First Friends (37 page)

Jane's heart sank. How on earth could she get out of this one? Her brain raced, trying to find an acceptable excuse, but Cass was too quick for her.

‘I know you'll want to be on your own together. Tom and I used to be like that in the early years. But you might probably be quite glad of a little outing. I feel that you've been a bit down lately. It's hell, their being away so much, isn't it? Still, one has to make one's own life, too. Now, do say you'll come. Or don't you like any of us?'

‘ Of course I do, it's not that . . . ' Jane fiddled awkwardly with her spoon. ‘It's very kind of you but, well, it's just that I wonder if I ought to check with Alan first?'

‘Rubbish. He must know that you have to have your own life here when he's away and be prepared to fit into it when he's ashore. After all, he's hardly likely to have anything planned when he's just arrived back from sea. At least, not that sort of thing.' Cass chuckled and then hesitated as Jane, grasping her meaning, flushed a dark red.

‘I'm sorry, Jane, tactless of me. I'm such an old hand that I've forgotten how romantic it can all be.' She paused for a moment while Jane made inarticulate noises and then said, ‘Let's have some more coffee. No, don't stand up. Are you absolutely sure there's nothing wrong? You could tell me, you know, I promise I'm quite unshockable and we've all been through it at some time or other.'

I doubt it, thought Jane and pulled herself together.

‘No, honestly, I'm fine, Mrs Wivenhoe'—‘Call me Cass, please,' protested Cass—‘it's just I'm still getting used to Alan's promotion and I do find the loneliness a bit difficult' (and I've got a lover who wants me to leave my husband and I don't want to come to your bloody supper party), ‘but I shall be fine when he's back home.'

‘Well, of course you will be. But if there's anything I can do meanwhile?'

‘Thanks . . . Cass, but honestly, I'm fine. Thanks.' Jane took her refilled cup and smiled bravely. ‘And I'm sure we'd love to come to supper.' (Anything to get her off the other track and I can always phone up later and cancel.) ‘Who will be coming? Anyone I know?'

‘Well, there's Abby and William'—oh, Christ, thought Jane, it would be them—‘and there's Harriet Masters, an old friend of ours who's coming to stay for a few days. Frightfully tragic, actually. Her husband was killed in a sailing accident. He'd taken his boat out and a storm blew up and he was washed overboard. It seems that he was struck on the head by the boom. Terrible shock for Harriet.'

‘How awful,' said Jane inadequately. ‘Poor woman.'

‘Quite. They hadn't been married long and there were no children, which was probably a blessing. So there was poor Harriet, all on her own at twenty-seven. Luckily she's got a career to help her along but it was all very dreadful. He was such an experienced sailor too. She's been wonderfully stoic and she's coming to terms with it. Actually, it's odd really. One of the chaps she worked with in London has recently opened an estate agency in Tavistock—you may have seen it, he's called Barret-Thompson. He's asked her to become his partner. I think it would be a very good idea, she's got lots of friends down here, but she doesn't seem to quite know what she wants. Anyway, I'm sure you'd get on very well with her.'

Before Jane could comment the door opened and Oliver put his head in. ‘Ollie, darling. So you're up at last. Do you know Mrs Maxwell? This is my elder son, Oliver, Jane.'

‘I think we've seen each other in the village.' Oliver advanced with a proffered hand and gave Jane a blinding smile. ‘How do you do? Don't get up, I don't want to interrupt anything.'

‘Well, actually, I must be going,' said Jane awkwardly, shaking Oliver's hand and seizing the opportunity for escape. ‘Honestly. Thanks for the coffee. No, I won't forget Saturday. I'll ask Alan when he gets home and I'll give you a buzz. Thanks a lot.'

Cass gave a frustrated sigh as the front door closed behind Jane and turned to Oliver, hovering in the hall.

‘Oh, well, never mind. At least we've broken the ice again.'

‘Sorry, Ma. Did I break it up? I didn't realise anyone was here.'

