Heart's Ease Read online

  No matter how friendly Mr B was, Sasha knew better than to diss their beloved Bruno. ‘It was fun, but I had to give up.’

  ‘Where on earth had he gone?’

  Sasha realized she had no idea where he’d hidden originally – she’d stumbled across him in the larder and nearly shat herself with the shock.

  ‘I don’t know. I had to give up, and he came back in.’

  ‘That was decent of him!’ Mr B laughed happily. They doted on Bruno. ‘I thought you were going to say you’d called the police!’

  He had no idea how close that was to the truth. But the remark reminded her of something.

  ‘By the way, I nearly forgot, your daughter called.’

  ‘Which one?’

  Her mind went blank. ‘Fiona …?’

  ‘Felicity.’

  ‘That’s it, I left a message by the phone.’

  ‘Did she say what it was about?’

  ‘No – just to call her.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Mr B slowed for the lights at the top of the high street. ‘Sounds ominous.’

  Four

  It was an eye-opener, thought Robin, to see someone you knew when they didn’t know you could see them. So that was how she looked to other people, and the world in general. To other men.

  Swinging down the colonnade at the side of the square in Meliano, his wife’s lissome English limbs and pale blonde beauty left a small but discernible frisson of appreciation in their wake. Her demeanour was composed, even aloof, but Robin recognized the merest hint of self-satisfaction. She knew, alright. His own feelings were mixed – pride, certainly, but also a kind of tender, oh-come-off-it scepticism. To him, who had fallen so hopelessly in love with her, that ice-maiden schtick was only the surface, the start. He intended to spend a lifetime coming to know what lay beneath.

  Now she had spotted him as she crossed the square and her lovely, luminous smile lit up her face. Those watching (and there were always people watching) would want to know who it was for. He didn’t get up – let them wonder for a bit longer. She had almost reached the table before he rose.

  ‘Hi there!’ She leaned across to kiss him. He accepted the kiss and moved to pull a chair out, but a waiter was there before him, flourishing Prosecco over her slender glass in almost the same movement. She acknowledged the waiter with the merest sideways tweak of her head, shedding a shiny leftover sliver of smile in his direction.

  ‘Did you have fun?’ Robin asked. ‘Buy anything?’

  ‘Not a thing!’ She waved airy fingers before folding them round the glass. ‘In the end I didn’t even have to resist, because I wasn’t tempted.’

  This might have served as Felicity’s motto. Because she was rarely if ever tempted, the potential in her life for indiscretions, faux pas, let alone downright disasters was vanishingly small. Her cast-iron amour propre had served as her shield and protector since childhood, and it was only when confronted with the, as it were, thrown-down gauntlet that was Robin Trevor-Savery that she moved forward to accept the challenge.

  Here, she intuited, was a man worthy of her steel. Someone not dancing attendance, or paying court, but entirely at ease with himself and others. Perhaps not quite as devilishly handsome as was generally thought (and as perhaps he thought himself) but certainly at the top of his game, successful, prosperous, amusing and single. Oddly, it was this singleness which gave Felicity pause. Why? He was thirty-two years old, eight years older than her, and with no ex or dependents in the background. The sort of man who in the Jane Austen novels that she loved would have been widely spoken of as a catch. The last thing Felicity wanted to be was one more notch on the bedpost of some acknowledged Lothario – lured, laid and left, to general sighing and eyebrow-lifting. If she was, as it were, going in, it must be on equal terms, and with at least an equal chance of success. And although she wouldn’t have put it in so many words, that success meant a proposal and a ring. Unreconstructed pre-feminist aims though these were, Felicity took a thoroughly modern and clear-eyed approach to them. Since her teens she had cherished the picture of herself as the radiant mother of a clutch of glorious children. The father of the children had always been a shadowy figure, like the outline in a colouring book, waiting to be filled in. She would know who he was when he came along. The question of romantic love didn’t really come into it. There would be a mutual attraction, of course, because he would be attractive, that was a given. But phrases like ‘head over heels’ and ‘soul mate’ weren’t in her emotional lexicon.

