First Friends (39 page)

‘I'm sorry, Harriet.' His apologetic hug would have been lovely if it hadn't been so absentminded. ‘Honestly, this is nothing to do with you.'

‘I know.' She returned his embrace. ‘All the same, I must hang up my dress or it will look like an old rag this evening. See you later.'

She paused at the door to look back and saw that Tom was not going
to eat humble pie. He had quite forgotten her and was gazing at Cass with a total lack of affection, the kitchen table stretching between them like a battlefield.

Having gained her room and hung up her dress Harriet heard the garden door slam and, a few moments later, the sound of the lawn-mower's engine. Evidently Tom had decided to work off his spleen in frenzied activity.

As he vanished from her line of vision to the lawns at the side of the house Harriet moved back from the window and sat down in a comfortable wicker chair. The tall room was filled with evening sunlight which turned the ivory-painted walls gold and glinted on the old mahogany furniture. Harriet closed her eyes against it and let her mind rerun the old well-worn pictures: Tom and she dancing at a Christmas Ball: walking with him along some cliffs during a picnic: sitting next to him during dinner parties. Each scene and accompanying conversation was so well-thumbed that it was amazing that she wasn't heartily sick of him. Yet she wasn't. No matter how long the period between their meetings nor how short those meetings were, Tom retained a hold over her imagination that no other man she had met since Ralph's death had been able to loosen.

Harriet, who did not believe in love at first sight, had been quite content with her relationship with Ralph. It had grown out of having certain interests in common and enjoying each other's company, although not enough to preclude their having individual hobbies and friends which they continued to pursue after they were married. In fact, Harriet had always rather despised those couples who professed to be so passionately in love that they couldn't spend more than ten minutes apart without getting withdrawal symptoms. So, when she met Tom at that Summer Ball and he had taken her in his arms and kissed her—on the strength, so he explained, of his long-standing friendship with Ralph—she was totally unprepared for the wave of emotion which engulfed her. She had fallen in love for the first time in her life and she got it badly.

The thought of him possessed her. She didn't see him often enough to have any idea of the real Tom. She only ever met him in the framework of social events, where he was at his best, and from which—like any lovesick teenager—she built up a dream which in due course began to destroy the reality of her life with Ralph.

Ralph's death came as a terrible shock and Harriet felt remorse and guilt but no real grief. Self-sufficient to begin with, they had by then drifted so far apart that it was more like losing a very good friend than a husband. Harriet, knowing that she had cut him out of her life, suffered terrible attacks of guilt and had submerged herself in her work, thankful that at least she no longer had to keep up the pretence. Her consolation was that Ralph hadn't been in love with her either and, even in the very beginning, had always spent just as much time on his boat as he had with her. They had congratulated themselves on their sensible, undemanding way of conducting their relationship and mocked gently, in private, the muddled, passionate affairs of their friends.

Tom and Cass had been wonderful after the accident. It had been Tom, urged on by Cass, who had sorted out the legal side of things and had helped her to organise herself financially whilst Cass had, as much as was possible at such a distance, drawn her into their home circle in an effort to shield her against loneliness.

An old friend, with whom she had worked in London, had just opened his own estate agent's office in Tavistock and was urging Harriet to come in with him as a partner. Harriet was tempted. Although the thought of taking a partnership was a terrifying one, she knew that it was time to make a change, to take a new and positive direction in her life. A quiet country town like Tavistock would be a good place to start and, after all, she knew quite a few naval families in the area, the Wivenhoes for one.

Harriet stirred in her chair and glanced at her watch. Heavens! she must have been dreaming. She rose and went into the adjoining bathroom to run her bath, wondering what mood Tom would be in for the party. Her heart fluttered slightly at the thought of seeing him again so
soon and, flinging off her clothes, she went into the bathroom and closed the door.

