Peter Cunningham - The Sea and the Silence

Bibs leant back, guffawing. ‘“Get him to take one of each, sweetheart!’”

I ladled out second portions of stew.

‘What are the odds of Ronnie getting back on a horse for the opening meet?’ enquired Bibs.

Hedley was stern. ‘Not for a year at least,’ he said.

‘Spoilsport!’ Bibs cried.

Ronnie shot a crooked grin at her. ‘Maybe you can bring me for a gentle hack coming up to Christmas.’

Bibs rolled her eyes. ‘ Pas de problème ,’ she said theatrically.

Hedley topped his glass up from the large, amber ale bottle.

‘You don’t hunt either, Iz?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t hunt. Either. Nor do I shoot.’

‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…’

‘I love this place in my own way, thank you,’ I said and knew I sounded angry.

Ronnie looked at me and his eyes were cold.

‘I hear you’re going fishing in Main tomorrow,’ Bibs beamed into the sudden pool of silence. ‘Lucky you. Last of the great Irish houses and all that tosh. In fact, the Santrys aren’t at all bad.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Hedley said.

‘Rosa’s a stunner,’ said Bibs, as would a man.

‘She’s a lovely person,’ I said.

‘Early start then,’ said Hedley. ‘Hard work all this enjoying yourself, eh?’

‘We’ll leave before eight,’ Ronnie said. He looked to Bibs. ‘Don’t feel like carrying the doctor’s rod tomorrow, do you?’

‘I don’t think I’d be up to it,’ gasped Bibs in mock exhaustion and Ronnie turned so red with laughter I thought he’d got a piece of stew stuck in his windpipe.

But next morning after breakfast, just before they set out, Mr Gargan the auctioneer turned up and told Ronnie that a group of Germans had arrived and wanted to look at land.

‘I’ll run you over to Main, but I’ll not be able to stay and fish,’ Ronnie said.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said, ‘you go with Mr Gargan, I’ll drive Hedley to Main.’

‘I don’t have to fish in Main,’ said Hedley.

‘Of course you do,’ I said.

‘Here’s hoping I land a few myself,’ said Ronnie, hurrying out.

We entered Main by way of its massive, eagle-topped entrance gates. The long avenue, over a mile, led eventually to the enormous house, where the doors were always open but one rarely found anyone in. Dogs and peacocks sprawled in the sunshine and showed no interest in our arrival. From the shadows stepped a yard man in a cloth cap who told us that he had been instructed to walk us down to the river. He picked up Hedley’s baskets and bags and we set out.

‘You sure you want to do this?’ Hedley asked. ‘It’s very boring if you don’t fish.’

‘I’ve brought a book,’ I said.

We walked down through a tall meadow and into a wood. The coolness was immediate. Pigeons thrashed out of high foliage and a fox slunk from a pile of ferns and trotted away before us, its tail brushing the ground. The path wound ever down, tree roots breaking upwards like ribs. I could hear the water before I saw it, its race over stones, and the deep sound of insects, absent beside the sea. The farm-hand walked backwards so that branches were held for us and I stepped out into the heat of the river’s bank.

Few stretches of salmon water in Ireland could compare with the one beside which I lay in shade, reading. The man who had brought us down had spent some time showing Hedley the spots at which to cast, then he had left. Upstream from where I had put down, the river curled out of sight and deepened. I saw Hedley’s cloth-capped head bob its way out of my line of vision, the curls at his neck becoming indistinct. I liked watching him, as I had the day before from the cliff. I liked to savour the bending of his upper body, the angle of his head, the deftness of his hands. He was gentle and caring, I was sure. I thought of the previous evening and of the coldness in my husband’s eyes. I could suddenly and vividly imagine Hedley’s body, it’s curves and lengths, its strength.

‘A penny for your thoughts.’

‘How did you..?’

‘The river doubles back around the wood,’ he said, sitting beside me. ‘Besides, any fish worth catching is asleep in this heat.’

I was sure that he had been observing me for some time and now it felt as if he must have been able to read my thoughts. I said, ‘Would you like some tea?’

I took out cups and unscrewed the flask. As he held out his cup, I could see the race of blond hairs across the bone of his wrist.

‘Isn’t it just lovely here?’ I said, as I tried to gather myself.

‘It could not be lovelier,’ he said, looking at me. He sat, his hands about his knees. ‘May I say something?’

‘By all means.’

‘You are so beautiful it makes me want to weep.’

I sat back. ‘I’m sorry, but what an extraordinary thing to say.’

‘I want to weep because it’s a crime to leave you so unhappy.’

I stared at him, wondering if the heat had made me dizzy.

‘Unhappy?’

‘Yes.’ He took my hand and kissed it. ‘Very.’

I drew back to find my breath. ‘That’s enough, I think.’

‘I don’t.’

We were kissing. First we kissed as we knelt, then he pressed me gently back and we kissed as we lay on the rug. I could not hold him tight enough, nor taste deeply enough of his mouth. The smell of the sweat from his flannel shirt. The feel of his face to my hands, its warm coarseness, his weight, his recklessness. His hands were on my bare legs.

‘No!’

I sat up.

‘Iz…’

‘This is insanity! Anyone could walk out and find us. Ronnie is due here any moment.’

‘Iz, I want you to come back to England with me.’

I stared at him. ‘I’ve hardly met you.’

He took my hands in his. ‘Love takes no account of conventions. Do you love Ronnie?’

I was distracted and shook my head. ‘I’m married to Ronnie.’

‘Why did you marry him?’

I couldn’t breathe. ‘Because I… I wanted to.’

‘There! You didn’t say, “I married him because I love him”.’

I took away my hands.

He said, ‘And I’m married to a woman who’s agreed to divorce me. Look, Iz, although I’ve hardly met you, perhaps that is why I can see things as they are. You’re trapped in a marriage without love. I saw his eyes last night. Tell me I’m wrong!’

‘We’re just going through a difficult period. He nearly died not so long ago, as you well know.’

‘He doesn’t appreciate or deserve you. Tell me you’re happy with him and I won’t say another word.’

I found myself being swept away by a force that I knew I could njot resist.

‘I’m forty-two,’ Hedley said urgently. ‘I’ve got everything in life except love. I think I’ve found it here. Look at me, Iz.’ He caught my hand up and brought it to his cheek. ‘I’ll look after everything, employ the best solicitors, I’ll take six months off and we’ll sail around the world. Then, when we come back, we’ll live wherever you please.’

Despite myself, I began to believe that what he was proposing was actually possible. I asked, ‘What about Hector?’

‘He comes with us, of course.’

‘He loves his father.’

‘It’s not difficult any more to get from here to England. He can divide his time during the holidays. He can do whatever he wishes.’

He wiped my eyes. I turned away. ‘I can’t.’

‘Iz. Iz. I know nothing about your life, but I’m prepared to bet it hasn’t been easy, that you’ve had more than your share of disappointments. I want to dedicate myself to making that up to you, to making you happy, whatever it takes, because all it takes is love. This is not outrageous, it is not wrong to want to be happy, people do it the whole time.’