When Summer Fades (2 page)

Looking up from where she was slicing a lemon, Callie watched Sophie’s eyes brim with tears. ‘I thought you said were OK?’

‘I am … honest and apologies for the waterworks. It’s simply that once I persuaded Gavin to leave I couldn’t help thinking it was all so ironic. When Monty and Edna offered Mum and Dad a fortnight’s holiday in Norfolk, who’d have guessed Dad would have been too proud and pig-headed to accept? If only he hadn’t booked them on that fateful day trip instead?’

Callie nodded, handing Sophie a glass of tonic water, lemon and ice. Anxious to hide her own tears she swallowed hard and returned to the drinks cabinet. Grim faced she poured herself a very large port and lemon.

‘Port comes from Portugal,’ said Sophie, blowing her nose and slipping her handkerchief back into her pocket. ‘That’s what Uncle Monty says when he has a glass of port. I’m sure it’s a line from an advertisement.’

‘How are Monty and Edna? And how’s life at the hotel?’

‘Both hale and hearty I’m pleased to say. The hotel’s doing incredibly well, with yet another tourist board award. They’re forever begging me to stay.’

Callie frowned. ‘Then why don’t you?’

‘Because it’s summer, their busiest time of year. I’d be depriving them of income. ’

‘Sophie Fuller! Now who’s being pig-headed? Monty and Edna aren’t exactly short of a euro or two. They even think of you as the daughter they never had. Promise me the next time they invite you, you’ll go!’

Three tonic waters later Sophie paused, deeply reflective. ‘Callie … this morning … what I was saying about Gavin. Do you think there’s something wrong with me?’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Callie cried, pouring more port into her glass, this time without the lemonade. ‘Course there’s nothing wrong. You’ve simply been through a very traumatic time, plus the fact you haven’t yet met the right man. You know what you need?’

Sophie shook her head, convinced she was about to be told.

‘Someone to make the earth move, your heart pound and your pulses race,’ Callie grinned wickedly.

‘Really? Well … as you suddenly appear to be extremely knowledgeable on the subject, perhaps you’d better enlighten me. Who exactly would a certain Rose-Marie Callaghan recommend for all this earth moving and heart pounding?’

‘Patrick Murphy.’

‘
To
be
sure
,’ Sophie teased. ‘That didn’t take you long to decide. So am I allowed to ask? When and where did Patrick Murphy make the earth move for you?’

‘Six years ago on the waste ground behind the Nag’s Head. Which was just after my eighteenth birthday and also St. Patrick’s Day.’

‘It was certainly Patrick’s day all right!’ Sophie said with a wry smile, reaching for her jacket. ‘By the way, what happened to him?’

‘Who? St. Patrick?’

‘No. Idiot! Patrick Murphy.’

Dreamy eyed, Callie emitted a languid sigh and began tugging at her hair, fingers entwined in thick, wiry curls. ‘Oh, he went back to Ireland, leaving me alone with all my
wonderful
memories.’

‘Who’s talking about wonderful memories?’ Mary Callaghan called, coming in from the landing. ‘To be sure, you’re both still children. You’re not old enough to be left with only memories. Did you hear that, Declan?’

Declan Callaghan nodded and taking off his jacket, noticed Sophie was in the process of putting hers on. ‘Going already Sophie? Surely you’ll stay for supper?’

‘Thank you – but no. I’m on early duty tomorrow. Unlike someone else…’

‘It’s okay Mum,’ Callie broke in, hurriedly finishing her port, ‘Don’t panic! I’m not working tomorrow. I’ve swapped shifts. I’ll help you with the bar snacks instead.’

Pausing at the door, Sophie kissed Callie on the cheek. ‘Sweet dreams my friend and thanks for all the advice. Incidentally, you’d better remind me. When is St Patrick’s Day? Perhaps it will be my turn next year?’

‘The seventeenth of March,’ came the wistful reply.

*

Also anxious to head for home was Carlos Martins, following an exhausting day of endless meetings and phone calls, culminating in his cousin Rosa’s eighteenth birthday celebrations. If it hadn’t been bad enough having Rosa clinging on to his arm all evening, there’d also been the knowing looks and pointed comments between Maria-Clara (their grandmother) and José Ramirez (Rosa’s father).

‘You can’t leave yet!’ Rosa told Carlos, clutching possessively at his arm. Not with her stepmother lighting eighteen candles on a pink and white marzipan cake and her father opening even more champagne.

‘And Rosa must make a wish,’ the elderly Maria-Clara announced, tapping the highly polished floor with her ebony walking cane.

