The Sea Garden (3 page)

And then, on that particularly magic afternoon,
The Sieve
beat the Heron; sailing inboard around the windward buoy, and on to cross that invisible line stretched between Circe and The Spaniards, ahead of Mike and Al. Johnnie cheered and saluted Circe as they skimmed past the sea garden, heading for the boathouse. They dropped the sails and paddled her in through the big doorway, joyfully reliving every moment of the race, comparing notes.

They were too busy at first, furling the mainsail, to notice the grim faces of Al and Mike as they paddled the Heron into the boathouse behind them. Not for these two the gracefulness in defeat expected – even demanded – of Johnnie and Fred. Al snarled at Mike, who snapped back; they blamed each other, and so bitter were their recriminations that the pleasure of success was almost done away with; almost but not quite. Johnnie and Fred remained quietly exultant, tasting the first sweets of triumph, and it was then that Johnnie realized the friendship between Al and Mike was not of the same depth as the bond that existed between him and Fred. Perhaps it was then he ceased to envy his older brother.

*   *   *

And now, remembering, Johnnie sees the foreshadowing of the dangerous quality of that deep rivalry between Al and Mike, usually masked by their apparently close-knit friendship. Here the seeds were sown that flowered so disastrously years later, when Mike won the beautiful Juliet, whom Al desired. Johnnie remembers the four of them – he and Fred, Al and Mike – sailing home from another race; the raised voices, the sudden gybe of the boat and then Mike's frantic voice: ‘Man overboard!' and he and Fred scrambling from their bunks below. They searched all night but Al's body was never found.

As he slows the engine and circles the buoy, Johnnie salutes Circe as he always does, and Sophie goes forward to pick up the mooring. They are home.

TAVISTOCK

Autumn

‘I've been seeing ghosts,' Kate says, twirling the claret in her glass and setting it down on the table. ‘Up on the moor. Down in the town. D'you know what I mean?' She glances at him. ‘No, of course you don't. You're too young.'

Oliver sits with his long legs stretched out beneath the kitchen table, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other cradling his own glass. ‘The ghosts of Christmases past?' he suggests. ‘Or perhaps the ghosts of Christmases yet to come?'

She shakes her head quickly, makes a face. ‘Definitely not this Christmas yet to come. You know Cass has invited me?'

‘You'll accept, won't you? You mustn't let this talk about divorce get you down. You're acting as if you're responsible. Guy and Gemma are grown-up people.'

‘Oh, come on, Oliver,' she says impatiently. ‘You know it isn't that simple. Cass and I have been very close friends for most of our lives, since we were children. Guy is my son and Gemma's her daughter. How can either of us pretend to be unaffected if they divorce? In her heart Cass blames Guy…'

The retriever, lying beside the Aga, raises her head, watching them, then comes to settle at their feet beneath the table. Warm early autumn sunshine floods in suddenly through the tall windows and washes across the table: it glints on Kate's mobile, two empty coffee mugs and the bottle of Château Brisson.

‘And in your heart,' Oliver says into the silence, ‘you blame Gemma.'

‘No,' Kate says quickly. ‘Well, yes. Sort of. Oh hell.'

‘I know my little sister very well,' he reminds her. ‘I know why Guy insisted that they should move to Canada, leaving Gemma's tiresome ex-lover behind her.'

She looks at him affectionately; Oliver has always been her favourite of Cass's children. Behind him she sees a succession of Olivers: the engaging, manipulative toddler with his mop of blond hair; the mischievous, quick-witted schoolboy home for the holidays, teasing his younger brother and sister; the tall, elegant Cambridge graduate, an expert at winding up his father.

‘And there are upsides so far as Ma is concerned,' he adds softly, unaware of these ghosts at his elbow. ‘She misses Gemma and the twins. She hasn't much liked them being so far away. Now Gemma is coming home and bringing the twins with her.'

‘But … divorce. And what about Guy?'

‘Ah, well.' Oliver shrugs. ‘Just between you and me, Kate, I'm not sure Ma is too bothered about Guy.'

‘Well, I am,' she says indignantly. ‘He's my son. I want him to be happy.'

