Indian Summer Page 17

  He checked his mobile when he was paying the bill, and there was a text from Gaby that had come in much earlier. He’d switched his phone off for the evening but now he wonders if he should try to send a text or wait until Kit has gone back to Mungo. He doesn’t want to spoil this first evening by being too much the family man; Kit has stayed right away from the subject and he’s afraid to introduce it. He knows he must at some point, but not now, not when everything has been so perfect. Yet he thinks about Gaby, not wanting her to think he doesn’t care because he has found his old love. It’s important that all the girls get on with Kit and that there should be no resentment. He’s beginning to see now exactly how difficult this balancing act might prove to be.

  Kit touches his knee lightly, smiles at him quickly, and he feels a huge rush of affection for her, which briefly displaces his anxiety about Gaby. What should be the next step? If they were in London they could go back to Kit’s flat but he can hardly invite her to his hotel room, and it would be rather a letdown to go and sit in the bar. He tries to think of a solution whereby he can keep Kit’s company for a little longer and meanwhile send off a very quick text to Gaby.

  ‘I was just wondering,’ Kit says casually, ‘whether we might have a walk along the river. What d’you think? Unless—’

  ‘Perfect,’ he says quickly. This sounds an excellent plan: a stroll in the dusk; an opportunity for an intimate moment. ‘I’d love it.’

  Suddenly he decides that the text will keep; that he’ll send it as soon as he gets back to the hotel. This next precious hour is between him and Kit and his instinct tells him to take no chances with it.

  Emma stands in the kitchen staring at the text. Marcus has phoned her mobile several times and has now sent a text asking her to confirm what time she will meet him in the car park in Ashburton. The plan is that he will then drive them somewhere to have a walk and then lunch. She feels panicky; definitely, now, she knows she doesn’t want to be in his car with him. Yet how can she change the arrangement without explaining why? She thinks about where they could meet so that she will feel quite safe and won’t be tempted to commit herself to anything foolish. She needs to be able to explain to him that this is their last meeting and then be able to get into her own car and drive away. It’s odd that she feels so anxious about it: like Marcus might suddenly pull a knife on her or kidnap her. She tries to laugh this idea off but at some level in her consciousness she is beginning to wonder if it might be only too possible. There is the evidence of Joe’s crushed spoon to support her anxiety. Each time she looks at it she feels a slightly sick sensation; a visceral curdling of fear.

  Earlier she telephoned another service wife, an old friend. They chatted for a while and then very casually she mentioned meeting Marcus by chance, so that if there were any gossip it would be scotched from the beginning.

  ‘He’s become a bit odd, don’t you think?’ the friend said. ‘I know he’s a brilliant officer, and that’s why he’s being made up to major much earlier than usual, but he tends to blur the real world with a kind of fantasy. At least that’s what Tasha said was beginning to happen and that’s why she’s insisting on this trial separation, apparently. She wanted him to have counselling because she felt he was too near the edge and that he’d do something silly that might mean he wouldn’t get promotion. Personally, I’ve always found him a bit scary. Sorry, I forgot he’s Rob’s friend …’

  Now, with the children in bed, Emma stands indecisively in the kitchen staring out of the window thinking about this conversation and about the crushed spoon. She is even more determined to be able to get away from Marcus when the time comes but she can’t think where they could meet that would enable a safe retreat. Supposing he were simply to follow her home?

  Mungo is out in the lane, strolling slowly, Mopsa pottering a little ahead of him and, quite suddenly, an idea occurs to Emma. It’s crazy, wild, but she’s desperate enough to try it. Quietly she goes out into the hall, opens the front door and steps into the lane. She waits for Mungo to come nearer, waves to him, and then he sees her too and raises his hand in greeting. As he gets closer she sees that he seems preoccupied, deep in thought, but he smiles at her and she dredges up her courage to make her request.

  ‘I need to ask you something,’ she says directly. ‘It sounds really weird but I need help.’

  Mungo raises his eyebrows. ‘I promise you,’ he says, ‘after the news I’ve just had nothing will ever sound really weird again, but carry on.’