As long as it doesn’t include me, Carlos thought, breaking free of his cousin’s grasp. He knew only too well how Maria-Clara had filled Rosa’s silly head with romantic notions. All these whispered asides of uniting the Martins-Ramirez partnership once and for all were no longer a joke. In fact they were becoming increasingly tedious.

Ignorant of his nephew’s current frame of mind, José Ramirez was equally delighted at the prospect of such a union. He winked knowingly in his mother-in-law’s direction, and refilled everyone’s glass with champagne and toasted his daughter’s health.

‘Happy eighteenth birthday, Rosa!’ José beamed proudly. ‘And have a wonderful time in England. No more tears now. Remember what we said earlier?’

‘I know,’ Rosa sniffed, reminded of the scene at dinner when Carlos had announced the date of her departure to the assembled family guests. ‘But a year is such a long time.’

‘Nonsense. Don’t forget you’ll be home for the holidays,’ Maria-Clara retorted, privately delighted to see Carlos step forward and dab at Rosa’s enormous brown eyes with a crisp white handkerchief. ‘Wasn’t it you who pestered your father and Carlos to send you to England in the first place? I distinctly recall you saying you didn’t want to go to university like your cousin Cristovao.’

Maria-Clara refrained from adding, ‘what was the point?’ If all went according to her plans, this time next year Rosa and Carlos would be engaged and the year after that married. Carlos might be almost old enough to be her father, but he appeared very fond of her – didn’t he? It was clear for all to see Rosa simply adored Carlos.

Watching her one and only granddaughter blow out eighteen pale pink candles, Maria-Clara emitted a deep sigh of satisfaction. Yes … by the time there were twenty-one candles on Rosa’s cake, there should also be a wedding ring on her finger and hopefully (in answer to her prayers) an expected heir to the Martins-Ramirez family fortunes.

‘Don’t forget we shall only be a phone call away,’ Carlos said kindly, when the still tearful Rosa brought him a slice of birthday cake.

‘But don’t expect me to ring you Rosa,’ Maria Clara broke in tersely. ‘You know I’ve always hated telephones … as for those dreadful mobiles. Write to me instead. Tell me everything that is going on in Beckford. And if Miss Sheffield doesn’t take good care of you, I for one shall want to know why.’

‘Grandmother!’ Carlos protested. ‘Miss Sheffield runs a highly reputable agency. Having studied in England ourselves both Cristovao and I can vouch for that. Miss Sheffield’s also an extremely dutiful daughter. Which as you know is why she’s never married.’

‘Dutiful. So she should be!’ Maria-Clara snapped. ‘The woman who endures the agonies of childbirth for her offspring should
always
be treated with the utmost respect and consideration.’

Having had one glass of champagne too many Maria-Clara was completely unaware of the embarrassed silence sweeping the room. She’d not only forgotten Carlos’s mother (who’d long since deserted her husband and eldest son) but also Rosa’s mother, who had died shortly after giving birth.

‘However…’ she continued pointedly, fixing dark, beady eyes first on her daughter (Rosa’s stepmother), and then her adored grandchildren, Carlos and Rosa. ‘It is of course possible to combine both. By that I mean look after one’s relations
and
marry at the same time.’

Hurriedly crossing the floor, Rosa knelt at Maria-Clara’s feet and reached for a gnarled and wrinkled hand. ‘When I return I promise to look after you, Grandmother. And while I’m away I shall write to you every week.’

‘There you are,’ the old lady beamed, with a self-satisfied smile. ‘Haven’t I always said Rosa is the perfect grandchild?
Not
like that younger brother of yours, Carlos! It’s been months since we’ve seen him. To think he didn’t even bother to acknowledge his invitation for this evening, let alone come to Rosa’s party.’

Knowing full well why his brother hadn’t put in an appearance – ‘
Rosa’s
nothing
but
a
spoilt
,
woolly
-
headed
,
selfish
brat
,’ Cristovao had announced only last night on the phone – Carlos was anxious to leave without causing a scene.

‘Grandmother,’ he said, ‘that’s not fair. Cristovao is extremely busy studying for his exams. Surely you wouldn’t want him to fail?’

‘Of course not. Nevertheless it’s about time he started working for the family firm instead of playing at being a lawyer. Next time you see him, tell him to write to me. I shall be expecting a letter!’

‘Yes, I’ll tell him. But don’t forget you’ll be seeing him yourself before too long. Cristovao will be joining the Lisbon office in September. And as I’ve already explained to Miss Sheffield,’ Carlos lied, trying to ease the delicate situation, ‘that should make it easier for me to visit England in the autumn to check on Rosa’s progress?’

