Hidden Cottage (30 page)
At Muriel’s departure, Owen pulled out Georgina’s chair for her and, smiling her thanks, she sat down.
At Mia’s side, Jeff rolled his eyes, drained his gin and tonic with a rattle of ice cubes, and pulled out Mia’s chair with a perfunctoriness that left her in no doubt what he was thinking. She may well know exactly what her husband was thinking, with an intuition born of old, but she had never felt more emotionally disengaged from him.
Georgina was looking exceptionally pretty this evening, having swapped her usual cargo-style trousers, trainers and baggy T-shirt for a mint-coloured dress from Monsoon with a matching bead necklace and a pair of strappy sandals. ‘Doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard, does it?’ she had whispered to Mia when she had been last to arrive in a fluster of nervous excitement. ‘You look lovely,’ Mia had assured her. Georgina had confessed to Mia and Muriel the other day that since she’d been widowed, Owen was the first man to whom she had felt remotely attracted. She’d even admitted to having an extraordinarily erotic dream about him. ‘I think it’s awakened something lethal in me,’ she’d giggled.
‘Oh, we’ve all had that dream about Owen,’ Muriel had joked. Then more seriously Muriel had said that Georgina should leave it to her to play Cupid.
So here they all were, with Muriel poised with Cupid’s arrow. And watching how solicitous and charming Owen was with Georgina, compared to how boorish Jeff seemed to be deliberately behaving, Mia felt a pang of longing for Monday afternoon, when Owen had rowed her across to the island and they’d sat in peaceful isolation from the rest of the world. So blissful had it been she had relaxed and simply allowed herself the pleasure of talking to him in a way she couldn’t with anyone else. He had been right when he’d said he was a good listener. He’d been a good listener again a few days later when he’d called her late at night. She had been surprised to hear from him, but not so surprised as to feel unsettled by his call.
She thought again about that afternoon with him at The Hidden Cottage and how, when she had walked through the woods, she had questioned what purpose it served to continue punishing herself by staying with Jeff. It had seemed almost inevitable that, having briefly and tentatively, maybe even selfishly, considered her own future happiness, she should then find Eliza at home and in need of her help. It was a classic example of what she’d tried to explain to Owen – the strength and pull of family ties and that you could never be free of them. Not that she would ever want to be.
She listened to Georgina asking Owen how the runner beans she’d sold him at the fete were doing and had a sudden mental picture of Georgina at The Hidden Cottage and Owen rowing her across the lake to the island. From nowhere she felt an appalling and shameful flare of jealousy. It made her throat clench and her mouth go dry. Shocked, she reached for her wineglass and put it to her lips, realizing too late and to her acute embarrassment that it had yet to be filled.
Next to her Jeff laughed loudly. ‘You’ll have to excuse my wife,’ he said to Owen. ‘Mia’s always in a hurry to get a drink down her.’
Had he always had such a crude laugh? Mia wondered miserably as Owen glanced at her, further adding to her discomfort.
Georgina smiled brightly – but then everything about her this evening seemed twinkly bright and radiant. ‘It’s you, Jeff,’ she said cheerfully, ‘you’d drive any poor girl to drink.’
‘What’s that about a drink?’ bellowed Muriel from the kitchen.
‘It’s Mia,’ Jeff shouted back at her, ‘she’s got a real thirst on her tonight.’
‘Then for the love of God, pour her a glass of wine. There’s plenty of it on the sideboard behind you. Choice of red or white. All open. Pass them round. And, Owen, perhaps you’d do the honours with the candles. There’s a box of matches on the window sill.’
Jeff twisted round in his seat and reached for a bottle of each, and continuing with the joke while at the same time playing to the gallery with a theatrical wink, he said, ‘Will these two bottles be enough for you, darling?’
Not nearly enough, Mia thought. Oh, not nearly enough.
‘You sentimental old thing, Muriel,’ Jeff said later when they’d consumed the hottest mulligatawny soup Owen had ever tasted, and Muriel – flush-faced from the kitchen – reappeared in the dining room with a squeaky-wheeled hostess trolley, loudly demanding space to be made: ‘Gangway, gangway!’
‘Sentimental,’ she repeated, crashing the trolley against the sideboard and upsetting one of the dishes on the top deck. ‘How so?’
‘We had Frank Sinatra earlier; now we have this cheesy medley. Michael Bublé, isn’t it?’
