Face the Wind and Fly (11 page)

Kate moved forward, her dip-dyed dress skimming her neat waist and hips, the image of the perfect hostess. In three minutes she would have to go and change into jeans and stout shoes and head for the site. She smiled in welcome, but inside she had never felt so miserable – or so guilty – in her life.

Chapter Twelve

The team – or, at least, the members Kate had been able to muster – met at the gate onto Summerfield Law, donned high-visibility gear and marched off as a phalanx. It was fortunate that it was summer –searching in the dark would have been a nightmare.

‘We’ll spread out, ten feet apart. Call if you see anything, a bit of equipment, any clothing, even so much as a breadcrumb. Okay?’

There was plenty of warmth still in the sun. Kate, head down, searching the rough grassland for clues, thought only of roast lamb and of Andrew’s anger. After twenty minutes they had seen nothing.

‘Stop,’ Kate ordered. They clustered round her, wanting leadership. Lisa looked white with anxiety. ‘We’ve got to be cleverer about this. We’re just walking randomly. Where might he have gone? Where might he settle comfortably for a period, so that he could watch for birds? That’s one way we can tackle this. Alternatively, where are the potential hazards up here? Rocks he might have stumbled over, worst part for rabbit holes, gullies?’

‘Top end, the ground’s really uneven, but there’s some shelter at the edge of the wood,’ volunteered Evan, a stout, bright young engineer.

‘That’s where I’d go,’ agreed another young member of the team. ‘Prop my back up against a tree, fantastic views, bit of shelter.’

‘Right. Let’s start up there, then, and work our way down. You want to lead, Evan?’

It was a good piece of thinking. They found Geoff Harkins a few minutes later, crumpled awkwardly in a small gully.

‘I feel so stupid,’ he panted. His face, drained of blood, was almost the colour of his silvery hair. ‘I stumbled and hit my head, passed out. And my ankle’s really painful.’

‘I don’t think we should move him, Kate,’ Evan said quietly. ‘There may be injuries we can’t see.’

‘You’re right. We’ll call the paramedics.’

‘I didn’t have the wretched GPS thingy on,’ Geoff apologised feebly. ‘Sorry. Such a nuisance. Couldn’t remember how to work the damn thing. Sorry. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise, Geoff.’ Kate squatted next to him in the gully. She took his hand and was rewarded with an appreciative squeeze. ‘We’ve found you now. Everything’s going to be fine.’

They had to summon a helicopter, because access across the rough land would have been impossible for any vehicle. Once the development started, Kate thought, things would change. Ibsen had certainly been right about that.

The helicopter arrived within minutes.

‘I feel dreadful,’ Lisa muttered as the paramedics checked Geoff over. ‘It’s my fault.’

Kate couldn’t help heaving a sigh. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘perhaps you should have been more insistent that he follow our procedures, but I can see the difficulty. I’m just nervous about press reaction.’

‘Will it be bad?’ Lisa looked panic-stricken.

‘Who knows? They’ll seize on anything.’

‘My own stupid fault,’ Geoff said, over and over again as he was strapped onto a stretcher. ‘Lisa did show me how to work this GPS thing but I did something wrong, and my mobile phone was out of juice. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. Honestly, I’m so grateful, I can’t say thank you enough to everyone.’

It was clear that the press would get nothing out of him but praise. With luck it would be a small paragraph on an inside page, no more.

It took almost four hours to assemble the team, search for Geoff, locate him, call the paramedics, and get back to the office to do the necessary paperwork. When Kate finally did get back to Willow Corner around eleven thirty, the Bertolinis had already left and Andrew had retreated to bed, leaving a shambles behind him to make a point. Kate tore off pieces of cold, leftover lamb and stuffed them into her mouth gracelessly. Who cared? She was ravenous and the meat was delicious. She scraped a spoonful of gratin dauphinoise potatoes out of the baking dish and consumed it with gusto.

Andrew’s wrath – or media excoriation and vilification at the office? Fifteen years ago, would she have weighed out the choices in this way, counterbalanced the evils in the scales to see which side fell more heavily? What had happened to instinct? What had happened to love? Back then, would she have been so much in thrall to her job that she’d have put Andrew’s needs below the demands of corporate reputation? As the adrenalin subsided, to be replaced by bone weariness, Kate began to see how much her life had shifted.

