An Ocean Apart (26 page)

Carrie sat down again and grabbed her glass, and all three clinked their glasses together at the centre of the table before taking huge mouthfuls of wine. Then, almost as if a huge black cloud had been lifted from their little gathering, they sat back in their chairs and breathed out huge sighs of relief.

“Well, it's all right for you, David,” Richard said, turning to him. “You're all sorted out, but Angie and I are still going to be left to look after the dreaded Do-die!”

“Richard!” Carrie exclaimed, reaching over and hitting him on the arm, “you said you wouldn't be horrible to her. She's not the dreaded Dodie, anyway. She's the delightful Dodie!”

“All right, then, the delightful Dodie,” Richard moaned, “but I still think we've got the rough deal!”

“Listen,” David said, a pensive expression registering on his face, “if you want,
I
could quite easily look after the dog. In fact, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. She'd probably be much happier at her own house, and anyway, she can quite easily come with me when I'm gardening. It really would be no problem, and I mean, I really like dogs. I've always had dogs.”

He looked across at the others, expecting his offer to be accepted unconditionally, but was confronted by two very surprised faces, and for a moment he wondered if he had made completely the wrong suggestion.

“You don't mean that, do you, David?” Carrie asked quietly.

“Of course I mean it. I'd be quite happy to look after her—anyway, for as long as I'm over here. She'd actually be doing
me
a favour by keeping me company!”

Carrie let out a yelp that wasn't unlike one of Do-die's and, jumping out of her chair, leaped towards him, engulfing his head in her arms.

“Oh, I think you're just the best!” she said, repeatedly kissing him on the top of the head. “Oh, how I cherish the day you walked into our lives!”

The ensuing commotion was loud enough to catch Dodie's attention. She let out one of her high-pitched barks and, jumping off the sofa, pushed her way through the screen door and locked her two teeth into one of the legs of David's jeans. Growling ferociously, she shook her head from side to side, as if determined to end the life of his Levi's.

“Come on, Carrie!” Richard laughed, suddenly feeling quite left out. “Give the guy a break! He's only said that he's going to look after Dodie!” He paused for a moment and looked down with little feeling of affection at the small, motley animal as it pulled hard on its quarry. Then he too slowly raised himself to his feet. “Actually, come to think of it, you're right! He's a bloody hero!”

With that, he threw himself forward to join Carrie in her adulation of “the saviour of the day,” binding them both in tight with his arms, as if scrummaging down in a game of rugby. There was a loud crack as his extra weight was added to David's chair, and its legs slowly began to spread-eagle underneath him. With a crescendo of screams, the dissembled company pitched backwards and fell in a heap to the deck, allowing Dodie, amidst loud protestations and uncontrollable laughter, to have a field day in licking the faces of her incapacitated victims.

Chapter
  
SIXTEEN

Headaches were plentiful in the Eggar household the next day, the celebrations of the previous night having gone on well into the small hours of Sunday morning. Consequently, the plan to shift David and his belongings down to Carrie's house was delayed until the afternoon, a time when Richard felt he might be brave enough to venture out into the bright sunlight.

David, however, chose to clear his head by taking a walk midway through the morning, wanting at any rate to find out where he was meant to be working the following day. He made his way into Leesport, stopping to pick up a much-needed cup of black coffee at the deli, then, having asked directions to Barker Lane, he headed off in the opposite direction to the one he had taken the previous day.

Barker Lane was the last turning on the left before the Leesport Country Club, which lay just beyond the village boundary. He walked the full length of the road, eventually coming across the house in the bottom corner, opposite to where the road swung hard left through ninety degrees to run parallel to the bay, leading onto the marina half a mile away. The property was hidden completely from the road, the driveway descending in a bend through a screen of tall leafy birch-trees and high laurel bushes. For a moment, David stood at the head of the drive, spinning his empty Styrofoam cup around his finger while he considered taking a closer look. However, at that point a car came round the corner from the direction of the marina, and not wanting to give the appearance that he was loitering with intent, he decided to head back to North Harlens the way he had come, leaving his appraisal of the house until the next day.

