Deep Water, Thin Ice (20 page)

What would I have done without Theo? she often thought; she’d come to depend on him so. When she’d told him what she’d done with Simon’s ashes he’d put his arms round her and given her a hug. ‘Well done,’ he’d murmured. ‘That must have been tough.’ They’d just finished hanging the new curtains she’d had made for the drawing room and the sudden physical gesture had taken her by surprise. Time had passed since the kiss by the back door and she’d consciously not allowed herself to think about it, unwilling to apportion it too much significance.

It was becoming increasingly clear to her that Theo wanted a more physical relationship with her. She sensed it in the way he touched her and the occasional lingering look, but he said nothing and didn’t press. Sometimes, between telling jokes and being flippant, he looked at her indulgently as if he was trying to make it clear that he could wait until she was ready. Her own feelings were confused. She wondered if it were possible for her to genuinely care for another man, especially when so little time had really passed since Simon’s accident. And guilt still shadowed her, suggesting that allowing Theo to be anything more than a friend would be an act of betrayal to Simon. But sometimes, lying in bed, she longed for the intimacy of another human body against her own; in the dark hours of the night, alone in the creaking empty house, she dearly missed that warm reassurance.

With Theo about to go away to the Boat Show at Earl’s Court he asked her out for dinner again. ‘I thought we’d try Chez Jacques, the bistro down by the quay.’

‘But everyone will see us together there.’

‘Does that matter?’ He sounded hurt.

‘No, I suppose not,’ she replied doubtfully. ‘It’s just that they’ll talk.’

‘So…does it matter?’ he repeated. ‘They already do anyway. People talk because they haven’t enough to do. Ignore them.’

He was right; there
was
gossip about them. She could feel it in the air when she walked into the shops; she guessed from the things that were said in her presence containing an implicit assumption that she would know where Theo was or what he was doing at any given time. Elizabeth Franklin, invited over for coffee a few days before, had referred to them as a couple and had only smiled when Alex had tried to correct her.

The restaurant was quiet and Theo was on good form, talkative, teasing. He exhorted her to let him take her out sailing – ‘You’d love it,’ he said, adding, when she shook her head: ‘Sure you would. It’s exhilarating.’

She smiled. ‘Well, maybe, sometime. How old were you when you learnt to sail?’

He shrugged. Their main course arrived and he paused until the waitress had gone. ‘I don’t know. Six or seven. But I grew up with boats all around me remember. Then Harry Downes used to take us out in his boat. The lifejacket was bigger than I was. He had an old wooden dinghy. Once I got hooked I asked for proper lessons.’

‘And Julian? Did he like sailing too?’

Theo rocked his head side to side thoughtfully, wrinkling up his nose.

‘Not so much. But Simon did. He and I used to go out together with Harry in the summer.’

‘I didn’t know he could sail.’ Alex sipped some wine. Something else she didn’t know. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

‘I see Harry quite often standing watching the ferry or the boats in the harbour,’ Alex said at last. ‘He looks so lost, as if he’d love to be out there again on the water; it’s a shame.’

‘Yes, I know. Definitely a sail short of a full rig these days.’

‘Mm. He wanders you know. I met him down by the stepping stones the other morning. He must have just walked out of the house. He was wearing a coat over his pyjamas.’ Alex remembered Harry’s agitated manner. It was the day she’d got back from burying Simon’s casket. Even though she introduced herself, it wasn’t clear whether Harry knew who she was but he’d talked to her anyway in that disjointed, distracted way he sometimes had.

‘By the stones? What was he doing there?’ Theo asked, taking the last forkful of food and laying the cutlery down.

‘I’m not sure,’ she replied.

‘What did he say?’

‘I can’t remember now. I’m not sure I understood what he meant anyway. Why?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You asked as though there was a reason.’

‘Hell, no. I was just curious about what he was doing. But he probably didn’t know himself. He doesn’t know what day of the week it is any more.’ He held up the bottle of Bordeaux. ‘More wine?’

They finished their meal with coffee and then went for a stroll along the quay.  It was a clear night and starry, the moon three quarters full and casting a flat, silver light. There was no-one else around; the holiday makers had gone home, the second homes stood empty, their windows either shuttered or yawning holes of blackness. The lighted houses lay mostly inland where the prices were cheaper. Kellaford Bridge, like a squirrel, was in semi-hibernation for the winter.

Theo took her hand, looped it through the crook of his arm and drew her to the harbour wall where they looked out on the swelling tide, at the boats which had spun on their moorings as the water changed direction and now all pulled upriver and inland, moonlight bouncing and twinkling off varnish and windows. They stood companionably, Theo with his hand still resting on top of Alex’s, listening to the slap of the tide against the harbour wall and the halyards tinkling against the masts in the breeze. Out at sea a tiny pinprick of light marked the presence of a ship at anchor for the night.

It was after eleven when they got back to Hillen Hall. Alex asked Theo in for coffee and, for only the second time, he agreed. ‘Why don’t we have the shampoo,’ he said, already reaching inside the fridge for the bottle of champagne he’d brought with him when he’d arrived. ‘To toast my going, and my even quicker return?’

They sat on the floor in front of the wood-burning stove in the snug, opened its vent to flame up the wood and, with their backs against the sofa, sat and drank and chatted. Alex felt drowsy and relaxed, her eyelids occasionally fluttering closed. When Theo spoke – odd murmured remarks about the day, the meal or the prospective work on the house – the timbre of his voice brought Simon to mind, as if he were there again beside her. In the half-world between being awake and asleep, a little euphoric from all the wine, she allowed herself to run with this dangerous fantasy.

Theo came to the end of his last glass of champagne and put it to one side. As he turned to look at her the movement made her open her eyes.

‘Penny for them,’ he said.

