Deep Water, Thin Ice (7 page)

‘No,’ she said quietly but firmly.

‘No? What do you mean, no?’

‘I mean no. I don’t want you to come here. Not yet.’ There was a hurt silence and Alex almost faltered. ‘I need more time to myself Erica. Please understand. I’d love you to come but not yet.’

There was silence again.

‘So what are you doing with yourself there?’ The ice in Erica’s voice chilled the line between them.

‘This and that. Walking. I’ve even done a bit of gardening.’

‘Gardening? You?’ Amused disbelief caused a slight thaw.

‘I quite enjoyed it. You know I like the outdoors. Well, now I’ve found I like gardening too.’

Alex didn’t need to see her sister to know what look she had on her face.

‘And…I suppose you’re making friends down there?’

‘Not really. I told you Erica, I need time to myself. I’m not just trying to keep you away.’

‘But my visit’s still weeks away.’

‘Yes but it’s pressure. I need more time.’

‘I don’t think it’s very nice to call your sister ‘pressure’,’ Erica said plaintively.

‘Please Erica? Don’t start. You’re sounding just like mum.’

‘Gee thanks. If I want a character reference I’ll know where not to come. Actually
she
told me she thought you were wallowing. I didn’t say that.’ Alex was frozen into silence. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ Erica added crossly.

‘Of course. And I’m sorry. Really I am. But helping means not trying to organise me, OK?’

Erica sighed. ‘All right. Well you take care of yourself. And keep in touch. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

Alex closed the call and stared at the handset. There had always been something relentless and demanding about her sister’s devotion. Erica was intelligent and able and yet lacked initiative. As children it had always been Alex who came up with ideas for what they should do, Erica who insisted on tagging along. If Alex liked it, Erica loved it; if Alex wanted it, Erica needed it more. There had been occasions, especially during the spiky years of adolescence, when Alex had found it really irritating. ‘Don’t you have anything you want to do of your own?’ she remembered complaining one day. ‘Why do you have to follow me round?’ Erica had been upset and inevitably Alex had felt guilty.

Then, when she’d left school, Erica had followed her mother into law and managed to get her degree, but a succession of boyfriends and a lack of application meant she’d never passed the Law Society exams and so failed to qualify as a solicitor. Victoria had made little effort to disguise her disappointment. Now Erica worked as a legal executive, juggling her work as best she could around Ben. We’ve both been a disappointment to our mother, thought Alex, and we’ve both tried to pretend we don’t care. But where Alex’s response had been to pursue her career almost obsessively in an attempt to prove Victoria wrong, Erica had increasingly hero-worshipped her sister, fascinated by what she thought was Alex’s more interesting and exotic life. There had been a spell when, as she found a working niche for herself and then had Ben to focus on, she’d seemed more content. But since Simon had died, Erica was fussing over her again. Part of Alex desperately wanted to see her sister and felt bad about keeping her at bay; the other part couldn’t face the inevitable conflict it would bring.

With the discordant mood of the conversation still clouding her mind, Alex drifted restlessly into the sitting room and then paused for a moment in front of the clock. The key to the mechanism had turned up at the back of one of the drawers in the kitchen just the day before though she was convinced she’d already looked there. The clock had started as soon as she’d finished winding it and had filled the house for a while with its loud tock and melodic chimes on each quarter hour. Now it had stopped again and she glared at it reproachfully.

She wandered through into the kitchen to put away the shopping she’d bought that morning from The Stores and saw the large packet of liquorice allsorts on the table. She hated them but they had been Simon’s favourite; she’d bought them automatically. She swore, hit the table with frustration, then burst into tears.

