The Last Summer (31 page)

I could have left. I could have descended that narrow staircase and left the cottage, but I didn’t. I entered the small sloping roofed room closing the door behind me, and then I slipped off my shoes, went over to his bed and knelt down on the floor next to him. I didn’t touch him; I sat listening to his breathing, watching him. A faded blue curtain gently swayed by the open window next to me, and but for the sound of birds outside, the place was perfectly silent. I closed my eyes for a moment:
thank you for keeping him alive . . . thank you for keeping him safe
.

A white sheet wrapped tangled around his midriff; two legs, so perfectly formed, sprawled out across another; and an arm hung listlessly from the edge of the bed.

I studied that forearm, dangling in front of me, noting its shape, its dark hairs and scars; and then I lifted it, and pressed my lips to his flesh. He stirred, pulled his arm away, moved on to his side and opened his eyes, blinking at me.

‘Am I dreaming?’ he asked, in a thick, sleepy voice. A voice I’d never heard before.

‘Yes,’ I replied, rising to my feet, ‘this is a dream, Tom . . . just a dream.’

I unfastened the buttons down the front of my dress, stepped out of it and laid it over a chair, on top of his clothes. I rolled down my stockings, one by one, and placed them carefully over the same chair. I untied my camisole, lifted it up over my head and placed that too upon the chair. And then I pulled the comb from my hair, and placed it upon a chest of drawers. I turned to him, watched his eyes pass over my body, saw him swallow, his mouth open slightly, and then I climbed into his bed, next to him, naked.

We made love without uttering any coherent word. And afterwards, I dressed in silence and left the cottage. I remember walking back to the house feeling the most sublime sense of peace. Had I no shame? No, not with him; never with him.

A little while later, I walked to the lake. I changed into my
bathing costume at the boathouse and then swam across to the island. And as I sat on the jetty looking back at Deyning in the distance, I remembered all the summers and all the picnics I’d shared there – on that island – with my brothers. I saw them rowing over the water towards me, calling out my name, laughing. And then I saw a figure, standing by the boathouse, completely still, looking back across the lake at me. I watched him strip off his clothes, dive into the water and swim towards me. And I watched him emerge from the water.

‘Miss Clarissa, will you be needin’ anything . . . anything at all?’ he asked standing in front of me, naked.

‘Hmm. That depends what you had in mind, Cuthbert,’ I replied, looking up at him, squinting into the sun.

‘Can I be gettin’ yer summit to drink, p’raps?’

‘Yes . . . that would be rather nice. A glass of champagne, I think . . .’

‘Very well, m’lady.’

And he turned, and dived back into the water. ‘Tom! No! Come back!’

A few minutes later I saw him emerge at the other side of the lake. And I giggled out loud as I watched him pull on his clothes and then run up through the field, towards the house.
What on earth is he up to?

I lay back against the warm timber and looked up at a never-ending blueness. How perfect some moments are: there was not a cloud between heaven and me. And as I languished there in the sunshine, I could hear the unabashed joy of young birds in the trees behind me, the rumbling of a distant motor. I closed my eyes, remembering our love-making of earlier that morning. And then I thought of Charlie.
Dear Charlie
. I didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to deceive him. But somehow it didn’t feel wrong to be with Tom. You see, I’d given
him
my heart, promised it to him so many years before.

When I sat up, there he was, rowing towards me this time, fully clothed, a cigarette in his mouth. He climbed out of the boat, lifted out a large basket and a rug, and walked towards me.

‘You were quick.’

‘Time is of the essence, ma’am.’

‘Oh God, I do hope you’re not stuck in character for the whole afternoon.’

‘Why? Do you not like it? I thought it might excite you . . . me playing that part.’

‘I don’t need you to play any part,’ I said, as he spread the rug out next to me. ‘Though I do rather like having you wait on me.’

‘Aha! I knew it. Well then, m’lady, I’ll be applyin’ for yer position as lady’s maid.’

