Page 32 of One Summer Weekend
I’d just packed away my notebook when Jack returned. In an instant the motorhome seemed disturbingly cramped, and in a panic I scrambled off the bed. He waited, all cleanand fresh in cream chinos and a dark green shirt, while I rummaged in my suitcase for a change of clothes. On impulse, I chose a pink flowery beach dress, thin-strapped and low-necked, a present from my mother for my rare visits to Spain. I’d brought it only because it took up hardly any room and never creased; but somehow it felt right for a summer’s evening in the Lakes with a man I barely knew.
Impossible to move in this place without our bodies almost touching. A long awkward moment as I edged past him, avoiding his gaze, using my sponge bag and dress as a shield – then, at last, I was stepping out into the sultry air.
Up in the bathroom, I had a quick shower and combed the tangles out of my hair. The dress fitted like a second skin, and I wondered if it was a wise choice.Too late – Midge was calling me to come to the kitchen when I was ready. Given the layout of the house, there was no chance of me reaching the motorhome undetected to change into something less revealing.
I found the three of them at the table, drinking wine and poring over a spread of takeaway menus. Judging by Jack’s raised eyebrows as he sized me up, the dress wasnota wise choice –but now was not the time for one of my put-downs. Just one more day – then I’d be able to act normally.
As I settled myself on the only spare chair, I couldn’t resist giving him a kick under the table. Instantly, with that mischievous glint in his eye, he clamped my leg between his knees.
He handed me a glass of white, his fingers cool against mine. ‘That dress you’re almost wearing– it’s not your usual style. Is it new?’
‘No, darling.’ A sugary smile. ‘I wore it the first time we met – at the ballet. Don’t you remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ He released my leg, thank God, but only to shuffle his chair closer and show me one of the menus. ‘We’re thinking of eating Chinese. Anything you fancy?’
‘Or shall we just pick a few dishes and share them?’ Bill putin.
At least that would speed up the process and get Jack away from me. ‘Sounds good.’
Midge reached over to the kitchen dresser for a pen and notepad. ‘I’ll make a list, Bill, if you shout out the numbers.’
‘And then you and I are going to collect it,’ Jack added, running his fingertip along my arm.
My pulse started to race. ‘Don’t they deliver?’
‘I’d like to showyou Keswick.’
I forced a loving look in his direction, and sipped my wine.
Ten minutes later we were on our way, and I decided to turn the unexpected one-on-one time to my advantage. I said evenly, watching for his reaction, ‘About your father – it was Bill who mentioned him to me. He assumed I knew the details, and it was quite a challenge to play along.’
His face shuttered.‘How inconvenient for you.’
‘Since it’s obviously going to come up again, you may as well tell me.’
He was silent for several moments; then, abruptly, ‘You like reading the local papers, so you’ll find out anyway if you go back far enough.’
I said gently, ‘But I need to know now. Later tonight, or tomorrow morning, I’ll be discussing you with Bill. Is it really that bad?’
A tightening of his lips, and a haunted look in his eyes that I’d never seen before.
‘Jack?’ I prompted.
His only response was to turn off the dual carriageway at the next exit. Instead of following the signs for Keswick, however, he took a left towards open country. As we inched along a narrow road in a string of cars, I had more questions on the tip of my tongue. But I held back– vaguely aware that, in his unconventional way, he was about to provide me with some answers.
The silence hung heavy between us, and I turned my attention to the scenery. To our right, flashes of water – one of the lakes we’d seen from the hills – while to our left rose steep wooded crags. Eventually we turned off, and crawled up an even narrower road into another queue of cars. Peoplemilled around us – hiking groups, families, couples of all ages. A sudden right turn over a little stone bridge, then into a car park hollowed out of the woodland. Amazingly, someone was just leaving; Jack swung the car into the empty space and we crunched to a halt.
‘This is the famous Ashness Bridge. Let’s get out.’
‘But what about the takeaway?’
‘We’ll only be a few minutes.’
With a puzzled frown, I did as he suggested.
We threaded our way between the cars and the crowds, to the stream that gushed under the bridge. He stood on the bank, hands in pockets, head down, while I waited.
At last he spoke. ‘I said earlier, there’s a time and a place for telling you what happened to my father. This is definitely the place – Barrow Beck, where we scattered hisashes on a winter’s day twenty-one years ago.’ An intimate confidence that seemed incongruous in such a throng of people, his voice so hushed that I had to lean in to catch his words. But so far I’d heard nothing to explain Bill’s astonishment at the Sphinx acquisition. I curbed my impatience; although Jack had chosen the place, it was I who’d dictated the time – and he might need a little longerto prepare himself.
