An Ocean Apart (24 page)

For a moment Clive held his pen above the paper while he contemplated this. “So, no problem.” He started to write again. “How would it be if I just used this as your contact address, and if you do happen to move, you can always let me know.”

“That's fine. Thanks.”

“Okay—now, what's the next question? Ah, yes—are you married?”

David took in a deep breath. “No—no, I'm not. I'm not married.” He exhaled with a sigh of relief. He had done it. The moment had passed.

“Now, what else?” Clive continued. “Ah yes—hobbies.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Hobbies. Have you got any hobbies?”

Seeing that David was a little mystified by the question, Clive put down his pen on the table and leaned back in the sofa.

“I know that it might seem a little strange to ask a question like that, but it's just one of my eccentric little rules to try to learn as much as I can about a prospective employee. I just think that finding out about an individual's hobbies gives such a wonderful indication of his or her character.” He pulled a face and placed both hands theatrically across his chest. “I mean, can you imagine how dreadful it would be if I ended up employing a serial killer!”

David smiled at the man, warming to his cosy antics. “Okay. Right. Hobbies. Well—I play tennis and a bit of golf—and I shoot.”

Clive, who had resumed his writing, stopped, and looked slowly round to David, a startled expression on his face.

“No, sorry,” David said, shaking his head, realizing that Clive had thought that his worst nightmare might have been fulfilled. “Forget that. It was rather a stupid thing to say. What else do I do?—Oh yes, right, I play the guitar rather badly.”

“Classical, folk or pop?”

“What?”

“Sorry! My turn to be silly.” Clive let out a short laugh and squeezed his hands self-consciously between his clenched knees. “It's just that I have been known to strum a little myself, though I'm far from contemporary. I'm really most partial to Peter, Paul and Mary, because they use such easy chord changes.”

There was a moment of silence while he waited for David to make some sort of comment, but none was forthcoming.

“Anyway,” he continued airily, bending forward once more over the questionnaire. “Let's get on with this. I think that's just about it.” He gave it a final check-through, put his pen back in its holder, and jumped to his feet.

“There! So much for the formalities. Now let's go over and see what Dotti can come up with on her screen of wisdom.”

David got up from the sofa and followed Clive over to the girl with the computer.

“Okay, Dotti,” Clive said, leaning over the girl's shoulder. “As you are now no doubt aware, this is David.”

The girl looked up at David, pushing her spectacles as far up onto her nose as possible with an index finger, and gave him a shy smile before returning to her screen. Clive put the completed questionnaire in front of her.

“These are his particulars, which you can enter later. Now we want to find David a job as a handyman, so let's bring up that file and see what we've got.”

Dotti slid her mouse around the desk, clicking furiously. As the information came up, Clive scanned the screen while Dotti flicked down the list.

“We need to find something in this neck of the woods, don't we … okay.… Stop there, Dotti! That's it there! Newman.” He turned to David. “They're new clients, David, I haven't yet supplied them with anyone.” He turned back to the screen. “Where are they, Dotti?”

“Barker Lane,” Dotti said.

“Yeah, that would be just perfect. Judging from the address, I reckon that their house would be somewhere down on the waterfront, along the marina? Do you want to give it a go?”

“Of course!” David said.

“Okay, Dotti, let's print out the address!”

Dotti set the printer whirring, and the Newman data sheet appeared on the print-out tray. Clive picked it up and handed it to David.

“Here you are, then. I'll phone Mrs. Newman and tell her that you'll be there first thing Monday morning, okay?”

David nodded.

“Now you'll need to know where the street is,” Clive said, turning back towards his desk. “I have a map of Leesport somewhere…”

“No, honestly!” David said, stopping him in his tracks. “I haven't got much else to do over the next couple of days, so I'll just go and look for it myself.”

“Well, if you're sure.” He took hold of David's arm and guided him to the door, and as they passed the sofa, David bent down to pick up his bunch of flowers.

