Second Time Around Page 9

  ‘I’m so sorry—’ he began again—but she interrupted him.

  ‘This is a private beach,’ she said as she slid her feet into espadrilles. ‘You’re trespassing.’

  ‘You’ve been crying,’ he said distressfully, seeing the marks on her cheeks and swollen eyelids, and coloured as he saw her look of outrage. ‘Forgive me. It’s just …’ He shrugged at his tactless ineptitude. ‘I’m Will Rainbird,’ he said simply.

  Isobel came closer. It was true that she had been crying. Earlier that morning, on an impulse, she had rung the cottage in Modbury and had been both terrified and delighted when Helen answered. She had countered Isobel’s eager questions with monosyllabic replies, refused her invitation to lunch and blocked further conversation by saying that she must go but she would fetch her father to the telephone. Simon had been kind but firm in his refusals to meet ‘just to talk things over’ and had hung up at the earliest opportunity. Isobel wandered out on to the beach, hurt and unhappy, and had lain down hoping that the heat of the sun would relax her so that she might sleep. Instead, she had wept bitterly then drifted into a brief uneasy doze—and now here was this stranger walking across the beach, catching her at a disadvantage, acting as if he owned the place … as indeed he did.

  Will held out his hand and, as she took it, Isobel found herself looking into Mathilda’s eyes. The shock was so great that she clutched convulsively at his hand. The slate-blue eyes smiled at her as though they quite understood but she pulled herself together and hastily withdrew her hand.

  ‘I do apologise,’ she said rapidly. ‘I didn’t realise who you were. Just for a moment … I was asleep, you see.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come unannounced,’ said Will, trying hard not to stare at her. ‘To tell the truth I wanted to have a look around on my own, d’you see? Just to get the feel of things without lawyers breathing down my neck.’

  ‘I quite understand.’ Isobel, too, was trying not to stare. He could have been Mathilda’s much younger brother, so strong was the likeness, and, after her initial irritation, she felt strongly drawn to him. ‘I’m Isobel Stangate. I live in the cottage.’

  ‘Thought as much,’ said Will, though whether his obvious pleasure was the satisfaction of his successful methods of deduction or from knowing that she was his tenant she could not quite decide. ‘Not too much to hope then that you’ve got a key to the house?’

  Isobel began to laugh. ‘I certainly have,’ she agreed. ‘Though whether James would approve of what you have in mind I can’t imagine.’

  ‘James?’

  ‘James Barrington. Mathilda’s lawyer. Never mind. What the eye doesn’t see … and all that.’

  ‘My view exactly,’ he beamed at her. ‘You looked after my cousin, I understand.’

  As they walked across the beach together, Isobel explained her role. Suddenly she thought of Tessa. ‘I’m hoping that you’ll all agree to keep the house,’ she told him. ‘Then I can stay here and look after you. Rent-free, of course. That was the arrangement with Mathilda. I’ve met your cousin Tessa. She’s all for it.’

  She gave him a quick guided tour of the house and then left him to it, hurrying back across the beach and feeling strangely excited and apprehensive.

  Will, standing at Mathilda’s bedroom window, watched her go. Presently he turned his gaze seawards.

  He saw the clouds massing on the horizon and looked westward at the spiny huddle of rock on which the lighthouse stood. He felt a strange sense of belonging; a crazy desire to accept this unexpected inheritance and start a whole new life. After all, what was there to keep him in Switzerland now that Bierta was dead and he had retired? His life had been a quiet one, his administrative work unexciting—rather like his marriage. His Swiss wife had been older than he but he had been attracted by her calm blonde beauty, her smiling good-natured charm. Later—too late—he had discovered that her calm good nature masked an unthinking indifference to life but Will was a loyal man and no one, least of all Bierta, guessed at his disappointment. Their only child was stillborn and with it his last hopes of real happiness died but Will was by nature a positive man and had learned to look for those small precious moments of joy which are vouchsafed at unexpected moments.

