The Garden House Page 15

  Kate is taken aback by Plum’s generous understanding, though not surprised. Plum is a good girl. And Kate is very grateful to Angus for dealing with it for her.

  ‘That’s amazingly kind of you, Plum,’ she says. ‘I have to say I was in a complete two and eight, especially as I’d promised you first refusal. I feel really bad about it.’

  ‘Well, don’t,’ says Plum swiftly. ‘Dad said you were in a state about it, which is why I came round. Actually, it’s good to see you.’

  She looks around her with a strange expression as if she’s reminding herself where she is and Kate realizes that, ever since she arrived, Plum has been looking rather stressed; not at all her usual calm, happy self.

  ‘Are you OK, Plum?’ she asks, concerned. ‘Look, let’s have a drink. Would you like some lunch? I’m about to have something. Sandwich? A bowl of soup?’

  Plum shakes her head and then suddenly changes her mind.

  ‘Actually, I’d really like that,’ she says. ‘Dad’s out at one of his meetings. Are you sure? It’s a bit much just to rock up uninvited.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ says Kate. ‘Let’s have a drink and then we’ll decide what we’re going to eat. I’ve got a very nice Shiraz. Are you OK with that?’

  Plum crouches to stroke Flossie, hugging her, putting her cheek against the soft coat and closing her eyes.

  ‘Her coat is so soft,’ she murmurs. ‘Much softer than a Lab’s coat.’ There’s a little pause. ‘I’m in a bad way, Kate,’ Plum says, casually. ‘And if I don’t talk to someone I shall go mad.’

  Kate stares down at her, alarmed. Then she continues to fill the two glasses and picks them up.

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s go into the sitting-room and you can talk to me.’

  Plum sits down in a corner of the sofa with Flossie beside her. Kate doesn’t tell Flossie to get off the sofa because she can see that just at this moment Plum needs her warmth and comfort. Flossie settles herself close to Plum and Kate puts a glass of wine on a small table beside them. She doesn’t attempt to encourage Plum to speak, she simply sits opposite and waits.

  Plum hugs Flossie and sips at her wine. Her gaze is inward, as if she’s marshalling her thoughts, and then she takes a deep breath.

  ‘I’ve just seen El,’ she begins, almost conversationally, putting her glass on the table. ‘Up near the bookshop. I see her now every time I come home.’

  A pause. Kate, slightly puzzled, desists from pointing out that this is probably because El lives and works here, and waits.

  ‘The thing is, you see,’ Plum raises her head and looks at Kate, and her expression is strained, almost fearful, ‘the terrible thing is, Kate, that I’m the reason for Martin’s divorce.’

  Nothing could have prepared Kate for this. It seems quite unbelievable that Plum, of all people, should be the cause of anyone’s divorce. But now is not the moment to say so. Kate nods, as if to encourage Plum to continue, and after a moment she does.

  ‘We had a…’ She hesitates over which word she should choose, then shakes her head. ‘It’s difficult to know how to put it. It wasn’t an affair. Or a one-night stand. Not really, though it was just once … not long after I lost the baby.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kate says, taking a chance as Plum remains silent, ‘it was just one of those moments that can happen. Some action – kindness, for instance, mutual comfort – can just tip over into something more. Especially if you’ve had a drink…’

  Kate sips at her own wine, wondering what she’s saying, totally at a loss. But Plum is gazing at her in amazement.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘That’s just exactly what it was like. Martin dropped in to see us on his way home from a client. D’you remember that naval hiring we had at Dousland? Well, Ian was at sea, the girls were away at school, and I was having the most terrible low. Martin was so sweet. Well, you remember how kind he was? I think he wasn’t particularly happy at the time and we were trying to cheer each other up. Felicity was away so I invited him to supper.’

  She stares at Kate almost beseechingly, willing her to understand, and Kate smiles at her.

  ‘Darling Plum,’ she says, ‘occasionally these things happen. We all know they shouldn’t but there are times when life is so completely awful that the physical comfort of another human being is the most wonderful and necessary thing in the world.’