“Clive?” Dotti's sugary voice sounded out.

Clive turned to his assistant. “Yes, Dotti?”

“You haven't mentioned pay to David,” she said quietly.

Clive brought both hands up to his cheeks and a look of horror lengthened his face. “Oh my God, what
must
you be thinking, David? I cannot imagine!” He began to walk back to his desk, but David put up his hand to stop him.

“Listen … erm … this may sound a bit strange … but I'm actually quite happy just to do the job … rather than get paid…”

Clive looked at him, not quite understanding what he was saying.

“You see,” David elaborated further, “I only have a visitor's visa. I don't actually have a work permit. But I would really rather do the job and not get paid. I mean, I don't want to get you into any trouble.”

Clive stroked at the side of his cheek with his hand and nodded slowly.

“Ah, so I get paid and you don't. Doesn't sound very fair to me.” He turned to Dotti. “What do you think, Dotti? Any bright ideas?”

Dotti swung around in her chair, her nose wrinkled up to help secure her spectacles, her brow furrowed in thought. “Well,” she said slowly. “I suppose what we could do is that if David does manage to find a place of his own, we could cover his expenses for food and rent. Then he would just be earning his board and lodgings.”

Clive looked at David, a brighter look on his face. “How does that sound to you?”

“That sounds fine to me. I really don't need that much,” David replied, relieved that the idea hadn't fallen foul at the last hurdle.

Clive looked over to his secretary, who was sitting with a huge grin on her face, seeing that her plan had been accepted. “You never cease to amaze me, Dotti,” he said proudly. “You keep coming up with such wonderful ideas!” He ushered David to the door. “Now, give me a call on Monday evening and tell me how it went, and if you happen to have a new address by then, let me know.”

David nodded and shook his hand. “I will—and thanks again.”

As he headed off down the sidewalk, Clive remained standing at the window, watching him as he went.

“What a nice man,” Dotti said, a smile in her voice.

“Yes, he is,” Clive said slowly, “But quite a mystery, methinks.”

Dotti got up from her desk and came over to stand beside him. Together they watched David's distancing figure. “What do you mean?”

“I don't really know.” He turned from the window and walked back to his desk. “One could have quite easily taken him for a banker or some high-flying executive, but I don't know if you noticed his hands, Dotti. They're all calloused and as hard as leather. I mean, that man really has been a labourer.” He sat down with a thump and let out a long sigh. “I hope we've made the right decision, Dotti. Do you think he's all right?”

“Yup, I think he's great,” she said, making her way back to her own desk. “But I don't think he's Scottish, Clive. I mean, does he sound Scottish to you?”

Chapter
  
FIFTEEN

David took his time walking back to North Harlens, trying to work out in his mind whether his recent action was prompted by fateful inspiration or whether it was quite simply irrational stupidity. On a number of occasions, he stopped and thought about turning back there and then to cancel the job, as his mind churned through considerations of duties and responsibilities that he held for both his children and his parents. And then, on the other hand, if he did take the job, he would have to tell Richard of his plans fairly promptly, something made more difficult by the fact that his behaviour over the past few days could not have qualified him for The Perfect House Guest award. As he walked, he eventually came to the decision that it would be best not to say anything to anyone for the time being. He would go to the new job on Monday, and if it didn't work out, he would just pack up and return to Scotland midweek, without anyone ever being the wiser.

But then, he really didn't want to go back just yet. No. Again that wasn't true at all. Of course he wanted to go back—he wanted to see the children more than anything, and he knew that he couldn't expect his father to fill in for him at Glendurnich for ever. Nevertheless, a return to Inchelvie at that very minute, with all its inherent connections with Rachel, would be a retrograde step, and even now, as he walked along the sidewalk, he felt his stomach knot tight with apprehension and foreboding at the thought of it. He was quite simply not ready for it, and he knew deep within himself that he
could
mend right here in Leesport, with its quiet, sunny surroundings, its gentle pace, and its friendly inhabitants who could take him at face value, without constantly having to make allowances in the way that they treated him.

