‘Old Joe Hornby? Really, you know how eccentric
he
is,’ said Sally. ‘He claims to be a great friend of Mick Jagger’s, but have you ever seen
him
on the island?’
‘Or anyone of any importance at all? He claims to know everybody. He’s an old boaster, that’s all,’ said Blythe.
‘Those boys are writing an album, apparently, and Joe’s helping them,’ Belle continued. ‘He has a recording studio in his basement.’
‘Joe hasn’t produced anything in fifty years!’ said Sally. ‘He was a very mediocre musician in his day. Now he’s simply past it. Anyway, who’s bankrolling the project? Joe hasn’t got the money, for sure.’
Belle shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But the word is, he’s taking them on tour around the country in the fall.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘That’ll cost a small fortune, don’t you think?’
Evelyn was determined to bring the subject back to the scandal. She glanced around the room cautiously and lowered her voice. ‘Well, according to Lucy, Trixie Valentine and her friend Suzie Redford disappeared in a boat with the band on Friday evening and didn’t come back until early this morning. Suzie told Lucy not to breathe a word to anybody. They clearly went behind their parents’ backs. I can’t say what they all got up to, but I don’t think we have to stretch our imaginations too far to get close to the truth. You know how those sort of people live. It’s disgusting!’
‘Maybe Grace thought Trixie was at Suzie’s!’ Belle suggested. ‘There must be an explanation.’
Sally cut in. ‘I dare say, but that Suzie Redford can do whatever she likes. There are no boundaries in
that
family.’
‘Well, I’m surprised,’ said Belle quietly. ‘Though I know Grace has a difficult time with Trixie. But I really don’t believe Trixie would have disappeared for three days without telling her mother. Besides, Freddie would never have allowed it.’
‘Freddie’s been away on business,’ said Sally gleefully. ‘While the cat’s away . . .’
‘It’s all in the nurturing,’ said Blythe. ‘
Cherchez la mère
,’ she added darkly.
Belle stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Isn’t the saying
cherchez la femme
?’
‘It amounts to the same thing, Belle,’ Blythe retorted. ‘You need look no further than the mother. Grace might be a paragon of virtue and I am the first to say she is the sweetest person alive. But she’s much too lenient. Trixie needs a firm hand and Grace is weak.’
‘Grace is indulgent because it took her years of heartache and miscarriage to conceive,’ Belle reminded them. ‘Trixie is the longed-for only child. It’s no wonder she’s a bit spoiled.’
‘Grace buries her head in her gardens and tries not to think about it, I imagine,’ said Sally. ‘With a daughter like Trixie, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, she’s a wonderful gardener,’ Belle added emphatically. ‘The gardens of Tekanasset were all very ordinary before she arrived from England and transformed them with her wonderful taste and expertise.’
Evelyn scowled irritably. ‘No one is questioning her talent, Belle. It’s her mothering which is open to debate. Now, come on, who dealt?’
‘I did,’ said Blythe. ‘And I’m bidding one no trump.’
At that moment the four women were struck dumb by the appearance of Grace herself, followed by a large soufflé of a woman known to everyone as Big. Evelyn closed her mouth sharply. Big was the most respected and formidable woman on the island. Not only did she own the largest and oldest home, which had once belonged to the first settler back in 1668, but she was the only daughter of the wealthy oil baron Randall Wilson Jr., who died at the age of ninety-five leaving his entire fortune to her. It was said that she had never married because she could find no man qualified to match her in either wealth or spirit. Now that she was in her seventies, marriage was never mentioned or alluded to and Big showed no sign of regret. She treated her closest friends like family and took great pleasure, as her father had done before her, in sharing her wealth through the highly esteemed Randall Wilson Charitable Trust, or simply by writing cheques when she felt so inclined.
Grace Valentine looked as out of place in the clubhouse as a shire horse in a field of thoroughbreds. Her long mouse-brown hair was streaked with grey and pinned roughly onto the back of her head with a pencil, and her taupe cotton trousers and loose-fitting shirt were in sharp contrast to the starched perfection of the four bridge players. The only thing she seemed to have in common with them was the sparkle of diamonds in the form of a surprisingly exquisite bumblebee brooch pinned to her chest. Her nails were bitten down and the skin on her hands was rough from years of gardening. She wore no make-up and her fine English skin had suffered in the Tekanasset sun and sea winds. And yet her hazel eyes were full of softness and compassion and her face retained traces of her former beauty. When Grace Valentine smiled, few could resist the sweetness of it.
