Summer on the River (10 page)

‘Don't be anxious,' she says, ‘but I think I know your grandparents, Russell and Patricia Dean. I worked with Russell at Bristol University. My name's Evelyn Fortescue.'

He looks at her, an intent look, open and friendly, and her heart warms towards him.

‘I'm afraid they're dead,' he says regretfully. ‘I never knew my grandmother – she died before I was born – but Grampy was really cool.'

So Russ is dead: a cloud of sadness engulfs her but dissolves in the bright regard of this boy, his grandson.

‘Your father,' she says cautiously, ‘was just a little boy when I last saw him. Probably seven or eight.'

The boy instinctively glances behind him, as if Jason might be standing at his back, and then looks at her.

‘He's just dashed into the pub to the loo,' he says. ‘He's a bit … like, edgy, just now. My mum died six months ago and we're …'

He swallows, his eyes suddenly flood with tears, which he blinks away, and Evie is filled with compassion. She, the least maternal of women, longs to gather him into her arms.

‘I am so sorry,' she says quietly. ‘How very terrible.'

He nods; it is unspeakably terrible.

‘Will you tell me your name?' she asks gently.

‘It's Mikey,' he says, swiping his bare brown arm across his eyes. ‘Mikey Dean.'

‘Well, Mikey,' she says, ‘it's very good to meet you. I live across there. See those houses down along the river? They're converted boathouses. That's where I am.'

She doesn't quite know why she's telling him; Jason would never bring him to see her.

‘That's really cool,' he says, shielding his eyes from the sun and staring across to where the boathouse stands. ‘Your view must be epic.'

‘It's pretty special,' she says, smiling. ‘Is this your first time in Dartmouth?'

‘Uh-huh. My aunt and uncle have just bought a little flat by the church for holiday lets. They're letting me and Dad use it for a holiday.'

‘It's a great week for your first visit to Dartmouth. Regatta week.'

Mikey lets out a great sigh. ‘I just love it. I can't wait to see the fireworks and the Red Arrows. I want to stay. I want to live here for ever.'

‘But you have to go back to school?'

He nods, makes a face.

‘Do you still live in Bristol?'

‘We've got a flat in Tyndall's Park Road,' he tells her. ‘We lived in Grampy's house for a while after he died but then we had to sell it and get something smaller.'

‘Where do you go to school?'

She wonders if she's being too inquisitive but he answers readily.

‘I'm at Wells Cathedral School. I'm a chorister.'

‘That's wonderful,' she says warmly, and he smiles at her enthusiasm.

‘It's OK,' he says nonchalantly.

Silence falls between them. He glances anxiously behind him again, and she gets up reluctantly. ‘I must go. Good to meet you, Mikey. See you around.'

She walks quickly away, up the hill to Southtown and down the steps to the boathouse where Claude is reading on the balcony, waiting for Charlie and Ange to arrive.

Driving into Dartmouth past the old Pottery, through Warfleet down to the Merchant's House, Charlie struggles with a growing sense of unease. Ange's friends have cried off the visit to regatta – some family crisis, apparently – and Charlie is beginning to wonder if indeed there was ever any intention of their coming. After all, Ange has never been down for regatta without friends in tow – she sees no point in it – and he suspects that Ange wants to see for herself just how well Ben is dug in at the Merchant's House without it being too obvious.

‘Evie will never get him out if she's not careful,' she said when she heard of Evie's gesture. ‘I think it's very unwise of her.'

‘You make him sound like a squatter,' Charlie said, quite lightly. He didn't want to make a big deal of it; he's still coming to terms with the fact that his father didn't leave the house to him. ‘Ben's not some ne'er-do-well looking for an easy option. He's always got work and he's very well known in his field.'

Ange shrugged this aside. Until the Merchant's House had been left to Evie she'd been quite fond of Ben; leaving the magazines that published his work on show around the house, boasting about his latest shoot if it were at a grand enough house. Now she's nervous: Evie is very fond of Ben, his marriage is breaking up, and he has his foot in the door. Ange has a strong sense of ownership and, in her view, the Merchant's House belongs to Charlie and his family, not to Evie – and certainly not to Ben.

