A Summer in the Country (41 page)

“I'm truly sorry, Jemima. You've been so special, you really have. Honestly, I feel an utter bastard.”

She wanted to scream at him, “Good! I'm glad! I hope the bitch lets you down again!” but she knew that such a minor relief would be swallowed up in this cold, creeping misery which was reaching out softly, inexorably from her heart and engulfing her whole self. What was the point in cheap victories?

“Thanks for telling me.” She tried to infuse some life into the words but the cold weightiness was too much for her; it pressed in, making her voice dull and heavy. “It can't be easy, I can see that. Look, I've got to go. I'm in a very narrow lane and there's a tractor coming.”

“Oh, God! This is awful…”

“Isn't it,” she agreed, “but I really must move the car. We can talk some other time, perhaps.”

“God, yes!” He was generous in his relief. “We can stay friends, can't we? I'll want to know where you go and what happens and stuff. I told Annabel how terrific you are and how you saved my life …”

“Got to go,” she said abruptly, and pressed the off button. She started the engine, letting it idle for a moment whilst she stared blankly ahead. She had a foolish, childish need to be at home with MagnifiCat; to hold him tightly and to feel the comfort of his warmth. Perhaps it might bring her some relief; it might even thaw the icy chill which caused this queer shivering. With a nervousness which was utterly uncharacteristic, she pulled cautiously out into the lane and headed towards Salcombe, driving slowly with the utmost care.

“Thea,” said Louise, “I've got a problem. I need some advice.”

“How are you?” asked Thea warmly. “How are you liking your cottage? When are you coming to see us? Hermione's been asking after you.”

“Has she?” Louise's face relaxed into a smile. “I'd love to come. Or perhaps you could come over here? Thank you for your card. I'm sorry not to have been in touch but things have got a bit oitf of hand.”

“Too much painting,” said Thea comfortably. “It's exhausting, isn't it? And then you just need to crash out and stare mindlessly at nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“It's not just that.” Louise sounded nervous. “Something utterly amazing has happened.” She hesitated, as though she were still adjusting to this amazing happening, not able to find the words too easily. “Rory's turned up.”

A short silence.

“Goodness!” Thea was clearly startled. “And is that… good?”

“It's very good.” Louise's voice bubbled up into uncontrollable happiness. “Oh, Thea! I can hardly believe it.
It was the most tremendous shock to see him, just standing there. He wants us to get back together. Oh, he hasn't actually said so in so many words but it's clear enough. He's out of the Navy and working for an engineering company in Wales. He's coming down again at the weekend. It's just so … peculiar.

Sometimes it's as if we never parted and at others it's so scary. Everything comes back with a rush and I feel paralysed with terror and all the old horror. We can't talk properly yet about… about Hermione. Well, he's better at it than I am but it's still so raw and then I have these moments of thinking it could never work because it'll always be between us.”

There was a longer silence. The torrent of words seemed to hum and resonate, echoing on the wire between them.

“Right,” said Thea cautiously. “But how on earth did he find you?”

“Can you believe it? Martin has been in touch with him all this time. When we separated, Martin and I, he wrote to Rory.”

“That's extraordinary.”

“Isn't it? I've spoken to Martin who was … well, rather sheepish about it. He said it was all such an appalling tragedy that we were bound to do drastic things we might regret and that he felt so sorry for Rory. He always thought that once I'd recovered I'd probably want to go back to Rory and that he was simply giving me space to heal whilst holding on to Rory at a distance. Rory seems to accept that, and he felt that at least he was keeping in touch with me, indirectly. He says that his exchange with the Canadian Navy was his own way of going right away so that he could come to terms with things. Now he's ready to try again.”

“And how do you feel?”

“It's like I said: I want to but there's still so much baggage. I'm afraid I might not be able to make it work.”

“But isn't it worth a try?”

“I feel so badly about hurting him, you see—just walking away like that, not caring about how he was feeling. Supposing I'm not as … on top of it as I think I am?” There was panic in her voice. “I don't want to hurt him again.”

“But why should you hurt him?” Thea was calm. “You've done all the resentment bit long ago. You said so. All that bit about him being at sea—you've got that right out of your system now, haven't you?”

“Yes, I have. Long ago.” Louise sighed. “He blames himself. He says, ‘I should have been there,' and I'm saying, ‘How could you have been? It was your job.' I hate seeing him look so bleak.”

