Turning the Tide (33 page)

George shook his head. ‘It didn’t get that far. What Irene didn’t tell him was that she was dying of breast cancer. Scott wrote after her death to warn your father not to come near the boy. Told him that Jimi didn’t know any different, and that it would mess him up even more. Your dad had been through so much and come out the other side, but that, coupled with the financial trouble he was in, felled him like a mighty oak. I don’t think he could see any other way out.’

When there was nothing left to tell her, George had given her a rare embrace, patting her gently on the back. ‘Go and see Jimi, Miss Harriet. You need each other.’

Harry rather doubted that, but she’d listened to George. Standing with her half-brother, it was impossible to still the vortex of emotions swirling round her brain. The effort made her infinitely weary. How could either of them be free or ever reach some sort of understanding, when the secrets of their being were lost in the past? And all because of two people caught up in a brief, bright passion, unknowing – uncaring even – of the long shadows their love affair would cast down the years.

It was too much. Abruptly, she got to her feet. ‘You got what you came for, Jimi; the yard’s half yours. I’ll get my solicitor to sort out the paperwork.’

‘Harry!’ Jimi came after her as she walked away. She kept walking and he sped up a little to stand in front of her. ‘Harry, that’s not what I want any more. It’s not important to me.’

She was crying, but she didn’t care. Jimi reached out and tried to grab hold of her, but she pushed him away.

‘The boat yard might not be important to you, but it’s all I’ve got to offer. Now all you have to do is decide what you’re going to do with your share. And let me tell you that George is staying with me. And if you ever,
ever,
put temptation under his nose again, in the form of a bottle of a gin, I’ll
really
make you wish you’d never been born!’

This time he didn’t try to follow.

The invitation to the film festival finale at Samphire sat on the table in her hall for a week. Matthew had tried to deliver it by hand, but Harry, lurking out of sight in the hallway, had waited until she was sure he’d disappeared before creeping round to the front door to see what bombshell might be lying at her feet. Now, sick of looking at it, she threw it in the bin.

Her poor mother had been hopelessly equipped to deal with life without the man who had taken all the decisions for her. Coping with her loss, trying to run the business – with a daughter watching her every move to see if she was doing everything the way Daddy would have wanted – and nursing her dreadful secret. No wonder Maeve had given up and fled!

At first it was difficult to salvage anything. How could she reconcile the truth of a weak man who’d betrayed his close friend, but had been unable to live with the consequences of his actions, with the large, charismatic, fun-loving father of her childhood? Was this the man whose memory she had worked day and night to keep alive?

But, just when she was beginning to feel that her heart was broken, another small voice reminded her that he was still her dad. Nothing would change the fact he’d been a father to her in every sense that really mattered. It was too easy to turn round and blame him for robbing her of anything any normal person would call a life for the last five years. As Harry was gradually realising, the truth was that it had suited her to use him as a pretext for railing against everything she didn’t like.

For far too long she’d been judging anyone who presented her with an alternative view of the world, weighing it up and finding it wanting. Not because it wasn’t good enough for her father, but because nothing was ever good enough for
her
! Longing for him to be proud of her was natural. But by digging her heels in, acting in his name, pretending she was doing what he would have wanted, she had caused a lot of pain. And all for what?

Harry went back to the bin and took out the envelope, feeling as if she was standing at a fork in the road. She could either take the view that she had fought the tide and kept the boat yard going for nothing but a fantasy – and give up. Or she could make up her mind to stand on her own two feet and start taking responsibility for herself.

Taking a frank look at herself in the mirror, Harry stared at ruffled hair, long overdue for a proper cut, straggly dark brows, shadows under her eyes and a tired bare face. Surely even she didn’t have to look this bad? Telling herself that Carmen was probably fully booked made her realise that she would actually be disappointed if she couldn’t be fitted in. Having made the decision, she rushed round to Crimps only to find that the new stylists were all busy and Carmen was taking a half-day in order to prepare herself for the film festival.

