On the next few mornings Cosmo walks round the head of the creek and into the town. He goes into the Coffee Shop and orders a double espresso, but there is no sign of Amy. He waits as long as he can without looking conspicuous and then gives up and goes down to sit by the harbour and watch the traffic of small boats and the passenger ferry heading up the estuary to Kingsbridge. He’s working on a new idea for a blog and looking for a theme he can use with accompanying photographs. Water seems to be an obvious choice here – the sea, rivers, moorland streams – but he’s hoping for something unusual. Everybody these days is a photographer so it needs to be really good. Today the town is being battered by strong westerlies. The water is choppy, slapping against the quayside, flags smack and the boats dance on their moorings. He sets up his camera and takes a video, wishing that there might be some sort of emergency that would bring the RNLI crew dashing out, clambering on to the boat, heading out to sea, but he must content himself with sight of the local ferry beating its way through the spray to Portlemouth, and the cry of the gulls as they are blown about like feathery rags above it.
‘So you’re a photographer?’ says a voice behind him.
And here she is, standing watching him with a smile, as if she knows that he’s been hoping to see her for the last few days. He can’t understand this feeling of happy anticipation that seizes him at the sight of her. The amusement in her eyes, the quirk of her lips, put him on his mettle, but in a fun, exciting way. Becks challenges him to be as clever as she is, to be as quick, as successful, and he enjoys it, but Amy’s is a different kind of challenge. This is a challenge to amuse, to entertain, to be worthy of keeping her company.
‘I wish I were,’ he says, putting his camera back in its case. ‘It’s just trying to find something different. What is it? That genius that sets the great apart?’
She nods, getting it, agreeing with him.
‘It’s a way of seeing, I guess. Of having an instinct for an angle, for a shape, for a composition, that’s never quite been done before.’
He is delighted that she is immediately on his wavelength. Becks regards his passion for photography as a kind of childish game that bores her.
‘I shan’t give up,’ he tells Amy. ‘I’ll get there one day. It’ll be the perfect storm.’
‘So have you had your coffee this morning?’ she asks. ‘I’m going for some breakfast. Want to join me? Where’s the dog?’
‘We went for a very early walk around Snapes Point,’ he tells her, as they head for the Coffee Shop. He doesn’t mention that he’s already been in for his coffee. ‘Poor old Reggie was knackered so he stayed at home.’
He follows her inside, glances around and waves to Cara, who is sitting by the window, whilst Amy goes to the counter to order.
‘I’m having scrambled eggs and bacon,’ she says. ‘D’you want some?’
‘Just coffee,’ he answers. ‘I’ll get mine.’
They sit down together and she begins to talk about her work, the renovation of the cottage, planning the colours for a nursery, decorating a converted sail loft.
‘So if you’re not a photographer,’ she says, ‘what do you do when you’re not minding Reggie and house-sitting?’
He tries to explain his work in London as a risk assessment analyst and she opens her eyes wide at him.
‘Sounds very clever,’ she says. ‘I’m full of admiration for anyone who works in IT.’
‘Are you?’ He’s taken aback but pleased. ‘It’s great to have time off, though. It was amazing luck that my friend’s parents needed a dog-and-house-sitter just now. I love it here.’
‘Not missing London?’ Her breakfast arrives and she picks up her knife and fork. ‘Not bored yet?’
He laughs. ‘You have to be kidding,’ but he feels another little stab of guilt. He should be missing Becks, or at least telling Amy about her. But he doesn’t. It’s as if he’s in a different dimension, an alternative universe that has nothing to do with his work or London or Becks. Out of sight, out of mind. And anyway, what harm is there in sitting in a café talking to a girl? This time Reggie isn’t here to act as his conscience and Cosmo relaxes, picks up his coffee and sits back in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the words chalked on the board above his head: Dolce far Niente. And he smiles to himself.
From her table, Cara watches them. It might be she and Joe sitting there, happy, excited, enjoying each other, and she is filled with foreboding. She can find no reason for it, no explanation, apart from that odd resemblance between Cosmo and Joe. There is no reason why two attractive young people shouldn’t enjoy being together, except that she can tell from their body language that this is no casual meeting. Cosmo may think that he’s looking relaxed, at ease, but there is a tenseness in his frame, a constant tapping of one foot; he is fizzing with energy. The girl seems calmer – she is able to be busy with her knife and fork – but she is aware of him, totally focused on him. There is no sign of intimacy – no display of affection – only an obvious physical attraction. Cara tries to be detached, yet she has this odd sense of impending trouble.
Before she can analyse it further, the door opens and Max comes in. To Cara’s surprise he smiles at the girl, who waves and calls a greeting to him, before he goes to order at the counter and then comes to sit at Cara’s table.
‘So who is she?’ she asks him. ‘The pretty girl with Cosmo.’
