The Sea Garden Page 20

  ‘Of course,’ he agrees.

  His voice is warm, full of understanding, and she is seized by a sense of gratitude and love for him.

  ‘I’ll be back soon, though,’ she says quickly.

  ‘You’d better be,’ he says lightly.

  * * *

  When Oliver picks Gemma up from Plymouth station the next day he sees the change in her. She is luminous with happiness and wellbeing, and he grins slyly at her as she slides into the seat beside him.

  ‘Well stocked up for the next few weeks?’ he asks as he starts the engine and pulls out of the car park.

  She gives a little snort of laughter and digs her elbows into his ribs. ‘Shut up,’ she says. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘So what is my business?’

  ‘Well.’ She gazes out at the city as they drive up North Hill towards Mutley Plain. ‘You might like to invest in Guy’s scheme for our future, of course.’

  ‘Oh God,’ he groans. ‘I guessed it might come to that.’

  Gemma continues to stare out of the window. She squeezes her hands between her knees and remembers Guy’s injunction.

  ‘On no account,’ Guy said, ‘ask Oliver for money. It’s bad enough that he’s paying the school fees. I know you’ll have to tell him why I’ve decided to give this a go but make certain he knows that it’s because of Johnnie’s enthusiasm and his willingness to put his money where his mouth is. He believes in it; in me. I don’t need any more of Oliver’s charity.’

  ‘Actually, it’s a very good scheme,’ she says now. ‘Johnnie’s very interested in it.’

  ‘Johnnie? Yes, I could see that something was in the wind. This scheme is to do with boats, of course.’

  ‘Well, of course. It’s what Guy does. We’ve been to see someone in London who’s advertising this kind of classic boat sailing experience. You take eight people out for two days or longer and show them what it’s like to be on an old-fashioned sailing ship. I’ve got lots of brochures and stuff to show you.’

  ‘How sweet of you.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. It sounds brilliant.’

  ‘And would I be right in assuming that these dear old-fashioned sailing ships are actually state-of-the-art brand-new sailing ships, which cost a very great deal of money?’

  There is a little silence. Gemma watches the passing traffic. Oliver pulls up to allow a woman with several small children to cross the road, and glances at his sister.

  ‘How much?’ he asks.

  Gemma grimaces. ‘A new boat costs about four hundred thousand,’ she mutters, ‘but we’d need half a million to get it all properly started.’

  ‘I suppose if you say it quickly it doesn’t sound so terrifying,’ he muses, letting out the clutch and driving on.

  ‘That’s what it would take to realize Guy’s ultimate dream,’ she admits, ‘but he knows he’ll have to cut his cloth. We’ve got a hundred and eighty-five thousand invested from the sale of the cottage in Brent. Guy would never allow us to touch it because he always hoped that he’d be able to do something like this. He’s been trying to persuade Mark to invest in it with him. He thought that if Mark and the bank each matched our share we’d have enough to get it started.’

  ‘But Mark wouldn’t play?’

  ‘I think he just likes to keep Guy on a string and now that he’s remarried I think it’ll never happen.’

  ‘So Guy has decided at last to come back here and give it a go?’

  ‘He knows that the big classic ship option is a bit of a dream. He’ll look for a second-hand one but if there’s nothing around he’ll settle for smaller boats,’ she says. ‘But this sounds so much fun and we could do it together during term-time, you see. Johnnie told him he could use a couple of his moorings and that he and Fred could help him out occasionally. He was really excited about it.’

  ‘I believe you,’ says Oliver.

  ‘He’s told Guy that he’d be prepared to invest several thousand in the scheme. Apparently he knows someone who does exactly this kind of thing around the Solent and he can see how well it could work down here. He said it’s something he’d love to be involved in.’

  Oliver raises his eyebrows. ‘Old salts never die,’ he remarks. ‘They just buy bigger boats.’

  He doesn’t hurry. The drive over Roborough Down and across the moor will give them the chance to talk in a relaxed and peaceful atmosphere. He’s rather impressed that Guy has had such an impact on Johnnie so quickly. Obviously Guy made the most of his opportunity during that day he’d gone out sailing with Johnnie and Jess. He remembers them standing, heads together, at the rugby match and his respect for Guy increases.

