Beyond the Green Hills (21 page)

‘Great,’ she replied, smiling at him.

She was amazed at the change in his manner towards her. It was the first time she could ever remember him saying ‘Hallo’, without having been told to, and never before had he shown the slightest interest in her affairs.

‘Would you like to see the new lamp and saddle I’ve put on your bicycle, Clare?’ he said as they finished their meal.

Granda hadn’t been able to make out what he was saying. Granny assumed he was getting out of the washing up as usual and Dolly looked at Clare blankly, as puzzled by this sudden change of attitude as she was.

As they walked towards the barn where he kept the bicycle, Clare made enquiries about his present job, but William was striding along so quickly she had difficulty keeping up with him.

‘A bicycle’s all very well when yer young, but I want a car,’ he began, when they stepped inside the low stone building. ‘Dolly says the money’s great where you are, Clare. Will you lend me a hundred pounds?’

It was raining steadily when Harry drove her to Nutt’s Corner the following Saturday. Jessie hadn’t wanted to come. The car, she said, made Fiona sick. They’d said their goodbyes in the hall while Harry
put her cases in the boot.

‘Don’t be long till yer back,’ said Jessie.

Clare wondered if she meant it, or whether she was just saying the traditional phrase out of habit. She waved to her as they slid slowly down the drive. Looking back, she saw Jessie slowly waving Fiona’s arm.

‘Thank you, Harry dear, you’ve been so good to me. I’ll give you a ring any time I’m in London and I can talk to you at the gallery. I know Jessie’s not herself, but I’ll have to think about it. Take care of yourself, won’t you.’

He hugged her tight and kissed her cheek.

‘What would I do without you, Clare?’

She felt tears trickle down her cheeks as she picked up her cases and headed for the check-in desk. There had been good things, and Harry and the success of the gallery had been amongst them. But overall it was a week she’d never want to live through again.

She watched the terminal buildings slide by, the rain-streaked window of the Vanguard blurring their outline. The engines roared and for a few brief moments she glimpsed the small, sodden fields, the white blossom dropping, its gleaming softness gone. The lough, grey and misted, lurched uncomfortably to one side as the wing dipped and the aircraft turned upwards and eastwards. Greyness enveloped her, clinging and featureless. Like the long minutes and hours of cold and boredom she’d endured all through the last week.

She wondered if she would ever come again, or if,
like Matilda Wolfe Tone, she would decide she was French, her life to be lived in another country.

The grey mist began to thin. Gleams of light caught the raindrops running off the wing. Then suddenly, joyously, the light returned. Sunlight poured down on the mountains of pure white cloud that now lay below them. She felt herself relax; the effort of the past few days flowed away. No doubt there were lessons to be learnt. No doubt, indeed. But it could all wait. Here and now she was happy and knew she was happy. This time she really was going home.

W
hen Clare opened the door of the room she shared with Louise on the following Monday morning, she gasped in amazement. The room was completely empty. Gone were the high desks and stools, the ancient bookcases and filing cabinets, the straight-backed chairs and worn strips of carpet. The only sign of life in the deserted room was a huge sheet of wrapping paper attached to one pocked and pitted wall. She looked at it and laughed.

‘Welcome home,’ it said in English, the big letters written with a one-inch paintbrush. Below it, in biro, a further message in French: ‘Come and find me, I’ve missed you, Louise.’

For a moment Clare stood looking round the empty room. It suddenly dawned on her that all was quiet. At long last, the hammering and banging had stopped. She turned on her heel, set off towards the corridor that led to the new suites and was confronted by Madame Japolsky, who shot out of her office opposite at the sound of footsteps.

‘Ah, Mam’selle ’Amilton, you have had a good holiday?’ she began. ‘Monsieur Lafarge wishes to see you immediately,’ she went on, without the slightest pause for any reply to her question.

She edged past Clare so that she could peer up at Louise’s notice through her minute, gold-framed spectacles.

