The Sea Garden (29 page)

‘I don't think this will be like that, will it?' asks Sophie anxiously.

‘No, no,' he assures her. ‘This is quite a different proposition. I can see young Will and Guy's boys coming into it and taking over when the time comes. We're definitely in for the long haul.'

‘Sounds good to me,' says Sophie happily.

*   *   *

The temperature drops again; there is a brief light fall of snow.

Jess drives very carefully in the icy lanes though she is still aware of the bright berries in the hedgerow and the sharp black thorns. She would like to get out and take some photographs but she is anxious to keep going lest more snow should fall and she should get stuck. Despite the anxieties that flutter in her mind, her instinct tells her that she is doing the right thing; that as a part of this story, it is her turn to take another step that will move her right into the heart of it.

She feels both terror and exhilaration and, as she drives around the curve in the lane and sees the river, dazzling in the brilliant sunshine with its two bridges slung across its shining width, her heart leaps up with joy. How strange and wonderful is this strong sense of home-coming. She turns right by the finger post at the little junction and drives down the steep hill, crosses the lane and begins the final descent to the river.

Johnnie comes to meet her, Popps bouncing and barking beside him, and he gives her a hug, his face alight with welcome.

‘I'm glad you've come back to us,' he says. ‘I thought you might be put off, you know.'

‘Oh, no,' she says, smiling up at him. ‘How could I be? Only it was awful, of course…'

She dithers, not wanting to sound too happy when Johnnie's mother is so recently dead, but so pleased to see this warm-hearted, kindly man.

‘Awful,' he agrees. ‘Terrible. But she was ill, Jess. We mustn't forget that. Now, come in. Sophie and Oliver have gone to do a big shop in Tavistock just in case the weather gets worse, but you'll be needing a cup of tea to warm you up. Sophie says that you'd still like to stay in the sail loft even though it's so cold. She's put an extra heater in for you.'

‘But you must let me pay towards the heating and food costs,' Jess says firmly. ‘It's bad enough me coming to stay, without asking you to pay for my upkeep. Honestly…'

‘Nonsense,' he says at once. ‘You're one of the family now, you know…'

And they argue amicably about it as they go into the warm kitchen.

‘Mother hated it in here,' says Johnnie. ‘She could never see why Sophie and the children all congregate here. It's nicest now when it gets the late-afternoon sun.' He pushes the kettle onto the hotplate and turns round to smile at her. ‘What's that you've got?'

She's sliding the photographs out of her big bag and now she pushes them towards him.

‘Rowena gave them to me,' she says. It's not true but it doesn't really matter. The moment has come: it is now or never. ‘I love this one.'

She indicates the top one, the wedding photo, and he leans forward to look at it. His expression is cautious.

‘Such a beautiful girl,' he murmurs. ‘And you're so like her. I'm glad Mother gave it to you. She was fiercely possessive about these, you know.'

‘Perhaps it was because she knew that I'd never really known Juliet and Mike,' answers Jess, watching him. ‘I'd never seen any picture of them when they were young. Daddy didn't have anything. He and Mike really fell out, you know. They didn't get on at all.'

Johnnie frowns, still staring at the photograph. Jess moves it so that the other one is exposed.

‘She gave me this one, too.'

The kettle begins to whistle but Johnnie doesn't move. He stares down at the group of young happy faces and his own face grows sad and anxious. He takes a deep breath and turns to make the tea.

‘I know who you all are now,' Jess says. But he keeps his back to her. ‘This is Al and this is Mike and this one is Stephen Mortlake. And this is you, isn't it?'

He turns at last and stares at the photograph. He nods. ‘Yes, that's me.'

‘And this is Tom and that one's Fred?'

He nods and she heaves a great sigh and picks the photos up.

‘I needed to know, you see.'

‘Yes,' he says. ‘I can understand that. But do you mean to say that my mother knew the truth all the time?'

Jess smiles at him compassionately. ‘She thought she did but she'd got the wrong man. She thought it was Al.'

He frowns, trying to puzzle it out. ‘What did she say to you?'

‘She showed me lots of photos of all of you when you were young but this was the one she was leading up to. She was very clever. She hoped that I might recognize someone.'

