‘I did, but he didn’t want to come. I’ve left him a packed lunch if that’s what you’re worried about,’ said Julia with wicked relish as she climbed into the front seat alongside Steve. Charley was too wrapped up in his new project to want to go anywhere. He had already removed several vital, mysterious parts from the innards of the Beetle with a view to subjecting them to some complicated cleaning and lubricatin
g process.
‘Ready to go?’ Steve gave her a pale smile.
To Julia’s relief he seemed to have forgotten all about the previous night’s tantrum. He seemed quite relaxed, almost sociable, so Julia didn’t spoil the mood by mentioning it herself.
‘Who on earth is this Logan person?’ Julia asked Ros in a low voice as they unloaded the car at the beach. It seemed that every second sentence of Olivia’s began: ‘Logan thinks …’ or ‘Logan says …’.
Ros tossed her long hank of red hair over her shoulder with a contemptuous shrug. ‘Haven’t you heard of Logan Firth? Oh no, Olivia hadn’t joined the commune the last time you saw us, had she? He’s the founder … the ineffable guiding light. He’s quite old— in his forties I think—but Livvy’s well on the way to thinking herself in love with him. She’s so naive about men … I’m hoping a few weeks under my mature influence might give her back her perspective.’
‘You don’t like him, obviously,’ said Julia, amused by Ros’ presumption of emotional superiority. Both seemed fairly level-headed twenty-one-year-olds as far as she was concerned.
‘He’s a pseud!’ Ros declared. ‘Do you know what his last exhibition was? He painted the gallery walls black and hung blank canvases on them.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Julia provokingly.
‘Come on, Ju! That sort of stuff only appeals to hardcore culture freaks. It doesn’t take any real skill or imagination. Only audacity and ego.’
Privately Julia agreed. ‘Just because you don’t like his work doesn’t mean that he’s wrong for Olivia.’
‘But he is!’ The ardent feminist came to the crux of her argument. ‘It’s a farce to call that place a commune because it’s not, it’s an artistic dictatorship. Livvy doesn’t need him—she’s got more talent in her little finger than he has in his whole body. He’s going to suffocate her with his gigantic ego … make her suffer artistically and emotionally.’ She lowered her voice as Olivia headed up to collect her beach bag from the back seat. ‘What’s more he’s a lecher and a hypocrite. He even made a pass at me! I bet he’s had it off with every woman in that commune, yet he spouts on about woman’s essential purity.’
‘Olivia’s got to make her own mistakes,’ Julia offered wisely, while sympathising with Ros’ attitude.
Ros sighed. ‘I know, unfortunately. I wish I could get Hugh to talk to her.’
Julia’s ears pricked up. ‘I thought he didn’t like to get involved in family turmoils.’
‘He doesn’t—that’s the point. Only, when you really need him he won’t turn you away. He sort of clarifies everything.’
‘So why don’t you tell him about Olivia?’ Julia had noticed Hugh’s talent for staying strictly neutral at dinner-time squabbles, illuminating all the stated points of view instead of stating his own.
‘Livvy would kill me, that’s why.’
Julia followed her frowningly down to the sand. The others could go to Hugh in need, but who did he turn to when he had problems? She couldn’t imagine him sharing his doubts with anyone, he was too fiercely independent, too wary of involvement, lived far too much of his own life inside his skull. Last night she had sensed untapped depths of tenderness in him, and the unbidden thought came from nowhere: what a wonderful father he would make, strong but gentle, kind but firm.
There was no one else on the beach. The melon-rind of white sand was smooth and untasted. The girls squealed as they peeled off shoes and socks and paddled in the icy water. Only Richard was aloof, moodily skipping pebbles across the small, swelling waves. Julia, who never sulked, found his attitude childish and annoying. Ignoring him she turned to Steve:
‘Fancy a walk before lunch? You’re a history buff, aren’t you? You can point out the spot where Captain Cook anchored the Endeavour in … when was it?’
Steve grinned. ‘1769. OK, history lesson coming up.’ He raised his voice. ‘Anyone else for a walk?’ There were no takers and they began to stroll along the water-line, away from Richard’s scowling stare.
‘What’s the matter with Rich?’ asked Steve, when they were out of earshot. Julia was surprised. Until now his self-absorption had precluded interest in anyone else.
‘He wanted this to be just the two of us.’
‘Ah.’ He caught on straight away. ‘And you aren’t buying?’
‘I can’t work out why Richard has suddenly developed this consuming passion for me,’ Julia blurted out. ‘We’ve been friends more or less for six years, if we were going to click we would have done so before now.’
‘You know what Rich is like—he’s prone to these sudden, intense enthusiasms.’
‘Oh, yes, I know what he’s like,’ Julia said drily. ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m not interested. We used to have great fun together, but I can’t enjoy his company if I’m having to slap him down all the time. I want to be friends again.’
Steve kicked at a lump of seaweed. ‘He might actually be falling in love with you, have you considered that? You’re bright, you’re pretty, why shouldn’t he?’
Julia brushed off the compliment. ‘He’s cried wolf once too often for me to believe that. I’ve seen him do this routine before—you know, the soulful looks, the poetic outbursts—but with other women. I never thought he’d be dumb enough to try it on me. No, he’s just playing some game of his own … unless …’ a thought occurred to her, ‘… unless it’s frustration. I’m the only eligible female for miles, Richard’s not used to such a dearth of prospects. Maybe it’s his way of fighting withdrawal symptoms.’