  ‘But it was wrong,’ mutters Plum, hugging Flossie. ‘It wasn’t just comfort but … more than that.’

  ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,’ says Kate. ‘So you comforted each other and it got a bit out of hand. It happens.’

  Plum is silent for a moment. She takes another sip of wine.

  ‘But what I can’t understand is how Felicity knew about it,’ she says. ‘Nothing happened after that one … moment. Ian was posted to Portsmouth, and then I heard that they’d separated – Dad always kept me up with all the news – then about a year later that Felicity was divorcing Martin. I didn’t know what to do. By then we were in Washington. I suppose Martin refused to tell her that it was me.’

  ‘Probably,’ says Kate gently, ‘because it wasn’t you.’

  Plum sets her glass down on the table and stares at her.

  ‘Wasn’t…?’

  Kate shakes her head. ‘It was too long afterwards. Think about it. Anyway, I saw Martin with another woman. Once down on a beach in Cornwall and once at The Garden House.’ She hesitates. ‘And then she was at his funeral.’

  Plum looks thunderstruck. ‘But who was she?’

  Kate hesitates. She recognized the woman, Julia Braithwaite, from a local television series but she’s reluctant to name her. Nobody has ever mentioned her in connection with Martin. And Plum suddenly understands this.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she says quickly. ‘But do you mean he was seeing her all along?’

  Kate thinks about the time frame of events: Martin’s moment with Plum before she moved away, followed by his separation, and then after some months, his divorce. She shakes her head.

  ‘Probably not. I’m not certain when this other woman came into the frame but I saw them at The Garden House before he was divorced.’

  Plum’s whole body slumps with relief, she closes her eyes and she hugs Flossie tightly. ‘So you really believe that I wasn’t the cause of it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment. I have no doubt at all that Martin was seriously involved with this woman.’

  Briefly, Kate sees the scene in her head: Martin and Julia Braithwaite walking across the deserted beach, a cold wind whipping the waves into little peaks. Arm in arm, tightly linked, heads close together they were laughing. She called Flossie to her, clipping on her lead, and then walked quickly away in the opposite direction. They didn’t see her, locked into their own private world.

  Plum is watching her. She looks calmer, as if a weight has been lifted from her.

  ‘I really want to believe you,’ she says.

  ‘I’m certain that Felicity knows absolutely nothing about you and Martin. She would never have kept quiet about it. Try to see it in perspective, Plum. There was no follow-up, no ongoing affair. OK, I’m not saying that it wasn’t wrong, but remember your own situation at that time and the fact that Martin’s marriage was a non-event and cut yourself some slack.’ She pauses. ‘You didn’t tell Ian?’

  Plum shakes her head. ‘Oddly, though, I suspect that Ian might understand. I was in a pretty bad way that year after James died and he was away a lot.’

  ‘Well, let’s not test him at this late date,’ says Kate lightly. ‘Good, so nobody knows…’

  Plum is shaking her head again, looking as if she might burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ says Kate, irritable in her concern. ‘Who did you tell?’

  ‘Issy. I told my friend Issy. We were having one of those girls’ nights out and I drank a bit too much and, you know how it is, I just blurted it out.’

  ‘Issy,’ repeats Kate slowly. ‘Issy? You m
ean that woman who was in the Bedford?’

  She remembers the clever, watchful face and her heart sinks. Plum looks contrite, embarrassed.

  ‘Yes. I was at school with her. God, I am a fool.’

  Kate is inclined to agree with her but manages to control her impatience.

  ‘I suppose,’ she says thoughtfully, ‘with Martin dead and Felicity remarried, it’s all rather water under the bridge…’

  ‘No, no,’ says Plum quickly. ‘I couldn’t bear for Dad to know, or our friends. And then Ian might get to hear now that we’re moving back. But the person I feel most badly about is El. I can hardly bear to talk to her as it is, I feel so guilty.’ For a moment Plum seems about to dissolve into tears. ‘I dread to think that she might find out. And Issy is a bit, well, she likes a bit of a drama. And when I was with her the other day I just got this feeling that she was rather enjoying it, as if she were, you know, kind of holding it over my head?’