Brandishing a carving knife in one hand and a long-pronged fork in the other, Muriel snorted. ‘Philistine! I’ll have you know this is Harry Connick, Junior.’
‘Whoever it is, it’s as schmaltzy as hell. You’re not trying to get off with me, are you?’
‘Hah! Do I look stupid? No offence, Mia.’
Mia waved the comment aside. ‘Please, offend away.’
‘Well, if it’s not me you’re trying to seduce, it must be Owen.’
Knowing exactly what Jeff was up to and what Muriel might hope would be the outcome of this perfectly orchestrated evening, Owen said, ‘Shucks, Muriel, we’ve been found out. Now we’ll be the talk of the village.’
She laughed. ‘Good-o! It’s a while since I’ve been the centre of any salacious gossip.’ Again she brandished the carving knife and fork in the air as though she was conducting Harry and his band herself. ‘Right then, roast beef,’ she said. ‘I’ll warn you now, it’s rare, so no whinging about any blood on your plate.’
While they all watched her attack the slab of meat, Owen stole a glance across the candlelit table at Mia. She looked like she was having the worst evening ever. But then he wasn’t having such a good one either. He knew he was being set up with Georgina and while he liked her, they would never be more than friends. But how to make that irrefutably clear without causing any offence? He’d never been in a situation like this before, so wasn’t sure of the ground rules, but he knew enough to know that he would have to tread carefully. Little Pelham was a small village and doubtless a number of well-meaning people had already put a convenient two and two together and the last thing he wanted was to cause Georgina any embarrassment or disappointment. He had contemplated lying to Muriel, saying he was busy tonight, but that would have only meant a postponement of the evening to a more convenient date for him.
From the CD player came the opening notes of Harry Connick, Jr singing ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’. Not realizing that he was still staring at Mia, Owen suddenly found his gaze locking with hers in the candlelight, and in what seemed like an abrupt and unnatural silence around the table, he was held transfixed by the intensity of her expression and by the lyrics of the song playing –
I thought the sun rose in your eyes, the moon and the stars were the gift you gave to the dark and the endless skies, my love
.
He swallowed and wrenched his gaze away, just in time for Muriel to pass him a plate of barely cooked meat. ‘Mm . . . That looks good,’ he mustered faintly.
‘I must say, Georgina,’ Jeff said, raising his glass to her with a wink, ‘you’re looking rather gorgeous this evening.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, with a coy bob of her head.
‘And what about me, Jeff? Aren’t I looking rather gorgeous?’
Jeff raised his glass to Muriel. ‘Muriel,’ he said, ‘you are as enchanting as ever. And that, I have to tell you, is a very brightly coloured dress you’re wearing, very eye-catching.’
‘It’s to keep me awake,’ she said.
‘It’s keeping us all awake!’ Jeff laughed.
When they’d added vegetables and potatoes to their plates and something that Muriel assured them was gravy, Owen sensed that he was about to come in for his share of attention from Jeff.
‘So, Owen,’ Jeff said, after taking a lengthy swallow of his wine and draining his glass, ‘how are you passing your time here in Little Pelham? With not working, I’d imagine you must be bored.’
‘Not at all,’ he said easily, ‘I’m loving the freedom of living each day as it comes. Keeping my choices limited and simple – it’s a refreshing change for me.’
‘That’s all very well in the short term, but in the long term a man needs more than that or he’ll go mad. A man, the hunter-gatherer of our species, needs something concrete in his life, or his existence means nothing.’
‘Are you being sexist, Jeff?’ Muriel said stoutly, refilling his glass. ‘Are you saying the same rule doesn’t apply to us women?’
‘Oh, don’t get on your high horse, Muriel. I’m merely stating the obvious that Owen is going to have to do something before too long, or he’ll lose his identity as a man and be out of step with the world. Or worse,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘become a menace in the village. A man with too much time on his hands is never a good thing.’
‘Jeff, please, leave Owen alone,’ Mia said. ‘You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘Hey, I’m just saying how it is, that’s all.’
‘It’s good of you to be concerned about my welfare and my sense of who I am,’ Owen said, ‘but I think I have it pretty well covered.’
‘Of course you have,’ Georgina said warmly.
‘Personally I think it’s terrific we have some new blood in the village,’ Muriel said, filling Georgina’s glass, ‘particularly a strapping young chap with time on his hands. It means he can get stuck in and help with whatever needs doing. We’re always short of volunteers, as well you know, Jeff.’
