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ISOBEL LAY ON HER face on the beach, the sun hot on her back. Will and Bea had taken a picnic up on to the moor and she had the cove to herself. The heat seemed to press upon her, relaxing her but sapping her energy. The excitement of the last few weeks had exhausted her. She had written a long letter to Helen and then lived in terror lest she had overdone it. She worried as to whether she had been too eager, too gushing, and feared this might frighten Helen away. She was like her father, calm and quiet, and, on reflection, a gentle approach would have been more sensible. Her relief, when another letter arrived from Helen a week later, was overwhelming. The content of this letter had been more relaxed and Helen wrote that she was revising like mad and feeling very nervous about her exams. She agreed to come to the cove, when she arrived back from university, with the proviso that there should be no one else present but she and Isobel.
Isobel guessed that this was because she had written enthusiastically about Bea and Willânot to mention Sidneyâand Helen feared that a reception committee might be waiting for her. There was no danger of that. Isobel wanted her daughter absolutely to herself. There was so much catching up to do; nearly five years of lost time. As she thought about this, Isobel became increasingly nervous. It would be like meeting a stranger. When she left Simon, Helen had been a child still; now she was an adult. Isobel stretched her arms out and dug her fingers into the sand at the edge of the rug. How, she
asked herself for the thousandth time, could she have abandoned her husband and daughter for a man like Mike? How could she have flung away all that she had for a moment of madness? She wondered how many other women, on the brink of middle age, lost all that was precious and dear to them, all that they'd worked for and achieved, because of a brief descent into boredom and restlessness. Her misfortune had been to have a Mike ready to distract and charm her; to alleviate that boredom and soothe the restlessness with placebos that brought only temporary relief. She had seen her life with Simon as dreary and uneventful; a domestic desert, especially now that Helen was growing up. Mike had offered excitement and fun which she had believed to be happiness.
âBut how do you define happiness?' she
heard Mathilda asking
. âDo you mean joy? Or do you mean contentment? If you mean some kind of ephemeral excitement bound up with physical gratification, then I must reject your values.'
How well she summed it up, thought Isobel, rolling over and crossing her arms across her eyes. Ephemeral excitement bound up with physical gratification expressed it very neatly but it certainly did not add up to happiness.
âI was mad,' she said aloud. âQuite mad. And I've paid for it.'
Now, however, the dark clouds had drawn back a little and the sunshine was breaking through. Helen was coming to see her. The familiar mixture of joy and terror gripped Isobel's stomach. It simply had to work between them; there must be no more misunderstandings. Again she wondered what had made Helen write the letter. Why this change of heart? Was it simply that she was growing up at last and could approach the whole subject with more tolerance? Perhaps she herself had experienced an unhappy love affair? Perhaps it was simply that she missed Isobel? She was, after all, her mother and, however wonderful Sally might be, there was no blood tie. It might be that Simon was more preoccupied with Sally now that they were married and had less time for his daughter. Was that
why Helen had not asked him for her address but had sent the letter to the bookshop?
Isobel stretched lazily. Speculation was useless. It might be any number of things but, in the end, it really didn't matter. Helen was coming to see her. She started up violently as Sidney thrust his cold nose into her neck. It was rather hot for him in the car and, since the moor offered very little shade, it had been decided that Sidney should remain at home. Isobel had agreed to look after him and he had been left in the kitchen until the car had disappeared up the track, lest he tried to follow them. He preferred to have Will within sight or sound but Isobel made a fairly satisfactory substitute. As soon as the car was gone, Isobel let Sidney out so that he could stretch full length on the slate path in the shade behind the house.
Now he was in need of company and Isobel sat up and slipped an arm around his neck. He licked her nose briefly and sat staring out to sea, his silky white coat glistening in the sun.
âHow about a little walk?' she whispered into his long ear, which twitched slightly as she blew on it. âIt'll be a bit cooler up on the cliff and you might see a rabbit.'
Sidney's tail moved slightly at the word. Since he'd come to live at the cove he knew all about rabbits. Not that he'd ever caught one but he lived in hope. Isobel stood up and wrapped a cotton skirt about her waist, thinking about Sidney's family; the poor dead mother and the two children. Tessa had told her the story and Isobel wondered how much the children missed Sidney; how they were coping with a new stepmother who hated dogs and who had refused to have Sidney in the house. Isobel wondered, too, how this dog-hater had taken to the two children and why the father had left them and their mother in the first place. Perhaps the man, like herself, had been seeking after the elusive bluebird of happiness. As she strolled towards the cliff path, Sidney trotting expectantly before her, Isobel remembered Mathilda's question and her own answer.
âAnd did you find happiness
?'
âNo. But it was worth trying for, surely?'
Isobel looked out over the dazzling brilliance of the sea, hearing Mathilda's voice in reply.
âThat rather depends on what you lost in the attempt.'
Until now the answer to that had been, simply, âeverything'. Now it was different. Helen was coming to see her.
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GILES EMERGED FROM HIS dark room and went into his tiny galley kitchen to make himself some supper. His work derived mainly from catalogue and fashion photography but he was being used now by the tourists boards and glossy magazines which dealt with country pursuits. His reputation was at last beginning to build and he was able to convince himself that he could make a fairly good living from his work. As to whether or not it was good enough to support a wife, he could not yet be certain. As he stir-fried his vegetables he thought of Tessa. He had enjoyed his trip to the cove and had taken immediately to Will and Bea. He fully understood how Tessa felt about this new family of hers and was moved by their evident affection for her. To be sure, Bea's keen glance had given him cause to wonder if he needed a haircut and made him wish that he'd cleaned his shoes but the feeling soon passed. Will had been interested in his work and he'd been surprised at how readily he'd opened up to him, telling him of the pitfalls and the disappointments of his career.
