Face the Wind and Fly (26 page)

‘Sorry. I’ve read about this happening, I’ve just never had the chance to witness it first hand. Wish I’d actually seen it happen.’ He stood up and looked around. ‘I’ll tidy everything up, you don’t need to worry about it. I’ll need to dig this out. Once everything’s tidy and the ground is clear, you can replant if you want to.’

 ‘When can you do it?’

‘I’ll make a start today. I should get all the debris cleared up and some other tasks done, like tying up the roses. Digging the trunk out will take longer and I might have to bring in help.’

‘Do you need anything?’

‘I’ve got a tool kit in the car, but if you can show me where you store yours they may be better suited.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Not in those clothes. But if you really want to get stuck in, we could set up a system. I’ll do the heavy work, you can sort out the leaves and twigs.’

Later, over a mug of soup and some warm bread in her kitchen, he said, ‘I heard there was some kind of trouble at work.’

The easy cameraderie of labour was gone in an instant and her eyes became guarded.
Damn.

 ‘News travels. They suspended me after that incident up at Bonny Brae Woods.’

‘I saw the clip on the telly. It wasn’t the way it happened.’

‘Nope. But it looked bad. Anyway, I guess you’re cheering.’

‘Why?’

‘One obstacle removed in the fight against Summerfield Wind Farm?’

He put his hands up to his face and rubbed the sides of his nose. ‘You’re wrong. I’m against the wind farm but there’s no way I’d want you to lose your job. Besides, someone else’ll just take over.’

‘True.’

‘And anyway—’

‘Anyway what?’

‘You haven’t exactly converted me, I’d still prefer Summerfield to stay as it is, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it and – well, let’s just say I’m less opposed than I was.’

Kate suddenly seemed to find the pattern on the cream granite worktop fascinating. He watched as she traced a white vein with her finger until it wound its way to the edge and became a beige puddle. ‘O-kay,’ she said, ‘I’m happy with that.’

He nodded. Perhaps they could find a truce. ‘There’s a good movie on in Hailesbank on Friday. Fancy coming?’

Interest flared, then died as quickly. ‘I’m still married, Ibsen,’ she said softly.

‘It’s just a movie.’

‘And I’m just another date, right?’

He shoved his chair back. It scraped harshly on the tiles. ‘You took that comment all wrong.’

‘Maybe. But you’re a complicated man, and Christ knows, I’ve got my own problems at the moment.’

‘Complicated? Would you like to translate?’

‘Come on, Ibsen.’ She said it gently. ‘You’re never going to have another relationship till you’ve laid your ghosts to rest, are you?’

She was right. Dammit, he should never have told her about Violet. The first time he’d been honest with someone and look where it had got him.

She was saying, ‘Anyway, Andrew and I might get back together. There’s still a chance.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘A marriage is a big thing. No matter what he’s done, I don’t feel I should throw it away just like that.’

‘No. You’re right.’ He was standing as stiff as a garden broom, legs planted apart, hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘I’d better get going.’

They stared at each other, tied by an invisible thread of emotion that vibrated and hummed and crackled with pent-up energy. If only he could—

She said, ‘Thanks for coming. Let me know what it all costs.’

‘I’ll get someone to dig the stump out for you.’

He strode down the path with Wellington by his side, cursing his ineptitude. He’d handled that so badly.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Kate’s world grew small. Days that had been populated by whole offices full of people, who knew her name and what she did and who respected her skill and expertise, telescoped down to one house and not even one employee. The telephone seldom rang. Kate even missed her heavy breather. While she’d believed that the calls were a threat from someone campaigning against Summerfield, her conviction that the wind farm was a good thing and that everyone who disagreed was merely uninformed had carried her through on a wave of moral superiority.

Helena Banks came round. Odd to look forward so much to seeing a new friend.

‘The thing is, I find myself starting to look for Ninian coming through the gates at the end of the afternoon,’ Kate confessed, serving scones she had made in the morning. She was trying to master the basics of a new skill – baking. ‘It’s pathetic. I time my days between him heading off to school in the morning and coming back in the afternoon.’