‘Recognize someone? How could you? Well, Mike, perhaps. You might have seen photos of him as a young man, but how could you possibly have recognized anyone else?'

Jess looks at him, remembering. ‘It was a terrific shock,' she says quietly, ‘but her hunch was right. But by then I'd become suspicious, you see. She was so intense about it all; asking questions about Daddy. I didn't recognize any of you but there's one face there that is so much like his at about that age that I gave a kind of gasp and then I knew I'd given the game away. She saw my shock and I deliberately misled her and pointed to a face I didn't know and said, “Who's that?”' She gives a little groan. ‘It couldn't have been a worse choice.'

‘It was Al,' he says.

She nods. ‘She was absolutely jubilant. She was waiting for it and hoping for it, and the shock of it sent her into that terrible attack.'

‘Oh my God!'

‘I felt so guilty and ashamed. I was terrified of seeing her again and of what she would say. And when I did see her again that was all she wanted to hear me say: that Daddy was Al's son.'

‘And you did?'

Again Jess nods. There are tears in her eyes. ‘She looked so ill, but she was so happy. She thought I was Juliet, you see. She said, “It was Al's son, wasn't it?” and I just nodded and put my head down on her wrist so that she couldn't see my face, and then she died.'

Johnnie comes swiftly round the table and puts his arm round her. He presses his cheek against her head and she leans into him, weeping.

‘Poor Jess,' he says. ‘Poor little Jess.'

‘I had to say something,' she sobs. ‘You've all been so kind. I'm sorry.'

His arm tightens round her. ‘It's not for you to be sorry,' he says. ‘Will you give me just a very little time to sort things out, Jess? I promise you it's going to be fine.'

She puts up a hand to grasp his own, nodding, wiping her cheeks with the knuckles of her free hand. Popps suddenly begins to bark, bouncing out of her basket and running to the door, and Johnnie straightens up.

‘Damn,' he says. ‘That'll be Oliver and Sophie back. Are you OK?'

Jess nods, sliding the photos into her bag, slipping from her chair. ‘I'll just go and tidy up,' she says, and disappears in the direction of the little cloakroom.

Johnnie goes back to his tea-making, takes some mugs down from the dresser. Sophie and Oliver come in, laden with bags.

‘The forecast isn't good,' says Sophie cheerfully. ‘We might get snowed in. Thank goodness Jess has arrived safely.'

‘Just got here,' says Johnnie. ‘I'm making some tea.'

‘It's freezing,' says Oliver. ‘And me with my London clothes.'

‘There are plenty of spare jerseys,' says Sophie. ‘Oh, hi, Jess. How are you?'

‘I'm good,' says Jess, embracing Sophie and then Oliver. ‘It's great to be back. I'm totally determined to try to get some work done.'

‘In this weather?' Sophie shivers. ‘Not many flowers around at this time of the year. Listen, are you sure you want to be in the sail loft? There are bedrooms going spare, you know.'

Jess glances quickly, anxiously, at Johnnie. ‘I do, really,' she begins. ‘I love it out there.'

‘She'll be fine,' agrees Johnnie. ‘Give her twenty-four hours, anyway. See how she copes.'

‘OK then,' says Sophie. ‘But don't blame me if you get snowed in.'

Jess and Johnnie exchange another glance. ‘I won't,' she says. ‘Thanks.'

*   *   *

After supper, they watch television and talk about the new scheme. Oliver and Johnnie work out an email to send to Guy, setting out some new ideas and suggestions.

‘Remember,' warns Oliver, ‘that he mustn't know that I'm too involved yet. He needs to be so keen and excited that he doesn't care where the funding will come from.'

‘I should have thought he was at that stage long ago,' says Sophie.

‘We must allow him his pride,' says Oliver.

Johnnie goes off to the Growlery to send the email and make some phone calls, and comes back in time to say goodnight to Jess.

He gives her a kiss and murmurs, ‘Tomorrow morning, after breakfast,' in her ear. She smiles and nods.

Oliver and Sophie, with Popps, walk Jess to the sail loft and check that it's warm and that she has everything she needs. Sophie draws the curtains in the big room to keep it warm but, once they've gone, Jess draws them back. The moonlight drenches the room in a cold white light, which is chopped into fractured slivers in the black water. She stands for a moment, gazing on the magic of the night, and then goes quickly up the little staircase and into the warm cosiness of her bedroom.

