Indian Summer Page 19

  Jake bursts out laughing. ‘A true professional,’ he says, and Kit glares quellingly at him.

  ‘You are a dotty old man, Mungo,’ she says severely. ‘Stealing people’s mobiles just isn’t done. It’s theft. A criminal offence. What have you done with it?’

  He shrugs. ‘Nothing yet.’ He takes it out of his pocket and puts it on the table. ‘I might chuck it in the Horse Brook.’

  ‘You haven’t by any chance looked at those messages?’ says Kit suspiciously. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he says indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’

  ‘A common thief,’ answers Kit. ‘Suppose he guesses and comes after you?’

  Mungo purses his lips. ‘Could be rather fun.’

  To be honest, Kit has to admit that she is enjoying herself, and she can see that Jake is, too. It’s good that all this is happening to add to the excitement of their reunion, rather than it being just a normal, dull, daily round. It’s good that he can see that she has wacky friends with lots of jollity going on, and that she hasn’t simply grown old and boring and lonely.

  ‘Even so,’ she says, ‘you should ditch it. Not in the Horse Brook. It’s not running very fast after all this hot weather. It’ll just lie there.’

  ‘Take out the SIM card,’ suggests Jake, ‘and drop the phone in very deep water with nobody watching. The SIM card’s rather a different proposition. It’s very difficult to destroy a SIM card. Perhaps we could bury it somewhere remote and inaccessible.’

  They look at him with respect.

  ‘He’s a banker,’ Kit says to Mungo. ‘He knows about these things. Let’s have a jaunt this afternoon and do just that.’

  ‘You and Jake can do it,’ says Mungo, ‘since he’s full of such good ideas. I’ve got to see Archie.’

  He looks sober, suddenly, as if he’s remembered something rather serious and worrying, and Kit feels a little thrill of anxiety. After all, it was rather brave of him to take on Emma’s commando, and clever to think of grabbing the phone to protect her, even if it’s such a risky thing to do. Mungo’s a good friend and she doesn’t like to see that shadow of disquiet in his eyes.

  ‘Sure you’re OK?’ she asks casually.

  He nods. ‘Go off and have fun. But you’re very welcome to come back for supper.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ answers Jake. ‘Kit?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘and then we can tell you how we’ve incriminated ourselves in your interests. Has it occurred to you that he might be with MI5 and that phone could be bugged?’

  ‘If he’s with MI5 he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave his phone on the table but he might try to get it traced. Do you want to take Mopsa on this mission?’

  ‘Shall we? Would you like a jaunt?’ Kit leans from her chair to stroke Mopsa, who is stretched out on the slates. ‘One wag for yes, two for no.’ Mopsa’s tail lifts slowly and thumps the floor once. ‘There. We’ll take that as a yes. We’ll go in my car. Jake’s always been a terrible driver. He drives on the wrong side of the road half the time.’

  ‘You don’t have sides of the road in these lanes,’ retorts Jake. ‘Everyone drives straight down the middle. But that’s fine with me. I like being a passenger and you know all the best places to go.’

  ‘Leave the clearing up to me,’ says Mungo, as they get up, ‘and don’t forget the phone.’

  Kit takes it rather gingerly. She imagines what her brother, Hal, would have to say about such felonious behaviour and feels even more anxious. ‘I still don’t feel right about having this,’ she says.

  ‘Then the quicker you lose it the better,’ says Mungo.

  ‘Give it to me,’ says Jake. He prises open the phone, takes out the SIM card and tucks it into his wallet, then puts the phone in the pocket of his jeans. ‘Mungo’s right. Let’s go and lose them somewhere.’

  After they’ve gone, and he’s finished clearing up, Mungo looks at his watch. By this time lunch should be over and Archie will either be in his study catching up with his paperwork or out in the grounds somewhere. He’s been replacing the posts down by the river so that might be the first place to try. Mungo draws a deep, steadying breath, jams his old straw hat on his head and sets out.

