The Memory Garden (36 page)

As the morning wore on and the phone didn’t ring again, she relaxed. Either Greg had arrived and all was progressing for good or for bad, or else he hadn’t turned up. At least she hadn’t been required to guard Lana against a kidnapping father or to comfort a sobbing Irina. Gradually the writing absorbed all her attention.

It was satisfying finally to incorporate the new part of Pearl’s story she had learned into her narrative. In fact, the maid was to form only a small part of a chapter, but she stood as a metaphor for Mel’s theme about the mountain that women artists had to climb, and she was able to go back and slot Pearl’s case into her introduction. And as she gave the maid her tiny place in history, once again she felt a twitch upon the thread. For both women Merryn had been a haven after a storm. And in turn had become the arena for the testing of their strengths.

Bella
. Mel’s concentration evaporated. She pressed Save and rubbed her eyes. The computer clock flicked to 12.31 and the sawing and crashing up the garden ceased once more. Must be lunchtime. She closed down the laptop, splashed cold water from the kitchen tap over her hot face and arms then opened the fridge door. She stood there thinking for a moment, then let the door swing shut. Curiosity had won. She must go up to the house and see what was happening.

The heat rolled in heavy waves across the garden, the midday sun beating down so brightly it was hard to see. But when she reached the Flower Garden she heard the sound of voices. She peered in under the half-arch.
Over by the far wall, under the shade of the beech trees, stood two figures. It took a second for her to register that one was Patrick, this crisply dressed figure, jacket draped over one shoulder, his other hand in his trouser pocket, white shirtsleeves rolled to reveal arms now brown from the summer’s gardening. He was standing close, too close, to a slim pretty woman, in earnest conversation. How fresh she looked in her pale-blue shirt-dress, kitten-heeled sandals and with a small neat white handbag hooked over one forearm. The sun glinted on her shoulder-length fair hair. At one point as they talked, the woman put her hand up to her face in a vulnerable gesture and Patrick reached out and rubbed her shoulder as though in comfort. Mel watched for a moment, agonising jealousy swelling inside. They looked so – right – together, those two, Patrick tall, so well-turned out, his skin glowing against the white shirt. Was it standing next to Bella that gave him that gloss? Mel suddenly wanted him so much it hurt.
Tears pricking , she was turning away, when Patrick called out to her. He said something to his companion and began to walk quickly across the garden.
‘Hi! We were about to come down and find you.’
Mel stepped forward uncertainly, her smile feeling pasted on. Bella busied herself donning a pair of sunglasses and waited, as Patrick put his arm around Mel and drew her over.
‘I didn’t know she’d arrived,’ whispered Mel, and allowed herself to be received by Bella like a subject by a queen.
Patrick, having watched them coolly shake hands, seemed to feel he had done his bit, for he merely stood, looking from one to another in wary silence.
‘I’m really pleased to meet you,’ said Bella, her eyes invisible behind her sunglasses. ‘Patrick’s been telling me all about you.’ She put out her hand and gave Patrick a playful pat, her manicured fingertips resting briefly on his shoulder. ‘He does keep things to himself, doesn’t he?’
‘Does he?’ said Mel faintly.
‘It’s part of his attraction, of course,’ she went on. ‘He imagines we women never know quite what he’s thinking. But we do, of course. Men are so funny sometimes, aren’t they?’
Mel merely smiled. Bella was very pretty, but it was a cultivated, well-groomed attractiveness. But when Mel glanced at Patrick, she was shocked to see that he was gazing at Bella as though fascinated by every word dropping from her lips.

‘Where are you staying?’ asked Mel, to steer the subject to safer ground.
‘Oh, just with some friends at Hayle, near St Ives,’ said Bella. ‘I’m there for the week actually.’ ‘That’s nice,’ said Mel. ‘Hope you get good weather.’
‘So perhaps we can see something of each other.’ Patrick stared unhappily at the ground, prodding at a large dandelion plant with his shoe.
In the end he suggested they go down to the Wink, the old pub in the village, for lunch. They crossed the Flower Garden, Bella carefully watching where she placed her exquisitely sandalled feet. Patrick fell behind.
Glancing at the house, Mel suddenly remembered Irina and hung back to ask in a low voice, ‘What’s been going on indoors? Did he come?’
‘Greg? Yes, arrived about eleven. I let him in.’

‘How’s it going?’
‘Fine. Lana was a bit shy at first. I left them all to it. In fact, look.’ They had passed back through the arch and Patrick gestured down the garden, shading his face against the sun. There, near the rhododendrons, Greg and Lana stood hand-in- hand, Lana chattering nineteen to the dozen , looking up into her father’s eyes, her face alive. As for Greg, all his grumpiness had gone. He gazed down at his daughter, an amused smile on his face. Patrick walked across the grass to speak to them. When he came back he said, ‘Irina’s gone back to the hotel to help Matt. Greg’s taking Lana over there later.’

