Summer on the River (37 page)

‘What you're saying,' she suggests, ‘is that it's tricky pretending to Evie and Claude that we're still just good mates, especially when we know that they've probably guessed exactly what's happening, and sooner or later we've got to go public. Or, on the other hand, we go back to being just good mates.'

‘And could we do that?'

There is a silence and when he looks at her he is shocked by her expression. She looks as if he's hit her; wounded her in some way. His heart is wrenched with pain and remorse but he can't think of any way to take back the words or disguise their implicit meaning. Even as his mind tramples around in the debris of well-meaning phrases, she saves him.

‘You're such a puritan, Benj,' she says lightly. ‘Can't we just be having a good time?'

‘I'm certainly having that,' he says warmly – almost too enthusiastically – trying to repair the earlier damage. ‘It's just …'

Jemima moves quickly, swinging her legs out of bed, talking about having a shower, forestalling any other tactless remark he might make, trying to draw them back from the edge of the precipice. He finishes dressing and goes downstairs where Otto greets him enthusiastically.

Ben crouches to speak to him, stroking his head, pulling his ears. He tries to convince himself that these few weeks have been like a sudden gift from the gods, an unexpected bonus, and he knows that Jemima has been happy to receive the gift and share it with him. Sex with Jemima is fun, light-hearted and very good. So why these fits of conscience, this requirement to look into the future?

He tries to imagine how he and Jemima might go forward asking nothing more than this, but he suspects that it can't happen without putting their relationship on a more formal footing. It's already becoming embarrassing pretending to Evie and Claude that nothing has changed; they're not stupid. And surely this very informal arrangement must undermine Jemima's relationship with them? Her old status as a close family friend is being damaged: the need for secrecy is corroding it. Perhaps he
is
a puritan but he's beginning to feel that he must acknowledge her as something more than his lover; beginning to feel they can never go back to that innocent friendship they once had. He tries to picture himself and Jemima coming down together for breakfast, casually facing Evie and Claude over the porridge and orange juice, and his heart quails; it is beyond imagining. And then there is Laura. How would he introduce Jemima to Laura? How would that work? And what about Charlie?

Ben winces, gives Otto a final pat and stands up. He tries to persuade himself that Charlie has made his choice and his choice is his wife and children and his friends. He can't have it both ways. Charlie walked away without even saying a proper goodbye to Jemima, leaving her unhappy and alone, and he, Ben, has been trying to comfort her.

So why does he feel so guilty about Charlie? So dissatisfied with himself? He thinks of their shared past and the affection they feel for each other; how Charlie has helped him financially from time to time. He remembers regatta and Charlie saying, ‘I think I just fell in love, Benj.' Would he really be able to look Charlie in the eye and tell him that he and Jemima are lovers, and feel no twinge of guilt?

Ben hears the shower-room door open; he straightens up, takes a deep breath and prepares to be cheerful.

‘So there we have it,' Jemima says to Otto, watching Benj drive away, her hand raised in farewell. ‘I think that's what we might call the
coup de grâce
. Rather appropriate that it was actually
Death in the Afternoon
not
Love
. I think I've just finally blown it, Otto.'

It is beginning to rain and they go back inside. Suddenly she feels incredibly lonely; rootless. Yet she should be grateful that it's over. Of course she's grown used to being part of the family at the Merchant's House; of course she wanted to keep them all together, but her affair with Benj has put that very thing she longed for out of court and it's no good pretending any different. The dynamic has changed irrevocably. She isn't so easy and open with Evie or Claude, and it's much more difficult to be with Benj in their company – and impossible, now, to think of them all together with Charlie, as they were at regatta. She instinctively closes her eyes against the image of it. Now she can only imagine her and Charlie together away from his family, as they were when they first met on the Embankment, and the second time when he gave her the glass. Her embarrassment at the prospect of being with Charlie and Benj, and Claude and Evie, indicates just how necessary it is to step back: to finish the affair.