W
HEN
C
ASS TOLD
T
OM
that he had made Harriet feel unwelcome she was not merely trying to induce guilt. Nick Farley was once again staying with Abby and William and they were bringing him to the party. Sarah had not accompanied him this time and Cass had been visited with a most uncharacteristic show of nerves at the thought of seeing Nick, here in her own home, at the party. Her confidence that she could continue the flirtation under Tom's eye had evaporated a little. Of course, she and Tom had had rows before but never had she known him so implacable, so unmoved by the explanations that, after Harriet's departure from the kitchen, she had felt it necessary to give him. Indeed, never before had Tom behaved so before another person with the possible exception of Kate. Of course, it was only old Harriet. Cass smiled a little as she sat before her dressing table screwing in her ear-rings. She was well aware of Harriet's feelings for Tom and suddenly she began to wonder if they could be put to good use. Most of us are flattered at the thought of someone being in love with us and Tom, in Cass's opinion, would be no exception. Would he not, at such a disclosure, be distracted not only from his ill-temper but also from Cass's plans for Nick? She decided that the situation was serious enough to give it a try. Her mind worked busily for some time, assembling various pieces of information: one being that Tom had to make a visit to the Ministry of Defence in London and another being that Harriet had to drive back to Lee-on-Solent on Sunday so as to be back in her office on Monday. When Tom emerged from the shower she was ready for him.

“Will you be going up to London by train on Monday, darling?'

‘I suppose so.' Tom still sounded grumpy. He hated being addressed as ‘darling' when they were having a row.

‘You see, I was just thinking. Harriet's got to go back tomorrow and knowing how she hates driving alone and how you hate the train I was wondering if you couldn't go together. Of course she'd be thrilled to bits.'

‘I didn't know that Harriet hated driving.'

‘Well, it's not so much the driving as being on her own. Of course she'd hate it if she thought we knew but I've spent a lot of time with her, trying to cheer her along, and she's let a few things drop. And, apart from that, just the thought of all that time together, just the two of you! Well, she'd think that she'd died and gone to heaven.'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Oh, come on, darling. If you don't know that Harriet's madly in love with you you're the only one who doesn't.'

Through her mirror Cass watched Tom's reaction with satisfaction.

‘Harriet? In love with . . . Oh, for heaven's sake, Cass, don't talk rubbish!'

‘I assure you, darling, I know what I'm talking about. A woman always knows, especially when her own husband is involved. She's been in love with you for years. I'm only amazed that you never seemed to notice it. Normally I wouldn't have said a word, loyalty to one's sex and all that, but poor Harriet's a bit low this weekend. Of course I wouldn't expect you to notice things like that, but your outburst didn't exactly help, sweetie. I've always tried to make this a second home for Harriet and I hate to think of her feeling in the way. She's such a sensitive girl.'

‘Oh, hell,' said Tom. ‘I just didn't notice. I'm sorry. But even so, Cass. In love . . . ? Oh, honestly.'

‘Well, don't take my word for it. But you just keep your eyes open for a change. And try to be nice to her. I know you always are and there are times when she's been here since Ralph died when you'd rather she hadn't. But make an effort tonight. Life's not easy for her, all on her own.'

‘Oh, hell. I'm sorry. I wouldn't upset her for the world . . . '

‘Of course you wouldn't, darling, I know that. These things happen. That's why I thought that the prospect of a few hours with you alone tomorrow would cheer her no end. And you wouldn't have to catch the beastly train. Or at least, only from Portsmouth.' Cass paused. ‘I'm sure you'd find somewhere to spend the night, perhaps Harriet would offer her spare room . . . ' (Let that one sink in, mustn't push too far.)
‘Anyway, think about it. And cheer up, darling. Can't we kiss and make up? I hate to face the evening out of sorts.'

‘Yes, of course.' Grappling with this new idea Tom obediently kissed the raised cheek. ‘I'm sorry, I honestly didn't mean to upset anyone.'

‘Of course not. Let's forget the whole thing, shall we, and have a lovely, jolly evening? I must go and see to the dinner.' And Cass left the room exulting at the success of her plan. So far so good.

W
HEN
T
OM SAW
H
ARRIET
enter the drawing room later that evening it was as if he were seeing her for the first time. He had always thought her a very attractive girl but now he really noticed the short dark shining cap of hair, the wide blue-green eyes and the long lovely legs and narrow feet. She wore a Laura Ashley dress in figure-hugging navy blue needle cord with a pattern of dark red flowers scattered across it, sheer navy blue stockings and flat navy leather pumps.

