A Rage to Live (7 page)

The children all scrambled from the table to make ready for their day, Rosemary having told the boys she would meet them at the boathouse in half an hour. The atmosphere she had created was crackling with excitement and adventure. Even Byron was swept into it. He decided to take the smaller boat out for a short sail down the coast after he did his post and made some phone calls. Rosemary had made the weather go away, the barometer relegated to a wall decoration. Byron was in for a far more dangerous sail in those waters if a storm did indeed break. The
Sea Hawk
was a large and magnificent yacht that slept twelve comfortably;
Pigeon Pie
was only a twenty-six-footer.

Rosemary shouted after Cressida, ‘If you change your mind and decide to choose us over Kane, remember we’ll be pushing off in half an hour.’

‘I won’t change my mind, Momma.’ And she didn’t think any more about it because now Cressida understood that her mother would have made the same decision.

When Cressida arrived at Kane Chandler’s, she could hear him playing the piano. Mesmerised by the music, it was some time before she could shake off the spell it cast upon her. And only then when he stopped playing. She took the long flight of wooden stairs from the beach to the terrace two at a time. On the first landing she found a note held down by a heavy stone. It read: ‘Not today, Cressida. The weather. Kane’.

She sat down on the landing and looked up the further stairs to the terrace. The disappointment was overwhelming. But worse was yet to come. She heard laughter, a woman’s, and footsteps across the terrace, and watched a woman’s sarong float down to the beach. ‘Didn’t Carol tell you? Sex in the sun is better than going crabbing with a child. Now I’ll show you,’ Cressida heard the woman tell Kane.

‘No contest, Carol.’

Cressida felt deserted by Kane. Alone and abandoned, she could only think of running away but wasn’t even sure her legs would carry her. A sob. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but too late.

‘Did you hear something?’ asked Kane of his companion.

‘No, nothing.’

Cressida could hear him walk to the balustrade. She imagined him looking out across the beach and prayed he would not look down the stairs. He would have been certain to see her crouching there. Tears were now staining her cheeks, and she was trembling with fear of being caught.

‘There’s no sun, let’s go inside,’ he suggested.

‘Are you telling me bed is better?’ the woman teased.

‘No, bed is bed.’

Cressida heard the woman laugh again. ‘And sex is sex with you, no more, no less. And they’re never too young and never too old.’

How Cressida hated this woman called Carol, whoever she was. They would be enemies all their life. A woman who could steal a man away from a nine year old? A woman jealous of a nine year old? How could they not be?

‘You talk too much, and about things you don’t understand. I know something you do much better, let’s just stick to that.’

Now Cressida hated Kane just as much.

She heard them retreat into the house and fled down the stairs and
along the beach to get away from Kane as fast as her feet would carry her. Rosemary and Tim and Hal and the
Sea Hawk
, she would be safe with them.

But when she got to the Vine dock, only
Pigeon Pie
was moored. The
Sea Hawk
had already set sail. It was well within hearing distance so she began to shout for attention from those on board. But the still sultry morning, heavy with humidity, had changed. Now a fair wind was carrying her voice in the wrong direction. She began running along the beach following the
Sea Hawk
. It was cutting diagonally across the bay and out to sea. The sixty-six-footer’s huge mainsail was already up, the foresail, the genoa, just unfurling and catching the wind. She kept shouting, waving her arms, but the boat was moving fast over the water which was far rougher than she had realised. Frustration stilled her tears. She bent down and grabbed handfuls of sand and threw them after the
Sea Hawk
. Oh, why hadn’t she sailed with them? She watched the staysail rise and catch the wind. The
Sea Hawk
was one of the finest sailing vessels on the Cape and looked magnificent cutting into the wind. Cressida walked slowly round the bay now. There was no point in running, she had been left behind.

She walked back to where
Pigeon Pie
lay moored and boarded the boat. Trying to stem the self-pity that was overwhelming her, she waited for Byron. She would sail with him. It was the most unhappy day of her young life, but not even the pain of unrequited love nor the tears she shed could make her hate Kane for long. A nine year old’s love wounds may be deep but the scar tissue grows quickly. ‘I forgive you, this time Kane,’ she said aloud, and then nervous exhaustion took over and she fell into a deep sleep.