That was, of course, everyone except Richard. Even though his friend could not have been more kind or understanding, he knew too much about him, and as such would always represent a link to his past and a threat to his anonymity in the future. If he were to stay, then he needed to get away entirely, to find a place or even just a room to rent to allow himself the space and time to get his mind straight again.

Having made a number of unnecessary detours in order to collect his thoughts, he arrived back at the house to find an old convertible Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the driveway. Its faded hood was folded down as far as the rusting support struts would allow, disclosing an interior that was littered with paint tubes and brushes, free-offer leaflets, chocolate-bar wrappers and empty Coca-Cola cans, while the steering wheel and gear-shift were freckled with tiny irregular twin grooves cut deep into the plastic, making it look as if both had been subjected to attack on numerous occasions by an inebriated rattlesnake.

As he skirted round the car, studying the assortments of dents and scratches that adorned its orange bodywork, a loud splash sounded out from Richard's swimming pool, followed by the manic barking of a small dog. He climbed the stairs to the deck and, walking over to the side rail, looked down onto the pool. A girl in a fluorescent yellow swimsuit was swimming lengths in a rapid overarm crawl, her long streaked-blonde hair flowing out across her back as her powerful strokes created a wake that washed against the side of the pool, soaking the orangy-brown miniature poodle who, barking incessantly, accompanied her length by length.

As she turned at the shallow end, the dog realized that it was caught up in a hopeless endeavour and sat down panting, continuing to watch her mistress through woolly eyes as she swam up to the deep end. David turned away to go into the house, but his movement was caught by the dog, and it came running round the edge of the pool and took up position at the bottom of the steps, squinting up at him and yapping furiously. Hearing the commotion, the girl, who by now had made it back to the shallow end, stopped swimming and stood up, wiping away the water from her face with the flat of her hands.

“Dodie! For goodness' sakes, be quiet!”

She blinked a couple of times to clear the sting of chlorine from her eyes, then, visoring them against the glare of the sun, she looked up at him. “Hi! You must be David. At last we meet! I'm Carrie.”

“Oh, hi!” David replied, holding up his hand to acknowledge her greeting, a sign which the dog immediately took as a threatening gesture to its mistress, and resumed its high-pitched bark.

“
DODIE
!”

The dog turned and jumped up onto one of the sun-beds and sat there, scratching at its tight mat of untrimmed curls and yawning loudly.

“Sorry about the dog,” Carrie said, sinking down into the pool and slowly breast-stroking the water away from her body. “She gets quite protective. Not that she could do much. She's only got two teeth!” She looked back up at him. “So, how're you feeling now?”

“Much better, thanks.” He held up the bunch of flowers. “I bought these for you, just to, well, thank you for supplying me with all that food over the past couple of days—and to apologize for being so antisocial.”

Carrie waved her hands in the air. “Oh, that is so
sweet
of you! God, you mustn't think anything of it! I just, well, feel so sorry—you know—for what happened to your wife. That was such a terrible thing.”

David nodded and glanced down at his feet for a moment, before turning towards the house. “Listen, I'll go and put them in some water. Is Richard in?”

“I think so. I haven't been inside yet. I only just arrived before you and jumped straight in here, so I'm really not that sure. But hey, I'm only going to do another couple of lengths and then I'll be right in.”

“Well, please don't hurry because of me.”

“Okay!” Carrie said, and with a flourish of her hand she turned and duck-dived into the water and resumed her swim. Dodie, obviously feeling restored after her brief respite on the sun-bed, let out another of her high-pitched yelps and took up position once more at the side of the pool.

David had just finished putting the flowers into a jug of water on the draining-board when he heard the sound of Richard's footsteps on the upstairs landing.

“David?” he called out, as he came down the stairs.

“Yeah?”

He walked into the kitchen. “God, where the hell have you been? I was about to send out a search party.”