Echoes of the Dance (23 page)

Michael remained silent. It sounded as if she were trying to justify the cottage and he had no intention of encouraging her. Harriet's words prevented him from making the usual encouraging observations at moments like these.

‘Don't let her do anything silly, Michael,' his wife had said. ‘It's still very early days since David died and she's putting far too good a face on it. She doesn't seem to be grieving. Oh, I know Kate's not the sort of person to break down and weep all over her friends, but even so, I don't feel she should make a drastic change just yet.'

‘Hardly a drastic change,' he'd answered. ‘It's barely five miles down the road from where she is now and she used to live there once.'

‘That's not the point,' she'd answered. ‘You know it isn't.'

Watching Kate, unexpectedly moved by her air of vulnerable expectation, he wondered how he was supposed to prevent her from making her own decision about where she should live. She turned to smile at him, as if she were reassuring him as well as herself, and slipped past him across the hall and into the kitchen. She pulled up short and he stopped just behind her, looking over her shoulder.

‘They've taken out the Rayburn,' she said blankly. ‘Well, I suppose it's not so necessary in a holiday home and it was a solid fuel one. Jolly hard work but it used to keep the cottage aired and warm even in the dampest weather. They've made it rather ugly and modern, haven't they? Terrible tiles and nasty, cheap cupboards. I used to have the dresser against this wall and the table there, under the window. There's another room through here, isn't there? A tiny one but useful as a dining-room.'

The little room had a depressing-looking divan in it and a tacky built-in wardrobe. Michael could feel her distress as if something special had been violated.

‘It could all be taken out very easily.' He simply couldn't help himself. ‘It's simply superficial stuff. The family used it as a bolt-hole and I gather that they have several young children and didn't think it was worth furnishing it with anything that could be spoiled.'

She smiled at him gratefully. ‘It's just rather a shock. Shall we look upstairs?'

The bathroom was fairly inoffensive and, in the smaller of the two bedrooms, there were bunk beds against one of the walls. This time she showed no surprise, rather her face lit with a reminiscent smile.

‘That's exactly what we did,' she told him. ‘The twins had bunk beds too. How they loved them.'

She moved away and crossed the landing to the larger bedroom, standing in the doorway. He waited for some comment but none came. Instead she turned, her eyes blank with memories, looking about her as though she could see and hear things that were beyond his comprehension. After a moment she went slowly down the stairs and back into the sitting-room.

‘It's the same wood-burning stove,' she murmured, as if to herself. ‘A Villager. One of the best.'

Michael was unusually tongue-tied: hampered by Harriet's warning and touched by Kate's reactions he felt peculiarly helpless.

‘You'll need to think about it,' he muttered. ‘No need to rush into anything.'

‘But someone else might buy it,' she said anxiously – and he saw that the thought of it strengthened her, bolstering up her courage. ‘Have there been any offers?'

‘Yes,' he answered reluctantly, ‘but it was way below the asking price and it was refused.'

‘Even so.' Her eyes widened speculatively. ‘Perhaps they'll try to raise the money and try again. How long would it take to sell my house, Michael?'

‘How can I answer that?' He had no intention of telling her that, only this morning, he'd had an offer of the asking price for a Victorian house in Whitchurch that was very similar to her own. ‘We haven't done anything beyond give you a valuation guide. I'd need to come and see it again.'

‘Will you do that? Could you do it now?'

He glanced at his watch, forestalling her whilst he imagined Harriet's reaction.

‘Not now. Perhaps later this afternoon. Can I phone you?'

‘Yes, of course. Michael, do you think I could keep the key? I'll give it back this afternoon when you come to see the house. Please?'

‘There might be other viewings that I don't know about. It could be embarrassing.'

She smiled gently at his prevarications as if she saw them for what they were. ‘I'll drop it in at the office afterwards, if you like. I won't be too long, I promise. Half an hour? Please, Michael.'

He gave in, privately cursing at the situation. ‘Don't worry. This afternoon will do when I come to see the house. I'll phone if I've got it wrong and you can meet me here with the key.'

‘Thanks,' she said. ‘I'm really very grateful. Have you any idea what time I can expect you?'

‘Three o'clock. Will that do? I'll see you then.' He hesitated. ‘Please don't get carried away just because someone else is interested. Try not to see it in the same terms as you would an item in a sale, for God's sake. It's a big decision, Kate.'

‘I know it is. Will you bring a copy of the details when you come? Bless you, Michael. I'll see you in Whitchurch about three, unless you phone.'

It was a polite dismissal and she walked with him to the gate, as if he were her guest, and waved to him as he drove away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

She waited until the sound of the engine had dwindled before she went back into the cottage. Without Michael at her shoulder she hoped to find it easier to reconnect with the past, to conjure up old memories, and as she stood in the sitting-room she tried to ignore the makeshift furniture so as to see it as it had been thirty years before.

The cottage is empty of furniture, yet it has a welcoming atmosphere and she falls in love with it at once. It is clean, its stone walls whitewashed and the slate-flagged kitchen floor is swept: even the old cream-coloured Rayburn has been polished so as to look its best. As she walks from room to room, noticing the threadbare but serviceable carpets and doing sums in her head, her heart thumps with the excitement that builds inside her at the prospect of owning this perfect little place. Trying to contain her excitement she makes an offer and, as soon as it is accepted, she plunges headlong into mortgages, solicitors, surveyors, and all the other horrors of house-buying, never doubting for one moment that anything can possibly go wrong.

Mark has already begun his submariners' course, Perisher, and it is left to Kate to complete the purchase. As soon as it is truly hers she scours the Pannier Market and the second-hand shops in Tavistock for bargains, thrilled by the discovery of some threadbare armchairs, a deal table and – a real find – an old Welsh dresser. She spends many happy hours searching for pieces of pretty china to display upon its shelves. The armchairs are surprisingly comfortable, though they need brightly coloured rugs to hide their faded covers, and the deal table and the rickety chairs require much polishing. The final result, however, is all of a piece with the cottage.