  It’s quiet in the lane, and it’s odd without Mopsa at his heels. He doesn’t quite know why he suggested that Mopsa should go on the jaunt, except as a kind of moral support for Kit in case she were to have one of those moments of panic about Jake. Having Mopsa there will distract her, give her time to regroup. Dogs are useful like that. By the look of things, however, it seems an unnecessary precaution. Despite Kit’s terrors, she and Jake are very much at ease together; they have reconnected remarkably quickly. He wonders how they will take the next crucial step but, at the same time, he knows that he is thinking about them to distract himself from the forthcoming meeting with Archie. He’s planned what he’s going to say but he has no confidence that Archie will accept his suggestion.

  Mungo salutes the old Herm and turns on to the track that leads down to the stream. He walks slowly. His morning with Emma and her commando has tired him a little. He’s pleased with his performance, however; that touch of the old, gay, actor-manager with his pretty silk scarf and his long, rather racy anecdote was effective. Taking the phone was, perhaps, going just a tad too far; his sense of theatre overcame him at that point and he couldn’t resist the gesture. Nevertheless, Emma will be safe now from the texts being shown to her husband if Marcus decides to be difficult.

  The track tips and twists down to the stream between high banks of scrubby thorn and holly bushes. He pauses on the bridle path to watch a group of mallards cruising close to the bank beneath the overhanging boughs of willow and alder. A grey wagtail struts on a granite boulder in the middle of the stream; flitting up in a flurry of gold to snatch at an insect, landing again to patrol the pitted stony surface.

  Above the splash and rush of the water Mungo can hear that rhythmical thud of metal on wood and as he rounds the bend of the stream he sees Archie, driving a post into the ground. At this distance, with his sleeves rolled up, Archie looks vigorous and strong, but Mungo wonders if he should be doing quite such heavy work at his age. He wishes he had Mopsa with him. It looks odd to be walking on his own along the bridle path and he thinks how to begin the conversation.

  Archie stops, drops the sledgehammer, stretches, and Mungo calls to him.

  ‘Hot work,’ he says. ‘Can’t you get young Andy to help you with it?’

  ‘Harvest,’ Archie answers briefly. ‘Rain forecast for the weekend. He’ll come and help as soon as he can. How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine. Just felt like stretching my legs. Kit’s gone off with Mopsa and an old friend over from Paris.’

  There’s a little pause while Archie swigs some water from a bottle. Come on, Mungo tells himself, just get to the point.

  ‘Look, I’ve been thinking, Arch, trying to find ways to spread the load a bit, and I had an idea last night. What if you were to sell me the farm? No, wait. Hear me out. I buy the farm. We leave Philip and Billy in situ, of course. After I die, it’ll come to your boys anyway, you know that, but meanwhile you’ve got some cash to do the repairs to the house and the other cottage and put another tenant in, like you have with Emma. And it leaves you in a much more comfortable situation financially. You could afford to bring in more help. The farm’s upkeep becomes my responsibility. You know I can afford it, so why not?’

  Archie is staring at him, working it out, thinking it through. ‘And what do you get out of it?’

  Mungo shrugs. His heartbeat quickens. Could it really be this easy? ‘I get the satisfaction of seeing you slowing down a bit, taking things easy, not killing yourself.’

  Still Archie stands, frowning. Suddenly he shakes his head. ‘It’s not quite that simple. For a start, I’m not sure how long Camilla and I can manage, even without the responsibility of the farm, and I think the place would sell better as a whole. It could become an eques
trian property. They are getting very popular round here now and I’ve been advised that it would be sensible to keep the house and the farm with its stabling together.’

  Mungo’s heart sinks; not only at the rejection of his idea but at the thought that Archie has been taking advice to sell.

  ‘Think about it, though,’ he says. ‘It would break Camilla’s heart to leave the valley and yours, too, if you’re honest. If you had that money, life would be much easier and more comfortable for you both.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer,’ says Archie, slightly awkwardly. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but I want to do what’s best all round. I’ll think about it, though. Did you come down here just to talk about that?’

  ‘I wanted to have a private moment with you. Will you tell Camilla?’