  Now, it seemed, life might take an exciting turn. His trip to England had been quite impulsive. He had been visited with a desire to have a little holiday; to take a look at this house in its cove, although he had fully expected that, having instructed the lawyers to sell it, he would return to Switzerland leaving the whole business in their hands. His gaze wandered back to the cottage. What if he should decide to keep the house? Of course there were the wishes of the other beneficiaries to be considered but if he sold the flat in Geneva he could probably buy them out. He remembered that Isobel had mentioned his cousin, Tessa Rainbird. Tessa, she had said, wanted to keep the house. Will’s hands went automatically to his pockets, feeling for his pipe as he made another tour of the house. There was no reason why it should not be divided into two flats. It would need a bit of thinking out, of course …

  As Will left the house fat warm drops of rain were beginning to fall, splashing on the rocks and pocking the gleaming surface of the water. Far out at sea a fork of lightning stabbed across the darkening sky and thunder growled in the distance. Without warning the rain fell in vertical shining rods and Will raced across the sand to the cottage where Isobel waited with the door held wide.

  TESSA SAT IN HER favourite corner of the Roundhouse, pouring a second cup of coffee from the pot which Marie, one of the Perryman twins, had brought twenty minutes earlier. For once she was not thinking of Sebastian—from whom she had not heard since that sudden appearance more than three months before—but was brooding on Mathilda and her house in the cove. She felt that she might die of frustration if her other relatives did not soon appear and make their decisions known to her. For the thousandth time she racked her brains for a solution should they both wish to sell. The small trust set aside for her would hardly be enough for a deposit and, even if it were, how on earth would she manage a mortgage? She had been shocked when James had mentioned the sum the house and cottage might reasonably be expected to fetch and now she knew the desperation of helplessness; the frustration of being powerless.

  She glanced up as the door opened and her face lost its anxious look. Kate, accompanied by a tall young man, came in, glanced around and waved as she saw Tessa in her corner.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Kate smiled down at her. ‘I didn’t know you were around. This is Tessa, Giles. My life-saver. Have you met Giles?’

  Tessa recognised him at once. It was the young man she’d seen smiling out of the photograph of the twins, on Kate’s dresser. She shook hands with him and he slid on to the bench opposite whilst Kate wandered away to order some coffee.

  ‘I feel I know you,’ Tessa told Giles mischievously. ‘All those photographs.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Giles grimaced. ‘That’s an unfair advantage.’

  ‘But they’re very good photographs.’ She grinned at him. ‘Especially the one of you on the beach.’

  He laughed. ‘No point in trying to make an impression if you’ve seen that one.’

  Kate appeared beside them. ‘What’s the joke?’ she asked. ‘How are you, Tessa? Are you on your way back home or have you just arrived? ’

  ‘I’m on my way to Honiton.’ Tessa moved along so that Kate could sit beside her. ‘A new client. I said I’d be there about teatime so I could have time to settle in properly. They’re off tomorrow morning. I’ve been at the Lampeters’ all week.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Kate thoughtfully, studying Giles’s face as he watched Tessa. He looked as though he’d just discovered something rather special. She decided that a certain amount of encouragement was in order. ‘In that case why don’t you join us for lunch? We’re going to the Church House at Rattery. It’s not far off the A38. On your way, more or less.’

  Giles glanced at his mother quickly, eyebrows raised. Kate smiled blan
dly back at him and he gave a little shrug. This by-play was not lost on Tessa.

  ‘Well …’ She hesitated, longing to accept but wondering what that glance had meant.

  ‘Take no notice of Giles,’ said Kate, knowing that Tess had intercepted their little signal. ‘We’re meeting my other son and his wife. Gemma will love to meet you.’

  ‘Which implies,’ said Giles, making room as Marie arrived with their coffee, ‘that Guy won’t. It’s only fair to warn you that Guy takes a little time to relax with people he doesn’t know.’

  Tessa remembered the uncompromising stare of Giles’s twin as they stood together in the photograph.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t like me butting in,’ she began, understanding the exchange between Kate and Giles. ‘I don’t want to be—’

  ‘Rubbish,’ interrupted Kate roundly. ‘It’s my party. Anyway Guy is old enough now to cope with strangers. Gemma has helped no end with that side of his character. She’s such an outgoing girl. Thanks, Marie. How’s the family?’