  Sitting there in her jeans, her fair hair looped back behind her ears, clutching Floss, Plum reminds Kate of a younger Plum. Way back she wondered if one of her twin sons, Giles, and Plum might make a match of it. She and Giles were alike: gentle, kind, loving people. Then Giles met Tessa and Plum met Ian and they went in different directions. Kate is very fond of Plum; she can’t bear to think of her labouring under this sense of guilt or fear of exposure.

  They both hear a phone ping. ‘Mine, I think,’ says Kate, and gets up and goes into the kitchen to find it. When she gets back Plum is still sitting in a huddle.

  ‘It’s your old dad,’ Kate says. ‘The meeting finished early and he wonders if you want to go home for lunch or if you have other plans?’

  ‘No,’ says Plum quickly. ‘I don’t want to go back just yet. Or is that pathetic?’

  ‘Of course you can stay. Look, shall I invite him to share the soup? That way you can normalize a bit whilst we’re all together.’

  ‘That’s a great idea, Kate,’ Plum says gratefully. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure,’ says Kate. ‘By the time he’s walked over here you’ll be a bit calmer and then we can all talk about Cass and Tom downsizing.’

  ‘Maybe Ian and I can bunk in with Dad, after all,’ Plum says thoughtfully. ‘Just to begin with. It would give me time to look around and see what’s going.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ agrees Kate. ‘And you can always escape to London when things get tough. So finish that drink and I’ll heat the soup.’

  ‘And thanks, Kate,’ says Plum, looking up at her, still hugging Flossie. ‘Really, thanks. There’s nobody else I could have talked to like this. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’

  Kate smiles at her. ‘Don’t be a twit,’ she says.

  In the kitchen she takes a deep breath and begins to prepare some lunch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Garden House – El tries to imagine it as she drives out of Tavistock towards Yelverton. She’s told Will about Angus’s throwaway comment in Church Lane.

  ‘The Nancy Fortescue is a boat,’ she said. ‘It’s a little boat on a lake at some sort of garden.’

  She’d texted him, her excitement making it impossible to wait until his next visit, and he FaceTimed her straight back.

  ‘A boat?’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Really? So where is this garden? Is it National Trust?’

  ‘No, it’s called The Garden House and it’s run by a trust and volunteers. The trouble is, in the winter it’s only open on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose you can’t get down?’

  When she first thought about going to find the Nancy Fortescue it seemed perfectly natural that she should ask Will to accompany her. He’s been down to see her, between flights, several times now and somehow it has become their quest. Now, as she talked to him, she could hear noises and voices behind him, and suddenly Christian’s face appeared beside Will’s and he called out ‘Hi, El!’ Will shooed him away, laughing, but somehow El felt inhibited.

  ‘I can’t get down this weekend,’ Will said. ‘I’m flying. Where is it, this place? Is it far from you?’

  ‘No,’ El answered, feeling disappointed, as well as inhibited. ‘About ten or fifteen minutes.’

  Christian and someone else were still making a noise, laughing and talking, and El suddenly couldn’t bear having this conversation with them able to overhear what Will was saying. Up until then this whole thing about Pa’s phone and the texts had been private, and she was unwilling to say any more.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ll go over and have a look round to see what it’s like. I’ll let you know if I find anything. See you later.’

  She cut him off and then felt as if she’d behaved childishly. She realized that it wasn’t simply the privacy issue that was niggling her, it was listening to their voices and their laughter. She remembers, on a drive to Chagford in Will’s car, picking up a Kylie Minogue CD. She held it up, eyebrows raised, and he gave a quick glance sideways at it, grinned and shook his head.

  ‘Not mine. Christian’s.’

