Voices in Summer (15 page)

'About three years. She lived with me in my flat in Fulham and she used to come to the office with me and sleep under my desk. She's used to being well behaved.'

'I don't even know what you did before you married Alec.'

'I worked for a publisher. I was with them for fifteen years. It sounds rather unenterprising, staying in one place for so long, but I was happy there, and I ended up as an editor.'

'Why unenterprising?'

'Oh, I don't know. Other girls seemed to do such adventurous things . . . like being cooks on yachts or hitchhiking to Australia. But I wasn't ever a very adventurous person.'

They fell silent. It was very warm, even under the shade of the tree. Laura closed her eyes. Eve said, 'I've started working seats for all the dining room chairs. I've only done two, and there are still eight to go. At the rate I'm going, I'll be dead before I finish them.'

'It's such a lovely house. You've made it so pretty.'

‘I didn't make it pretty. I just found it pretty.'

'It must be big to run, though. Don't you have any help?'

'Oh, yes. We have a gardener who lives in the village, and his wife comes in most mornings and gives me a hand. And then there's always May, although she's getting a bit past it now. . . . She's nearly eighty, you know. It's extraordinary to think of a person actually remembering life before the First World War, at the turn of the century. But May has total recall about her childhood, remembers every detail. What she
canyt
remember is where she's hidden Gerald's socks or who it was who telephoned and left a message for me to ring them back. She lives with us because she was my nanny, and then she looked after Ivan.'

Ivan. Alec had told Laura a little about Ivan. Eve's son, whom he had met at Eve and Gerald's wedding, to which – by some slipup in his social planning – he had brought, not one girl, but two, neither of whom could stand the sight of the other. Ivan, who had trained as an architect, joined a firm in Cheltenham and seemed set for a good solid career, only to blot his copybook by getting engaged to some girl and then deciding to disengage himself. This would not have been so bad, Alec pointed out, if he had not waited until all the wedding invitations had been sent out, all the wedding presents had come in, and an enormous marquee was about to be erected for the reception. Before the repercussions of this outrageous behaviour had even settled, Ivan had thrown up his job and come to live in Cornwall. Which did not make him sound a very reliable proposition. 'Ivan's your son, isn't he?'

'Yes. My son, not Gerald's. Of course, I keep forgetting, you haven't met him yet. He lives in the coach house at the back of the courtyard. He's been in Bristol, on business. I thought he'd be back by now. Perhaps that's a good sign. Perhaps he's sold lots of furniture.'

‘I thought he was an architect.'

'No, he's started up a little factory in a disused chapel up at Carnellow . . . that's about six miles from here, up on the moor. He's got a partner, Mathie Thomas. He met him in a pub. Such a nice man.'

'It must be lovely for you, having him so close.'

'We don't see that much of him.'

'Do he and Gerald get on?'

'Oh, yes. They're very fond of each other. But then, you see, Gerald was very fond of Ivan's father. He's known Ivan since he was quite a little boy.'

‘I think Gerald's a darling,' said Laura and was astonished that she had, without thinking, come out with this totally spontaneous remark. But Eve was not disconcerted, simply delighted.

'Oh, isn't he? I am glad you think so.'

'He's so good-looking.'

'You should have seen him when he was a young man.'

'Did you know him then?'

'Oh, yes, but not very well – for one thing, I was married to Philip, and for another, Gerald was Philip's commanding officer, and I felt very junior and respectful. Then, when they both retired, Gerald to Cornwall and Philip and I to Hampshire, we didn't see each other for a bit. But then Philip . . . became ill. And Gerald used to come and see him, on his way to London, or if he happened to be staying nearby. When Philip died, Gerald came to his funeral. And then he stayed with me for a day or two, to help untangle all the legal and financial problems and show me how to cope with things like insurance and income tax. I remember he mended a toaster that hadn't worked properly for months and gave me the most frightful row because I hadn't had the car serviced.'

'Was your husband ill for long?'

'About six months. Long enough to forget about servicing the car.'

'And then you married Gerald.'

'Yes. I married him. Sometimes I look back at my life and I simply can't believe my good fortune.'

'I feel that way too,' said Laura.

'I'm glad you do. If Gerald is a darling, then Alec is too. You must be very happy with him.'

'Yes,' said Laura.

