Summer on the River (9 page)

When Maisie starts to hunt for treasure, Jemima strolls behind her keeping one eye on Otto, who is splashing at the water's edge. Most of the families have packed up and gone back to their hotels or B & Bs or camp sites.

It's been a hot day and a sea mist is rising. The distant headland, humped and grey as an elephant, is vanishing as the mist rolls inland; soft and gentle as a muslin curtain, it sweeps across the sea, across the patchwork of cliff-top fields and small white cottages. The sea birds rise up from the smooth pearly surface of the water, breasting the air-waves, turning towards the shore.

Jemima watches Maisie searching for treasure. Once she found a pound coin and they eventually decided, after serious discussion, that since the owner couldn't possibly be traced it could go into the ice-cream fund. At nearly six, Maisie can be expected to make her bed tidy, dress herself, lay the table, and if she is good and quick then fifty pence or maybe a pound goes into the ice-cream fund. Jemima knows that Miranda only slightly approves but this is because she has to fight a little against the idea of anyone having any kind of control over Maisie other than herself. She is grateful that Jemima steps in when a childcare crisis occurs but, at the same time, she is very slightly jealous of the easy companionship between them.

The small figure in flowered boots and pink shorts and T-shirt crouches to examine something amongst the shingle. Otto joins her, curious and friendly, swiping her cheek with his tongue. She shrieks in protest, throws a pebble for him, and he goes pounding away after it. Maisie stands up, looks around for Jemima and waves excitedly.

‘Look what I've found,' she cries. ‘Come and see, Jemima.'

It is a quartz stone, glittering with tiny specks of silver; it looks magical.

‘Is it treasure?' asks Maisie, her voice hushed with awe. ‘Is it a magic stone?'

How to answer? The real treasure, the true magic, is being here with this child and the dog on the long empty beach, listening to the hush of the waves along the shore and the cries of the sea birds. She looks into the child's face and sees the longing and the wonder – and her heart is touched.

‘It's a very special stone,' she answers. ‘Let's put it into the bag. Oh, and here's Otto with his pebble. Good boy!'

He lays the big pebble very carefully at Maisie's feet and backs away a little, watching it anxiously, glancing up hopefully at her. To Jemima's relief Maisie begins to laugh. She puts her stone into the bag and then picks up Otto's pebble and hurls it as far as she can. He's off like a rocket and Maisie runs after him, splashing down into the shallows, calling to Otto, her voice as high and piercing as the shrieks of the gulls wheeling above her head.

Following them, Jemima tries to imagine how she would feel if Maisie were her own child; if she had the responsibility of this small, vivid person. She's always feared this kind of commitment: the weight of another person's happiness, and the expectation.

‘I'm too selfish,' she said to Miranda once. ‘I've been in love. I know what it's like but it never quite gels. Anyway, I like my life the way it is.'

‘But don't you get lonely?' Miranda asked. ‘I couldn't begin to imagine my life without Maisie.'

‘Nothing's perfect,' Jemima answered. ‘And one day Maisie will grow up and leave home. What then?'

‘Don't,' said Miranda, shaking her head. ‘I can't think about that. We'll always be close. Nothing can change that.'

But Jemima can see other things at work here. Young though Maisie is, Jemima can see her beginning to grow beyond this tight, protective trinity of child, mother and granny. She's a social, grounded child who reaches out for friends and new challenges, embraces change. Maisie feels stifled by all this care and control whilst Miranda is dismayed at the speed with which her daughter is ready to experiment, to leave her behind.

‘It's good,' Jemima says encouragingly. ‘Fantastic. Imagine how awful if she were a lonely, no-mates, insecure little girl. You've done a great job with her. And it gives you some time for yourself. That's good, too, isn't it?'

But Miranda seems to have lost the trick of how to be on her own, or with friends – unless, like Jemima, they are unattached.

Jemima can't help thinking that the recently proposed visit to Australia at Christmas, to connect again with their family, would be very beneficial for both Miranda and Maisie.

Maisie and Otto are racing back towards her. Maisie jumps and twirls and points behind her up towards the road. Jemima can see the source of all the excitement. The ice-cream van is still there in the car park. Jemima fishes in the pocket of her jeans – she keeps a five-pound note available on these walks for just such an emergency – and waves it in the air.

