Second Time Around (24 page)

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Authors: Marcia Willett

BOOK: Second Time Around
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‘I'm in Wiltshire. Oh, it would be lovely. I must admit I'm feeling silly and feeble. I shall probably cry all over you.'
‘That's OK.' Giles felt full of protective love. ‘Is there a pub I could put up in somewhere at hand?'
‘Yes. I suppose … It's a bit tricky …' She sounded confused. ‘Giles, I ought to tell you … It's embarrassing because it sounds as if … Oh shit! …'
‘What's the matter?' asked Giles, puzzled by the change in her voice. ‘What have you been doing?'
Tessa gave a deep sigh. ‘I hope this won't make you change your mind but I feel it's only right to tell you. Sebastian and I are engaged …'
‘I see. I hope you don't expect me to congratulate you.' He tried to keep his voice light.
‘Oh, Giles.' She was trying to laugh. ‘I can't tell you how much I'd like to see you.'
‘Then I'll be there,' he said calmly. ‘But if the pub's shut you may have to find me a bed.'
‘Come straight here,' she said recklessly. ‘Please, Giles. There're plenty of beds and I'm sure it won't be a problem. If you really want to come …'
‘I'll be with you in a couple of hours,' he said. ‘Give me the address and the telephone number …'
When she'd rung off he sat staring at the telephone. To his surprise the news of her engagement had served to stiffen his resolve. He had been able to hide his anger and disappointment—he had no intention of antagonising her—but now his fists clenched involuntarily as he thought of Tessa and Sebastian together. ‘Shit,' he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Shit, shit, shit!' As he packed a few things his mind was busy. It came as a revelation to him that he was not prepared to let her go. Usually he would have backed down at once, never dreaming of trying to come between an engaged couple, but not now. He knew that he was prepared to make a fight for Tessa but he would need to be careful. As he drove west, Giles laid his plans.
 