Cass was playing games at present, keeping well away from Nick, flirting in a purely social way with Alan and keeping up the pretence that Nick had been invited to pair off with Harriet. Since Tom—much to Cass's delight—was monopolising Harriet and William was trying to charm Jane out of her paralysing shyness, Nick was left with Annabel who, with great amusement, watched the proceedings through a screen of cigarette smoke.

‘You're looking very beautiful, Harriet. Can I get you a drink? Gin and tonic, isn't it?' (Cass must have been making it up. She looks so cool and remote.)

‘Am I? Thank you. Yes, please. No ice.' (I sound so stilted. I wish I could be relaxed and natural with him.)

‘I want to apologise for earlier, I was an absolute boor . . . Here, take your drink.' (Her fingers are icy cold. Can she possibly be nervous? Perhaps, after all . . . )

‘Oh, thank you. Look, please don't apologise, honestly . . . ' (He's looking at me very oddly. I wonder if he started drinking early. He was very upset.)

‘It was unforgivable and I hope that you didn't think for a minute that I'm not delighted to see you . . . ' (This is ridiculous, I've known her for years, dammit, and we sound like strangers. If only I could touch her.)

‘Of course I know, Tom. Please don't give it another thought.' (Oh God, how good and kind he is. I wish he'd touch me, I'd probably go up in flames.)

‘I was wondering if I could beg a lift from you tomorrow.' (I didn't mean to ask that yet. Christ! She looks radiant. As if someone switched a light on. Cass must be right. Christ . . . )

‘ . . . and so, you see, it was an absolute disaster, so next year we're going to try Portugal. What d'you think?' (And who the bloody hell cares what you think? You are the most boring girl I've ever met. Must have another drink.)

‘Well, I really don't know, Mr Hope-Latymer, I've never been abroad.' (Oh God, why did I come? I knew it would be awful. I told Alan that long skirts are out of date now, I feel a right freak. And this awful drink . . . )

‘Please call me William, won't you? Have I told you how charming you look? Delightfully Victorian. Let me fill up your glass. No, no, I insist, I shan't be a moment.' (And it gives me a break.) ‘Now stay just where you are, Jane. How well the name Jane suits you, very grave and demure.' (And boring, boring, boring. Now where are the drinks? I need a good strong one.)

‘Yes, all right then, thank you.' (I don't want another bloody drink and what he means is that I'm plain and dull. Look at her sitting there all over Alan. And he's loving it, the way she keeps touching his arm and his knee. God, it makes me sick . . . )

‘Come now, Alan. You can't expect me to believe things like that.' (This is too easy. He only needs a little encouragement. And Nick is watching. Mustn't overdo it, though. There's something fastidious about him . . . )

‘No, honestly, Cass, I mean it. You don't look old enough to be anybody's mother . . . ' (Why can't Jane relax? She looks so out of
place. What the hell am I going to do about her? I wish I wasn't going away tomorrow . . . )

‘How very sweet.' (I wonder what he's thinking. I'm not going to throw myself at him. Old Tom's swallowed the bait—hook, line and sinker. Well, it won't do him any harm and Harriet's old enough to look after herself.)

She smiled at Alan and rose to her feet.

‘Come along, everybody. Time to eat. Shall we go in?'

T
HE EVENING FOR
C
HARLOTTE
was a black dismal failure. Cass had been delighted to find that Mr and Mrs Ankerton were giving a party for their daughter who had just become engaged, and Hugh had invited Charlotte. She was just getting to the age when she felt that she should be included in her parents' parties and aware of, although not quite understanding, Charlotte's antagonism towards her, Cass knew that her presence at tonight's party would throw a damper on her flirting with Nick and was deeply relieved when her daughter told her of her invitation to the Ankertons' party.

‘Have a lovely time, darling,' she had said, ‘and wear something pretty. You can look so attractive when you try.'

The remark still rankled as Charlotte sorted through her clothes on Saturday afternoon. She would be herself. She would not dress herself up and mince around trying to attract men like Cass did. Anyway, Hugh liked her the way she was . . .