Shifting Sands (11 page)

She rang off. Imogen slowly put the phone down and, closing her eyes, leaned with both hands on the counter. Calm, reasonable Sophie. Then, straightening her shoulders, she began to prepare dinner.

SIX

A
nna had forgotten how noisy twelve excited little boys could be, and by the time a succession of parents had arrived to collect their offspring, she was ready to collapse at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. The memory of Miles here with them last year – a point that had carefully not been mentioned – was an added strain. Her grandsons, she'd noted with a tug of the heart, were wearing their South African T-shirts, Tom's sporting a rhino and Tim's a cheetah. At least they both appeared to fit.

‘It went off very well, didn't it?' she said.

Jonathan passed her the milk jug. ‘Yes; and that's it, thank God, for another year.'

‘Vicky was saying this might be the last ever,' Sophie remarked, putting the remains of the birthday cake in a tin and pressing down the lid. ‘She thinks Tom will want a treat next year.'

‘Then I'm even more grateful it was postponed till I was back,' Anna commented. ‘These milestones are precious.'

‘You did bring your camera, didn't you?' Angus asked, coming into the kitchen with a tray of debris. ‘We're looking forward to a slide show later.'

‘Yes, it's in my bag. I've not had the chance to look at them myself yet. No doubt they'll bring back all kinds of things I've forgotten.'

How many photos had she taken of Lewis? Anna wondered, with a spurt of anxiety. Not enough, she hoped, to give rise to comment, helped by the fact that it had been the end of the holiday before anything really developed between them.

Had it not been for his phone call on Wednesday, she might have thought, back in these familiar surroundings, that it had all been a dream. Did she seem any different to her family? she wondered. Could they sense she was keeping a secret? Watching them all as Jonathan took out the vacuum cleaner and the girls began stacking the dishwasher, she wondered a little wildly how they'd react if she suddenly announced that while she was away, she'd met another man and gone to bed with him. Furthermore, she was meeting him in London next week, when she would doubtless do so again.

Would they be appalled? Shocked, even disgusted? Or glad for her? She doubted the latter – not so soon after Miles's death.

‘Anna?' Angus repeated, raising his voice slightly and bringing her back from her reverie. ‘Would you like another cup?'

‘Oh sorry – I was miles away. Yes, please, but is there nothing I can do to help?'

‘Everything's under control,' Jonathan assured her. ‘Thank God for paper plates and cups! It's only the serving dishes that need seeing to, and most of them go in the dishwasher. If you'd like to relax somewhere more comfortable, Vicky's restored order in the sitting room.'

Anna shook her head. ‘I want to be in the thick of it, even if I am only an observer.'

‘That'll be the day!' Jonathan teased, and, as he passed, dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He had brought her here, but Sophie and Angus would drive her home, since, as of today, he was moving back with his family.

Sophie, having finished at the sink, brought her mug of tea over and sat across from her mother. ‘There's one sad bit of news you mightn't have heard,' she said. ‘Imogen's Aunt Em has died. It's her funeral on Monday.'

‘Oh, no!' Anna exclaimed. ‘I
am
sorry. She was younger than I am, surely? What happened?'

‘No one seems to know. She was fine the previous week at her birthday dinner, then Uncle Ted found her dead in bed. There was a post-mortem, but I don't know the result. I haven't liked to ask Imo. She was very upset.'

‘I'm sure she was. I must write to her and her mother.' Anna had met Emily Broadbent on only a few occasions, but she'd been very good to Sophie when she was younger, including her in treats with Imogen and referring to her as her adopted niece.

‘What time is the funeral?' she added.

Sophie laid a quick hand on her arm. ‘You don't have to go, Ma – it's too soon. I'll represent the family.'

Yes, Anna thought, full of guilt, it
was
too soon for her to attend a funeral – for that matter, it always would be – but it was also too soon to have slept with someone else. She knew her daughter's sympathy would have been tempered, had she known about
that
.

