them. People who came to Woodside Cottage seemed to accept the clutter, as just another manifestation of its owner’s personality. And they were always more interested in telling Jude about their lives than in asking about hers.
Even Carole had got used to the clutter, and Carole was distrustful of ‘things’ – particularly ‘things’ that brought memories with them. She tried to exclude such ‘things’ completely from High Tor, hoping to keep the lid tightly closed on most of her past life.
The windows of Woodside Cottage were open that morning, and the warm June air presaged another hot summer. An ‘unnaturally’ hot summer, the Fethering locals would say darkly, before moving on to lugubrious talk of ‘climate change’ and its inevitable corollary of a man-created Armageddon. But that day there was still sufficient movement in the air to set the bamboo wind chimes tinkling. Not for the first time, Carole wondered why, though she’d have despised the sound anywhere else, she didn’t find the wood-chink noise irritating in Woodside Cottage.
Jude was one of those people who carried with her a unique personal environment. Outwardly, she was a plump woman in her fifties with blonde hair gathered up into a gravity-defying structure on top of her head, but an inward serenity set her apart from other women of her age. Though her personal life had not been without its passions and disappointments, she emanated calm to everyone with whom she came in contact. It was not an effect at which she worked, it was instinctive. When they first met, Carole had felt jealous of this quality in her neighbour, but that jealousy had given way over time to a wistfulness, a recognition of how different their personalities were. For Carole, all emotional responses were hard work, the road to them fraught with misgivings and potential disasters. In low moods, she sometimes feared the only spontaneous instinct she had was for prejudice.
Evading further well-rehearsed arguments on the subject of holistic medicine, Jude moved the conversation on. “How are the wedding plans going?”
“Fine,” replied Carole, instinctively echoing the conversation in the Crown and Anchor. Then, more dubiously. “At least, I think everything’s all right.”
“Nobody getting cold feet, I hope?”
“No, no, they still seem as besotted with each other as ever. It’s just…”
“What?”
“After being so positive about the whole thing at the beginning, a kind of apathy seems to have set in.”
“Oh?”
“Well, they still haven’t sorted out a church, or a venue for the reception, or caterers, or any of that stuff.”
“Time enough. What’s the actual date?”
“Fourteenth of September. And we’re into June now.”
“They’ve got three months. Many weddings have been sorted out in a lot less time than that.”
“I know. It’s just…Well, it’s unlike Stephen to be so dilatory. He was always terribly punctilious about forward-planning, almost obsessed with details of arrangements.”
The question crossed Jude’s mind as to where he might have inherited that quality from, but she was too considerate to voice it. “Probably just shows that being with Gaby is making him more laid-back.”
“Maybe.”
But Carole wasn’t convinced. “I’d believe that, if Gaby herself was being more laid-back. But she isn’t. She seems terribly tense, evasive when the subject of the wedding arrangements comes up.”
“So she’s acting as a brake on Stephen?”
“Seems to be. And she’s also very resistant to the idea of the engagement being announced in the papers.”
Jude shrugged. “Surely that’s up to her. Some people want every detail of their weddings plastered all over
“Maybe not,” said Carole dubiously. “But there is a right way of going about things, you know.”
That was such an archetypal Carole Seddon remark that Jude could not suppress a little smile. Then she asked tentatively, “Have you…had further contact with David about the wedding?”
“No.” The reply was almost a snap. Carole had never liked the feeling of being nagged.
Instantly Jude backed off. “Still, it’ll be interesting for you to meet the rest of Gaby’s family. Didn’t you say she’d got some relatives in France?”
“Just her grandmother, I think.”
“Whereabouts?”
“South somewhere.”
“Ah.” Pleasing nostalgia came into Jude’s brown eyes.
Carole picked up the cue. She’d never heard the details of Jude’s stay in France. “How long was it you lived there?”
“Two years. Well, just under two years.”
Then, as so often, before Carole had time to ask supplementary questions, her neighbour moved on. “Incidentally, I’ve got a friend coming to stay for a while.”
“Oh?” However much she tried, Carole couldn’t keep the frost out of her voice. The last friend Jude had had to stay for any length of time had been an ex-lover, who had not only revived their relationship, but had also died of cancer in Woodside Cottage. Even though he had proved useful in researching the background to a murder case, Carole could still not think of Laurence Hawker without a little flicker of jealousy. She had felt excluded by Jude’s absorption in him. While accepting her neighbour had many circles offriends in many different parts of the world, on their home ground in Fethering she felt a proprietorial interest. Unwillingly, she found herself asking, “Is this another of your lovers, Jude?”
“No. By no means. A woman friend. Been through a bit of a rough time recently. Just needs to chill out for a while.”
There were two reasons for the inward wince that this prompted in Carole. First, there was the fear of someone new, someone who might unbalance the delicate microclimate that encompassed High Tor and Woodside Cottage. Second, there was the atavistic revulsion Carole felt towards expressions like ‘chill out’.
“When’s she coming?”
“This afternoon. She’s been…well, she’ll be free then.”
Carole did not miss the hesitation. For her its instant implication was that Jude’s friend had just come out of hospital – or possibly even prison.
“What’s her name?”
“Gita.”
“Gita?”
Jude smiled at the ill-hidden prejudice in the repetition of the name. Carole wasn’t exactly racist. She was just one of those many middle-class English women who had very rarely encountered people of a different ethnicity from their own. Jude was amused to see the tension leave Carole’s face as she said, “It’s a childhood name. Short for ‘Marguerite’. She’s always been called ‘Gita’. Gita Millington.”
“Oh.” The name did sound vaguely familiar, but Carole couldn’t think from where. “And what’s been wrong with her?”
But Jude wasn’t to be drawn on that kind of detail. “Just been under a lot of stress. Needs a break.”
Carole clearly wanted more information, but was too genteel to press the point.
“Will she be staying long?”
Jude knew that her shrug would infuriate Carole, but she was determined to say no more. Until Gita actually arrived, until it was clear what kind of state she was in, Jude wanted to keep information to the minimum.
Carole looked dissatisfied, but ceased her interrogation. With a slightly huffy, “Well, do tell me if there’s anything I can do to help while your friend’s here,” she moved the conversation on. “Stephen took Gaby to look at the local churches yesterday afternoon, so I suppose that’s a step in the right direction. Though the chances of one not having another wedding already booked for the fourteenth of September is – ”
She was interrupted by the phone ringing. Jude answered it and, after mouthing ‘Talk of the devil’, said, “Yes, that’s me. Gaby – right. Carole mentioned you, yes. Congratulations on the engagement. OK, whereabouts are you
