‘Considering what?’ Tess said rather stiffly. ‘I’ve spent the last God-knows-how-many years telling him that we weren’t suited in any way for each other, so . . .’
‘Considering that he’s been in love with you ever since you met,’ Freddy said frankly. ‘Don’t go all defensive on me, Tess, because I know better than anyone how obnoxious Ash can be, so I sympathise. When we were kids he made my life a misery, in fact when Mum took him off to the seaside to recuperate from mumps I was delighted to be left behind. But love’s like mumps; once you’ve got it there isn’t a lot you can do except to soldier on. It goes, in the end.’
‘Oh, thanks. I’m an attack of mumps now! Well, I hope with all my heart that Ash recovers soon.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ Freddy said gaily. ‘In fact, if you’re changing trains in London he said he’d be on one or the other platform, to wish you luck.’
They were honeymooning in Wales, because the Sugdens had friends who owned a cottage in the Vale of Clwyd which they were willing to let. A week there was the Sugdens’ wedding present to the happy couple, and after that they meant to go straight to Southampton to board their ship. Heading for Wales indeed meant that they would change trains in London and sure enough, when they reached Liverpool Street, Ashley was waiting for them.
‘Tess, Mal! Congratulations! I hope you’ll be very happy. I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you for the ceremony, but it’s a long way to go just for a few hours. And what’s more . . .’
‘I’ll go and get our luggage,’ Mal said, having silently shaken Ash by the hand. ‘Shan’t be a mo.’
‘Nice chap,’ Ashley said appreciatively. ‘Giving me a chance to have a quiet word. Tess . . . there’s something I want you to know. I’m getting married.’
‘Wha-aat?’ Tess couldn’t help her amazement showing, but she hid a feeling rather close to dismay. Marrying? Ashley? But she supposed it was quite possible; he was an attractive man.
‘That’s rude, you make it sound as if no one in their right senses would have me,’ Ashley said reproachfully. ‘I’m not sure when it will be, probably not for a year to two, but . . . well, I just wanted you to know. So when you’re sailing the ocean blue, arriving in Australia, sightseeing in Sydney, you’ll know that your old friend is about to settle down as well.’
‘That’s lovely, Ash,’ Tess said sincerely, trying to ignore the little knot of ice which had formed in the pit of her stomach. ‘Who is she? Do I know her?’
‘No, I don’t think so. She’s an actress, of all things, both beautiful and talented. Her name’s Marie, though that isn’t her stage name. Ah, here comes your husband, wheeling an extraordinary amount of luggage – this is a honeymoon, isn’t it, not a house-move?’
‘It’s both, actually,’ Tess said, laughing. ‘We’re not going back to Norfolk when we leave Wales, it wouldn’t be worth it. We’re going straight down to Southampton and taking ship for Australia.’
‘Oh,’ Ashley said blankly. ‘Oh I see, I hadn’t realised . . . then this really is goodbye?’
‘That’s right,’ Tess said. More ice formed in her unreliable stomach. ‘But I expect we’ll come back from time to time, or you could come out to the Wandina, Ash! Yes, you must come, and bring your wife. But in the meantime, you – you’ll write to me, won’t you?’
‘If you write to me.’ Ashley shook Mal’s hand again, told him to take care of Tess, and turned to go. Then turned back.
‘Give me a kiss, Tess, for old times’ sake.’
They kissed. Decorously. Then he put her away from him and touched the tip of her nose with a light finger. ‘Daft thing . . . I wish you could meet my fiancée, you’d like her . . . but you must be off or you’ll miss the train from Euston. Be good. And write.’
Tess watched him out of sight, then sighed and tucked her hand into Mal’s arm. ‘He’s all right really, Ash,’ she said. ‘He came to tell me he’s getting married, Mal – imagine that! She’s an actress.’
‘Good on him,’ Mal said. ‘Come on sweetheart, I’ve got a taxi waiting!’
Ashley went into the refreshment room after he’d left Tess and ordered a pint of beer. Then he sat at a small table which commanded a view of the taxi rank and watched her until she climbed into a cab. Then he watched the vehicle until it turned the corner and disappeared. Then, prosaically, he drank his beer.
He had done all he could for her. He had made her a present of complete freedom from him, he had invented a girlfriend, pretended a coming marriage, even given the girl a name, a career. Because of what he had done Tess would leave. with nothing on her conscience, no guilt for a love she could not feel.