  Now, she thrusts the memory away. She doesn’t want to think about it, or to examine her feelings for Will or his for Christian; she wants to concentrate on the texts: to crack the code. As she drives out towards Yelverton on this bright, late November Sunday morning, she knows, at least, that Angus and Plum and Kate won’t appear unexpectedly in the gardens. They’ll be in church and she is free to explore. In Horrabridge she turns up on to the moor and heads towards Buckland Monachorum. Up here cars are parked. Families are walking their dogs, whilst ponies graze, ready to kick up their heels and canter away if the children or dogs come too close. El drives slowly, looking for a signpost, and here it is: The Garden House. The wide gateway leads into a car park, half empty, and El pulls into a space near to the entrance where she can see a small group of people. She switches off the engine and looks around.

  Did Pa come here? He loved to visit gardens, and he enjoyed his pots of plants and shrubs, especially the really big tub with the acer tree in it. Perhaps this is where he bought them. As she gets out and walks across to the visitor reception she can see that there’s a plant sales area right next to it.

  El pays her entrance fee, takes a map from the friendly volunteer and walks out into the gardens. She sees from the map that the lake is near something called the Jubilee Arboretum, so she heads off that way, seeing the old house amongst the trees, noticing signs to the tearooms. The garden is quiet, deserted, the borders empty of flowers, yet here suddenly is a bright gash of colour: a bush of bare rods, shining scarlet in an unexpected gleam of sunshine. She turns into a walled garden that, even at this time of year, is beautiful, and wonders what it must look like in the summer. A stone arch is ahead and she looks through it eagerly, hoping to see the lake and the boat. The water lies still, reflecting the grey skies, skimmed with silvery pond weed, but there is no sign of a boat. El is surprised at the depth of her disappointment. After all, what would it prove: what could it show her? She walks slowly round the lake, seeing the bench, wondering if this is where Pa met the woman who sent him texts, whose voice said that she and Nancy Fortescue were waiting for him.

  The stab of jealousy takes El by surprise. It hurts her to think that Pa had this other friendship, one that used codes and jokes, about which he’d told her nothing. She knows she’s being childish, but the pain is real, mixed as it is with her grief and all the regrets and this new knowledge of the terrible finality of death.

  A chill breeze ruffles the surface of the lake and El jams her fists into her coat pockets and walks quickly towards the tearoom. She needs coffee, and she wishes that Will was here with her. It would have been different with Will; he would have kept her balanced, focused on the clues, on the code. She makes her way to the house and into the hall, and looks around her. She sees that there are two rooms, the second of which opens on to a terrace where picnic tables are set out. A young man appears behind her and asks if she would like some coffee and she f
ollows him into the first room where a few people are sitting at tables and there are some delicious-looking cakes set out.

  El chooses some cake, orders a latte and sits down by the tall sash window. She surveys the other groups, glances at a little exhibition of watercolour paintings on the wall and stiffens with surprise. They remind her of the one hanging in the big room at the Pig Pen. She stands up to look more closely, notices the artist’s signature, Charlotte Marlow, and wonders if this is where Pa bought it. Another mystery. She eats her cake, drinks her coffee, trying to imagine Pa here. Her relationship with him has been based on a shared passion for the moor and literature, and she struggles with this new revealing of her own character. She tries to analyse these unexpected feelings of jealousy, first with Will and now with Pa. She’s never felt like this before and she doesn’t like it. She’s believed herself to be a generous, liberal-minded person. Now, it seems that she can’t come to terms with Will’s easy-going relationship with Christian, or Pa’s with the mysterious J of the texts.

  She wonders if she should walk round more of the gardens, but somehow not finding the Nancy Fortescue has confused her. She’d pinned her hopes on it, as if in some way this would help her. She eats the last crumb of cake and swallows the remainder of her coffee feeling dispirited, but she smiles at the young man as she pays her bill and walks back to her car.

  She’s hardly got home before she gets a text from Will.

  Did you go? What was it like?

  El stares at this text, trying to regain those former feelings of excitement at the prospect of another clue, comforted that he should ask. She replies briefly:

  N F wasn’t there.