‘No, no, darling. It's not your fault. I expect it'll sort itself out. Come on. Let's make some nice, hot coffee. Go and get the tray from the drawing room for me, darling.'

There's something wrong there, mused Cass as she went into the kitchen. I didn't help her at all. I must be losing my touch. Perhaps she just needs Alan home, that will probably sort things out. It will do them good to come to us.

Her thoughts drifted away from Jane and returned to Nick Farley. She was intrigued by him. He'd been very nice to her, allowing the fact that he found her very attractive to show. But he'd been very proper, not a foot out of place, and Cass was surprised how much she had thought of him since their short meeting on Sunday. He wasn't at all like the sort of man she usually felt drawn to: light-hearted, good fun, ready for pleasure. Nick was rather quiet, a serious, thoughtful type. He had watched her with a smile curling his long firm mouth, amusement lighting his hazel eyes, and Cass had felt rather young and giddy. Usually, she took the lead in her affairs, feeling almost patronising in her bestowal of favours upon these besotted males. She felt instinctively that with Nick it would be quite different and the thought excited her. She really couldn't bear the idea of not seeing him again and cursed herself for not plotting with Abby to get herself invited up to the Manor before he left.

Her heart lifted as she remembered that Abby would be coming back with the shopping later on. Cass gave a great sigh of relief. There was still time after all.

A
FEW MILES AWAY
Charlotte and Hugh Ankerton were sitting on an outcrop of rock on the western slopes of Dartmoor whilst their ponies grazed quietly below them. Though the sun was warm and the view glorious, neither Charlotte nor Hugh appeared to be deriving
much pleasure from these blessings. Charlotte, dressed in old denims and an outsize navy blue jersey, her riding hat thrown down to reveal the newly cropped hair, sat hunched over her drawn-up knees. Hugh, a pleasant-looking youth, with long, ungainly limbs, floppy brown hair and spectacles hiding nice brown eyes, lounged a little below her plucking aimlessly at the sheep-bitten turf. Characteristically, he had made no comment on the hair. Invariably he treated Charlotte as one might a nervous animal, gently but firmly and with a great deal of kindness. When the silence threatened to become awkward he cleared his throat.

‘I really think you should change your mind about Blundells. You shouldn't get so prejudiced about things. And after all, Oliver will be starting the same term. You'll know lots of people. Guy and Giles will be moving on to the Lower Sixth. There's a lot of Navy.'

‘I wouldn't mind if you were still going to be there.' Her voice was muffled.

‘I'll tell some of my friends to look out for you. Don't you want to get your A levels and go to a good university?'

Charlotte shrugged her hunched shoulders and picked at some lichen.

‘Shouldn't think it makes much difference. I should probably hate it anyway.'

Hugh sighed. He was a near neighbour and just lately Charlotte had developed a tremendous crush on the kindly, sensitive boy. Although he was three years older than she was, he shared her passion for horses and they rode together sometimes. Charlotte kept her pony on their land and he had become used to her hanging about waiting to get a glimpse of him.

He smiled up at her and gave her leg a gentle push. ‘Come on. Snap out of it. When are you going to come and see me at Blundells?'

She looked up quickly, her brown eyes serious.

‘Do you want me to come and see you?'

‘Of course I do. You can look round the school. Wait ‘til there's a dance on or something.'

‘You've got lots of friends,' she mumbled, head back on knees, knowing his popularity at school. ‘Lots of girlfriends.' This was her private torment. ‘You won't want me.'

‘Of course I shall.' He resisted the urge to stroke her head as though she were an animal and, instead, captured a restless, plucking hand.

‘Charlotte!' She looked up, blinking at his change of tone. ‘You told me that you'd stopped biting your nails. You promised.' She tried to pull her hand away and he knelt up, holding it tightly. ‘Are you still rowing with your mum over going away to school next year?'

The thought of that carefully prepared lunch, burnt and spoiled by the time Cass had eventually returned on Sunday, gave Charlotte the strength to pull her hand away and hide it with the other, under her knees. ‘She just wants to get rid of me. She tried before but Daddy stood up for me. She can be really horrid.'