‘Well, thank heavens that seems to have gone well,’ breathed Mel. He nodded and moved forwards to speak to Bella. Left looking at his back, she thought, in a sharp reversal, it was her life that seemed to be unravelling instead.

‘Do you remember, Paddy, when we stayed at Lois’s cottage that time? And Lois left the brake off on her car and it ended up in the sea and you and Geoff had to haul it out? It was
so
funny, Mel. You wouldn’t believe how cross he was, weren’t you, Paddy?’

Mel merely continued eating her baked potato, which tasted like ashes in her mouth.

Bella turned out to be one of those people who can prattle amusingly about anything, without allowing the conversation to deepen. At first Mel had thought she was doing it deliberately, trying to exclude Mel by reminiscing about the past, but it only took her a short time to realise that Bella wasn’t really interested in Mel. Mel’s role was audience, and she had to grin and bear it.

She could hardly bring herself to look at Patrick, who was laughing and joshing Bella with his own stories, though every now and then he would ask Mel if she was all right.

Bella really was very attractive, Mel had to admit to herself, taking little glances at her from time to time, noticing her small high breasts, her lovely neck and glossy hair, and trying not to dwell on the thought that she, Mel, needed to visit a hairdresser, and was wearing faded jeans. The only comfort Mel could find was that, now Bella had taken her sunglasses off in the pub, the shape of her nose and the set of her pale blue eyes gave her the look, just very slightly, of a surprised sheep.

Bella had asked only two questions of Mel during lunch. One, what she did for a living, and the other, how long she proposed staying in Cornwall. Otherwise the conversation had been about things she and Patrick had done together, news of people they had known, funny stories about people buying and selling property in Chelsea where her offices were. Occasionally she would draw in Patrick, touching his arm and asking, ‘Paddy thought it was hilarious, didn’t you, Paddy?’ or, ‘Do you remember Hugo in the office, Paddy?’ and chasing off after some new anecdote.

Mel, stirring a cup of coffee, longed for the meal to be over. Finally, it was, and Patrick suggested they walk down to the cove.

‘I’d love to but it’s so hot and I’ve only got these stupid shoes,’ sighed Bella, flexing a pretty ankle. Mel, whilst contemptuous of the fashionable sandals, had to agree with her about the heat and so they laboured their way back up to the Hall to where Bella had parked her Clio behind the tree surgeon’s lorries.

They stared in fascination at the wide area of garden already cleared of trees and undergrowth. ‘I’m planning a lawn here, you see,’ Patrick interjected between the noises of the machinery.

‘It’s all changed so much since I saw it last,’ replied Bella, as they went into the house. ‘Do you know,’ she said to Mel, ‘it was such a dump. I simply couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live here, let alone me.’

‘I love it,’ said Mel in a dull voice.

‘Oh, it’s going to be beautiful – I can see that now.’ Was her expression wistful, or merely polite? ‘Well, it’s been so nice, Paddy, but I really have to go. We’re due over at Rick Stein’s restaurant this evening.’

‘Bit of a trek, isn’t it, Padstow?’

‘I know, but it’s Lois’s birthday and she booked it months ago. Do you remember, you were going to come. Before . . .’ She trailed to a halt, meaningfully.

‘Of course, her birthday, I’d forgotten.’ Patrick’s distress seemed genuine. ‘Send her my love, won’t you, Bella?’

‘I will. Mel, if you don’t mind, is there any chance Paddy and I could meet, you know, for a drink later in the week? I’d really appreciate a proper chat with him.’

Patrick turned to Mel and said in a casual tone, ‘We’re not doing anything much, are we? Would it be all right, Mel, if I went?’

‘Up to you,’ said Mel, shrugging.

‘I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow, Paddy?’ said Bella. ‘We’re going to a play at the Minack Theatre the following evening, and I think there’s a meal out planned the night after.’

‘Sure. Where should we go?’

Mel said abruptly, ‘Nice to meet you, Bella. I’d better be getting on,’ and slipped out of the front door. When Patrick came to the cottage shortly afterwards, she had gone out for a long walk. When she returned she found a note that said,
Supper at eight. Px
.

That evening, as Patrick was cooking, Irina rang. After a moment he passed the receiver over to Mel.

‘Where are you?’ Mel asked.

‘Home,’ said Irina. ‘Lana’s here, too, watching TV in the other room. We’re going to meet Greg at the hotel for dinner. Listen, I wanted to say thank you both for helping these last few days.’

‘That’s okay. How did it go earlier?’

Irina sighed. ‘He has been most reasonable. Says he’s sorry for everything. That we can work something out. He seems to have changed. More gentle. What can I say?’

‘He seemed, well, very genuine about missing Lana.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, what have you agreed with him?’

‘It’s difficult,’ Irina said. ‘I am still nervous. But Lana wants to see him, so what can I do? I can’t risk her turning against me.’

‘No.’