There was a small pause. She still lay with her eyes closed, but she imagined Eve beside her, with needle poised, looking up over the rims of her pale blue spectacles. Eve said, 'He had a rough deal. We never met Erica or Gabriel. Gerald always says that Erica came between Alec and his family ... the Haverstocks, I mean. But after the divorce, when he came to stay with us, he never talked about her, so we never really knew what happened.'

'She ran away to America with another man.'

‘I think we knew that much ... but little more. Not that we wanted to. Does he ever hear from her?'

'No.'

'Does he ever hear from Gabriel?'

'I don't think so.'

'So sad. How unhappy people can make each other. I always feel guilty, all the time, about Silvia Marten.'

'She was here last night when we arrived?'

‘I wanted to ask her to stay and have dinner with us all, but Gerald wouldn't let me.'

'Who is she?'

'Oh, she's lived here always. She used to be Silvia Trescarne. When Alec and his brother were young, they came to Tre-menheere for a summer holiday, and they used to play cricket with Silvia on the beach. She married a man called Tom Marten, and for a bit they were very happy, and very social, darting hither and thither from one party to another. But then Tom started drinking, and it seemed that he simply couldn't stop. It was terrible to witness ... a sort of physical disintegration. He had once been quite attractive, but by the end he was repulsive, with a plum-coloured face, hands he couldn't keep still, and eyes that could never quite meet yours. He died last year.'

'How dreadful.'

'Yes. Dreadful. And particularly dreadful for Silvia because she's the sort of woman who really needs a man in her life. There were always men around Silvia, like bees round a honey-pot. They were usually Tom's friends, but he didn't seem to mind. Some women need that little extra bit of attention and admiration. I don't suppose it does any harm.'

Laura was reminded, instantly, of Daphne Boulderstone. She said, 'I know somebody just like that. She's the wife of Alec's friend. She's forever having intimate lunches with mysterious gentlemen. I don't know how she finds the time or the energy.'

Eve smiled. ‘I know. One's imagination reels.'

'She's so attractive. Silvia, I mean. She'll probably get married again.'

‘I wish she would. But the sad truth is that after Tom died, Silvia's admirers rather fell by the wayside. I suppose it became a different kettle of fish, once she was on her own and free to remarry. Nobody wanted a serious involvement.'

'Does she?'

'Of
course!’

'It doesn't always follow. I've got an Aunt Phyllis. She's the prettiest thing you've ever seen and she's been widowed for years. She simply doesn't want to get married again.'

'Was she, as they say, richly left?'

'Yes. She was,' Laura admitted.

'I'm afraid that makes a terrible difference. Drinking yourself to death is an expensive way of committing suicide, and Tom left Silvia with very little money. That's one of the reasons I worry so much about her. I felt so mean letting her go home alone yesterday evening, when all of us had one another and were so happy together.'

'Couldn't she come another evening?'

'Yes, of course,' Eve cheered up. 'We'll ask her for supper in a day or two, and when Alec comes back to collect you, we'll all go out for dinner together. Somewhere terribly smart. That's what Silvia really enjoys. An expensive dinner in a smart restaurant. It would be such a treat for her. And now, would you believe it, it's nearly half past four? What would you say to having tea out here in the garden?'

LANDROCK

Everything baked. Up in the vegetable garden, beyond the pea vines, the gardener toiled, stripped to the waist, planting young lettuces. On a browning patch of lawn, Gerald set up the sprinkler. The sun, shining through the spinning sprays of water, made rainbows. In the house, Eve drew down the drawing room blinds, and outside her cottage Drusilla sat on her doorstep while Joshua squatted beside her, digging up the corner of Eve's herb bed with an old tin spoon.

Wednesday. May's day off. She had to be driven to the station to catch the train to Truro and Laura volunteered for this job. She Went to fetch Eve's car from the garage, backed it cautiously out, and waited for May by the back door. When May emerged, she leaned across to open the door for her and the old lady got in beside her. May was dressed up for her outing in a seemly brown dress patterned with squiggles and her child's woollen hat with the bobble on top. She carried her ponderous handbag and a plastic carrier patterned with a Union Jack, which made her look as though she were about to go and cheer royalty.

As instructed, Laura helped May buy her return ticket and saw her on to the train.

'Have a good day, May.'