‘Gosh, that would be novel,’ I replied, and giggled. ‘And I can just see you in the uniform.’

‘Yes, and it shall be my job to see to it that you’re properly dressed . . . and undressed, each day, of course,’ he continued, sitting down, and pulling a bottle of champagne from the basket. ‘But there may be more undressing than dressing,’ he added, glancing at me.

I rolled on to the rug and lay on my stomach.

‘But you can’t undress me more than once.’

‘Yes, I can,’ he said, glancing at me again with a wicked grin. ‘I could spend all day dressing and undressing you.’

He popped the champagne, pulled a glass from the basket and poured it, licking the spillage from his hand and handing me the glass.

‘Where did this come from? Papa’s cellar?’

‘Of course.’

‘I thought we’d finished that.’

‘Not the bottles I’d purloined.’

‘You’re shameless!’

‘I know. But I happen to know this very gorgeous creature,’ he said, lying down next to me, ‘who rather likes champagne. It was an act of mercy, really.’

I laughed. ‘You think champagne will keep her alive and gorgeous?’

‘Absolutely. Champagne and me. Lots and lots of me.’

I rolled on to my side and looked up at him. ‘You’re right. Lots and lots of you will keep me alive.’

He turned to face me, his head propped in his hand. ‘I think we should build a house here . . . and shoot anyone who comes across the water.’

‘That’s not very friendly,’ I said, smiling at him, his humour. ‘I don’t feel like being friendly with anyone apart from you.’

I reached out, stroked his face. ‘We’d have to have some friends . . . we’d get bored of each other, cooped up here on an island, day in, day out.’

‘No we wouldn’t. We could simply pretend to be other people when we got bored of our real selves.’

I laughed again. ‘Ah, you mean you play lady’s maid to Miss Clarissa.’

‘Yes, that sort of thing. And I’m sure I can come up with a few more.’

‘Such as?’

‘Let me think . . . Groom to Miss Clarissa – or rather to her horse?’

‘
Horses
, please. I’d have more than one.’

‘Gardener to Miss Clarissa?’

‘Broughton!’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘And then we’d have to spend an awful lot of time in the hothouse . . .’

I smiled. ‘You do seem bent on domestic service.’

He ran a finger down my nose. ‘But of course. It’s my family’s line of business.’

‘Perhaps I could be Issie, the extraordinarily well-endowed parlourmaid to Lord Cuthbert,’ I suggested.

He looked up at the sky and shook his head. ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t see you being very convincing in that part.’ He turned to me, ‘You can only ever be Clarissa.’

We lay there for a while staring at each other, smiling. We’d already finished our glasses of champagne when he rose to his feet.

‘Come,’ he said, offering me his hand.

‘But where?’ I asked.

He placed the bottle and glasses back into the basket, threw the rug over his shoulder, and then led me away from the jetty, into the trees.

‘But where are we going?’ I asked again, carefully dodging nettles, ducking branches, but happy enough for him to lead me on.

‘Away from eyes,’ he replied.

When we emerged from the shadows, at the other side of the island, he stood on the bank looking about; surveying the landscape for
eyes
I presumed. Then he put down the basket and spread the rug out once more. I was cold, shivering.

‘You really need to take that off . . . let it dry,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Here, take my shirt.’ He pulled it off, over his head, and handed it to me, then turned away as I rolled down my bathing suit and put on his shirt. I hung the damp costume over a branch and sat down next to him on the rug. Ahead of us was nothing but water and empty cornfields, the hazy outline of hills in the distance. He took hold of my hand and for a while we sat in complete silence, staring out in front of us.

‘I did wait, Tom,’ I said at last.

‘No, let’s not speak of it, not now,’ he said, and then he took
hold of me, pulled me down on to the rug and kissed me.