  While Kate and Marie talked, Tessa was suddenly seized with a fit of shyness. She stared at Giles’s hands as he poured coffee and found herself absolutely tongue-tied. At the same time she felt an odd sense of familiarity; as though she had known him for ever.

  ‘It must be great fun working with dogs,’ he was saying. ‘Mum says that you’ve been to Freddie’s. How’s Charlie Custard? I remember … ’

  He talked easily and amusingly and presently she found herself recounting stories of her own whilst Kate sat by, smiling to herself. Presently she glanced at her watch.

  ‘Mr Perryman’s made some new bowls,’ she told them. Mr Perryman, as well as being a farmer and carver-in-chief on Sundays at the Roundhouse, produced beautifully crafted wood-turned work. ‘Marie says he’s around somewhere so I’m going to have a word with him. Back in a minute.’

  She disappeared through the door that led to the artists’ studios and there was another silence.

  ‘So you live in London,’ mused Giles. ‘I’ve got a studio flat in Chelsea. It’s tiny but rather nice. Where do you live?’

  ‘Shepherd’s Bush,’ said Tessa so glumly that he burst out laughing.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s not that bad.’

  Tessa wrinkled her nose, shrugged and then quite suddenly found herself telling him about Mathilda’s legacy, Cousin Pauline and the tragic loss of her parents and her brother. She told him about her nightmares, how she’d started dog-sitting and how she thought she might die if she couldn’t live in the house in the cove. Giles listened in silence, his eyes on her face. Kate had already told him something about her and he felt an old-fashioned urge to be allowed to look after her; to protect her. Whilst she talked he restrained these out-of-date feelings and poured himself more coffee.

  ‘So you see,’ said Tessa, sighing heavily, ‘I just can’t see how it can possibly work. I telephoned James Barrington—he’s the lawyer—yesterday, and he says that he’s had a letter from one of the others instructing him to sell. She doesn’t even want to see the house. I begged him to ask her at least to look at it and he’s agreed to give it a try.’

  ‘It’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Leaving it to three people. I agree with you. How could it possibly work, apart from selling it?’

  ‘I wish I could buy them out,’ said Tessa wistfully, ‘but it seems to be worth rather a lot. I’m hoping that the other two might like to use it for holidays and I could live there between jobs.’

  ‘Could it be divided into three?’ asked Giles. ‘And what about this cottage?’

  Kate, looking through the glass panel in the door, saw the two heads close together and gave a sigh of satisfaction. She decided that she might have a browse in the little shop; perhaps buy a card or two or some mugs. No need to disturb them yet; there was at least another ten minutes before they had to leave.

  Eleven

  BEATRICE HOLMES—WHO HAD ceased to be Matron for two whole months—sat listening to the rain drumming on the conservatory roof whilst Norah’s voice drummed just as relentlessly in her ears.

  ‘ …and so I told him that I thought it was quite disgraceful. A whole three pence overnight! Of course, he cheeked me. “Everything goes up,” he said. “I have to cover my costs.” Well, you can imagine. “Cover your costs!” I said …’

  Bea fiddled restlessly with the letter in her lap and wondered at what point Norah had become so penny-pinching. She had arrived to teach English at the preparatory school in Dorset when Bea had been Matron for five years or so. In the heavily male-dominated society they had automatically drawn together and, when Norah married and moved into Hampshire, they had remained good friends. Each summer Bea had spent some part of the holidays with her and Bernard, and they had always joked about how they would be tiresome old ladies together. She had sympathised with Norah’s irritations at Bernard’s feckless ways; his extravagance, his generosity to the undeserving, his tendency to pop round to the pub. He had always effaced himself, leaving the two of them to their own devices, but in the last two months Bea had begun to realise that it must have been no self-sacrifice on Bernard’s part.