'Thanks very much, dear.'

She drove back to Tremenheere, parked the car once more in the shade of the garage. Drusilla and her child had disappeared, retreating to the cool of the cottage, and going into the kitchen, Laura saw that Gerald, too, had been defeated by the heat and was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking cold beer and reading the
Times.
Around him, Eve was trying to lay the table for lunch.

'Oh, Laura, you angel.' She looked up as Laura came through the open door. 'Did you get her off all right?'

'Yes.' Laura pulled out a chair and sat facing Gerald's open newspaper. 'But won't she expire in that hat?'

'Imagine. Trailing round Truro in this heat, wearing a tea cosy on your head. It's market day, too. Don't let's think about it. I've given up.'

Gerald shut the
Times
and set it aside. 'Let me get you both a drink.' He pulled himself to his feet and went over to the fridge. 'There's lager here, or orange juice. . . .'

They both opted for orange juice. Eve pulled off her apron, ran a hand through her short, silvery hair, and collapsed into a chair at the top of the long, scrubbed table.

'What time does she get back? May, I mean.'

'About seven. Somebody has to go and fetch her from the train. We'll think about that later. What are we going to do with ourselves today? It's almost too hot to decide. . . . Oh, thank you, darling, how delicious.'

Ice bobbed against the tall glasses. 'Don't worry about me,' said Laura. 'I'm perfectly happy doing nothing in the garden.'

‘I suppose we could go to the beach.' She touched Gerald's hand as he sat beside her. 'What are you going to do, my darling?'

‘I shall take a siesta. Get my head down for a couple of hours. Then when it's cooler, I shall maybe contemplate a little gentle hoeing. The border's like a jungle.'

'You wouldn't like to come to the beach with us?'

'You know I never go to the beach in July or August. I object to being showered with sand, deafened by transistors, and anaesthetized by the smell of suntan oil.'

'Well, perhaps-'

But he interrupted her. 'Eve, it's too hot to be organized. Let's have something to eat and then decide what we're going to do.'

Lunch was cold ham and crusty bread and butter and a dish of tomatoes. As they ate this delicious food, the simmering quiet of the day beyond the open door was broken by the sound of a car coming up from the gate and through the archway into the courtyard. There it stopped. A door slammed with a heavy thud. Eve laid down her fork and listened, turning her head towards the door. Footsteps came across the gravel and down the flagged walkway. A shadow fell across the patch of sunlight on the kitchen floor.

'Hello, there.'

Eve smiled. 'Darling, you're back.' She turned up her face to be kissed. 'Have you been in Bristol all this time?'

'Got back this morning. Hello, Gerald.'

'Hello, old boy.'

'And this' – he was looking down at Laura – 'this has to be Alec's Laura.'

His saying that –
Alec's Laura –
melted any shyness or restraint. He held out his hand, and Laura put her own into it and smiled up into his face.

She saw a young man of good height, but not as tall as Gerald or Alec. Broad-shouldered and very tanned, with blunt, boyish features, his mother's bright speedwell blue eyes, and thick fair hair. He wore a pair of washed-out cotton trousers patched over the knees and a blue-and-white checked shirt. A thick serviceable watch encircled one wrist, and around his neck, revealed by the low-buttoned shirt, hung a gold medallion on a thin silver chain.

'How do you do,' they both said, formally and at the same time. This sounded ridiculous, and Ivan laughed. His smile was wide and ingenuous, disarming as his mother's, and Laura recognized the famous charm that had landed him in so much trouble over the years.

'Had any lunch?' Gerald asked him, and he let go of Laura's hand and turned to his stepfather.

'No, I haven't, actually. Is there any to spare?'

'Heaps,' said his mother. She got to her feet and went to collect another plate, a glass, knives and forks.

'Where's May? Oh, of course, it's Wednesday, isn't it? Truro day. I should think she might die in this heat.'

'How did you get on in Bristol?' Gerald asked.

'Very successful.' He went to the fridge for a can of lager and came back to the table, drawing up a chair alongside Laura and letting Eve lay a place in front of him. He opened the can and reached for a glass and poured the lager neatly, with no head to it. 'We got two orders from one store and a tentative order from another. The head buyer was away on holiday and the other chap didn't want to commit himself. That's why we were so long.'