The Sea Garden (7 page)

‘It was crazy,' she said, ‘to bring the rest of the furniture out of store. It's best to let the place unfurnished. I should have waited until I'd really decided where I want to be.'

‘It needed to come out and be used again,' Bruno answered calmly. ‘Jess may decide to stay there and be your tenant. Stop panicking, Kate. Leaving the place unfurnished wouldn't have helped you make up your mind. You've got the cottage here – I shan't evict you in your absence – and being at Chapel Street, actually living there, will help you make your decision properly.'

She pictured him, Celt-dark, wandering about the kitchen in his usual jersey and jeans, preparing his supper; carrying it into that amazing central room with its out-flung window that seems to hang right over the sea. The sofa would be piled with books and newspapers and his collie bitch, Nellie, curled up at one end of it in front of the fire.

‘I miss you,' she said. She said it quite lightly, feeling a bit of a fool.

‘Missing people is good,' he answered. ‘Makes you realize how much you love them.' And then, before she could think of an appropriate answer, he asked: ‘How's Flossie liking Chapel Street?'

She stared at Flossie, who was curled in her basket beside the radiator. ‘She's OK. I left her with Cass when the removal men came but she's settled very well this last couple of days. Cass and Oliver were brilliant yesterday, helping to get the place into shape. I hope Jess likes it.'

‘It'll be fine, Kate,' he said gently. ‘Stop worrying.'

He hadn't said, ‘Move in with me. Let's be together,' and, even if he had, how would she have answered him? She was used to having her own space, privacy when she needed it, when her family visited her – and so was he. Being together might ruin everything. They'd been to bed a few times, usually after a long, late supper when the deep level of their shared emotional intimacy required some kind of physical expression, and it had been good. Yet they both held back from the ultimate commitment.

Now, waiting for Jess, Kate sees that he is right; she must trust the instinct that has resulted in inviting Jess here and turning Chapel Street into a home. She doesn't need to make a decision just yet. Even as she heaves a great sighing breath of relief, and puts her anxieties aside, there is a knock at the kitchen door. Flossie barks and Kate glances at her watch – too early for Jess yet – and then she hears Oliver's voice and she hurries out to meet him.

‘Shall I be in the way?' he asks. ‘I wondered if you might be needing a bit of moral support. I can go away if you'd rather.'

‘Absolutely not,' she says. She is suddenly excited again, delighted to see him. ‘This is just perfect. Much easier for Jess if you're here too.'

‘It's a nice little house, Kate.'

He looks in through the sitting-room door at the alcoves full of pretty things and at the comfortable armchairs; and then he crosses the hallway and wanders into the bigger room, which now has the big table under the window and a variety of chairs around it. There are books on the shelves, and paintings hanging, and a long sofa against one wall.

‘It is, isn't it?' Her confidence is restored. ‘Why don't I make some coffee? Jess texted at Exeter so we've got another half an hour, I'd say.'

‘Shall I open the front door?' he asks. ‘It's so much more welcoming, isn't it, than having to knock and wait? The sun's simply pouring in and Flossie can sit outside and watch for her.'

*   *   *

So it is that Jess, driving slowly along the street checking house numbers, first sees a retriever standing eagerly at the gate and the front door flung wide in welcome. As she stops the car, leaning from the open window, the dog's feathery tail begins to wave and a tall, blond man wanders casually out into the small paved front garden.

She assesses him: is this one of Kate's sons? He's very good-looking. Very cool. Mid-thirties, perhaps a bit older? They look at each other, and she feels an odd desire to laugh, to leap out of the car, as if she is coming home to people she knows and loves.

‘Jess,' he says: not a question, just a statement. And he opens the gate.

The dog is at the car door, tail wagging madly, and Jess gets out, the laugh really bubbling up now, and here is Kate, dashing out of the cottage to welcome her.

‘This is Oliver. He's the son of friends of mine who knew Juliet and Mike,' she is saying. ‘And Flossie. Are you going to offer your paw, Flossie? Gosh! It's great to see you again, Jess.'