‘When you have seen him, I shall show you to your new office,’ she added severely. ‘Naturally, there will be new arrangements.’

Clare crossed the banking hall and climbed the familiar flights of stairs, walked along the familiar landings. Every time she passed those elaborate gold frames, she thought of Harry, just as she had done when Paul had conducted her to Robert’s room the very first time and ushered her into the royal presence like a courtier of Louis Quinze himself. Dear Harry. He’d always been so good to her. Unpacking her suitcases the previous day, she’d thought about the lovely home he’d created, about Jessie wandering round it, half in a dream, relating only to little Fiona.

‘Viens.’

As she opened the door, she found Robert was halfway across the room to meet her.

‘Good. You look well,’ he said, kissing her cheek.

His telephone rang and he turned away, strode back to his desk and picked it up. ‘Paul, I am engaged. I do not wish to be disturbed. No, not by anyone. I will tell you when I am free.’

Grinning broadly, he waved her to an armchair by the window.

‘Did you have a good holiday?’

She laughed and smiled warmly at him.

‘Madame Japolsky asked me that. But
she
didn’t wait for a reply. I’ve been trying to think what I’d
say if you asked me.’

‘I am quite willing to wait for a reply,’ he said, settling back in his armchair.

‘It was a mixed experience, Robert, and not a very happy one. There were good things. I had a lovely evening with my old friend Keith Harvey, and Charlie Running was so pleased to see me, so were Aunt Sarah and Mrs McGregor. But the visit to my grandparents was rather depressing. They are ageing visibly and aren’t at all happy. My brother asked me for money before we’d been together for five minutes.’

‘Did you give it to him?’

‘No. I told him I’d have to talk it over with Granda Hamilton. He wanted the money to buy a car and I was uneasy about that. He once broke his leg riding a motorbike he’d taken without permission. He’s unreliable about most things. Granda said he thought a car wouldn’t be wise. So I didn’t give him the money. I did give Granny money for any clothes he might need. But he said I was mean, and didn’t speak to me again after that.’

Robert nodded thoughtfully.

‘And your friend Jessie. Was she pleased to see you?’

‘I really don’t know. Harry was. But Jessie was quite sharp with me at times. Something’s wrong, but I don’t know enough about having babies to understand. I’ll have to talk to Marie-Claude. Jessie seems totally preoccupied with Fiona, spends far too much time with her, and almost none with Harry. He’s as loving as ever, but it can’t be easy for him.
She’s not the girl he fell in love with.’

Robert nodded again. ‘And did you meet up with Andrew or your friend Ginny?’

‘Not directly. I found out from Harry that Ginny is now Andrew’s girlfriend,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I suppose I should have guessed that when she didn’t write to me. Ginny’s always been fond of Andrew. When we were engaged, I used to be surprised she was never jealous. But I’m sad about Ginny too. We came very close to each other when Teddy died. I miss her. But they seem to be very happy together. I saw a photograph of them in a magazine at the airport. At a Hunt Ball,’ she ended, laughing wryly.

‘So, you are glad to be back.’

‘Yes, I am. My empty apartment was far more welcoming than either of the places where I stayed. Paul had arranged some flowers from the courtyard for me, and Louise had put something for my supper in the fridge. The minute I arrived, Madame Dubois came to see if there was anything I needed,’ she went on, smiling. ‘I think I might do as Charlie suggests and become a Frenchwoman like Matilda Wolfe Tone.’

He smiled unexpectedly.

‘She was the wife of the revolutionary in whom Charlie had an interest?’

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ she said, nodding. ‘I don’t know quite where she fits into his book, but it seems to me she made a far better life in France until she went to America. Charlie says Ulster is simply not moving with the times.’

‘Do you think he’s right?’ he asked soberly.

‘Yes, sadly, I do. Even Keith, who’s a very easygoing man, says all the urgent questions are being ignored. He’s planning to go to Australia when he’s had two years’ experience at his present school.’

