The Hidden Truth, page 13
Sara held Margaret’s fragile, bony hand more tightly between her own, her throat so choked with tears, she couldn’t reply.
‘Don’t waste time, dear, if you love him,’ Margaret went on. ‘Life’s too short. Arthur and I were married three months after we met.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘And that wasn’t because there’d been any hanky-panky, I’ll have you know.’
Sara swallowed, managed a laugh.
‘If you’re not sure, of course …’
‘I’m absolutely sure.’ Sara heard the solid conviction in her voice, and so did Margaret.
She gave her a loving smile. ‘Well, then …’
It was as if her mother-in-law were placing a full stop on their joint grieving for Pete, setting Sara free to be with Bernard, although Margaret hugged her son ever closer as her own life faded. Sara felt a wave of sadness, but she was also grateful. The last vestiges of guilt about moving on from her husband fell away with Margaret’s words and she felt a surge of exhilaration.
22
It was a gradual thing, Sara’s incorporation into the cliff house, accomplished without much discussion between her and Bernard, as if both were fearful of having another tricky conversation like the one when he’d first brought up moving in together.
She’d had time, in the weeks since then – Margaret’s exhortation that life was ‘too short’ ringing in her ears – to consider his suggestion more carefully. And she’d come to accept that it was senseless to go on in the way they were: her shuffling back and forth to Hastings at weekends, Bernard shuffling back and forth to Lewes during the week. So, she’d begun gradually to shift her client appointments, pack them into the three midweek days. Now, she planned to stay only Tuesday and Wednesday nights in Lewes, the cliff house becoming her official home.
Her concerns about the house had not gone away, but she told herself they would learn to rub along, given time. Days would pass when she didn’t feel anything odd, although the other morning it had put on a bit of a display. She’d been thinking of other things, her arms full of supermarket bags for the weekend, but when she opened the front door she’d been greeted by what seemed almost like a physical barrier, a solid wall of cold air – as if she were walking headfirst into a gale, although the air was dense and static. It brought her up short. For a split second, she couldn’t seem to move forward. Then it was gone. She thought one of them must have left the door onto the terrace open – there was often a tearing wind up on the headland. But when she checked, it was closed and firmly locked. She clicked on Radio 2, turned the volume up as she unpacked the shopping. It was nothing, she told herself, deciding her disquiet about the house was creating situations in her mind that didn’t exist.
But this particular Saturday, Sara was back in Lewes, her anxiety building as the hour approached when she would introduce Bernard to her daughter and friends. She imagined the three faces round the table, watching the man she loved. Watching and genuinely wanting to like him, she was certain about that, but also hugely protective of her, alert to anything that seemed a bit off. Being in love skewed your reason, she was well aware. But she also knew that if – unthinkably, ridiculously – they highlighted some niggle, there was not a chance that she would give him up.
Surveying the wooden kitchen island – the extension raised – that served as a table in her small kitchen, she straightened a knife, moved a water glass a little to the left, and smoothed the cloth napkins she rarely used because of the hassle of laundering them afterwards. It looked welcoming, a small posy of freesias in the centre, flanked by two blue and gold glass tea-light holders. She took a shaky breath and another deeper one in an attempt to calm herself. Peggy’s train would be getting in shortly, so she would have half an hour with her daughter before Bernard arrived. The others would follow an hour later – probably more, as Sammi was always famously late, despite Precious’s nagging. It was like a military operation.
Sara hugged her daughter tight. ‘You look lovely,’ she told her. Peggy, blonde hair loose for once, was dressed in a green floral dress with a wavy hem that brushed her calves, light tweed jacket and ankle boots.
‘Where is he, then?’ Peggy’s stage whisper echoed through the house and made Sara laugh.
‘He’ll be here in a minute. Just wanted to see you on your own first. Come into the kitchen. I’m finishing off cooking.’
Peggy dumped her small backpack with her overnight things in the hall and followed her mother through. ‘This looks nice,’ she said, eyeing the table as she pulled herself up onto one of the stools. ‘Can I do anything?’