It was rare for the reticent Giles to be so forthcoming but Will was easy to talk to and genuinely interested. In the end they had persuaded him to stay the night. The woman from the cottage, Isobel Stangate, had offered her spare room and Giles had readily accepted. It had given him an opportunity to spend more time with Tessa and to become more familiar with the place she now knew as home. He had fallen in love with the cove and the cliffs above it and had taken some photographsâGiles never travelled without his photographic equipmentâwhich he was hoping to use in conjunction with the South Hams Tourist Board.
Giles tipped the food on to a plate and took it into his living room. It was a studio flat and this room doubled as his bedroom, the sofa opening out into a bed. It was the darkroom that had persuaded him to look at a flat in such an expensive area; that and the fact that his mother had inherited some property and money from a friend who had died in rather tragic circumstances. Kate, at a loss as to what to do with such unexpected wealth, had insisted that Giles accepted some help from her. Guy had recently made the trip to Canada to see his father, and had returned with enough money to set up his chandlery business in Dartmouth, but Giles could not bring himself to visit the man who had caused his mother and himself such unhappiness. Naturally, therefore, no money was forthcoming from his father for Giles's career and, in the end, he had accepted his mother's assistance with gratitude.
He wondered now, as he ate his supper, whether it was the manifestation of their father's unsociable genes which had pushed him and Guy into careers which relied on no one but themselves to operate. Obviously both of them relied on clients but these remained on the periphery of their lives. Giles felt his old anxiety returning and quickly fixed his mind on Tessa. He must not weaken. Each time he saw Tessa he was confirmed in his certainty that he could be a marriageable viability. Although the least conceited of men, he felt sure that she loved him. There was a rightness that gave him confidence. He was well aware of her difficulty and this was the thing that exercised his mind a great deal. He knew how much she owed the Andersons and how much it would upset her to break the engagement. Her loyalty would be called into question and the friendship threatened.
As he sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his dark head bent over his plate, Giles racked his brains for some painless way of extracting Tessa from the engagement. He wondered if Sebastian truly loved her or whether it had been some momentary madness. After all, it had taken him long enough to get round to it. Giles forked up the last mouthful and set the plate on the cushion beside
him. On his return to London, he had telephoned Kate and told her the whole story. She had listened in silence until he had announced his decision to fight for Tessa.
âGreat,' she'd said briefly. âGo for it.'
He'd laughedâand then hesitated; a shadow of his former fear looming. âYou don't think ⦠?'
âNo,' said Kate. âI don't. I know Sebastian and I'm quite certain he isn't right for Tessa. And her infatuation for him is just part of all that tragedy of losing her family. It's her need to love and be loved. It just happened that he was there at the vital moment. Don't dither! Go for it.'
âI just don't know how she'd cope with breaking the engagement. She owes the Andersons so much.'
âThat's true,' said Kate thoughtfully, âbut there's no need to immolate herself as a sacrifice on the altar of friendship. No good to anyone. But I take your point. And then again she must feel an awful twit, poor girl.'
âWhy?' asked Giles, indignant at even the least slight on Tessa.
âCome on,' said Kate scornfully. âThink about it. She's been mad about him for years and suddenly he asks her to marry him just when she falls in love with someone else. Poor old Tessa! She must be kicking herself.'
âOf course we don't know that she's ⦠you know ⦠fallen in love with me.' He felt rather embarrassed at saying the words but at the same time, filled with exultation.
âYes we do,' said Kate. He could hear the smile in her voice. âYou do.'
âHow dâyou mean?'
âWhy do you think you're suddenly behaving like Attila the Hun and his boys?' she teased. âAh, 'tis love, 'tis love â¦'
âShut up!' he'd saidâbut he was laughing too. âOK. But keep your fingers crossed.'
âAnd everything else,' she promised. âDavid and I will try to think of some way of getting her out of this mess.'
âAre you going to tell him?' he'd asked, rather disconcerted, his usual reticence up in arms.
âOnly David,' she'd said wheedlingly. âNo one else, I promise. But I must share it with him. He won't say a word, honestly.'
Giles stood up and took his plate into the kitchen and rooted in the freezer compartment of the fridge for some ice cream. It would be hard to share one's thoughts and fears with another person; to allow them in to all those secret places of the mind and heart. He took his pudding back to the sofa and had just taken an icy mouthful when the telephone rang. It was Will. Giles hastily swallowed and felt the coldness run down inside his chest.
âHow are you?' he asked. âAre you all well? Thanks again for a wonderful time the other week. I really love your cove.'
As Will's voice quacked busily, Giles sat listening, his ice cream melting in the dish.
âOK,' he said at last when Will had related the whole Adrian Pearson saga. âLet me get a pencil and I'll telephone them and ask where they are. No, I take your point. I won't let them know I'm in London but I shall need the address, shan't I? No, I'll try not to frighten them off. Hang on.'
When Will had finally hung up, Giles looked with distaste at his plate and, taking it into the kitchen, dumped it in the sink and ran water on it. As he stood watching the ice cream disappear the telephone rang again. This time it was Tessa.
âHas Will phoned?' she asked. âDid he tell you about this awful man who's going round robbing people?'
âHe did.' His heart was pounding and he could hardly keep from smiling as she talked indignantly into his ear. âI'm going to check out the office.'
âBea's trying to think of a way of giving him a fright, since he can't
be stopped legally. Isn't it infuriating? Oh, when I think of poor Mrs Carrington â¦'