It’s the price
you have to pay for a career. Any man would have made the choice I made tonight.

But she couldn’t put another thought to the side:
Andrew needed me and I let him down.

Ninian arrived home around midnight, on his own. Kate was relieved, because it was not unknown for one or more of Ninian’s friends to stay late, bang around the kitchen in the small hours, and crash out on his floor until mid morning.

‘Hi Ninian, good film?’

‘Okay,’ he grunted in his increasingly monosyllabic fashion. ‘Anything to eat?’

He pulled out all the food Kate had just packed into the fridge and started to guzzle. She was about to suggest a fork and knife, then she remembered her own predatory attack on the meat and held her peace.  

‘Great nosh. How did the dinner go?’

‘I don’t know, I wasn’t there,’ she confessed wearily.

The weirdness of this statement penetrated even Ninian’s brain and his hand stopped half way to his mouth, a sizeable slab of lamb dangling from it. ‘How come?’

‘I was called out to an emergency.’ The tensions of the evening had drained her utterly and now all she wanted to do was go to bed.

‘Christ, Dad must’ve been livid.’

‘Yes. I suspect he was.’

‘Haven’t you seen him?’

‘No. He’d gone to bed before I got back.’

‘Wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.’

‘I guess not. I’m going to bed, Ninian. Will you please put anything you don’t eat back in the fridge?’

‘Sure.’

‘Night.’ She looked at him wistfully, wanting a hug but unsure whether to reach out or not.

Well into the leftover potato, Ninian was oblivious. ‘Night, Mum. Good luck in the morning.’

It gave her enough strength to smile at him. ‘I have a feeling I’m going to need it.’

In the morning, though, Andrew was asleep – or feigning sleep, she wasn’t entirely sure which –  depriving her, either way, of the chance to find out how things had gone. And later, when she arrived home from work, Andrew pointedly put on his jacket and headed straight for the door.

‘Meeting,’ he said briefly, without bothering to explain further.

Kate was still desperately tired. Sleep hadn’t come easily last night and she’d gone to work early to mop up the last of the spillage from the Geoff Harkins episode. Her first inclination was to press him, but the pettiness of his punishment infuriated her. In her own mind, she had already tested her decision-making process and found it to be sound. She’d had no choice, so how dare he be so censorious? With an effort, she smothered her anger and let it pass. ‘How did it go last night?’

Andrew picked up his car keys from the hall table. ‘As if you care.’

If he’d slapped her in the face she couldn’t be more shocked. ‘Andrew! Of course I care!’

He turned back, a hard glint in the hooded eyes. ‘If you’d cared, Kate, you would have stayed.’

‘You know that was impossible. I tried everything. There was no-one else to take charge. I
had
to go.’

‘You
had
to stay, but you didn’t.’

‘That’s so unfair! It was—’

‘It just shows, doesn’t it, where I stand in your hierarchy of importance. I should have known. Work always comes first with you, doesn’t it?’

‘If I could have found someone else to—’

‘And what about Ninian? How do you think the boy feels about his summer holiday being cancelled? Being shunted off to his grandma’s?’

Kate blinked. She was unprepared for this onslaught and too tired to deal with it sensibly. ‘But I ... we—’

‘I’m going out. I have a meeting, and I’m late.’

‘Don’t run away from me. We should talk.’

The door slammed behind him and she was left in a void.

Ninian was nowhere in evidence. Kate had no appetite and no concentration. Nothing she did or said to Andrew seemed fit to rescue a deteriorating situation. What the hell was happening? They’d had their spats in the past – what marriage never had those? – but they’d always been able to discuss them, then laugh about them, then put them aside. This time, she could not get Andrew to talk.

The thought of dealing with the stack of papers in her briefcase awaiting her attention was dismal. Willow Corner – her pride, her joy, her home – felt empty. She meandered through the rooms. Each held memories, each had seen laughter and love. In the living room she touched the ornate clock Andrew had insisted on buying in an antiques shop years ago. Ninian had been three, Andrew still a teacher, her salary was modest and money was tight. There’d been something about the clock’s age and style, though, that he had loved and she’d given in. Back then, she’d deferred to his wishes and been able to laugh, despite the folly of it.