All the way from London, Ange has been making little comments that reflect her anxiety and irritation.

‘I don't know what your father was thinking about. He could have simply put the house into some kind of trust for Evie to use in her lifetime if she needed it, though I can't see why she should. She's got her own house. She must have influenced him in some way.'

‘Rubbish,' he says irritably. He doesn't believe that Evie influenced his father but this constant need to defend TDF's rather hurtful decision and pretend that he doesn't mind is beginning to wear him down. ‘That's not at all Evie's style. Why shouldn't he leave her the house? She was his wife.'

‘His second wife,' she corrects him quickly. ‘Not the same at all. We have the girls to think about. It's breaking with family tradition. I'm just saying that it's unwise of Evie to give Ben any ideas about it.'

‘Well, at least he loves the place,' Charlie says. ‘Which is more than you do. Even the girls prefer to stay with your mother down at Polzeath than come to Dartmouth.'

‘That's because their school-friends are there in the summer,' she answers. ‘It will be different when they're older. Anyway, that's not the point.'

He doesn't ask what the point is: he's weary of skating around the problem. Personally, he's delighted that old Benj is staying at the Merchant's House; better than tenants wrecking the place or a succession of holidaymakers coming and going. And it's nice for Evie to have him just across the road.

‘I suppose Claude will be here,' Angie says, resigned, as they drive down into Southtown. ‘An extraordinary relationship, I always think. He and Evie behave like a couple of undergraduates, dashing about on that silly scooter. Your father was just as bad once Marianne died.'

Charlie resists the urge to defend Evie and Claude; he simply hasn't got the energy. Lately, however, he's become more and more sympathetic to his father's marital disloyalty. Having someone like Evie to spend time with, to relax with, must have been utter heaven. He loves Ange – and he totally respects her drive and ambition and devotion to the family business – but, oh goodness, what he wouldn't give for a few weeks of behaving like an undergraduate again.

He peers ahead. ‘Great,' he says. ‘Benj has opened the garage door. I can reverse in.'

‘No,' Ange says at once. ‘No you can't. It makes it much more difficult to unload the car. Drive straight in.'

‘But reversing out on to this road is very tricky,' he argues. ‘Much better to back in.'

‘Don't be silly,' she says. ‘There's hardly any traffic down this road during regatta. Just do it, Charlie.'

And so he does, but he experiences an almost overwhelming desire to perform some violent action: crash his hand down on the horn, drive the car into the back wall of the garage, something to stop the frustration of being obedient to Ange's relentless will.

Instead he switches off the engine, gets out and tries the interconnecting door to the house. It opens and he goes into the hall and shouts, ‘We're here,' and Benj comes out of the kitchen and they stand and grin at each other as if they are children again. Charlie remembers that his cousin's marriage has come apart, that he's homeless, and he holds out his arms to him.

‘Good to see you, Benj,' he says, and they hug, while Ange's voice, raised in irritation, can be heard from the garage.

‘Hi. Where are you? Is anyone going to come and help me with this luggage?'

Ben is surprised and touched at the warmth of Charlie's greeting. He senses some stress here, and he can make a pretty good guess at what's causing it. Ange appears at the door; her quite pretty face is marred by an almost habitual harassed frown. It is the expression of someone who needs to be in control; to be watchful lest her instructions are misunderstood or, worse, disobeyed.

How awful it must be, thinks Ben, to be Ange. Pretty awful for poor old Charlie, too.

‘Can nobody hear me?' she cries. ‘Oh, there you are.'

He raises his hand in greeting. ‘Hi, Ange,' he says, but she's already turned away with a quick wave of her hand, instructions still trailing behind her.

Charlie shrugs, follows her out to help, and Ben waits at the door wondering how to play this rather odd scene. It seems strange to be welcoming Charlie and Ange to the Merchant's House.

‘Shall I take that up for you?' he asks, as Ange reappears with a large holdall. ‘You're in the room on the left at the top of the stairs.'

‘I know where our bedroom is, thank you, Ben,' she says brightly. ‘I can manage.'