“Well, isn't that a start? You've had three years of comfort and care from Martin whilst Rory worked out his own pain. Now, you can comfort him. You can go on together. It sounds the most fantastic opportunity for a second chance.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course I think so.” Louise could hear that Thea was smiling. “The timing is perfect. All things working together for good. You couldn't possibly refuse it.”

Louise heaved a huge sigh. “I do want to,” she said, “I really do, but those moments of terror really shake me.”

“That's perfectly reasonable. Tell him so. I expect he's having them too, but just not showing them. How brave of him to be prepared to try again. He sounds such a nice man.”

“He is. I'd like you to meet him. The thing is… This sounds really silly. I want to tell Brigid and Frummie but I don't know which one to phone first.” She chuckled a little. “I know that sounds truly bizarre but they live so close and I don't want either of them to feel hurt. They've both been so wonderfully kind. Am I being oversensitive?”

“No,” said Thea slowly, who knew all about the relationship between Brigid and her mother. “I can see that there might be … difficulties. Frummie might crow if she knows first or she might feel hurt if Brigid tells her, given that you recuperated with her—with Frummie, I mean. Your friendship has expanded to include both of them.”

“Exactly!” Louise sounded relieved. “Thank God! I thought that it was me. Of course, I could phone one after the other terribly quickly but one might be out or engaged.”

Thea began to laugh. “The mind boggles,” she said. “Hang on. What about you telephoning to say that you want to see them together and then tell them both at once? If you feel you can manage it face to face.”

“Yes,” said Louise thoughtfully, turning the suggestion over carefully in her mind. “Yes, I'm sure I can.” She was positive now. “That's brilliant. I'll do that. Thanks, Thea.

Sorry to burden you with it. It's just that I got completely bogged down with it.”

“And then we'll all meet him,” said Thea cheerfully. “One at a time, would you say? Or in groups? You could sell tickets. I can't wait.”

Louise began to laugh. “Don't even talk about it. Look, I'm really grateful.”

“It's not a problem. Let me know how it goes and don't forget we'd love to see you.”

“Thanks,” said Louise gratefully. “I promise I'll be over soon. Give Hermione a hug for me.”

When she replaced the receiver she felt as if Thea had removed all the terror for her. Odd how, even at that first meeting, Thea had seemed so strong, stretching out a hand to her, holding on to her, whilst the world reeled about them. Some of the serenity which defined Thea rubbed off on those whom she touched, even if only briefly. Feeling confident now, Louise prepared to telephone Brigid but, even as she dialled, she found herself thinking about Jemima. Her telephone had been on answerphone for nearly two days and, although Louise had left messages, Jemima had not returned her calls. She was just deciding that if she didn't hear from her by the end of the day she'd drive round tomorrow to see if she could find her, when Brigid's cool voice broke into her thoughts and put everything else out of her mind.

B
RIGID STOOD
in the courtyard watching the doves as they swung in a feathery cloud against the sky. The colour of their wings seemed to change as they passed above her head: pure white against the brilliant blue; grey against the creamy cumulus; startlingly white again against a patch of thunderous black. They swooped in perfect accord, as if responding to some instinctive, in-built choreography, and she was moved to joy at their flight. The swallows had gone; grouping together for days before the final migration, sitting in rows along the barn roof, until one morning they'd vanished away, leaving the empty nests as a promise against their return next spring. As she watched the doves Brigid remembered how she'd stood here, on the day of Louise's arrival five months before, thinking about Jemima. Then, there had been a disappointed frustration in the knowledge that she and her sister were still estranged; now, she was able to feel a quiet pleasure in the anticipation of a growing friendship: a stepping free from the old disabling resentment. Hard though it had been she'd tried to follow Alexander's advice—no, not advice. Alexander wasn't the kind of man to give advice—to follow, then, his suggestion that she should lay down her weapons; that she should expose her weaknesses. How had he put it?
“We serve others as much by our weaknesses as by our strengths.”
It was a new concept and a rather startling one. She'd always been at pains to appear at her best—strong, capable, sensible—with her mother and her sister. Now, it seemed that not only was it not necessary but that the reverse had much to commend it. And it had worked! It hadn't been easy, telling Jemima her secret; exposing her foolishness and showing that her marriage was not quite the faultless, perfect union that she knew Jemima had imagined it to be. More than that, she had known that she might lose the sweetness she derived from knowing that Jemima envied her. Believing Jemima to be their mother's favourite there had been satisfaction in being able to parade her happy marriage, lovely children and now a grandchild as her possessions. Now she had shown that there were flaws, secrets, fears—and Jemima had met these disclosures with a warmth and generosity which gave no indication of any diminishing of affection. It had certainly brought them closer.