  And so it came to pass that she wore Robin’s square-cut diamond on her finger for some time before falling in love with him.

  They made a golden couple. Locals and tourists alike couldn’t help glancing their way. Felicity was an exquisite fawn-like creature of ivory and cream, Robin was six foot three and richly tanned, his sun-bleached hair of that thick, wavy, careless kind which seems to go with a certain sort of patrician Englishman – hair made for fluttering beneath the spinnaker of a yacht, for bouncing from beneath a doffed cap after the hitting of a six, for brushing aside during energetic manoeuvres on the dance floor. Her beauty spoke of a ladylike nature with hidden fires, his of a bold and buccaneering approach to life.

  In one way, onlookers intuited correctly – Felicity wanted everything done properly, by the book. This included Robin asking her father’s permission.

  Robin had laughed at this, though not unkindly. ‘Hang on – what if he says no?’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘But he might. And then where will we be?’

  ‘We don’t actually need his permission,’ Felicity pointed out.

  ‘So why tempt fate?’

  Felicity tilted her head, bestowing on Robin her warmest and most melting smile, the smile which had led all sorts of people to imagine they had a special place in her affections. ‘He’s a sweet old-fashioned thing at heart. He’ll be charmed.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  Contrary to what they said to each other, it was Felicity who had more at stake, and who was more concerned about her father’s reaction. She was not a rebel, but a driven conformist. It was important to her that all should go swimmingly. Robin found ‘Operation Ask Daddy’ rather quaint and diverting, but was more than happy to indulge her.

  So Felicity had rung her parents to ask if she could bring someone down to meet them. The first time she called they’d been out and she’d spoken to some girl who’d been left in charge of Bruno and was clearly having rings run round her, poor thing.

  It was her mother who’d called back the following evening, and she of course had cottoned on immediately.

  ‘Oh …? Well, yes of course. Someone important?’

  ‘He is to me,’ said Felicity winsomely.

  ‘That’s wonderful! Darling, I can’t wait.’

  ‘I think you’re going to like him.’

  ‘I like him already,’ declared Marguerite. ‘And so will Hugh.’

  Felicity took this as it was intended – as a promise that her mother would ensure her father’s approval.

  They had no need to worry. All their eldest daughter’s ‘young men’ had been eminently parent-friendly, she had never confronted them with tattoos, unintelligible accents, strange hair (on the head or anywhere else), children from previous alliances, substance addiction or even food fads. So they could afford to be sanguine.

  As the weekend approached, Robin looked forward to it. He was tickled by what he saw as a sort of delightful and enjoyable game.

  ‘When would be the best moment?’ he asked as they sped down the M4 in his racing green Morgan.

  Felicity had thought of this. ‘Between tea and drinks.’

  ‘We’ll be having afternoon tea?’

  ‘Drawing-room tea – or perhaps in the loggia.’

  ‘Loggia!’ Robin raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s posh.’

  ‘It’s always been called that – it was when they bought it.’

  ‘Anyway, good. I shall sidle up to your fat
her as the tea tray’s being removed—’

  ‘He quite often goes for an early-evening walk.’

  ‘And I can invite myself along.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Felicity, pleased that Robin had cottoned on so quickly. ‘Ma will know just what you’re up to.’

  ‘And so will he, I imagine.’

  ‘Probably, but he’ll play along.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll want to know what my prospects are?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Robin was marketing manager of a wine company, and there was a half-case of Porterfield’s premier cru burgundy wedged behind the passenger seat. All in all he considered his prospects were pretty good.

  ‘They’re here!’ called Marguerite, having spotted the Morgan through the half-landing window. ‘Gorgeous car!’

  Hugh came in from the loggia where he’d been reading the Saturday sports section.

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘You go, I’m just going to whoosh back up for a moment.’

