The Prodigal Wife (13 page)

‘That's good then.'

‘You don't have to use your soothing voice. I'm OK now.'

‘Great.'

She knew he was grinning; she could hear it in his voice. She grinned too. ‘I shall phone her at two o'clock and then I'll phone you. Be there.'

‘Oh, I will. Are you working?'

Cordelia snorted. ‘Are you kidding? I've put in two commas, and taken them out again. That's about the sum total of my output this morning.'

‘When shall I see you?'

‘On Wednesday, at your wretched party.'

‘Fine.'

She felt an irrational hurt that he'd accepted her tart reply so readily; hadn't offered to come over later. She frowned. ‘And now I really must do some work.'

‘Phone me when you've spoken to Henrietta. 'Bye, Dilly.'

She stared crossly at her computer screen, looked at the small clock in the bottom right-hand corner: twelve forty-three. She could give up and have some lunch or she could force herself to write just one sentence. Experience told her that she'd feel very much better if she could compose even a very short sentence. She set herself to concentrate.

Are we the first generation to need to be friends with our children?

An hour later she glanced at the clock and on impulse seized her mobile. A voice informed her that Henrietta's phone was switched off. Cordelia cursed quietly but comprehensively, and went to make herself some lunch.

The village street lay empty and hot in the afternoon sunshine. Henrietta strolled slowly, hands in pockets, relishing the warmth of the sun. On each side the terraced cottages seemed to slump together, drowsing beneath their thatched roofs, rosy sandstone walls crisscrossed about with trellises of clematis and trailing honeysuckle. It was so quiet that she could hear a nectar-laden bee droning as it worked amongst the delicately tinted Japanese anemones. Nasturtiums, gold and yellow and orange, spilled over doorsteps and cobbled paths, climbing sandy banks and cascading down walls. In one small vegetable patch chrysanthemums and dahlias grew among tall runner beans whose late-flowering scarlet flowers drooped upon pale bamboo sticks.

At the end of the street the road forked away to the left, past the church and out of the village, but she continued on the narrower lane that led down to the farm. Here, all along the ditches grew great stands of rosebay willowherb, its flowers turned to fluffy white seed, its leaves glowing glorious, vivid scarlet. A rabbit jinked out of the ditch and dodged beneath the bars of the gate into the field, the flash of its white scut bobbing as it fled down the grassy slope. Henrietta leaned on the gate, arms folded, chin on wrists, and all the while she was thinking about Jolyon. Fragments of conversation, images of what she'd seen, little scenes, all jostled for a place in her mind. Beneath these sensations a secret, unruffled continuum of happiness lent extra colour to everything around her; even the ever-present voice of cynicism had been muffled by this extraordinary sense of wellbeing.

Leaning on the gate she tested her feelings, trying to see Jolyon as her friends might see him. This was a difficult one because he was already well known to them through his role as a television presenter and all her girlfriends fancied him; perhaps it was just as well that she wasn't in London. Seeing him with his family – easy-going, amusing, kind – it might be possible to wonder if he weren't a bit too good to be true, except that she'd seen another side to his character that showed that he was quite capable of anger and resentment.

‘My mother's coming down for my birthday,' he'd said, driving home, when they were discussing future meetings.

Glancing sideways she'd seen a bitter twist to his mouth, and experienced a quick stab of sympathy.

‘Not your idea?' she'd asked, and he'd told her a bit more about his childhood and that he was finding it difficult to accept that his mother expected to be able to walk back into his life now she was alone.

Somehow, travelling in the car in the twilight, they both seemed to find it easier to talk about the personal aspects of their lives; exposing certain fears, voicing anxieties that would have been more embarrassing to speak of face to face. The very act of travelling seemed symbolic of the journey they were making in learning about each other; as the car passed through the countryside and small villages, so they were passing through new stages of discovery.

As soon as they arrived back, he lit the wood-burning stove.

‘I haven't really needed it yet,' she said, watching him lay the kindling.

‘You will, though,' he said, sitting back on his heels. ‘Anyway, a fire makes things more cheerful.'

He stayed for supper and, afterwards, he piled more logs on the fire and they sat together on the sofa watching the flames. There was so much to talk about: films, books, friends. The time passed so quickly, though all the while she was hoping he wasn't noticing just how quickly. She didn't want him to go; not yet.

‘D'you spend much time on your own in the gatehouse?' she asked. She swung her legs across his knees and leaned against him, and his arm automatically passed round her to hold her close. ‘Do you eat on your own?'