Richard eventually managed to get his act together at four o'clock in the afternoon. Having bundled David's meagre belongings into the back of his car, they drove the four hundred yards down to Carrie's house, which happened to be situated right next to where he had eaten his breakfast the previous morning in the Leesport Memorial Garden. Both Carrie and Dodie were there to greet them at the gate, Carrie holding hard on to the end of a gushing hose, having been busy giving the plants one final watering before leaving. She opened the gate, then rushed away to the side of the house to turn off the tap. David took his two cases from the trunk of the car and followed Richard into the garden through the opening in the head-high, neatly clipped yew hedge.

If anyone wanted to look in on the property, the only unrestricted vantage point would have been from a boat positioned out on the Great South Bay. The easterly boundary was protected by a bank of high, waving pampas-grass that rustled and whispered in the warm afternoon breeze, while the dogrose hedge that ran around the periphery of the Memorial Garden encroached over onto the westerly side, spreading its weight across the collapsing picket fence that lay beneath it. Borders alive with flowering rhododendrons and azaleas, their heady scent brought out by the recent watering, skirted the lawn of springy zoysia grass which ran forward to the heavy wood pilings that jutted down into the waters of the bay. Still carrying his cases, David walked across the lawn to where it had been cut away into a steep gradient. Rough wooden steps had been sunk deep into the sandy soil to afford access to a small wooden jetty, where an old rowing-boat, its dark blue paint peeling away from its bows, nudged gently against its rubber-tyred mooring-post.

Richard and Carrie seemed to have disappeared inside by this time, so David made his way back across the lawn to seek them out. The house was nothing more than a tiny dark brown shingled shack tucked up into the farthest corner of the garden, next to the dogrose hedge. Yet it was far from shabby, its windows and shutters, downpipes and gutters all newly painted in brilliant white, its shingles giving off a strong aroma of newly applied creosote. The main entrance door was at the side of the house, while at its front, a screened veranda extended out from the French doors, its only furnishings two faded deck-chairs that were turned to face out over the waters of the Great South Bay.

There was a sudden scream from inside the house and Carrie appeared at the door lugging a huge suitcase and a folded-down painting easel, closely followed by Richard who, still suffering from his overindulgence of the night before, was making a half-hearted attempt to wrest some of the burden from his sister-in-law.

“Oh my God, David!” Carrie said, seeing him and dropping the suitcase heavily onto Richard's foot as he took it from her. “I've just realized what the time is! Star Limos will be at North Harlens right now, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you to fend for yourself.” She delved into the pocket of her dungarees and pulled out a set of keys. “Everything you need is on that. The saltbox, the car, and the little one is the key for the boat's outboard motor, which is in the sun-porch. By the way, there's a fax-cum-phone in the house which just use whenever you want.”

Putting his cases on the ground, David took the bunch of keys from Carrie, giving her a puzzled look. “Right—and where might I find this saltbox, and what the hell do I use it for?”

Carrie flashed him a wide smile of enlightenment as she pointed towards the house. “You live in it, David! That's a saltbox, albeit a pretty small one. Don't ask me why they're called that. I don't know.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I've never thought to ask.” She turned and hurried towards the gate, against which Richard was now leaning, rubbing his sore foot.

“Oh my God!” she said, turning back to David, “I haven't said goodbye.” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on either cheek. “Look after yourself, David, and … well … start afresh—make this your new beginning.”

David put his arms around her waist and gave her a long, tight hug. “Thanks, Carrie, I think I will.”

Carrie pushed herself away and smiled up at him, her cheeks lightly flushed. “Wow! Go on squeezing me like that, and I may just decide to stick around,” she said in a Mae West voice.

“Come on, Carrie,” Richard called out.

“Coming!”

She turned and made her way out through the gate. Richard gingerly put weight on his foot and looked across to David. “Listen, you will telephone your mother, won't you? I feel slightly guilty about sticking my oar in on your business.”

“You haven't at all—and I promise you I'll call her and explain what's happening.”

Richard smiled at him. “You all right, old friend?”