‘Yay!' shouts Maisie. ‘Cool!' She puts her arms around Otto's neck and hugs him. ‘Ice cream, Otto.'

‘As long as you eat all your supper,' says Jemima sternly. ‘No fussing. Promise? OK, then. Come on.'

IN THE CAR
park on Torcross Line Evie climbs from the back of Claude's scooter and shakes her hair free of her helmet. It's still warm here despite the rising mist. The sun is dropping behind the hills to the west, flooding the bay with warm golden light; no breath of wind. Start Point Lighthouse has been blotted out by banks of softly rolling cloud from which small boats appear, ghostly and mysterious.

‘Do we need an ice cream?' asks Claude, emerging from his helmet.

‘Oh, I think we do,' she answers. ‘Better hurry. Looks like he's packing up.'

‘Got a few more punters, by the look of it,' says Claude, fishing for his wallet, nodding towards a woman with a small child and a dog, who are climbing up from the sea.

Evie watches them. The woman is bending to put the dog on its lead while the girl hurries ahead, clearly anxious that the ice-cream van might vanish as easily as the lighthouse or the cliffs have been swallowed by the mist.

‘You can order two small cones, Maisie,' the woman shouts. ‘Small ones, mind!'

Evie looks at Maisie as she scrambles up the shingle bank. She's a slender, striking-looking child, with honey-brown eyes and red-brown hair wound into a thick plait. She glances at Evie but her attention is on Claude at the van window and she waves to the ice-cream man so as to get his attention.

‘Two small cones, please,' she cries breathlessly, as Claude pockets his change and turns away. ‘Jemima's coming with the money.'

Jemima: not Mummy. Evie looks at Jemima who smiles as she approaches, rolls her eyes at Maisie's impatience, and pays for the ice cream. They are certainly not alike. Jemima is fair-haired, blue-eyed, shapely.

Because she cannot help herself, Evie begins to weave a little history about the child, the woman, and the dog who are now sitting in a row at the top of the shingle bank, looking out to sea, eating ice cream. The dog watches, alert, hopeful.

‘I shall save the last bit of cone for him,' Maisie is saying. ‘Will you save yours, Jemima?'

‘Oh, yes,' agrees Jemima. ‘Poor Otto. He has to have a share. Don't you, old fellow?'

Otto wags his tail expectantly, glancing briefly at Claude who strolls out on to the beach, ice cream in one hand, binoculars in the other. He smiles at them.

‘Keeping an eye out for the guardship for regatta,' he tells them, indicating the binoculars. ‘Due any time. Though I doubt I'll see it with this mist closing in. Are you down on holiday?'

‘We're locals,' Jemima says. ‘I live in the village,' she points along the beach towards Torcross, ‘and Maisie lives in Torquay. Her mum is a nurse at Torbay Hospital and she's got extra shifts for the next couple of days so Maisie's staying with me and Otto. We're hoping to see a few of the events. Maisie wants to go to the funfair.'

Evie wanders closer. This is typical of Claude; he'll strike up a conversation with anyone who looks friendly and Jemima seems to be a kindred spirit.

‘The town's filling up,' Evie says. ‘What do you do? Park and Ride?'

Jemima smiles up at her. ‘It's the only way. We don't mind.'

‘But Otto has to stay at home,' says Maisie. ‘He doesn't like it on the bus.'

‘Don't blame him,' says Claude, finishing his ice cream.

Maisie watches him reproachfully. ‘We usually give Otto the last bit of cone,' she says pointedly.

‘Oh, gosh.' Claude looks guilty. ‘Sorry, old chap. Didn't know the house rules.'

Jemima laughs. ‘He gets quite enough treats, believe me. He'll get Maisie's and mine.'

‘And mine,' says Evie, offering the end of her cone to Otto who receives it gratefully. ‘It must be great fun, living on the beach.'

‘I love it,' says Jemima. ‘It's a tiny bit of cottage, about as big as a rabbit hutch, but it's worth it just to look out at the ley. I can't quite afford a sea view yet but I'm working on it.'

‘Evie lives right down on the river in Dartmouth,' says Claude, surveying the horizon keenly. ‘In one of the old boathouses.'

‘Wow!' says Jemima. ‘That must be really something.'