There was a short silence and she knew he was thinking this through, wondering whether he might unwittingly give the wrong impression of himself: a bit of a loner? An immature man who couldn't get away from his family?

‘Not often,' he answered. ‘It seems crazy when everyone's just across the courtyard to sit all on my own. Sometimes I do, if I want to watch a film or something, but I'm used to having people around, you see; different people. At lunchtime it might be Fliss and Dad, and Sam when he's home from school. Or Lizzie and Granny. Or a variation on the theme. It's the way life at The Keep works and I rather like it.'

She knew that he'd answered truthfully and was now wondering whether she'd be put off; she hastened to reassure him.

‘I know exactly what you mean. It's like that in London. Or used to be. There were always people around in the kitchen but not always the same ones. It might have been me and the children and Iain, or Susan and a couple of people from downstairs making some tea, but I liked it too.'

His arm tightened about her and she sensed his relief. ‘There are times when it's nice to be alone, like now, for instance, but we're lucky that The Keep is big enough for everyone to have privacy too.'

‘Perhaps that's why Iain went,' Henrietta said sadly. ‘Perhaps he didn't like it, though he never gave that impression.'

‘What will Susan do? Will she have to move?'

She shook her head, her cheek against his jersey. ‘I've no idea. She could hardly afford to buy him out of the house and I don't think she could manage to run it without his income.'

‘What will you do?'

‘I don't know. They went off in such a hurry. Nothing can be decided until they come home.'

There'd been a silence then, as if they'd both known that they were moving on to a very serious level of discussion; she'd given an anxious, quick upward glance and he'd bent his head and kissed her.

Leaning on the gate, remembering, Henrietta smiled a secret smile, and stretched luxuriously in the warm sunshine.

 

At the third attempt Cordelia was lucky.

‘Sorry, Mum.' Henrietta's voice was apologetic. ‘I went out for a walk and forgot my mobile. I was going to phone you to say that yesterday was great. They're so nice, aren't they?'

Cordelia gasped silently with relief and hurried into speech. ‘I'm so pleased, darling. Yes, they are, and it's wonderful that you've met them at last. Fliss phoned just now to say how much they'd enjoyed meeting you and to invite me over to The Keep sometime next weekend.'

‘Oh.' Cordelia heard surprise mingled with just the least bit of caution in her daughter's voice. ‘It's Jolyon's birthday, actually. His mother's coming down for it.'

‘Yes, I know.' She was determined not to be warned off here; the Chadwicks were her friends and she mustn't allow this new relationship between Jo and Henrietta to undermine this. ‘It's one of the reasons Fliss has asked me over,' she said, almost confidentially. ‘She finds Maria a tad difficult.'

Cordelia recognized the quality of the silence that followed. Henrietta was never to be drawn into any kind of gossip; her cool glance would imply that Cordelia dwelled permanently in a glass house and that the throwing of even the tiniest of stones was to be deplored. Somehow the priggish little silence gave her courage: it made her angry.

‘Anyway,' she said lightly, ‘I shall be going over to The Keep sometime that weekend, so I'll let you know when a bit later on, after Fliss has worked out exactly what's happening. Meanwhile, I was going to suggest driving over to see you this week. I could take you out to lunch. We could meet at Pulhams Mill. Only not Wednesday. I've been invited to Angus Radcliff's house-warming party that evening. His wife died, oh, just over a year ago, and he's moved down to Dartmouth. There are a lot of old chums going so it should be fun.' A pause, which Henrietta made no attempt to fill. ‘I don't think I'd want to do the trip over to you on the same day but I could come tomorrow or Thursday, if it would suit you?'

‘Yes, OK.' It sounded as if Henrietta had regained her composure. ‘That would be good. What about Thursday, then you can tell me all about the party?'

Cordelia's heart bumped anxiously; did she detect a hint of sarcasm?

‘Great,' she said quickly. ‘I'll try and get to the Mill in time for an early lunch but I'll be in touch as I come along. Take care, darling. I'd better get on with some work. 'Bye.'

She put the phone down and shut her eyes for a moment: oh, the relief of it. She'd told Henrietta, actually mentioned Angus's name, and the sky had not fallen in; not yet. She'd made no comment, no protest, and she'd agreed to have lunch. Cordelia felt quite weak with the sense of liberation. Soon she would speak to Angus but not quite yet; she needed to savour this moment alone, to revel in it. She poured a glass of wine and took it out on to the balcony to celebrate a private victory in the warm, autumn sunshine.