He had hoped, of course. Right up to the end, he had hoped that she might realise love like his only happened once in a lifetime. But she hadn’t, she’d clung to Mal, and he hoped and believed she would be happy. Dear Tess, so mixed up and keen to do the right thing by everyone, she deserved happiness if anyone did. As for himself, he simply hoped that he would survive, perhaps to find happiness of his own one day.
He left the refreshment room and found it was raining. Charging along the pavement he stepped in a puddle and felt the water seep into his shoe with a certain savage satisfaction. He dug his hand into his mackintosh pocket and brought out a couple of squashed pontefract cakes. Ever since he’d been a kid he’d loved the things, though he’d stopped eating them once his parents had complained that he smelled of liquorice and was ruining his teeth. Defiantly, he crammed both the sweets in his mouth now, to give what comfort they could. He would go for a long, long walk, and by the time he got home perhaps the ache of knowing he would probably never see her again would have subsided a little. Perhaps then, he could bend his mind to making his lies come true. Find a girl, marry her, be happy.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
The honeymoon cottage was everything such a place should be, the countryside breathtakingly beautiful, the local people friendly. Mrs Lecky Williams, who owned the cottage and was the local farmer’s wife, came in each morning, very early, and lit the fire and cleaned through. ‘All part of the service, my love,’ she told Tess when Tess thanked her. ‘Goin’a long way off you are – want to leave a good impression we do!’
But even the nicest things come to an end, and when their week was over she and Mal set out on a slow little country bus on what was almost the last leg of their journey.
‘Well, not quite the last leg; first we’ve got bus, train, ship, train, horse and cart,’ Mal said, counting on his fingers. ‘And then you’ll see the Wandina. But it’s better this way; you said your goodbyes a week ago, didn’t you?’
‘I did,’ Tess admitted. ‘Now I feel that I’m leaving the cottage behind, a lovely holiday home but nothing more. Yes, it’s easier this way. There won’t be any sense of personal loss when we sail away from Southampton.’
‘That’s good,’ Mal said. ‘A new life, Tess, that’s how we’ve got to look at it.’
‘It isn’t a new life for you,’ Tess pointed out. ‘You were there for . . . what, your first twenty-five years.’
‘More,’ Mal said. ‘But I’ve been away for seven years now, and I’ve had all sorts of experiences; I don’t know how I’ll settle down to cattle raising. It’s not much like flying a Lanc, you know.’
‘I expect you’ll be happy as a pig in muck,’ Tess told him. ‘You liked it all right before, and it isn’t
ordinary,
is it, like farming in England? I mean you cover such huge areas of ground, you’re in the saddle for days at a time, you camp out in the bush at nights . . . I bet you can’t wait!’
‘Nor can you,’ Mal said shrewdly. ‘You should see your face – like a kid at Christmas.’
‘Yes, well . . . I’ve never ridden a horse but I’ve always wanted to. So let’s not pretend we’re not going to have fun, because we are.’
‘Oh sweetheart!’ Mal looped an arm round her waist and kissed her. ‘You’re everything I’ve always wanted! No regrets? No unfinished business?’
‘No to both. I told you I found out that Daddy was my real father and not my stepfather, as I’d thought; that was wonderful, the best possible news. And I’m ninety-nine per cent certain that Leonora didn’t kill herself, though I still don’t really know how she died. As for regrets, I don’t suppose, if I lived in Norfolk for the next fifty years, I’d ever find out any more about Leonora.’
‘Unless you met the boy you dreamed about,’ Mal said. ‘If he exists, of course.’
‘Even if he does exist, and I were to meet him, he might not be able to tell me much,’ Tess pointed out. ‘Anyway, I know as much as I’ve a right to expect. Oh, here comes the station! Off we get!’
‘Coincidence is peculiar,’ Tess mused a couple of nights later, as she and Mal lay squeezed together in the same bunk. Later she would get out and climb up to the top one, but for now, for what they described to themselves and each other as ‘cuddles’, they would share the lower of the two beds.
‘Coincidences are always happening,’ Mal said. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because I was talking to an old chap on deck, whilst you were practising your Australian crawl in the swimming pool, and he comes from Norfolk! Isn’t that strange? Apparently he and his wife went out to Perth, in Australia, twenty years ago, and this is the first time he’s visited England since then. And the first person he meets on board ship, going back to Perth, is me – a Norfolk dumpling, like him!’
‘Oh my word,’ Mal said. ‘Why did he emigrate twenty years ago? Is he married?’