*   *   *

Jess wakes to that strange but now-familiar sensation that there are other people with her in the sail loft. She washes and dresses quickly, then goes out onto the gallery-landing, and down the stairs into the big room, and all the while she is aware of a presence: the echo of a light footstep on the shining wooden boards, muffled laughter suddenly quenched. She turns her head, listening, but she isn't frightened; she is filled with an odd kind of joyfulness as she makes her tea and carries it to the balcony window. She doesn't slide it open but stands sipping her tea, as she did once before, watching the mist drifting above the river.

As the sun rises so the hills opposite are washed in a brilliant rosy-gold light, which slides gradually down the little sloping fields and along black hedges, chasing the night shadows, until it touches the uneven slate roof-scape of Cargreen. A small rowing boat moves out from the darkness of the walls and slips across the water. As it approaches Jess can see the man at the oars, pulling strongly, glancing over his shoulder now and then so as to avoid the few boats still at anchor out in the channel. This time he doesn't stop. The dinghy comes on, ripples spreading across the water from the rhythmically dipping oars, until it disappears from view almost beneath her.

She takes a deep breath and turns back into the room, waiting. A shadow goes past the window and there is a light knock at the door: he is here at last. He comes towards her, looking at her intently, and she stares back at him, still holding her mug of tea tightly in both hands.

He smiles, as if he has made a great discovery, and taking her by one elbow leads her back to the big window, still gazing at her. She stares too, trying to see her father's features in the face of this tall, broad-shouldered, much older man.

‘When did you guess?' he asks. He is so excited, so pleased, that her remaining fears fall away and she laughs.

‘I think it was when I first saw you,' she said, ‘rowing out of the mist and climbing onto your boat. You waved to me.'

‘But we saw each other before that,' he reminds her. ‘That very first day you were walking along the river.'

‘Yes,' she cries. ‘Yes, I remember. You were on your boat and I waved to you.'

‘You looked so like Juliet that I wanted to leap into the dinghy and row ashore to you.'

‘Why didn't you?' she asks, her smile fading. ‘I wish you had.'

He looks at her and there is sadness in his eyes. ‘Juliet forbade any contact. She said nobody must ever guess. Even when I knew that your father had come back she held me to my promise. Oh my God, there's so much to explain, Jess. Jess.' He repeats her name. ‘I never thought I'd meet you.'

‘But what shall I call you?' she asks. ‘This is so weird, isn't it? After all this time not knowing you I can't just suddenly call you “Grandpa” or “Granddad”.'

‘It sounds rather odd, doesn't it?' he agrees. ‘Can't you simply call me Freddy?'

*   *   *

They sit together at the table, looking at the photographs while Jess repeats the story she told to Johnnie.

‘Gradually I eliminated them all,' she says. ‘Al, Mike, Stephen,' – she points to them in turn – ‘Johnnie, Tom, Freddy. You and Stephen were the last ones I identified. Kate told me, but somehow, deep down, I had a strong feeling that the one who looked so much like Daddy must be you. Seeing you out on the river, rowing in your dinghy. Somehow you were always just in the shadows, emerging from the mist, silhouetted against the sun, and I could never quite see you. You came and went when I wasn't around. I thought it must be you and yet it seemed that you were the least likely candidate.'

‘Ah, but that was my strong suit, you see. I was always littlest, least and last. Young Fred, little Freddy. Nobody took me seriously. My mother was Dickie Trehearne's cousin. My father was killed at the end of the war and Dickie let us have the cottage in Cargreen and treated me as if I were another son, like Al and Johnnie. He was a lovely man. Johnnie's just like him. But Rowena always put me and my mother in the dependent relative category, you see; that's why it would have never occurred to her that the gorgeous Juliet would seriously prefer little Freddy to the glorious Al.'

‘Did you know she guessed Juliet was having an affair?'

He shakes his head. ‘I was away at sea when Mike met Juliet and got married. When I first saw her I was completely taken aback all standing. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. I simply couldn't hide my infatuation for her. To my surprise she responded to it. I never quite believed my luck.