ELLIE came to find her as Eve was shovelling manure out
of Storm's stall. The work should have been done that
morning, but Mick hadn't turned in today and Eve had
offered to help out.
Nevertheless, Eve felt a little self-conscious when the
old lady raised her handkerchief to her nose before
saying, "Come outside. I want to talk to you."
Eve didn't argue. You didn't argue with her grandmother,
and the old lady's cane tap-tapped its way back along the
aisle between the row of empty stalls. Meanwhile, Eve
jammed the fork she was using into her wheelbarrow and,
after checking to see that she had no dirt on her hands,
followed Ellie out into the crisp evening air.
It was November, and the scent of woodsmoke banished the
smell of the stables. Already there was a tracing of frost
on the trees in the copse, and the lights that surrounded
the stable yard had a sparkling brilliance.
"Cassie's coming tomorrow." The old lady waited only long
enough for Eve to emerge from the doorway before making
her blunt announcement, and her granddaughter's stomach
tightened. But she knew better than to show any obvious
reaction, and with a shrug of her thin shoulders she
said, "Don't you mean Cassandra?"
"No, I mean Cassie," retorted the old lady shortly,
wrapping the woollen pashmina she was wearing over her
tweed jacket tighter about her ample form. "I christened
my daughter Cassie, not Cassandra. If she wants to call
herself by that damn fool name, I don't have to follow
suit."
Eve acknowledged this with a wry arching of her dark
brows, but she thought it was significant that Ellie was
wearing the wrap Cassie had given her several years ago.
Was this a sign that she'd forgiven her daughter at last?
That the rapidly approaching demands of old age had
reminded her that her time was slipping away?
"How long is she coming for?" asked Eve casually, aware
that, whatever Ellie said, this was not going to be an
easy time for any of them. She and Cassandra could never
be friends, and it might be easier all round if she simply
moved into a hotel for a couple of weeks.
"She didn't say." Ellie's tone was grumpy. "As usual, I'm
supposed to accommodate myself to her needs. Oh, and by
the way, she's bringing some man with her. I don't know
who he is, but knowing Cassie he's probably someone who
can help her with her career."
"Oh, well..." Eve tried to sound philosophical. "If she's
bringing a boyfriend I doubt if she'll be staying long. He
must have commitments; a business, maybe." She tugged her
lower lip between her teeth. "What do you want me to do?"
Ellie's eyes, which were extraordinarily like her grand-
daughter's, narrowed in surprise. "Why should I want you
to do anything?" She gave a shiver as the wind, which had
a decidedly northerly bite to it, whistled across the
stable yard. "I just thought I ought to — to —"
"Warn me?" 'To tell you," she insisted tersely. "If I
could put her off, I would."
"No, you wouldn't." Eve's tone was dry. She wasn't taken
in by her grandmother's last remark. "You're really
delighted she's coming to see you, even if she is using
this place as her own private hotel. As usual."
"Eve —" 'Look, I understand where you're coming from,
Ellie. I do. So — would you like me to find somewhere else
to stay while she's here? I'm sure Harry —"
"We'll leave the Reverend Murray's name out of this." The
old lady looked scandalised at her suggestion. "You can't
stay with him. It wouldn't be seemly. In any case, this is
your home. I don't want you to move out."
"Okay."
Eve was dismissive, but the old lady wasn't
finished. "This is Northumberland," she said, with a
quaver to her voice. "Not north London. You're not living
in some smelly squat now."
That was a low blow, but it was a sign that her
grandmother wasn't as blasé about Cassie's visit as she
pretended. Ellie seldom if ever mentioned where Eve had
been living when Ellie had arrived to rescue her, and she
could see from the old lady's expression that she already
regretted speaking so bluntly. But Ellie must remember
that the last time Cassie was here she and Eve had barely
said a word to one another.