Pausing outside to shake her head at the change in the salon, which for years had sported an ‘Appointments not always necessary’ sign and now looked as if it would have to introduce a waiting list for prospective clients, Harry was reminded again of how rapidly the changes in the town were gaining momentum. Watling’s was now a world away from its glamorous neighbours. Well, no doubt that would all change too.

‘Who were you trying to kid anyway?’ she asked herself, looking at her pink and dishevelled reflection in the newly glazed window. When her reflection sprouted big hair and enormous breasts, Harry decided it was a sign she should give up and go.

‘Harry?’ Carmen said, trotting out.

Harry waved her away. ‘It’s okay, Carmen. I’m too late, you’re busy.’

Carmen’s chocolate-brown eyes examined her greedily. ‘Not for you, Harry.’ Hauled in before she could think twice, Harry submitted to being bound in a gown and led to a basin. Before the hiss of running water drowned out other sounds, she distinctly heard a triumphant murmur of ‘So long I wait for this day!’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Matthew fastened his silver cufflinks and shrugged on the white dinner jacket. Once, it had made him look like a young Bryan Ferry, but this evening he felt more like bruised, embittered Rick in
Casablanca
. He took a quick glance in the mirror and felt about as world-weary as Bogey too. In the past he’d been an arrogant bastard, always scheming, planning, and looking for the next opportunity to get rich. So hungry to get on to the next challenge that he’d sweep anyone who objected out of the way. Sometimes he’d missed what was really important.

Jimi, in his chef’s whites, shook his head at the Levi’s that Matthew refused to swap for evening trousers and at the black bow tie, left unfastened round his neck.

‘It’s corny, Matthew – but, heck, it works for me.’

Matthew turned to the younger man. ‘How about you, Jimi? How are you doing?’

Jimi swallowed before replying. ‘Yeah, good.’

‘Just give her time. It’s been a shock, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve waited all this time. I can wait some more.’ He pulled himself together. ‘And in the meantime I’ve got work to do.’

Matthew slapped him on the back with a heartiness he didn’t feel. ‘Show time!’

Harry had opted to hire a minicab rather than walk the short distance without the disguise of her dungarees. As she paid the driver and watched the car go off without her, she felt terribly alone. Inside the building she could see the flicker of lights on little tables, the bustle of waiting staff weaving through the gaps, the silhouettes of faces bent close in conversation. George, taking a turn at a baby grand piano, was sending the sweet, sad notes of ‘As Time Goes By’ through the open window into the rosy glow of the evening sun.

Harry tried to think of all the horrible things she had to face on a regular basis, like taking the tender out on lonely nights to check on other peoples’ yachts when the sea lunged at her or threatened to capsize her. Even that seemed better than walking into the pit of terror that was the crowded restaurant. She checked her watch and hoped that she’d timed it right. With a bit of luck she could slip in just before the screening, during which she could practise everything she had to say to everyone afterwards. Right, all she had to do was put one foot in front of another; after all, somebody in there had wanted her to come, hadn’t he? Or else he wouldn’t have dropped an invitation through her door, would he? Concentrating on that thought, Harry lifted her chin and stepped forwards.

At first she put the fact that the conversation seemed to die as she walked through the door down to extreme self-consciousness. But, as she stood there waiting to bolt, she realised that the room really was quiet. Carmen, seated at a nearby table and showing a perilous amount of cleavage, gave her an encouraging nod and beckoned her in. Harry couldn’t trust herself to look at Matthew, who, as she was only too aware, was standing by the piano; so she let her gaze rest on George, who gave her a wink and began a spirited rendition of ‘Some Enchanted Evening’.

Recalling the lyrics of the song George was playing, Matthew realised that the woman standing across the crowded room was certainly a stranger to him. For a start she was wearing a dress. And what a dress. In some pale silky fabric, it was strapless with a tight bodice that clung to what was, undeniably, a pair of breasts, showed off a tiny waist before billowing out to a wide skirt that foamed just above surprisingly shapely calves. Matthew sucked in his breath. Harry’s dungarees had been responsible for the best-kept secret in town: Harry Watling was all woman!