England! Carlos was planning to visit England. Thrilled at the very prospect Rosa released her grasp on her grandmother’s bony fingers and flew to Carlos’s side. Clasping both his hands in hers, she kissed him on both cheeks and gazed at him adoringly.

‘You’ll come and see me in England? But that will be wonderful! Simply wonderful, we shall have such fun together.’

Walking to the door Carlos refrained from adding that wasn’t quite how he envisaged the experience. Nevertheless, his impromptu announcement had the desired effect, that of diverting attention away from his absentee brother.

Thankfully dissuading Rosa from walking with him to his car Carlos wave goodbye, fastened his seat belt and switched on the radio. He recognised the melody almost immediately. Not only had it been one of his Mother’s favourites, it also reminded him of his own time spent in England. As the strains of ‘
A
Foggy
Day
In
London
Town
’ filled the car, he shook his head in despair. It might be a hot and humid summer’s night in Lisbon but did he really want to go to damp and foggy London in the autumn? Especially if it meant spending time with Rosa!

Reminding himself why he’d made such a rash decision in the first place, Carlos engaged first gear and drove away. ‘Right little brother,’ he muttered, visualising swirls of fog, enveloping damp and dreary London streets. ‘Don’t forget, you owe me one!’

Chapter 2

With the sweltering heat of summer fading into autumn, Sophie determined to forget all about her broken engagement. Think of new beginnings, she told herself, watching innocent young faces in a sea of navy-blue and gold uniforms outside Beckford Infant School.

Remembering how she’d clung to her mother on her own first days at school, Sophie felt dry tears prick her eyelids. Life
will
be easier from now on, she resolved. At least for the next six months. To her relief, Gavin had accepted a placement at a Sussex hospital. Free from his persistent badgering, all she had to do now was make a few minor adjustments to her life and contend with his occasional phone call.

*

‘I, for one, am delighted the engagement’s off and Gavin’s gone to Sussex,’ Camilla Markham announced sniffily to her mother. ‘Sophie Fuller was hardly N.Q.O.C.D. Goodness knows what Gavin saw in her.’

Frederick Markham laid down his copy of
The
Lancet
and peered across the breakfast table. ‘N.Q.O. what?’

‘N.Q.O.C.D., Frederick,’ his wife replied. ‘Which means…’

‘Not Quite Our Class Darling,’ Camilla interrupted.

‘I beg your pardon!’ Frederick snapped angrily, turning to his wife and daughter. ‘Then all I can say is Sophie Fuller is well out of it, if that’s the kind of welcome she’d receive by marrying into this family!’

Eyeing a wedding photo of his eldest son, Frederick’s face was as black as thunder. ‘In my opinion – not that it ever matters much round here – I was looking forward to having Sophie as a daughter in law. She’s a perfectly charming and sweet natured young woman, not like that stuck up creature married to Henry!’

Anxious to draw attention away from the errant Henry and his wife, Antonia Markham poured her husband a coffee, shot a warning glance at her daughter and quickly changed the subject.

*

In a much smaller house on the outskirts of Beckford Heath, Celia Sheffield hung up the phone, hurriedly lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

‘Oh, Lord! I need this like I need a hole in the head, especially as it’s Friday.’

‘What's that dear?’ Her elderly mother called from an armchair.

‘That was one of my students, recently arrived from Portugal. What on earth am I going to do? She’s not at all happy with her family placement.’

‘Isn't she dear? How peculiar, you've never had any complaints before. You always take such care. Perhaps she's just being fussy?’

Too preoccupied to reply, Celia drummed her fingers against the ashtray.

‘Didn’t you say,’ her mother began, curious. ‘This latest group came from particularly wealthy families? Well, Celia dear, Beckford might boast a highly reputable language school, but it’s hardly Lisbon or that delightful place in the Algarve. You remember? Your father and I went there with the Fullers, years ago.’

Celia brightened. ‘That’s it! Sophie Fuller! Mother, you’re a genius.’

‘Am I dear? How strange, that wasn’t what you said the other day.’

Choosing to ignore her mother’s ramblings, Celia strode purposefully to the phone and made a less than confident return.

‘No luck?’ Doreen Sheffield enquired. ‘Of course I’m not surprised, Sophie’s far too busy to take in lodgers and her flat’s much too small for—’

‘No, Mother, Sophie is
not
too busy to take in ... and do please remember they are paying guests! Quite simply, Sophie is not at home. I'll ring her later. In the meantime I suggest you finish your packing.’

