Second Time Around (10 page)

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Authors: Marcia Willett

BOOK: Second Time Around
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‘Mathilda had some strange ideas,' he said evasively. ‘I don't know quite what was in her mind but she seemed very set on having her way.'
Isobel snorted. ‘Nothing surprising about that,' she said tartly. ‘But I still don't see …'
There was a knock on the door and Tessa put her head in. ‘Hi,' she said rather shyly. ‘Am I interrupting anything, Mrs Stangate?'
‘Of course not.' Isobel jumped up and fetched another mug. ‘And call me Isobel. We were just discussing these tiresome relatives of yours.'
James looked at her warningly but she made a face at him. Tessa laughed a little.
‘I've longed for a family ever since … well, since I've been on my own. But I must admit that I could do without these two.'
‘Of course you could.' Isobel put the mug beside Tessa's elbow and pushed the milk and sugar towards her. ‘So come on, James. Tell us all about them. Don't put on your lawyer's face. We shall know sooner or later.'
James remembered that Mathilda had taken Isobel into her confidence over her will, how she had always been quite frank before her at their meetings, and gave in. He explained that Beatrice Holmes worked in a boys' school in Hampshire and that Clarence Rainbird had recently retired from his administrative post with the United Nations and had been widowed three years previously. He lived in Geneva. Both had been informed of their inheritance but, as yet, he had received no acknowledgement from either of them.
‘Geneva,' said Isobel thoughtfully. ‘Listen. Perhaps he'll let Tessa rent his bit of the house from him and he can use it for holidays. How about that?'
James sighed. ‘It's no use speculating. We must wait. No good getting hopes up only to be dashed.'
Isobel looked at him. ‘Do you ever have the urge to be wildly indiscreet? ' she asked. ‘To make unconsidered remarks? Commit yourself irrevocably?'
‘Not to two women at once,' answered James, shocked. ‘Although I have been known to have a haircut on the spur of the moment, without taking advice or making an appointment.'
Tessa laughed. ‘It's up to you, Isobel,' she said. ‘When they turn up I rely on you to persuade them. Convince them that it would be criminal to sell. I simply can't bear the thought of losing it now I've seen it.'
 