So who was the stranger across the room? Matthew hoped that George wasn’t about to continue his
South Pacific
theme with ‘Cock-eyed Optimist’. Harry didn’t look too optimistic right now; in fact she looked scared stiff. Just as it occurred to Matthew that he ought to do something about her plight, there was a movement from the side of the room.

‘For someone who doesn’t usually look anything like a dame,’ he heard Frankie say, ‘our Harry hasn’t done too badly.’ He and Trevor, resplendent in pristine white tee shirt and striped tee shirt respectively, closed in on her protectively, one on each side, leaning forwards to kiss her and murmur reassurances. And then it happened. Harry looked from Frankie to Trevor, and from Trevor to the expectant faces around her. But, instead of pursing her lips and pulling down the shutters on her emotions as Matthew would have predicted, she let her wide, expressive mouth curve slowly into a smile that lit up the whole room. Matthew, watching in wonder, felt as if the breath had been knocked out of his body. Before he could register what had struck the blow, she was gone, spirited away by Frankie and Trevor to sit at their table.

‘You look beautiful, Harry, simply stunning,’ Frankie told her, raising his glass. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

‘And that dress is divine. Not quite what I would have anticipated in your wardrobe!’ Trevor added, topping up Harry’s wine, which seemed to have disappeared quite fast.

Harry felt herself blushing. ‘This old thing! I’ve had it for years. Actually, you’re right,’ she whispered, leaning forwards. ‘It’s Carmen’s, from her younger days.’

‘Not to mention slimmer,’ added Frankie. ‘My, didn’t she grow up to be a big girl! Still, I suppose you’re about the same height. Take my advice, Harry, don’t have whatever she’s having – you don’t want to go the same way. Now where did you get those shoes? They’re not Carmen’s too?’

Harry stretched out her foot and admired her newly varnished toenails. Thank goodness for Little Spitmarsh’s charity shops and the person who hadn’t been able to squeeze their feet into the glamorous silver evening sandals. ‘Oh,’ she said casually, ‘they’re vintage.’ She just caught the look of surprise on Trevor’s face as the lights went down and everyone was transported to war-time Casablanca.

Bogart promised Ingrid Bergman, once again, that they’d always have Paris. The lights went up and Harry laughed to see the waiting staff scatter as the inhabitants of Little Spitmarsh rushed for the buffet.

‘Harry?’

An elegant woman in black trousers, a black silk shirt and a multi-strand pearl choker was smiling at her with tears in her eyes.

‘Mum!’

‘I didn’t say anything when we spoke on the phone, because I wanted it to be a surprise. Matthew warned me in advance that you might not feel up to coming, I just hoped you would,’ Maeve said in a rush.

Before Harry could decide what to say, her mother pulled her close.

‘Harry, darling! Oh, it’s so good to see you again!’

She was still a beautiful woman, Harry observed, when they finally let go of each other. Her parents had made a striking couple: her father larger than life, ruggedly handsome, and her petite mother, with that classic bone structure and an expressive mouth that was always poised on the brink of a smile. Well, the laughter had stopped many years ago and her mother wasn’t smiling now. Agitation clouded her wide grey eyes and worry creased her brow.

‘Mum, don’t,’ said Harry, ushering her over to a quiet corner of the room and feeling her own mouth quiver as her mother started to cry. Reaching out for her, Harry drew her into her arms, marvelling that she was still capable of comforting another human being when her heart was thumping so hard it seemed about to break. ‘Hush,’ she said, as Maeve sobbed quietly on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right.’

But it wasn’t all right, was it? It would never be all right again.

Maeve’s hands were shaking as she wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,’ she said, through her tears.

‘So why didn’t you?’