‘I’m sure most mothers look forward to their children coming home.’ Helena tried to saw through the scone, failed, and put her knife down.

‘But all the time he was a child, I was completely unaware of these comings in and goings out of the tide. Now they define my days.’

‘What’s happening about the job?’

‘I got a call from the HR department. They want me to go in next week for the hearing.’

‘What does that entail?’

‘They’ve been conducting a formal investigation into my behaviour.’

‘Ouch.’

‘I know it sounds arrogant, Helena, but to be honest, I’m a better engineer and a better project manager than guys who are much more senior than me in that organisation. I just lost my cool at the wrong time and in the wrong place.’

‘You think they’re out to get you because you’re a woman?’

‘No, in fairness, I wouldn’t say that. They’re doing what they have to do. It just annoys me. I don’t think I’d have been put in the invidious position of managing such a hot project on home territory if I’d been a man. Or—’ she added in a fit of self-awareness, ‘maybe if I’d been a man I would have stood up to my boss more and told them I wasn’t doing it.’

‘But you do want to go back?’

‘Oh yes. It’s what I do.’ She smiled a pale smile. ‘And I’m going to need the income. Besides, I can’t stand being here, alone in the house. I put the radio on to kill the silence, but there’s nothing I want to listen to. I switch on the telly for company, but I can’t settle in front of it. I put on music, but everything reminds me of Andrew, or something we once shared.

Helena’s dark eyes watched her thoughtfully. ‘About Andrew—’

Kate was still adrift where Andrew was concerned. She couldn’t bear the thought of him with Sophie and was still miserable at the prospect of life without him. ‘I don’t know what to think about Andrew, and that’s the honest truth. If he broke off with Sophie and swore it was over – if he could convince me he still loved me in the old way – I’d probably have him back.’

‘What’s he saying?’

‘To be absolutely honest, I think he’s probably in as much of a mess as I am. He wants this viewed as a trial separation, but he’s staying with Sophie and that’s no way to sort things out between us. We’ve talked to Ninian and tried to explain, but how can you explain when you don’t really understand everything yourself? We both feel guilty.’

‘So what’s stopping you from sorting things out?’

Kate put the image of Ibsen firmly aside. Ibsen was absolutely not a consideration. ‘I’m still angry with him. Not just angry – he’s really hurt me. I don’t trust him any longer. On his side, Sophie’s a factor, in a big way. I do get the impression she’s clinging like a limpet.’ She managed to raise a laugh. ‘Sorry. Cheap to take pleasure in their problems, but I’m sure not everything’s rosy there. Ninian’s been round to visit and he tells me they snap at each other all the time. She’s got a small flat and Andrew needs privacy when he’s writing.’

‘That would be temporary though, surely. They’d get somewhere bigger in time. Sorry – I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.’

‘I know. Don’t apologise, it’s useful to have someone to talk about things with. There are so many imponderables.’

Kate was sorry when Helena got up to leave. She said, ‘It’s been great to see you again. I’m so glad Ninian and Alice are still seeing each other. How’s Elliott coping?’

Helena laughed. ‘Surprisingly well. He’s developed a passion for another girl in their year, which is very convenient all round. Listen, Kate, let me know how you get on. At work, I mean. And if you want to talk about anything – any time – give me a ring.’

‘Thanks, Helena.’

Kate picked the post up from the mat as Helena drove away. There were half a dozen letters for Andrew, which she’d have to readdress.

She hadn’t wanted to show Helena how much she really missed him. She ached for him in ways she had not thought possible, like not seeing his shirts hanging on the line in the garden. She missed his cooking – God, did she miss his cooking! She picked up the scone Helena had abandoned. It was as hard as a brick. She opened the bin and dropped the scone into it, then disposed of the rest of the batch.