Sara, who’d been frying breadcrumbs and grating cheese to sprinkle over the fish pie, turned to her. ‘No, all under control.’ Then she pulled a face. ‘All except me. I’m very far from under control.’
Sliding off the stool and going over to her mother, Peggy gave her another long hug. ‘It’ll be fine, Mum. Chill. I’m sure I’ll love him.’
‘I really think you will, sweetheart. It’s just it means a lot, obviously, you liking him.’
Peggy grinned. ‘No pressure, then.’
Her daughter chatted as Sara made the final touches to supper, filling her in about her new class – she taught year three, seven- to eight-year olds – gossip about her fellow teachers and the problem she was having with the landlord fixing the locks on the front door. Sara listened with half an ear, the other half expectant, like a horse in the starting gate, for the sound of Bernard’s knock.
When it finally came, she nearly jumped out of her skin, making Peggy whisper as she shot past to open the door, ‘Breathe.’
He looks perfect, she thought, as she ushered Bernard into the kitchen. He had on his trademark black jeans and a pale-blue pinstripe shirt, with darker buttons and trim, offsetting his tanned face, although the October weather had been dire. The shirt looked new, and she wondered if he’d bought it especially for tonight … wondered if he was as nervous as she.
He had kissed her quickly on the lips in the dark of the hall, but once in the kitchen, he did not put his arm round her or make any proprietorial gestures. The wine he’d brought he handed to Sara, rather than put it into the fridge himself, as he would have done if they’d been alone. And he did not sit down, but hovered like a guest, accepting the glass of South African white she handed him.
Peggy had got up to greet him, and the two of them stood there, glasses in hand, exchanging bright pleasantries while Sara gratefully turned back to the task of mixing the salad dressing, holding her breath for the conversation to get under way.
‘Mum says your partner’s name is Fane?’
‘Yes, Joe. We have an architect’s practice in Eastbourne, as Sara probably also told you, which we started nearly thirty years ago. He lives here, in Lewes.’
‘So is Ariel Fane his daughter?’
‘Yes. She’s my goddaughter. How do you know Ariel?’
Peggy said, ‘We were at Priory together. Ariel was in the class above, so she won’t remember me. But she was the toast of the school – she was so beautiful and popular with everyone.’
Bernard laughed. ‘Sounds a bit sickening. She’s a great girl, though, I love her to bits. She’s working in New York now, a dogsbody at Vanity Fair.’
‘Exciting. I can so imagine her in the magazine world.’
Sara, listening, noticed her heartrate calming as two of the most important people in her life began to laugh and chat with apparent ease.
By the time her friends arrived and they were settled at the table – Sara doling out the pie, Peggy offering round the buttered broccoli – she was beginning to enjoy herself. She knew she could rely on Precious to fill any lapse in conversation. But tonight there were no awkward silences. And from the look on her friend’s face, Sara gleaned she was liking Bernard.
‘This is a bit like one of Peggy’s Ofsted inspections,’ Precious declared, as Sara cleared the salad plates from the table. ‘Even though you knew we were coming, there’s only so much you can do last minute to make sure we like what we see.’
Sara twitched inwardly, eyeing Bernard to see how he was taking the joke. But he was clearly amused.
‘So how am I doing?’
Precious sucked her teeth. ‘Ooh, we couldn’t possibly tell you that now. You’ll get a written report in due course.’
Bernard pulled a face, showing mock alarm. ‘You realize my whole future depends on getting “Outstanding”? I hope you’ll be kind.’
They were all laughing now, but Sara saw the fleeting uncertainty in his eyes as he looked over at her. It made her heart swell and she gave him an encouraging smile in return.
Precious was shaking her head solemnly. ‘“Kind” doesn’t come into it, I’m afraid. But we’ll always be fair, I promise you that.’
Sammi got up to retrieve the little clay ramekins of crema catalana he’d brought over in a cardboard box. As he placed one in front of Bernard, he winked at him. ‘No need to worry. If Precious didn’t like you, you would know by now.’
