face and gave in to tears.
Jack sat beside her and rubbed her back gently, then folded her into his shoulder. ‘She’ll cope somehow. If we’ve learned anything in this past year, it is that people do cope. Somehow.’ He kissed the nape of her neck tenderly but with sadness, as if in farewell.
She lifted her head and gave a cry. ‘Jack! Oh, Jack! It was Sybil who showed me that I could not cope without you! And that is still true – it is true, Jack!’
He stared down at her, still sharing her sense of terrible loss. Then he could not look away. And neither could she. She felt his hands on her spine, tracing each vertebra until they reached her neck, and then his forefinger stroking gently as if feeling for the kiss he had placed there. She cupped his face.
‘Jack. We are coping. I’ve been too frightened to see it! And you’ve caught my fear. You always caught my colds, didn’t you? This is the same – an infection …’
He stopped her mouth with his. Even when she sobbed he still held her so that her sobs became his. And she held him as if she would never let him go again.
It was late when they sat down at their table in the hotel. Most of the diners had finished and retired into the sitting room to watch News at Ten.
The waiter came over to their table and looked at them disapprovingly. ‘Thought you’d let us down. Mrs Davies did the cooking tonight, and it’s her special – steak and kidney puddings. She’s gone home now, but she was going to bring two of them over for you tomorrow morning with the milk.’
They apologized profusely. Judith wondered whether the sudden rush of heat showed in her face. Jack said easily, ‘Time is very difficult on Lundy. I suppose it’s worse when the clocks go back?’
‘It certainly is. The birds settle down for the night around five o’clock. No way of telling what the time is after that.’
‘You could always look at the clocks,’ Jack said.
‘But you don’t, not here on the island, do you?’
Jack thought about it, then agreed. ‘No, you don’t.’
The waiter glanced at Judith and rolled his eyes. ‘Unless you’ve booked a table for dinner, of course. We begin serving at seven o’clock. It’s when most people feel hungry.’
Judith smiled. ‘Which means that at this time of night, we are very hungry.’
The waiter went off immediately, and Jack reached for Judith’s hand. ‘He’s made known his displeasure, but he can’t keep it up in front of you. There are a lot of advantages to being married to a blonde bombshell!’
She twisted his little finger until he yelped apologies. Then she said, ‘You’ll be able to make a start tomorrow – a proper start. Set Fish-Frobisher to one side, Jack. Concentrate on Moss Jessup.’
His eyes lit up. ‘D’you mean it? When you read out Sybil Jessup’s letter, the thought hit me like a bullet. Do you need to speak to her first?’
‘Certainly not. It would become her responsibility then. She would become a woman scorned. No, Moss Jessup has been uncovered by the Magnet, and their cartoonist is going to show the world what he was really like. Nobody is involved in a personal vendetta against him – unless it is his victims, of course.’
He smiled. ‘I might have guessed you would see it so simply, Jude. Thank you, darling. I think I can do something with this. In fact I know I can. Dammit, I’ve dreamed about this story even though I thought I could never do it.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ She tightened her grip on his hand. ‘You are a good man – you really are a good man.’
He was surprised and then embarrassed. ‘Hardly, Jude.’
‘Darling, Naomi could never have manipulated the situation like she did unless you had been a good man. And that is that. I don’t want to shut it all away and make it into a state secret, but I don’t want it to haunt us any longer.’
Their meal arrived, and Jack declared that he would have known at once that it had come from Kitty Davies’s ‘fair hands’.
‘You haven’t even tasted it yet,’ the waiter commented, placing the plates with exaggerated care.
‘It’s the aroma. It wafts.’ Jack looked him in the eye. ‘It’s like that old advert for gravy – d’you remember? – two heads lifted in ecstasy as the scent of the gravy reaches their nostrils.’
The waiter looked at him suspiciously. ‘Never saw that one. Course, that’s your line of work, isn’t it? Not that drawing comics is proper work. Getting up in the dark to clean this place is; going to bed in the dark after the final dish has been washed and put away and the breakfasts all laid up – now that’s work.’
The barman appeared with a belated bottle and interjected sourly, ‘Not done by you, though, m’lad. Off to sunny Spain in a week or so, aren’t you? Go and finish up in the kitchen and stop worrying the clientele.’
He turned to Judith and poured some wine, then grinned at Jack. ‘Started off when he was a student and decided it was the life for him, but once the dark nights arrive he’s gone till the season starts next year.’
He left the bottle with them and went back to washing glasses. Jack grinned at Judith. ‘I think, once I’ve finished William’s project, Daisy, and Stargazer Fish-Frobisher, will have to get summer jobs on Lundy.’
She was delighted. ‘Of course!’ They smiled at each other, and then she sobered. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said.
‘That’s about the eighth time you’ve said those two words. Is that good or bad?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s not the eighth time by any means. But it’s a way of saying thank you.’
They started on their steak and kidney, half-hearing the television and the responses from the residents; smiling, making their own comments, sometimes relevant, sometimes not.
Judith said, ‘I like her a lot. And she’s good for Matt. I just hope Toby’s girlfriend is as nice.’