 

Maria slipped through the intercommunicating door of the annexe, closed it behind her and paused, listening, in the passageway that led to Penelope's kitchen and the utility room. The noise of Pen's drinks party drifted through from the drawing room: the caw of voices, little shrieks of laughter, the encouraging clink of crystal. She'd already had a very tiny drink, just a nip of vodka, to give her the necessary courage to enter the crowded room. It had become the least bit intimidating, appearing in the doorway, seeing first one guest and then another spotting her and immediately adopting a sympathetic expression, nudging a neighbour warningly. Nobody knew quite what to say since Adam had died. Some, pretending nothing had changed, would utter a few bluff remarks and sidle away; others would seize the opportunity to be understanding. They'd put on special voices, hold her arm comfortingly, smile with a kind of gruesome sympathy.

Phil would materialize at her shoulder, cheerful and comfortingly familiar, like a dear old dog: faithful and loyal. Pen would nod – firm but encouraging at a distance – and raise her glass as if it were a flag and she were urging her old chum to the starting point of a race. Some of Maria's friends had been surprised and rather disapproving of her sudden decision to sell up and move into the annexe. They'd muttered all the old clichés about not doing anything in a hurry, not knowing that she'd had no choice but to sell and that the annexe was an absolute haven. Oh, how she dreaded the news leaking out somehow and then the whispers and the pitying looks; oh, the horror of it. Pen and Philip would remain loyal, of course. They might not even be particularly surprised. They knew Ed very well; knew his inability to stick to a job or be prepared to do anything mundane or boring. Ed had always had spectacular – and very expensive – ideas. Even so, she cringed with gut-churning shame at the thought of these friends of hers knowing the truth, discussing it behind her back. Not that she was destitute – Adam had left some very good investments and she had enough money from the sale of the house to buy a small flat, even here in Salisbury – but she could no longer compete with the social commitments of Philip and Penelope and the gang. Of course, just at the moment, nobody expected her to…

She glanced down at her pretty frock with satisfaction. She knew she looked good and that she could still command the reluctant envy of her women friends and the sly admiration of their husbands. She straightened her shoulders, arranged her expression, feeling like a child arriving at a party of older children; hopeful, slightly winsome. And here was darling Phil, just as she'd known he'd be, eye cocked for her appearance, the hand under the elbow.

‘That's right,' he said approvingly. ‘Gosh, you look good. Now vodka, is it, or a gin?'

Cordelia drove into Dartmouth, found a space for the car at the bottom of Jawbones Hill and sat for a moment summoning up her courage. She'd been determined not to be amongst the first of Angus's guests to arrive and now, glancing at her watch, she was seized with panic lest she should be late enough to draw just the attention she wanted to avoid. She locked the car, walked down Crowthers Hill and turned up towards the house in Above Town. Tingling with nervousness she approached the dark blue door, which was propped open with a weighty door-stop: a beautifully painted cast-iron mallard.

She hesitated, staring at it, recognizing it. She'd seen it many times at the house in Hampshire when she'd been visiting Anne, nearly always when Angus was at sea.

‘It would have to be Anne,' she'd cried despairingly all those years ago. ‘I can't stop being friends with her after seven years, Angus. How am I to do this?'

‘I never thought Simon would leave you,' he'd answered wretchedly. ‘God, what bloody awful timing. But I'm committed now. Anne's expecting a baby…'

Cordelia could hear the sounds of jollity drifting down the stairs; voices, music: Jacques Loussier playing Bach's
Chromatic Fantasia
. She and Angus loved Jacques Loussier, though she mustn't mention that. She stood quite still, jittery with fear.

She thought: Did I really think that I could get away with this?

She stepped past the mallard into the big room, which was both kitchen and dining room, where a buffet supper had been laid out. Some guests were holding plates and napkins, choosing delicacies, and a pretty girl in a smart uniform was opening bottles at the kitchen end of the room.

‘I shall get some caterers in,' Angus had told her, ‘if you really won't help me.'

‘No way,' she'd answered firmly. ‘Absolutely no way. You can't be serious. For God's sake, we might as well put it up in coloured lights that we're having an affair…'

‘OK,' he'd said equably. ‘Just be there.'

And here she was, smiling at the girl and miming that no, she didn't have a coat and yes, she'd go on up, nodding cheerfully at the people by the table, and climbing the steep narrow stairs to the first-floor sitting room. And here was Angus, seeing her come into the room, raising an arm high in welcome so that several people swivelled round to see who the newcomer was.

