Free Voices in Summer by Rosamunde Pilcher Page A

'Yes?'
    'Alec'
    ‘Yes.'
    'Brian here.'
    Brian. He was visited by a sense of blinding unreality, as though his imagination had reached out beyond the limits of his own despair. For a moment he wondered if he was going out of his mind. Automatically, he leaned forward and switched off the television. –
    'Brian.'
    'Who else?' He sounded his usual cheerful, breezy self, his voice as clear as a bell. For whatever reason he was calling, it was plainly not to impart bad news.
    'Where are you ringing from?'
    'Chagwell, of course, where else?'
    Alec saw him sitting at the battered, roll-top desk in the old study at Chagwell, that dusty, book-lined room that had always been used as the farm office. He saw the piles of government forms and dog-eared files, the proud photographs of prizewinning pedigree Guernsey cows.
    'You sound astonished,' said Brian.
    ‘It's been five years.'
    'I know. Far too long. But I thought you'd like to hear a fairly surprising piece of family news. Uncle Gerald's getting married.'
    Gerald. Gerald Haverstock of Tremenheere. Adm. G. J. Haverstock, C.B.E., D.S.O., D.S.C., R.N., once known as the most eligible bachelor in the Royal Navy.
    'When did you hear this?'
    'This morning. He rang up to tell us. Sounds over the moon. Wants us all to go the wedding.'
    'When's that?'
    'Weekend after next. In Hampshire.'
    Gerald, finally, getting married. 'He must be sixty now.'
    'Well, you know what they say, the best wine comes from old bottles.'
    'Who's the bride?'
    'She's called Eve Ashby. The widow of an old shipmate. It's all very suitable.'
    Still, Alec found it hard to believe, for it was indeed an astounding piece of news. Gerald, of all people, the career sailor, the perpetual bachelor, yearned after by countless lovelorn ladies. Gerald, with whom Brian and Alec had spent one blissful summer holiday, the only youngsters in a wholly adult house party. Running wild on the Cornish beaches and playing cricket on the lawn in front of the house, they had yet been treated – for the first time in their lives – as grown-ups. Allowed to stay up for dinner, drink wine, take the sailing dinghy out on their own. Gerald became their hero, and they followed his meteoric career with proprietary pride.
    Gerald had been best man at so many weddings that it took some imagination to see him as the bridegroom.
    'Are you going to the wedding?' Alec asked.
    'Yes, we all are. Kids and all. Gerald wants the lot of us. And you as well. It's not that far from Deepbrook. You could drive over in the afternoon. I don't suppose Erica would particulary want to come, but perhaps you and Gabriel . . .?'
    He paused, waiting for a reaction to this suggestion. Alec's mouth was suddenly dry. He saw again the transatlantic jet, taking off, lifting, disappearing into the darkness of night and cloud. She's gone. Gabriel's gone.
    After a bit, in a totally different voice, Brian said, 'Is everything all right, old boy?'
    'Why do you ask?'
    'Well, to tell you the truth, the last few days, I've been thinking about you . . . had the feeling you were a bit under the weather. In fact, I've been meaning to ring you. Had this urge to have a word. Telling you about Gerald's wedding was just a good excuse to pick up the telephone.'
    Had this urge to have a word.
    They had, as boys, been very close. The barriers of distance, the passing years, the two incompatible wives, the lack of communication had not destroyed their closeness. They had always been in touch, linked by a strong, invisible cord of blood and birth. Perhaps this unexpected telephone call, for whatever reason it had been made, was a sort of lifeline.
    He clutched at it. He said, 'Yes, everything's wrong.’ and told Brian. It did not take very long.
    When he was finished, Brian only said, ‘I see.'
    ‘I was going to write tomorrow and tell you. Or telephone . . . I'm sorry I didn't get around to telling you before.'
    'That's all right, old boy. Look. I'm coming up to London next week for the