Indian Summer Page 11

  Joe comes to stand beside her. ‘Come and play, Mummy,’ he wheedles. ‘You can be the Fat Controller if you like.’

  She hugs him, pressing her cheek against his hair that is warm from the sun, and she wants to weep. He pulls away from her, looking at her as if trying to gauge her mood, and she smiles at him.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she says, and they kneel together amongst the tracks, playing trains in the afternoon sunshine.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MUNGO PLACES THE drinks carefully on the round, white-painted, wrought-iron table and sits down beside Kit. Early evening shadows are gathering now in the courtyard, which is still as warm as an oven after the day’s heat. A blue-glazed jug full of sweet peas stands in the middle of the table and Kit leans forward to inhale their delicate scent.

  ‘It’s fascinating,’ says Mungo, tasting his gin and tonic with relish and continuing their earlier conversation. ‘An absolutely lovely girl, but all this tension. And who’s the man? That’s what I want to know.’

  ‘That’s what you always want to know,’ retorts Kit. ‘I have to say I didn’t notice them.’

  ‘Well, Emma noticed you. She said that the little fellow, Joe, had seen you in the lane with Mopsa and thought you were either a witch or a princess. A nice witch, he said.’

  Kit laughs. ‘Right the first time. What a discerning child. I must meet him.’

  ‘I want you to meet them both. My guess is that Emma thinks that you might have seen her in the Dandelion Café. And since you’re staying here with me, and almost part of the family as it were, she’s afraid her little secret might leak out to Camilla and Archie.’

  ‘That’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all. The point is that if you’re feeling guilty about something it’s very difficult to behave casually. I tell you, I watched them. They weren’t just two old friends meeting by chance.’

  Kit sips her wine thoughtfully. Mungo enjoys a bit of drama, a good gossip, but he doesn’t invent something like this just for the sake of it.

  ‘But you like her?’ she asks. ‘This Emma.’

  ‘Very much. But I kept getting that vibe that she was nervous about something.’

  ‘You think she might be having an affair with this man?’

  He sits for a minute, turning his glass thoughtfully. ‘Not yet,’ he says at last, ‘but I think it’s on the cards.’

  ‘But it’s none of your business, really, is it? She might be unhappily married. Her husband might be horrid to her. You can’t just interfere like you did with me and Michael, you know.’

  ‘I was right to interfere, though, wasn’t I? You don’t regret him?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It wouldn’t have worked if I’d married him. I could see that, really. It was just that it was so nice to have one’s own person, if you know what I mean. Someone always available to go to the theatre with, or a sexy weekend away. I could take it for granted that I’d have a partner for a wedding or party. There was something comforting about him, and thinking that I’d have a companion for my old age.’

  ‘As long as you didn’t die of boredom first.’

  Kit makes a face at him. ‘He just wasn’t your type.’

  ‘I’m the first to admit that he was very good-looking in a rugged, military, very British way. But mentally you were light years apart, and he was quite a lot older than you. It was a midsummer madness. You were bewitched, like Titania, and he was your Bottom. He rather looked the part too, with that big shaggy head.’

  She sighs, acknowledging that he’s right. ‘Part of it was that when Sin married, the whole dynamic changed somehow. It had always been a bit like a bachelor pad – friends coming and going. Well, when she got married it altered things and then I felt that perhaps it was time to be a bit more conventional.’

  ‘You certainly picked the right man for that, sweetie.’

  ‘Well, I admit that you were right about me and Michael, but that doesn’t mean that it’s the same for Emma. Maybe she’s in love with this guy.’

  Mungo shakes his head. ‘There’s something wrong,’ he says stubbornly.

  Kit leans across the table towards him. ‘But what can you do about it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says, almost crossly. ‘It’s just that I feel she’s in some kind of trouble.’

  Mopsa gets up from her sun-warmed patch on the cobbles and comes to look at him expectantly. She makes a few little jumping movements as if to will him to stand up.

