Marrying Off Mother (21 page)

‘Wait a moment,' I protested. ‘She must have read hundreds of articles in magazines. Why didn't she take those as signs?'

Jean carefully eased half an inch of white ash off the end of his cigar.

‘Because,' he said, ‘when you are kneeling in a flowerbed, praying for guidance, and the first thing you see when you finish is a single page from a magazine containing the article wrapped round some newly arrived seedlings, you are apt to take it as a sign, especially if you are Sister Claire.'

‘I see,' I said.

‘Sister Claire,' continued Jean, ‘sees sermons in stones and portents in flowers and trees. Her God is everywhere, constantly giving signs of His wishes, constantly guiding, so one must therefore be constantly on the alert to interpret His wishes. Do you see?'

‘Yes, I think I'm beginning to,' I said thoughtfully.

‘Unless you can understand her deep conviction that she is always in touch with the Almighty, you cannot understand what made her do what she did. Also you must understand her complete innocence. What she is convinced she was instructed to do by God cannot possibly be wrong, and rather than not do it she would cheerfully go to the stake. She is the stuff martyrs are made of. She has saint's blood in her.'

He paused and refilled our glasses.

‘Well, having made up her mind (and once the mind of someone like Sister Claire is made up nothing on earth can shift it), she moved heaven and earth until, eventually, she arrived up at San Sebastian six years ago. She worked part time with the younger children and ran the garden and the tiny farm with great efficiency. And then three things happened simultaneously. First, the convent was told it was overcrowded and would have to send half the children elsewhere. Secondly, Michel lost his job in Monte Carlo and returned to the convent; thirdly, Miss Booth-Wycherly died and left the orphanage — amongst other things — her clothes. Separately, these things do not appear to have anything in common but put them together and if you are Sister Claire you take it as a direct message from heaven.'

‘But I still don't see . . .' I began, when we heard the sound of the doorbell. The maid ushered Sister Claire and Michel out on to the veranda and, in the light of the candles set on the dining table in the corner, the red velvet hat and dress glowed like garnets. Jean introduced me.

‘I'm delighted to meet any friend of Miss Booth-Wycherly,' Sister Claire said, clasping my hand in both of hers, and blinding me with the intenseness of her blue gaze. Her hands I noticed were still rough and calloused from hard work but they were warm and seemed to vibrate with energy as a bird vibrates when you hold it in your cupped hands.

‘You must have been shocked to learn of her death, you poor man,' she went on, ‘but it is nice to know that she was an instrument of God and that she's left so much good behind her, isn't it?'

‘Well,' I said, ‘Jean was only just beginning to explain things to me. Perhaps you could tell me exactly what happened with this . . . er . . .'

‘This miracle?' asked Sister Claire. ‘Of course I will.' She accepted a glass of lemonade, sipped it and then leaned forward eagerly.

‘I hope I'm not a vain person, Mr Durrell,' she began, ‘but ever since I was quite a young woman I have had this inner conviction that God had marked me out for some special task. I am, I regret to say, a very impatient person, it's one of my many faults and I like . . . what is the saying? Yes, I like things done yesterday, not tomorrow. But God has all the time in the world and you cannot hurry Him. Also, if He's to use you He must train you and this takes time. Then, when He is ready and He thinks you are, He gives you the signals. Do you see?'

‘Yes,' I said, gravely.

‘Sometimes they are very obvious signals, but sometimes they are rather obscure, I regret to say, and I fear that some one misses altogether. Monsieur Schultz told you about the magazine article?'

I nodded.

‘Such
a clear sign,' said Sister Claire, beaming at me delightedly. ‘I could almost hear His voice.'

‘May I suggest we move to the table and eat before supper gets cold,' said Melanie. ‘You can finish your story there.'

‘Of course! Of course!' cried Sister Claire, ‘I'm as hungry as an orphanage full of children.'

She gave a ripple of delicious musical laughter and her eyes shone with humour. It was easy to see why Michel was in love with her. As we went to the table I walked by his side.

‘Do you speak English?' I asked.

He gave me a quick smile.

‘No . . . little only. Claire she teach me. She is very good for teaching,' he said proudly.

‘Yes, I'm sure,' I replied.

We sat down at the table and Melanie had placed me opposite Sister Claire.

‘Do please go on with your story,' said Melanie. ‘I'm sure Mr Durrell won't eat a thing until he's heard it.'

‘Yes, she's quite right, Sister,' I agreed.

‘You must not call me Sister,' she said, and a shadow seemed to pass over her face momentarily. ‘I am no longer a nun, you know.'

‘I'm sorry,' I apologized. ‘May I call you Miss Claire then?'

‘Of course,' she said, smiling delightedly. ‘I'd like that.'

She dipped her spoon into the succulent melon and sighed.

‘How the children would enjoy this. I must send them some.'