 
BEA STROLLED ON THE cliffs above the cove, her eyes fixed on the hazy horizon. It was a cold damp afternoon and the watery sun had disappeared behind a thin veil of cloud but she was unaware of any physical discomfort. Her brisk walk had warmed her and she was deep in thought. It seemed strange that she had settled so quickly here in this remote cove, far away from her friends and all that had been familiar. A few nights before, as she and Will played Scrabble before the fire, she had mentioned it to him. This, in itself, was surprising. She had come to the cove almost resentfully, simply because she did not know what else to do. To admit that it was working was tantamount to saying that there had been nothing in her previous life that was worth retaining. Normally she would not have allowed anyone to suspect such a thing but somehow Will was different. She could trust him to understand; she could expose weaknesses, put weapons into his hands, knowing that he would never use them against her.
‘I feel the same,' he'd said at once. ‘Odd, isn't it? All those years in
Geneva and now it's as if they never happened. Not true, of course. We carry our experience and memories with us. We're lucky, you and I, Bea. We had no ties to keep us from starting a whole new life.'
Bea fiddled with her tiles, thinking of Norah and of Tony. She knew that these friendships had been part of her school life and that it had been unrealistic to think that they would survive beyond it.
‘It's sad though,' she'd said, thinking particularly of Norah.
‘Rather selfish to pass people over when they no longer fit in to your life.'
‘It all depends on what you mean by “passing people over”,' remarked Will. ‘If you're thinking of Norah then I think you'll find that she's just as happy, if not happier, without you. It wouldn't have worked, you know, and then you'd have fallen out. As it is, you're keeping in touch with her. She'll probably come down to see you in the summer and the friendship remains ready to be called upon in an emergency.'
Bea sighed and began to arrange tiles upon the board. ‘You're probably right,' she said. ‘Why does one feel guilty when the right thing just happens to be the thing that one wants? I can't help feeling selfish in knowing that what is right for Norah is exactly what I want.'
Will smiled. ‘Poor Bea,' he said. ‘What an uncomfortable companion a conscience is. Cheer up. When she comes down for a week you'll soon see it in perspective.'
‘You're a cynic,' Bea had said—but she was laughing. She knew that he was right. A day or two of Norah's self-righteous whining would bring all her own intolerance to the surface. ‘But you've got a point. We're better apart.'
Will jotted down her score whilst Bea delved for some more tiles. ‘Anyone else you're regretting?' he'd asked casually.
The silence had been a long one. ‘Not really,' Bea had said at last. ‘Just … just someone I rather cared for. Married, of course. Nothing to it except my own foolish imagination.'
‘Very painful, that sort of attachment,' said Will thoughtfully. ‘Best to get free of it, perhaps?'
He'd left the question hanging in the air and Bea had remained silent.
Now, as she walked on the cliff she thought about Tony Priest. She conjured up his image but, for some reason, it no longer had the power to disturb her. He seemed remote, unreal, and she wondered that she had ever allowed herself to become so romantically attached to him.
‘Like a schoolgirl,' she muttered, ‘with a crush on film star.'
She took a deep breath, as though she would dispel all such negative and humiliating thoughts, and looked about her. So immersed in thought had she been that she had not noticed that the mist was rolling in from the sea. The sun had completely disappeared and the soft grey clouds were now pouring across the cliffs, shrouding tree and rock and obliterating the familiar landmarks. Bea knew a moment of real anxiety. Trying to be calm, she stood quite still and listened. If she could hear the sea then at least she could keep well away from the edge of the cliff. She could work her way back to the field and make her way along the hedge.
She strained her ears but was unable to hear any noise. The mist, clothing her now in moisture, had the effect of deadening all sound. Bea pushed down a tendency to panic. She had been walking back to the path that led down to the beach, therefore the sea was on her left; but which was her left? She had stopped to look about her and now she couldn't decide which way she had been facing. Bea felt utterly disorientated; afraid to go either forward or back. Tentatively she took a few steps in what she hoped was the right direction. She stepped into a hole, stumbled, and fell to her knees amongst some gorse, crying out with pain as her hands plunged down amongst the spines and prickles. Kneeling there she gave a dry little sob, raising her head and straining to hear some sound that might guide her forward. Silence. The mist flowed over and around her, thick and wet, chilling her. She cried out, her voice thin and insubstantial. Scrambling to her feet she shouted again but the clouds seemed to bear her voice downwards, drowning and muffling it. As she stood helplessly, near to tears, she heard a noise. Straining every muscle and nerve, she peered about her. ‘Help!' she screamed again. ‘Help! Please!' Something appeared suddenly out of the mist beside her and she stifled a scream. The collie from the neighbouring farm, gave a brief wag of the tail and hurried on. He had been rabbiting on the cliff but he knew it was time to start for home.
‘Wait!' cried Bea. ‘Stay! Sit! Come back. Please.'
The dog paused, looking back enquiringly and already barely visible as the mist washed over him, and Bea ran to him and grasped his collar. Holding on to it tightly she stroked his head with her free hand, feeling a measure of comfort at the feel of his warm hairy body against her leg.
‘Good boy,' she said. ‘Now then, go slowly. Good boy, then.'
The dog was puzzled but his tail wagged once or twice as he watched her with bright intelligent eyes.
‘Come on then,' she encouraged him. ‘Good boy. Come on.'
He set off again, Bea almost running at his side, but he did not keep to the short turf or the well-worn path. He was heading for the farm and he took her across country; her feet stumbling into shallow holes, her ankles scratched by gorse and heather. By now the mist was all-enveloping and she could see nothing. The dog, however, trotted confidently forward and she clutched at his collar, grateful for his presence. Suddenly he paused and braced himself. Bea, grasping even more tightly at his collar, sensed that he was about to jump.
‘Wait!' she cried. ‘Wait a minute.'
She thrust her hand forward and cracked her knuckles on the wooden bar of a farm gate. Pulling him with her she felt for the bolt, praying that it wasn't lashed up with binder twine as was so often the case. Her fingers encountered the smooth clammy iron of a thick hook and she lifted it up and pushed the gate open, shutting it carefully after they had passed through. On they went, across the cropped grass of a field laid down to permanent pasture. The going was easier now but Bea was panting as she hurried along with him. The next gate stood open and Bea found herself splashing through mud and water where the cattle had poached the path into the farmyard.
She caught back a cry of alarm as a tractor loomed from the mist beside her and she shook her head at her fear. She saw the shapes of the farm-buildings and knew that she was safely at the farm in the lane. The track down to the cove was a few hundred yards away. The
dog had stopped politely, clearly anxious to find warmth and food. Bea patted him as she released him, flexing her stiff fingers.
‘Thanks,' she said. ‘Good boy.'
He disappeared towards the outbuildings and Bea picked her way carefully out into the lane, watching for the entrance to the track. She turned into it, her heart beating fast with relief, her feet slithering on the loose stones. She realised that she was trembling, and tried to pull herself together. Near the bottom of the path she heard voices calling to her. She recognised Will's deeper voice chiming with Isobel's anxious one and, with an answering cry, she went to meet them.
 