  ‘Well, at least Guy’s made up his mind,’ says Gemma. ‘Coming back and being with us all again, and you taking him down to the Tamar and introducing him to them all has completely reinvigorated him. Especially meeting Johnnie and him offering Guy such positive encouragement. It’s given him the confidence to go back and give a month’s notice to Mark and then return here and try.’

  ‘And how will Mark react?’

  ‘He’ll be cross because he’s lost control but deep down he’ll probably be relieved. I told you that his new wife doesn’t like us being in the house while she and Mark live in the flat, and I think she’d like Mark to sell up the whole lot and retire. She’s got a thing about travelling.’

  ‘So what shall you tell the APs?’

  ‘Guy says that we can tell them that he’s going to come back and he wants to try to get things up and running as soon as he can.’ She sighs. ‘I rather dread telling Pa.’

  ‘Because he’ll be negative?’

  Gemma nods. ‘It’s a big venture. And there will be other questions, about where we’re going to live and so on. We can rent, of course, but I just know it’ll be difficult.’

  ‘If Johnnie’s going for it then Pa will be impressed,’ Oliver says. ‘Ma will certainly be thrilled. And so am I.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says gratefully. ‘I’ve been so happy all the way down on the train, I can’t tell you. But now, as we get closer to telling everyone, I feel my heart sinking. Do you think it’ll work, Ol?’

  ‘I can’t answer that without a great deal more input. But it sounds as if Guy’s put a lot of thought into it and he’s not one of your chancer types, is he? Neither is old Johnnie.’

  ‘Guy told me that I was on no account to ask you for any money,’ admits Gemma. ‘He thinks that it’s bad enough that you’re paying the school fees. For God’s sake don’t ever let him know I hinted about it. It’s just I’d rather borrow from you than from the bank – assuming they’d lend it. You’d be kinder to us if things aren’t going quite according to plan. But Guy was absolutely adamant that I mustn’t ask you. So I haven’t. OK?’

  ‘But I shall still be allowed to look at the brochures?’

  ‘Of course you will. I’m going to show them to Johnnie.’

  ‘So if I decide that I want to be an investor then how would I approach Guy without involving you?’

  Gemma gives him a blinding smile. ‘You’d think of something,’ she says confidently.

  * * *

  Mist lies thick along the river. It muffles the sound of the water as it creeps into small muddy channels, and mutes the crying of the sea birds as they retreat before the rising tide. In the thorny hedges, complicated cobwebs are swagged and weighted with moisture, trembling in the chill breeze that snakes upriver. Even the boats out on their moorings are invisible.

  Jess drives cautiously in the twisting lane, keeping well into the verge, braking now and then as a sharp bend takes her unawares. The mist flows around the car so that she feels as though she is alone in this tiny capsule, travelling through white, damp, empty space.

  She turns the wheel, stamping on the brakes, as the yellow glare of headlights flares in her eyes. Heart stampeding, she edges the car even closer into the twiggy, unforgiving hedge, hears the scratching of paint. The bigger vehicle sweeps past and vanishes into the wall of fog wi
th a short sharp blast of the horn.

  Jess sits quite still for a moment, her heart still bumping. Slowly, cautiously, she sets the car in motion and moves forward, gripping the steering wheel, shoulders tense. She realizes, with a little thrill of fear, that she might miss the left turn at the junction; she might simply drive straight across the lane and into the opposite hedge. She peers anxiously through the windscreen, looking for the single finger post that stands on the corner at the narrow junction of the two lanes.

  She gives a little scream as a large dark shape crosses within a few feet of the bonnet of her car and she wrenches the steering wheel to the left so that the car bumps up onto the grassy bank. Trembling, she climbs out and walks forward over the grass, straining her ears for the least sound, her hands outstretched as though she were blind. Suddenly her left hand touches rough, splintery wood and, peering up, she sees the signpost. She is at the junction, and the lane is crossing directly in front of her.