*

Theo Hellyon walked into The Armada and sauntered up to the bar. When he was a youth the old inn had had a separate bar and lounge; now it was all open plan. Dining tables, each with a plasticized menu and silk flowers in a vase, had taken over the floor area. Dominoes were frowned on and the dartboard usually locked up. But Theo remembered the first time he’d sneaked in to buy a drink when the flagstoned floor had been strewn with cigarette ends and the best food on offer was ‘chicken in a basket’. Home from Harrow for the summer holidays, he’d been barely sixteen but he’d been big for his age and was pushing his luck. The landlord had served him a pint but he wasn’t fooled; he was just turning a blind eye. At that time everyone in the village knew how old Theo Hellyon was. They might not have had a title but the Hellyon family had been the leading family of the village for centuries.

But the landlord of The Armada had changed several times since Theo’s youth and the make up of the village had changed too. Most of the property with water views had been bought by incomers either as holiday homes or for retirement. There were just a handful of people now who knew much about the Hellyons’ place in the history of the village. Most people saw Theo Hellyon as a local boy with a smart education and a glamorous job; his mother was just an eccentric woman with amusing pretensions.

When home, Theo regularly visited the pub, regaling the bar with stories of his adventures. He was gregarious, entertaining and quick to buy a round of drinks, though he rarely stayed long. Women found him charming and flattering, men looked on him as ‘one of the boys’. He liked to be seen as a familiar face. He was aware that in a village the size of Kellaford Bridge, the pub and the shop could provide more relevant local news than any time spent searching the internet. They were useful both for acquiring and disseminating information.

Now it was lunch-time and quiet. Theo stood next to Eric Ladyman, a retired fisherman with a full grey beard and a dry sense of humour, who these days drank his cider in halves to please his doctor. Theo nodded first at him and then at the man behind the bar. The current landlord, Hugh Darrecott, was a big, paunchy man with wispy grey hair carefully combed across his pate. He was known to have a roving eye and a nagging wife though opinion varied as to which had provoked the other. Theo ordered a pint for himself, another half for Eric and invited the landlord to have one himself. They passed several minutes in idle conversation about Theo’s work and his suggestion that he’d had enough travelling for the time being and might stay around and work locally for a while. ‘Maybe I’ll get back into design and build again for a while,’ he remarked.

Theo waited till he was half way down his pint before bringing up the subject of the new gallery in the village.

‘It won’t last will it?’ said Eric. ‘They never do.’ He laughed. ‘Have you seen the prices?’

‘Expensive is it? I saw some blonde woman in there the other day. Is she the new owner then?’

Eric nodded.

‘Yes. Well, her and Bob Geaton,’ he corrected. ‘She’s the harbourmaster’s wife.’

‘Is she indeed?’ Theo nodded without apparent interest. ‘So do they live in the flat above the shop then?’

Eric nodded and tipped another mouthful of cider in.

Hugh finished serving a couple of holiday makers and came back up the bar and stood wiping glasses nearby.

‘I heard you’d had a run in with Bob Geaton,’ he said. ‘Didn’t he get your car clamped for being parked in the wrong place on the quay?’

Theo could feel his blood rise again with the memory. He forced a grin.

‘Yes, the bastard. Apparently the places nearest the pontoons are ‘for people on harbour business only’. The bugger’s made that one up himself hasn’t he? It’s a poor look out when someone who’s lived here all their life is told where he can park and not.’ Theo paused and then added, with a studiously offhand air: ‘I’ve seen him in here a couple of times but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with his wife.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Hugh, setting a glass down and picking up another. He glanced up and down the bar. ‘There’s a bit of friction there it seems.’

‘Oh?’ said Theo, raising his eyebrows. ‘Why’s that then?’

Hugh shrugged and then glanced towards the kitchen where his wife was working. He gave Theo a pointed look.

‘That’s married life for you. He likes to relax when he’s not working; spends most of his spare time off fishing. Very keen he is. She’s got other plans I hear. Conflict of interests mebbe.’

‘That’s what ‘appens when you marry a younger woman see, Theo,’ teased Eric. ‘After a while they get bored.’

Theo grinned. ‘I’ll bear that in mind Eric.’ He downed the rest of his pint in one and laid the glass down firmly on the bar. ‘Thanks Hugh, Eric. Be seeing you.’

