Holding On (22 page)

‘I heard from Richard Maybrick yesterday,' Miles was saying. ‘He's over for a few weeks. Some relative or other has died and he's got some property to sort out. He's asking if he can come and stay for a day or two. Mary's not with him, apparently.'

‘Of course he must come,' Fliss answered mechanically but without a great deal of enthusiasm. Richard was in shipping and had become great chums with Miles out in Hong Kong. She did not care much for him – he was an aggressive, noisy man – but his wife had been a tremendous help, especially when the twins were about to arrive. She was a quiet, motherly woman, unobtrusive but effective.

Miles glanced sideways at Fliss, looking her over, summing her up. He sometimes wished she'd make a little more effort with her appearance. Her fair hair was bundled back into a long plait and her small face was devoid of make-up. She wore her usual uniform of navy Levi cords and a guernsey over one of his old shirts, and the whole effect made her look about twenty. Yet there was something formidable about Fliss; some quality which she'd inherited from that old grandmother of hers; something steely and – and what? The word incorruptible occurred to him but it sounded rather too fancy. He had learned, however, never to dissemble with her. It was better to keep his own counsel rather than take her fully into his confidence and risk her disconcertingly direct – and occasionally crushing – observations. Yet there was that other vulnerable side. If he had known how maternal she was, might he have married her? Looking back, he could never quite remember what had driven him to propose. Sometimes he wondered now if it had been merely a desire to recreate his youth. He'd been approaching middle age and he'd needed to know that life hadn't quite passed him by. The Chadwicks had been such a merry group, so full of life, such fun.

Miles thought: I think I was in love with the whole damned lot of them. Fliss was the embodiment. She was so sweet.

What might his life have been like if she had not telephoned him that day, quite out of the blue, lonely and miserable? How triumphant he had been, how determined to seize his chance . . . He sometimes missed his freedom, his bachelor ways, but he always crushed down such disloyal thoughts and remembered the fun they'd had together – and would have again when the children were older and off to boarding school. At least Fliss had no qualms about sending them away. They were to go to Herongate House, where Mole and Susanna had been so happy. He knew that Fliss thought that eleven would be a good age but he was hoping to bring her round to the idea of sending them at eight. After all, Susanna had gone at eight and one couldn't wish to meet a more sensible and balanced girl than Sooz. Once they were settled life would become a little more flexible and he could begin to carry out his plans for their future. Perhaps, however, it would be wise to keep them under his hat for a while longer. An idea occurred to him . . .

He reached out and held Fliss's hand for a moment and she returned the pressure unaware of the guilt from which the gesture sprang.

‘I was thinking,' he said. ‘Why don't you spend a few extra days down at The Keep? I can fetch you back when you've had enough. Didn't you say
Warspite
was in at the end of the week? Why not stay and see that brother of yours?'

‘I'd love to,' she answered, surprised but delighted. ‘Are you sure? You know I hate leaving you on your own.'

‘Oh, nonsense,' he said cheerfully. ‘I'll do a few extra duties and eat in the Mess. It's not a problem.'

She was filled with gratitude – an emotion easily mistaken for love – and remorse for her earlier mental criticism. He was so kind, so generous . . .

‘It would be simply lovely,' she said warmly. ‘Thank you, darling. Oh hell, if only we'd thought of it earlier I'd have put more clothes in for the twinnies . . .'

Maria was barely inside the house, Edward still in his carrycot, Jolyon having his coat removed whilst trying to unwrap his new Dinky toy, when the doorbell rang.

‘Damn,' she muttered. ‘Blast.' She'd learned to be fairly restrained with Jolyon growing so quickly, copying everything she said. ‘Who can that be? Wait, darling, please. Just
wait
. I'll open it for you in a sec.'

With Jolyon trailing her, still carrying the toy enclosed in its plastic bubble, she went out into the hall and opened the front door. A man in his early forties, broad-shouldered and with a rather nice smile, stood looking at her hopefully. She recognised him vaguely and instinctively she responded, smoothing out the worry lines, pulling in her stomach, raising her eyebrows interrogatively.

