And through the rising tide of unfairness, a sliver of understanding broke through Christina’s thoughts. She must fight for what was right – for her, her family, and for Flora. Tomorrow, she would collect Elspeth from school herself andinsist Hamish meet them. They would walk along the Tarka Trail, just the three of them. She would warn him about Ernest’s plan for Flora. Then they’d go home – to the cottage – as a family.
‘I—’ Her voice came out strangled. ‘I really must go.’
What kind of person was she?
Tim was handsome, charming, easy to be herself with. But it wasn’t what she wanted. Not while Ernest tightened his grip on all their lives and her husband retreated further into silence.
A gust of sea air met her at the door – sharp, salty, and necessary.
Time to go home. Time to remember who she was supposed to be.
Twenty-six
The Tarka Trail stretched out like a ribbon of possibility, the old railway transformed into a green corridor that wound through the Devon countryside. Christina walked between her husband and daughter, conscious of sharing a precious moment with the two people she loved most. Early April had dressed the landscape in its finest regalia – hawthorn hedges foaming with white blossom, bluebell shoots curling in pools of dark green and the fresh lime-green of new leaves creating a canopy so delicate it seemed to glow from within.
She hadn’t seen Hamish this animated for months; today his usually distracted air was replaced by the infectious enthusiasm normally reserved for students and colleagues. Elspeth skipped ahead, then circled back like an eager sheepdog, her eleven-year-old energy overflowing.
‘This whole area would have been quite different in Tudor times,’ Hamish said, gesturing toward the rolling hills either side of their path. ‘The Great Forest of Exmoor extended much further east back then. Henry VIII’s commissioners noted that the local deer population was so substantial they could supply venison for the royal table all year-round.’
‘Did they eat deer all the time?’ Elspeth asked, wrinkling her nose with disgust.
‘Oh, constantly. Along with swan, peacock, occasionally porpoise if they could get it.’ Hamish grinned at his daughter’shorrified expression. ‘Though the poor ate mostly pottage – a sort of porridge made with whatever grain they could afford.’
The scent of wild garlic rose from the damp earth beside the trail, mingling with the honey-sweetness of gorse flowers. Christina breathed deeply, feeling the knot in her chest loosening. This was what she’d been missing – time when they felt like a family rather than three people who shared an address.
‘Mum, can I go to Lady Penelope’s after play rehearsal?’ Elspeth fell into step beside them, her face bright with excitement. ‘Ben and I are the leads inAs You Like itand we need to practice.’
‘So, it’s not just being outside that’s brought colour to your cheeks,’ joked Christina, ruffling her daughter’s hair. Elspeth blushed. ‘Is Penelope expecting you?’ Christina asked, though she was already calculating the logistics. If Elspeth was at Penelope’s, thatwould give her and Hamish time alone – time she desperately wanted.
‘Yes. Ben said she would pick us both up at five. He says she’s going to help us. She was in the drama society at Oxford.’
‘Of course she was,’ Christina murmured. Penelope regularly rolled out her Oxford credentials, like a favourite piece of jewellery, polished and displayed on every suitable occasion.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythm of their footsteps carrying through the still air, a gentle contrast to the River Taw gliding beside them in wordless unhurried flow. Elspeth darted off.
The trail curved gently around a stand of ancient oaks, and Christina studied Hamish’s profile as he gazed across the water meadows. There was something peaceful about him today, as if the combination of fresh air and historical speculation had restored some essential balance. She hated being the one to break his tranquillity.
‘Hamish.’ Christina said, choosing her words carefully. ‘There’ssomething I need to tell you. About your mother.’
Instantly alert, he looked across at her. ‘What’s happened? Is she alright?’
‘She’s fine, physically. But Ernest is planning to move her into a care home.’
‘What? When?’ Hamish’s hands formed into fists. ‘A care home? Since when does Ernest make decisions like that?’
‘He is her next-of-kin, but he spoke about it as if it was already settled. I can guess from your reaction he hasn’t talked this over with you or Hugo.’
‘When is this supposed to be happening?’
‘He wasn’t clear – he said before the auction, but he might already have done it. Today. He called it a “recuperative stay”, but—’
Hamish thumped his fists against his legs. ‘I saw him driving her away this morning – he told me she had a doctor’s appointment.’ Hamish seethed with a restless energy she remembered from their university days, when injustice of any kind would set him ablaze. ‘It’s not his place to take decisions like that about Ma. She’s not some piece of furniture to be shifted around at his convenience.’
There it was – the fire that had first drawn her to him. The man who couldn’t bear to see the weak trampled by the strong, who would fight battles others wouldn’t even notice.If only he would notice his wife drowning right beside him, that their marriage had become a casualty he seemed too distracted to save.
‘He made it sound so reasonable,’ she said. ‘Professional care, lovely rooms. But she looked ... lost. Like she knew what was really happening but couldn’t bring herself to say it.’
‘Of course she did.’ He set his jaw in that familiar, stubborn line. ‘Ma’s perfectly lucid in the morning before I leave for work. I think she’s been doing too much, wearing herself out during the day. By the time I get home from work she’s ...’ His voicedrifted off, and he scuffed the ground with his shoe. ‘Well, you’ve seen her in the evenings,’ he finished lamely. ‘If you ask me, those pills she takes really aren’t helping at all.’
