The Path to the Sea. Liz Fenwick
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passion for the camellias, always came up. Diana recalled he’d cultivated a few new ones.
‘Have they said how long?’ She glanced at him regretting she had phrased the question that way. He wasn’t a warlord but a frail old man.
‘I haven’t asked.’ His hand clenched the silver fox head on his cane. His knuckles went white.
‘What will you do?’
Sad eyes looked at her and despite her dislike, her heart reached out to him.
‘I don’t know, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do without her.’
Diana swallowed and looked away. She didn’t want to feel for him. She didn’t want to care. She had done that once before. Not caring was the only way to cope.
3 August 1962, 5.45 p.m.
Below on the edge of the lawn, Tom and Allan are side by side, their stance so similar. Allan’s hair is darker with more wave than Tom’s mid-brown straight fringe which falls onto his forehead if he hasn’t tamed it with hair crème. Both still whippet-thin, not yet touched with the fullness of middle age, unlike many of their peers. Allan is the more handsome of the two, also the more charming. But Tom’s eyes, their deep Cornish sky blue, are the more compelling. They take a step away from each other. Discord. In the past they had moved in unison and I was the third wheel, or so I felt. But now Tom plays that role happily, maybe even more comfortably.
He opens his cigarette case and Allan leans in to offer him a light. Allan’s fingers brush Tom’s. There is still a look in Allan’s eyes when he watches Tom. I’m sure Tom was his first love, as he was mine. My passion for Tom was years ago and yet it lives under the surface of our friendship giving it an edge. But Allan was never one to be held in check, and Diana was the result. The memory of our first kiss still stirs me. I stand here loving two men, differently . . . one always from a distance.
As they turn to look at the view their faces are no longer visible, just their broad shoulders. A hunger creeps across my skin as Tom shifts his weight from one foot to the other and Allan mimics him. It has always been this way since the first time I saw them together. I’m not sure what I will do if Tom finds love and marries. I’m a strange creature, loving what I can’t have. But my heart is filled with love for Allan and that is enough.
My husband’s hands caress the air. What are they discussing? Both look solemn, with none of Allan’s boyish charm on display. Diana runs up to them and Allan scoops her into his arms and Tom hands her a package. Even from here I can hear her delighted whoop of joy. She is a blessing and I never believed that would be the case. How wrong I was.
Turning from them, I walk to the dress hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. People will be arriving soon so I can’t slip downstairs and join Tom and Allan. Hopefully there will be an opportune lull in the evening when I can talk with Tom. There is so much that I don’t know, and my imagination is making things worse.
I pull the sleeveless shift dress over my head and the green silk reminds me of shallow waters on a bright summer’s day. Like the ones when Tom, Allan and I sailed. I was nineteen and – against my mother’s wishes – I had joined them sailing to the Scilly Isles. I was free as I never had been before. No school mistresses, no hovering mother or aunt. Simply me and two beautiful men in love. Innocent and free. Well, that will never happen again but at least I have those memories.
As I try to pull the zip up, I recall that it was then it was decided by the three of us that I should apply to a vacant secretarial post at the embassy in Aden. Tom thought I would be a shoo-in with my language skills, and of course the fact that Daddy was an ambassador wouldn’t hurt either. I knew the ropes already, so to speak. I had completed finishing school the month before and Mummy wanted me to marry right away. The problem, aside from the fact that there were no candidates, was that getting married was last on my list of things to do. I wouldn’t follow in her shoes. Somehow, I would find a way to a career and not simply become someone’s accomplished wife.
Smiling, I look around the bedroom at all the accoutrements of just that. Mummy was accomplished, accomplished at keeping her drinking hidden. She was the life and soul of the party. I pause, looking at myself in the mirror with her pearls about my neck, in her house which is now mine. If she knew, she would approve. Allan is the political attaché in Moscow and I am the ultimate hostess. But looks can be very deceiving and a smile spreads across my mouth.
‘What’s so amusing?’ Allan walks through the door and comes to stand beside me. He runs a hand down my bare arm. It is the only contact we’ve had in days. He hasn’t been sleeping and I hear his footsteps in the darkness as he paces by the windows. After wearing the carpet out, he heads downstairs then outside where he lights up a cigarette. The smoke makes its way into the bedroom and I lie awake until he returns just before dawn.
‘Nothing important.’
He pulls the zip on my dress up the final inch, running his finger along the base of my neck. ‘You’ve gone a delicious brown.’
My skin glows, from the Cornish air if not the blazing sun. My dark hair is highlighted from a week here. I look like my younger self, more like the woman he knew as a teenager – long and leggy.
‘It’s all the gardening of late.’ I look down at his hand as he links his fingers through mine. ‘You’ve gone brown yourself.’
‘Not sure how, with the dismal weather. Here’s hoping for some sun this weekend.’
But I knew that being on the sea brought colour even if the sun wasn’t bright. He’s been sailing every day and spending time with the Americans. Diana has loved being on the water, so I haven’t commented on the excessive amount of time he’s spent with them. Allan is like that. Making fast new friends and cutting out the rest of the world until it drags him back. Mostly I haven’t minded and many times it has helped. But I can’t quite put my finger on what is troubling him.
He yawns and pulls his hand from mine.
‘Tired?’
‘Just the fresh air.’ He laughs and turns away. ‘I’ll have a quick bath to freshen up.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. Even though we’ve been here just a week a few freckles have appeared across his cheeks adding to his youthful look, but there is a slight greyness under that tan which is new. He strips off, desire fills me and he sends me a knowing smile, as he grabs his dressing gown then leaves the bedroom before I can act on my need or ask about the sleeplessness. He knows I know.
Eventually he will tell me. He always does.
3 August 1962, 5.50 p.m.
Diana watched Daddy go into the house. Uncle Tom was already dressed for dinner and he stood beside her. ‘Shall we take a short walk?’
‘Yes, please, and thank you for my book.’
‘A pleasure. Have you had a diary before?’ Uncle Tom put his hands in his pockets which pushed his jacket out of place.
They cut across the lawn and walked up the long path.
‘No. What do I put in it?’ She turned the red book over in her hands. It was beautiful.
‘Your thoughts and what you did during the day.’
Diana frowned. ‘Do I only write in it once a day?’
‘That is entirely up to you.’ He stopped to sniff a flowering tree. ‘At your age you are already good with