Hugh bit his lip. He had met Cass several times and couldn't imagine her being horrid to anybody.

‘Well,' he said helplessly, ‘promise you'll come to Blundells? We'll have lots of fun and you might change your mind. You will, won't you?'

‘I will if you really want me to. If you don't think I'll let you down in front of your friends.'

Hugh sighed.

‘Really, for a very intelligent girl you're sometimes awfully stupid.' He wondered whether to kiss her, decided that she was too young and ruffled her hair instead. ‘Come on, up you get. I've got to get back.'

Charlotte scrambled to her feet, grabbed her hat and slid down the rocks after him. The day which had started so black now looked bright and golden, and full of promise.

Kate paid the second-hand book seller for the full set of Galsworthy's
Forsyte Saga
, arranged to collect them later when she'd finished her shopping and turned away from his trestle tables. She stood for a moment, feeling in her pocket for her shopping list and trying to remember what she had actually come to buy. It was so easy to be distracted, especially by books. As she stood inhaling the smell of newly baked cakes, fresh vegetables, old books and all the other scents that made up the bouquet of market day in Tavistock, she caught a glimpse of Alex across the hall and her heart gave the familiar little tick of recognition, pain, even fear.

Why fear? she wondered as she made her way through the throng. Perhaps fear was too strong a word and anxiety was more accurate. It was memories of those last weeks: the arguments, justifications, the scenes that needed tact and understanding, the terror of losing all that had become so precious.

Well, she had lost it. Despite her care she had got it wrong, misjudged him and thrown it all away. And even now, more than two years on, it still hurt. She remembered how she had suffered at the thought of him with Pam after that awful Christmas when he had taken her abroad with him. It had been so difficult to accept that he was capable of it: that so soon after the minor miracle of their own love, he should turn back to Pam and carry on as if nothing had happened. That more than anything had been the most difficult to bear.

Probably, thought Kate as she made her way out of the hall at the
furthest point from Alex, because it strikes at the most tender part of one's make-up: self-love, self-esteem. Impossible to imagine that another should be preferred to one's dear self. How dreadful it had been, working with him during those following months, unable to touch him or talk to him as she had been used to, with Pam coming in and out, openly proprietorial, flaunting her ownership, as it were. It had hurt so much that he had allowed it. Knowing how she loved him, how capable of jealousy she was, that he had sat back and let her suffer had first surprised and then disappointed her. She had attributed a sort of greatness to him that would have been above such petty, even cruel, behaviour. She remembered the evenings that he had talked her through the pain of her marriage with Mark, the insight, the depth of awareness, and was simply unable to relate this to the Alex who allowed Pam to fawn on him and possess him so publicly. It was almost as if he was stating: Well, you might not love me enough but someone does. So there! It had hurt Kate to acknowledge this weakness in him and it had come as a tremendous relief when she could finally give in her notice and leave the shop forever.

But after all, she thought, pausing to stare in at the butcher's window, he isn't a saint. Why should he be more than human?

Perhaps she was happier alone. No, not necessarily happier but more peaceful. She was used to being alone but now she had freedom with it. There were subtle differences in being alone as a married woman and being alone as an unattached one. And if total freedom also carried with it the downside of loneliness, well, she was used to that too. And in her case it was hardly true. She still had the twins although, at fifteen, they were beginning to grow up and become more independent. And Chris would be home for Christmas, now only a few weeks away.

It had taken nearly a year to sell the cottage and to find and buy the house on the edge of Whitchurch, just outside Tavistock. It was a roomy Victorian family house with a paddock at the end of the garden. There had been enough money to buy and sort out the house but the kennels were still as yet a thing of the future, although there were
outbuildings with which to make a very good start. When Honey had her litter Kate, having kept the best dog puppy to use as a stud dog, sold the others at good prices and, although she was well aware that without Chris's financial support she would be unable to cope, nevertheless felt that, slowly, she was getting there.