Shifting Sands (3 page)

TWO

R
eaching her hotel room, Anna Farrell dropped her handbag on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. She was still considerably shaken – an unusual experience for one who prided herself on her self-control. Even when Miles had died so unexpectedly, she'd maintained her public persona, a rock to her children's grief, succumbing to tears only in the privacy of her bedroom.

Which was why, when Beatrice had dropped out of this holiday, and Jon and Sophie worried she'd be on her own, she'd shrugged off their concern. ‘Of course I'll be all right, darlings,' she'd told them breezily. ‘We'll be in a group, after all. I'll soon make friends.'

In fact, their group consisted mainly of couples, threesomes and foursomes, and though everyone was friendly enough, she was chary of encroaching. The only other single travellers – a young man of about twenty and two women, one young and one middle-aged – were, unfortunately, the people she least wanted to spend her holiday with. And to make matters worse, the tour manager, determined no one should be left out, was already herding the singles together. On today's coach trip, Anna had eluded her only by sitting next to the odd member of a threesome, a pleasant woman in her forties.

But all that, she could cope with. What had disturbed her was her totally unforeseen reaction when, over lunch, the background music suddenly switched to a tune she'd danced to with Miles, and, to her utter horror, her eyes had filled with tears. (What was it Noel Coward said, about the potency of cheap music?) She was pretty sure no one noticed, but it had taken all her control not to break down completely. And God knows what would have happened then. She'd remained on edge all afternoon, terrified some other trigger might set her off again. And it was only the third day of the holiday.

She moved to the dressing table and studied her reflection. To her relief, she looked much as usual – a tall, slim woman of fifty-five, with short, silver-blonde hair curving towards her face and grey eyes, mercifully untinged with red, staring back at her.

So far, so good. She drew a deep breath and went to have a shower.

Her party had again gathered in the bar, and Anna, a smile plastered to her face, ordered a gin and tonic and drifted to the nearest group, which included the tour manager. One of the men smiled at her.

‘We've been asking Edda's help in putting names to people,' he said. ‘I don't think . . .?'

‘Anna Farrell,' she supplied.

‘Hi, Anna. I'm Harry Bell, this is my wife Susan, and our friends Bill and Prue Dyson. We met in Australia four years ago and have holidayed together ever since.'

Anna was grateful for the clarification; she hadn't yet managed to identify everyone. ‘I should have come with a friend,' she explained carefully, ‘but unfortunately she broke her arm two weeks ago and had to cry off.'

‘What bad luck – for both of you!'

‘She insisted I write a detailed diary, to show her when I get home.'

‘I saw you making notes,' remarked the woman called Prue.

Anna smiled. ‘I'm not sure how long I can keep it up!'

Other people came to join them, more names were exchanged, and talk became general. But when the time came to go in for dinner, the groups automatically reformed, leaving Anna to trail somewhat disconsolately after them, unsure which table to join.

Edda, at the dining-room door, saw her hesitation. ‘There's a seat over there,' she said helpfully, indicating a table where the other singles had already gathered, and, since she'd no choice, Anna obediently complied. At the adjacent table, one of the men who comprised a threesome caught her eye and half-smiled, and, detecting a hint of sympathy, she flushed, hoping her lack of enthusiasm hadn't been obvious.

The younger woman, Anna remembered, was Shelley, the middle-aged one Jean, and the boy Tony. It soon became clear Jean would dominate the conversation, added to which, she had a high, affected voice that Anna found grating.

By the end of the first course, they'd learned that Jean came from Hampshire, that she usually holidayed with ‘Iris', who'd unfortunately double-booked this year (lucky Iris!), that she had two dogs – a spaniel and a terrier, which she'd put into kennels and was already missing – and that she was glad it hadn't been too hot so far, because she came up in blisters in the heat. By the bored look on both Shelley's and Tony's faces, Anna deduced all this information was for her benefit and the others had already been regaled with it.

