Garden of Stars: A gripping novel of hope, family and love across the ages. Rose Alexander

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       7

       Portugal, 2010

      Sarah woke the next day with a strange and unsettling sensation of otherness, as if the world had subtly altered as she slept. What she had read in Inês’s journal had surprised her, the intimation of doubt about her marriage. But of course it was only to be expected that there would be minor strains in any relationship, especially one so young and untested. Maybe Inês wanted to give her this message – that everybody has doubts and difficulties, that relationships require resilience and perseverance and a lot of hard work if they are to succeed. For most certainly Inês had detected that everything was not perfect between Sarah and Hugo right now, although she would never dream of prying. So was it to help Sarah that Inês had wanted her to have the journal, and not so that Sarah could help Inês as she had first thought? The question buzzed furiously around Sarah’s mind like a bluebottle against a window pane.

      A phone call from her mother, Natalie, woke her from her reverie. She and the girls were off to the zoo with plans for pizza for lunch.

      “Everything’s fine,” Natalie insisted, as if Sarah had questioned her ability to cope. “You really don’t have to worry about me, you just concentrate on enjoying yourself.”

      “I’m working, mum, not having a holiday,” Sarah protested, trying not to sound defensive. “But thank you so much for holding the fort. It’s great to know you’re there.”

      Sarah could see the way her mother would sigh and wave her hand dismissively, enjoying the compliment while shrugging it off.

      There was a pause, then a muffled sound of banging and clunking and a child’s voice saying, “Mummy?” Sarah had to think for a moment whether it was Honor or Ruby.

      “Mummy, is it far away in Portugal?”

      “Not too far, Rubes,” reassured Sarah, not wanting the child to worry.

      “Mummy, I’ve got a new song for you.” Ruby seemed anything but worried. “Shall I sing it? It goes like this:

      Honor and William in a tree

      K-I-S-S-I-N-G

      First comes love and then comes marriage

      Last comes the baby in the golden carriage. ”

      Sarah smiled at the childish innocence of the song. “That’s funny, Ruby, where did you learn…”

      Her words were cut short by an enormous howl that had erupted on the other end of the line. Sarah could hear her mother’s voice, getting louder, demanding that Honor stop pulling Ruby’s hair, telling her to behave, and then talking to Sarah again.

      “Oh dear, what a noise, but all sorted now. Just a bit of a disagreement about the song. Honor doesn’t seem to like Ruby saying she’s kissing her little friend William.”

      I’m not surprised, thought Sarah, recalling William and his seemingly incessantly snotty nose. “Sorry, mum. Thanks for everything you’re doing.”

      “If I can’t step in to help my only child… what sort of a mother would I be? When there’s just the two of us – we have to stick together!”

      “Absolutely, mum. As I say, I really appreciate it.” Sarah picked up the car keys from the desk and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I better get on. Love to you all, kisses for the girls – and thanks again.”

      In the hire car, she turned on the radio and sat half-listening to the rapid Portuguese as she got out the map and traced the way to the processing plant, the next stage of her cork’s journey from harvesting to becoming a stopper. It suddenly seemed a long way to go for a small part of her article. Throughout her tour of the factory, with its vast yard piled with towering stacks of cork bark, enormous vats which simmered and seethed as the cork boiled, and long rows of green-overalled workers, images of Scott constantly invaded her mind. The morning passed in a blur. Her host, Amoral da Silva, was solicitous and helpful to a fault; his corks, spewing forth into giant buckets at a rate of thousands an hour, were perfectly formed. But Sarah’s heart, and her head, were elsewhere.

      Driving back, the evening to come looming large and imminent, her mind drifted inexorably to a time she usually tried to forget. To the last time she and Scott had dined together, just the two of them, in Lisbon, at the Cervejaria Trindade. Sarah had studied its antique tiled walls as Scott dangled Vancouver temptingly in front of her.

      “Think of all the things we could do there!” he had urged. “All the fun we could have. My family has a log cabin in the mountains – we’ll go horse riding there. And in the winter, we’ll ski and snowboard, ice-skate, if you like.”

      “It would be amazing,” she had concurred, even though the truth was that she didn’t know how to do any of those things.

      “In spring we’ll make love in the meadow, and in winter we’ll stoke up the fire and keep each other warm whilst the storms rage outside.”

      Sarah could smell the woodsmoke and hear the maple branches crackling in the stove, taste the bitter roasted coffee brewing on the hob and hear how silently the powdery snow fell onto the already-white ground outside.

      But there was her mother to think about, having chemo for breast cancer and embroiled in a bitter divorce from her dad. The image of Natalie had been impossible to ignore, poised in Sarah’s mind’s eye as if she were listening in on the conversation, willing her not to abandon her as she perceived everyone else had done. That was on top of the call of her degree, the place at university that she had studied so hard to win, that she could not just throw away.

      “Let’s not talk about it now,” she had said. “I want to eat and drink and dance.”

      And so they had done all three, and then taken a taxi back to the little pink and blue house. He sat on the bed behind her to undress her, enclosing her with his long, muscular legs, deftly removing her СКАЧАТЬ