met his briefly and slid away. She was pretty in a boyish way, but what struck him about her was the way her face looked tucked in, as if she was used to concealing things.
Marian was saying, ‘There’s plenty of company here for your girls. I’ve got eleven grandchildren altogether, from Lucas down to Ashton, and they all come to spend the summers with me. Is your wife here with you?’
‘I’m a widower.’
And he saw the mother look at him over the baby’s sun-hat. ‘You’re here on your own with them?’ Marian protested. ‘I call that plain heroic.’
‘Or plain foolish,’ John answered and was rewarded by another veiled glance from the daughter-in-law.
‘You must come over and join us whenever you feel like it. How about tonight? My daughter Karyn is here with her partner and Leonie’s husband is here too …’
Ah, John thought. Of course.
‘Unfortunately the other two boys and their families won’t be getting here until later, and you must meet them then.’
‘Perhaps not this evening,’ John said. ‘We should settle in up there first. We only arrived in the middle of the storm last night.’
He looked beyond the frayed brim of Marian’s hat to the Captain’s House. It stood at a slightly different angle from the others, seeming to turn aside from them and away from the full assault of the sea and wind. He could imagine that a seafarer had built it, a man who had had enough of the weather and the elements, but still couldn’t quite leave them behind. May had been standing on the lower deck looking down at them, but now she had disappeared.
Marian was insistent. ‘Tomorrow, what about that? Come over and have a meal with us tomorrow evening.’
‘Thank you, we’d like to.’
‘That’s settled then.’
Evidently Marian Beam was a woman who knew what she wanted and insisted on getting it.
The garden between the sea wall and the deck was not really a garden at all, more a strip of grass and sand, which had been decorated in places with big rounded beach stones and low bushes. May prowled aimlessly around the limits of the area, turning back when she came to the fence painted in faded blue that separated the garden from the one next door. Orange, scarlet and ginger flowers growing on the other side spilled over the fence, making a little oasis of brilliance.
May followed a stony path down the side of the house. There was an outside shower behind a screen, a big evergreen tree with a dilapidated hammock slung from the branches, a coiled-up hosepipe, which stopped her short for a second with its resemblance to a snake. When she recovered her breath and stepped forward again she immediately knew that someone was watching her. She peered behind her and up into the branches of the tree, to the little screened windows in the side of the house. There was no one to see. A cold breath fanned the nape of her neck, even though the day had turned hot.
She turned her head slowly.
The old woman she had seen before was standing on the other side of the fence, half hidden by the green leaves of her garden. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ she said.
‘You didn’t.’ May was relieved. ‘I saw you before.’
The woman held up a big pair of shears to show May. ‘I’m doing some pruning. Turner’s supposed to come and see to it but he doesn’t always have time to do everything. Turner’s my gardener. My mother loved this garden and I try to look after it for her sake. I suppose it’s a kind of memorial.’
The woman really was quite old, so her mother must have died long ago. May liked the idea of her daughter keeping up the garden in her memory. She wished that she had something like it to do. Sometimes she and Ivy talked about their mother, but not very often nowadays. And John hardly ever even mentioned her. He just expected them to accept Suzanne or some other girlfriend instead.
‘I like your garden. It’s pretty.’
‘Thank you. I saw you looking at the Japanese garden the Bennisons did out the front. What did you think of that?’
‘Japanese? I thought it looked like someone had dumped a whole lot of stones and left the rest to itself. Gardens ought to have flowers and stuff. Lots of colours.’
The woman laughed. ‘I think you’re right. And my mother would have approved of your ideas too. Should we introduce ourselves? My name’s Elizabeth Newton.’
‘Hi. I’m May Duhane.’
‘I’m happy to meet you, May. I saw you arriving last night.’
‘Yeah? All that rain.’
‘You reminded me a little of Doone. You still do remind me of her, as a matter of fact. Perhaps only because you’re the same age.’
‘Doone? Who’s she?’
In the quiet that followed voices carried up to them from the beach. One of them was Ivy’s and a burst of laughter came after it.
Elizabeth said, ‘Would you like to come round to my side and have a closer look at the garden?’
‘Okay,’ May said. ‘I can get over the fence here, look.’
After the tour of the garden they sat in deep wicker chairs on Elizabeth’s porch. At first sight of her May had thought that Mrs Newton must be dressed up ready to go out somewhere, maybe to a coffee party or a town meeting, or whatever it was that old ladies did in Pittsharbor. She had on a dress, silky and pleated, with a brooch pinned to the collar. She was wearing tights, too, fine pale ones that showed the brown marks on the skin of her legs, and proper leather shoes. Then, when she didn’t mention having to hurry off anywhere, May came to the conclusion that this must be how she always chose to look. It made her seem even older than she really was, as if she belonged to history instead of to May’s grandparents’ generation.
Elizabeth had proper lemonade, which she served in a tall glass jug with intricate diamond patterns cut into it. She also offered May a plate of very good chocolate fudge brownies. May took two, telling herself it would not be polite to insist that she was on a diet.
‘Who’s Doone?’ May finally asked again.
Elizabeth was looking out to sea. The island was a solid shape in the middle distance, its beach fringed with a rim of silver. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Her parents own your house.’
‘The Bennisons.’
‘Yes. Doone was their daughter. She died in a boating accident last summer. She drowned.’
May looked at her glass. There was a sweat of condensation on the smooth rim and a greasy mark where she had put it to her mouth.
‘I reminded you of her?’
‘Just because of your age. And your size and build are similar. Actually you are nothing like her at all.’
May thought again. ‘Which was her bedroom?’
‘The one on this side of the house, looking over the sea.’