We made love again, there, under that bright Sussex sky, and afterwards we swam in the lake; moving through the water separately then coming together once more, our bodies entwined under its dark wetness. When we emerged from the water, teeth chattering, he wrapped the rug around us both and held me in his arms. We spent the remainder of that afternoon lying on the bank, cocooned and naked inside the rug. We talked about his plans for the future. He said he simply wanted to get on with his life now and wouldn’t be returning to Oxford.

‘But what about the bar?’ I asked.

‘I don’t want to go into law, not now. I couldn’t go back to all that now.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’ He turned to me. ‘But I’ve been thinking about America . . .’

‘America?’

‘Yes. There are opportunities there. Opportunities to make a lot of money.’ He paused, staring at me. ‘You could come with me.’

‘Come with you?’

‘Yes, come with me. Come with me, Clarissa.’

‘But what about Charlie, and Mama?’

‘Leave Charlie and come with me.’

My head was swimming. ‘Leave Charlie?’ I repeated. ‘But it would kill him. He loves me, I’m everything to him . . . all he has.’

He looked away, closed his eyes.

‘I have to see you, Clarissa. I can’t stand the thought of living in the same city, the same country, and not being able to see you . . . be with you.’

I pressed my lips against his neck. ‘But you’ve lived without me for quite a while . . . and survived.’

‘That was different. There was a war on. I wasn’t free, wasn’t able to see you.’ He sighed. ‘And now I’ve seen you,’ he tightened his grip around me, ‘held you, tasted you . . . I can’t bear to let you go again.’

‘And Charlie?’ I asked, again.

‘What about him? Were you thinking of him when we made love this morning?’

‘No! Of course not. But it’s different here. You belong to me here . . . and I belong to you here.’

‘Here,’ he repeated, wistfully. ‘And
here
is about to disappear. Deyning is about to be sold. So, after these few days, is that it?’

‘Please, don’t make it sound so brutal.’

‘Well, it is, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s not. But I can’t see any other way,’ I said, sitting up, putting my head in my hands. ‘America . . . it’s just not possible.’

He grabbed hold of my wrist, pulled me back down to him, and wrapped his arms around me. ‘I want to make love to you for the rest of my life,’ he said, kissing my face. ‘And when I breathe my last I want you there. I want the last word I utter to be your name, the last face I look upon to be yours . . .’

And I began to cry, for I too couldn’t bear the thought of a future without him in it.

‘Don’t go to America, please Tom, don’t go to America,’ I said through tears. ‘Stay here, in England, there are jobs here . . . opportunities here . . .’

‘Clarissa . . .’

‘Promise me, promise me you won’t go.’

‘I can’t, I can’t make that promise,’ he said, lifting his hand to my face, wiping away the wetness. ‘I can’t make that promise,’ he said again, kissing my forehead. ‘But I shall try, for a while at least, not to go.’

We didn’t leave the island until early evening. He rowed us
across the water slowly and in silence, and then he sat on the jetty as I changed back into my clothes in the boathouse. We walked through the pink blush of the meadow and stopped by the tree – ‘Our tree,’ he said – and looked back at the lake. It had been a perfect day. One etched on to my memory for ever.

Of course, I’d entirely forgotten about any arrangement with Mabel, or the fact that Henry had had no idea where I was. And as I walked across the hallway, towards the stairs, Henry’s voice boomed at me from the doorway of the drawing room. ‘Issa, thank God! Where the hell have you been?’

I stopped in my tracks. ‘Oh, hello,’ I said, calmly. ‘Where’ve I been? I’ve been having a wander about the estate, and I rowed out to the island.’

He moved towards me, and I immediately saw from his face how frightened he’d been.

‘You can’t just disappear off like that, for hours on end and on your own; don’t you realise? Don’t you realise anything could happen to you?’ He was shouting, in a state.

‘I’m so sorry, Henry. I forgot the time,’ I said, reaching out and touching his arm. ‘But I’m here now, darling, and as you can see I’m perfectly safe and unharmed,’ I added, looking up into his anxious eyes.