Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
Sophie was sitting on the flat bed at the back of Charlie’s Batmobile, holding tightly to the sides. Agata was in the front seat. Olive, Tamar and Rey had gone ahead to the vines with Cicely in her Land Rover, but Charlie had particularly wanted to take Agata himself. They’d gone out there in the afternoon so they could do the vineyard tour before dinner and were all staying the night. That had been Charlie’s idea, because he wanted Sophie to be able to taste the wines and not have to hold back as the designated driver.
Agata was silent as Charlie zipped along the avenue of trees, some of the leaves starting to turn golden. Sophie noticed that he kept glancing at the old lady, presumably to make sure she was alright, but Agata seemed lost in her thoughts, a happy expression on her face, her favourite orange hat on her head, the red crash helmet on her lap.
‘Are you comfortable, Agata?’ he asked, in the end.
‘I am in a state of bliss,’ said Agata, turning to smile at him.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Charlie. ‘I was worried you were bored for a moment there.’
Agata laughed. ‘I’m sorry not to be more chatty but I am very moved by the trees. I don’t get to see many trees these days and I love them so.’
‘Why don’t you see many?’
‘Because I live by the sea and trees don’t like the southwesterly winds constantly beating them. I would have preferred to live inland like this and be surrounded by trees, but my husband loved the sea, so I live by the sea. I have an apple tree in my garden –’ she shrugged and did her signature hand flick ‘– but that is a tree like a dachshund is a wolf. These are real trees.’
They arrived at the group of farm buildings and Charlie steered the buggy across the yard towards the view. Sophie expected Agata to make a remark about the ugly barns, but she said nothing. Even when Charlie stopped with the valley laid out before them, lined with snaking vines, the far hills slightly misty in the distance, she was silent.
Charlie looked round at Sophie for reassurance. She shrugged.
‘I am quiet, Charlie,’ said Agata, gently touching his arm, ‘because I have spent so much time on my own that sometimes I almost forget how to speak. It is all so beautiful here. I feel privileged you have shared it with me.’
Charlie smiled at her. ‘You are so welcome, Agata. It means a lot to me that you appreciate it. I lived in London for thirty years and I didn’t realise how unhappy I was being away from here until I came back.’
‘What happened to your wife?’
Sophie was momentarily horrified and then grateful. Agata had asked the big question she’d never found the right time to bring up.
‘We got divorced,’ said Charlie. ‘A nasty divorce. Vicious.’
‘Who’s fault was that?’
Sophie tried to breathe quietly. She didn’t want to intrude on this exchange. She had a feeling it might be helpful for Charlie.
Looking out at the view with his head on one side, he paused before replying. ‘Our son died,’ he said, turning back to Agata. ‘He was seventeen. A hot day, beers, swimming in a deep quarry with signs all around it saying “Don’t swim here”. Such a stupid way to die.’
Ah, thought Sophie. So that was it. She’d been right about a terrible loss. It left an indelible mark that you could spot, once you knew.
‘I am really very sorry,’ said Agata, in that way she had of conveying deep meaning in a few words.
‘It nearly destroyed me,’ said Charlie. ‘Well, it did really, but I am gradually coming back to life.’
‘Do you have other children?’
‘A daughter, but she sided with her mother in the divorce and won’t talk to me. Losing Hec – his name was Hector – broke her as well and perhaps it’s normal for a young woman to be blindly loyal to her mother, but then it went on too long and she was too proud to back down. But I still hold on to the hope that we’ll be reunited one day.’
‘How long ago did your son die?’
‘Eight years. Eight years this past July.’
‘For a loss like that, eight years is not long. I think there is still time for your daughter to come back to you.’
‘I hope you’re right. ‘I’ll never give up on her. She is my precious daughter and also for her brother’s memory. He would be heartbroken to see his family shattered and I can’t help feeling that it can’t be good for him. He needs to rest in peace. I know that’s silly, but you have all these daft thoughts, don’t you? When you’re struggling to make sense of things.’
‘All my life,’ said Agata.
