The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) (7 page)

Kathryn was embarrassed. She was not at all certain that she, as a married woman, should be accepting presents from unmarried gentlemen but she could also acknowledge that Mr Berkeley would want to show her his gratitude in some material way, and that something small should therefore not prove to be unacceptable. But when she opened the parcel, trembling a little, she uncovered a most expensive-looking jewellery box which, when she opened the lid, revealed an even more expensive-looking emerald necklace with a set of elegant emerald ear-rings to match. She took the necklace out and held it between her fingers admiringly
. She held
it up to the light for a moment, the better to capture its sparkle. She found it
absolutely
breathtaking.
She had never owned anything
nearly
so beautiful before
– nor anything nearly so expensive. It would have been heaven to be able to accept it.
But it would not do. She knew that i
t was quite impossible
. She could not
even consider accepting it. So, with just the faintest hint of a regretful sigh, she shut it firmly back into its box and handed it straight back.

‘It is certainly most beautiful, Mr Berkeley,’ she said, feeling awkward. ‘And I thank you most sincerely for the thought. But I really cannot accept the gift.  I did no more than any other human being would have done in exactly the same situation. Anyone would have done as I did. Your jewels are far too expensive a reward. It is not possible for me to accept them. I hope you will understand.’

Mr Berkeley’s
face fell. He certainly did not understand at all
.

‘You disappoint me,’ he said. ‘I had thought that you would look nice in them. I wish you would change your mind and take them.’

‘I am a married woman, Mr Berkeley. Whatever would my husband say if he came home to find that I had accepted such an expensive present from another gentleman?’

‘Perhaps he would feel proud of what you had done?’ he asked, hopefully.

The suggestion was so preposterous that Kathryn had to laugh.

‘I am afraid not,’ she said, eyeing him sheepishly. ‘He is more likely to throw them out of the window – aye, and me after them, as like as not. No, Mr Berkeley – it will not do. Keep your jewels. I appreciate the thought but I really cannot accept them. But please,’ she continued, seeing that he was about to argue with her once again, and taking his hand shyly for a moment as she placed the little box back into it, ‘please don
’
t feel affronted by this. I should feel most sorry – grieved, in fact – were this to place a barrier between us. I know you meant well, and I should love to have been able to accept the gift. The jewels are most delightful and would look very pretty with an emerald gown of mine. But it is quite impossible for me to accept them, much as I might like to do so. Come – say you will still be friends with me and that you will accompany me into the garden to find Bob – I’m sure that
he
will not be too nice to accept a gift, even if I cannot say the same for his mama.’

Seeing that she was determined, though still not fully agreeing with her, Mr Berkeley decided to make the best of a bad job and seek out his young friend in the rather windswept garden instead. ‘Garden’ is perhaps too fine a word for the grounds surrounding Sandsford House – rather, the house was totally surrounded on three sides by some rough hummocky grassland, save for a small area of cultivation by a sunny south-facing wall, with the g
ravel pull-in from the trackway
forming its western edge. It was here that they immediately found Bob, who was in the process of trying to persuade Mr Berkeley’s tiger to allow him to try out the curricle’s credentials for himself.

Mr Berkeley immediately swept him off his feet and threw him into the
passenger
seat.

‘Come on then, Master Bob,’ he bellowed, the delight on the young lad’s face providing a sharp contrast to the regret on his mama’s. Mr Berkeley leapt up into the curricle beside him. ‘Let’s go for a drive, shall we?’ – and, much to Bob’s evident immense delight, in a single flick of the long whip the horses set off at a sharp trot, with Mr Berkeley shouting to Kathryn that they should only be gone for
a moment, and that he would
be sure to take
care and not drive too quickly.

Kathryn could not help but smile, despite her annoyance with him. She had been right about him remaining a child himself. He had certainly not yet grown up sufficiently to know what would do, and what would not. In a contrary sort of a way it was this child-like naivety that she was finding so compelling about him. He was spontaneous, warm, generous, unfettered, doing whatever happened to come into his head at the time. It certainly had the effect of drawing her unconsciously towards him and, perhaps not for the first time, she realised that it could also make him a very dangerous gentleman
for her to befriend
.

But at least he was true to his word, for within the space of a very few minutes he was back, laughingly lifting
Bob
from the carriage and setting him down on the gravel at the front door once again.

‘Now, you go inside and see your mama,’ he urged him. ‘She may have something for you. You go on and ask her. Tell her that Uncle Andrew has put you up to it.’

Bob ran inside, delighted with the ride and full of anticipation as to what it was that his mama might have for him. Mr Berkeley followed him at a slight distance. Kathryn had retreated to the kitchen, where a kettle of water was coming to the boil. He followed Bob inside.

‘Uncle Andrew says
that
you have something for me, mama,’ shrieked Bob, running up to her in his excitement and pulling at her apron strings. ‘He says he wants to get you up for it.’

Kathryn shot him a shocked look. Even Mr Berkeley looked somewhat embarrassed.

‘Hmmm,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘Not quite the message, Bob. I said that I had put you up to it – asking for your present, you understand.’

This was such a relief for Kathryn that she omitted to censure her son for calling him his uncle. Instead, she laughingly handed him the parcel and suggested that he might open it on the table. Mr Berkeley came and stood close by her to watch
.
Bob tore at
the paper impatiently and it
was gone in an instant. The little boy’s excitement and delight when he discovered the nature of this wonderful new toy was a joy to behold. There was no way in which Kathryn’s annoyance with Mr Berkeley could survive such an onslaught as this. The pleasure of her son instantly transformed it into gratitude and he was rewarded with a heartfelt smile that truly lit up her face.