‘So we have dinner together and I see how things go. But . . . I feel tired of running now. I have run from my family in Dubrovnik, I have run from my husband. Now I want the quiet life and I want Lana to be happy. Maybe it will work.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Thank you, Mel.’

‘It seems a happy ending might indeed be in sight there,’ Mel said, putting down the phone.

‘Thank heavens for that,’ was all Patrick said from the stove where he was furiously stirring a roux. He seemed distracted this evening, and had made no reference to Bella’s visit. Bella was like a sheathed sword between them.

Mel watched him as she sipped her wine, noticing afresh the sure movements of his body as he reached for utensils or crouched down to check the pie baking in the oven, the unconscious way he would stroke the back of his neck whilst thinking. Just as she was recognising fully how dear he was to her, he seemed to be growing further away, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts, hardly looking at her. A lump swelled in her throat. She knew instinctively it was the wrong moment to speak. But in the end, it was no good, she couldn’t stop herself.

‘Patrick,’ she said hesitantly, ‘do you have to go out with Bella tomorrow?’ The blade, drawn from its scabbard, flashed menacingly.

He looked up from stirring, his blank expression unnerving. ‘Well, that’s the arrangement, yes,’ was all he said. His voice was strange. He moved the saucepan off the heat and turned to face her, arms folded.

‘You could ring her, couldn’t you, say you’re busy after all?’

‘Why should I do that?’ he said. ‘What’s this all about, Mel? You weren’t exactly friendly to Bella today. She was a bit upset about it. You’re not still jealous of her, are you?’
‘She was upset!’ Mel gasped. ‘What about me? Don’t I get any consideration here? And no, since you ask, I’m not exactly jealous , just . . . furious . You’re with me now, aren’t you? You can’t expect me to be exactly delighted about you spending a cosy evening with your ex-fiancée.’
Her anger ignited his own.
‘Mel, what d’you imagine’s going to happen? That I’m going to leap over the pub table and ravish her senseless in front of the locals? We’re only having a drink, for goodness’ sake and, anyway, she’s going out with whatshisname, Ed, back in London.’
Mel remembered Bella’s adoring expression, the way she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Patrick.
‘I don’t trust her,’ she said. ‘Even if there is an Ed waiting in the wings.’
‘That’s a horrible thing to say. Come on, you’re worrying about nothing. I can’t let her down, she gets very depressed sometimes, she needs someone to talk to.’
Mel couldn’t quite believe that Bella was depressed. Manipulative, self -centred, yes, she thought bitchily, but she didn’t seem to be someone who was deep enough even to be aware of the concept of cosmic angst, let alone to suffer from it.
‘Doesn’t she have other friends who can help? What about this Lois person and the others she’s down here with ? Why does it always have to be you?’
‘I imagine it’s because I know her so well – she doesn’t have to explain everything. Look, Mel, this is quite an accusation, that you don’t trust me.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘It’s what you’ve virtually spelled out.’
‘Oh, go and see her, then. I don’t care. I don’t want to be responsible for her jumping off a cliff at Land’s End.’
‘Mel,’ Patrick said, and she was suddenly terrified of the cold steel in his voice. He stopped, took a step towards her . ‘It’s not going to work if . . . Listen, we’re neither of us spring chickens. I can’t drop all my old friends, pretend they never existed, just because I’ve met you. What about this Jake chap? I’m not always asking about him, am I, thinking you’re still lusting after him?’
‘But I’m not seeing Jake,’ Mel said, nearly spilling her wine as she shakily set it on the table. ‘And you are seeing Bella.’
‘You’ll see him when you go back to college, won’t you? Every day.’
‘Patrick, this is ridiculous. You can’t make the comparison.’ They stared at one another. She couldn’t bear his fury and looked away.
When you go back to college
.
‘Patrick,’ she said, again unable to stop herself. ‘This might not be the moment, but what are we going to do when I go back?’
‘What do you mean?’ he said mildly.
‘About us, of course. It’s only a few weeks before term starts. I’ve got to go back to my job, my flat, my old life. But where are we going, Patrick, you and I? This time has been so special to me. What does it mean for you? Has this just been an enjoyable break from real life? Am I just a holiday romance? Or is it more important to you than that?’
He moved forward suddenly and pulled her into his arms, started kissing her desperately, then hugged her hard and she felt his hot whisper in his ear. ‘Don’t be such an idiot. Of course you’re important. It’s just . . .’
‘What?’ she said, pulling back to look at him. He broke the gaze first.
‘Nothing,’ he answered, then smiled at her. Once more their mouths met. When next they came up for air she said , ‘Oh Patrick, I’m sorry.’
‘Oh darling .’ He hugged her tighter . ‘Come on, don’t let’s quarrel. It’ll work out, you’ll see.’ ‘Will it?’ she sighed, realising that he hadn’t given an inch over Bella.
‘Of course it will.’ And once again he began to kiss her, passionately, almost angrily. But he hadn’t said that he was sorry, too.