SPRING 1977, THE AFFAIR

Emily checks the door camera and buzzes down to open the street door of the apartment building.

‘She’s here,’ she calls over her shoulder to Edward who is pouring himself a whiskey and soda. She goes to open the front door and a few minutes later a somewhat breathless Sophie comes running up the stairs and envelopes Emily in a crushing hug.

‘Dear Sophie, why on earth didn’t you take the lift? I told you I was on the seventh floor,’ Emily extracts herself from Sophie’s embrace and smooths her dress.

‘I don’t do lifts if I can help it. Oh Emily, it’s just so wonderful to see you. Where’s Edward? Is he here yet?’ At that moment Sophie catches sight of the tall, bearded man standing in the hallway behind Emily and gives a small yelp. ‘Oh my God, look at you! I can’t believe how many years it’s been.’

As Emily takes her overnight bag and stands aside to let her into the flat, Sophie flings herself at Edward. He grins down at her, holding his glass at arm’s length to avoid slopping whiskey over her.

‘Well hello!’ His eyes sparkle with amusement.

Sophie steps back and gives him a long, appraising stare. ‘I’m glad you haven’t grown fat and pompous,’ she says then adds ‘You’re not pompous, are you?’

Edward laughs. ‘I hope not, but you will have to be the judge of that. Can I get you a drink?’

Sophie swings round to Emily. ‘I nearly forgot. I brought you a present. Where did you put my bag?’ She spots it and darts over to it. A moment later she turns to present Emily with a large bottle of Mahon gin. ‘I was on Menorca a couple of months ago and thought you might like this. I don’t drink gin but I’m told it’s very good.’

Emily flushes with pleasure. ‘That’s very generous of you, thank you.’

‘Phooey, it’s not generous, you’re having me to stay.’ Sophie glances round and gives a slight gasp. ‘Goodness, your flat is so stylish.’ She looks at Emily, her head on one side.

‘You’ve never really told me what you do exactly. Are you terribly important these days?’

Emily’s lips twitch. ‘Terribly,’ she says gravely, and Edward laughs again.

‘Come on ladies, let’s have a toast to celebrate our reunion.’ He hands them each a glass of amber whiskey. ‘To childhood friendship, happy memories and new beginnings!’

‘To new beginnings,’ they echo.

Sophie shrugs off a patchwork coat to reveal skin tight jeans with wide flares and a cheesecloth shirt knotted at her slim waist. Her fair hair hangs in an unruly mass down her back in contrast to Emily’s elegant bob but as she flicks it back Edward glimpses one of the pearl earrings he bought her at their last meeting, so many years before.

Emily gives the younger woman an appraising look and asks, ‘I imagine you’ve been travelling all day. Would you like to shower and change before we go out to dinner?’

‘I’m fine. I’ll just have a quick wash,’ Sophie replies then notices Emily and Edward exchange a glance. ‘Have you booked somewhere terribly posh?’

‘Not really,’ says Edward, ’but they may not be very happy for you to turn up in jeans.’

‘Okay, I’ll just be a sec.’ Sophie disappears into the bedroom and emerges moments later wearing a long silk maxi skirt and a crushed velvet vintage jacket. She gives a quick twirl. ‘Will this do?’ she asks, ‘I bought the jacket in Portobello Market last time I was in London. Isn’t it fab?’

Emily opens her mouth to say something but Edward cuts in. ‘You look lovely,’ he says firmly, and helps Emily into her coat. In the taxi, he finds himself comparing Sophie’s quick change with the length of time it always takes Margaret to get ready to go out. He looks across at Emily, feet together, her hands folded neatly in her lap and reflects that she too would not spend hours at her dressing table. Emily, he appreciates, is neat and efficient in everything she does, rarely letting herself go. Sophie, in contrast, seems relaxed and unselfconscious; he notices that she is wearing no makeup.

Over dinner, Emily begins to relax more, chipping in with her own reminiscences of life at Tregethlan during the war. ‘I did miss you Teddy, when you went away to school. The Byghan children were friendly, but even the little ones were expected to help on the farm after school and at weekends. I lived for the school holidays when we could explore the woods together and build dams in the stream. D’you remember that little Observer Book of Birds you had? Remember how cross your mother was when she discovered you’d been writing notes in the margins?’ She chuckles and Edward grins. ‘I spent a lot of time trailing round after old Mr Greatwood when you were away. When I wasn’t buried in a book, that is,’ she continues. ‘He used to give me little jobs around the garden: fruit picking, helping to sweep leaves in autumn, potting up seedlings in spring. Cook was kind too, tried to show me how to bake but that never appealed as much. I’m still not much of a cook. I’ve never been terribly domesticated. Do you enjoy that sort of thing, Sophie?’

‘Not much. There is a recipe Mama taught me for a soup called snert. It’s basically vegetables and pork. In winter I often make a big pot of it and it lasts me most of the week. In summer, I mostly live on salads and grilled fish.’ She turns to Edward. ‘Tell me about your wife. Is she the domesticated type?’