Sophie reached out and squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. He turned and smiled at her with tight lips, tears in his eyes.
‘And you know too, eh, Sophie?’ he said, briefly resting his hand on hers.
‘We are all the walking wounded,’ she said. Beau had told her Agata’s story.
‘But life must live,’ said Agata with a sudden burst of energy, clapping her hands together. ‘Not all misery. Now, show me grapes.’
Charlie laughed and beeped his horn in agreement as he set off down to the vines.
Sophie was upstairs, supposedly changing for dinner but actually standing in the middle of the room, staring into space. It was a very pretty bedroom, with flowery chintz curtains and a matching headboard, all a bit nicely faded, which made her suspect it had been decorated by Cicely and Charlie’s mother many decades earlier and not touched since. The last golden rays of autumn sun were pouring in through the leaded window panes and the view looked out over the garden to a stretch of parkland dotted with ancient oak trees. Yet Sophie felt strangely flat.
She shook out the dress she’d brought to wear for dinner, but instead of changing into it, she threw it onto the armchair in the corner and climbed onto the bed. All she really wanted to do was crawl under the covers and stay there. She’d been looking forward to this dinner hugely, but now it seemed like a massive effort.
Maybe she’d been socialising too much. Was it all a bit forced and desperate, spending so much time with people she hardly knew? Sooner or later, she was going to have to face up to her new reality, as a middle-aged single woman, living alone. Jack was in Brisbane. Beau was back in London. Tamar wasn’t going to be there forever.
Sophie checked the time. Charlie had said to come for drinks in the drawing room at seven. It was ten to, but she just couldn’t make herself start to get ready.
And then she suddenly understood what was lowering her mood. It was the first time she’d stayed at someone else’s house – apart from immediate family – since Matt had died. Her first outing as a widowed overnight guest. Another landmark.
They would have been in this room together, commenting on the delightfully out-of-date décor and admiring the view. And Matt would have been driving her nuts, sprawling his stuff everywhere and making them late.
She closed her eyes tight and squeezed them shut, tears threatening. Then something else occurred to her. Even if Matt was still alive, he wouldn’t have been there. He’d have been off somewhere with Juliet, driving her mad with his mess and making her late.
Sophie would have been alone anyway.
She was still trying to decide whether that made it better or worse when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called, thinking it was probably Tamar seeking reassurance, but it was Charlie’s head that came round the door – and his right hand, holding out a glass of sparkling wine.
‘Are you decent?’ he asked.
Sophie laughed. ‘Decent enough.’
‘I thought you might like to have a little heart starter up here,’ he said. ‘No rush to come down, everything’s simmering away in the kitchen, no MasterChef timing involved. Just come down when you’re ready.’
Sophie walked over to take the glass from him. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, taking a sip. ‘Mmm, this is delicious, Charlie. Is it your lovely brew again? It tastes a bit different.’
He nodded, smiling and looking endearingly shy. ‘This is from a special stash of premium bottles from last year, better than the stuff I put in tins.’
‘It’s really good.’
‘You better have some more then,’ he said, producing the bottle he was holding in his other hand and topping up her glass.
‘Cheers!’ said Sophie, raising the flute.
‘Chin-chin!’ He put his hand on hers and pulled her glass towards him to take a slurp, grinning.
Sophie laughed.
Then he looked serious. ‘I’m glad you know about my son, Sophie,’ he said. ‘And my divorce and my daughter. I’ve wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to sound like I was trying to tragedy match you or something.’
‘I’ve been wanting to ask you,’ said Sophie. ‘I could tell there was something, but it never seemed like the right time to ask.’
‘Fellow soldiers in suffering. But now all that’s out, let’s get on with living, eh? Like Agata said.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Sophie, raising her glass again. And then it seemed the most natural thing to give him a comradely squeeze.
As she wrapped her arms around him, she was surprised how good he smelled where her nose rested against his shoulder and how comforting she found the press of firm flesh from a warm and muscular male body beneath a clean cotton shirt.
Did she imagine it, or did the hug last a little longer than she might have expected?