‘No, he’s a widower, she died a year ago. That’s why he went ho . . . back, I mean. He had a great desire to see England again, he said, but he knows there’s nothing for him there, now. All his kids are in Perth and doing well. So he just went for a three-month holiday. He told me he was a fisherman back in the old days, but he made a poor living at it, and then a cousin of his said he was off to the colonies, and the old chap – his name’s Rolly Moss, incidentally – decided to go along as well. He said he’d never regretted it and nor did his missus, and when I said we were going to live in Queensland he said it’s a hard life but it has rich rewards.’ She chuckled. ‘Rich rewards! As if there’s gold in them thar hills!’
‘There was, once. Didn’t you know there was an Australian gold-rush, back in the ’nineties? You must introduce me to this Rolly character next time you spot him.’
But the next time Tess met up with Rolly, Mal was once more indulging in fitness pursuits, for he was determined to regain his muscle before they arrived in the land of his birth. ‘It’s all right for you, they aren’t going to look at you and wonder what you’ve been doing to yourself,’ he said when she teased him about it. ‘No one’s gonna believe I can be worn out after a day’s work, or I can’t take the round-ups.’
‘Well, perish the thought that they might think less of you because you’ve lost condition fighting for your country,’ Tess said sarcastically, but Mal merely told her to go away and let him lift weights, so she obeyed. And walked straight into Rolly, leaning against the rail and watching the tumbling water, already blue with a more tropical shade than any which Tess had seen before.
‘Afternoon, Mr Moss,’ Tess said politely. ‘My husband’s weight lifting, so I’m at a loose end. What are you watching?’ She peered over the rail. ‘Not flying fish!’
‘No, just the sea,’ the old man said. ‘No flyin’ fish yet – nor sharks and dolphins, neither. They’ll come later.’
‘Dolphins are interesting, but I don’t much fancy the thought of sharks,’ Tess said with a little shudder. ‘Mal says you can’t bathe in the sea up by Cairns except in the winter. He says there’s stingers, sharks, seawater crocodiles, all sorts of horrid things in summer. So I don’t think I’ll be doing much sea-bathing, somehow.’
‘Ah well, the sea’s tricky in itself, whether it’s tropical or icy cold,’ the old man said. ‘I remember well when I was young seein’ a tragic drownin’ off the coast where I fished. A beautiful young girl, it was . . . she were rowin’ along the coast and I’d been admirin’ the way she rowed, too, when all of a sudden up she jumped and began to wave and shout. Next thing, the boat turned sideways on to a wave and over she went, slap bang into the water, an’ the boat, that reared up an’ fell on her.’
‘And she couldn’t swim?’ Tess said. ‘Where were you? Why couldn’t you reach her?’
‘Could. Did,’ the old man said. But she din’t stand a chance, you know, the boat landed on her, forced her down. It were a good twenty minutes, half an hour perhaps, before I managed to git a hold of her.’
‘Isn’t that terrible? Oddly enough, though, my mother was drowned in a very similar incident,’ Tess said slowly. ‘Whereabouts on the coast did this happen, Mr Moss? Can you remember any more about it?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a lot. Poor gal, what a way to go! I allus said to my missus, never you stand up in a boat my dear, no matter what the provocation. It’s askin’ for trouble, I telled her.’
‘Where did this take place, did you say?’
Mr Moss shrugged. ‘Somewhere along the coast; I were in my boat, see, checkin’ crab pots. Soon as I saw her stand up I started to row over, but it were too late.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Too bloody late,’ he finished.
‘And it was somewhere along the coast – would you say the North Norfolk coast?’ Tess said craftily, but he was not to be deflected.
‘Never you jump up in a boat, I tells folk. Not even for the sake of the one you love the most.’
‘I don’t see why anyone should jump up in a boat for the sake of the one they loved,’ Tess objected, temporarily straying from the point herself. ‘What makes you say that, Mr Moss?’
‘Acos I knew
why
she jumped up, even though it were a foolish thing to do,’ the old man said immediately. ‘Plain as the nose on my face it were. I said so to the feller what came down and helped me to carry her ashore; not that he took any notice, old fool.’
‘I’m not with you; why did she jump up?’ Tess said. ‘The beach was deserted, didn’t you say?’
‘Aye, it was deserted save for an old fool of a fisherman, the one I mentioned. But the sandhills above the beach, they weren’t deserted. There were bungalows up there, with low walls separatin’ them from the sea. An’ this little kid, in a pink-striped frock, she were climbin’ over one o’ the walls. Not much more than a baby, she were. I could tell at a glance,
that
were why the gal jumped up. She were shoutin’ to the baby to go back – beaches is dangerous places for babies by theirselves – and of course the boat, she tipped,’ Mr Moss said simply. ‘Sad, weren’t it?’