  Archie thinks about it. ‘Probably not until I’ve really thought it through. She’s very twitchy about the subject and I don’t want to raise her hopes.’

  ‘You admit that she’d approve, then?’

  Archie picks up the sledgehammer. ‘Probably. But I still want time to think about it. Thanks, though, for not mentioning it in front of her. Bring Kit and the friend up for drinks later.’

  Mungo hesitates, wondering if Kit is ready to expose Jake to Camilla’s attention.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll see what time they get back.’

  Archie nods, Mungo raises a hand, and they part.

  Emma picks up her bag ready to go to get Joe and Dora. For the last hour she’s been prepared for Marcus to come after her but there’s no sign of him. Mungo arrived back very soon after she got home from Haytor and stayed with her for a little while, just in case. They were both hyped up; still running on adrenalin. He showed her Marcus’ mobile and she stared at it in disbelief.

  ‘No need to worry now,’ he said. ‘I’ll lose it somewhere. Trust me.’

  ‘You were brilliant,’ she told him. ‘I can never thank you enough.’

  She could see he was pleased. ‘It was rather fun,’ he admitted, ‘but you’re well out of it, sweetie. He’s a very tough cookie. Please don’t be tempted to give it another go.’

  She shook her head. ‘I shan’t. It was like some kind of madness, like a terrible illness, but I’m cured now. Would you like some lunch? I feel I’ve rather rotted up your morning.’

  ‘I’ve got Kit and a friend of hers at the smithy,’ he said. ‘You’re welcome to join us if you feel up to it.’

  Under the circumstance the thought of Kit and a friend was rather daunting. She couldn’t imagine making polite conversation just yet.

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine,’ she told him. ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich and then go up to Camilla after lunch to fetch the children. I don’t want to mess her around by appearing unexpectedly early.’

  ‘OK, but if Marcus turns up you know where I am.’

  Quite suddenly she put her arms round him and hugged him.

  ‘I feel such a fool,’ she muttered. ‘Thanks, Mungo.’

  ‘Join the club,’ he said, returning her hug. ‘Welcome to the human race.’

  It’s odd, she thinks, how ready she’s been to trust him; how quickly he’s become a friend. It was amazing to see how he slightly camped himself up for Marcus’ benefit so as to make himself appear unthreatening. It was a brilliant performance but she still feels slightly on edge, wondering what Marcus will do next. How could she explain these last few days to Rob? It’s so strange how quickly this foolish passion for Marcus has subsided. It’s been like having a fever that’s distorted her outlook and muddled her feelings. She misses Rob: wishes he were here so that if Marcus were to try to make trouble she would be able to talk to Rob about it face to face. Though she feels panicky at the prospect, a part of her knows that he would understand; that he would remember how difficult and unsatisfactory the last leave was after Dora was born and be able to make allowances. She remembers how upset he was when she told him about the meeting at Haytor and the prospective visit to the zoo and suddenly she is wrenched with misery at the idea of him so far away and feeling jealous and insecure. Tonight they will Skype at the arranged time and she will make certain that Rob feels completely reassured. Another idea occurs to her: she will invite his mother for a visit. This will certainly allay any fears he has and Joe will love to see Granny. Emma is very fond of her mother-in-law who, rather like Camilla, is a wonderful cook, does a great deal of charity work since she was widowed, and will love to see the children and the new cottage. Trips will be made, perhaps a little party planned for all these lovely neighbours, and Rob will be happy.

  Emma steps out into the lane, glances quickly up and down, and sets off for the house. She can hear shouts of glee, Joe playing on the tractor, perhaps, or in the tent. Her heart lifts and she hurries up the drive towards her children.

  Kit and Jake journey slowly through deep, secret lanes, across the bleak, high moors, beside fast-flowing rivers, and they talk gently and quietly together. Each new conversation begins with: ‘Do you remember when …?’ or ‘What was the name of …?’ or ‘This seems so weird …’ Their past is recalled, relived, shared; their reuniting is discussed, the odd coincidence of their meeting again marvelled over. The mobile phone is forgotten and they are hardly aware of the country through which they are travelling.