‘With whom?’ Max glances back over his shoulder.
‘That’s Cosmo,’ Cara says lightly, hoping to rid herself of her fears by talking naturally about him. ‘He’s dog-sitting, apparently. He’s only been here a few weeks but he seems to have made a friend.’
‘Well, the girl is Amy. She’s Jack Hannaford’s daughter. You met him at quiz night. They work together, painting and decorating.’
Cara rather liked Jack Hannaford. There was a positivity about him: good humour, confidence. He’d headed his team, they’d beaten the visitors and his delight was palpable. Cara was amused by his unashamed pleasure in victory and said so when he joined her and Max for a drink afterwards.
‘Ah, they’re old foes of ours,’ he said, picking up his pint. ‘Can’t afford to give ’em an inch.’
Cara looks again at Amy. ‘She’s not like her father,’ she says, thinking of the tall, fair man, blue-eyed, tanned, tough-looking.
‘Amy’s like her mum,’ says Max. ‘She died when Amy was a teenager. I told you.’
‘Yes,’ answers Cara, remembering the sad story. ‘How awful for them all.’ She watches Amy responding to Cosmo’s charm and once again she feels that little frisson of apprehension. Then Max’s coffee arrives and he’s leaning forward, talking again.
‘I’ve had a call from Sam,’ he’s saying. ‘He’s asking if he can come and stay for a few days and I’m wondering how you’d feel about that.’
‘Sam?’ she queries, frowning in puzzlement. ‘Sorry. Who’s Sam?’
‘Sam Chadwick. Actually, you might not remember him. He’s my godson. His father and I were oppos way back.’
‘I’m not sure I’ve ever met him,’ says Cara. ‘You’ve got so many godchildren, Max.’
He laughs. ‘Can’t think why, but I try to keep up with them all. The thing is that young Sam has passed his Admiralty Interview Board and he’ll be off to Dartmouth after Christmas. Perhaps he needs a bit of encouragement.’
‘And is his father pleased that he’s following in his footsteps?’ she asks.
Max’s smile fades. ‘Well, that’s the thing. His father was killed. An IRA bomb back in the nineties. He never knew Sam.’
‘My God,’ says Cara, shocked. ‘How terrible.’
Max gives a snort. ‘And then, would you believe, the boy’s mother died in a skiing accident when he was three.’ He sighs. ‘Why is it that some people just get all the shit?’
‘Poor Sam. Poor little boy.’ Cara still looks shocked.
‘Sam was brought up by his aunt Fliss and her husband, Hal Chadwick, over near Dartington. They’re a good old naval family, the Chadwicks. Hal rose to great heights, actually. He’s now Admiral Sir Henry Chadwick but he doesn’t take it too seriously. He asked me to stand godfather because Mole and I had served together and Hal was an old naval mate, too, though not a submariner like me and Mole.’
‘Mole?’
‘Sam’s father. It was his family nickname. No idea why. His proper name was Sam and I suppose the child was named for him. Anyway, that’s the background. How d’you feel about him coming for a day or two? He’s a good lad.’
‘How old is he?’ asks Cara. ‘Is he joining the navy straight from school?’
‘No, no. He’s been to uni. Durham. He’s twenty-two but he’s a very mature twenty-two. Hal and Fliss were in their fifties when Sam went to live with them and the military background at home, plus boarding school, has its effect. He’s very self-contained but great fun. We see him a bit more since we’ve retired. I think you’d like him.’
‘Well, of course he must come,’ she says. ‘Did you say he lives near Dartington?’
‘Yes. They’ve got a big old family place there. The Keep. Hal can drive him over or I can pick him up. Or he can catch the bus. He’s got a little car but the parking here is usually so dire that he often makes his own way. It would be good to see the boy, if you’re happy with it.’
‘I’d love to meet him,’ she says firmly. ‘If he’s asking to see you there must be some reason for it.’
‘Probably needs some money and he’s afraid to ask Hal,’ says Max. ‘No, no, I’m joking. He likes to talk about old Mole from time to time. He looks just like him, too. Gives me quite a jolt when I see him these days.’
Cosmo and Amy are standing up, preparing to leave. Amy lifts a hand to Max and Cosmo turns to see whom it is she’s smiling at. He smiles at Cara, his face alight with friendliness, and that resemblance, so like Joe’s smile, strikes afresh at her heart. She raises her hand to him, glad that Max is with her to discourage any further communication, and feels relief when the door closes behind them. She is beginning to feel the danger of keeping secrets, of being in denial, for so many years. Only she knows the truth now, and without Philip she feels a kind of instability, like a long dormant volcano about to erupt. She smiles quickly at Max, who is watching her thoughtfully.
‘So when is he coming?’ she asks, trying to sound excited. ‘Should we do some shopping? Make the other bedroom ready? What would Judith do?’
