Sophie's Encore (26 page)

“Let me help,” Dan offered, his teeth chattering.

“I’ll manage,” I admonished him. “Get warm, or I’ll get in trouble with the nurse.”

Dan grinned. “You will, too. All right, if you’re sure you can manage…” He retreated into the cottage while I retrieved our bags.

‘Cottage’ was a bit of an understatement, as I discovered when I trudged through to the bedroom allocated to me. For starters, the building was a bungalow, albeit with a steep cottagey roof. Having crossed an open-plan lounge-diner-kitchen with a massive fireplace and phenomenal views across the bay, I discovered a sumptuous, tastefully decorated bedroom with en-suite for my use and a smaller bedroom with two single beds for the children right across the corridor. One bed sported a Fireman Sam duvet, and the other Hello Kitty.

“Do you think they’ll like them?”

Dan’s voice made me jump. I turned to face him.

“I’m sure they’ll love them. How fortuitous that…” I petered out when I saw the beaming smile on his face.

“
You
got them for us?”

Dan shrugged. “Well, technically Peter did, but I had the idea.”

“You…” I couldn’t put my feelings into words and took another tack. “They’ll never want to leave, you know.”

“Good,” Dan observed. “I don’t want you all to leave.”

I punched him lightly on the shoulder. “We’ve only just arrived. Shall we have some—”

“
Mummy
!” Emily’s shrill shriek interrupted me, and goosebumps trickled down my spine.

“Emily! Where are you? What’s happened?”

“
Mummy-y-y
!” My daughter’s voice went up a pitch and near hysteria threatened to engulf me.

“Where is she?” I demanded of Dan, but right at that moment, Emily came flying down the corridor.

“
Mummy-y-y-y
!” She screeched to a halt in front of me, looking undamaged, but overexcited.

“What is it, sweetheart?” My voice wobbled slightly, still fearful to make a dreadful discovery of hurt or broken limbs…if not on Emily’s part, then Josh’s.

“Swimming pool, Mummy. Look, look!” Emily took my hand and pulled me impatiently in the direction from which she had just emerged.

I threw Dan a look. “A swimming pool?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t hire this place. But before you ask, there’s a sauna, too.”

“A sauna?” I knew I was sounding slightly unhinged, but this was somewhat unexpected.
A cottage
, I had been told. Not a one-person luxury spa resort.

“A sauna. We could try it together later?” There was a glint of mischief in his eye before he amended his statement. “Peter makes me go in there for ten minutes after my afternoon swim. It’s medicinal, you see. Steam is good for the lungs, or something.”

“Come
on
, Mummy.” Emily was oblivious to the sparks flying between the adults, and I laughingly yielded to her call to be shown around the rest of the cottage. We found the swimming pool, where I also met Peter, who was in earnest conversation with my four-year-old. Dan stepped to my side.

“Peter, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is Peter,” he introduced us with the customary back-and-forth hand-waving.

Peter smiled and held out his hand. He looked to be in his late thirties, probably slightly older than me but just a little younger than Dan, with a shock of blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” he drawled in a deep West Country twang, and I shook his hand.

“And you, too. That’s quite some set up you all have here.”

Peter grinned. “I know. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I arrived. And I really couldn’t believe it when my patient arrived.” He laughed. “This is quite the plum job. Apart from keeping Dan from singing, of course, and from making him do his exercises.”

“Are you being a difficult patient?” I teased Dan.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Only occasionally. I do most things Peter asks me to do.”

“You look so much better,” I burst out. “Worlds apart from the hospital. You’re up and dressed for starters.” I reached out a hand and stroked his woolly jumper. “This get-up suits you. You never wear clothes like this in London.”

“It’s not as cold as this in London. Just wait until we go outside later. There’s a wind blowing in off the sea that’ll chill you to the bone.”

The children had been half listening to our conversation while they took it in turns to walk around the pool.

“Outside, outside,” Josh suddenly piped up.

“Swimming, swimming,” Emily objected.

I grimaced, sensing impending disagreement and resulting tantrums but I was rescued from an unexpected side.

“Lunch,” Peter declared firmly. “It’s lunch time and we’ll have lunch.” His voice invited absolutely no argument, and, confronted with so much natural authority, my children gave in immediately.