Reminded of the promised trip to visit her sister in Frinton, Doreen tottered away, muttering something about Sophie’s council flat being totally unsuitable. Watching her go Celia stubbed out her cigarette and walked to the filing cabinet.

‘Rosa Ramirez,’ she sighed, taking out a folder. ‘Of all people it would have to be you!’

Draining the last dregs of coffee from her cup, Celia dropped the open file on the table and offered up a silent prayer. Whatever else happened with this current group of students, nothing must go wrong for Rosa Ramirez, particularly as she’d had what appeared to be half the Ramirez family on the phone prior to Rosa’s arrival. Although  … wasn’t Carlos from the Martins side of the Martins-Ramirez family partnership?

‘Carlos and Cristovao Martins,’ she mused, dewy eyed ‘Such charming, handsome boys.’

Cristovao Martins she remembered from summer school three years ago, whereas Carlos (his older brother) had studied for a whole year in Beckford before returning to join the family firm. Goodness! How time flies! If Cristovao was over here three years ago it must be at least ten , if not more, since Carlos was in Beckford.

Pushing thoughts of Carlos to the back of her mind Celia looked anxiously at the clock on the mantel piece, it was nine o'clock. By now Rosa Ramirez should be attending morning lectures and after lunch visiting a museum. Reaching for another cigarette Celia concluded that all she could hope for was that by the time Rosa returned from school, she might be persuaded to return to her host family. Failing that...

Failing that, what will you do? She thought, miserably. Because, at the moment, the only possible alternative lay with Sophie Fuller; Sophie, who after a hectic day in casualty, probably wouldn’t take at all kindly to her request.

Seeing her mother reappear in the doorway and desperate for reassurance, Celia announced. ‘I shall only be asking Sophie to have Rosa for the weekend. That's not expecting too much, is it?’

‘No dear, of course not. And as I'm packed and ready to go, we can leave before lunch as planned.’

With a sideways glance at Rosa’s file, Celia shook her head. ‘I’m afraid we can't Mother, not until this matter is settled. Can you please ring Aunt Jinny? Pass on my apologies and tell her we’ll be late.’

*

Rosa’s expressive brown eyes, veiled by thick, dark lashes, quickly took in the distressed appearance of Celia’s post-war semi and equally neglected hanging baskets. Suddenly homesick and choking back tears, she spied all that remained of some withered, trailing lobelia and a sad, ivy-leafed geranium. Back home in Portugal there wouldn’t be any dead and withering flowers. In fact, at both at her parents’ Lisbon apartment and their summer villa, there would be tubs and window boxes in profusion.

‘Here we are Rosa,’ Celia called. ‘Do make yourself at home. Mother will make us a cup of tea, while I ring Sophie.’

‘But I not stay here!’ Rosa protested, walking into the dingy hallway.

‘No, of course not,’ Celia replied, panicking and pointed to the sitting room. ‘You go and sit in there. First we’ll have tea, then I’ll get Sophie —’

‘
Sofee
? Ah, I see. The sofa! Yes, I sit on sofa and then we go. I not stay here! It eez too...’ Rosa tossed her head in disgust and frustration. As yet her English vocabulary wasn't up to describing the neat, yet drab, interior of Celia’s house. Where she’d been staying certainly met with the required standards of the Martins-Ramirez family. Sadly, the attention of the host’s eldest son was not!

She’s a very beautiful girl,’ Doreen observed, pouring strong tea into green earthenware cups. ‘How old did you say she was?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘Hmph! Eighteen going on twenty-eight, more like. With a skirt that short, she’s asking for trouble, and the size of those
bassooms
!
’

‘Mother! Really!’ Celia hissed, conscious that she was sadly lacking in the
bassoom
department herself. Shuddering at her mother’s frequently repeated remedy for
a
decent
pair
of
bassooms
i.e. getting married and having children, Celia turned her attention to her adoptive family of students and more importantly, the matter in hand. What to do with Rosa Ramirez?

*

In his Lisbon office Carlos paced the floor and turned anxiously towards his secretary, ‘You say there isn't a fault on the line? Which can only mean it’s permanently engaged. Miss Sheffield must surely get off the phone at some point. Meanwhile, if I’m to catch my flight I must leave for the airport immediately. I suggest you keep trying the number. Find out why Rosa is no longer staying with the Hamiltons and ring me as soon as you can. Whatever happens do not let her parents know I’ve been unable to trace her. I’m only thankful our grandmother never uses the phone. Is my car ready?’