He looks at her shrewdly. ‘And is he happy? I've known Guy all my life and he doesn't strike me as someone who “does” happy. Brief spells of jollity here and there; the odd moment of exaltation, most probably when he's had a drink or two, but do you truly believe Guy is someone who can be ordinarily bog-standard, day-to-day happy?'

She stares at him; his observation echoes a private fear hidden deep in her heart. ‘How d'you mean?'

‘You know what I mean.'

She nods reluctantly, sadly. ‘But that doesn't stop me wanting it for him.'

His look is compassionate, but before he can speak the kitchen door opens and Cass and Tom surge in, laden with bags and parcels, speaking in unison, startling the sleeping dog at Kate's feet.

Kate leaps up to hug Cass and receive Tom's kiss. And even here the ghosts are present. A youthful tough submarine captain lurks at Tom's shoulder, brown eyes twinkling, one closing in an appreciative wink behind Cass's back. Cass's ghost is slender and sexy, tying up her long blond hair as she leans to whisper a naughty remark in Kate's ear. Oliver doesn't see the ghosts. He is moving his glass out of the reach of the toppling shopping bags, reassuring the dog, smiling lazily at his parents.

‘What kept you?' he asks brightly, beaming at his father. ‘Have you been enjoying a morning of retail therapy, Pa? Did you remember to buy a newspaper?'

‘Just don't get him started,' warns Cass. ‘Pour us a drink. Sorry to be so late, lovey.' She gives Kate another quick hug. ‘You know what Fridays are like. Tavistock was heaving. Lunch won't take a minute.'

‘Shopping,' says Tom, dragging out a chair and sitting down. ‘I hate shopping.' He eyes the nearly half-empty bottle of wine. ‘I was keeping that for supper.'

‘Kate's been enjoying it.' Oliver's voice is gently reproachful, chiding his father for being un-hostly. He leans forward, takes the bottle and tops up Kate's glass. ‘Haven't you, Kate?'

As usual, when Oliver baits Tom, Kate wants to burst out laughing. Tom's expression is a mixture of frustration, fury and apology as he protests that he's very glad that she's enjoying it; of course he is.

‘And anyway,' says Oliver, ‘I bet you've got plenty more of it. What's for lunch, Ma?'

Kate gets to her feet. ‘D'you want some help, Cass? Or would you rather Oliver and I take Flossie for a walk while you get organized?'

‘Well, I would,' says Cass gratefully, ‘if that's OK. It's been a bit hectic and I want to put this lot away. I'm running rather late…'

‘And I was early,' says Kate. ‘Come on, Ollie.'

He rises gracefully; reaches for a glass from the dresser and puts the glass with the bottle in front of his father.

‘Help yourself,' he says kindly. ‘You look like you could do with a drink.'

*   *   *

‘Why do you do it?' asks Kate, as they pass through the hall and pause on the Rectory steps to pull on jackets. ‘Why do you like to wind Tom up?'

Oliver shrugs. ‘Because I can. He responds so beautifully. Always has.'

This is true. From childhood Oliver has had the knack of outwitting his father and – to Tom's immense irritation – Oliver has never yet suffered a comeuppance. The First from Cambridge, the success of the business he and old Uncle Eustace ran together making media products and, when old Unk died leaving Oliver the bulk of his shares, the clever way Oliver sold the business just at the right moment and made a very great deal more money: all these have contributed to Tom's jealousy of his elder son.

Kate chuckles. ‘Poor Tom. It must be very difficult for him to watch you going from strength to strength with apparently very little effort on your part. Come on, let's walk up to the moor.'

The Old Rectory, across the lane from the small granite church, stands at the edge of the village only a short distance from the high moorland road, but the climb is a steep one. A few sheep scatter before them into tall thickets of gorse, but Flossie ignores them: she's been trained well.

‘I wish Ma still had a dog,' says Oliver. ‘Did she tell you that they're planning to sell the Rectory and move into Tavistock?'

‘What?' Kate stands still, staring at him. ‘Are you serious? Cass loves the Rectory. And if Gemma and the twins are coming home…'

She turns away and stares out across towards Burrator. Sheepstor is a distant scribble of grey lines above the reservoir and dying bracken is rusting on the hills.