‘Not exactly, but she has a good eye for decor. She’s given a lot of time and attention to sprucing up Tregethlan. It has become quite run down I’m afraid. Running the estate is not really my forte and these big old houses take such a lot of upkeep.’

‘I actually rather liked the understated beauty of the house in your mother’s day,’ says Emily quietly. ‘I always thought the soft, slightly faded colours suited the old place.’

‘I mainly remember the house being full of all Papa’s Dutch Naval officers,’ Sophie chips in. ‘There were so many rooms we weren’t supposed to go into, though we did of course, when no one was around. It must have been hard for your mother, Teddy, having her beautiful home invaded.’ Sophie looks thoughtful as she sips at her glass of wine.

‘Yes, I believe it was, but she never said anything. I think she felt that it was part of her contribution to the war effort and Mama always had a very strong sense of duty. I imagine she thought that when Father came home after the war, they would restore the place to its former glory. Somehow it never happened though. Money was tight and Father largely lost interest in running the estate, retreated into himself…’ Edward trails off, pushing aside his dessert unfinished. Then forcing a smile, he says ‘Anyway, it’s up to me now, to sort the old place out.’ He empties his glass and signals to the waiter to bring another bottle.

Sophie turns to Emily. ‘You mentioned in one of your letters that you have bought one of the estate cottages. Which one is it? Do you get down there much?’

‘Not as often as I would like, but maybe you could come with me some time when I’m going down? I have a guest bedroom and it would be lovely to have your company. We could revisit old haunts.’

Sophie beams. ‘I’d love to, thank you.’

‘Excellent!’ says Emily. ‘We’ll sort something out next time you’re in England. It will be good to have company on the long drive down too.’

‘What are your plans now, Sophie?’ Edward asks.

‘I try not to make too many plans,’ she says, ‘but I’m heading back to Greece. A friend of mine, Yanis, has invited me to go and visit. He and his family live on Ithaca. I’m hoping to pick up work over the summer, crewing on one of the private yachts.’

‘Oh, do you sail?’ Edward feels a sudden bubble of excitement.

‘Of course,’ Sophie laughs. ‘Papa taught me while we were still living in Cornwall, after the war. Then when we returned to the Netherlands, he joined a local yacht club and we would go out most weekends. Eventually he was able to buy a small sailing yacht.’ She sighs. ‘He just adored being out on the water and I guess he instilled his love of sailing in me. Poor Papa, it’s always been a disappointment to him that Mama doesn’t share his passion.’ She laughs now. ‘I was so cross and disappointed not to be invited that time you came to visit us and he took you out sailing.’

Edward gazes into the middle distance, remembering that day when he felt the swift movement of the boat, and the sense of being in his element. He loved Henk and Betty. His own parents are dead now: Tom died in the early 1960s and it had been something of a relief. After the war, pain from his old shrapnel injuries had bothered him, making him irascible and difficult. A massive stroke took him in the end. Edward had always been much closer to his mother so when Diana died shortly after his marriage to Margaret, he felt suddenly bereft. Margaret however, never got on very well with Diana and he suspects she is thankful that her aristocratic mother-in-law is no longer around, full of unspoken criticisms.

Edward shakes his head, banishing uncomfortable thoughts. ‘I had no idea you could sail,’ he says to Sophie, trying to lighten the mood. ‘You wouldn’t like to come and crew for me this summer, would you? I want to take Iolanthe across to Greece. I think it will be cheaper to keep her somewhere in the Ionion than on Menorca.’

‘Sure, I’d love to. But what about Margaret? Won’t she want to help you move her?’

‘Margaret doesn’t do boats.’ Edward’s tone is curt.

Sophie shrugs. ‘Okay then. When were you planning to move her?’

‘In another month or so, when the weather is a bit more settled. Can you meet me in Fornells? That’s where I have her at the moment. Would you be able to get there?’

As the two busily start to make plans, Emily watches, frowning.

*

June 1977

Sophie passes her bag up to Edward and climbs nimbly aboard Iolanthe. ‘Oh, she’s beautiful Teddy! You’re so lucky.’

‘I know. She belonged to Margaret’s father. He was always delighted that I liked to sail so when he could no longer manage her himself, he gave her to me. Let me show you round. I plan to set off at about eight this evening. It will take us about 36 hours to reach Sardinia and I’d prefer to arrive in daylight.’

Sophie nods. ‘Makes sense,’ she says.

As they set sail a few hours later, lights around the bay in Fornells are beginning to pinprick the shore. As they leave the entrance to the bay and turn eastward, the sails fill and Iolanthe comes to life.

As they set off, Edward quietly observes Sophie’s handling of the boat and feels a wave of relief as he watches her haul and set the sails with unflustered competence. They divide the night watches between them, each taking their turn to go below and sleep. Through the following day they are mostly up on deck together. Now out of sight of land, they idly watch the cloud formations and swap memories of their childhood years together. When Edward talks about their reunion in Holland she smiles and remarks: ‘I had such a crush on you. My head was full of schoolgirl fantasies of love and romance.’