She flushed.

‘You’d be paying too much,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t really thinking about anything.’

He reached out to take the glass from her hand and she let him and watched him put it down beside his own. Then he put his hand to her shoulder, pulled her round and kissed her. This time he explored her mouth with his tongue, pulling her hard against him. She could feel the firmness of his body, the warmth of his hands and his face and the heat and wet desire of his mouth. He pulled away leaving her breathless and stunned.

‘You look so beautiful tonight Alex,’ he whispered, so close to her face she could feel his breath on her skin. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you, do you know that? No, don’t say no.’ He put his index finger up to her mouth and pressed her lips gently, stopping her speaking. ‘Don’t fight it. You know I am.’ And then he pulled her close and kissed her again.

A couple of minutes later he stood up and reached a hand down to her.

‘Let’s go upstairs.’

Alex saw her hand go into his and he led her out of the room and up to her bedroom. She felt as though she were watching someone else from a great height.

*

‘That should see it sorted.’

Mick Fenby hadn’t really expected an answer as such but there was no response at all from his companion and he looked across to where Alex was standing, staring out across the water and the reeds, eyes unseeing. They’d been cutting back an elder which had become overgrown and was threatening to invade and choke up one of the ditches. Alex had turned up late in the morning, pale and quiet. On her arrival she’d asked in a false, bright voice if there was anything she could do to help and when he’d suggested she could help him with the pruning she’d fallen in alongside. They’d hardly exchanged a word since. He glanced at her occasionally but she’d been intent on the task in hand, her face shuttered and pinched. When they finished it was nearly two.

‘Lunch?’ he offered.

Alex glanced at her watch, appeared to have a mental argument with herself, then nodded.

The air was brisk and cold and the Pullman was contrastingly warm and cosy. Mick had made an effort to clean the place up but she didn’t comment. He put out bread, cheese, tomatoes, a couple of glasses and a jug of apple juice.

‘Help yourself,’ he said.

And she did, though once the food was on her plate she ate little.

Mick ate vigorously, glancing at her from time to time. When he’d finished he sat back, the glass of juice in his hand.

‘I’m disappointed you haven’t noticed.’

‘Mm?’ Alex raised clouded eyes to his.

‘I said I’m disappointed you haven’t noticed.’ She stared at him, frowning. He pointed at his beard which was neatly trimmed back short against his face. ‘You said it looked a mess last time you were here, needed a cut. I looked in a mirror. Nearly cracked it. So I did something about it.’ He poked his chin and ran a hand over the short bristles; the sensation was a novelty.

Alex’s expression flickered as she took in what he was saying. She looked the beard over.

‘Better,’ she announced.

‘I should bloody think so. It took me ages.’

They lapsed into silence.

‘Not hungry then?’ he asked.

‘Hangover.’

‘Ah.’

He drank his juice and said nothing more. Alex tried to eat some more bread but in the end she pushed the plate away with a sigh.

‘I went out yesterday evening.’

Mick nodded, silent.

‘With Theo Hellyon.’

‘Uhuh.’ He felt his stomach twist. ‘Seems like you had a good night then.’

‘Mm.’

‘That doesn’t sound too sure.’

‘I drank too much.’

‘Obviously.’

Alex fiddled with the knife on the plate, pushing it back and forth, studying it as if it were a scientific specimen. Suddenly she dropped the knife with a clatter onto the plate and looked up at him.

‘Is that all you can say:
obviously
?’

‘Hey, don’t take your hangover out on me. What do you expect me to say?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said crossly. ’Just show some interest I suppose.’

‘I imagine if you want to tell me you’ll tell me anyway.’

‘Is life really that simple for you?’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’ She sighed, looked wistfully round the carriage and tossed a glance out of the window. ‘Life seems a lot simpler here anyway. It’s like going into some sort of retreat, like a monk.’

‘Except I’m no monk,’ he muttered. She allowed her gaze to rest on him a moment.

‘Have you ever done something because you were drunk that you wouldn’t otherwise have done?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Oh yes.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. Inhibitions down, you do crazy things. I clouted some guy once when I was smashed. Not smart.’ He hesitated and then added, in a quiet voice, reluctant to ask: ‘And was it so awful, whatever it was you did, whatever you’re punishing yourself for?’

Alex leaned back in the chair and threw her head back with a heavy sigh.

‘I don’t know. Yes.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ She looked at him intently with a frown. ‘Last night I …’ She stopped and shook her head again, her ponytail flicking side to side. ‘It was too soon. I don’t know why… Oh God, I’m so confused.’

She suddenly rose to her feet.

‘Thanks for the lunch Mick. I must go.’

He stayed in his chair as she grabbed her coat and left and he heard her speak to Susie before her footsteps faded away down the path. He didn’t move at all but stared at the place where she had been sitting.

Alex arrived back in London late the following day. The traffic had been a shock, a succession of queuing cars and weaving taxis, one way systems, low gears and impatient horn blowing. It had been part of her life for years but after the quiet of rural Devon for so many months it seemed alien. The decision to come back had been taken on the spur of the moment. The night spent with Theo had felt like too much intimacy, too soon, and she needed to get away. She wished she could blame it on the alcohol but she guessed it was more likely the fruit of loneliness. She wasn’t sure what she felt for Theo. She was fond of him, she enjoyed his company and she was grateful to him, but his talk of love was both intoxicating and frightening and she was confused.

So, like some sort of Prodigal Daughter, she’d returned on reflex to the comfort of a home she’d recently spurned, telling herself that she’d been planning to come back anyway, that she
needed
to go back, that it had only been a matter of time before she did so. But on the drive east her stomach had tightened with apprehension at how she would react to seeing the house again and a brief and incomprehensible feeling of excitement had rapidly given way to misgivings and misery.