 
WILL RAINBIRD—HE HAD adopted his second name, preferring it to Clarence, on his first day at school—parked his hired car at the top of the track, tucking it well in beside the hedge, and climbed out. He stood for a moment, looking about him, aware of the drone of bees in the honeysuckle that grew in the hedge beside him, smiling with pleasure at the trailing tangle of fragile dog roses. He sniffed, luxuriating in the salty scented air and patted his pockets absently as he craned about for signs of habitation. The jolly lady at the little bakery in the village up on the main road had been very helpful in describing his route to the cove. He had made no secret of who he was, although he had not yet advised the lawyers that he was in the country, and there had been a mild if discreet sensation when he had told the bakery people his name.
Well, here was a track, precisely where the lady had said there would be a track, but there was no sign board to indicate that it led to the cove. Will located his pipe and his matches and strolled slowly down the dusty path. Cow parsley leaned out at him, its creamy crumbly flowers brushing his arms. Red valerian and sulphurous yellow stonecrop clung in the crevices of the stone wall which bordered a field of grazing sheep. The afternoon was hot and still, with a hint of thunder in the air, and the great spaces of sky, now a purplish bruised blue, hinted at the proximity of the sea. Will packed tobacco into his pipe, his eyes fixed on the blue horizon, and listened to the sea birds screaming on the cliffs.
The track dropped downwards and, as he came round the sharp right-hand bend, Will caught his breath at the view of the sea which appeared briefly before him. He found that he was hurrying, his feet slipping on the small stones, and as he came out on to the small fanshaped beach he gave an inarticulate cry of delight. He stared up at the house, swung round to look about the cove and smothered another exclamation as he saw the figure stretched out on the beach. She lay on her face, head on arms, and he studied the long tanned slender limbs and the dark shining hair that fell across her wrists.
Will stood still. He guessed that this was the tenant of the cottage and he glanced quickly at it perched on its rocky plateau before taking a cautious step forward, clearing his throat noisily. Isobel raised her head, rolled over and sat up swiftly. He took another step towards her, his hands raised in a kind of supplication.
‘I'm sorry,' he said, ‘so sorry to disturb you.'
He saw that she was older than he had first imagined but he found her tremendously attractive and smiled apologetically as she pulled a T-shirt over her head and fastened a long cotton skirt around her waist. Her brown eyes were angry but there was a touching vulnerability about her mouth.
‘I'm so sorry—' he began again—but she interrupted him.
‘This is a private beach,' she said as she slid her feet into espadrilles. ‘You're trespassing.'
‘You've been crying,' he said distressfully, seeing the marks on her cheeks and swollen eyelids, and coloured as he saw her look of outrage. ‘Forgive me. It's just …' He shrugged at his tactless ineptitude. ‘I'm Will Rainbird,' he said simply.
Isobel came closer. It was true that she had been crying. Earlier that morning, on an impulse, she had rung the cottage in Modbury and had been both terrified and delighted when Helen answered. She had countered Isobel's eager questions with monosyllabic replies, refused her invitation to lunch and blocked further conversation by saying that she must go but she would fetch her father to the telephone.
Simon had been kind but firm in his refusals to meet ‘just to talk things over' and had hung up at the earliest opportunity. Isobel wandered out on to the beach, hurt and unhappy, and had lain down hoping that the heat of the sun would relax her so that she might sleep. Instead, she had wept bitterly then drifted into a brief uneasy doze—and now here was this stranger walking across the beach, catching her at a disadvantage, acting as if he owned the place … as indeed he did.
Will held out his hand and, as she took it, Isobel found herself looking into Mathilda's eyes. The shock was so great that she clutched convulsively at his hand. The slate-blue eyes smiled at her as though they quite understood but she pulled herself together and hastily withdrew her hand.
‘I do apologise,' she said rapidly. ‘I didn't realise who you were. Just for a moment … I was asleep, you see.'
‘I shouldn't have come unannounced,' said Will, trying hard not to stare at her. ‘To tell the truth I wanted to have a look around on my own, d'you see? Just to get the feel of things without lawyers breathing down my neck.'
‘I quite understand.' Isobel, too, was trying not to stare. He could have been Mathilda's much younger brother, so strong was the likeness, and, after her initial irritation, she felt strongly drawn to him. ‘I'm Isobel Stangate. I live in the cottage.'
‘Thought as much,' said Will, though whether his obvious pleasure was the satisfaction of his successful methods of deduction or from knowing that she was his tenant she could not quite decide. ‘Not too much to hope then that you've got a key to the house?'
Isobel began to laugh. ‘I certainly have,' she agreed. ‘Though whether James would approve of what you have in mind I can't imagine.'
‘James?'
‘James Barrington. Mathilda's lawyer. Never mind. What the eye doesn't see … and all that.'
‘My view exactly,' he beamed at her. ‘You looked after my cousin, I understand.'
As they walked across the beach together, Isobel explained her role. Suddenly she thought of Tessa. ‘I'm hoping that you'll all agree to keep the house,' she told him. ‘Then I can stay here and look after you. Rent-free, of course. That was the arrangement with Mathilda. I've met your cousin Tessa. She's all for it.'
She gave him a quick guided tour of the house and then left him to it, hurrying back across the beach and feeling strangely excited and apprehensive.
Will, standing at Mathilda's bedroom window, watched her go. Presently he turned his gaze seawards.
He saw the clouds massing on the horizon and looked westward at the spiny huddle of rock on which the lighthouse stood. He felt a strange sense of belonging; a crazy desire to accept this unexpected inheritance and start a whole new life. After all, what was there to keep him in Switzerland now that Bierta was dead and he had retired? His life had been a quiet one, his administrative work unexciting—rather like his marriage. His Swiss wife had been older than he but he had been attracted by her calm blonde beauty, her smiling good-natured charm. Later—too late—he had discovered that her calm good nature masked an unthinking indifference to life but Will was a loyal man and no one, least of all Bierta, guessed at his disappointment. Their only child was stillborn and with it his last hopes of real happiness died but Will was by nature a positive man and had learned to look for those small precious moments of joy which are vouchsafed at unexpected moments.
Now, it seemed, life might take an exciting turn. His trip to England had been quite impulsive. He had been visited with a desire to have a little holiday; to take a look at this house in its cove, although he had fully expected that, having instructed the lawyers to sell it, he would return to Switzerland leaving the whole business in their hands. His gaze wandered back to the cottage. What if he should decide
to keep the house? Of course there were the wishes of the other beneficiaries to be considered but if he sold the flat in Geneva he could probably buy them out. He remembered that Isobel had mentioned his cousin, Tessa Rainbird. Tessa, she had said, wanted to keep the house. Will's hands went automatically to his pockets, feeling for his pipe as he made another tour of the house. There was no reason why it should not be divided into two flats. It would need a bit of thinking out, of course …
As Will left the house fat warm drops of rain were beginning to fall, splashing on the rocks and pocking the gleaming surface of the water. Far out at sea a fork of lightning stabbed across the darkening sky and thunder growled in the distance. Without warning the rain fell in vertical shining rods and Will raced across the sand to the cottage where Isobel waited with the door held wide.
 
