The Sea Garden (23 page)

He disappears before Tom can answer. Cass dashes to the door.

‘Tell Guy we'd love to see him if it can be fitted in before he goes back,' she calls after him. ‘Perhaps lunch tomorrow with the twins?' Oliver raises a hand in acknowledgement and Cass comes back into the kitchen.

‘Fitted in,' snorts Tom. ‘I notice
we
aren't invited to this match with our grandsons and the Trehearnes.'

‘The boys aren't playing.' Cass sits down at the table. ‘Will is playing. Jess and Sophie are going and it's a chance for all the young people to be together.'

‘What about Johnnie?' demands Tom at once. ‘I bet he's going.'

‘Probably he is,' answers Cass wearily. ‘Tom, what is your problem? From the few texts that Gemma has sent Oliver it looks as if this whole thing might work out. Guy has come over, as Gemma hoped he would, and it seems as if he might be prepared to move back. This is what we're all hoping for. What is the matter with you?'

Tom fumes silently. He cannot say that the matter is all bound up in his jealousy of his elder son who, like some latter-day Machiavelli, seems to be organizing everyone as usual.

‘I'm fed up with being used,' he says. ‘We stand about waiting to be told what's happening, grateful for a crumb of information, whilst Oliver goes in and out as if we're a bloody hotel. I mean, what's he doing here? He's been hanging around for weeks. Why isn't he doing whatever it is he does in London or wherever, and making himself even more money?'

‘Oh, come on,' says Cass impatiently. ‘Do you understand nothing about your children? It's my guess that Gemma told Oliver that she was planning to make the dash back home and she wanted him around as a buffer. She's always relied on Oliver to help her through difficulties since she was a little girl. He came down so that he could be at hand if she needed him. And she did. He's got the boys into Mount House, kept her spirits up and effected an introduction to the Trehearnes.'

Tom stares at her indignantly: why should Gemma need to rely on her brother when she has a father to support her? And what's this about an introduction?

‘How d'you mean?' he asks. ‘We've known the Trehearnes for ever. Why should we need Oliver to introduce any of us to them?'

‘I didn't say we did. But he's introduced Guy to them, and now Gemma will meet them.'

‘And?'

Cass is silent for a moment. ‘I don't know,' she says at last. ‘I just think that somehow it will be important.'

*   *   *

‘I'm dreading going back to the Rectory,' Gemma confides to Oliver at half-time. They stand a little apart from the others at the edge of the pitch. ‘I just know there's going to be a huge scene with Pa.'

‘He deserves his chance to blow off some steam,' says Oliver tolerantly. ‘Ma was getting an earful when I came out. He'll get over it.'

‘D'you think we should all go over to lunch tomorrow? We could pick the twins up after church and take them up to the Rectory.'

‘Definitely not,' says Oliver at once. ‘Dear old Guy seems in an unusually mellow mood just now but I think that that would be a step too far. Pa simply won't be able to help himself saying something provocative and all our good work might be undone.'

Gemma's eyes stray to the tall, lean figure of her husband, deep in conversation with Johnnie.

‘I'm sure you're right,' she says unhappily, ‘but I just feel a bit bad about the Aged Ps. They've been very patient.'

‘That's what parents do,' says Oliver robustly. ‘They put their children first. Your duty is to your boys and that means getting it right with Guy. And talking of parents, has he spoken to Kate?'

‘He talked to her last night. She's coming up from St Meriadoc on Monday morning and I shall push off into the town to give them some time on their own.'

He looks at her, eyebrows raised. ‘That's very … tactful of you.'

Gemma shrugs. ‘Kate's been very good to me. I'm not sure I'd want me as a daughter-in-law. Anyway, after lunch on Monday I shall drive back to London with Guy, see him off on Tuesday morning and then catch the train down. Will you pick me up from Plymouth?'

‘Of course.' Oliver is watching Guy and Johnnie. ‘Well, it seems that your tactics have worked. I have to say Guy's looking very positive. Even jolly.'

‘He is, isn't he?' Gemma bites her lips. ‘Oh God, Ol, I couldn't bear it if anything went wrong now.'