It wasn’t just the cooking she missed. Without Andrew beside her in bed, she felt less than complete. Sixteen years of proximity to his lean body were hard to blank away. She missed making love with him – even their latter-day, mechanical sex had been pleasant and in some measure satisfying.

In the hall, she stood by the study door. She had envied him possession of this room. Now that it was empty, she discovered to her surprise that what she missed most of all was hearing the clack clack of the keys of the computer keyboard as he wrote, and the conversations they’d had over meals.

‘Martyne needs to discover that the abbot has a secret,’ he would say, his brow knotted with the effort of concentration, ‘but there’s no-one he can trust to discuss his suspicions with.’

‘Ellyn?’

‘Ellyn is currently staying with her father, the chieftain. He has sent her there for safety because of the disease in the village.’

‘Another farm worker?’

‘There’s no-one as clever as Martyne.’

‘But doesn’t he have any friends?’

‘Friends?’

‘Men!’ she would laugh. ‘Women operate within support networks, men discuss only football or politics. You’re right to look puzzled, men don’t have friends.’

Now her words came back to her painfully, because what friends did she have? Only Helena and Charlotte, and she hadn’t spoken to Charlotte since she’d confessed to sleeping with Andrew.

One morning, she woke from the uneasy sleep that was becoming habitual, and was quite certain that there was someone in the house. Ninian had come in late and this was Sunday. He’d still be deeply asleep.

It was Andrew. She was sure of it.

She didn’t know how she felt about him coming in unannounced. Part of her would welcome him, another part was furious that he could so take her permission for the invasion for granted. She tied her negligée round her waist and opened the bedroom door.

From the top of the stairs she glimpsed flowers, a magnificent vase of lime-green chrysanthemums and white gerbera, set off with roses as large as a hand and as dark as old claret. She drew in her breath sharply at their beauty and descended slowly, considering their meaning. Was he trying to woo her back? And if he was, did she want him? Was she prepared to forgive him for Sophie? For Charlotte? For all the other betrayals over the years that Charlotte had implied?

At the foot of the stairs, she turned towards the kitchen. Another vase of flowers – wide-open pink stargazer lilies, heavily scented and perfect – had been placed on the small table between the kitchen door and the living room door and the spot had been switched on to light it.

She could smell coffee. And bacon. Andrew was cooking.

‘Hello?’ She ran her hands through her hair, which was growing unchecked because she had not been near the hairdresser. She wished she had stopped to wash her face and put on some make up. ‘Andrew?’

She turned into the kitchen. A man was standing by the cooker, turning bacon in the frying pan. But it wasn’t Andrew, it was Harry.

‘Hi.’ He turned and smiled. ‘Hope I didn’t wake you. I wasn’t sure when you’d get up.’

Kate said, breathlessly, ‘Hi!’ and sank onto one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar, so stunned that she could hardly speak.

‘Thought I’d give you a treat.’ He indicated the frying pan. ‘Hope that’s okay?’ He was looking a little anxious, the astonished look on her face must have worried him. ‘I was going to call, then I thought maybe I’d just surprise you instead.’

‘You’ve certainly done that. I didn’t know you had a key.’

‘Dad gave me one ages ago. You don’t mind do you? I didn’t mean to scare you. I reckoned that no sane burglar would cook bacon.’

She had to laugh. Still, it did seem a bit like a dream. Harry? Cooking breakfast? For her? Kate blinked, but when she opened her eyes again he was still here, in the kitchen. She hadn’t seen Harry, or heard from him, since the night he and Jane had descended on them, eager to share the news that Sophie had confessed all. She had no idea how he felt about Andrew’s departure from her life, though she was sure he would be pleased. Yet here he was – with flowers – and coffee – and bacon.

‘Did you bring the flowers?’

‘I hope you like them?’

‘They’re beautiful. Really beautiful.’

‘Good.’

He broke two eggs into the frying pan and set plates to warm. Forks appeared, and knives. Butter, a small bowl brimming with marmalade, toast. Breakfast cups, the ones she particularly liked, the huge round bowls they had brought back from France, laughing because they had had to pack them full of dirty washing to protect them, then coax them into over-full suitcases.