‘Gemma will need somewhere to go if she comes back from Canada,' Oliver agrees. ‘But Pa says that if she is going to leave Guy then she must learn to manage on her own. He says that the Rectory is costing a fortune to run and he can't afford it any more. He wants to buy a small house in Tavistock where they can walk to the shops. And to the pub.'

‘And what does Cass say?'

‘Ah. Well, Ma prevaricates and says, “Oh, but how will the children fit into a small house in Tavistock when they come for the holidays?” and then Pa says that he isn't running a hotel and they can stay near by in a B & B or a self-catering cottage, and Ma says that that wouldn't be the same at all.'

Kate smiles reluctantly: she can imagine those conversations. Tom will grow more irritable, he will shout, and Cass will continue calmly to state her case – and they will remain at the Rectory.

‘The trouble is,' she says, almost talking to herself, ‘I haven't a leg to stand on, really. I left Mark for probably much the same reasons that Gemma now wants to leave Guy. That is what Cass says to me. She remembers how it was for me and she says, probably quite rightly, that if I couldn't hack it with Mark why should Gemma be expected to with Guy. And I don't have an answer.'

Oliver slips his arm in hers again and it is a comforting, companionable gesture.

‘Except,' he says, ‘that Guy isn't Mark.'

She is almost overwhelmed with gratitude. This is why she loves Oliver: he is quick to see and understand and go straight to the heart of things.

‘No,' she agrees quickly. ‘No, he isn't, is he? Guy adores his children and he's tried hard to understand Gemma's need to flirt with every available male, and even when she had that affair he accepted that it was because he'd been away so much delivering and collecting boats, and she got so lonely.'

‘It was a pity that Guy insisted on them going out to Canada. I know it sounded good, to make a new start and all that, but I think it was too optimistic to hope that Gemma would settle in contentedly with two rather strong but silent men so far from her friends and family.'

‘Mark would have found Gemma difficult,' agrees Kate. ‘She's so like Cass, and he could never get on with your mother. He was frightened of her sexuality and he thought she was far too affected and silly. He simply couldn't cope with her exuberance.'

‘But Guy can,' he reminds her. ‘Guy rather likes Gemma's exuberance, except when it involves other men.'

She clutches his arm tightly. ‘Whatever shall I do? How can I help but be on Guy's side? He's my son. I love him. And his children love him. I hate to think of all the disruption and sadness. How will they ever see him if he is in Canada and they are here with Gemma?'

They've crossed the narrow road that winds across the open moorland and pause to look down on the reservoir: a slice of gleaming water edged about with trees, deep in the valley.

‘I think,' he says quietly, ‘that Gemma's right to come back.' Kate looks up at him quickly, anxiously, but he nods, still staring down into the valley. ‘Yes. Let her come home and then we'll wait.'

‘You think she'll miss Guy?'

‘I think that Guy will miss Gemma and the twins much more than he realizes he will, and I don't think his relationship with Mark, or the job, will be enough compensation for his wife and children. If I know anything about Guy, he's a one-woman man and he loves his boys. I think he'll come after them.'

Kate is seized with a longing to believe him. ‘But what about Gemma? Suppose she doesn't love him any more?'

‘We'll have to chance that one. It doesn't sound like that to me but we'll have to wait and see. But if she stays out there it will go beyond the point of no return.'

They stand for a moment longer, then Kate glances at her watch and whistles to Flossie.

‘We should be getting back. So can I expect arguments about downsizing during lunch?'

‘Oh, yes,' says Oliver confidently. ‘I've decided to side with Pa. The shock of it will throw him completely off his stride and make him question his judgement.'

Kate laughs. ‘In that case I'll need another drink,' she says.

*   *   *

‘I simply cannot understand,' Tom is saying, ‘why Kate doesn't move back to Tavistock. She's got a lovely cottage in Chapel Street but she goes on renting that little place miles from nowhere down in Cornwall. It's crazy.'

‘St Meriadoc might be a bit remote,' answers Cass, assembling the ingredients for lunch: ciabatta bread, couscous salad with apricots, ham, and a goat's cheese flan, ‘but it's got one important asset as far as Kate's concerned. It's got Bruno.'

‘Oh, I know that's your theory.' Tom is dismissive. ‘She doesn't move in with him, though, does she? He stays in that weird house of his stuck out on the cliff and she stays in the little row of cottages down by the boatyard.'