  Marguerite applied a critical eye to her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Verdict: face OK, figure definitely bearing the signs of four pregnancies. But, she told herself, that hardly mattered because the young man would have eyes only for Felicity. She swiped a brush through her hair, felt that looked too flat and fluffed it again with her fingers. Too bad, this was her. She heard voices downstairs, a warm burble of greeting, Hugh’s pleasant chatty tones, a bright male laugh – not Hugh’s – and Felicity’s silvery one. Time to go down.

  On the landing she met Bruno, the only one of her other offspring at home.

  ‘Is that them?’ he asked, not concealing his avid curiosity.

  ‘Yes.’ It occurred to Marguerite that her youngest child was the one person capable of derailing this potentially delicate weekend. ‘Bruno—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Please be nice.’

  ‘I will!’ He affected his best look of injured innocence. She knew he was being disingenuous.

  ‘Right you are then.’

  She moved to give her son a kiss but he’d flashed past her and down the stairs, and a moment later was accompanying Felicity’s young man out to the car.

  ‘What’s in the box?’

  ‘Six bottles of wine for your parents. To say thank-you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For having me.’

  Bruno paid no attention to this answer. ‘Can I take it?’

  ‘I think it’s a bit heavy.’

  Again Bruno didn’t argue but moved seamlessly to the next request. ‘Can I get in the car?’

  ‘Sure.’ Robin opened the driver’s door and Bruno jumped in, turning the wheel and peering over it with narrowed eyes. ‘Did it cost a lot?’

  ‘It was pretty expensive, yes. Do you like it?’

  Bruno nodded, before adding, ‘But it would be better in red.’

  ‘Red’s a cliché.’

  If Robin had hoped to put this precocious child in his place with a grown-up put-down, he was disappointed, because it was ignored. The others had gone out through the loggia and on to the lawn, so he left the box of wine on the hall chair for presentation later and went back out for the bags.

  Bruno was still in the driver’s seat. Robin had left his key in the ignition and the boy was twiddling it.

  ‘Don’t do that!’

  ‘OK.’

  Robin removed the key and put it in his pocket. He took the bags from the boot and slammed it shut, then opened the driver’s door pointedly. Bruno got out and watched as he locked the car.

  ‘What about the top?’

  ‘I’m not going to worry about that just now.’

  ‘It might rain. It was on the forecast.’

  ‘I can nip out and do it later.’ The child was probably right but he was disinclined to take his advice.

  ‘OK,’ said Bruno again, with a suggestion of a shrug, as one might say ‘suit yourself’. He sauntered ahead of Robin into the house which for some reason Robin found irritating. In the hall there was no sign of him, and Robin left the bags at the foot of the stairs and went out to join the others in the garden.

  ‘What an absolutely lovely place.’

  ‘We like it,’ said Hugh. ‘We’ve been here for, what, over twenty-five years now?’

  ‘With a name like Heart’s Ease,’ said Robin, ‘it could so easily be a disappointment. Like calling a girl Belle.’

  ‘We called ours Felicity.’ Marguerite put her arm round her daughter’s waist. ‘And to date you’re happy enough, aren’t you, darling?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Robin detected a bat-squeak of tension and decided to move away from the name thing. ‘I’d love a guided tour.’

  ‘Yes, why don’t you do that? Hugh will put your bags upstairs—’

  ‘You don’t need to do that—’

  ‘Of course, all part of the service.’

  ‘And I’ll get some tea. We might even be able to have it out here, or in the loggia anyway.’

  ‘Then thank you.’ Robin turned to Felicity. ‘Lead on.’

  Once they were down the steps at the end of the terrace, he said, ‘Tea! Should I pounce after that?’

  ‘You mustn’t pounce at all. And today’s too soon, we’ve only just got here. Tomorrow will be fine.’

  ‘Received and understood … God, this really is delightful …’

  ‘It is, isn’t it.’ She linked her arm through his. ‘Actually it’s good to see it through someone else’s eyes. We’re in danger of taking it for granted.’

  A little further and she opened the door of the fruit cage. ‘Do you like raspberries?’

  ‘Mad for them.’