He dished out the cooked breakfast and sat down opposite her. She stared down at her plate and blinked again.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Ravenous.’

‘Then eat.’

Between mouthfuls of pork and leek sausage, bursting with flavour and dripping with egg yolk, and great gulps of fresh coffee, she surveyed her stepson as if she had never seen him before.

He said, a little tentatively, ‘I wanted to find a way of showing you how terribly sorry I am about all this.’

Kate swallowed.

‘I’m not great at words. Well, obviously, you know that. But Jane and I – well, we’re devastated really.’

‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘
Pleased?
Good God, why?’

‘Well, you know. I mean, you were always so terribly against me when I fell in love with your father.’

The surprise on his face seemed genuine. ‘Against you? No. I was a bit protective of Mum, I suppose, at first but, to be honest, she was quite happy to see the back of Dad, their marriage had been going down the tubes for ages and she didn’t have the courage to tell him to get lost.’

‘
What?
’ Kate’s fork clattered onto her plate.

‘You didn’t know?’

‘I thought he’d broken her heart, and all because of me.’

‘Well, you’re right in part. I guess he did break her heart, but it had happened before you came along.’

Harry, square-faced and stocky, had more of his mother’s character than his father’s. He was careful and unadventurous, as well as notoriously unimaginative. It occurred to Kate that Andrew had perhaps never understood his son and that some of that incomprehension might have transferred itself to her. She said, ‘You hated me.’

To her surprise, Harry flushed. ‘No, Kate. Quite the contrary. I fancied you.’

‘You
fancied
me?’

He smiled, patently embarrassed by the confession. ‘Give me a break. You were a looker, well, you still are of course, you had bags of personality and you were my age, not Dad’s. If I was angry with anyone, it was Dad for finding you first and making you fall in love with him.’

Despite the shock of this revelation, Kate’s lips twitched with amusement. Harry had pulled at one end of a misconception and all at once, half a lifetime of guilt was being unravelled.

‘What? Don’t laugh at me.’

‘I’m not laughing at you, Harry, I’m laughing at myself. I never guessed. Was that why you were so awkward around me?’

‘Was I awkward? I suppose I was. I had a crush on you for years, if you must know. Plus, I really was mad at Dad. And now I’m furious with him all over again for treating you like this.’

The corners of Kate’s mouth began to lift. She couldn’t help smiling. She felt like jumping up and bouncing round the kitchen. It was the first time she’d felt good, really good, for months.

‘Jane says—’

‘She does know you’re here?’

‘Of course. I wanted her to come too, but she thought it would be better this way.’

‘She’s a clever girl, as well as a pretty one.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re not like Andrew at all, are you Harry?’

‘Not one bit. Surely you knew that?’

‘Yes. I knew it. I guess I just didn’t appreciate the good things about the differences between you.’ She took his hand in hers and couldn’t help being just a little gratified when he blushed again. ‘Thank you, Harry. For doing this. For your honesty. And for your support.’

‘It’s a small enough thing to do.’

‘But it means the world to me.’

‘Really?’ He looked shy, but pleased.

Harry and shyness? How well did she know him? All she had ever known of Harry was a hostility that was apparently more perceived than real. Charlotte had told her,
You don’t know anything about other people’s lives, Kate. You’ve never taken much interest actually, have you?
That had hurt, but now she wondered if there’d been some truth in it.

She laid a hand on Harry’s arm and smiled.

‘Really,’ she said.

There’s a painting, ‘The Card Game’, in a gallery in Madrid by the artist Balthus. It’s an unsettling picture, almost medieval in feel, but in other ways very contemporary. A girl is seated at a table, holding some cards. Her expression is sweet and untroubled, but somehow very knowing. A boy, opposite her, half stands, half leans across the table, his shoulder hunched upwards awkwardly. He’s looking not at her, but out of the canvas, at the painter, and he’s holding a card behind him, out of her sight. His face is sly.