‘Cordelia,' he was calling – ‘Don't
ever
call me Dilly in public,' she'd threatened him – and she was waving back, crying, ‘Wow! What a view! It's nearly as good as mine.' Then he was beside her, giving her a host-like hug and immediately offering her a drink.

‘Wine,' she murmured, continuing to beam around, ‘whatever,' and waving brightly into the sea of faces: nearly all naval couples. ‘Hi, Neil. Tasha. How are you both? Mike, how lovely.' And then, to her utter relief, someone she trusted and loved was moving out of the crowd and coming towards her and, for the first time, she felt as if she might be able to survive this terrible ordeal.

‘Julia,' she said with relief. ‘Oh, my darling, how are you? You look fantastic. Is Pete here? Oh, yes, there he is. How wonderful to see you.'

‘We were so thrilled when Angus said you might be coming,' Julia Bodrugan was saying, embracing her. ‘I nearly phoned and then some drama blew up. It's been far too long.'

Cordelia hugged her tightly. ‘Much too long,' she agreed. ‘We're all so busy these days. But how noble of you to come all the way up from St Breward.'

‘It's noble of
me
,' agreed Julia, ‘because I've promised not to drink. But it's not noble of Pete. Pete doesn't do noble. He has a simple social rule: if he can't drink, he doesn't go.'

Cordelia laughed and then was engulfed in Pete's bear hug. ‘What's she saying about me?' he demanded. ‘Whatever it is I deny it. Have you seen this view, Cordelia? He can see right down the river. Look. He can practically see his mooring off Noss. He says that's why he bought the house, because the privately owned moorings went with it. He's even got a running mooring in Bayard's Cove for his dinghy. Lucky devil. Of course, you're not likely to be impressed by a view of the River Dart, are you, not with the English Channel on your doorstep?'

Cordelia squeezed his arm. ‘Your own views from Trescairn are pretty good,' she reminded him. ‘But this is lovely. Different from my view but just as beautiful. I love seeing all the little boats.'

Standing between Julia and Pete she felt safe; as long as she didn't say anything compromising. Angus brought her a drink and she smiled her thanks, not looking at him, gesticulating at the river and making polite noises.

‘I might get a bit of sailing in before I have to take the boat out of the water for the winter,' he said. ‘What about it, Cordelia? Fancy a run up to Salcombe one fine afternoon?'

She saw how his jokey invitation was giving her an opportunity to establish their supposedly casual relationship publicly. ‘It shows how little you remember about me,' she retorted. ‘I get seasick on the Lower Ferry. No thanks.'

Someone called to him, claiming his attention, and he turned away.

‘Isn't it nice that Angus has got so many friends to help him settle in?' Julia was saying. ‘I hope the boys will make the effort to get down to visit him.'

Cordelia stopped herself just in time from saying that one of them had been down this last weekend, and was seized anew with terror. How easy it would be to make a mistake. And now Lynne Talbot was approaching with her thin, vinegar smile and cool, penetrating stare.

‘Cordelia,' she said, offering her cheek, ‘Jeff and I were just saying the other day that we hardly ever see you. Scribbling away as usual, I suppose.'

‘That's my job,' agreed Cordelia amiably. She held her drink to one side and touched her cheek very lightly to Lynne's. ‘I don't have a grateful government paying me a whacking great pension like you and Jeff. And I've never been one for the sailing club; not really my scene. Like I just told Angus, I get seasick on the Lower Ferry. And I can't seem to master the intricacies of bridge. I'm a social disaster. Are you well?'

‘Pretty well. Julia and I were just talking about grandchildren. How's Henrietta?'

‘Childless so far,' said Cordelia promptly. ‘But that's fine. You had two the last time I saw you. Is there any advance on that?'

‘No, still just the two. Someone – who was it? – was saying that they saw you upcountry a few weeks ago. Oxford, was it? Coming out of The Randolph with some man? No? Oh, well, she must have been mistaken. It's good to have Angus around, isn't it? He's coming over for lunch next week. Perhaps you'd like to come too.'

Angus was back; she could feel him just behind her, smell the scent of his aftershave. Lynne was watching her with that familiar, narrowed stare, the faintly knowing smile on her lips, and it occurred to Cordelia that she might give much more away by behaving stiffly with Angus than by being her normal self.

She turned, took his arm, made big eyes at him. ‘Darling,' she said, ‘Lynne's matchmaking already. We're having lunch with her next week. Are you ready for this?'