WILL AND ISOBEL HAD been in the kitchen when the mist rolled in. Tessa had just telephoned and Will was discussing this call with Isobel.
‘I'm a bit confused,' he admitted. ‘Apparently Giles is staying with her. Do you know this Giles?'
Isobel, perched on a kitchen chair, feet on the rung, shook her head. ‘Sure it's not Sebastian?'
‘Quite sure.' Will sat in Mathilda's chair by the Rayburn, frowning. ‘He phoned us for her number, d'you see? This Giles. He's on the list she gave me so I could give it to him. It seems he went straight down to her when he heard the terrible news.'
‘It's awful.' Isobel shivered. ‘Poor Tessa.'
‘Quite. So this Giles goes haring down. Nice chap, by the sound of it.' He glanced at Isobel. ‘What did you think of Sebastian?'
She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose. ‘OK,' she said. ‘He's nice. Good-looking. It's just … I felt he wasn't quite right for her. And she was … nervous. Or something.' She shook her head. ‘I don't know. What did you think?'
‘It's difficult,' said Will. ‘I'm not sure I can judge. I'm so fond of her that I'm afraid I might feel that no one was quite good enough for her. Anyway, they're coming home together. With Sidney.'
‘Sidney? Who's Sidney?'
Will sighed. ‘He's the dog. The other woman turned up to collect her dog, d'you see, and she told Tessa that it will be some time before anyone will be thinking about what to do with Sidney. The mother lives in a flat in London and the children will be going to their father.'
‘Can't he have the dog?' asked Isobel, faintly confused. ‘What's the problem? Surely Sidney would be a comfort if they've just lost their mother?'
‘Tessa explained it to me,' said Will, ‘but it was all the least bit confusing. The father has remarried and his new wife won't have Sidney in the house. I told Tessa to bring him here for the time being.'
Their eyes met; Will's guilty, Isobel's alarmed.
‘What will Bea say?' asked Isobel. ‘She's not too keen on dogs, is she? Oh hell!'
‘I know,' said Will miserably. ‘But what could I do? Poor Tessa is in a frightful state.'
‘Perhaps it'll be OK. I could have him in the cottage. Where is Bea? Is she still out? There's a mist rolling in.'
They both glanced involuntarily at the window. ‘Heavens!' said Will. ‘It's come down a bit, hasn't it?' He stood up and went to the back door.
‘Is she up on the cliff?' Isobel followed him. ‘God! It's really thick! She'll be frightened. Oh, Will! I hope she's OK. Let's go and meet her.'
She was pulling on her coat, awful visions of Bea alone on the cliff, and worse. Will was already out of the door, much the same thoughts in his head.
‘She might have gone up the track,' he said. ‘She often walks in the lane.'
‘Shall we separate?' asked Isobel anxiously. ‘I'll go up the cliff path. You go up the track.'
‘Certainly not,' said Will sharply. ‘Then I'd have both of you lost up there.'
‘Oh, Will.' Isobel sounded frightened. ‘People fall off the cliff
sometimes and the coastguard gets called out. Well, it's usually dogs, actually, or people cut off by the tide. Should we telephone the coastguard? '
‘Wait,' said Will. ‘Just wait a minute before we get panicky. We'll go a little way up the track and, if there's no sign of her, we'll try the cliffs.'
‘But if she's on the track she'll be OK,' argued Isobel. ‘It's the cliffs I'm worried about.'
‘I see that,' said Will, more calmly than he felt, ‘but if she's on her way home it's pointless for us to go crashing about on the cliffs. Let's just check.'
Isobel took his arm, thinking about Mathilda and imagining Bea stuck on a ledge—or …
Will squeezed her arm beneath his own. ‘Let's shout,' he suggested. ‘Ready?'
Their voices sounded reedy and Isobel shivered. ‘Bea!' she shouted again, with more energy, and Will joined in with her. They stopped abruptly, each clutching the other, as an answering hail came from the mist ahead.
‘Oh, Will!' cried Isobel, nearly weeping in her relief. ‘It's her. She's on the track. Oh, thank God!'
 
WHEN THEY DREW THE shivering Bea into the warmth of the kitchen, they both exclaimed at the state of her hands and feet.
‘What's happened to you, Bea?' asked Isobel. ‘All those cuts on your hands—and it looks as if you've been paddling in mud. Your trousers are soaked.'
‘It's nothing serious,' said Bea, kicking off her shoes, and finding that she was still trembling incontrollably. ‘Honestly. Please don't fuss.'

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