It was the roll of the boat which woke her when it slammed her off the cushion-covered wooden bench and on to the deck. She woke with a sense of fright that was not to leave her for the rest of the day. Not hurt, merely bruised, she rose from the deck. The winds were strong, the bay a mass of white-capped waves not quite crashing on to the beach. It was still hot, still humid, not a nice day at all. Cressida was for her age a very good sailor who loved the sea and sailing and was smart about it. The first thing she thought of was the barometer. How it must be dropping. No wonder her father hadn’t come down to take
Pigeon Pie
out. Her stomach told her it was lunchtime. She looked at her watch. It was past lunchtime. She checked that
Pigeon Pie
was secure. It was. She smiled, Byron was too fond of
Pigeon Pie
ever to be negligent about securing her.

Cressida was halfway to the house before she thought of Kane. One day, Kane, I won’t be nine years old, and then, then … she told herself. And then what? she wondered. But her little speech to herself, and her
resolve to forgive Kane, still did not stem her feeling of hurt and unease, of being left behind. Lonely, she went in search of her father.

Byron was standing at the library window looking out to sea. He heard Cressida enter the room and whirled around. She sensed his anxiety. Was something wrong? ‘Cressy, back so soon? I thought you were out with Kane for the day.’

‘He couldn’t make it. And I just missed the
Sea Hawk
. I’ve been waiting for you on board
Pigeon Pie
.’

‘I see, I was your last resort,’ he said, smiling and not unkind.

‘Well, sort of.’

‘And I too let you down. Poor Cressy. Why didn’t you come and fetch me?’

‘I fell asleep.’

‘That’s not like you, Cress, are you feeling all right?’ Byron watched her bite her lower lip. He could see she was fighting back tears. She really did have a crush on Kane. He would have to have a word about not letting her down, about promises to children.

Cressida couldn’t answer. She knew she was not all right but put on a brave face and nodded that she was.

‘Well, I’m not,’ said Byron. ‘This weather has got me on edge, I don’t much fancy sailing and I’m hungry.’

‘Me too, Poppy.’

‘I had expected to lunch down the coast at the yacht club in Chatham so I told Cook not to prepare anything.’

‘We could go to the Clam Shack.’

‘So we could, Cressy, and so we shall. A quart of fried clams would suit me fine. Then maybe I’ll take you to the cinema, if there’s something good on.’

For the first time since she had been to Kane’s house that morning, Cressida felt a twinge of happiness. It was always an occasion to be out alone with her father, and that took precedence over the unhappiness of unrequited love. People liked her father, they had tremendous respect for him and treated him accordingly. Byron had a great deal of time for people,
when
he had time. Most of the locals seemed to understand that and, more importantly, were able to gauge when that was.

While they waited for their clams, Cressida watched her father. He was talking to Mr Critcher, the plumber, and Dixi, the sometimes maid at dinner parties at Hollihocks, and Mrs Vancamp, who kept touching her father’s arm and smiling at him in a kind of secret way. Byron didn’t seem to stop moving. He kept shifting from one foot to another, or paced a few steps either way. His arms or his hands, he was always doing something with them. He was normally a very still man, it was
his mind that was usually moving. It must be a sign that something was really troubling Byron. Cressida wondered what it was, but not too hard because her father was laughing and smiling as well. He was a big handsome man and it was always a joy to see Poppa, or Poppy, or Byron (she called her father by all those names depending on his mood, or hers), to be with him. He had always been for Cressida a god-like figure, the movie actor, the pop star, idol of sorts, the daddy, the man, any little girl would like to have for her own – until she met Kane Chandler. Now both men shared that place in her life.

The clams arrived and father and daughter carried them to the car. The maroon-painted, wood-panelled Town and Country Chrysler Byron had chosen to drive that day. The top was down. Byron always drove with the top down unless it was pouring with rain or there was a blizzard. They sat in the front seat and ate their clams and french fries and drank root beer.

‘Mrs Vancamp is always making eyes at you, Poppy.’

Byron looked at his daughter and burst into laughter.

‘You don’t like her, do you, Byron?’

‘Not enough to make it matter, Cressy.’

‘She’s too obvious.’

‘That’s right, Cressy. Mrs Vancamp is much too obvious. A pain in the bottom, actually.’ And then they both laughed at Mrs Vancamp together.

‘And she acts too fancy.’

‘Grand, Cressy, not fancy. Our Mrs Vancamp thinks herself very grand.’

‘But she isn’t.’