As if needing some reassurance, she added, "Are you saying
you don't want to be here while Cassie's staying?" All the
ambivalence she was feeling about the visit showed in her
lined, anxious face. "Because if you are —"
"I just thought it might be easier all round if I left you
to it," Eve muttered unwillingly. She didn't want to hurt
the woman who was her closest relative and her friend.
"Well, it isn't," declared her grandmother, pushing the
hand that wasn't holding her cane into her pocket for
warmth. "So we'll say no more about Henry Murray. And it's
too cold to stand here gossiping, anyway. We'll talk about
this again later. Over supper, perhaps."
But they wouldn't, Eve knew. Her grandmother had spoken,
and in her own way she was just as selfish as Cassie. Oh,
she would never have abandoned her child at birth, or
ignored its existence for the first fifteen years of its
life. But she liked her own way, and Eve rarely felt
strongly enough about anything to argue with her.
"You'll be in soon, won't you?" Ellie asked now, and Eve
nodded.
"As soon as I've got Storm back in his stall," she
promised.
"Good."
Her grandmother looked as if she would have liked to say
something more, but thought better of it. With a farewell
lift of her cane, she trudged away towards the lights of
the house.
The hired Aston Martin ate up the miles between London and
the north of England. Jake liked motorway driving, mostly
because the journey — this journey — would be over that
much quicker. He hadn't wanted to come, and the sooner
this trip was over the better he'd like it.
"Shall we stop and have some lunch?" Cassandra was being
determinedly cheerful, but for once he didn't respond to
her lively chatter. This was wrong, he thought. He
shouldn't be here. Bringing him to meet her mother smacked
of a relationship they simply didn't have.
Oh, they'd been spending time together, off and on, for
the past six months, but it wasn't serious. Well, in his
case it wasn't, anyway. He had no intention of marrying
again. Or of setting up home with someone like Cassandra,
he conceded ruefully. He liked her company now and then,
but he knew that living with her would drive him up the
wall.
"Did you hear what I said, darling?" Cassandra was
determined to have an answer, and Jake turned his head to
give her a fleeting look. "I heard," he said. "But there's
nowhere to eat around here."
"There's a service area coming up," protested his
companion. "There, you see: it's only another five miles."
"I'm not in the mood for soggy fries and burgers," Jake
told her drily. He glanced at the thin gold watch circling
his wrist. "It's only a quarter of one. We should be there
in less than an hour."
"I doubt it."
Cassandra was sulky, and once again Jake permitted himself
a glance in her direction. "You did say it was only a
couple hundred miles," he reminded her. "As I see it,
we've covered at least three-quarters of the journey
already."
Cassandra gave a careless shrug. "I may have
underestimated a little."
Jake's fingers tightened on the wheel. "Did you?" 'Well,
yes." Cassandra turned towards him now, all eager for his
forgiveness. "But I knew you'd never agree if I told you
it was over three hundred miles from London."
Her fingers slipped over the sleeve of his sweater,
seeking the point where the fine black wool gave way to
lean, darkly tanned flesh. The tips of her fingers
feathered over the dark hairs that escaped the cuff of his
sweater, but he didn't respond to the intimacy of her
touch. Three hundred miles, he was thinking. That meant
they had at least a couple of hours to go. It also meant
they would have to stop somewhere for Cassandra to toy
with a salad and sip a skinny latte. Although she rarely
ate a proper meal, she insisted on drinking numerous cups
of coffee every chance she got.
"You do forgive me, don't you, darling?" She had nestled
closer now and, in spite of the obstacle the centre
console presented, she laid her head on his shoulder. "So —
can we stop soon? I'm dying for the loo."
Faced with that request, Jake knew he didn't have any
option, and although he didn't say anything he indicated
left and pulled off the motorway into the service area
she'd pointed out. It was busy. Even in November, people
were always going somewhere, and Jake had to park at the
far side of the ground. He just hoped the car would still
be there when they came back.
"This is fun, isn't it?" Cassandra said, after they had
served themselves and occupied a table for two by the
window. As usual, she'd helped herself to a salad,
carefully avoiding all the mayonnaise-covered options and
sticking to lettuce, tomato and peppers. She sipped at the
bottled water she'd had to choose when no skinny latte was
available. "It gives us a bit more time on our own."