‘It's only a small one,' says Evie quickly. ‘But yes, it's rather special. Particularly during regatta. Front-row seat.'

She wonders if she should make some sort of invitation, for coffee or a cup of tea, but she hesitates.

‘I'm down for regatta,' says Claude. ‘It's an annual event for me. And Evie's kind enough to put me up. Perhaps we'll see you in the town.'

‘That would be good.' Jemima feeds her piece of cone to Otto and stands up. ‘Is that your bike?'

‘It is,' says Claude proudly. ‘Only way to get around during regatta.'

‘It's cool,' says Maisie. ‘I wish we had a bike like that, Jemima.'

‘It might surprise you to know I used to have a little scooter once,' says Jemima. ‘But not any more. These days I'd rather cope with Park and Ride. Time for tea, Maisie.'

Maisie waves and dashes away, Jemima unclips Otto's lead, smiles goodbye and sets off after them across the beach. Evie watches them go, oddly attracted to the little trio, wishing she'd invited them to the boathouse.

‘Rather fun,' she says. ‘Maisie's sweet and I've a feeling I've seen Jemima around in the town.'

‘Home?' asks Claude.

She nods, though rather reluctantly. Charlie and Ange arrive tomorrow and she is not looking forward to it.

‘It's crazy, isn't it?' she says. ‘I feel really nervous about the weekend. But actually nothing has changed.'

‘Oh, but it has,' he answers. ‘At least it has for me. I know things now that I didn't know the last time I saw them. It's tricky, knowing secrets.'

‘Perhaps I shouldn't have told you. But you can't imagine the relief it is to share it. I look at Ben, who is so grateful to be at the Merchant's House, and I think that if justice were done he would have inherited it. After all, we can't know that his great-grandfather would have gambled everything away. Perhaps he would have been quite different if everything had come down on his side of the family. And then I look at Charlie, who shouldn't have any of it but who has worked so hard to preserve what TDF passed on to him through his own efforts.'

‘Well, at least you have the conviction that, whatever Ange thinks, Ben has a perfect right to be there. That'll help if she starts getting bitchy. How long is it since you saw her?'

‘I've seen her in London a few times but this is the first time she's been to Dartmouth since TDF died. I just know there's going to be some kind of confrontation.'

Evie stands for a moment, postponing her return, steadying herself. All the while there were tenants in the house the final decision seemed less urgent: the temporary, easy option to leave the house jointly to Ben and Charlie solved the immediate problem. Now that she's shared the discovery of the letters with Claude, her dilemma is back in the forefront of her mind.

‘It's crazy,' she says. ‘On the strength of these pieces of paper we've let it grow out of proportion. Nobody will be any wiser if I leave the house between the two boys. They might wonder why, but who cares?'

‘That's not quite the point, is it? TDF believed the papers to be an accurate record of what happened. Charlie shouldn't have his big house in Kensington, a thriving wine import business, and lots of shares and investments. Whether or not it would still be intact if Ben's great-grandfather inherited isn't the point. You know very well that if you leave the house to them both, Ange will insist that Ben buys Charlie out if he wants to keep it – which he can't afford.'

‘The trouble is that the Merchant's House has been part of the inheritance for generations. Why, suddenly, would TDF leave it to Ben who, close though they were, is only a third or fourth cousin? He didn't want to have to confront Charlie with that. Nor do I. He hated to think of Charlie realizing that actually he wasn't entitled to any of it. It was quite a shock to TDF to learn that he wasn't who he thought he was, if you see what I mean. He wanted to protect Charlie from all of that but his sense of fair play confused the issue. I keep thinking that some miracle is going to happen to sort it out for me.'

‘Well, it won't.' Claude hands her the helmet. ‘But we might think of something between us.'

MIKEY IS SITTING
on a bench outside the pub at Bayard's Cove when Evie sees him the next morning. He's alone, no sign of Jason, and on an impulse she sits down at the other end of the seat. She knows she has to be careful, that he might be frightened at her approach, that he's probably been brought up in the modern climate of ‘stranger danger'.

He glances at her and she's struck by his resemblance to Russ: those sparkling dark blue eyes, black hair that seems to crisp and curl with an energy all of its own. She smiles at him; takes the plunge.