Jack picked up instantly that the first person she was talking about was Martha Gifford. ‘She’s lovely. As for Toby’s girlfriend, I might have met her. A couple of years ago when I was over there, a girl was working in the office. Just a summer job, but she obviously liked Toby a lot.’
‘What was her name?’
Jack frowned and stopped chewing. ‘Named after a place … her parents had honeymooned there. Alice Springs. Her name was Alice.’
‘Oh, I like that!’
‘Martha and Alice. Yes. A bit old-fashioned – which they are not.’
From the sitting room came fragments of a weather forecast for the next day. Apparently the Indian summer would continue for the rest of the week.
The next morning Jack talked to William Whortley on his mobile for a long time. He then settled himself at one end of the table and started to make notes. Judith took milk and bread from Kitty and told her that Jack was starting a new piece of work. Kitty looked at his downbent head and smiled, nodding knowingly. ‘Magic worked, then?’
Judith smiled and nodded too.
She set herself up in the rock niche where she and Jack had wedged themselves on their first outing, and for the first time since taking up working again at Castle Dove she began to paint. She squinted at the sea, brush loaded and poised. She had always had to conquer her nervous fear of spoiling the whole image with that first application, and was certain that after so long she would scarcely be able to put her brush on to the outline sketch she had made of the south light. She started with the sea. The turquoise was exactly the right shade. She tried the pointillism technique, hoping that the tiny blobs would produce the sparkle she wanted. She darkened the colour as she reached the horizon, peppering powder paint on to her brush until dark rocks appeared around the lighthouse. Time was going fast; she had left her watch at the cottage, but she knew it was late because she was suddenly hungry. As soon as the painted sea reached the rocky peninsula, she began to pack away. She needed to mix other colours.
A voice spoke behind her. ‘Please don’t jump. I’ve just come from your cottage, and your husband said you might be by the sugar-loaf rock – but you’re here.’ By this time Judith had turned and seen it was the woman writer from the hotel; what had Jack called her … ? Paula Anderson.
Judith put her bag between her feet and held out a hand.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone writing with their eyes closed before.’
Paula Anderson laughed. ‘I see the print that way – and then I simply have to copy it down on to my laptop. I always feel it’s cheating, somehow.’
‘I don’t think it is. It’s one of the exercises I did at art college, but it just seemed to make everything far more difficult.’
The woman, middle-aged and very obviously shy, said, ‘I was looking at your work just then. It’s beautiful. That wonderful colour … I wondered … I asked your husband whether you might consider illustrating my children’s book.’
Judith gaped. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course. It’s whimsical. Which might put you off.’ Paula scuffed with the toe of her shoe at the sandy soil. ‘It’s a story about a family of puffins who can talk.’ She looked up, plainly embarrassed. ‘I went to Castle Dove for one of their weekend shows. Mr Hausmann spoke of your work. And your husband seemed to think – but of course I shall completely understand if you find it a bit too … unreal.’
‘I would love to do it … if you think … listen, I’ll do some bird sketches and let you see them …’ Judith was still so surprised that she laughed loudly. ‘I’ve never ever sold a painting, and here I am, forty-eight years old, and you are offering to …’ She stopped suddenly. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you can’t afford to pay me unless the book is a success, and I am quite willing to wait and see.’
‘We shall own joint copyright. There’s not a fortune in children’s stories, but the whole idea delights me, and I think it will delight you. Talk it over with your husband. But one thing – you must finish what you are doing before starting on my puffins – the Puffies. I cannot interrupt you in mid-flow.’ She scuffed the ground again; she reminded Judith of an Exmoor pony. ‘I’d better go. I am helping with the lunches today. Kitty Davies has a visitor – you know how it is.’
She was gone as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving Judith staring at the marks she had made on the ground, hardly believing the short interview had taken place.
Jack confirmed that it had. He was almost fizzing with excitement, and kept telling her it was ‘all happening’, until she began to feel nervous and pointed out she had never worked like this before, and why on earth had Hausmann recommended her? And what if … what if … her work didn’t hit the right button?
He shut her up with a kiss, then held her close and told her how wonderful she was, and how much she deserved this, and that if she could draw a Fish-Frobisher strip and sell it to a canny old millionaire like William Whortley then she could do anything. Anything at all. And then he showed her the beginnings of ‘Maurice the Mole’. The photograph that was still on the table where it had fallen showed an unmistakeable likeness to the large garden mole Jack presented to her. Half the animal’s face was hidden by a mask, but it was obvious to Judith that the plump, well-fed yet squat creature with whiskers almost twitching from the drawings was indeed Moss Jessup.
She started to laugh. ‘Sybil will enjoy this – have you got a cloak and a dagger somewhere in the hallway?’
Jack kissed her. She put both her arms around his waist and pushed the two of them away from the table.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Trying to get you to dance!’ she said.
He spun her round and steered her towards the bed.
‘We started to dance the moment we came here – perhaps before then.’ He chuckled into her ear. Then he lifted her bodily and put her down on the bed. ‘Judith Freeman. I love you, and always will.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Likewise,’ she said.