‘Hello, Grace,’ said Belle as the two women passed their table. ‘Hello, Big.’
Grace smiled. ‘Good game?’ she asked.
‘It’s not looking good for me,’ Belle replied. ‘But I’m not very good at bridge.’
‘Oh, really, Belle Bartlett, you’re just fine,’ chided Evelyn, tossing Grace a smile and scrutinizing her for signs of shame. ‘She’s just being modest.’
‘Where would you like to sit, Grace?’ Big asked, striding past the four women without so much as a nod. They shrank into their chairs guiltily. Big seemed to have an almost psychic sense when it came to unpleasantness, and she narrowed her eyes knowingly and struck the shiny wooden floorboards with her walking stick without any concern for the noise it made.
‘Let’s sit outside, if it’s not too windy for you, Big,’ Grace replied.
Big chuckled. ‘Not at all. If there was a hurricane I’d be the last person standing.’
They walked through the double doors onto a wide veranda which overlooked the ocean. Small boats cut through the waves like swans and a pair of black dogs frolicked about the dunes while their master strolled slowly up the beach. The evening sun was low in the sky, turning the sand a pinkish hue, and an oystercatcher pecked at the remains of a fish with his bright-orange beak. Grace chose a table nearest the edge of the veranda, against the balustrade, and pulled out a wicker chair for Big. The old woman handed Grace her stick, then fell onto the cushion with a loud whoosh. A few wisps of grey hair fell away from her bun and flapped against the back of her neck like feathers. ‘There, the hen is on her nest,’ said Big with a satisfied sigh. She clicked her fingers and before Grace had even sat down she had ordered them both a cocktail. ‘You need fortification, Grace,’ she told her firmly. ‘Never mind those hyenas. They’re all so jealous of you, as well they might be: they have not an ounce of talent between them.’
‘They’re all right,’ Grace replied. ‘Believe me, I’ve encountered far worse.’
‘I’m sure you have. British women make those four look positively tame.’
Grace laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t care what people say behind my back, as long as they’re friendly to my face. The trouble with British women is they’re much too outspoken, and I do hate confrontation.’
‘I prefer the British way, if that’s the case. If people have something to say, they should say it to your face and not behind your back. They should have the courage of their convictions or not speak out at all. Evelyn Durlacher is a terrible old wooden spoon and I’m quite prepared to tell her so. She should be ashamed of some of the trouble she’s caused on this island with her stirring. It’s as if she goes around looking for things to gossip about. The smugness of the woman is intolerable. She has placed herself so high on her pedestal, the fall will be devastating.’
The waiter placed their cocktails on the table with a china bowl of nuts. Big thrust her fat, bejewelled fingers into the bowl and grabbed a fistful of pistachios. Her face was deceptively gentle, with a wide forehead, full, smiling lips and spongy chins that gave her the look of a gentle grandmother, but her eyes were the colour of steel and could harden in a moment, turning the unlucky recipient of her displeasure into a pillar of salt. When she looked at Grace, however, she did so with surprising tenderness. ‘So, what’s Trixie up to, then? I imagine Evelyn has exaggerated the story for her own ends – anything to make her Lucy look good.’ Big inhaled through her nostrils and the steel in her eyes briefly glinted. ‘If she knew half of what her Lucy gets up to, she’d keep her mouth shut.’
Grace sighed. ‘I’m afraid Evelyn’s probably right. Trixie has fallen for a young man who plays in a band. I don’t mind that, he’s perfectly nice, I’m sure, but . . .’
‘You haven’t met him?’
‘No.’
‘Go on.’
‘She told me she was going to stay the weekend in Cape Cod with her friend Suzie . . .’
Big raised her eyebrows cynically. ‘Suzie Redford! That girl’s trouble, and wherever there’s trouble,
she’s
in the middle of it.’
‘I would honestly say they’re as bad as each other.’ Grace smiled indulgently. ‘But they’re having fun, Big, and Trixie’s in love for the first time.’
Big looked at Grace’s gentle face, her soft hazel eyes and soft windblown hair, and shook her head at the sheer
softness
of the woman. ‘What am I going to do with you, Grace? You’re much too kind-hearted. So, tell me, where did they
really
go?’
‘With the band.’
‘Where, with the band?’