‘Can we go and sail it right away?’ demanded Bob. ‘I want to see how fast it’ll go. I bet it’ll go as quick as your carriage, Uncle Andrew.’

‘It is quickly, Bob – not fast, and not quick – quickly is the word you need, both times,’ corrected Kathryn, mechanically. ‘And I do not think that Mr Berkeley will like you calling him Uncle Andrew.’

‘Yes he would,’ said Bob, stoutly, ‘wouldn’t you, Uncle Andrew
?
You told me so yourself and I don’t have any real uncles anyway – just an aunt, and she’s really old and boring...’

‘Humph,’ put in Andrew quickly, before Kathryn could get on her high horse again. ‘Yes, I want you to call me uncle – I have no more nephews than you have real uncles, after all, and I desperately want to have one - though I’m sure your mama would not want you calling your aunt old and boring and I’m sure she’s no such thing. I think you’ll have to ask her really nicely if you want to give the boat a trial. I have a suspicion that she is not too happy with either of us this afternoon.’

Kathryn did not have the heart to scold them any more and when they both looked at her so pleadingly, with the same doleful eyes, what more could she do but grant her reluctant permission and tell them not to be too long. So off they went together, full of glee, racing each other up the trackway to the village with Mr Berkeley, as usual, seeming to get the worse of any encounter that happened along the way.

A couple of days later Kathryn had need to go into Weymouth to visit
Aunt Shepherd
and undertake a few small transactions in the town centre. Although she was fond of her aunt, and knew that she was always delighted to see her, Kathryn was ashamed to admit to herself that she always felt just a tinge of reluctance to visit her. She had to force herself to do so each fortnight by rewarding herself afterwards with the treat of a cup of coffee at Harvey’s library on Weymouth Esplanade. Although she
hated to
admit it, even to herself, she had to agree with her son that her aunt could – well – just occasionally – be ever such a little bit boring. She was quite elderly, after all, and her interests were not the same as a younger person’s would be, centred, as they were, almost exclusively upon illnesses and their remedies. But more than that, Kathryn could never go to see her without a feeling that it was all her fault that the poor woman was spending the final years of her life in the utmost penury, forced to eke out a meagre existence by making and mending curtains, sheets, blankets and visitors’ spoiled clothes, when she had been used, until only a very few months ago, to living if not exactly in luxury then at least in security and some semblance of comfort.

Kathryn, however, was never one to shirk what she saw as her duty so she took her usual route down the trackway from Preston towards the Esplanade – a route which formed one of her favourite walks. It took her first down a small valley and then up the other side, from the summit of which she could stand and take in the magnificent, shimmering view of Weymouth as it gently curved its way ahead of her. It then took her past the streams and grazing marshlands of Lod Moor, bounded on one side by spectacular wooded hills just starting to reveal their first faint tinge of green, and on the other the pebbles that marked the start of a beach which grew more and more sandy the closer in to Weymouth that she went. Weymouth had expanded greatly in recent years, with the King
’s visits to the town
, and though there was still building
work
going on, creating unwonted noise and dust, the symmetrical, elegant terraces with their black ironwork balconies looking out to sea, the brightly painted bathing machines lined up en masse on the sandy part of the beach, and the stately, impressive shrubbery adjoining Gloster Lodge – the King’s own holiday home – never failed to fill her with delight. Bearing away from the sea-front at last she duly
arrived
at her aunt’s one-roomed apartment
. This
was
at the rear of a narrow
passage
way
off a road
known as Maiden Street (an unexceptionable situation, to be sure, apart
from its inconvenient proximity
to the fish quay, which duly infused the apartment with its own inimitable odour whenever the wind was blowing in the wrong direction)
.
The bell from the nearby church was just ringing out noon as she pushed open the front door and mounted the stairs to the apartment at the back.

Her aunt, as usual, was at home
and greeted Kathryn most tenderly as she poked her head
around
the door. She was scarcely ever not at home, except when collecting or delivering her sewing. This afternoon the apartment felt more constrained, and smelt fishier, than ever. Ignoring the smell, Kathryn shared her nuncheon with her – a rather delicious-looking, albeit somewhat small, fidget pie from the pastry cook’s across the way – as they settled down to a bit of companionable sewing together.

Aunt Shepherd had not heard any of the news – of Giles’ sudden disappearance, Mr Berkeley’s equally sudden appearance, and Kathryn’s new acquaintance with Mrs Wright
. S
o once the usual exchange of health and welfare issues had been made (during which Kathryn learned of her aunt’s revived chilblains, brought on, no doubt, by the effects of the cold easterly winds which had buffeted the coastline of late, and of her no-less painful arthritis in the knee) the visit passed somewhat more entertainingly than usual. A
lthough she was a little old, Mis
s Shepherd was definitely no dullard. She picked up on the significance of all these events immediately - indeed, perhaps even more perceptively than Kathryn herself had done. She expressed the hope that Giles would soon return from Town (whilst secretly wishing that he might go to the devil) and that her acquaintance with Mr Berkeley might prove beneficial
to her
(whilst wondering whether it might
turn out
to be exactly the opposite). She was certainly pleased that little Bob was experiencing some joy for a change.

‘Oh, he is indeed, Aunt – I have never known him to be so happy. Mr Berkeley has taken quite a shine to him, I think and – indeed – to tell you the truth I think he takes as much pleasure in their games as Bob does himself. You should have seen them together on the beach. All the children from the cottages were there as well. They were
all
having
a
whale of a time. And
Bob’s
pleasure when he opened his present. His little face lit up so much – I could have cried.’