“Lunch,” their voices echoed eagerly. And, “What is for lunch?”

Chapter Forty-One

Lunch was a simple but wholesome meal of soup and sandwiches. The kids tucked in hungrily, displaying impeccable manners for once and doing me insanely proud. Dan presided over the table, and the joy at seeing us there radiated from every pore. I was doubly glad that we made the journey.

After lunch, Peter ordered Dan to go for his hour’s bed rest.

“Food, and rest, and exercise, and rest, and more food, and more rest,” Dan commented. “That’s what he makes me do, every day, according to a strict schedule, and he never lets off.”

“It seems to be working miracles,” I observed, winking at Peter. “I quite fancy that kind of holiday myself.”

Dan loitered at the table like a truculent teenager. “Can’t we make an exception, just today? I haven’t seen Sophie and the kids properly in such a long time…”

Peter merely raised his eyebrows, and I stifled a giggle. The man was adorable. He was just like a matron out of a carry-on film, and I had no doubt that he was excellent at his job.

“Tell you what,” I offered to diffuse the situation. “I’m done in. I could do with a rest myself. Why don’t we
all
have a little lunchtime nap?”

The kids made to protest, but I spoke over their little voices. “
After
we’ve had a nap, we’ll do whatever Dan needs to do next… walking, swimming, whatever. And
if
you both have a nap, you can stay up later after dinner.”

The caregiver helped out again. “After midday rest, it’s a walk to the beach, and then a quick swim in the pool. And I know some fun games to play in the pool.” He made a meaningful face at my kids, who were putty in his hands.

“Okay,” Josh agreed. “But where do we sleep?”

Needless to say, the squeals of joy at their own little bedroom were every bit as loud and exuberant as I had expected, and I doubted much ‘resting’ would be done by my children. Nonetheless, I closed their door and ensconced myself in my own bedroom. Snuggled under the duvet, it didn’t take me half a moment before I fell asleep.

When I woke an hour later, I discovered that the kids, too, had succumbed to sleep after all. It was thus a rested and sparkly eyed bunch of people that made their way to the beach, wearing hats, gloves and scarves, and wellies. Out the back door we went, through the garden, and onto a sandy path up the dunes, then straight down to the beach. Before long, the kids ran ahead, splashing their be-wellied feet in the surf and giving great whoops of joy. Peter, Dan, and I walked at a more sedate pace.

Peter took us the length of the beach below the cliff road until we could see no more houses. The wind was blowing in strongly from the sea, and Dan pulled his scarf up high to cover his mouth and nose. “The air tickles me,” he explained in a muffled voice. “I hate coughing. But Peter assures me the salty air heals my lungs.”

Peter said nothing, but kept walking. I had the feeling that Dan hadn’t proved to be the most accepting of patients.

After another half hour, just when the kids started showing signs of fatigue, Peter headed up a narrow path into the dunes. “This way takes us back through the village and to the house,” he explained for my benefit. “It’s much shorter this way, and we’ll be home in fifteen minutes or so.”

Sure enough, before long, the cottage loomed in front of us.

“What’s next?” I asked both of Dan and Peter, but the kids got in there first. “Swimming, you promised swimming,” they chanted and both Dan and Peter grinned.

Within half an hour, the kids and I were splashing in the shallow end of the pool while Dan completed his mandatory lengths. Peter produced balls and floats and lilos and showed the kids how to paddle. He had a floating football goal, and the kids and I amused ourselves by trying to score against Peter. Dan joined in as soon as he was done with his exercises, and the little indoor swimming hall filled with shrieks of laughter as dusk fell outside the enormous plate glass windows.

“Enough, enough, enough,” Dan finally begged, half laughing and half coughing. “I surrender.” He exchanged a look with Peter, who inclined his head ever so slightly toward a door marked ‘sauna.’

“I must go and sweat for my sins now,” Dan explained when he caught me staring. “Do you want to come?”

I found myself blushing and picked self-consciously at the strap of my swimsuit.

“You can leave that on,” Dan elaborated hastily. “And the kids can come, too.”

No sooner said than done. Within seconds, the Jones family, Dan, and Peter all sat or lay on the wooden benches in the little sauna room, where Josh took great delight in adding cold water to the hot coals in the grate to make more and more steam. Peter set a maximum temperature and a timer, and slowly we all grew quiet as the heat worked its magic.

