Page 23 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

Ted’s agreement to support Peggy at the boys’ London birthday party made the event seem suddenly real.

Deliberation set in about what to wear– she and Ted barely went to smart events now.

In the city, there had been more occasions to dress up.

Max’s gallery openings, for instance, where Peggy would be guaranteed to see Liam and Dan.

Or Ted’s business dos– to which she’d accompanied him before he sold up.

Opening nights that her friend Jamie invited her to in his role as theatrical agent.

By contrast, in Pencarrow you could pretty much get away with shorts or jeans and a T-shirt all year round.

She had thought this might be dull, but she found it really quite restful.

She set off after breakfast to Kyma, pleased to have an excuse to drop in on Gen– although Gen had invited her to do just that, without needing an excuse, when they’d bumped into each other in the deli.

‘Morning.’ Peggy was relieved she was there this morning– sometimes it was Nell, who never offered style advice.

Gen had excellent taste, never trying to steer Peggy towards clothes that didn’t suit.

Peggy, now she was sixty-plus, worried her style might have to adapt to her age.

Flamboyance was not her thing: she aimed for a more classic look but, still, she didn’t want to appear frumpy and past it.

‘Hi, Peggy. How’s it going?’ Gen replied, a bit listlessly.

She didn’t seem her normal bubbly self this morning.

She was dressed in gorgeous pale pink cotton dungarees and a white T-shirt, her dark hair in a high ponytail, but looked hollow-eyed, slouching behind the counter on a stool, languidly scrolling through her phone.

Then, obviously remembering her role, she straightened. ‘You after anything special?’

‘I am actually.’ Peggy explained about her sons’ birthday and Max’s chi-chi Mayfair gallery.

‘Great.’ Gen got off her stool. Her very old, lame yellow Labrador, Sailor, snuffled in his basket, but didn’t move as she stepped over him.

‘Right, let’s see what we’ve got.’ She moved to the rails and yanked out a swishy skirt in dark green silk.

‘This would suit you. You could match it with a black top? Or, wait, this just came in.’ She bustled across the shop– her mood appeared instantly improved– and grabbed a hanger, swirling a floaty cream shirt in front of Peggy.

‘You could wear it long, instead of tucked in, or belted? It’s smart without being formal, and you’ve got the height to carry it off. ’

Peggy spent a pleasant hour chatting with Gen and trying on a host of different outfits, finally settling for the cream shirt and a sleek pair of black trousers with a sparkly stripe down the outside of the leg– like a smart version of joggers.

While Gen was wrapping up her purchases in tissue, Peggy commented, ‘You seemed a bit glum earlier. Everything okay?’

Gen looked up from her wrapping and gave her a smile.

‘Yeah. Just had knockbacks– or deafening silence– from a slew of companies I showed my portfolio to. Very depressing. So I’m thinking of making up my designs myself, selling them online, get traction that way.

’ She didn’t look particularly thrilled at the prospect.

Peggy had no idea of how the fashion world worked. ‘You could maybe talk to Ted. His company was sports clothing, but he might still have contacts in the industry.’

‘That’s kind,’ she said, looking as if she didn’t think that would work. Then her expression cleared. ‘Jake loves Ted and his running club.’

Peggy laughed. ‘Ted takes fitness extremely seriously.’

Gen nodded wearily. ‘Sometimes I think the only things Jake takes “extremely” seriously are his business and his mother.’

Peggy was well aware of what Gen meant. Jake, so the gossip went, was being held to ransom over Gen by his purportedly fierce mother– who, it was claimed, did not think her good enough for her son. ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Peggy said, wanting to be reassuring.

Gen just shrugged.

‘Treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen?’ she suggested jokily.

Gen laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe I should find a hunky yachtsman and have a fling. Make Jake green.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Peggy said, smiling. She’d been joking, but she hoped Gen wouldn’t go down that route and potentially hurt herself in the process.

‘How long have you and Ted been together?’ Gen asked, as she handed her the receipt.

‘Nearly five years now.’

‘I’m envious. You always seem so close. The perfect couple.’

Peggy winced at the epithet. It felt dangerous to be thought of as ‘perfect’. ‘We have our ups and downs, like anyone else. But, yes, we are close.’ As she said it, she felt a faint shadow pass over her words.

‘Do you like yoga?’ Gen was asking. ‘I do a class in the village hall on Wednesday mornings and I was wondering if you’d be interested.’