Nevertheless it is still humiliating when she remembers how Benj asked the question so quickly, almost eagerly: ‘And could we do that?' as if he regretted even such a brief sharing of love. Going back, however, is out of the question, just as it's also impossible for her to imagine she and Benj living together, either here or in the Merchant's House. Especially not in the Merchant's House.

Jemima shakes her head impatiently at her own inconsistency. She knows that neither of them is ready to commit to a steady relationship. Benj's told her on numerous occasions how much he is enjoying his freedom; she knows that she is in love with Charlie. At the same time she's unreasonably hurt at how quickly Benj began to be uncomfortable within their new relationship that brought her physical comfort and relief.

She wonders just how guilty he's feeling about Charlie – but suddenly she can't bear to think about Charlie. She doesn't want to admit how often, when she holds Benj in her arms, she makes believe that he is Charlie; how, once Benj has gone, she looks at her little piece of glass and feels as if her heart is just as brittle and vulnerable: simplicity, strength, freedom. Suddenly she fears that she's in danger of losing these very qualities that Charlie recognized and valued in her.

Her instinct is right: it's time to move on.

THE LONG, LOW
, heavily beamed bar in the Royal Castle is a delightful place to be on this cold damp morning. The log fire is lit, the Christmas tree sparkles, and Evie sits by the fire watching people coming in, hugging each other, exchanging Christmas greetings. Presently she will go shopping but it is good to relax, to enjoy the atmosphere and see familiar faces.

She remembers how she sat here that evening just before regatta and saw Jason watching her from his seat in the corner. He's had a complete breakdown, Mikey's aunt Liz tells her, so it will be a long haul. Liz is a small, capable woman, horrified by what has happened. It was she who told them that it was Jason who smashed the window and the flowerpots; that he'd driven to Dartmouth to confront Evie and demand money and, being unable to find her, completely lost his fragile hold on sanity.

Evie still has a frisson of horror when she imagines Jason finding the boathouse empty and plunging about amongst the mud and broken pots, raging in his drunken impotence.

‘Paul and I had no idea,' Liz said. ‘I felt that I must come down to see you. We knew Jason suffered from depression, you see, but we hadn't realized it was getting so much worse. Mikey thought it was because he was missing Helena and we just accepted it. We didn't see Jason very often – Mikey usually comes to stay on his own – and he always sounded OK when I phoned. This is so terrible. I don't know how we can apologize enough. We'll pay for the damage, of course. We didn't know about the drink problem. He and Helena were always very close, very private, and with Mikey being away at school I suppose they were able to contain Jason's problems between them. When Helena died he was just completely devastated and I suppose he started drinking again to help him cope. I feel so guilty that I had no idea what was happening until Mikey told us at half term.'

Evie asked about Mikey; how he was managing.

‘I promise you, you needn't worry about Mikey,' Liz told her. ‘To be honest, I think it's been quite a relief for him to share the problem. It was a terrible burden for him. He'll live with us during the holidays, of course. Both my boys are very fond of him. They're at uni now but they come home quite often and there's plenty of room for Mikey.'

Jason, she said, became so violent when the police tried to restrain him that he was sectioned, and is being held in a secure unit whilst he has medical help and counselling, but in some strange way, she said, he seems almost happy; living in an odd world of his own, still in complete denial of his own behaviour. There is no strain, no stress; he doesn't have to compete to find or hold down a job, and it's as if he has withdrawn into himself whilst he comes to terms with Helena's death. He writes to Mikey as if they were having a perfectly normal period of separation and will soon be back together in the flat in Bristol, which is up for sale.

Evie sighs: she feels sad whenever she thinks about Jason. Her fear of him has vanished, replaced by compassion and a hope that one day he will be able to conquer his demons; be able to face life again and rebuild his relationship with Mikey.

Mikey has sent her two cards from school in the last few weeks describing his hectic life as a chorister in the run-up to Christmas; he hasn't mentioned Jason. He wrote that he and Aunt Liz are planning to come down for a few days in the new year and he's looking forward to seeing her and being in Dartmouth again.