  ‘I think she’s trying to tell you something,’ says Kit, amused. ‘Could it be dinner-time?’

  He glances at his watch and gets up. ‘Dead on the dot as usual. Come on then, you old nag-pot.’

  They go into the kitchen together and Kit sits on alone in the quiet courtyard thinking of Emma, wondering if Mungo is right, remembering Jake and how she would willingly have had an affair with him if time had been on her side during that last meeting in London.

  Way back then, she recalls, her plots and stratagems came to nothing. The trouble was that Jake was behaving as if they were two very dear friends, catching up on old times, sharing special memories, enjoying a small break from the usual routine. What was missing was the indication that it would lead on to anything else. He held her hand, kissed her cheek, laid his arm about her shoulders, but there was nothing more than deep affection in these gestures. After the theatre and their late supper – which had been such fun – he simply put her in a taxi and sent her home. Her pride did not allow her to do anything but behave as if that were exactly what she was expecting. Back in her flat in Hampstead, however, she paced around, seething and frustrated, telling herself that it was perfectly reasonable that, despite his Jake-like glances, he no longer fancied her. Nevertheless, she was deeply hurt and utterly miserable.

  The next morning she was unable to work. Searching through her catalogues for a particular kind of rocking chair required by the owner of a small craft centre, she found that she’d looked up the same thing twice already and she pushed the book aside with an impatient sigh. She simply couldn’t concentrate. Her small study was untidy: the sturdy pine work-table covered with samples of material, catalogues, price sheets; a length of striped ticking falling from its roll balanced on the only comfortable chair; her desk groaning beneath the weight of reference books. The carpet had almost disappeared beneath a selection of small Indian rugs, laid out fanwise, ready for inspection by the client from the craft centre. Usually Kit enjoyed the busy atmosphere of her study but that morning it irritated her. She stared out of the window, across to the pond and the Heath beyond, and thought about Jake. Leaning her elbows on her cluttered desk, watching the ducks on the pond, she wondered if she should have made her feelings clearer.

  Studying him covertly when he was not aware of her – ordering drinks at the bar, paying a bill, talking to a waiter – she knew that he would have lost none of his talents. She saw, too, that other women watched him. Brown-skinned, casually elegant, his horn-rimmed spectacles lending him an academic air, he was very attractive. He had been hers and she had lost him. In chasing after the romantic shadow, she had lost the real live substance.

  Kit stabbed her pencil into the blotter, breaking its point. How many times she’d imagined this very situation: Jake appearing out of the past and their falling in love all over again. She’d invented several scenarios for Madeleine: sudden – but painless – death, a lover for whom she’d abandoned Jake, or even a simple breakdown of the marriage, which left them amicable but indifferent. She hadn’t, however, made any allowances for the four little girls. Jake did not speak about them but they presented more of a difficulty. He did not discuss his marriage nor did he show any signs of weariness with his family life. It was as if, for this moment in time, they had simply ceased to exist.

  She remembered that Jake had always been capable of this; of living in the moment, accepting what came to pass.

  Kit thought: but what about me? There has to be more to it than this.

&nb
sp; Perhaps she had been less encouraging than she’d imagined. Although it was obvious that she wasn’t married she’d allowed him to believe that there was no lack of men and that she had a very busy social diary. Maybe she should make it clear that she was willing to take him back into her life without making conditions or rocking any boats. After all, Paris wasn’t very far away. Now that they’d met again it wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain a relationship – despite Madeleine and the four little girls. That evening one of her clients was giving a party to celebrate the opening of his wine bar and she’d persuaded Jake to escort her. This time she must make more of an effort to convince him that they mustn’t lose each other again. She’d made that mistake once already.

  Now, sitting in Mungo’s courtyard, she remembers how the telephone rang in her study all those years ago, making her jump. It was Jake. He’d broken straight through her delighted greeting, coming directly to the point.