  She climbs back into the car, edges up beside the post with her window down, listening for the sounds of traffic as she turns into the lane that will take her up to the main Tavistock road. She takes a deep breath of relief, driving slowly and still hugging the hedgeline, but feeling happier now. The mist is thinning as the lane climbs out of the river valley to higher ground and she feels more confident. She is able to allow her mind to run more freely over the events of the past few days, since Rowena died.

  ‘The last thing anybody wants,’ Johnnie said, ‘is that you should feel in any way that it was your fault. None of us could have imagined that she would get so excited about seeing you. Once Kate had told us that you’d won the Award and that you were Juliet’s granddaughter she couldn’t wait to meet you. If you ask me, you brought her a great deal of happiness. She was never happier than when she could be talking about Al, looking at the photographs, and remembering those happy days.’

  He looked at Sophie for confirmation, for support, and she hastened to agree with him.

  ‘And, anyway, we’d been warned that she was on borrowed time,’ she said. ‘She’d had a couple of those attacks, you know, before you arrived on the scene.’

  ‘She looked so happy,’ remembered Johnnie, ‘with you kneeling beside her and I heard her talking about Al. I think it was all for the best. Please don’t be upset, Jess.’

  They were so sweet to her, but they didn’t know the truth – though she suspected that Sophie was puzzled by certain events.

  ‘There’s no problem about you staying here,’ Sophie said to her later when Johnnie was out. ‘Really there isn’t.’

  ‘But I shall feel a bit of an intruder,’ Jess said quickly. ‘And you’ll have a very full house.’ The thought of being at such close quarters to Johnnie’s daughters, knowing how she’d been with Rowena on the occasion of both of her latest attacks, was too awful to contemplate. ‘Will you tell them that I was with her?’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Johnnie feels it’s better not to complicate it with the thing about Al. The girls don’t really know much about all that past history and my guess is that Johnnie thinks it’s more sensible to keep it simple. They were all expecting it, you know. It hasn’t been a great shock. What will you do?’

  ‘I’ll go back to Kate. She’s invited me and it will be good to have some more time with her. I’d like to come to the funeral, of course.’

  ‘I hope you’ll both come,’ Sophie said.

  Jess reaches the turning onto the Tavistock road and heads towards the town. The mist is clearing and she can see the moors away on the horizon, wreathed all about with drifting cloud. How long ago it seems since she first arrived to find Oliver waiting at the door and Flossie, tail wagging, at the gate. She drives into Chapel Street, where Kate and Flossie are waiting for her.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me being early,’ Jess says anxiously when she’s hugged Kate and made a fuss of Flossie. ‘Some of the family were arriving later this morning and I just felt a bit uncomfortable being there at such a personal time.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ says Kate. ‘It’s great to have you back again. I was just being very lazy and sitting over my pot of breakfast tea. Why don’t you take your stuff up and then come and join me?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ says Jess gratefully.

  Upstairs she looks round her room with a sense of relief and recognition. Nothing will be demanded of her here and she feels some of the tension of the last week slipping away from her. Jess unpacks her bag, unwraps David’s painting and places it carefully on its easel. She stands quite still, staring at it: the old stone bridge over the river, and the part of the bank beneath it where the group of foxgloves grow against the sun-warmed stone; the sunlight that glimmers on the water, which seems to flow and splash even as she looks at it. The deft, tender strokes that reproduce the foxgloves, the texture of the crumbling stone and the tiny springing cushions of moss that cling to it.

  Bless you for everything. It’s been perfect. Love D.

  Jess takes a deep breath. She unzips the case that holds her laptop, slips out two photographs and goes back downstairs.

  Kate is sitting at the big table in the living-room, reading a letter, drinking tea. Jess doesn’t say a word but simply places the photographs beside her. Kate puts the cup carefully in its saucer and stares at the first photo. She is quite silent for a few moments and then she picks it up. The bride is beautiful, with flowers in her long shining hair. She wears a simple white dress with a high boned-lace collar and long lace sleeves. She gazes at the camera with a kind of pleased surprise. The groom, in full dress uniform, proud and confident, stands protectively beside her with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘How extraordinary,’ she murmurs. ‘Juliet and Mike.’