Glancing up as her plate was removed, she again met the eye of her neighbour, who humorously raised an eyebrow, and, suppressing a smile, she hastily looked away. Jean's voice droned on, fortunately requiring no response, until finally, as she paused for a sip of wine, Anna broke in quickly, ‘And where do you come from, Shelley?'

Shelley started, her attention obviously having been wandering. ‘Bournemouth,' she said.

‘Lucky you! I spent a holiday there once. Do you work there too?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Doing what?'

‘I'm a hotel receptionist.'

‘That must be interesting, meeting new people all the time.'

‘Yeah.'

Anna could only hope she was more forthcoming with her visitors. In desperation, she turned to Tony and, after some fairly laboured questioning, learned that he was taking a gap year after leaving college, and would then work in his father's car-hire business.

Throughout these exchanges, Jean had sat in silence, lips pressed together, and when Anna, running out of questions, paused, she immediately reclaimed the initiative, embarking on a story of one of her previous holidays with the redoubtable Iris.

The band had started to play, and Anna tensed, praying their choice of music wouldn't put her to the test. The meal seemed interminable, and when, at last, they'd finished their dessert, she immediately rose to her feet.

‘We've an early start tomorrow, so I think I'll go straight up,' she said, pre-empting alternative suggestions. ‘Goodnight, everyone.' And she walked quickly out of the dining room.

In the hall, however, someone touched her arm, and she turned quickly, fearing she'd been followed. But it was the woman from the next table who was smiling at her.

‘We wondered if you'd care to join us for coffee?' she said.

‘Oh, I—'

‘Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, but we thought you looked in need of rescue!'

Anna smiled back. ‘How dreadful of me, to have given that impression!'

‘Not at all; we shouldn't have been eavesdropping. But you will join us?'

‘Thank you, I'd like to.'

She was escorted to the bar, where the two men who made up the threesome stood at their approach.

‘I'm Wendy Salter,' the woman continued. ‘This is my husband, George, and our very good friend, Lewis Masters.'

‘Anna Farrell.' She shook hands, unsure, from Wendy's vague gesture, which was her husband.

‘Can we get you a coffee?'

‘If they have decaffeinated, yes, please; anything stronger, and I shouldn't sleep.'

The coffee duly arrived, and there was a moment's brief silence. Then Wendy asked, ‘Have you been to South Africa before?'

‘No, but I've wanted to come for some time. It's very beautiful, isn't it?'

‘Yes, indeed. Thank goodness for digital cameras, or Lord knows how many films I'd get through! Have you got one?'

‘Yes, my . . . husband gave it to me, the Christmas before last.'
Careful!

‘But he wasn't able to come with you?'

Anna took a deep breath. ‘Sadly, he died last year.'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry! How tactless of me!'

‘Not at all.' She smiled tightly. ‘I should have come with a friend, but she had to cancel at the last minute.'

The conversation veered to less personal topics as they discussed previous holidays, the hotel, and the itinerary ahead of them. After the stresses of the meal, Anna found it pleasant to relax and enjoy the company of people her own age.

Wendy Salter was small and plump, her light-brown hair merging almost imperceptibly to grey, her eyes bright blue, and her round face breaking easily into smiles. Of the two men, her husband, George – whom Anna had now identified – was heavily built and jovial, while Lewis Masters, who'd smiled at her at dinner, proved harder to analyse. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, the grooves between his eyes suggested stress of some kind, and his movements were quick and decisive, almost, at times, impatient. What, Anna wondered, had brought these quite different personalities together?

It was almost eleven when they left the bar, and she was glad none of her dinner companions was around to note that she hadn't, after all, had an early night. Nor, when she finally reached her bed, did sleep come easily. Memories of the tune she'd heard at lunchtime replayed in her head, and, in its wake, Miles's face came sharply into focus, filling her mind with an image so familiar, so immediate, that she actually gasped with the pain of it.