He grimaced comically, miming pleasurable anxiety. ‘I can see that I shall have to be careful. Anne always said that you were a dangerous woman.'

It worked perfectly. As she glanced around she saw tiny mental connections being made: ‘Of course, Anne and Cordelia were friends, weren't they?' and approving smiles: ‘Isn't it nice to see Angus happy again?' and meanwhile Julia was laughing, and Angus was asking everyone to go downstairs and get some food. Cordelia released his arm quite naturally and turned away with Pete and Julia to fetch some supper. She felt confident now; the worst was over.

She left quite early: that was planned too.

‘You could pretend to go,' he'd suggested when they'd talked about the party, ‘and come back after everyone's gone.'

‘And how would I know?' she'd demanded. ‘Do I hide under a rug in the car and count everyone out? You must be joking.'

So she waited until three or four people had already gone and then glanced at her watch and said she'd be on her way. There were the usual polite protests and she hugged Angus quite naturally. It was Pete and Julia who came downstairs to see her off and remind her of the new plan for her to drive down to Trescairn for the day.

‘I'll phone tomorrow,' she promised, ‘when I've looked at my diary. It'd be wonderful.'

She got into the car, light-headed with relief, and drove home: out through Stoke Fleming and Strete, along Torcross Line, through Kingsbridge, and then plunged into the narrow winding lanes that led to the cliffs.

She let herself into the cottage, greeted McGregor and, still high on adrenalin, flung her jacket and bag on to the table. Her phone rang just as she'd made herself some camomile tea.

‘Are you OK?' Angus asked. ‘You did so well, Dilly. Bless you for coming. I really thought you might chicken out at the last minute.'

She sat down in her rocking chair, hugging a little patchwork cushion, longing for him.

‘I nearly did. I had a really terrible attack of cold feet but I'm glad I made it. It was…OK. And fantastic to see Pete and Julia. Why don't I like Lynne?'

‘Troublemaker,' he said succinctly. ‘Always was. Tiny innuendoes and carefully worded comments that spread gossip. She can't hurt us. Not now.'

‘No,' Cordelia agreed cautiously. ‘But you were right about telling Henrietta as soon as possible now. When I saw Lynne I thought how it might be if Henrietta were to be told by someone else and I felt quite ill. It was a great party, Angus. But it was scary at times. Pretending that I'd never been to the house before, for instance.'

‘You looked very calm,' he assured her. ‘Very poised. The professional journalist.'

She chuckled. ‘Lynne took pains to mention my scribbling. Are we really going to lunch with them next week?'

‘I think it's a brilliant move if you can face it. Just what we want, isn't it? To look as if we're re-establishing an old connection. It would be a perfectly natural thing to do, wouldn't it?'

Quite unexpectedly she was shaken by an irrational bitterness.

‘Do you mean my connection with Anne or with you? Would Anne consider it perfectly natural, I wonder?'

There was a silence. ‘I think it's too late in the evening to pursue this line of conversation,' he said evenly. ‘And especially on the end of a telephone.'

‘Yes,' she said tiredly. ‘Yes, it is. We'll speak tomorrow. Sorry, darling. Suddenly, I'm very tired. Reaction, I expect. It was a great party. Goodnight, Angus.'

She sat in silence with McGregor stretched beside her, racked by the old, familiar sensations of resentment and hurt.

‘You went away,' she'd suddenly wanted to shout at him. ‘After that amazing year of love and happiness we had you just went away for two years. Said you were too young to commit, that you needed time to see the world. And then you come back and break up my marriage and then proceed to devote yourself to one of my friends for the next twenty-five years. And now she's died and so it's my turn again. I can be taken out of the cupboard and dusted down and put back in your heart.'

Cordelia rocked to and fro, clutching the cushion, aghast at the strength of this emotion, which she believed she'd conquered. She wondered if by keeping Angus at arm's length she was subconsciously punishing him for leaving her all those years ago. Perhaps fear of Henrietta's discovery had simply been a convenient excuse for keeping control over the relationship. So what now: now there was no longer any excuse?

Tomorrow she would see Henrietta, and describe the party, and so begin to lay the foundation for the future. She remembered Lynne's remarks about being seen in Oxford – and quite suddenly she thought about the piece of paper stuck under the windscreen wiper. Could it have been a photograph of her and Angus outside The Randolph? But who could have taken it – and why? Fear reasserted its grip: whatever happened, the growing relationship between Henrietta and Jolyon must not be put at risk. Thoughtfully Cordelia finished her tea, put the cushion to one side and went upstairs to bed.