  ‘I’m at the airport,’ he said. ‘There’s been an emergency. Gabrielle has been taken ill. Madeleine took her home to Paris and she’s in hospital. I’m booked on the next flight.’

  ‘Oh, but, Jake …’ She hesitated, confused, bitterly disappointed, not wishing to sound heartless. ‘But what shall we do?’

  ‘Do?’ he sounded puzzled.

  ‘We can’t just leave it at that.’ She tried to say it lightly. ‘Not after meeting up again after all these years.’

  ‘Darling Kit,’ he said gently, ‘it’s been such fun. But what else can we do? We can’t go back, you know. Life isn’t like that.’

  ‘Not back,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course not. But can’t we go forward?’

  ‘I don’t think we can.’ He sounded sad but quite firm. ‘I have a wife and four children whom I love. Forgive me, Kit, but there can’t be any future for us. How could there be?’

  She spoke from the heart. ‘But I still love you, Jake.’

  ‘I love you, too.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘But our love has to be put where it belongs. It’s been fun remembering the way we were. But that’s what it is. A memory. We have to live in the real world, Kit.’

  ‘I can’t bear it,’ she said flatly – but she knew that he was no longer hearing her. She could tell that all his attention was strained away from her, concentrating on the quacking voice that echoed in the background. Suddenly he was back with her again.

  ‘They’re calling my flight, Kit,’ he said. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said urgently. ‘Jake. Don’t go. Please. Just give me a second.’

  ‘You have the locket,’ he said. ‘I know that you still wear it. You were my first real love, Kit. Nothing’s changed that. But the locket should be a delightful keepsake, not an icon. Don’t let it blind you to other kinds of love. I must go. Goodbye, my darling. God bless.’

  All these years later she can still hear the particular tone of his voice – the tenderness and regret – and then Mopsa comes bustling out into the courtyard, shattering her reverie.

  ‘Could you take her out, sweetie?’ calls Mungo. ‘I’m just getting the supper organized.’

  Kit gets up, glad of the distraction, and opens the gate into the lane. And here, nearly at the gate, is a small boy riding a little silver scooter. He jumps off quickly, gazing at Kit in alarm, turning to look over his shoulder as if for reassurance. Some way behind him a young woman strolls, pushing a buggy. Kit seizes her chance.

  ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Something tells me that you’re Joe.’

  She can tell by his expression that his conviction that she is a witch has deepened. He nods silently and she smiles at him.

  ‘My name’s Kit. I saw you at the Dandelion Café. Did you see me?’

  He nods again. ‘And the dog,’ he says cautiously, indicating Mopsa. ‘You had the dog with you, sitting on the sofa.’

  ‘That’s right. And Mungo was with us, too. You met Mungo earlier, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looks more comfortable now. ‘He came to lunch with Camilla and Mummy.’

  Kit glances along the lane. Emma is catching up. ‘And Mummy was at the café too. But your daddy is away, isn’t he? He wasn’t at the café.’

  A shake of the head this time. ‘He’s in Af. But Marcus was there. He’s Daddy’s friend.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He’s lost interest in Marcus and is making a fuss of Mopsa. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘It’s a her. Her name’s Mopsa.’

  ‘Mopsa.’ He tries it out, chuckling. ‘It’s a funny name.’

  ‘Isn’t it? It’s from a play.’ Emma has caught up with them now and Kit smiles at her. ‘Hello. I’m Kit Chadwick. I’m staying with Mungo. He told me that he met you all at lunch with Camilla.’

  ‘And the dog is called Mopsa,’ cries Joe. ‘I told you I saw them in the lane, Mummy. And at the café when we met Marcus. I told you.’

  Emma flushes brightly – she is completely taken off guard – and Kit quickly bends over the buggy to cover the younger woman’s embarrassment.

  ‘And this is your sister?’ she asks Joe, trying to remember if Mungo has mentioned the baby’s name.

  ‘This is Dora,’ says Joe. He is excited by the encounter, now, and ready to show off. ‘You were wearing a long dress when I saw you in the lane,’ he tells Kit.