  She continues to gaze at the photograph and Jess can tell that it is bringing other memories and images with it.

  ‘Lady T gave it to me,’ she says. It’s not quite a lie; Jess feels certain that Rowena would have given it to her if she’d asked for it. ‘I can’t get over the likeness. I’ve never seen it before. Daddy didn’t have much in the way of memorabilia and on the few occasions that I met Granny she never talked about the past.’

  But now Kate is picking up the second photograph and exclaiming, laughing.

  ‘Gosh, look, that’s Tom. And is that Johnnie with him? Oh, and that’s Mike, isn’t it?’

  Jess waits, standing behind Kate’s chair, willing her to recognize the two men she has not yet been able to identify.

  ‘And this,’ says Kate pointing, ‘is Stephen Mortlake.’

  Jess leans forward eagerly. ‘Stephen Mortlake?’

  ‘He was a friend of Tom’s. He’s one of the old gang. I think he and his wife have been invited to the reunion thrash. It’s a pity that it will have to be postponed for a while but I’m sure you’ll meet him sooner or later. And this is Freddy Grenvile, Johnnie’s cousin.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Jess. Her heart beats quickly and she sits down in the chair beside Kate’s. ‘It’s so odd fitting the pieces together like this. So tell me about Stephen Mortlake. And Freddy Grenvile.’

  * * *

  Gemma sits in Costa in Brook Street drinking a latte and staring out of the window. She needs space to consider things: to think of Guy coming home and wonder whether his project will be successful. Telling the APs was just as tricky as she’d suspected it would be, and Oliver, who had dashed off to a meeting in London, was not at hand to support her. She’d done her best to explain the scheme but Pa would keep interrupting with negative comments, though Ma, as Ollie predicted, was delighted. It was only as a last resort that she’d descended to the ploy – also suggested by Ollie – of saying: ‘Well, Johnnie Trehearne thinks it’s a really good idea. Guy talked it through with him and he’s suggested that we can use two of his moorings. He’s even hinted that he’d like to invest in it.’

  There was a complete silence. She could see that Ma was trying hard not to burst out laughing at the expression on Pa’s face.
He looked baffled, clearly wishing he could backtrack a bit now he knew that Johnnie viewed the scheme in such a positive light. She could see that he’d boxed himself into a corner – his irritation at the way she’d set about their problems was colouring his opinion of everything she did – but she wanted him to be pleased that Guy was coming home and that they’d be together.

  ‘Guy would be able to explain it better than I can,’ she said quickly, trying to let him off the hook. ‘When he tells you about it you’ll probably see it a bit differently. Have a look at these brochures we got in London and then you might get a clearer idea of it.’

  She couldn’t help remembering what Ollie told her in the pub about Charlotte, and their parents’ grief and remorse, and suddenly she felt a huge need for Pa and Ma’s complete approval and encouragement; longed to be able to make up just a little for the tragedy and for causing them such anxiety.

  She’d watched them set off together this morning for old Lady T’s funeral, looking suitably smartly sombre, and she’d borrowed Ma’s car to come into Tavistock so that she could sit here alone, allowing herself the joy of thinking of Guy coming home and them both starting out on this exciting new venture. There would be difficulties, of course, and times when Guy would be stressed and silent and she’d have to jolly him along, but at least they’d be in it together.

  ‘Don’t say anything to the boys yet,’ he warned her. ‘Just in case it takes a bit longer than we think. I’ve got to explain to Dad and it’s only fair to work out a month’s notice. I can’t leave him in the lurch. Try to think of where we could live. We’ll have to rent. Have a look around Bere Alston. That would be ideal.’

  Gemma sighs with impatience at the prospect of another month without him and glances round her. At the next table a good-looking man in his mid-thirties is sitting working at his laptop, his expression intent and preoccupied; beyond him, in the corner, two middle-aged women seem to be having some kind of business meeting with mobile phones at the ready and notes spread over the table. An exhausted-looking girl, with a baby in a pushchair, is trying to persuade her noisy toddler that he wants to sit quietly and drink his milkshake instead of running about disturbing everyone.