*   *   *

‘They are terribly alike, aren't they?' says Jess from her place beside the picnic hamper where Sophie is pouring coffee from a Thermos into an assortment of small mugs.

‘Yes, they are.' Sophie resists looking across to where Gemma and Oliver are standing together.

‘Really attractive,' says Jess with a sigh. ‘They're lucky to be so tall and elegant.'

Sophie hands her a mug. ‘Sure you're not in love with him?'

‘Oh, no,' says Jess at once, taking the coffee. ‘No, that's all over. It was infatuation. I'm utterly in love with Will. When he scored that try I thought I might die of pride.'

‘He's a sweetie,' admits Sophie. ‘Listen, I've had an idea. Why don't we invite them all to lunch tomorrow? What d'you think?'

‘Oh!' Jess sips her coffee, her eyes bright. ‘What a great idea. What else would they be doing, I wonder?'

‘Well, Gemma says the boys want to spend time with Guy, of course, though she doesn't particularly want to go to her parents' place…'

‘The trouble with Sundays out,' says Jess, ‘is that it's difficult to know what to do all day if it's too far to get home. Will doesn't know how lucky he is just to be able to come out to you. We used to have to spend the day in a hotel or at a cinema, or going for a walk if the weather wasn't too awful. I suppose they'll take the twins to Chapel Street after church and then probably yomp out over the moor or something.'

‘I was thinking that they could have the morning just being together and then come down a bit later for lunch. Sort of kill two birds with one stone. Time together as a family and then some entertainment with us.'

‘I think it's a brilliant idea,' says Jess. ‘Ask Gemma and see what she thinks. Will would be thrilled. He can show off his boat and the sail loft, and then they can all come back together after tea.'

‘I suppose,' says Sophie, allowing her eyes to drift to where Oliver stands, ‘it might be nice to invite Oliver as well.'

She is still not used to this odd sensation of joyousness when he is near – or how colourless life is when he is absent. These are unfamiliar sensations, they operate at the extremes of her emotions, and privately she is revelling in them.

‘Of course he must come,' says Jess firmly, and then blushes. ‘Sorry,' she says. ‘That sounded a bit pushy. After all, I'm only a guest myself.'

‘Rubbish,' says Sophie happily. ‘You're definitely one of the family now. You belong here. Don't you feel it?'

A little pause.

‘Yes,' says Jess. ‘Actually, I think I do.'

TAMAR

Rowena dozes, slipping in and out of sleep. Sometimes, when she wakens, her thoughts are sharp and clear. Now is such a time. Her room is full of light; watery reflections slide and slip over the cream-washed walls and she can hear the harsh cries of the gulls out on the river. She thinks of Jess, of her shocked expression when she saw the photograph, the sharp intake of breath and her question: ‘Who's that?' as she pointed to Al. Rowena feels deep satisfaction: her suspicions – her hopes – have all been founded on the truth. Those carefully hoarded memories, those pieces of the puzzle, have been pieced together to make a whole picture at last.

Once again she sees Al dancing with Juliet at the Christmas Ball on HMS
Drake,
a slow smooch in the shadows at the edge of the floor. He's holding her much too tightly; the silky chiffon skirt of Juliet's long, pale ball gown floating and clinging to his dark uniform. Mike at the bar, getting the drinks in, turning to watch them and his rather foolish, half-drunken expression hardening into watchfulness.

She hears Juliet's voice, strained and desperate, whispering just outside the morning-room windows one warm spring evening. ‘I should never have married him, I know that now. I thought I was in love with him. I really did. How was I to know? What shall we do?' and the low, murmuring response: ‘We must be very careful.'

She remembers Juliet as a house guest, staying for a week whilst Mike was at sea, slipping away to the sail loft, along the river bank and, after a while, the shadowy figure of Al following her.

And, most important, the Midsummer's Eve party in the sea garden; reflections jittering and dancing on the smooth black surface of the water; shadowy figures dancing or leaning against the balustrade beneath Circe's imposing figure. The tall lavender hedges, pale, cloudy shapes; their scent still lingering on the warm air.

The whispering behind the summerhouse: the first voice urgent, demanding; the other frightened. Juliet's dress in disarray, her hair loosened. Al's face buried against her throat but her face twisted away from his, her hands on his shoulders.

