Читать книгу The Path to the Sea - Liz Fenwick - Страница 17

6

Joan

3 August 1962, 4.35 p.m.

The flowers are arranged, and I’d reviewed bedrooms for the final time with our housekeeper, Mrs Hoskine, and still Allan and Diana aren’t back. Sighing I walk to the end of the garden and stand by the gate to beach path. Below Diana is skimming stones with Allan laughing beside her. She picks up a pebble and holds it out to him. He examines it carefully before handing it back and watches her form as she throws. It bounces twice then drops out of sight. He turns to the American woman, Beth, and her husband speaks to Diana, touching her shoulder. I frown. Allan isn’t paying attention and he should be. He’s become engrossed in conversation with Beth and his smile gleams. Something twists inside me. Why did he bring these strays into our world? Is he just filling the void again?

‘Joan, that’s a fierce look.’

At the sound of a familiar voice, I look up through my eyelashes and my stomach tightens. ‘Tom.’ I grin. ‘You’re early.’ I kiss his cheek and step back to study him.

‘Problem?’ He raises an eyebrow.

‘Never.’

‘Good.’ He studies my face. ‘Not sleeping?’

I touch my cheeks. The powder I applied this morning must require another application. ‘Can’t fool you?’ I turn back to the view.

‘I should hope not.’ He laughs then asks, ‘New friends?’ He opens his cigarette case, the one I gave him for his thirtieth birthday. It’s inscribed with one word, Always. That was years ago and the feeling hasn’t changed. Never have we ever crossed that line, but I don’t know if that is true of Tom and Allan.

He lights a cigarette and hands it to me. I take it while he lights one for himself then squints into the distance. ‘They don’t look local,’ he says.

Exhaling, I watch the smoke swirl. ‘American.’ I turn to him, noting the tell-tale darkness under his eyes. It only serves to enhance the blue of his irises. They remind me of a Cornish sky on a perfect summer day.

‘Interesting.’

‘Indeed, they are joining us for dinner tomorrow, so you can discover for yourself.’

He frowns. ‘George Russell arrives tomorrow around noon.’

‘Everyone will hopefully be out enjoying the sun they are promising.’ I look at the darkening clouds. ‘Which should give us some time alone.’

‘It will be like old times.’ He rubs his chin and a boyish grin appears.

‘Yes.’ I take his arm and we walk together towards the house. However it could never be like old times and we both know that.

We reach the front door where he picks up his bag asking, ‘Usual room?’

I nod with my mind on the Venns then what he’d said sinks in. ‘Sorry, Tom, not the usual room. Due to numbers I’ve had to move you into the little one by my parents’ old room.’

He smiles. ‘Downgraded, eh?’

‘Sorry.’ I raise my shoulders.

‘How many guests?’

I shake my head. ‘Too many.’

‘Allan?’ He holds out an arm directing me to enter first.

‘Yes, ever the host.’ I check my watch.

‘Some things never change.’

‘True.’ I chuckle. ‘Shall I show you up?’

‘No need, you are tight on time. I’ll see you,’ he pauses, ‘just before drinks?’

‘Diana,’ I say. ‘She comes to tell me about her day’s activities then.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He turns away. ‘A bit later then.’

He walks through the dining room to the far staircase and I remember the past. Things could have been so different. The scent of the roses in my trug catches the breeze. I pick up a bright red bloom and bring it to my nose. Its fragrance is a heady damask touched with spices. Arabia. Rose water. Souks. Innocence. A thorn pierces my index finger and I squeal, dropping the flower. Pulling the thorn out, I watch the blood pool then drip into the basket before I put my finger into my mouth. The blood tastes metallic. Memories . . . sailing and catching my finger on a splinter, Tom coming to the rescue, removing the bit of wood and placing my finger in my mouth. As I did that, he stared at me with such intensity, I shiver even now. Those intelligent blue eyes have haunted me ever since. I shake my head and dismiss the past, I have work to do.