When she'd telephoned the evening before Jemima had sounded fatigued, depressed and anxious and Brigid had discovered that there was no longer any desire on her own part to be impatient, to urge her sister to pull herself together or attempt to sort out her problems. In fact, she hadn't asked any questions as she usually did in a kind of “Oh, what on earth's the matter
now”
kind of way. She'd merely played it by ear, sympathetic, friendly, until Jemima had asked if she might come over to Foxhole to see her.

“Of course,” Brigid had answered at once. “Lovely. When?” and when Jemima had said “Would tomorrow be OK?” Brigid had hidden her surprise—and anxiety—and had agreed at once.

“Just us?” she'd asked tentatively, not quite knowing what was in Jemima's mind. “Or would you like Mummie to come? And Margot?” And when she'd answered with horror, “Good grief, no!” Brigid had felt a glow of satisfaction. She feared that it might be an unworthy glow, to be preferred by Jemima above their mother, nevertheless it had been a source of private joy. It indicated the growing trust between them and Brigid was seized with delight at this prospect and with a corresponding fear that she might not be able to live up to any expectations Jemima might have of a confidante. “Come just before lunch,” she'd suggested. ‘1 think the mob are going to Exeter so with luck they'll have set off before you arrive.”

Now, as she stooped to stroke Blot, she could hear the sounds of activity issuing from the cottages and prayed that they'd hurry up. Margot was now telling Frummie how much colder it was than they'd imagined and, beneath the ensuing duet between the two women, she could hear the lower bass line as Alexander and Gregory strolled out to the car. She decided to slip away indoors, lying low until they'd gone, but, even as she turned, she heard the sound of an engine and saw Jemima's car coming slowly down the track. Cursing beneath her breath, she saw Frummie glance round and begin to wave enthusiastically whilst the other three watched with various expressions of welcome and surprise.

“Shit!” muttered Brigid. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Jemima parked the car and climbed out. She looked tired, pale and oddly defenceless and Brigid was consumed with an entirely unexpected flame of protectiveness, just as she might have felt for her own boys. She went forward quickly as Jemima almost visibly braced herself for the greetings which assailed her.

“Darling!” cried Frummie, almost vexed. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming? How maddening. We're just going off to Exeter.”

Jemima smiled at Margot and at Alexander and allowed herself to be introduced to Gregory, who beamed at her appreciatively and shook her hand. Behind their heads, Brigid raised her fists and shook them in a gesture of despair and Jemima's lips curved in a spontaneous smile of understanding.

“I've come to have lunch with Brigid,” she answered. “I was sure you'd be off jollying, that's why I didn't tell you.”

“Brigid didn't tell us either,” said Frummie, with a sharp glance at her elder daughter, and—as was always the case— Brigid was certain that her mother knew all her thoughts, worthy and unworthy, and that she was secretly amused by them. “You could come with us. Wouldn't that be rather nice? Make it a real party.”

“We could,” agreed Brigid calmly, strolling forward, “but we'd have to take two cars.” She winked quickly at Jemima and caught Alexander's eye pleadingly.

“Good idea,” he said smoothly, rising immediately to the occasion. “In which case I hope Jemima will travel with me and Gregory.” He made her a litde bow, smiling at her, whilst Gregory made noises indicating his delight at such a prospect. “I've hardly had the chance to get to know her yet”

“On the other hand,” said Frummie, with superb poise, “it's
rather
unkind to ruin Brigid's plans. I expect you've been busy all morning cooking something delicious, haven't you, darling?”

“Well…” Brigid hesitated, as though she were seriously weighing up the possibilities of going or staying.

“Don't let us oldies interfere,” said Margot playfully, patting Jemima's arm. “You two girls have your own little party. Maybe you'll still be here when we get back.”

“Probably,” said Jemima, brightening. “Very likely.”

“Well, then,” said Frummie cheerfully, “we'd best be pushing on or we won't get any lunch. See you later, girls. Alexander's turn to drive, I think. Yes? I'll go in front with him so as to navigate.”

'THAT WAS
terrible,” said Jemima, as she followed Brigid into the kiteheji, Blot wagging at her heels. “I could really see us being whisked off to Exeter.“

“I thought they'd be gone,” said Brigid, “They're often away by coffee-time.”