‘I am sad for you. I, too, went back to my part of France and found that what I’d left behind was better left behind. But I am glad you have the wisdom to accept what you see. The worst thing one can do in life is go on seeing situations as once they were, or as you wish they might continue to be. Both individuals and groups fall prey to such fantasy. It is a very dangerous thing.’

He gathered himself and straightened up in his armchair.

‘It looks as if we shall have an opportunity to dine together later this week,’ he said, waving a hand towards a pile of papers on the desk behind them. ‘Bordeaux,’ he added.

‘Good,’ she said, smiling. ‘This time, thanks to you, I know the wine but not the region. Usually it’s the other way round.’

‘I shall want to hear much more about your visit then, but meantime, I have a favour to ask of you. You
must refuse if you feel uneasy, but I very much hope you will say yes.’

‘I shall certainly want to say yes, Robert. What is
it?’

‘Emile Moreau’s farewell party next week. It will be a large affair. As well as Emile’s own family and guests, we will
be asking important customers, particularly those he’s been involved with in recent
years. There will be some government ministers and some colleagues from the financial world,’ he said solemnly. ‘Including your friends the St Clairs,’ he added, more cheerfully. ‘I shall have to make the inevitable speech, but I should like you to present the gift from his colleagues.’

‘But why me, Robert? I like Emile very much, but there are so many people who have known him much longer. Surely one of them would be more appropriate.’

To her surprise, Robert laughed.

‘I thought you’d protest. But I have good reasons for my request. Emile is a shy man. There is considerable interest in his retirement in the serious newspapers and the financial journals. We shall have to admit the press and submit Emile to being photographed. He may tolerate it better if you are by his side. He always seems easier in your company.’

‘Does he?’

‘Yes,
he does. I have observed,’ he said crisply. ‘Besides, I need a young face in these photographs. Yours is the youngest I’ve got,’ he said, decisively.

‘May I ask why?’

‘Yes, you may,’ he said, nodding, as he stood up, collected the pile of documents on his desk and handed them to her. ‘The photographs taken at this event reflect upon the bank. There is no better way of declaring our perspective on the future than by having an attractive young woman among all the old-timers.’

Clare smiled and shook her head. Robert had made up his mind. And, when he had, as always, he
was able to find good reasons to support his decision.

‘Yes, I’ll do it,’ she said, smiling. ‘You’ve picked the right week. I have a new dress that should be ready in time.’

‘Good,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘I’ll ensure that there is an appropriate interval between the bank and the Champs-Elysées in which to prepare yourself.’ he said, as he walked with her to the door. ‘Unlike the last time we dined!’

‘Well, Clare, what do you think?’ demanded Louise, as Madame Japolsky shut the door behind her. She took off her jacket and dropped her shoes on the carpet.

‘Can’t quite believe it,’ Clare replied, as she surveyed their new retreat. The modern furniture reminded her of Charles Langley’s office: teak desks, a glass coffee table, swivel chairs upholstered in soft leather. But the colours were gentler than in Charles’s room. Grey and pink on the walls to match the carpet, white on the tall windows looking out on to the cobbled courtyard. On the floor a soft, rose-pink carpet on which Louise was luxuriously curling and uncurling her toes.

‘I hope you took in Madame’s strictures about the use of the bathroom, Clare,’ said Louise, pulling a face.

Clare giggled. ‘I liked the bit about not cooling wine in the bidet,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’d never have thought of that if she hadn’t mentioned it.’

‘I’m so glad to see you back, Clare. I’ve moved
your things as best I could,’ she explained, as Clare began to open her drawers and take out what she needed for the morning’s work.

‘Was it awful leaving all your family and friends?’ Louise asked anxiously. ‘I cry every time I leave Ravenna, though I love it here,’ she said, as she took down a dictionary from the bookcase and unscrewed the cap of her fountain pen.

‘Not as bad as I expected. I’ll tell you all about it. D’you think we’ll manage a lunch hour today? I’d love to take you to Franco’s. It’s been my turn for ages now and we never coincide.’