During a visit on one of his home leaves, her brother, Chris, puts up shelves in the alcove beside the fireplace. He often comes to her rescue, doing jobs in the cottage and the garden, helped by the twins, who enjoy being his assistants simply because he makes them feel necessary and important, whether it is in the building of a bonfire or measuring up to make some shelves. It seems odd to Kate that Mark never takes any part in creating his home. Neither in his letters nor when he's on leave does he take much interest in it. Rather to the contrary, he coldly points out on numerous occasions that he's a submariner: he is not a carpenter nor is he a gardener nor, indeed as far as she can see – though she never dares to say this aloud – is he useful in any kind of way outside the Navy. In any event, he makes no lasting impression on the cottage.

Despite her expectation that he will reveal himself to her as they grow together, Mark remains self-contained and private. He needs to be in control – using his cruel tongue and cold anger to achieve it – and Kate is unable to persuade him that their marriage could be a partnership in which both are equals. Nevertheless she writes long letters to him, describing her finds in the market and how the cottage is looking and, when he manages a weekend in Devon before going to Faslane to join the submarine chosen to carry out the Perisher running, she is hopeful that he will show some enthusiasm for their new home.

His interest in the cottage and her achievements are cursory, however, and he's not even much interested in how the twins are settling in at Meavy School. He looks strained and pale and is smoking very heavily. His preoccupation with his crucial performance on Perisher is patent. She feels anguish for him, knowing that so much is in the balance here, career-wise, but as usual she is held at arm's length by his inability to trust her love and loyalty. Perhaps he fears that, if he opens himself to her, she might demand more than he is prepared to give in return. Studying this unsettling character mix of vulnerability and cruelty she is beginning to believe that she is the stronger character – yet she fears him.

When she has the telephone call from him telling her that he's passed Perisher she is so relieved that she is unable to speak for a few moments.

‘It's wonderful,' she cries at last. ‘It's terrific, fantastic! Oh, I'm so proud of you. You deserve it. Well done.'

‘There's one thing, though,' he says. ‘We've each been told where we're going. It's typical! I've been given a boat in
Dolphin
.'

She is hardly able to contain her dismay: she has been hoping that, if he passes, he'll be given command of a boat running out of Devonport so that they can stay here in their new home. A boat in the submarine base in
Dolphin
means that they'll have to let the cottage and find a naval quarter or a hiring in Gosport or Alverstoke again. Resolutely she masters her disappointment.

‘You've passed,' she tells him, ‘and that's all that matters.'

‘I knew you'd see it like that,' he says ebulliently. ‘I don't care where it is. I've got a boat and that's all that matters to me.'

The turning point in their marriage comes when he refuses to allow her and the twins to join him in Gosport when he takes over his new command. She is unable to believe that he means it. This is the first real reward of his naval career and she wants to share in it – Cass is right when she says that by this stage the wives have earned a bit of glory too – but Mark makes it brutally clear that he doesn't want the distraction of his wife and children. It doesn't occur to him that she has any feelings in the matter.

‘After all,' he says cheerfully, ‘if I'm driving a boat I'm damned if she's going to spend much time sitting beside the wall.'

‘But you'll have to be in sometimes,' she protests. ‘Surely it would be fun to be together then? There're bound to be parties and things on the boat and in
Dolphin
.'

His smile vanishes abruptly and she is exposed to the chilling effect of the outward manifestations of his displeasure: the familiar closed expression, the droop of his eyelids over the light grey eyes.

‘Not if I can help it. It's not some bloody Sunday school picnic. When I'm on leave I can come home. It'll be much nicer for me to come here than to be stuck in Gosport in a quarter. If there's anything special on you can come up for it.'

She gives in knowing that, if she insists on going with him, he is more than capable of turning it into a hollow victory. She can easily imagine the tiny public snubs and put-downs of which he is a master, and which are so damaging to her confidence. Anyway, she has no desire to go where she is so obviously not wanted. She puts a brave face on it to her friends, saying that she'll be happier in the cottage, with the twins settled in school, than in some quarter in Gosport with Mark away at sea the whole time. Only Cass and her father, the General, know the real truth.

It is the General who is her greatest comfort during the following months. It is to him she opens her heart and voices her anxieties, knowing that, whilst he is both fair and sensible, nevertheless he is on her side. This is especially comforting during these lonely days when her mother, increasingly unwell, makes the journey up to Devon less often and Kate, frightened by her fragility, is reluctant to burden her with her own problems.

It is the General who breaks the news of her mother's death. He arrives unannounced only moments after she has got home, tired and dispirited, from a weekend in
Dolphin
. It is only on this one occasion that Mark has invited her to a party on the boat and he makes it clear by his behaviour to her that he feels he has been obliged to make the invitation yet he is resentful that she has accepted it. He alternately ignores and humiliates her and only the embarrassed courtesy of the first lieutenant makes the evening bearable.

Glad to be home, waiting for the kettle to boil, she is delighted to see the General. He follows her into the kitchen and takes her hands in his.

‘You must be very brave, my darling,' he says. ‘Your father telephoned me earlier when he couldn't get an answer from you. Your mother died this morning . . .'

Shocked and uncomprehending, she is unable to contemplate a world that no longer contains her mother or to imagine how she will manage without the solid wall of unconditional love and support that has been at her back since memory began. She recalls to mind the beloved face, worn with pain but still serene, and remembers the feel of her mother's hand holding her own, touching the twins: soothing pain and drying tears. This news, coming so swiftly on the heels of such an unhappy weekend, undermines her strength and courage.