  ‘ …of course, the man’s a saint but how on earth he puts up with it I can’t imagine. She never leaves him alone for a minute and when I found her there fiddling with the flowers although she knows quite well it’s my week …’

  Norah had passed along from the supermarket to the church with its long-suffering vicar and her archenemy, Miss Knowles. Bea thought regretfully of the little flat near the school. It had been snapped up two days before she—rendered brave by the thought of her inheritance—put in her own offer. There was nothing else that appealed to her that she could afford and she had given in to Norah’s pleas for company. Bea had insisted on a trial run. Now, she gave thanks that she’d had the foresight.

  ‘ …The standard’s dropped quite shockingly. “Tea bags,” I said. “I never thought to see that here.” Oh, they trotted out the usual excuses …’

  Norah had come to rest in the tearoom and Bea decided that she should stay there for the present. She smoothed out the letter and got to her feet.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Norah eyed the letter. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘No, no,’ answered Bea soothingly. ‘It’s the lawyers again. Asking me to go to see them. They’re suggesting that I might like to look at the house.’

  ‘But you’ve told them to get on and sell it,’ protested Norah. ‘Surely they don’t expect you to go all the way to the West Country to look at a house that’s going to be sold?’

  Bea racked her brain for inspiration. ‘The thing is,’ she said mendaciously, ‘that there might be one or two of my cousin’s things that I should like to have as keepsakes. He’s suggesting that I have a look before the sale.’

  ‘But you didn’t know her,’ objected Norah. ‘How can you have a keepsake of someone you don’t know?’

  Bea was visited by an urge to see how Norah would look wearing a potful of geraniums but resisted this unworthy impulse and smiled instead.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. There might be one or two valuable things that I should like …’

  ‘I should have thought the money would be more useful. I’ve been thinking. Supposing we build a small extension on at the side beyond the kitchen? You know you were saying that we should have a sitting room each …’

  ‘Let’s wait and see what happens,’ said Bea quickly. ‘That’s why I thought I’d go down and see the place. It’s really not that far and it will give us a better idea of what I can afford.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Norah grudgingly. ‘Look.’ She brightened a little. ‘Why don’t I come with you? Make a holiday of it. I haven’t been to Devon for years. Bernard always liked decent weather and it does rain so down there. Why not, Bea? You can go any time, can’t you? Let’s go together.’

  ‘It sounds a wonderful idea … but it has to be next week,’ lied Bea with an ease born of desperation. ‘This whoever-he
-is,’ she waved the letter, ‘is going on holiday.’ Lie followed lie. ‘Next week’s a busy one for you, isn’t it? You’ve got Townswomen’s Guild and meals-on-wheels. And haven’t you invited Andrew Owen to lunch after decorating the church for Harvest Festival?’ Andrew was the vicar and Norah was silent. Bea, scenting victory, shrugged a little. ‘Of course, Miss Knowles could take your turn at the WVS and I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to feed Andrew. Still …’

  Norah bridled a little in her chair. ‘Do you have to see this particular chap?’ she asked peevishly. ‘Surely there are other members of the firm who can take you round the house?’

  Bea breathed heavily through her nose and resorted to further untruths. ‘It seems my two cousins will be there, too,’ she said, wondering if it was thirty-odd years in the close proximity to little boys which enabled the lies to roll so convincingly from her lips. ‘He’s suggested that it’s sensible for us to be there together so as to ensure fair play.’

  ‘Oh well.’ Norah looked annoyed. ‘Then I suppose there’s nothing to be done. I can’t leave poor Andrew to Miss Knowles’s tender mercies …’

  Bea made her escape, feeling as though she had been let off detention.

  ‘Oh, Bernard,’ she muttered into the ether as she went to her room to find her writing pad, ‘I’m sorry I said those things about you.’

  AS SHE SAT IN the train travelling west, Bea thought about Tony Priest and wondered how soon she might find another suitable flat in the town near the school. She knew now that she could not possibly consider spending the rest of her life with Norah. She began to think that she had never really known her at all. In those early days they’d been on several holidays together as well as seeing each other daily at school but Bea wondered if the friendship would have survived if it had been formed in any other environment. It was only to be expected that, over the years, they should have grown apart and to imagine they could live together had probably been madness. A few weeks together each year was one thing; the rest of their lives together was quite another.