  With the roof down, they are reminded of long-ago jaunts in Kit’s Morris Minor convertible when their youth stretched endlessly into the future and life was uncomplicated.

  ‘Of course, these days we would have simply lived together,’ Kit says. ‘It was so much more important making a commitment, back then.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Jake answers. ‘Though I think you’ll always have a problem about any kind of emotional commitment. You’re such a coward, Kit.’

  ‘I know.’ She isn’t in the least resentful. It is absolutely true. ‘I took you for granted and thought I could have it all. Sin warned me how it would end but I didn’t believe her. In some ways we were like an old married couple without being married or a couple, weren’t we? I felt totally secure without actually having to give anything up. I was a selfish cow.’

  ‘And I was a fool,’ he admits. ‘I was afraid of frightening you right off and so I just allowed us to drift along.’

  She puts out a hand to him, without taking her eyes from the moorland road, and he holds it tightly.

  ‘Thank God for Mungo,’ she says. ‘He’s taken all the stress out of it, hasn’t he?’

  Jake nods. ‘He’s great. How on earth did you meet him?’

  ‘I was supplying the props for one of his productions. But actually I first met him way back when I was working for the Old Vic in Bristol in my school holidays. I was about sixteen and he was very young, very minor roles and understudies, but it was a point of contact. Something to talk about; reminisce about. Then he introduced me to Isobel Trent, the actress, and we just clicked at once. She was such huge fun. Completely over the top but with an odd humility that was very touching. She loved doing this, actually. Just driving in the car. We’d come down from London to stay with Mungo and I’d bring her up here and drive her around and she’d sing.’

  ‘Sing?’

  ‘She was really a musical theatre person. It was her first love and when she was older she did cabaret. She was utterly brilliant. She could make you laugh until it hurt and then weep and be absolutely lacerated with her pain. I suppose because I knew her so well it made it more poignant somehow. It was like she had a skin missing and things were more painful or more wonderful for her than for the rest of us.’

  Kit falls silent; just for a moment it’s as if it’s Izzy with her in the car, crying out with joy at miraculous sights: thickets of golden flowering gorse; a small, heavy-headed foal pressed against its mother’s flank; deep blue water glimpsed between tall dark pine trees. Leaning to peer from the window at a peaty moorland stream falling in a noisy rush over stones and boulders and vanishing beneath an ancient clapper bridge; staring in awe at the stony magnificence of tumbled granite rocks, thr
usting and bunching up into the pale blue sky, Izzy would be transported by such magic. Kit can hear her voice, poignant and intimate, singing Joni Mitchell’s ‘Both Sides Now’.

  ‘That song just about sums me up,’ she’d say. ‘I want it at my funeral, Kit. Don’t forget.’

  Remembering that day, the silence into which those words were sung, Kit wants to weep.

  ‘So you all became good friends?’ asks Jake gently, after a moment.

  Kit nods. ‘We just hit it off straight away. It was a bit like you and me and Sin, actually. Just a perfect mix. Well, you’ve met Mungo. You can imagine.’

  ‘I can. I feel he sees us from his own particular point of view, don’t you? What would he call this production, I ask myself? The Revenant? Second Chances?’

  ‘Mungo is a complete one-off. He so enjoyed his morning saving Emma, didn’t he? It was going too far, taking the phone, though. And how on earth shall we lose it?’

  Each bridge and river has, so far, been crammed with the great British public on holiday: children, canoeists, picnickers, and their dogs, all of whom might rescue or retrieve the phone or the card if it were tossed from the car.

  ‘The crucial thing is to get rid of the SIM card,’ Jake says. ‘After all, there could be state secrets on it, never mind Emma’s indiscretions.’

  ‘Maybe we could feed it to a sheep,’ suggests Kit, ‘or a pony?’

  Jake takes the mobile out of his pocket and looks at it.

  ‘I must admit I never thought how impossible it would be to find a deserted part of Dartmoor to commit a crime. The place is heaving.’