"We could have spent time alone if we'd stayed in town,"
Jake reminded her flatly. He parted the two slices of his
sandwich to discover the almost transparent piece of ham
covering the bread. When would the British learn that a
ham sandwich needed a proper filling? he wondered
gloomily, as a wave of nostalgia for his homeland swept
over him. What he wouldn't give to be back in the
Caribbean right now.
"I know," Cassandra said, reaching across the table to
cover his hand with hers. Long scarlet nails dug into the
skin of his wrist. "But we'll have some fun, I promise."
Jake doubted that. From what Cassandra had told him, her
mother was already well into her seventies. Cassandra had
been a late baby, she'd explained, and her brother, her
only sibling, was at least fifteen years older than she
was.
Jake wasn't absolutely sure how old Cassandra was. In her
late thirties, he imagined, which made her half a dozen
years older than he was, though that had never been a
problem. Besides, in television or theatre age was always
a moot point. Actresses were as old as they appeared, and
some of them got ingénue roles well into their forties.
"So, tell me about Watersmeet," he said, trying to be
positive. "Who lives there besides your mother? You said
it's quite a large property. I imagine she has people who
work for her, doesn't she?"
"Oh..." Cassandra drew her full lips together. "Well,
there's Mrs Blackwood. She's Mummy's housekeeper. And old
Bill Trivett. He looks after the garden and grounds. We
used to have several stable hands when Mummy bred horses,
but now all the animals have been sold, so I imagine
they're not needed any more."
Jake frowned. "Don't you know?"
Cassandra's pale, delicate features took on a little
colour. "It — it has been some time since I've been home,"
she said defensively. Then, seeing his expression, she
hurried on, "I have been busy, darling. And, as you're
finding out, Northumberland is not the easiest place to
get to."
"There are planes," Jake commented, taking a bite out of
his sandwich, relieved to find that at least the bread was
fresh.
"Air fares are expensive," insisted Cassandra, not
altogether truthfully. "And I wouldn't like to scrounge
from my mother."
"If you say so."
Jake wasn't prepared to argue with her, particularly about
something that wasn't his problem. If she chose to neglect
her mother, that was her affair. "Doesn't Mrs Wilkes have
a companion?" he asked now, his mind running on the old
lady's apparent isolation, and once again he saw the
colour come and go in Cassandra's face.
"Well, there's Eve," she said reluctantly, without
elaborating. "And my mother's surname is Robertson, not
Wilkes."
"Really?"
Jake regarded her enquiringly, and with evident
unwillingness she was obliged to explain. "I changed my
name when I moved to London," she said tersely. "Lots of
actors do the same."
"Mmm." Jake accepted this. But then, because he was
intrigued by her apparent reticence, he added, "And what
about Eve? Is she some elderly contemporary of your
mother's?" Faint amusement touched the corners of his thin
mouth. "Doesn't she approve of you, or what?"
"Heavens, no!" Cassandra spoke irritably now, and he
wondered what he'd said to arouse this reaction. "Eve is —
a distant relative, that's all. Mummy brought her to live
with her — oh, perhaps ten years ago."
"As a companion?" 'Partly." Cassandra huffed. "She
actually works as an infant teacher at the village school."
Jake made no response to this, but he absorbed both what
she'd told him and what she hadn't. It seemed from his
observations that Cassandra resented this woman's presence
in her home. Perhaps she was jealous of the relationship
she had with Cassandra's mother. Possibly the woman was
younger, too, though that was less certain. Whatever, Jake
would welcome her existence. At least there would be
someone else to dilute the ambivalence of his own
situation.
They reached the village of Falconbridge in the late
afternoon. The traffic on the Newcastle by-pass had been
horrendous, due to an accident between a car and a wagon.
Luckily it appeared that no one had been hurt, but it had
reduced the carriageway to one lane in their direction.