A wave of desolation swept over her, and hot tears trickled down her cheeks into her pillow. She shouldn't have let Jon and Sophie talk her into this holiday. More to the point, she shouldn't have insisted on going ahead when Beatrice had to drop out. Now, she was going to be stuck with the three incompatible people she'd sat with at dinner, an odd-one-out who belonged nowhere.

Despairingly, she buried her face in her pillow and wept.

They left the hotel at eight the next morning, and as Anna boarded the coach, hoping she might somehow evade the ‘singles', Wendy again came to her rescue, patting the seat beside her.

‘Come and join me, Anna! The men are talking cricket, so I'm opting out!'

Anna slid in gratefully beside her. The morning was cool and dull, with the promise of rain in the air. Table Mountain, visible from the hotel, was wearing its ‘table cloth', its top shrouded in mist.

‘Let's hope it clears,' Wendy commented, ‘or we won't be able to see any distance.'

Edda, the tour manager, was counting heads, and, having checked all were present, she signalled to the driver and took up her microphone.

‘As you know, today we'll be driving down the Cape Peninsula,' she began, and as she started to describe the countryside through which they'd be travelling, Anna, mindful of her duty, took out her notebook.

‘Our first stop will be at Simon's Town,' Edda ended, ‘where we'll see the jackass penguins on Boulder's Beach. They came by their name because their call sounds like the braying of a donkey.'

As, indeed, it did. The penguins themselves were very tame, getting under their feet as they walked, and it was difficult to gain a sufficient distance from them to take photographs. Anna was trying to get the right angle when Lewis Masters materialized beside her.

‘Shall I take one of you with them?' he offered.

‘Thanks.' She handed the camera over and posed rather self-consciously with a group of penguins. ‘My grandchildren would love this! I'd always thought these were cold-weather birds; I hadn't expected to see them in South Africa.'

‘No, and they're found in Australia too, which I find equally unlikely.'

‘Somewhere else I've never been.'

It was time to return to the coach, and they walked back together, just behind George and Wendy.

‘You mentioned grandchildren,' Lewis remarked. ‘How many have you?'

‘Three: a girl of thirteen and boys of four and six.'

‘Do you see much of them?'

‘More of the boys, since they live quite close. My granddaughter's at boarding school, but her home's in London.'

‘And where's yours?'

‘Westbridge, in Kent.'

‘Ah, I know it; I've played golf there.'

‘Really? It's quite a famous course, I believe. My husband was a member.'

She climbed ahead of him into the coach, pausing as she saw George seat himself beside his wife.

Wendy looked up with a smile. ‘It seemed a pity to interrupt your conversation,' she said.

‘May I join you, then?' Lewis asked after a moment.

‘Of course.'

Anna seated herself with mixed feelings. She already felt she knew Wendy, but Lewis was an unknown quantity, and, remembering his reserve the previous evening, she hoped she wouldn't have to make conversation.

‘Have you any grandchildren?' she asked as an opener.

‘Sadly, no, nor any in prospect. My son has what is euphemistically known as a “partner” – in my youth the word was mistress – and marriage doesn't appear to figure in his plans. My daughter, on the other hand, is living with a prominent barrister fifteen years her senior.'

‘Oh dear! Not married himself, I hope?'

‘Not any longer, nor likely to chance it again.'

Anna nodded in understanding. ‘I have to keep reminding myself we can't live our children's lives for them.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘But surely yours are happily settled?'

She hesitated, and he said quickly, ‘Forgive me – that was unpardonably intrusive.'

‘No more than my question about the barrister. Actually, my son left his wife a few months ago, though he comes back every weekend to take the boys out.'

‘Hard on the children.'

‘Yes.'

They lapsed into silence, and Anna gazed out of the window at the flower-studded bush on every side, making occasional notes on her pad. Too bad Beatrice wasn't here; she would so enjoy this.

In the row in front of them, George and Wendy conversed in low voices, and Harry and Susan, whom she'd spoken to in the bar, were across the aisle. Shelley and Tony had teamed up together, while Jean had attached herself to the woman with whom Anna herself had sat yesterday. Gradually, she was sorting out who everyone was.