  She picked a handful and held them out. He leaned over and took one with his lips from her cupped hand. ‘So sweet …’

  ‘Robin—’ He had her by the wrist, but she reached to close the door with her free hand. ‘Not here!’

  He laughed and let go. ‘Happy Felicity – I never thought of that before.’

  ‘We all have those names. My sisters are Charity and Honor.’

  ‘And are they charitable and honorable?’

  ‘Jury’s out.’

  ‘Ouch!’ He tossed the remaining raspberries into his mouth. ‘What about your little brother?’

  ‘Bruno, they stopped doing virtues with him. It’s not so easy with a boy.’

  ‘He came out to the car with me.’

  ‘I saw. Is it still in one piece?’

  ‘I did forget to take the key out of the ignition, but fortunately I noticed just in time before he set off down the drive.’

  ‘Aah!’ Felicity covered her eyes with her fingers. ‘The little sod.’

  Instinctively Robin agreed with her, but this was a sensitive moment. ‘Just doing what small boys do. I believe it’s in the job description.’

  They were walking along a cinder path with the kitchen garden on their right, and the house to their left. Beyond the kitchen garden between a row of scots pines could be glimpsed the blue of Salting’s bay, and the marshmallow colours of the Georgian houses with their sea view.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ said Felicity. ‘You were a boy once.’

  ‘Yes, but I was an angel.’

  She cuffed him gently on the arm. ‘Well Bruno’s the spawn of Satan.’

  Robin honked with laughter, relieved to have his feelings so wholeheartedly endorsed. ‘That’s a bit steep!’

  ‘Most people adore him, so he’s monstrously indulged. Thank God I was on my way before he got too bad. No wonder my sister Charity took off at the first possible opportunity.’

  ‘What about your other sister – Honor?’

  ‘She’s one of the adorers. And he knows which side his bread’s buttered on, he sucks up to her shamelessly.’

  They reached the end of the path and stood looking out over the view. Robin lifted a handful of tawny-blonde hair off her neck, and held it to his face, letting it sift through his fingers.

  ‘Sounds as if
I had a lucky escape with the car …’

  ‘Believe me.’

  He kissed the soft, fragrant hollow beneath her ear. ‘And shall I meet the saintly Honor?’

  ‘That depends on her old people. They come first at all times.’

  It was interesting, thought Robin, as they turned and walked round the back of the house and across the front drive, the subtle differences in Felicity in her home surroundings. Since their divorce he hadn’t seen much of his own parents, and then eight years ago his father had died. Till then his mother had been living with her obnoxious second husband in the trackless wastes of Norfolk, but the demise of her first had been a turning point, and she’d gone not long after. The obnoxious one had taken off for Spain, thank God. So this place, Heart’s Ease, which was both physically and emotionally home to Felicity, had no equivalent in his life. Seeing her here he sensed (Bruno notwithstanding) its magnetic pull, its role as a touchstone. And he could – almost – understand it. Her parents were certainly charming. Her mother must have been stunning in her day. Even now in what he reckoned must be her late forties, she had a warm, distrait beauty quite different from Felicity’s, springing chestnut hair and brown eyes, a figure showing the gentle sag of childbearing, rather sexy in its way …

  Jesus, there was the boy, staring at him! They were just passing a backyard, with garden sheds and stone steps scuttling down to some sort of cellar, separated from the drive by a tall hedge. Bruno was sitting on the top step, eating a chocolate bar out of a wrapper, but his eyes were fixed on Robin.

  ‘Hi!’ said Robin. Bruno raised his free hand.

  ‘What?’ asked Felicity.

  Robin nodded his head in the boy’s direction. ‘Your brother.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘Honor gave it to me.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ murmured Felicity, then sharply, ‘Don’t just drop the paper!’

  Robin glanced Bruno’s way once more, to find the boy was still staring.

  A pale blue Citroen DCV was parked neatly between the Morgan and the Volvo in the drive. The front door was standing open and Honor appeared, carrying a large round tin.