‘Listen,' she is saying, still in that desperate whisper. ‘Please just listen to me. I'm pregnant, Al. Just for God's sake, listen…'

Then, the last small link in the long chain that links Rowena to the past, to Al. The letter from her friend in Australia.

‘… no more children. It seems that Mike's been firing blanks…'

It must have been hard for Mike, watching Juliet's son growing to look more and more like Al. No wonder they quarrelled and the boy left Australia as soon as he was old enough and came to England to join the army.

Rowena stirs restlessly, chafing against her physical weakness. She is allowed up for short periods to sit in her chair by the window, and soon she'll insist on going downstairs. Johnnie fusses, of course – he's always been a fusspot, like his father – but before very much longer she will be strong enough to bend his will to hers.

Jess has been up to see her, of course, but usually Sophie or Johnnie has been hovering about somewhere and Rowena has been unable to speak openly with the girl. She must see Jess alone and this time there must be no more confusion or half-truths. She could tell at once that Jess had recognized Al; that she'd seen the likeness between him and her own father. Rowena feels the sharp familiar claw of pain rake at her heart. How tragic that they should have both died so young; how cruel that she should never have seen Al's son.

Al's son. With a deep sigh of satisfaction she relaxes again into her pillows. He'd had a son – and now there is his granddaughter, Jess, who, in her turn, might have more sons. A feather of anxiety brushes Rowena's drowsiness, lightly ruffling her sense of wellbeing, and she frowns. Some kind of allowance must be made for Jess. If Al's son had lived then this house and everything in it would be his, not Johnnie's.

Rowena struggles to grapple with this thought but suddenly she is too tired, too weak to pursue it. Later she will think of it again and decide how restitution might be made.

*   *   *

When she wakens it is late afternoon and the room is full of shadows. From the sea garden she can hear the shouts and laughter of the boys and her mouth curves into a smile at the thought of them playing there. She must get up, go down and join them. She raises her head, which feels weighty, too heavy for her neck to support, and she lies back again with a little gasp. Frowning now, she strives to recall something she was thinking of earlier; something that must be put right before it is too late.

Slowly, slowly, she struggles up, willing herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. How tired she is. She sits for a while on the edge of the bed, marshalling her strength. She's been ill; she remembers now. Memories flit about her head like bats in the shadows, and all the while she can hear the children laughing.

Painfully, she stands upright and shuffles across the room to the tall sash window. She stands clutching at the curtain, staring down. The boys are there, she can see them playing whilst Circe stands guard above the three of them: Al, Johnnie and young Fred. She can see Johnnie's blond head but the other two are in the shadows. She lifts a hand and taps on the window. The effort is so feeble that they cannot hear her – and, anyway, they are too far away.

As she subsides into her chair she decides that she must have been very ill. Yet still she strains forward, hoping to see the boys playing, climbing the balustrade to look up at Circe, but the sea garden is empty. She sinks back again and closes her eyes.

When the bedroom door opens she turns to see Dickie coming towards her. Someone is behind him and he is saying, ‘We were wondering how you are, Mother. The boys are having their tea before they go back to school and Jess has brought you yours.'

Rowena frowns; she feels frightened, confused. Why does Dickie call her ‘Mother' and who is Jess? The girl is looking at her anxiously, putting down the tray, coming closer. And now, suddenly, Rowena's mind is clear again and she sees that it is Juliet and she recalls that Juliet has had a child, Al's child.

Her whole body is shaken with joy – but there is anxiety, too. She remembers that this has to be made clear; that there must be no mistake. Urgently she reaches out and seizes Juliet's wrist, pulling her down so that the girl has to kneel beside her.

‘It is Al's child, isn't it? His son,' Rowena says, and she is so happy that her heart seems to explode in her breast and her eyes are full of tears because the girl is nodding, and she too is crying. She puts her forehead down on their joined hands so that Rowena can feel the wetness of her tears.

And Dickie is there, bending over them anxiously, and Rowena wants to tell him about Al's son but suddenly she cannot speak, cannot breathe, but still she clasps the girl's wrist until her strength fails and darkness comes.