And Jess shakes hands with Oliver, hugs Kate and strokes Flossie's shining, feathery coat, and then they all bundle into the house together.

At once she knows she's going to like it here. Always, she knows straight off with people and places whether they will be right for her. Even as a child she's had this strange gift: a kind of second sight, which warns or encourages, and she's learned to take it on trust.

This cottage, for instance, has good vibes. It's a home and a place in which to feel relaxed. The dog has climbed back into her basket, Kate is pouring coffee, Oliver perches on the end of the table and asks about the journey.

She likes him; she likes the way he looks at her as if she is Jess, first and foremost, and a female after. It's as if he sees the important things about her and she intuits that she can trust him. This strange gift has grown more and more crucial since her life was smashed apart, first by her father's death and then by her mother's new relationship and her move to Brussels.

Kate passes her a mug of coffee and Jess looks around her. She's been happy enough at school and at uni but she's learned to toughen up, to fight her corner. For three years the little house in Bristol, which she shared with her student friends, was home – not the smart flat in Brussels – and since all that finished she's felt rather rootless and a bit scared. Now here she is, sitting in this sun-filled, comfortable room with two new friends and the dog. Everyone is very relaxed; there is no formality here, no third-degree questioning to discover what she's been doing or what plans she might have; they've simply accepted her into their lives and are giving her space.

Kate is unwrapping a small parcel. She shows the contents to Oliver, and Jess sees that it is a painting.

‘I brought this with me. I thought you might like to see it,' Kate says, passing it to her. ‘David painted it nearly twenty years ago. He was staying on Dartmoor with a friend of mine and when she died she left it to me. I hadn't met him then but he told me that it was the first time he'd really taken an interest in the botanical aspect of painting and that's when he began to study it properly.'

Jess takes the painting: it is a sketch of an old stone bridge over a river, and a part of the bank beneath it where a group of foxgloves grow against the sun-warmed stone. It has been lightly colour-washed, and sunlight glimmers on the water, which seems to flow and splash even as she looks at it. Deft, tender strokes reproduce the foxgloves, the texture of the crumbling stone and the tiny springing cushions of moss that cling to it.

‘It's wonderful,' she murmurs, tilting it, examining it. ‘It's so accurate and yet so imaginative. How did he do that?'

‘I thought you might see it as a sign,' says Kate. ‘Or a portent. I mean, it being the one that started him off along the botanical painting path. And the fact that he was around here when he did it.'

‘Do you do signs and portents?' asks Oliver. ‘Or are you more practical?'

‘I don't know.' Jess stares up at them, still holding the painting. ‘Yes, I think I
do
do signs and portents, actually. But now I'm on my own I have to be careful.'

She feels a fool, wishes she hadn't said it: it sounds childish. She bends her head over the painting, studying it. To her relief, neither of them reacts: they don't say: ‘Oh, but you're not on your own now,' or other embarrassing things, they just leave her alone.

Oliver is saying, ‘Ma's talking about lunch tomorrow, if you both feel up for it,' and Kate says, ‘That might be good. Will you thank her and tell her I'll phone later on? Flossie will need a walk soon so I thought Jess and I would take her up on the moor when she's settled in a bit.'

While they talk, Jess turns the painting slightly and reads the words scrawled across the corner: ‘Bless you for everything. It's been perfect. Love D.'

She feels an odd little twinge of sadness and wonders who the woman was and what happened to her.

Oliver is going and she gets up to see him off. He kisses Kate, smiles at Jess and walks away down Chapel Street.

‘Come on,' says Kate. ‘I'll show you your bedroom and you can unpack.'

*   *   *

Oliver drives out of the town, through Horrabridge and Dousland and up on to the moor. He thinks about his reaction to Jess – apart from the normal physical response to a young and very attractive girl. He's picked up on the complications of her character: strength and vulnerability; determination and fear; an openness to outside influences and a strong sense of self. He ponders on the fact that everyone is shaped by external events, and wonders what Jess might have been like if her father hadn't been killed in Bosnia and her mother hadn't remarried and gone abroad.