‘I'm frightfully sorry to trouble you,' he said, ‘but I've got a bit of a problem. The telephone's gone dead and my car simply will not start. Do you think I could possibly use your telephone? If yours is not on the blink, too. I'm not an absolute stranger. I live just along the road half a mile or so. We've seen each other driving to and fro. Well, I've noticed
you
, of course.
You
might not have noticed
me
.'

She was already laughing at his air of distraction which, combined with his barely disguised admiration, was rather engaging.

‘Of course I recognise you,' she said. ‘Sounds like you're having a bad day. Come on in. I'm Maria Chadwick and this is Jolyon.'

‘How do you do? My name's Keith Graves.' He was following her into the hall. ‘This is really very kind of you. I see your husband going off some mornings while I'm walking the dog.'

‘Don't talk about dogs,' said Maria ruefully. ‘For one glorious moment I'd forgotten mine. The wretched animal's been locked in all morning and will now go utterly berserk. I must let him out. The telephone's just there. Is it working? Oh, great. Do you need the book?'

‘No, no. Got the number with me. Thanks.'

‘Come through when you've finished,' she said cheerfully. ‘I'll put the kettle on. Come along, Jolyon. No, he can see your tractor later. Come on.'

Strangely elated by the diversion she went to let Rex out of the garage, shut the kitchen door firmly upon his joyful greeting and began to deal with Jolyon's new toy. Edward was still lying placidly in the carrycot and she decided to leave him whilst she made the coffee, hoping that he wouldn't begin to grizzle. She swung Jolyon into his high chair, placed the red tractor on the tray before him and went to switch on the kettle.

There were a few discreet taps on the door and Keith put his head in, smiling now and looking decidedly relieved.

‘All done?' she asked.

‘All done,' he echoed. ‘Thanks, yes, I'd love a cup if you're quite sure. This is very neighbourly of you.'

‘Nonsense.' Maria smiled at him. She was suddenly glad that she was wearing her new Donegal tweed flares with the short matching blouson – not that it mattered a bit, really. ‘You know I think I've met your wife at a fund-raising coffee morning somewhere.' She frowned, trying to jog her memory, remembering a fair, smart, pretty woman with a decided manner and very positive views. She'd made Maria feel just the least bit mumsy. ‘The Dysons' was it? I hope she's OK?'

‘Yes . . . Well, no. Oh dear.' He grimaced, looking uncomfortable. ‘I was determined not to burden you with my problems, apart from using your phone, that is . . .'

He hesitated awkwardly as Maria passed him a mug of coffee, all her curiosity aroused, determined to offer feminine assistance and consolation should it prove necessary.

‘I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pry or anything,' she assured him, quite untruthfully. ‘I just wondered if she might be ill or something but, honestly, it's none of my business.'

‘If only it were that simple,' he said rather bitterly. ‘Her being ill, I mean. Oh well, why not? Everyone will know sooner or later. The truth is she's left me. She's gone off with her boss, quite out of the blue. I simply had no idea anything was going on.' He bit his lip and turned away, smiling down at Jolyon. ‘I say. That's a very smart tractor.'

Jolyon smiled back but was suddenly overcome with a fit of shyness. He lowered his head, driving the tractor round the tray, making quiet brmmm-ing noises to himself, and Keith reached out and lightly ruffled his blond hair.

‘I'm so terribly sorry,' said Maria, after a moment or two of startled silence. ‘I had simply no idea, of course.' She shook her head helplessly.

‘Why should you?' He shrugged. ‘It's come as such a shock, that's the problem. I don't quite know how to deal with it. They always say the husband – or the wife – is the last to know but I hadn't the least suspicion. Talk about naïve. Apart from anything else, I feel such a fool. How could I have been so gullible? All that business about working late and things. I work from home, you see. Bit of a role reversal, isn't it . . .? Sorry, I'm going on, aren't I? Forgive me. It's just such a relief to have someone to talk to, I suppose.'

‘Of
course
you must talk,' cried Maria, all womanly sympathy and enjoying every moment of it. ‘It's the most frightful thing to happen. Look, sit down properly. Don't just stand there propped against the sink. You can say anything you like and I promise I shan't say a word to a soul. Honestly.'