‘
Sim
Senhor
Martins
,’ the secretary replied, passing Carlos his briefcase and airline ticket, ‘The driver is waiting in reception.’

*

‘Sophie. At last! It’s Celia. Thank heavens I’ve managed to catch you. My dear, you should really get yourself an answerphone.’

‘Celia?’ Exhausted from having been rushed off her feet in casualty, followed by the usual Friday night battle in the supermarket, Sophie took a few moments to register her caller’s identity. ‘Celia! How are you? How’s your mother? It must be a year since her fall. I really must call round some time. Perhaps next week we can—?’

‘Mother’s fine,’ Celia interrupted. ‘We’re both fine. In fact we’re going away for the weekend, which is why I’m ringing. I was wondering if you could do me a favour?’

‘You mean the budgie? Of course I’ll have him. Shall I pop over now or would you like to drop him off on the way?’

There was an embarrassed silence. How best could Celia explain that it wasn’t Joey the budgie she intended to drop off on the way! She paused, deeply pensive. For want of a better description it was a human
bird
she wanted to leave in Sophie’s care. A human
bird
called Rosa, who at this very moment was sitting with exceedingly ruffled feathers, having had to listen to her mother chattering away like the proverbial parrot!

   ‘It’s not exactly the budgie, Sophie,’ Celia whispered in hushed tones. ‘Joey left his perch and flew off this mortal coil weeks ago. It’s Rosa who needs looking after and I wondered if you'd mind having her? Only for the weekend of course.’

‘Rosa?’ Sophie queried, slipping sore and aching feet from her shoes.

Hooking one of her own feet against the hall door Celia drew it towards her, anxious Rosa shouldn’t overhear, ‘Rosa Ramirez – one of my new student placements. She’s had a particularly unpleasant experience, which I’d rather not go into now. Suffice to say she can’t and won’t stay with the Hamiltons. And ... as I’ve promised to take Mother away you’re the only person I could trust.’

‘Celia! Victoria Villas is hardly suitable for...’

‘I know. But it’s just for the weekend. I’m only asking because I’m
so
desperate.’

‘You must be! Because since I last saw you I’ve had two ladies of the night move in to the flat opposite. What on earth would this – er – Rosa’s family say if they knew their daughter was sharing the same landing with Lottie and Pearl?'

‘They won’t – will they?’ Celia said in despair. ‘Look, all I’m asking is that you keep an eye on Rosa for a couple of days, and then see her safely to school on Monday morning. When I return I promise I’ll arrange for another family to have her. I’ve already told Rosa I’ll meet her from school and take her there myself on Monday evening.’

*

Striding through the airport, Carlos stabbed furiously at the keypad on his mobile. Surely there’d been a mistake? According to his secretary (who’d spoken to Miss Sheffield’s mother) Rosa was no longer with them either. Mother and daughter were even going away for the weekend!

‘Hello!’ he called, deeply irritated. ‘This is Carlos Martins. I wish to speak with Miss Sheffield about my cousin Rosa Ramirez.’

Disregarding the urgency in the caller’s voice, Doreen Sheffield expressed surprise, ‘Ooh, she’s not here, dear, not any more. Celia’s taken her to Sophie’s. We’re away for the weekend, you see … but don’t worry.’

Don’t
worry
! Carlos thought, angrily. How could this woman say,
don’t
worry
!

‘Like I said, don’t you go worrying about your little cousin,’ Doreen reiterated. ‘Only she’s not so little is she? In fact, she reminds me of that lovely Italian actress. Now … what
is
her name? Though I don’t suppose you’d know who I was talking about, especially with you coming from Portugal. Wait a minute! Wasn’t she a Sophie too?’

Carlos didn’t want to wait a minute. He couldn’t afford to. His flight was already boarding. ‘Please!’ he begged, realising it would do no good to lose his temper. ‘If you could give me this – er – Sophie’s telephone number? I have to catch my plane.’

‘Then you’d better go Mr Martini. I’ll tell Celia you called and I expect Rosa will ring you from Sophie’s, she’s a pretty little girl too. Such a shame about her father’s business and that dreadful accident…’ In her bewilderment Doreen studied the handset of the phone. How very peculiar, the line had gone suddenly dead.

With an exasperated sigh Carlos switched off his mobile and hurried for the departure gate.

*

‘So you see Rosa, you’ll be perfectly safe here. It’s only for the weekend and Sophie will take good care of you. I’ll collect you after lessons on Monday. Is that clear?’