‘Judith would be fussing,’ he answers, ‘but I don’t intend to get in a state about it. If we run out of food we’ll go to the pub. Let’s get home and I’ll phone him and make a plan.’
Cosmo and Amy walk together down Fore Street and into Island Street. She has to pick up her car and drive to Kingsbridge. Her latest client wants to see some new paint charts Amy has found and to discuss the nursery in more detail.
‘You could come with me if you like,’ she suggests casually, and Cosmo stares at her in amazement and delight.
She doesn’t quite know what has made her say the words – they seemed to come from nowhere – but she really likes being with him. He’s stimulating, fun. She knows he likes her and she’s enjoying the sensation.
‘I’d love it,’ he begins, and then his face falls. ‘But there’s old Reggie. I’ve been out quite a while and I’m not sure I should leave him much longer. He might start eating the furniture or something.’
‘Bring him too,’ she says recklessly, surprising herself further. ‘You and he can explore Kingsbridge while I do my thing and then we could take him for a walk on the cliffs on the way home. He’ll have to squash up a bit in the back of my car but the back seats are down anyway to get my stuff in. He’s not that big.’
She’s amused by Cosmo’s expression. Clearly he’s not used to acting on a sudden whim but he’s enchanted by it.
‘OK then,’ he says. ‘Let’s go for it. Where are you parked?’
‘We’ve got a special parking permit down in the boatyard,’ she answers. ‘Dad’s got a boat so we’re really lucky. Parking’s terrible here, especially in the summer.’
They walk together past the car park, along to the boatyard and Amy indicates her car.
‘Dad’s got the van today,’ she tells him. ‘We share the car. It works very well in the main. Now you’ll have to direct me. OK?’
‘It’s a barn conversion round the head of the creek,’ he tells her. ‘There are steps up to the garden but I have to take the car in from the lane at the back.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ she says. ‘There are quite a few of those around here.’
‘I could go in and bring him down the steps,’ suggests Cosmo, ‘but perhaps you’d like to see the barn?’
‘Yes, I would,’ she answers. ‘It’s always interesting to see how they’ve been converted. It might have been one Dad worked on. I deal mainly with the holiday flats and cottages in the town but Dad sometimes works on bigger projects.’
She drives away from the creek, up the lane, and turns when he tells her into the track leading down to the barn. Amy sits for a moment looking at the scene.
‘It must be wonderful,’ she says with a sigh, ‘to have a place like this. Imagine waking up every morning to that view.’
Cosmo nods. ‘It’s amazing each time. I have this little flat in Hackney and it’s great to have my own space, even such a small one, but this … Well, it’s another world. I’m really going to miss it when I go back. Not just the view but all of it. I love it here.’
It’s on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Well, stay here then. Find some work, a place to live,’ but she swallows the words down. He gets out, fishing in his jeans pocket for a key, and she waits while he opens the door and then looks around for her. Suddenly her confidence deserts her and she wonders whatever she’s doing with this guy that she hardly knows, but he’s gone in ahead of her. Now Reggie comes wagging out, delighted to see her, and she’s able to regain her poise as she makes a fuss of him. She crosses the grassy space and steps inside, glancing about her at the space and the light, and the fusion of stone and glass and wood.
‘The architect’s done a really good job,’ she says appreciatively. ‘It’s beautiful. But, look, I hadn’t realized how late it’s getting. I must get a move on, so if you’re coming … I’ll just make room for Reggie in the back of the car.’
She goes back outside while Cosmo collects a few things together and comes out again with Reggie. She’s cleared a space for him, and Cosmo throws Reggie’s rug in, arranges it and encourages him to jump up. He seems quite happy and, once he’s settled, Cosmo gives him one of his treats and closes the door on him.
‘This is great,’ he says, climbing in beside her. ‘Thanks, Amy.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she says lightly. ‘Now don’t forget to keep your eyes open for a subject for your blog. Or for a really good photograph.’
He’s told her about his new idea for starting a blog while they were having coffee and she’s rather touched by his enthusiasm. As she turns the car and bumps slowly back up the track she wonders how her dad might react to Cosmo. She knows that she’ll come in for a good bit of teasing: London boy called Cosmo; risk assessment analyst. Dad will do his local yokel act and she’ll be embarrassed. Amy refuses to be daunted by the prospect, though. She hasn’t met anyone she likes so much since she was at Falmouth. Briefly she wonders if Cosmo has a girlfriend in London but she guesses that it’s unlikely that he’d come away for three months if there was anyone serious. It’s rather good for her ego to be singled out by this very attractive man who is probably four or five years older than she is and who is so confident and amusing. She can tell that he’s enjoying himself and she begins to smile as she pulls out into the lane and heads towards Kingsbridge.