  She glances along the lane just to be on the safe side; nobody around.

  ‘You know when you saw me at the Dandelion Café I was with a man? Well, he’s an old friend of ours, but to be honest he’s becoming a nuisance.’ Mungo’s eyebrows rise even higher but she hurries on. ‘I admit I encouraged him in a silly way but now I’m getting frightened.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Mungo. ‘I remember him. And I also remember thinking at the time that he looked as though he could be a bit of a thug.’

  This slightly disconcerts her. ‘Did you?’

  ‘Mmm,’ he nods. ‘I wondered if you might be getting out of your depth. Very attractive but a bit scary.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it exactly.’ She hesitates. ‘You’re going to think I’m seriously mad but can I show you something?’

  He follows her into the kitchen looking slightly surprised and waits whilst she rummages in her bag. She takes out the spoon and shows it to him.

  ‘He did this when we were having coffee this morning in Totnes.’ Emma hesitates. ‘I met a friend and she made me see that I could really be asking for trouble with Marcus. When she left Marcus suddenly appeared out of nowhere.’

  ‘He’d followed you?’

  She shrugs; gives a little shiver. ‘I suppose he must have done. Anyway, he seemed to guess that I was cooling right off. I could see he was angry but he seemed in control of himself. All the time we were talking he was playing with the spoon but it wasn’t until afterwards I saw what he’d done. It’s kind of frightened me.’

  Mungo takes the spoon, turns it, tries unsuccessfully to straighten it and then hands it back to her.

  ‘Suppressed violence,’ he says. ‘It’s always a frightening thing, isn’t it, and this being your child’s spoon makes it much worse somehow.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Emma is distressed. She stares at the spoon and then puts it back in her bag. ‘I’m scared that he might … lose control. I feel such a fool. And I sent him texts, you know? It would be so humiliating if he showed them to anyone, especially Rob. Oh God! How could I be so stupid?’

  ‘We’ve all been there, sweetie,’ says Mungo comfortingly. ‘How can I help? What do you think I could do? I’m not sure I’m in his league if it comes to the heavy stuff.’

  She smiles as she knows he means her to, feeling comforted.

  ‘We’re meeting tomorrow,’ she tells him. ‘He thinks it’s the beginning of an affair but I plan to tell him it’s the end. He wants to drive me off on our own but I don’t want that so I thought I’d arrange to meet him somewhere, have coffee, or even lunch, and then leave. This is the favour. If I were to make it the Dandelion Café could you be there again? You know, just stroll up casually and say “hi” and be around while I get out.’

  Mungo is looking really interested now, as if he can imagine the scene already.

  ‘I see what you’re getting at,’ he says. ‘I could cover your retreat.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she says eagerly. ‘It’s an enormous cheek to ask you but I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been a complete idiot. Arranged for Camilla to have the children for the morning. Agreed to meet him in Ashburton car park more or less after breakfast. I don’t know how to play it now. I suppose I could just not turn up but I don’t want him coming to look for me. I want to draw a definite line under it all.’

  Mungo considers the problem. ‘First of all you need to be late so as to spend as little time with him as possible. Leave the arrangement as it stands, then you phone or text tomorrow morn
ing and say there’s a bit of trouble with the baby, whatever, and you’ll meet him at the café about eleven thirty. He won’t want to sit about in a car park all morning so that should do the trick. I’ll make sure I’m there just before you. You have coffee, and if it works out and you feel up to it you have lunch, and at some point I’ll wander over and say “hello” and you can introduce me and make certain that he knows I live practically next door to you. Then when you get up to go, I’ll keep an eye and follow you home. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to make it obvious.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful.’ She still feels a little uncertain. ‘You don’t think he’ll guess we’ve set it up?’

  He beams at her. ‘Trust me, sweetie. I’m an actor. But you must play your part, too. Amazement when you see me, don’t forget. A nice blend of anxiety and embarrassment. Dither a bit. You get the picture?’