  ‘And you thought I was a witch,’ she says mischievously.

  He looks taken aback for a moment, and then he laughs. ‘Or a princess,’ he says.

  ‘And so which am I?’ she asks teasingly. ‘Be careful or I might turn you into a caterpillar.’

  He gives a great shout of laughter, though he still watches her as if she might be more than a mere mortal. Mopsa trots away down the lane and Joe scoots after her, calling her name. Kit looks at Emma at last, hoping that she’s had the time to recover her sang-froid.

  ‘What a sweetie he is,’ she says lightly. ‘I feel rather flattered to be called a witch or a princess.’

  They walk along together and Kit begins to understand what Mungo means; there is tension in Emma’s whole demeanour, a kind of wariness. Kit talks casually about Camilla and Archie, about Mungo, and her relationship with them all. From the corner of her eye she sees that Emma is beginning to relax but she remains distracted, as if there is something occupying her thoughts that she can’t shake off.

  ‘Come back and have a drink,’ Kit says impulsively. ‘Mungo would love it.’

  Emma looks at her and, just for a moment, there is a great longing in her eyes for company, chatter, distraction. Kit feels a huge sympathy for her, recognizing a desperate need not to be alone, and she wants to put her arms round the younger woman and hug her.

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ says Emma wistfully, ‘but I must get them back for supper and bed. It’s a bit late now, actually, but I love it out in the lane at this time of the evening. Everything smells so wonderful after the heat of the day, and it’s so quiet.’

  ‘It must be a bit lonely,’ ventures Kit, ‘once Joe and Dora are in bed, with all the evening stretching ahead.’

  Emma nods. ‘It’s great to have some peace and quiet,’ she admits, ‘but it would be heaven to have someone adult to talk to sometimes. Just to gossip with. You know?’

  ‘Oh, I know!’ says Kit feelingly. ‘My oldest friend and her husband live in the flat above me in London and sometimes I have to restrain myself from rushing up and hammering on their door, screaming, “Talk to me. Talk to me!” It’s one of the reasons I come down here and inflict myself on Mungo. I know he feels the same from time to time. We’re alike, which is a real bonus. It’s rare to find someone who truly understands you.’

  Emma is looking at her with real interest, as if she no longer feels a requirement to be polite.

  ‘Oh, it is,’ she says eagerly. ‘It’s special, isn’t it? I used to feel like that with Rob …’

  She looks away, her eagerness fading, biting her lips as if she wishes she hadn’t been drawn into the admission.


  ‘Rob?’ asks Kit idly. ‘Is that your husband? It’s more difficult to keep that special quality going in a marriage, I suspect, with children and all the hurly-burly of daily life together. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried it.’

  ‘Rob was like it to begin with,’ says Emma slowly, almost reluctantly. ‘He’d just qualified as a doctor when we met and he was very idealistic and so was I. I’d trained as a nurse. Then he decided to join the navy, and not long after that he decided to try for the Commandos. It was very tough but he got his green beret and he was just so proud. Well, so was I. But he seemed to change a bit.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ says Kit. ‘My brother was in the navy. They can get a bit obsessive, can’t they? He’s retired now, of course, but he made admiral so we were all proud of him, too, but we had to sit on him from time to time to keep him in his place.’

  Mopsa and Joe are coming back towards them and Emma stops and waits for them.

  ‘I think we ought to go home,’ she says – and Kit can see that the moment of confidence is over. Perhaps it was a mistake to mention Hal and the navy connection.

  ‘Come and see us,’ she says, ‘when you’ve got a minute.’

  Emma nods. ‘Thanks. I’d like that.’ The mobile in her pocket rings and she takes it out, looks at it and snaps it shut quickly. Her cheeks flush bright red and her eyes are miserable. ‘Nothing important,’ she says, trying to sound cheerful, and turns to Joe. ‘Come on. Time for baths. See how quick you can go. We’ll race you, won’t we, Dora?’