TESSA SAT IN HER favourite corner of the Roundhouse, pouring a second cup of coffee from the pot which Marie, one of the Perryman twins, had brought twenty minutes earlier. For once she was not thinking of Sebastian—from whom she had not heard since that sudden appearance more than three months before—but was brooding on Mathilda and her house in the cove. She felt that she might die of frustration if her other relatives did not soon appear and make their decisions known to her. For the thousandth time she racked her brains for a solution should they both wish to sell. The small trust set aside for her would hardly be enough for a deposit and, even if it were, how on earth would she manage a mortgage? She had been shocked when James had mentioned the sum the house and cottage might reasonably be expected to fetch and now she knew the desperation of helplessness; the frustration of being powerless.
She glanced up as the door opened and her face lost its anxious look. Kate, accompanied by a tall young man, came in, glanced around and waved as she saw Tessa in her corner.
‘What are you doing here?' Kate smiled down at her. ‘I didn't
know you were around. This is Tessa, Giles. My life-saver. Have you met Giles?'
Tessa recognised him at once. It was the young man she'd seen smiling out of the photograph of the twins, on Kate's dresser. She shook hands with him and he slid on to the bench opposite whilst Kate wandered away to order some coffee.
‘I feel I know you,' Tessa told Giles mischievously. ‘All those photographs.'
‘Oh God!' Giles grimaced. ‘That's an unfair advantage.'
‘But they're very good photographs.' She grinned at him. ‘Especially the one of you on the beach.'
He laughed. ‘No point in trying to make an impression if you've seen that one.'
Kate appeared beside them. ‘What's the joke?' she asked. ‘How are you, Tessa? Are you on your way back home or have you just arrived? '
‘I'm on my way to Honiton.' Tessa moved along so that Kate could sit beside her. ‘A new client. I said I'd be there about teatime so I could have time to settle in properly. They're off tomorrow morning. I've been at the Lampeters' all week.'
‘Ah,' said Kate thoughtfully, studying Giles's face as he watched Tessa. He looked as though he'd just discovered something rather special. She decided that a certain amount of encouragement was in order. ‘In that case why don't you join us for lunch? We're going to the Church House at Rattery. It's not far off the A38. On your way, more or less.'
Giles glanced at his mother quickly, eyebrows raised. Kate smiled blandly back at him and he gave a little shrug. This by-play was not lost on Tessa.
‘Well …' She hesitated, longing to accept but wondering what that glance had meant.
‘Take no notice of Giles,' said Kate, knowing that Tess had intercepted
their little signal. ‘We're meeting my other son and his wife. Gemma will love to meet you.'
‘Which implies,' said Giles, making room as Marie arrived with their coffee, ‘that Guy won't. It's only fair to warn you that Guy takes a little time to relax with people he doesn't know.'
Tessa remembered the uncompromising stare of Giles's twin as they stood together in the photograph.
‘Perhaps he won't like me butting in,' she began, understanding the exchange between Kate and Giles. ‘I don't want to be—'
‘Rubbish,' interrupted Kate roundly. ‘It's my party. Anyway Guy is old enough now to cope with strangers. Gemma has helped no end with that side of his character. She's such an outgoing girl. Thanks, Marie. How's the family?'
While Kate and Marie talked, Tessa was suddenly seized with a fit of shyness. She stared at Giles's hands as he poured coffee and found herself absolutely tongue-tied. At the same time she felt an odd sense of familiarity; as though she had known him for ever.
‘It must be great fun working with dogs,' he was saying. ‘Mum says that you've been to Freddie's. How's Charlie Custard? I remember … '
He talked easily and amusingly and presently she found herself recounting stories of her own whilst Kate sat by, smiling to herself. Presently she glanced at her watch.
‘Mr Perryman's made some new bowls,' she told them. Mr Perryman, as well as being a farmer and carver-in-chief on Sundays at the Roundhouse, produced beautifully crafted wood-turned work. ‘Marie says he's around somewhere so I'm going to have a word with him. Back in a minute.'
She disappeared through the door that led to the artists' studios and there was another silence.
‘So you live in London,' mused Giles. ‘I've got a studio flat in Chelsea. It's tiny but rather nice. Where do you live?'
‘Shepherd's Bush,' said Tessa so glumly that he burst out laughing.

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