‘Ah, but we will, we will. I’ve bearded Madame in her lair. We’ve got the two weeks in July we wanted and I’ve made a provisional booking. Two weeks in Greece without le grand Monsieur. How about that?’

‘Wonderful, just wonderful,’ Clare replied, as she took a pad of lined paper from a deep drawer. ‘Meantime,’ she said, laughing, ‘I shall be spending the morning in Bordeaux.’

‘Good, you are home already. I’ve been thinking of you all day,’ said Marie-Claude, the moment Clare picked up the phone. ‘Has your dress arrived?’

‘Yes, it came yesterday. I do hope you like it. It’s the first one I’ve chosen without you to help me.’

‘But, chérie, you are a good pupil. You have outgrown your teacher. Will you tell me the colour, or is it a surprise?’

‘I never thought of surprising you. What a lovely idea. Yes, I shall keep it a dark secret. I’m dying to
see you in evening dress. I’m sure you will look lovely and Gerard will look terribly distinguished.’

Clare heard Marie-Claude laugh. She muttered about Gerard’s cavalier attitude to evening dress.

‘I’m not sure we’ll even get speaking to each other if the American ambassador turns up,’ Clare said suddenly. ‘If he does, Robert will pretend he doesn’t understand a word of English rather than lose face with his mid-west accent and I won’t be able to leave his side all evening.’

‘Don’t worry. I shall take my opera glasses and peer at you from afar,’ she replied, teasing her. ‘But the moment you spy a day off, I insist we have lunch. I’m dying to tell you about my studies. Prepare to nod indulgently while I bore you to death. Now, I must go. I intend to lie in the bath for ages. I hope you are going to do the same.’

‘Yes, I am. I don’t think I’ve ever managed a bath before an evening engagement,’ she said. ‘I wish I wasn’t so horribly nervous,’ she added, honestly.

‘Chérie, I don’t believe it,’ Marie-Claude replied, her voice full of amazement. ‘You have only to give Emile his prize for being good. He will kiss you no doubt. Do you mind that?’

‘Oh no. It’s not that. I think Emile is a dear man. Right from my first week he helped me with all sorts of things. No, it’s the photographs I’m dreading. I look horrible in photographs.’

‘And when were you last photographed, chérie? On the beach at Deauville playing cricket, perhaps?’

‘I don’t remember. I suppose it was a long time
ago.’

‘And probably on someone’s old box Brownie?’

‘Yes,’ she said, laughing. ‘How clever of you. I think you’re right. Jessie’s mother had one and I remember Aunt Sarah taking a picture of Jessie and me. The sun was in my eyes or I blinked. I looked most peculiar anyway.’

‘You really mustn’t worry, Clare. These Press people know what they’re doing. Just smile
gently
if they ask you to. When you present Emile’s gift, look at no one but Emile.’

‘I wouldn’t anyway.’

‘Well, there you are. You see, you know what to do instinctively. I’m sure the evening will be a great success. You will probably captivate the American ambassador. Gerard will be triumphant and I shall glow with pride and reflected glory. Go and have your bath. I shall think of you. Once you begin I’m sure you won’t be nervous at all. Good luck.’

Clare didn’t enjoy her bath. She lay there thinking of all the things that could go wrong: from her knickers falling down, to spilling her wine, tripping over her few words to Emile, or mistranslating some important comment from a foreign visitor.

‘Come on, Clare. What
is
wrong with you?’ she demanded, as she sat naked in front of her dressing table, an array of bottles, brushes and pencils lined up in order of use in front of her.

‘Maybe it’s the dress,’ she said to herself. ‘Perhaps it’s unlucky.’ Auntie Polly used to think certain colours were unlucky. And pearls, of course. ‘Pearls for tears, Clare,’ was what she used to say. Well, that
was no problem. She hadn’t got any pearls. In fact, the only decoration she was wearing tonight was a tiny spray of two yellow rosebuds, a tribute to Emile, a passionate gardener, who intended to devote part of his new-found leisure to growing roses.