The following morning, Sara and Bernard did a post-mortem about the night before and agreed it had gone even better than they’d hoped. It was still very early, but Bernard was already sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his socks, having insisted he get off and leave Sara to gossip about him behind his back with Peggy. Sara had felt a little uneasy about Bernard staying the night, with her daughter in the room next door. But when she’d asked Peggy if it was all right, her daughter had just replied, ‘Of course, Mum.’ She didn’t seem to understand what the problem was.
‘OK … Well, first round completed successfully,’ she said now, as Bernard got off the bed. ‘Next, the twins …’
He didn’t turn as he said, ‘Yes …’ His tone was full of uncertainty, and he said no more.
‘Could we make a plan, then?’ she urged, despite his unenthusiastic response. ‘Maybe a weekend in November?’
Bernard’s head was smothered in his jumper, his back still to her. She heard a muffled ‘Yeah, must do that,’ that held the same degree of half-heartedness.
Wanting to lighten the sudden tension in the room and not ruin the atmosphere after such a triumph of an evening, she changed the subject to something she considered less contentious. ‘I told you Joni’s dying to meet you? Well, she suggested we go over next year … end of February. She’s not so busy, then, and the fares will be cheaper.’ When Bernard didn’t reply, she went on, ‘Would you be up for it? Could you take the time off work?’
Now, he spun round. ‘You want me to come with you to LA?’ His question seemed to hold an edge of panic.
Surprised, Sara said, ‘Well, yes … if you’d like to. Obviously I want you to meet Joni and Mason, and I can’t imagine they’ll make it over here any time soon.’
Bernard was standing very still, hands thrust into his jeans pockets. He was looking at her, but his gaze appeared far away, not seeing her.
‘It’d be fun, don’t you think? You must be due a break …’ she added, wavering in the face of his silence.
He smoothed his hair back with both hands, inhaling slowly. ‘It would be great fun. Talk about it later?’
Sara frowned. ‘Are you OK?’ His expression, far from mirroring the enthusiasm his words suggested, appeared oddly bleak.
With a smile that seemed to cost him dear, he assured her, ‘I’m fine. Just got work stuff on my mind.’
‘Say, if you don’t want to come with me this time, Bernard. It’s not a problem.’
He shook his head with exaggerated conviction. ‘Of course I want to come.’ He bent to kiss her. ‘Have a lovely time with Peggy. I’ll see you later.’
Sara lay down again, pulling the duvet close. What was all that about? she wondered.
23
Bernard left Sara’s house almost unable to breathe. As he got into his car and began the journey to Eastbourne, he found he was actually shaking and cold. It was a dreary day and drizzle sheened the windscreen of the Mercedes, the wipers screeching as they cleared it. This is it … This is it, he kept repeating silently: the moment he’d been talking about hypothetically with Joe, all these years. Every conversation had included the rider ‘When’ or ‘If’, and always at some non-specific time in the future. Concomitant, too, on him actually finding someone with whom he might need to share his secret. There was no longer anything hypothetical, though, about Sara’s invitation to go with her to California. Which he could not do. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It just couldn’t happen.
Now he realized the moment had come. His back was well and truly against the wall, his ninth life hanging by a thread. He would need to respond, imminently, to her plan to visit Joni. Sara, he told himself, as he pulled into the parking space behind his office, will have to be told. Or I will have to invent yet another blasted lie. Both options made him feel so physically sick, he was quite unable to work out what was best to do, or how best to do it.
24
‘I thought I’d bring more stuff over when I come back next Thursday,’ Sara said, as they lay in bed one morning, a couple of weeks after the dinner with Peggy and her friends. ‘Could you make room in the cupboard, please?’
Bernard did not reply, he seemed miles away.
‘You do want me here?’ she asked, half joking but offended by his silence.
He started, then dragged his eyes to her face. But in the split second before he pulled her into his arms and began to drop hungry kisses on her mouth, she’d seen what she thought was a look of bleak despair in his eyes. She gently pulled away from his embrace.