  She begins to laugh. ‘You’re amazing. Shall I phone you when I set out?’

  ‘Let me have your mobile number,’ he says. ‘Just in case there’s any kind of crisis with the children. Then we can stay in touch as you go along. I’ll aim to be there around eleven.’

  ‘I’ll write it down,’ she says. ‘Then if you phone it when you get home I’ll have your number, too.’

  After he’s gone she feels quite weak with relief. It’s clear that Mungo had already guessed that something was going on and is only too ready to help. Instinctively she knows that he’s a good friend to have in your corner; that she can trust him. She sends Marcus a text agreeing to meet at ten o’clock in the car park and crosses her fingers.

  Please let me get out of this, she prays, and I’ll never be so stupid again.

  Mungo walks back to the smithy feeling as if he has been knocked on the head. First Philip; then Emma. His stroll was taken in an attempt to straighten out his thoughts about Ralph, the accident, and Billy’s decision to keep the whole affair quiet. Although Mungo knows that this was a drastic and illegal step, for his own part he is simply very grateful when he imagines how it might have been back then. Despite his and Izzy’s popularity the press would have been full of it; Archie, Camilla and the children would have been involved, and Philip probably put in prison for manslaughter. The thought of Izzy being questioned makes him shudder; unintentionally she would have destroyed them all. And, after all, Ralph had no family to mourn him. Like Izzy, his parents were dead; he’d been sent away to boarding school by an indifferent but wealthy guardian and then won a place at drama school. Their pasts had been a connection between them; they had no family; no roots.

  Even so, it’s illegal to bury bodies in orchards, accident or not, and when he thinks of explaining the situation to Archie, Mungo’s heart quails. His big brother will take the straight line; he will be horrified. And now there is Emma to worry about and to protect.

  Back at the smithy he pours himself a large whisky. He’s rather pleased that all his instincts are right; that she is in trouble – danger even, given the evidence of that crushed spoon. The prospect of seeing off such a tough young man gives him a bit of a thrill. Mungo begins to plan his strategy, relieved to be distracted momentarily from his thoughts about Ralph and the prospect of his meeting with Archie.

  James turns the television off and wanders over to his laptop to write his evening email to Sally. He’s enjoyed his morning in Totnes, has definitely decided to use the wine bar Rumour for one of his pair of lovers’ clandestine meetings, and is now thinking about the darker side of his plot. He likes to sit in Rumour with his laptop, making notes, sketching out ideas. Several other people do the same and he wonders if they’re writers, too. He’d like to tell them that he’s published, that he’s writing his second book, that he’s no wannabe trying to look the part, but he doesn’t. He guessed that there would be no copies of his book in the bookshop and he’s left a copy with the guy there, although he didn’t look all that keen, even when he explained to him that the new book will be set in Totnes.

  He opens his laptop and begins to type.

  It was quite odd this morning, Sal, seeing Sir Mungo and his friends in Totnes; watching them from the market across the road. It was as if they’d turned up in the middle of my story, which is crazy, of course. Mungo was there having coffee outside one of the little cafés, I think it’s called The Brioche, with his thesp woman friend, and then he went off and this other guy turned up. Another thesp, by the look of him and by Sir Mungo’s reaction to him when he came back. My guess he’s one of his ex-lovers. I could just tell by all the body language and stuff. A little bit of drama for a change. I can’t quite see them all involved in clandestine love affairs, murder, and worrying where to hide the body, though. I’ve had this good idea about that, by the way, of dropping it over the side of a boat just out at sea. I mean, what on earth do you do with a body? You can’t just bury it in the garden, can you? That trip on the river Dart last week with Archie gave me several ideas and I’m hoping to go out with him again. He was very tactful and asked no questions, though I think he was dying to ask. Bit of a blimp, old Archie. Hardly possible to believe that he and Mungo are brothers. I bet they drive each other up the wall. Frankly, I’m surprised Mungo keeps a cottage here. After all, he could afford to buy a bolt-hole almost anywhere, and I simply cannot see him enjoying the company of our two old boys at the farm or a gung-ho army wife. I look at my neighbours as we wave to each other and call out greetings in the lane and wonder how they’d react if they knew what madness and mayhem was going on in my mind! I don’t think that Billy and Philip have ever been beyond Newton Abbot in their lives! This valley is another world; true escapist stuff. Doors left unlocked, car windows down. They wouldn’t survive ten minutes in Oxford. It’s great, though, the sense of innocence and peace. Anyway, I saw another car parked outside Mungo’s cottage earlier so I guess that the thesp ex-lover I saw in Totnes is now staying with him and the female thesp. One big happy family, eh!! Archie and Camilla must be having fits!