Theo wandered out onto the quay and went to lean on the wall for a few minutes, looking out at the rising water in the harbour. Then he turned away and casually walked back upriver towards the boatyards. He glanced briefly towards the harbourmaster’s office to check he was there and carried on, past the chandler’s and then looped round and back through to the main road and up to the gallery. He stood at the window for a minute, as if studying the display, then pushed the door open and went in.

Helen Geaton was sitting at the counter on a high stool, looking something up in a catalogue as he came in. She looked up, said: ‘Afternoon,’ and then he felt her eyes on his back as he slowly worked his way round the displays. Eventually he paused in front of a large painting of a naked woman. He turned suddenly to look at Helen and smiled.

‘How refreshing to find something other than insipid little watercolours of the harbour. We haven’t had a decent gallery in Kellaford for…actually I’m not sure we’ve ever had one.’

Helen came out from behind the counter and walked up to stand beside him.

‘So you’re local then?’

‘Yes, though I’ve been away a lot.’

She wasn’t a tall woman; the top of her head only just came up to his shoulder. A floral perfume emanated from her as well as something more electric. Perhaps a desire for something to happen to break up the day.

‘You don’t sound local,’ she said, teasing her mouth into a sensual smile.

‘That’s what public school does for you.’ Theo smiled again and then looked back at the nude: a large oil on canvas of a woman reclining on a chaise longue. There was something of Manet about it but the pose was less direct and more indolent, which made it all the more suggestive. ‘I’m surprised you can get away with this in Kellaford Bridge without censorship,’ he quipped. ‘It’s not a very liberal sort of place.’

‘There have been remarks,’ Helen said primly. ‘But I don’t pay attention. It’s art.’

‘Of course. Is the artist local?’

‘Not far away.’

He studied the painting quite closely and stroked the tip of one finger slowly across his upper lip. He glanced at Helen briefly to find her eyes on him, transfixed. She flushed and moved away.

Theo stepped back, still looking at the picture, nodded and then sauntered across to the counter where Helen was staring sightlessly at the catalogue again. She put it down as he came close and looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

‘Interested?’ she said coolly.

‘Certainly am.’ He raised his eyebrows and still she held his gaze. Eventually, he slid his eyes down and allowed them to look her over, her shapely figure trapped in a low-necked clinging v-neck top and a tight skirt. He gently picked up her left hand and fingered her wedding ring.

‘Married I see,’ he said, looking up into her face. ‘I’m Theo Hellyon,’ he said. ‘And your name…?’

‘Helen. Helen Geaton. Yes, I’m married,’ she said with a weak attempt at dignity and pulled her hand away. ‘My husband’s the harbourmaster here.’

‘Oh yes, I know him, or rather, we’ve met.’ Theo glanced round the room again. ‘I go away a lot,’ he added. ‘Travelling with my work.’ He returned his eyes to her face. ‘Life in Kellaford can get a bit dull sometimes, can’t it?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said quickly and then for a moment looked wrong-footed. ‘Travelling must be fun.’

‘It is. I suppose you’re home a lot. Does your husband travel?’

Theo looked at her with innocently raised eyebrows, his eyes wide and inviting.

‘He likes to go away fishing on his days off, sometimes for the weekend.’

‘Sea-fishing?’

‘No, river. Inland. He’s got a friend he goes with.’

‘And you’re not interested I suppose?’

‘Hardly.’ She failed to keep the contempt out of her voice.

Theo leaned forward onto the counter and dropped his voice silky and low, his breath making the hair framing her face quiver.

‘Then I think you deserve some entertainment too, don’t you?’

Helen appeared to be almost holding her breath as she nodded. Theo suddenly stood up straight and moved away from the counter just as the shop door opened and a couple came in.

‘Thank you Helen,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘Lovely gallery. I’m sure I’ll be in soon.’

He closed the door behind him and was confident that Helen was watching his every step as he walked away.