After a long windswept walk, energetic water play, and the unfamiliar heat therapy of a sauna room, my offspring drooped and lolloped about languidly when called to the dinner table. Dan had organized pizzas for all of us, although the amount on offer seemed a little on the stingy side.

“Is this enough?” I mused, ever in housewife mode, as I helped dish up.

Dan threw me a conspiratorial look. “Shh,” he whispered. “Just pick lightly. We’ll eat something…”

He stepped away as though retrieving the cheese when Peter came within earshot, and he finished his sentence on an unexpectedly loud and somewhat incongruous, “healthy.” We’ll eat something healthy, too. Like… salad?” He turned to Peter. “We got salad, right?”

Peter looked from Dan to me and back again. I tried to keep a straight face, and Peter simply shrugged. “Of course we got salad. Here, let me help.”

For the second time that day, we sat around the large dinner table in the open-plan lounge. Peter had lit a fire in the enormous fireplace, and the warm glow of logs, the discreet lighting, and many candles contrasted wildly with the black darkness outside. The weather had turned, and rain lashed against the window in intermittent gusts. I felt a sudden longing to curl up with Dan in front of the fire…alone.

Dinner passed quickly, and the kids had a second wind when Dan produced a bag of marshmallows and a stack of roasting tongs. He speared marshmallows for all of us and showed the kids how to hold theirs to the fire so the sweet would melt, but not burn.

We sat back and let them get on with it for a moment, and Dan smiled at me wistfully. “Remember Greetje’s cottage?” he whispered.

I nodded. How could I forget one of the most memorable nights of my life? Newly engaged to my beloved Steve, on a gorgeous, if remote island in the German North Sea, freshly united with my three best friends, and in delicious anticipation of a terrible storm. We played games and drank wine and toasted marshmallows all through the afternoon, Dan, Rachel, Steve, and I.

“That was a great night,” I whispered back. I probed my heart for emotions. Would the memory of that innocent time bring back the grief and anger at having lost Steve? Waggling my head from side to side as if weighing options, I discovered sadness and regret. A vague longing. But most of all, there was fondness and nostalgia and remembered happiness. I was learning to remember Steve without shedding tears and descending into gloom. I was able to talk about good times without feeling bitter.

“It was a great night,” I repeated.

Dan took my hand. “You okay? I didn’t mean to bring up sad things,” he mumbled. “I just…it just came to mind.”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “It came to my mind, too, and do you know? I…I don’t mind. I can do this now.”

Dan raised his eyebrows, but said nothing more, just squeezed my hand a little harder.

Meanwhile, the kids had finished the marshmallows and were looking distinctly worse for wear. The clock on the mantelpiece read nine p.m., and it was definitely time for bed. For the kids at least.

But—“Time for bed,” Peter announced, startling me. He had been so immersed in a book, tucked away on a sofa in the corner, I had totally forgotten he was there.

Dan opened his eyes wide at me as if to impart some secret meaning that I completely failed to grasp. In a moment, the gesture was gone and he rose, stretching his arms high above his head.

“Time for bed, indeed,” he yawned. “That was a wonderful day. Thank you all for coming.”

The kids rushed to him for big hugs, as was their custom at bedtime. “Night, Dan,” Josh muttered sleepily. I chuckled to myself. I had expected a riot, but the kids were absolutely exhausted and quite willing to go off to sleep.

“Night, Dad,” Emily echoed her brother, then came to snuggle with me.

Me, I was confused. Dan, to bed, willingly, at nine p.m.?

But there was nothing for it, so I took the children to my bathroom and supervised brushing of teeth before tucking them into their beds. By half past nine, the cottage was in complete silence.

At ten p.m., I opened my bedroom door a fraction to gauge if there were any nocturnal goings-on, but I was met with nothing but a dark, empty corridor. Resigned, I retreated to bed and crawled under the duvet. I
was
quite tired.

“This is so totally weird,” I chuckled to myself. If word got out that Dan Hunter was living the healthy low-life… Still, he evidently needed it. I switched off my bedside light and turned to face the window. I was just feeling myself drift off when a whisper from outside my door roused me all over again.