He looked so pathetically grateful, so crushed – in a handsome, gentlemanly sort of way – that she could have almost hugged him, just to comfort him, naturally. He swallowed, trying to smile, and she took his arm gently and led him over to the table in a pseudo-motherly manner.

‘Sit!' she said, as she might have to Rex, making a joke of it. ‘Stay!' and he laughed then, looking at her gratefully, appreciatively.

‘You're very sweet,' he said – and she patted his arm almost affectionately.

‘Nonsense,' she said. ‘Just drink your coffee and relax. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Anyway, it's nice for me to have some adult company, you know. My husband is away at sea for weeks on end and it gets a bit lonely. Weekends are the worst. Everyone else is being a family and it's pretty miserable on my own, even with the boys.'

Even as she spoke the words she knew that some message was being given and understood; a very tiny signal, but a terribly important one, and she fiddled about with the shopping – putting it away, busying herself – so as to hide her confusion.

‘Well, if I had a wife like you I'm damned if I'd go away for five minutes.'

He'd said it and she felt that she'd almost willed him, pushed him into it. She felt guilty, slightly ashamed, but oddly excited.

‘Not that I can say anything about that, can I?' he was asking bitterly. ‘Clearly I haven't made much of a success at being a husband so I'm a fine one to talk.'

‘Don't be silly,' she said lightly, pulling herself together, fluffing up her long thick hair. She'd refused to have her hair chopped off like Kit – or frizzed like Sin – nor would she wear it dragged back as Fliss did in that childish plait. It was cut carefully, very regularly, and she wore it layered and curled in a glossy mane. Aware of his eyes upon her she moved lightly, consciously, about the kitchen; the silence lengthened so that it became charged with meaning . . .

Edward woke, whimpered briefly and began to wail. She hurried to him, grateful for the release from the strange tension that had been building. She picked him up, crooning to him, holding him so that her cheek rested against his head; aware of the maternal picture they were making, mother and child. She saw that Jolyon was watching impassively, almost critically, and she felt another hot wash of embarrassment.

‘Do you have children?' she asked Keith impulsively, ready to sympathise with this added dilemma, but he shook his head. The expression in his eyes made her feel excited again, rather daring, and she pushed down the guilt. Why shouldn't she enjoy his company? No doubt Hal was being asked to parties, having fun, each time the ship touched shore. He wasn't left alone, dealing with the dreary round of dogs and children. It would do her good to relax, to behave as he did; it might make her more tolerant, less jealous. After all, he was always telling her that she was too strait-laced, that she took things to heart, that there was nothing to get upset about . . .

‘If you can bear it,' she said, still cuddling Edward, using him as a shield, almost as a warning, ‘you're very welcome to stay for a bite of lunch. Very simple stuff. Some soup and cheese and things. But you've probably got to get back?'

‘That's the nicest offer I've had since I can't remember when,' he said warmly, pushing back his chair, half rising. ‘I should love it. If you're really sure? Look. Let me hold him, shall I? I'm an uncle so I know how it's done. Or shall I do something else to help?'

‘Sit down,' she said, laughing. ‘Stop fussing. OK, you have Edward, if you feel you must be useful but he's probably horridly soggy. No, not too bad. Now then, let's see what we've got. I've got a rather nice Brie here somewhere. So tell me, what are your plans? You poor thing. Honestly, I really feel for you . . .'

 

‘You've been away for ages,' grumbled Kit. ‘Missing the Birthday, no one knowing quite where you were. All this secrecy and silence business. So tell me all.'

She was not feeling quite so light-hearted as she sounded. Ever since her conversation with Sin about Mole, Kit had been growing steadily more certain that Jake might be the love of her life after all. She'd worked herself up to this meeting, praying that he'd bring up the subject, as he usually did, proposing to her – even in a jokey kind of way – so that she could explain these new feelings to him. She had no anxieties about his reaction but she felt rather foolish, annoyed with herself for taking so long to realise that what she wanted most had been under her nose for the last twelve years. How patient he'd been, how understanding and comforting. No, she simply couldn't imagine life without Jake.