My fortnight in Biarritz was half done when Rowena telephoned her father with news that clearly took him aback. She’d got engaged and wanted to come out straightaway to introduce him and Bella to her fiancé. His name was Paul, as I could have predicted. Not a student, apparently, but a risk analyst for Metropolitan Mutual, an insurance company with headquarters in Bristol. In a separate call, Sarah explained that Rowena had met him through her. She and Paul Bryant had been a year apart at King’s College, Cambridge. He’d looked her up on realizing they were both living in Bristol and had instantly fallen for Rowena. As she had for him. Sarah reckoned Sir Keith couldn’t fail to like him.
She was spot on. Rowena and Paul arrived a few days later and were hardly through the door before their compatibility and affection for each other-as well as Paul’s suitability as a son-in-law-became abundantly obvious. He was a young man of charm, humour and evident sincerity. Dark-haired and handsome in a fashion-poster style that clearly appealed to Bella every bit as much as Rowena, he also possessed a keen and probing intellect. Along with a disarming facility for drawing people out about their achievements and ambitions while saying remarkably little about his own. I couldn’t decide whether this was a deliberate technique or a personality trait. Nor whether it was as apparent to others as it was to me. But, strangely, it didn’t make him any less likeable. Quite the reverse. Especially where women were concerned. He was, according to Bella, “the least vain good-looking man I’ve ever met.” Which, coming from her, was quite a compliment. Though where it left me I didn’t like to speculate.
Something else about Paul Bryant puzzled me from the first. His amiability-his lack of the slightest hint of sarcasm-was as intriguing as it was endearing. There was either more or less to him than met the eye. But which? His manner deflected any attempt to decide. He could be naïve as well as profound, gauche as well as sensitive. He could be, it sometimes seemed, anything he judged you wanted him to be.
But his love for Rowena was genuine beyond doubt. To watch him watching her was to glimpse true devotion. And it was devotion that never threatened to smother. He knew how much support to give her and how much independence. He protected her without dominating her. He encouraged her to bloom and stepped back to study the result. He was the best friend she could hope to have. And would make the perfect husband. As she well knew. “Meeting Paul was like recovering from colour blindness,” she told me. “He’s banished the drabness from my life. Not the sadness. Not all of it, anyway. Not yet. But soon he will. With Paul I can lead a happier life than I ever expected to.”
There was never any likelihood that Sir Keith would object to the match. Since Paul worked in Bristol and already owned a home there, marriage needn’t disrupt Rowena’s studies in any way. When she revealed they’d been thinking of a September wedding, her father was almost more enthusiastic than she was. “Yes, make it September,” he urged. “It’ll be more than a wedding. It’ll be the day this family puts the past behind it and goes forward together.” Fine words. Fine sentiments. With every prospect of fulfilment.
While I was in Biarritz, there was only one occasion when I talked to Paul on his own. It was the day before I was due to leave. Sir Keith was at the golf course, while Bella had taken Rowena to experience the delights of thalasso-therapy, the latest beauty treatment with which she hoped to stave off middle age. We’d agreed to meet them afterwards for tea. Leaving the villa with plenty of time to spare, we strolled down the beaches-emptied by grey skies and a keen wind-to the old fishing port, then climbed by zig-zag paths up through the tamarisk trees to the Pointe Atalaye. At its summit, we leant against some railings and looked back along the sweep of the bay to the lighthouse and the nestling roof of L’Hivernance. And Paul suddenly answered a question I’d not had the courage to ask.
“I know about the suicide attempt, Robin. You don’t have to avoid the subject for my benefit.”
“Good. I’m glad. That you know, I mean.”
“She told me right at the start. She’s still not ready to tell her father, but… we’ll get there in the end.”
“I’m sure you will. You seem to be just what she needs.”
“Glad you think so. It makes it easier for me to mention something that’s been on my mind.”
“Oh yes?”
“Well, Sarah and Rowena have both told me how kind you’ve been to them since their mother’s death. How generous with your time and attention.” It was a curious choice of phrase. He kept his eyes trained on the distant lighthouse as he continued. “Sarah and I saw quite a lot of one another at Cambridge. I feel I know her almost as well as Rowena. I even met their mother once. And the infamous Oscar Bantock.”
“Really?”
“Sarah took me to an exhibition of his work in Cambridge. Pretty crappy stuff.” He chuckled. “I think I may have let Bantock realize what my opinion was. I expect I was a bit drunk. Tongue ran away with me. I’ve learned to control it better since. Anyway, Louise Paxton was there. I exchanged a few words with her. Nothing more. Like you, I suppose.” Now he did look at me. “Just a fleeting encounter. But enough to be able to imagine what losing her must have meant to her daughters.”
“They’ve suffered, no question.”
“But Sarah’s ridden it out. And, with my help, Rowena will too.”
“Good.” I smiled to cover my puzzlement. He was making some kind of point. But I couldn’t grasp what it was. “I hope you’re right.”
“Oh, I am. I’m sure of it. Surer than I’ve ever been of anything. Rowena and I are made for each other. Which means…” He smiled. “What I’m saying, Robin, is that you can stop worrying about her. She’s got me to look after her now.” And she doesn’t need you any more, his dazzling smile declared. “You’ve been a real help to her. And to Sarah. But from here on… Well, you can let me handle things.” I was being warned off. Politely but firmly told to keep my distance. He obviously didn’t see me as a rival for Rowena’s affections. Then what did he see me as? Somebody who knew a little too much for comfort? Somebody who might possibly know more than he did? Was that what he feared? Or did he just want rid of me for Rowena’s sake? There was nothing in his expression or tone of voice even to hint at the answer. Candour and concealment were in him almost the same thing.
I smiled back and made a calculated attempt to catch him off guard. “Tell me, Paul- Does Rowena still believe her mother went back to England that last time purely in order to buy one of Bantock’s paintings?”
The question was as much a test of Sarah as of Paul. I needed to know whether she trusted him as completely as he’d implied. His response was swift. But it didn’t quite dispel the doubt. “She believes it. And I think it’s best she should. Don’t you?”
He had me where he wanted me. The only slight advantage I could deny him was the pleasure of hearing my explicit agreement. I glanced at my watch and nodded down towards the Hôtel du Palais, a mansarded monument to Second Empire opulence that dominated the shoreline-and was the chosen venue for our tea party. “I think we ought to start back,” I said, grinning at him. “Don’t you?”