‘To a private concert they were giving in Cape Cod for a friend of Joe Hornby, who’s in the industry.’
Big sipped her cocktail thoughtfully. ‘But she was found out.’
‘Yes, Lucy saw them all returning on a boat this morning and told her mother. Now, I imagine the whole island is talking about it. Trixie came clean before she went off to work. You know she’s got a summer job at Captain Jack’s. Anyway, I didn’t have time to talk to her. In spite of her rebelliousness, Big, she’s a good girl at heart. She confessed, at least.’
‘Only because she was spotted by Lucy. I’m sure she wouldn’t have told you if she thought she had got away with it. I’m afraid she’s a disgrace, my dear, and you should ground her for the rest of the holidays. In my day I would have been beaten for less.’
‘But it’s not your day, Big, and it’s not my day, either. Times are changing. Young people are freer than we ever were and perhaps it’s a good thing. We can disapprove of the music they listen to and the inappropriate clothes they wear, but they’re young and full of passion. They demonstrate against inequality and war – goodness, you only have to look at my poor Freddie with his one eye and that terrible scar down his face to know that there are no winners in war. They’re brave and outspoken and I rather admire them for that.’ She pressed her rough fingers against the bee brooch on her shirt. ‘They’re idealistic and foolish, perhaps, but they realize that love is the only thing that really matters.’ She turned her hazel eyes to the sea and smiled pensively. ‘I think I’d like to be young now with my whole life ahead of me.’
Big sipped her cocktail. ‘Heavens, Grace, you baffle me sometimes. When everyone else is pulling in the reins, you’re letting them out. Is that a British trait, I wonder? Or are you just contrary? Tell me, does Freddie know about Trixie’s little adventure?’
The mention of her husband cast a shadow over Grace’s face. ‘I haven’t told him yet,’ she replied quietly.
‘But you will?’
‘I don’t want to. He’ll be furious. But I’ll have to. Otherwise he’ll hear it from someone else. Bill Durlacher teeing off at the fifth hole, most likely!’ She laughed out of anxiety rather than merriment.
Big’s large bosom expanded over the table at the thought of Bill Durlacher gossiping on the golf course. ‘Bill’s as bad as his wife,’ she retorted. ‘But you’re right to tell Freddie. He won’t want to be the last person on the island to know.’
‘He’ll be horrified, Big. He’ll give her a lecture on discipline and probably put her under house arrest for the remainder of the summer. Then she’ll spend all her time finding ways to see this boy behind our backs.’ She chuckled. ‘I know Trixie. She’s got more of
me
in her than she knows.’
Big looked surprised. ‘I can’t imagine
you
breaking any rules, Grace.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t always so well-behaved.’ She smiled wistfully at the memory of the girl she used to be. ‘Once I was even quite rebellious. But that was a long time ago.’ She turned her gaze to the sea again.
‘What whipped you into shape?’ Big asked.
‘My conscience,’ Grace replied with a frown.
‘Then you would have done the right thing, for certain.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Grace sighed heavily and there was a hint of defeat in it as well as regret.
‘Do you want the advice of an old matron who’s seen it all?’ Big asked.
Grace drew her mind back to the present. ‘Yes, please.’
Big wriggled in her chair like the nesting hen of her own description. ‘You go home now and have stern words with Trixie. Tell her she’s not to deceive you like that again. It’s important that you know where she is and who she’s with, for her safety as well as your peace of mind. You also tell her that she’s not to leave the island again for the rest of the summer and it’s non-negotiable. You have to make it very clear, Grace. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, I can,’ Grace replied half-heartedly.
‘It’s a matter of respect, Grace,’ Big stated firmly. ‘Really, my dear, you need to toughen up if you wish to assert any control over your child, before it’s too late.’ She took a moment to sip her cocktail, then resumed. ‘When her father arrives, you tell him what happened but inform him that you’ve reprimanded her and that the business is done and dusted. Period. You think he’ll drop it?’
‘I don’t know. He’ll be very cross. You know how he likes everything to be in order.’ She shrugged. ‘I could play it down . . .’
‘You mustn’t lie to him, Grace. That’s important. You two have to stick together. You’re a soft-hearted woman and I know you want to support Trixie, but you chose your husband first and it’s your duty as a wife to stand by his side on all matters.’
Grace looked beaten. ‘Duty,’ she muttered and Big detected a bitter edge to her voice. ‘I do hate that word.’