On the small coffee table, a netsuke mouse, beady eyes staring out of sweetly carved ivory, reminded her of a time before they were even married. She’d been out at a special Engineering Department lecture with Mike, leaving Andrew and Charlotte together for the evening. Things with Val had been at their most difficult and she remembered being torn between going to the dinner and staying behind to support Andrew. And yet, the next day, it was Andrew who had presented her with this delightful (and probably stupidly expensive) gift.

In the dining room, Ninian’s childhood library still nestled among the Dickens, Austen and reference books on medieval history. Her baby, now all but grown up. Kate picked out one battered book.
Where The Wild Things Are.
It had been thumbed almost to destruction – but how often had she sat with him and read this book? Andrew had been the reader. Andrew had introduced him to words and pictures, dreams and nightmares. A monster stared at her from a crumpled page, toothy and grinning and not really fierce. Had Ninian been frightened, or thrilled? Had Andrew had to comfort him, or had they laughed together?

She had found child-rearing a distraction. Now, she realised, time had sped past her and she would never again be able to share precious, wild moments with her son.

At the door of Andrew’s study, she heard the telephone ring. She stepped in and picked it up.

‘Willow Corner, hello?’

There was silence.

Kate was in no mood for patience. ‘Look, I’ve had enough of this! What you’re doing is harassment. AeGen knows all about your moronic attempts at intimidation. If you do this one more time, I’ll report you to the police. Now—’

There was a click and the line went dead. Kate slammed the phone down, her anger still at boiling point. She knew she shouldn’t have lost her temper – she’d been venting her frustration over Andrew. All the same, she’d got to the point where she had to report the calls to AeGen, she should have done it some time ago.

When the phone rang again, immediately, she picked it up and barked, ‘I
told
you! Bugger off!’

After a beat, an amused voice said, ‘Of course I will, if you wish, but I was rather hoping we could discuss your ideas for a community garden.’

‘Mrs Arnott! Nicola! God, I’m so sorry. I just had a stupid nuisance call and I thought they were pestering me again.’

‘No problem. So long as it’s not me you’re mad at.’

‘Not at all, heavens, sorry.’

‘You kindly sent me an email with some ideas for our space.’

‘A garden, yes. What do you think?’

‘I love it. We all love it.’

‘Really? I thought you might have preferred some kind of building.’

‘At first we thought so too, but the more we’ve reflected on your ideas, the better they seem. Now, how do we start? Have you someone in mind for the garden side of things?’

Kate hesitated. Remembering that Ibsen Brown worked for Banksy’s mother, Helena, she’d phoned her. The reference had been glowing. ‘He’s more than just adequate,’ Helena had said, ‘he’s properly trained, he did a college course. His father’s a gardener too, of course, over at Forgie House, so he grew up in the business, so to speak.’

On a personal level, Kate found Ibsen to be something of an enigma, but that intrigued her. He clearly didn’t care much about his appearance, but there was an innate intelligence in his eyes that she couldn’t help finding attractive. His views on wind farms were certainly irritating, but still – if he was as good at gardening as Helena said, then he’d be an excellent person to approach, surely?

‘There is someone,’ she started, hesitantly, ‘but—’

‘If you know of anyone who can help us, please talk to them. I’d like to start progressing this. Some of the children are excited already.’

‘I will. I promise. I’m glad you like the idea. Truly.’

‘Let’s stay in touch. And Kate – if those calls are really troubling, do act.’

‘I will.’

Nicola’s phone call had brought some welcome relief, but Kate still felt as if she had embarked on some kind of game, the rules of which she didn’t fully understand. Boxed into corners, she always reverted to type – she became strategic.
Define the problem.
My marriage is growing stale and I suspect that Andrew may be having an affair, plus I feel guilty at letting him down over the Bertolini dinner.

Consider the strategy:
Inject loving care, and gather the family round him to remind him of how difficult and traumatic the failure of a marriage is. Eclipse the memory of my failure by initiating something special.

Andrew’s fifty-seventh birthday fell this year on a Saturday. Kate, a meticulous planner, had the date firmly in her head and despite all the pressures at work, spent some time considering how to celebrate. Usually they had a meal at home, with Ninian and Harry. This year Jane would be included too, of course. Perhaps, to make up for missing his dinner with the Bertolinis, she should arrange something special, a surprise?

Devise a solution:
A festive family dinner.

She tested the solution in her head. It held sound. So, bracing herself, she called Harry.