The clearing up was completed, the boys were eventually packed off to bed, the adults settled down to supper, and the questions about South Africa began.

‘You've hardly told us anything,' Vicky chided gently. ‘All you said in your texts was that you were enjoying yourself and were in a good group.'

‘I know, I'm sorry. But when you're travelling hundreds of miles, and seldom spend more than one night in the same bed, there's no time to go into detail. I'll talk you through the photos when we've finished eating.'

‘But it really wasn't the disaster we feared, Beatrice dropping out like that?'

Anna shook her head. ‘Poor love, she was so disappointed, but I'm ashamed to say I barely missed her. I'm going round next week, armed with the photos and the notes she asked me to make for her.'

‘Did you bring the notes with you?' Jonathan asked.

‘It never occurred to me, but in any case they're still on scrappy bits of paper; I'll have to type them up and print them before next week.'

‘What was the best part of the holiday?' Sophie enquired.

Anna thought for a moment, censoring her memories. ‘It was all wonderful, but I suppose seeing the animals free to roam where they liked. I know things here are better than they used to be, but they're still confined to some degree. And, of course, the scenery was spectacular.'

‘Perhaps we should go and sample it ourselves!' Angus said with a grin.

‘I strongly recommend it. Tamsin would love it. How is she, by the way? She was my most faithful correspondent and didn't seem at all fazed by my lack of response.'

It was Sophie who replied. ‘She's fine. It'll be half-term in a couple of weeks, and she's asked if she can bring one of her friends back for the week. Actually, it'll be a help, because they'll be able to amuse themselves without calling on me the whole time.'

‘Are you busy at the moment, work-wise?'

‘So-so. Any time now, people will start thinking about Christmas presents and parties, and then it will really take off.'

‘Heavens!' Vicky exclaimed. ‘Don't talk about Christmas! It's only the beginning of October, and there's Hallowe'en and Guy Fawkes to get through first!'

It was nine o'clock before they were all settled in the sitting room, and as Anna's photos came up on the TV screen, she was momentarily startled both by their size and clarity. The camera had faithfully reproduced details she'd not noticed at the time – the pattern on Ali's shirt as he leant against the coach, the afternoon shadows lying across the pavement.

‘Jolly good camera, Ma,' Jonathan said appreciatively. ‘Is that the one Dad gave you?'

Anna nodded, transported back to the start of the holiday. ‘That's our driver, Ali, and Edda, the tour manager. She really was excellent – so well informed, and able to answer every question thrown at her.'

The picture changed, giving way in turn to Cape Town's parliament buildings, the strange little creatures up Table Mountain, the view from Signal Hill. All this, Anna thought as she identified each shot to her family, before she'd exchanged so much as a word with Lewis or the Salters. Then, suddenly, there she was herself on Boulder's Beach, surrounded by penguins and smiling a little self-consciously. Behind her, she could see Jean bending towards a group of birds, camera poised, and, farther away, Harry snapping Susan, while beyond them all the Atlantic Ocean lay grey beneath an overcast sky. The photograph Lewis had taken.

Anna's face grew hot, but everyone's attention was on the screen as they exclaimed over the tameness of the penguins, and, her embarrassment unnoticed, she thankfully moved on to the redwing starlings at Cape Point.

As the slide show continued, Anna sometimes had difficulty identifying the precise scene before them, one view of the rolling veldt and grazing animals being much like another. And sometimes a picture recalled an occasion she'd forgotten, such as the enforced stop when Prue left her camera on the coach, and they had to wait while she and Bill hurried back to retrieve it. She'd taken the opportunity to zoom in on the exotic splendour of the flowers growing alongside the path – strelitzia, protea, flame lilies, nemesia – and their glowing, vibrant colours recalled for her the heat of the African sun.

‘They were growing
wild
?' Sophie asked incredulously. ‘What I'd give to have those in my garden!'

Next came the group photo they'd posed for outside Cango Caves, each of them taking turns to be photographer. That was Anna's first on-screen glimpse of Lewis, half hidden towards the back of the group, but thereafter he featured in more shots, usually with either George or Wendy, and Anna felt obliged to explain that this was the threesome who had befriended her.

