Page 8 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
The knot of tension and anxiety that had inhabited my stomach for so long was quickly unravelling, taking with it some of the guilt and relief about leaving Julian. Slowly I sank into a deeper sleep, only barely conscious of the stewardess’s voice suggesting, hopefully, ‘Pretzels?’
I rang Julian that evening, sitting in a rattan chair on the shaded decking of Jim’s villa, which overlooked Falmouth Harbour. Nearby was a telescope permanently focused on his pride and joy – his vast and glossy superyacht. It might not bequiteas super as some of the other floating palaces moored there, but to me it was still impressively enormous.
I had the remains of a rum punch in my other hand and I wasn’t sure if I was suffering from jet lag, or Jim had ignored my request to go easy on the rum, but I felt limp and spaced out.
I wasn’t too worried about Julian, because I knew Molly would already have popped in to make sure he was all right and had eatensomething – and she wouldn’t take any nonsense. And then Nat was driving up to visit Julian next day – he would only stay at the cottage when I was away and had even booked into a hotel when Julian had his stroke, despite my urging him to stay with me.
But this visit would be different, because he’d married two years ago and was bringing his wife, Willow, for the first time.
Willow was a freelance graphic artist and I hadn’t yet met her, though I’d insisted Julian go down to London for the wedding, even though I hadn’t been invited. In the pictures she was tall, blonde, leggy and long-nosed, and reminded me of nothing so much as a heron. I did a little cartoon of her like that, standing on one leg … which I now remembered was lying around in my sketchbooks in the studio. I hoped Willow was not of an inquisitive nature.
Julian’s voice on the phone, with that hint of a slur, still didn’t sound quite like him, but he brushed off my enquiries about his health.
Then he added that I could call Molly off, too, because Nat and Willow had arrived a day early. ‘Or maybe I got the date wrong? Anyway, they got here a couple of hours ago.’
‘Oh? What’s she like?’ I asked interestedly, for he’d barely had a chance to speak to her at the wedding reception.
‘Girly and gushing,’ he replied. ‘Went into rhapsodies about the cottage, especially the oak beams and the old-fashioned kitchen.’
‘It’s notthatold-fashioned, just comfortable. Shabby chic,’ I added vaguely. Molly was into all that upcycling and distressing furniture stuff and we’d acquired several of her pieces. ‘Anyway, Carey’s the expert on cottage makeovers and, if you remember, he said it was fine as it was, the perfect eclectic mix of furnishings.’
‘Willow said we should update it with a red Aga and a giant pink Smeg fridge/freezer. I think she said something about cement kitchen units, too, but I must have got that wrong, because it sounds so unlikely.’
‘Cement-coloured?’ I suggested. ‘All the interior decorators on TV programmes, except Carey, seem mad about grey lately. A red Aga is a total cliché, too, and there’s nothing wrong with our fridge or the freezer.’
‘She had a look at what was in both of them, before announcing they were vegetarians.’
‘Really? I can’t believe Nat’s turned vegetarian! But anyway, since we don’t eat meat, she can’t have found anything particularly awful in there, other than a bit of fish. If they want anything else, then they should have warned us.’
‘Well, she seems to have brought a lot of their own food with her, so I expect that’s why she was rooting in the fridge and freezer, trying to find some space among all the stuff you and Molly seemed to think I’d get through in nine days.’
‘AndNat and Willow, because we thought we were catering for three,’ I pointed out. ‘What are they doing now?’
‘Nat’s taken her to look at the workshop …’ He paused and then said, ‘I got Mr Barley to draw up that will, but I’m not going to mention anything about it to Nat.’
That was probably a good idea, because if Julian had stuck to his guns on his intentions and Nat found out, then the fat really would be in the fire. He’d expect to inherit everything and, really, I still thought he should. But while I didn’t want to look ahead to a time when it might be an issue, if it ever came to it, then I supposed Mr Barley would help me sort it out.
Julian seemed reasonably cheerful, though he told me not to keep ringing him up after today, because I’d hear soon enough if he wasn’t feeling well. I was to relax and enjoy my holiday.
Then we talked about the work in progress for a while – a big rose window is quite an undertaking – before Nat and Willow came back and he rang off.
I thought about phoning or emailing Molly after that, but just then Mum came out on to the decking, her curling hair freshly rendered a shining but improbable chestnut brown, followed by a group of equally brightly dressed and tanned friends. It was like being surrounded by a flock of noisy parakeets.
‘Guess what, Angelique – we’re all going to sail to Anguilla tomorrow! Jim’s gone to make the arrangements, because they’resofussy there about moorings and things,’ Mum said brightly, and wouldn’t hear of my staying put quietly in the villa. Jim’s superyacht would be one loud floating party and I was not, and never had been, any kind of party animal.
Mum, Jim and several of their crowd went to dine and whoop it up at the Purple Conch and then returned in the early hours and kept up the revelry for ages, so my attempts to sleep and let my body clock catch up were doomed to failure.
Next morning, hollow-eyed and functioning only because of large amounts of good American coffee, I hurriedly repacked my small case, and soon Jim’s yacht, with its deck full of inexhaustible revellers and one reluctant one, set sail for Anguilla.
I was a party-pooper, immediately retiring to my cabin where, with the help of airline ear plugs, I went out like a light for several hours.
When I finally woke up, I discovered that in the rush to get off I’d left my phone behind – not that it would have done me much good out at sea, but I could probably have talked to Julian when I was on Anguilla. I could still have got round that and contacted him, of course – but he’d been so insistent I didn’t keep checking up on him. Willow and Nat would have left by the time we set sail back, but Molly would resume visiting him the moment they’d gone. It was only a few days …
Anguilla was beautiful and for a jam-packed forty-eight hours we piled into local taxis and explored, swam and ate wonderful local food. It was a world away from home and I have to say I was totally chilled and relaxed by the time we sailed for Antigua again. Everyone else finally seemed pooped out and retired to cabins and sun loungers to recover, but I’d caught up with my sleep and felt fine.
In fact, my Pollyanna gene kicked in and I was filled with a rush of sudden optimism for the future. I’d been letting things get too much on top of me and this break would do both me and Julian good. We’d get things in perspective and be able to move on into a different, but more relaxed, future.
Though of course, that wouldn’t stop me ringing Julian the very moment I got back to the villa and perhaps by then he wouldn’t be cross, but instead tell me how much he was missing me, the way he used to.