Evie hopes that he will be in time to see the town decked in its Christmas spirit. She will introduce him to Claude and Ben and Jemima, and to the Merchant's House, and bring him here to the Castle and buy him some lunch. She will talk to him about his grandfather, and how they worked together, so that Russ will live again in his grandson's imagination and memory. It will be her own offering to the past; a gesture that might redeem her own unthinking indifference, which led to her affair with Russ and contributed to events that have come full circle. She knows that Tommy was right, his advice to refuse Russ's request was sensible and sound, but she feels a kind of gratitude that Mikey can be drawn into her life so as to complete its pattern. Tommy would approve.

The Royal Castle was one of Tommy's favourite places, a kind of home from home. They met here in those very early days, almost pretending surprise at seeing each other, getting over that first slightly awkward stage in any relationship. Later, he was always very apologetic about Christmas; that they couldn't be together. On the very rare occasions Marianne took it into her head to spend Christmas at the Merchant's House it made no difference. Generally, when the family came down from London, Evie made arrangements to go to stay with friends: it was safer that way. And when at last they were able to be together it seemed so strange, almost luxurious, to be free from any constraint, and sometimes quite challenging, so used was she to her independence. Tommy understood that. They moved casually, easily, between the two houses; giving each other space, allowing each other time to adapt.

God, I miss him, thinks Evie, smiling at an acquaintance, raising a hand in greeting. Thank God for Claude and Ben.

Yet, even though she is so grateful for their companionship, so glad that they are all together, she savours this moment of solitude. She knows that it is precisely because at any moment she can step back into that circle of friendship that she is enjoying it so much: she need not be alone. So she sits on, sipping her coffee slowly, enjoying the sense of being an onlooker. As she watches the people around her one or two ideas form at the edge of her consciousness; several scenarios suggest themselves. Those familiar, though long absent, creative juices begin to move and flow within her and her stomach contracts with excitement. There is something new in the air, a different vibe, which connects her to the world of the imagination.

Evie takes a deep breath, sits back in her chair and opens herself up to it.

Jemima sits at her desk thinking about Benj. She thinks about the expression on his face when he told her about Laura, the love and the anxiety, and she knows even more certainly that it is right to finish their brief affair. More than that, she is beginning to feel the need to move, to change – to bolt.

She wonders why this need persists; keeps her on the edge, never wanting to put down roots. The price of freedom is loneliness, she knows that, but nevertheless she is driven to sit loose to the world. This summer and autumn has been a magical time but the sparkle is beginning to wear off. She has no future with Benj, and this is underlined by his behaviour when they talk about Laura; his absolute absorption with his daughter's future. And that is how it should be.

Perhaps if she and Benj had remained as friends she might still be able to be part of the family, but she can't turn back the clock. Once she'd believed that it could work, that somehow they could all be contained as a happy unit, but because of her own weakness that early, easy friendship has been done away with. She doesn't want to be left on the outside looking in, but nor she does she want to commit to something more demanding with Benj. She can see that there's some destructive element at work here, the same genetic element that drove her mother from lover to lover, but she can't bear just to become the faithful hanger-on; waiting for invitations to the Merchant's House, bumping into Charlie and Ange in the town.

She thinks about Charlie, about that heart-stopping magic and deep-down recognition that flares between them, and she wonders longingly how it might have been if she and Charlie had met somewhere else, rather than in Dartmouth in the bosom of his family and the Merchant's House: in a café, perhaps, or in a bookshop. Jemima props her chin on her hands and imagines the scenario … Charlie would have been alone, having left Ange and the children on the beach at Polzeath whilst he visited some nearby town. Truro, perhaps …

On an impulse she leans forward, picks up the phone and dials the number of the Truro office.

‘Hi,' she says. ‘It's me, Jemima. Listen, Jane tells me you're losing a team manager … In February? OK. Look I'm coming down to Falmouth for Christmas so I'll pop in and see you … I know, I know. I
am
happy here but I've got itchy feet. Pastures new and all that … Great. I'll be in touch.'