After an hour and a half, with many pictures still to go, they called a halt.

‘To be continued,' Angus said firmly. ‘It's getting late, and I want to enjoy the viewing session without falling asleep! Anna, I charge you with remembering where we've got up to.'

‘That's easy,' she replied, ‘the arrival at the game park. It's a good place to stop; I took dozens of photos on the two safaris, and a lot will be poor quality and need deleting.'

‘It's been lovely to see it all,' Vicky said, stretching. ‘I feel I've been on holiday myself!'

Goodbyes and thanks were exchanged, and as Angus reversed down the drive and turned out of the gateway, Anna's last glimpse was of Vicky and Jonathan framed in the doorway, his arm across her shoulders. It made a perfect end to the evening.

Imogen said, ‘Daisy's pleading to be allowed to stay over for the funeral.'

Roger snorted. ‘Opportunistic little minx!'

‘Oh, I don't know; she was fond of Aunt Em.'

He put down his paper. ‘Really? What was it she said, when you told her she'd died? “Well, she was quite old, wasn't she?”'

Imogen bit her lip, regretting having reported the conversation. ‘All the same—'

‘
No
!' Roger interrupted forcefully. ‘It's simply an excuse to delay going back, and she's in no position to beg for favours. How do you think Miss Thing would react, if you asked for an extra day's leave? A great-aunt isn't considered a close relative.'

‘She was almost in tears . . .'

‘I'll bet she was,' Roger said grimly. ‘That child could always turn on the waterworks when it suited her.'

‘You're being rather harsh,' Imogen protested. ‘We could put her on the train straight after the service—'

Roger slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. ‘For God's sake, Imogen, what part of “No” don't you understand? I'll put her on the early train myself, on the way to work. End of conversation.' And he purposefully turned back to his paper.

Imogen stared at him helplessly. He was right, she knew, but Daisy's tear-stained face had tugged at her heart. She did so wish she and Roger could reach an amicable compromise over the children, without every discussion ending in a full-scale argument, which she always lost. She wondered miserably how Sophie would have handled the matter – and accepted that, awkward though Tamsin could be on occasion, her parents seemed to have no problem dealing with her.

She sighed and left the room, bumping into Daisy in the hall.

‘Well? What did he say?'

‘That you must go back on the early train.'

‘But
Mummy
!' Daisy wailed, the tears starting again. ‘I want to say goodbye to Aunt Em! I've never been to a funeral!'

‘That's quite enough!' Imogen snapped, noting the surprise on her daughter's face. ‘You shouldn't have been home in the first place, then the question wouldn't have arisen. Jack's not going,' she added. ‘He'll be at school as usual. Now, go and wash your face, and make the most of your last afternoon at home.'

Daisy glared at her, the tears drying on her face. Then she turned and flounced upstairs. Imogen waited for the inevitable bang of her bedroom door, then went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. She almost wished she could catch the early train herself; she was dreading the funeral and the distress of people she loved, her mother and Uncle Ted chief among them. I wish it was this time tomorrow, she thought childishly.

‘Imo?'

She spun round to see Roger in the doorway, a sheepish look on his face.

‘I'm sorry I shouted just now. I know you're upset about Aunt Em, and I should have been more understanding. Oh, sweetie . . .' As tears spilled down her cheeks, he moved forward and took her in his arms.

‘You will be there, won't you?' she whispered against his chest. ‘You'll be able to get off work?'

‘Of course I'll be there.'

‘She shouldn't have died, Roger. Not for a long time.'

‘I know, I know.'

‘And she looked so
well
at the dinner.'

‘At least she didn't suffer,' Roger said, and thought how trite it sounded. But it seemed to provide some comfort, because Imogen nodded and moved slightly away.

‘I'm sorry, too,' she said in a low voice, wiping her eyes, ‘for not being strict enough with the children.'