‘What was bothering you just now?’ she asked, not for the first time. He’d been displaying some strange moods in previous days. One minute he’d be hugging her and saying how much he loved her. The next, although physically present, he would disappear for seconds at a time – like just now. Does he even hear what I’m saying? Sara wondered.
She traced the change in him to the morning after the family dinner, when she’d invited him to come with her to LA and nagged him about the twins. He’d stood beside the bed and stared down at her as if she’d suggested he cut off his right hand. She wasn’t even sure if it was the proposed Joni trip or meeting with Carrie and Adam that had upset him most. Or something else entirely? Any attempt to get him to open up, though, had so far been met with a gentle rebuff – and there had been no progress in either case.
The morning sun was lighting Bernard’s face, now, his eyes soft and full of love. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry. I’ll clear out the cupboard today,’ he said, laying his warm hand to her cheek in a tender caress. ‘Oh, and Joe’s picking me up this morning. We’re going over to Rye for a planning meeting. I asked him to have breakfast with us first, so you two can finally meet … if that’s OK?’
At the prospect of being introduced to Joe, Sara pushed her worries about Bernard’s mood temporarily to the back of her mind. So far, apart from the odd neighbour they’d bumped into on their cliff walks, she had met no one from Bernard’s life. He seemed to have few friends, except his business partner. Which she found strange, although she put it down to his work obsession and Ilsa’s death. Many of her own friends – couples with whom Pete and she had socialized – had gradually fallen away in the years after his death. She saw that as more her fault than theirs.
Joe, larger than life, even at eight in the morning, greeted her warmly, his voice booming across the quiet room. ‘So, at last I get to meet the woman Bernard’s been banging on about all this time,’ he said, squeezing her hand in both of his and eyeing her shrewdly.
Sara took to him immediately. His dark eyes, in a broad, open face, were kind and full of mischief; he seemed very much at ease with himself as he plonked his bulky frame down at the table. She’d rustled up bacon and fried eggs, grilled tomatoes and piles of wholewheat toast and marmalade – Bernard had told her Joe was a man who loved his food, as long as he didn’t have to cook it.
Bernard poured coffee for them all, then sat down, glancing from Sara to Joe and back again, with a cautious grin.
‘So how are you finding life at Lockmore Towers?’ Joe asked her, eagerly picking up his knife and fork and setting to with his breakfast.
‘Not so bad,’ she replied. ‘I get to leave stuff on the worktop occasionally and my toothbrush on the washbasin … put up the odd photograph, even,’ she joked, pointing across the room to the image of her daughters hugging each other, taken when the girls were in their teens, and the four of them had spent a week at Sammi’s mother’s large Valencia house. Dripping from the pool, they sported huge, toothy grins on their young faces. This got a laugh from both men.
‘Crikey … Very bold,’ Joe teased. ‘But the old fella doesn’t seem to be complaining. Things must be going well.’ As he spoke, Sara caught a look passing between them that she couldn’t interpret. Almost like a warning, she thought.
Joe was amusing company. Sara and he chatted on, about Lewes, their children, the upcoming fireworks – a huge event in Lewes, famous worldwide. She realized later that she’d found out more about Ariel in the hour with Joe than she knew about either of the twins after three and a half months. It made her sad for Bernard, who seemed to retreat from the conversation, eating mostly in silence unless his friend prompted him for his opinion.
‘Join us for the fireworks at mine,’ Sara suggested to Joe, as the men got ready to leave. ‘I’m bang on the high street, so it’s front-row seats for the parade.’
Joe raised his eyebrows, considering. ‘I’m afraid I’m already taken … but I’d love to drop by for half an hour. I’m not due at my friends’ till later.’
After they’d gone and Sara was clearing up, Bernard’s unresponsiveness during the meal brought her worries rushing back. She wondered, as she closed the dishwasher, if he would tell his friend what was bothering him, because he certainly wasn’t telling her.
