Page 27 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay
‘I’m envious. You always seem so close. The perfect couple.’
Peggy winced at the epithet. It felt dangerous to be thought of as ‘perfect’. ‘We have our ups and downs, likeanyone else. But, yes, we are close.’ As she said it, she felt a faint shadow pass over her words.
‘Do you like yoga?’ Gen was asking. ‘I do a class in the village hall on Wednesday mornings and I was wondering if you’d be interested.’
Peggy was touched, but she pulled a cautious face. ‘That’s a lovely idea. I’ve done Pilates in the past, but not for ages. I’m stiff as a board. I probably wouldn’t keep up.’
Gen laughed. ‘Oh, God, none of us are up to much. But Joyce, who takes the class, is very patient and explains everything brilliantly– there’s no Lycra, no headstands, no competition at all.’
Peggy took a breath. ‘Okay… Then, yes, I’d love to give it a go.’
Gen grinned with pleasure. ‘Great. I’ll text you Joyce’s details. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.’
Thanking Gen for her help with the outfit, Peggy smiled as she walked back down the narrow alleyway to the sea with her Kyma-logoed stiff cardboard bag knocking at her legs. She felt childishly pleased at Gen’s invitation. And she felt a lot more confident about the trip to London now she had something flattering to wear.
Peggy and Ted were walking up from Green Park Underground, through the Mayfair streets to the gallery. They were staying the night with Annie and Satja in Highgate, so had come down on the Northern Line, then changed at Euston to a boiling and crowded Victoria Line. It was muggy and far too hot for Peggy, who was already sweating in her black trousers and cream shirt, despite the lightness of the material, and her hair was wisping annoyinglyin the damp breeze. They’d debated whether to arrive on the dot of six thirty, grab some quieter time with the boys before the hordes arrived, and sneak off after the inevitable speeches– Max would always seize the opportunity of a captive audience. Ted pointed out, though, that the speeches might not start till long into the evening. They’d be there for hours if they pitched up on time.
In the end, the Northern Line decided for them. Now it was closer to seven thirty and Peggy was panicking. Being late would deliver Max an easy opening to give her a hard time.
‘Hey, slow down.’ Ted, handsome in a navy Paul Smith suit from his executive days, pulled her back as she charged along the dusty streets, barely looking as she crossed at the many small junctions, risking being clipped by a speeding bike courier or an Uber desperate for his next fare.
Peggy stopped. ‘God, it’s roasting. Am I bright red?’ she asked, panting and flapping her top.
Ted laughed. ‘No. You look beautiful.’
She heard the love in his voice and it calmed her. ‘I wish we were just meeting the boys for supper somewhere quiet. Shame we can’t see them tomorrow.’ Max’s present to his sons was introductory flying lessons at Redhill Aerodrome the following day. Dan was keen as mustard, Liam less so, according to the WhatsApp exchange earlier.
‘Is it a good idea to fly after the party? Won’t they have terrible hangovers?’ Ted asked.
Peggy gave a dry laugh. ‘Not something Max will have thought of, I bet. Come on, speed up,’ she urged, grabbing Ted’s hand and dragging him behind her as she set off again at pace. ‘Or it’ll be over before we get there.’
The gallery had a glass-fronted, red and cream brick Edwardian façade, with black railings protecting the steps to the basement. ‘De Mevius Gallery’ was inscribed in discreet gold lettering above the plate-glass window. Max’s grandfather, also Maximilian De Mevius, had been the black sheep in an otherwise wealthy, aristocratic Belgian family, who had taken off across the Channel to seek his own fortune, choosing art.
Tonight the interior was blazing with light and noise, the door wide open. As Peggy and Ted stepped inside, they were met by a cool, smiling young woman in the tiniest of black dresses and monumental heels, her dark hair falling in glossy waves down her back. She greeted them politely, raising her iPad as she waited for them to identify themselves. But before Peggy had a chance to say anything, the tall figure of her ex-husband bore down on them.
‘Aah, at last,’ he said. His patrician features and blue hooded eyes hadn’t worn well, Peggy noticed. He looked old, a little weary. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
Flustered, as she always was in his company– he made her feel inadequate for reasons she’d never understood, except she knew he made a lot of people feel the same way– she reached up to receive his kiss, then looked around for her sons.
‘Hi, Max,’ Ted said, with his usual easy charm. He reached out a hand, which Max took.
‘Ted.’
Recognizing the back of Dan’s head, Peggy ignored the aloof expression on her ex’s face and hurried Ted over to greet her son, grabbing two champagne flutes from a handsome youth with a loaded tray as she passed.
‘Mum!’ Dan shouted, when he saw her. It was clear that he was already quite drunk as he wrapped his mother in an exuberant embrace, spilling her drink as he did so. ‘Brilliant, you made it.’ She felt a moment of pleasure at his hug– although his big frame and strong arms were in marked contrast to the days when she’d cuddled him on the sofa with his brother.
As usual, he initially made only a cursory acknowledgement of Ted’s presence. But Ted seemed undaunted. ‘Happy birthday, Dan,’ he said warmly, raising his glass. And, to her surprise, her son– perhaps because he was tipsy– took the proffered hand. ‘Ted, good to see you.’
Dan had none of his father’s patrician arrogance. He was charming, but in a quiet way, although his tall figure and blond good looks gave him a certain charisma in the art market world where image was so highly valued. Peggy imagined he was a very useful addition to his father’s gallery presentation.
‘Have you seen Liam? He’s about somewhere,’ Dan was saying, after an initial catch-up with Peggy, during which he thanked her profusely for the theatre subscription she’d given him. He swayed slightly as a slim girl wrapped in a pristine grey apron thrust into the group a tray of something piled on Chinese spoons. ‘Tuna sushi with wasabi and rocket.’
Ted took one, as did Dan. Peggy thought it looked too awkward to eat and refused. ‘I’ll go and look for Liam,’ she said, already dying to get out of the hot, noisy room and away from the press of brash young strangers talking and laughing at the top of their voices. She’d spotted her other son’s equally blond head– although his hair waslonger than his brother’s neat crop– across the wide gallery space.
Leaving Ted talking to an older man with a greying ponytail and an unkempt beard, which looked as if it contained embedded samples of the man’s breakfast and possibly lunch, she found Liam leaning against the wall at the edge of the noisy throng. He was cradling a whisky glass, now empty, talking to no one. He looked utterly miserable.
Peggy was shocked. ‘Sweetheart… are you all right?’