Jeff groaned. ‘Come on everyone; lighten up. Hey, I know, why don’t we take it in turns to try and think of a new career for Owen? What do you think, Owen? Will you let us do that, you know, just as a party game?’
Oh, this he had to hear. ‘OK,’ Owen agreed, ‘why don’t you go first? What do you see me doing in the future? What role do you have in mind for me? Apart from village idiot, as,’ he paused and gave Jeff a direct stare, ‘if I’m not mistaken that post is already filled.’
Muriel roared with laughter and slapped Jeff on the shoulder, making him spill his wine on the tablecloth. ‘Jeff, I do believe you’ve been outplayed at your own game. Bravo, Owen! I knew this evening would go with a swing. Anyone for more beef? There’s plenty of it.’
As was to be expected, Owen was assigned the task of seeing Georgina safely home.
Having thanked their host, the four of them set off down Cloverdale Lane and, more than a bit wobbly on her feet, Owen placed a hand under Georgina’s elbow. When they reached the main road, Jeff and Mia wished them a good night and predictably, Jeff – who looked very nearly as unsteady on his feet as Georgina – put a clumsy arm around Mia, pulled her roughly to him, and slurred, ‘You be good, you two.’ He wagged a finger at them. ‘And if you can’t be good, at least keep the noise down.’ The dumb unoriginality of his comment had Mia turning away from him, but it set Georgina off with a fit of giggles.
Owen slowly steered his charge across the green and up the hill towards her cottage on School Lane.
‘Thish is svery kind of you,’ Georgina said in a deafeningly loud voice, crashing the quiet still of the night – the clock on the church tower showed five minutes to one. Ahead of them, Owen saw a man coming towards them; he didn’t recognize who it was, but he was obviously taking his dog for a late-night walk; amusingly he was carrying a mug with him and was drinking from it. ‘Hello, Georgina,’ the man said as they drew level. ‘Had a good night out have you?’
She giggled and swayed towards him. ‘A slovely night, shank you, Sjohn. Have you met Owen?’ She flung a hand at Owen’s chest with unexpected force. ‘Owen, thish is Sjohn. Sjohn, thish is Owen.’
‘Hi,’ John said with a good-humoured smile, ‘good to meet you.’
‘You too,’ Owen said.
Then raising his mug at the pair of them, the man pressed on, following his yellow Labrador down the hill, the way Owen and Georgina had just come.
When they reached her cottage, Georgina rummaged in her bag for her keys. ‘They’re shere somewhere,’ she said. ‘I . . . I know I put them in. I wouldn’t have left the house un . . . unslocked.’
‘Do you have a babysitter inside looking after the boys?’ he asked. ‘Could she let you in?’
She shook her head. ‘They’re schtaying the night with um . . . with Molly . . . oh, what the heck?’ And holding her bag, she turned it upside down, shaking its contents onto the doorstep. Her eyes wide, she then looked at Owen as if thinking this hadn’t been such a clever idea. She then started to laugh like a child, or rather to laugh like a very drunk woman.
He carefully sat her on the low stone wall in front of her cottage, and in the dark gathered up her things – a mobile phone, a packet of tissues, some used tissues, a strip of paracetamol, a purse, some odd coins, an item of feminine hygiene, a hairbrush, a biro, a packet of seeds, a shoelace, a shopping list, a plastic Smurf figure, a handful of fluff-covered sultanas and lastly, and most useful of all, a bunch of keys.
After a few tries, he found the right key and opened the front door. By which time Georgina had fallen asleep with her head resting against the wall of her cottage.
‘Georgina,’ he said in a low voice. ‘
Georgina
.’
No response. She was completely sparked out.
With nothing else for it, he placed his hands under her arms, lifted her to her feet and somehow managed to get her inside, hoping all the while that no one was peering out from the cottages opposite and misinterpreting the scene.
The next morning, despite how annoyed she was with Jeff at the way he had behaved at Muriel’s, Mia’s priority was to get him in the right frame of mind to apologize to Daisy, to make things right between them. What would be the point in expressing her feelings about last night anyway? It would only antagonize Jeff and he’d claim, as he always did, that she was exaggerating, or make that other perennial remark of his, that she lacked a sense of humour.
As soon as he left the house to drive to Luton, Mia rang Daisy to tell her that he was on his way. ‘He’ll do things clumsily,’ she said, ‘but try and be patient with him; just let him get the words out. He really needs to do this. So do you.’