He watches her small figure stomping up the stairs; her bottom is rather too big in her unflatteringly loose linen trousers and her back view is not particularly attractive. He feels another wash of sympathy for Charlie, who has now appeared with two suitcases. Ben raises his eyebrows at the amount of luggage and Charlie shakes his head defensively.

‘I know. I know. Don't worry. We've only come for the weekend, honestly. God, what a journey.'

‘Want a drink?' he asks.

‘Don't tempt me,' says Charlie. ‘It's too early.'

‘Is it? The sun must be over the yardarm somewhere. It wouldn't have worried you once.'

‘Shut up and put the kettle on. Ange will appreciate a cup of tea.'

He turns away, begins to climb the stairs, and Ben goes into the kitchen. The kitchen and the breakfast room, divided only by a graceful arch, occupy most of the ground floor since the sitting-room was converted into a garage. Ben likes this mix of space and cosiness. The kitchen's sash window looks into the garden; the breakfast room's windows look out on the street. In common with most of these houses, the drawing-room is on the first floor so as to take advantage of the views of the river but Ben likes this long, light room with its high ceilings, deep skirting boards and beautiful timber floor. This is where he spends most of his time when he isn't working. In recent years the house has been used only for holidays and the original Regency furniture has been replaced with more durable pieces. The long, rather battered, refectory table is very useful to work at, to read at – as well as to eat at – and Ben has been busy tidying up. There is a sofa along one wall and built-in bookshelves on either side of the window, and now he glances through the arch into the breakfast room to satisfy himself that it is as tidy as Ange will expect it to be.

When she does appear, however, she says, ‘Oh, I thought we'd have tea in the drawing-room,' and, ‘Have you got any Earl Grey?' which makes him feel like a rather inadequate footman. But Charlie says, ‘Oh, for goodness' sake, we don't want to cart it upstairs. In fact I might go out into the garden. I need some fresh air.'

With relief Ben follows him outside, leaving Ange to agonize over Earl Grey or a fruit tea, and Charlie says: ‘This probably sounds really crass, Benj, given what you've been through, but just at the moment I rather envy you.'

As soon as they've gone Ange slips back upstairs. A quick glance around the drawing-room shows that there is very little change: some books and magazines on the floor by an armchair but not much else. The spare bedrooms are clearly unused, the beds stripped, cupboards bare, and the little dressing-room that leads off one of the rooms is empty, but in the two rooms up on the second floor the reality of Ben's occupation is very clear. The bedroom is untidy, the bed unmade: quilt rumpled, pillows piled up, clothes tossed over chairs. The study is now a workroom filled with photographic equipment, painting equipment, piles of paper, card; there is barely room to walk.

Her worst fears are realized as she stares in through the doorway: Ben is clearly very much at home. Her mind darts to and fro: a sharp needle flying in and out of the tough fabric of her anxiety. She wonders what the tax implications are regarding Ben working here and whether Evie has thought about it.

Through a window she can see Ben and Charlie sitting at the table at the top of the garden with their mugs of tea. Ben is talking, gesticulating, and suddenly Charlie throws back his head and roars with laughter. She watches them for a moment, resenting their camaraderie, fearing it – Charlie can be so foolishly soft-hearted, it still irritates her to hear him using that childish name for Ben – and then she slips back downstairs. She reboils the kettle, puts a teabag into a mug and all the while there is something nagging at the back of her mind; something different, something she's missed. Her instinct tells her that it's important but, before she can go back for another check around, Ben appears.

‘We wondered if you were OK?' he asks. ‘And I remembered that Evie brought some stuff over. Cakes and things.'

The kettle boils and Ange makes her tea. ‘Not for me, thanks,' she says. ‘This will do me fine.'

He smiles at her, steps aside so that she is obliged to precede him outside, and she has no alternative but to climb up through the garden to join Charlie. And all the time that they are talking, drinking tea, her thoughts are doubling to and fro, trying to remember what it is that she has missed.

Now that the moment is upon her, Evie is rather regretting inviting Charlie, Ange and Ben to supper. She is still fearful about how Ange will be reacting to Ben's presence in the Merchant's House. She says so to Claude.