‘Right on that count, Cressy. That’s why she acts as if she is.’

They drove into town and Byron put the top up, a sure sign he expected rain. They did go to the cinema, missing part of the first film of the double feature. When they came out it was storm dark, the streets were flooded with water and it was pelting down with rain. It was cold and the wind was fierce, whipping their clothes around them. They made it around the corner and a block away to the New Cobham Inn for shelter. They burst through the door to find the place buzzing with other people seeking refuge. Byron pulled Cressida along until he found Arthur Edridge.

‘I have to use your phone, Arthur.’

Arthur pushed a way for them past people to his office. He offered the phone to Byron. ‘Where’s Rosemary? Not with you?’

‘She sailed with the boys this morning for Provincetown.’

Arthur Edridge went pale and began to fidget. Cressida watched him. He was always a little bit more fidgety around Byron than when
only she and her mother paid him a visit at the New Cobham Inn. ‘Go with Mr Edridge, Cressida, he’ll find a table for us and order us peach cobblers and a pot of hot chocolate for you, coffee for me. But first go to the ladies’ room and dry yourself off as best you can. You look shivery to me.’

She felt frightened. It was the colour of Mr Edridge, or the lack of it, the way it had drained from his face. She thought maybe he was going to die right then and there, on the spot. For sure it wasn’t the storm. She had grown up her whole life with summer storms like this one. It never occurred to her to be frightened for her mother and brothers. They were safe in Provincetown gorging on lobster and would probably be staying the night with the Rothkos or the Motherwells or one of their New York painter or writer friends, there for the last days of summer. And it wasn’t fear for Kane. He was safe in his house. She chose to think of him there alone. Cressida took a young girl’s delight in the thought that he had been bored by that Carol woman, and she too had been sent home. Imagining Kane was sorry he hadn’t gone crabbing with Cressida brought a wistful smile to her lips. Her steps were that little bit lighter, that little bit faster. Oh, how good it felt to be in love again. She followed Mr Edridge to a table in the far corner of one of the inn’s small sitting-rooms.

When Byron arrived to sit down next to her, he seemed even less at ease than he had been when he had rushed to the telephone. He filled his cup with steaming hot coffee from a silver pot. Father and daughter gazed at each other and he reached out and caressed Cressida’s cheek. She snuggled in to his warm hand, feeling like a pussycat being stroked. She all but purred. Sensing her father’s unease, she asked him, ‘What’s wrong, Poppa?’

‘Nothing yet, Cressida.’

At that moment Mr Edridge returned to join them. ‘Have you any news, Byron?’

‘None.’ His answer was curt and he looked annoyed with Mr Edridge for asking.

Now Cressida was really frightened. Something was wrong. But whatever it was she blanked it out of her mind. Byron would hate her to be frightened. He watched Cressida eat two peach cobblers and drink an entire pot of hot chocolate. Father and daughter said very little to each other and Cressida was not surprised when Byron suddenly stood up. ‘Finished, Cressy?’

‘Yes, thank you, Poppa.’

‘Good, because we’re leaving. Storm or no storm, we’re going back to Hollihocks.’ He slapped a twenty-dollar note on the table and placed an arm around Cressida. They started through the rooms to the
entrance of the inn, Mr Edridge following.

‘Byron, you’re mad to drive through this to Hollihocks. Wait until the storm blows out. Use my office, call anywhere you like.’

‘Thanks, Arthur, but I have to be there. Rosemary might be trying to get through to me to tell where she and the boys are.’

‘I’m worried, Byron. What if she had set sail for home? What if she’s out there in all this?’

‘Jesus, Arthur!’ And Byron shot a look of disapproval at Arthur Edridge, and then shifted his eyes to Cressida. She read the look. ‘Not in front of the child.’ And then Cressida knew she should be frightened. The
Sea Hawk
and her mother and brothers, where were they in this storm? Were they safe? All day they had never crossed her mind. When the
Sea Hawk
had vanished from her sight, its occupants had vanished from her mind. She felt quite sick. All that sweet hot chocolate rose in her throat, the peach cobblers were churning in her stomach. She placed a hand over her mouth and said nothing. Byron saw the fright in her eyes. He pulled Cressida into him and hugged her. Turning to Arthur Edridge, he said, ‘Arthur, you can be such an insensitive fucker. I don’t need you to pose that question. And it’s not just Rosemary out there, my boys are with her.’