Peggy was touched, but she pulled a cautious face. ‘That’s a lovely idea. I’ve done Pilates in the past, but not for ages. I’m stiff as a board. I probably wouldn’t keep up.’

Gen laughed. ‘Oh, God, none of us are up to much. But Joyce, who takes the class, is very patient and explains everything brilliantly– there’s no Lycra, no headstands, no competition at all.’

Peggy took a breath. ‘Okay… Then, yes, I’d love to give it a go.’

Gen grinned with pleasure. ‘Great. I’ll text you Joyce’s details. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.’

Thanking Gen for her help with the outfit, Peggy smiled as she walked back down the narrow alleyway to the sea with her Kyma-logoed stiff cardboard bag knocking at her legs.

She felt childishly pleased at Gen’s invitation.

And she felt a lot more confident about the trip to London now she had something flattering to wear.

Peggy and Ted were walking up from Green Park Underground, through the Mayfair streets to the gallery.

They were staying the night with Annie and Satja in Highgate, so had come down on the Northern Line, then changed at Euston to a boiling and crowded Victoria Line.

It was muggy and far too hot for Peggy, who was already sweating in her black trousers and cream shirt, despite the lightness of the material, and her hair was wisping annoyingly in the damp breeze.

They’d debated whether to arrive on the dot of six thirty, grab some quieter time with the boys before the hordes arrived, and sneak off after the inevitable speeches– Max would always seize the opportunity of a captive audience.

Ted pointed out, though, that the speeches might not start till long into the evening.

They’d be there for hours if they pitched up on time.

In the end, the Northern Line decided for them. Now it was closer to seven thirty and Peggy was panicking. Being late would deliver Max an easy opening to give her a hard time.

‘Hey, slow down.’ Ted, handsome in a navy Paul Smith suit from his executive days, pulled her back as she charged along the dusty streets, barely looking as she crossed at the many small junctions, risking being clipped by a speeding bike courier or an Uber desperate for his next fare.

Peggy stopped. ‘God, it’s roasting. Am I bright red?’ she asked, panting and flapping her top.

Ted laughed. ‘No. You look beautiful.’

She heard the love in his voice and it calmed her.

‘I wish we were just meeting the boys for supper somewhere quiet. Shame we can’t see them tomorrow.

’ Max’s present to his sons was introductory flying lessons at Redhill Aerodrome the following day.

Dan was keen as mustard, Liam less so, according to the WhatsApp exchange earlier.

‘Is it a good idea to fly after the party? Won’t they have terrible hangovers?’ Ted asked.

Peggy gave a dry laugh. ‘Not something Max will have thought of, I bet. Come on, speed up,’ she urged, grabbing Ted’s hand and dragging him behind her as she set off again at pace. ‘Or it’ll be over before we get there.’

The gallery had a glass-fronted, red and cream brick Edwardian facade, with black railings protecting the steps to the basement.

‘De Mevius Gallery’ was inscribed in discreet gold lettering above the plate-glass window.

Max’s grandfather, also Maximilian De Mevius, had been the black sheep in an otherwise wealthy, aristocratic Belgian family, who had taken off across the Channel to seek his own fortune, choosing art.

Tonight the interior was blazing with light and noise, the door wide open.

As Peggy and Ted stepped inside, they were met by a cool, smiling young woman in the tiniest of black dresses and monumental heels, her dark hair falling in glossy waves down her back.

She greeted them politely, raising her iPad as she waited for them to identify themselves.

But before Peggy had a chance to say anything, the tall figure of her ex-husband bore down on them.

‘Aah, at last,’ he said. His patrician features and blue hooded eyes hadn’t worn well, Peggy noticed. He looked old, a little weary. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

Flustered, as she always was in his company– he made her feel inadequate for reasons she’d never understood, except she knew he made a lot of people feel the same way– she reached up to receive his kiss, then looked around for her sons.

‘Hi, Max,’ Ted said, with his usual easy charm. He reached out a hand, which Max took.

‘Ted.’

Recognizing the back of Dan’s head, Peggy ignored the aloof expression on her ex’s face and hurried Ted over to greet her son, grabbing two champagne flutes from a handsome youth with a loaded tray as she passed.

‘Mum!’ Dan shouted, when he saw her. It was clear that he was already quite drunk as he wrapped his mother in an exuberant embrace, spilling her drink as he did so.

‘Brilliant, you made it.’ She felt a moment of pleasure at his hug– although his big frame and strong arms were in marked contrast to the days when she’d cuddled him on the sofa with his brother.