‘And now?’

‘Less so. Life tends to knock those starry-eyed dreams into perspective.’

Edward says nothing but thinks sadly of his marriage, the disconnect between himself and Margaret, the lack of shared enthusiasms.

At midday they share a simple meal: bread, cheese, tomatoes and olives. Edward again finds himself watching Sophie as she tucks in with gusto, a chunk of bread clutched in both hands as she recounts stories of her life, drifting round the Mediterranean, picking up work as a language tutor when she can, working on boats and in bars at other times, sleeping on beaches or on the floor of someone’s house. Over the years she has joined protests about the Vietnam war, about nuclear weapons, about capitalist corruption.

Later, she falls asleep, her slim bare legs curled up on the cockpit seat, her head cushioned by a brown arm. The warm wind plays with the tendrils of fair hair that tumbles round her shoulders. Margaret, had he ever been able to persuade her on board, would have tied her hair back and Emily has always kept hers neat and short, easy to manage. But this hippy child who danced at festivals and waved banners for love not war, would no more think of taming her hair than sitting in an office all day. In some respects, she is still that starry-eyed teenager, believing in a simpler way of life, unfettered by the trappings of the 20th century Western world.

In the early evening, Edward is down below, plotting their estimated position on the chart when she calls, the urgency alive in her voice. He bounds up the companionway, fearful of some unexpected danger, but Sophie is up at the bow, pointing excitedly into the water.

‘Dolphins!’ she exclaims as he makes his way forward to join her. The supple creatures dance and weave in the bow wave, exuberant as they leap and crisscross one another, their joy and delight utterly infectious. As Edward stands beside her, Sophie slips her arm round his waist and rests her head on his shoulder.

‘Aren’t they glorious? I’ve seen them so many times, but never tire of them. They always feel like a portent of good luck and happiness.’ She turns her face towards him and without pausing to think, he bends his head and kisses her.

The dolphins stay to play for maybe twenty minutes and then, as though to some unseen, unheard command, they turn away heading south, the last stragglers reluctantly obeying the summons to be on their way, with a final flick of their tails, as if in farewell. Edward and Sophie make their way back to the cockpit and he makes a minor adjustment to the wind vane that has held them on course.

Next morning, as the sun starts to rise over the eastern horizon, Sophie climbs up the companionway steps to see land ahead of them and to their north.

‘We’ll be in Alghero in a couple of hours,’ Edward tells her.

That evening they wander the twisty streets of the ancient town, the fading sun lending a soft warmth to the buildings in shades of umber, ochre, apricot and cream. They stop at a backstreet cafe for fresh sardines and salad, then wander along the shore, stretching their limbs after the confines of the boat. When they finally return to Iolanthe, their love-making seems as inevitable and natural as the gentle movements of the boat on the harbour.

The rest of their trip, as they make their way south to Sicily and on to Corfu is framed by their growing passion for one another. The winds and seas as they make their way east are benign. It is as though Aphrodite has pleaded on their behalf to Poseidon, god of the oceans and Aeolus, keeper of the winds. Even the evil Scylla allows them to pass unmolested through the infamous Straits of Messina.

With each passing day they grow closer, sharing not just a bed but dreams and ambitions, ideas and beliefs. Sophie vents her frustrations at the constraints and restrictions imposed on women everywhere. Edward has never given much thought to patriarchal privilege until now. Margaret has never shown any inclination to rile against injustices but he remembers guiltily that she gave up her hopes of a career as a dancer in order to marry him. Emily, of course, has a very successful career in the Foreign Office but is this at least in part because she has never married or stopped to have a family? He finds himself wondering if she has had to work harder to prove herself against her male colleagues. And his mother? Was Diana frustrated by her lot in life? Did she long to do more than run her household and fund raise for various charities? She chaired numerous committees over the years, organising bazaars, dances and other fundraisers but did she secretly long for a career of her own? He has no idea but resolves that should he ever have a daughter of his own, he will raise her to be independent and assertive, confident of her own abilities, subservient to no-one.

He also confides his own frustrations about having to give up the Army career he loved in order to run the Tregethlan estate. Sophie, in her turn, has never given much thought to the burdens and responsibilities he shoulders and though she disapproves of the inherent elitism and privilege of his role, she recognises the sacrifices he has made. Here, aboard Iolanthe, he can be himself, but always the shadow of Tregethlan and its struggle to survive looms behind his shoulder, never quite dispelled.

By tacit consent, the one thing they never discuss is Edward’s marriage. Occasionally Margaret’s name comes up and they both immediately shy away, guilt tingeing their happiness for a while. They both silently acknowledge the transient nature of their love affair and their inevitability of their parting, at some unfixed point in the future, intertwines like smoke with the shadow of Tregethlan.

For now though, they live in the moment, with a fierce passion.

Chapter 33