“Couldn't be better.”

“Well, if you need anything or want a swim in the pool, either give us a call or just come over.”

“I will—and Richard—thanks for everything.”

Richard waved his hand dismissively, then, holding both hands up in Al Jolson mode, he sang out, “That's what friends are for!”

There was yet another scream from outside the garden, and Carrie came rushing in once more.

“What the hell's wrong now?” Richard asked, exasperated.

“I haven't said goodbye to Dodie!” Carrie wailed. “You must have shut her in the house!”

Richard sighed impatiently. “Oh, come on, Carrie. Dan will get fed up waiting.”

Carrie opened the door and Dodie appeared, jumping up and down in excitement. She scooped up the dog in her arms and planted a kiss on its head. “Bye, bye, my darling. You be good now, and look after David.”

She bundled Dodie into David's arms and rushed out to where Richard now waited for her in the car. David followed her through the gate and stood waving as the car turned with a squeal of tyres and headed up the road. As soon as it was out of sight, Dodie let out a wheak and tried to escape from David's clutches so that she could catch up with her mistress.

“Come on, dog,” he said, getting a firmer hold on his charge, “you can show me round your house.”

Dodie gave him a bewildered look and started to pant vigorously, an action which made David hurry back through the gate to release her from his grasp as quickly as possible into the safe confines of the garden.

The fact that Carrie treated her car as if it were a dustbin had no bearing on the way in which she organized her house. David stood in the doorway and looked around the small, lovingly furnished dwelling, warm with the sun that flooded in through the windows, each of them hung with red gingham curtains tied back with matching strips of ribbon. In the centre of the room, a round polished mahogany table, piled with magazines, sat between two armchairs with brightly coloured slipcovers, which faced a wood-burning stove whose blackened chimney stuck straight up through the roof.

To his left, on one side of the French doors, a high row of shelves, made out of bricks and planks, stretched up to the ceiling, each fully stocked with art books and paperback novels, while space had been made on its top shelf for an old turntable stereo system and Carrie's sizeable collection of records. On the other side of the doors, a roll-top desk lay open, its cubby-holes crammed with papers, while its leather writing surface was taken up completely with the telephone/fax machine.

To his right, lined against the back wall of the house, was the kitchen. Space for preparing a meal was minimal, but it still comprised all the necessities of a cooker, a fridge, and a sink. Above these, balanced precariously on nine-inch nails that had been driven into the wall, were four wooden storage shelves, their contents hidden behind curtains that matched those on the windows.

David dropped his cases to the floor and walked over to the heavy damask drapery that hung at the far end of the room. Behind this, he found a small double bed, which Carrie had sweetly made up for him with fresh linen, the corner having been turned down in a welcoming gesture over the top of the patchwork quilt. The only other furniture in the room was a pine chest of drawers, a bedside table with a lamp, and an up-ended packing case which served as a hanging closet. At the bottom of the bed, a door led off into a tiny bathroom into which was crammed a shower, a basin and a lavatory, the close proximity in the positioning of the latter two making David wonder whether the room hadn't been designed by, or even for, a minute contortionist.

He pulled open the drapery, hooking it back against the wall with the heavy sisal-rope loop, then, sitting down on the edge of the bed, he surveyed the whole scene in its entirety, noticing for the first time that every spare inch of hanging space on the walls was taken up with vibrant oil paintings: of beach scenes, of faces and figures, of streets, of exotic castles—all painted in the same distinctive style. He looked up at the one above his bed, and saw that it bore the signature “CL” in the bottom right-hand corner. They were all Carrie's work.

David grinned broadly to himself, then, falling back heavily on the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling, shaking his head in sheer contentment. This is perfect, he thought to himself, this is just perfect. He let out a chortle. Just a pity about the smell. The smile vanished from his face. Oh, Christ, the dog! Where the hell was she? He jumped to his feet and ran towards the door, hurdling over his suitcases on the way. He flung it open and was preparing to let out a loud whistle when Dodie scuttled in between his feet, bounced straight up onto one of the armchairs, and sat looking at him, her head cocked to one side.