  I’ve taken your advice and left a few copies of the book where they might be picked up and read. Part of me can’t bear the waste but I suppose you’re right, and if it leads to a few people reading them and wanting more then it can be looked on as a kind of advertising. It was a bit embarrassing in Rumour because I left a copy on my table but on my way out the girl came rushing after me, shouting, ‘You’ve left your book behind.’ I’d already explained that I was writing a book, hyped it up a bit, so I didn’t like to say why I’d left a copy behind. I’d told her my name when I was in a few days ago so I hope she didn’t guess. I just shoved it in my bag. I suppose I should have brazened it out, asked if I could leave it on the counter. I might do that, actually. What d’you think?

  Supper now (and yes, I am eating properly: fish and chips!) and then some work. Actually, it was really strange. I keep seeing this weird guy around. First in Totnes, then driving in the lane here, then in the fish and chip shop earlier this evening. He really stared at me with these very pale eyes but I pretended not to see him. Something scary about him so I didn’t hang around! Hope all is quiet at the Radcliffe. Missing you, love J xx

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CAMILLA WAKENS FIRST. No birdsong; the birds are silent in August. No breeze to disturb her pretty Laura Ashley curtains, though the window is wide open. Camilla turns her head to survey the sleeping Archie. How vulnerable people are when they sleep; how defenceless. Archie’s face is crushed into his pillow, his mouth slack, his eyelids jittering as he dreams. She watches him with a mixture of love, irritation, and terror that something might happen to him. He is still fit and strong, but there is also a frailty about him that clutches at her heart.

  Yesterday they had a row. Deciding that, with the weather so hot, it might be a good idea to have the playroom ready for action, Camilla spent the afternoon fetching out old toys, dusting off picture books, checking jigsaw puzzles. It was stuffy, stifling, and she went to the window to open it wide and give the room some air. The frame was in a bad way, the window stuck fast, warpe
d with damp despite the hot weather. She gave it a thump and the fragile wood buckled, cracking the glass.

  Archie was furious. ‘You know the state they’re in,’ he kept saying. ‘You know all the windows need replacing. Now I shall have to get it sorted out. That’ll be four hundred pounds’ worth at least.’

  For the rest of the day the storm of his wrath grumbled on: the cost of keeping the house in a reasonable state, the problems with it being listed, the difficulties in trying to manage with as little help as possible. Yet Camilla knows that, despite his talk of a flat on the river in Totnes or a bungalow near his mooring at Stoke Gabriel, Archie doesn’t really want to leave this valley where he was born and has grown old, and where they’ve brought up their own children.

  She watches him, hoping that the storm will have passed when he wakens; hoping that she can get him back on an even keel. Even so she knows with a sinking of the heart that all he says is true: that they are hanging on by their fingertips. This moment will pass, as others have before it, and they’ll soldier on again – but for how long? Perhaps they should jump before they’re pushed but how can she bear to leave this house with all its memories? Her whole adult life has been spent within its sheltering walls; her creative instinct has shaped the gardens. It is their home. Everywhere there are memories of her children and their children. Their shadows on the stairs and along the corridors; echoes of their voices from the lawn that stretches down to the Horse Brook. The thousands of books that line the walls of Archie’s study and the bookcases along the landing; her collection of blue and white china on the shelves in the kitchen. The toys and books; the paintings and ornaments. How would they fit into Archie’s flat by the river?