‘Now I'm on my own I have to be careful,' she said revealingly: careful how she responds to signs and portents now that she has nobody to catch her if she misreads them and crashes. She has no margin for error, no safety net, she's saying, and he's rather taken aback by his strong reaction to protect her. Luckily he has too much experience to verbalize it, and a great deal of practice in hiding his feelings. He's let the moment pass. The age gap between them is a big one and he mustn't make a fool of himself: he's done that before.

And now he, too, sees the ghosts of past years: beloved Phyllida, for whom he'd cherished an agonizingly romantic infatuation but who preferred to remain happily married: beautiful Claudia, with whom he had a brief but very physical and passionate affair; and sweet Chrissie, who adored him, but was too young for him to take seriously enough for a long-term relationship.

As he turns in between the gates of the Old Rectory he sees Tom cutting the grass on his sit-on mower and feels relief that there won't be an immediate third degree on Jess. He knows that Tom's questions will embarrass him.

The minute he sees Cass, however, he realizes that something much more important has happened and Jess is no longer the hot topic. His mother is looking excited but anxious and she glances past him as if she fears that Tom might have followed him into the house.

‘Oh, darling,' she says at once, ‘Gemma phoned. She's coming home next week with the twins. She says she's fed up with discussing the question of divorce with Guy, who simply pretends it isn't happening, and she's had a terrific row with Mark.' Cass drags Oliver into the kitchen and shuts the door. ‘Your father is furious,' she says, speaking quickly, still holding his arm, one eye on the door. ‘He thinks we are sanctioning the separation by allowing them to come here. But what else can she do? She's made no real friends there and we have to think of the twins. Deep down Tom didn't believe she would actually leave Guy. He thought it was just one of those blips and that she'd get over it. He says it's absolutely wrong of her to behave like this with no plans or arrangements made.'

He releases himself gently. ‘And what do you think?'

Suddenly she looks frightened. ‘I don't know any more. Of course I want Gemma and the twins nearer than they are in Canada, and I want her to be happy, but I don't
want
her marriage to break up. Guy's not really my type – he's too much like his father – but he's been good with Gemma and the twins. Your sister hasn't been exactly…' she hesitates, searching for a word that isn't too blunt, ‘… easy,' she says at last.

Oliver laughs. ‘I thought that was rather what my dear sister
has
been. Isn't that how the trouble began?'

Cass stares at him for a moment. He sees that she doesn't quite know whether to be outraged on Gemma's behalf or amused – and then she laughs too.

‘Honestly, though,' she says, ‘what on earth shall I do?'

‘You'll welcome them home and give her breathing space,' he says. ‘Don't get heavy about this. What has she said to the twins?'

‘She hasn't told them the absolute truth. She's said that they will be coming back to live here and Daddy will come when he can. Meanwhile they think they're having an extended holiday from school.'

‘Fine. So let them go on thinking that.'

‘But what about Tom? You know what he can be like.'

Oliver thinks about it. ‘It's a pity that Jess has turned up at this precise moment,' he says thoughtfully. ‘Gemma and the twins could have stayed in Chapel Street.'

‘But I want them here,' protests Cass. ‘We haven't seen them for months. What's she like, by the way?'

‘Jess? She's lovely. Rather boho. Definite personality. Look, I still think that this whole Gemma thing needs to be regarded as a time for getting things into perspective. Don't turn a drama into a crisis.'

There is a telling little pause.

‘Great,' says Cass. ‘And shall you tell your father that or shall I?'

*   *   *

As she sits on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair, thinking about the day, Jess sees that Kate has put the painting on a specially made, small wooden lectern and placed it on the little chest beside the bed.

A sign or a portent.
Bless you for everything. It's been perfect.

Jess gazes at the painting; she feels on the brink of something very mysterious and important. She is touched by the warm welcome she's been given. It's as if Kate and Oliver have always known her, accepting her and making her feel easy in an almost casual way while, at the same time, cherishing her as someone special. She's already texted her two closest friends, who are travelling together in Thailand, to say that she's arrived. Now she picks up her mobile and stares at it, wondering whether to try to explain to them how great everything is.