‘Do you still keep in er. . . er. . . touch with the orphanage?' I asked, hoping to steer her back to her story.

‘Keep in touch? She almost
keeps
it!' said Jean, with an explosive chuckle. Sister Claire blushed.

‘I only help,' she said firmly. ‘But it is only accomplished because it is God's wish that I should do so.'

There was a little silence in which I tried to imagine the Almighty instructing a nun to gamble.

‘So you left Wolverhampton and came to San Sebastian,' I said at last.

She nodded.

‘Yes, six years ago. As I'd had some experience in the gardens they put me in charge of their little farm. It was difficult at first as I knew nothing about cows or pigs, not even about chickens really, but I soon learnt. In my spare time I used to take the children for walks, or organize games for them — that was the part I liked best really. The children were so sweet you have no idea, then I used to grow all sorts of special things for them, like sweet corn and strawberries, which they simply loved. I was very happy, but you know even so I still felt I was not fulfilling whatever task God had ordained for me.'

She finished her melon and sat back, staring at her plate thoughtfully. Then she looked up and her blue eyes shone like sunlit sapphires.

‘Then one day God began to unfold His whole plan for me. I remember I had risen early, there were several tasks I wanted to do before Mass. Well, I accomplished these so well that I had some time to spare, so after breakfast I decided to weed the flowerbed outside Sister Mary's windows. I had laid out a small flowerbed there because Sister Mary did so enjoy flowers, but I'd been so busy with the farm that I'm afraid I had neglected it. Dandelions are excellent in the salad but they are not excellent in herbaceous borders. It was a warm day I remember and the windows of Sister Mary's office were open, so I could hear every word that was said inside. I do assure you that I was not eavesdropping. In fact, when I first heard the voices, I was about to make my presence known and to leave but it was the first sentence that made my blood run cold, and I assure you I just sat there as though I was in a trance. I know now of course that God intended me to hear, but I did not realize it then. It was the Mayor of San Sebastian who was talking to Sister Mary and what he said was, “So, Sister, I'm afraid if you cannot build a new wing on the orphanage you will have to send some of the children away.”

‘You may imagine my horror at hearing this. To part with some of the children, most of whom had been with us for several years, and who looked upon the orphanage as home and us as their parents, was unthinkable. Sister Mary, of course, said it was impossible to build a new wing as we had only just enough money to keep going. The Mayor, who was a good, kind man, said he fully realized this and he knew the children weren't suffering, even if they did have to sleep six to a room. But the council had decreed that it was unhygienic and unsuitable and this was their decision. Then he left, telling Sister Mary that she had three weeks to give him a reply before the next council meeting. I can't tell you the black despair that seized me. I knew that Sister Mary could do nothing and that we would have to lose some of our children. I am afraid I was weak enough to give way to despair and I cried. When I had recovered myself, I realized God would not let this happen, and so I prayed to Him for guidance. It was then that the first miracle occurred.'

The maid placed a bowl of crimson wild strawberries in front of Sister Claire and flanked it with a jug of cream.

‘Oh, fraises du bois,' cried Sister Claire delightedly, ‘I used to take the children out into the woods at San Sebastian and we used to collect them and take them back to the orphanage. I fear they used to eat more than they took back, but they did enjoy it.'

‘What was the first miracle?' I asked, determined that Sister Claire should not be side-tracked.

‘Oh, yes, well that of course was Michel losing his job. Michel was one of our children, but long before my time. Sister Mary had got him a job in a bakery in Monte Carlo, but the old man, the baker, fell sick and had to close down. So Michel came back to the orphanage and he arrived the very day that Sister Mary had the bad news. She called me into her office and I thought she was going to tell me about the Mayor's visit. I was going to confess that I had heard it all. But she didn't say a word about it and I realized that she was not going to burden the rest of us with this worry, but she was going to try and solve the problem herself. No, what she wanted to see me about was Michel. She said that while she was trying to find him another job she thought he could work with me on the farm, for she knew there were several things that needed doing that were beyond my strength. I was delighted, for it meant that I could get the cowshed roof repaired and . . . oh well . . . a host of other things . . . and Michel was so strong and good with his hands. So he came to work with me and we managed to get so much done together. Well, one day I told him I had always felt that God had work for me to do and that he would give me a sign. To anyone else I expect I would have sounded presumptuous but Michel understood completely. Indeed, he was so sympathetic that I felt impelled to tell him about the awful thing that had happened to the orphanage because it was preying on my mind. He was as shocked and horrified as I was, but we talked about it and neither of us could see any way of solving the problem.

‘Then the second miracle happened. Sister Mary called me to her office and told me that poor Miss Booth-Wycherly had died and left all her clothes and furniture to us. She asked me to take Michel down to Monte Carlo and pack up Miss Booth-Wycherly's clothes and arrange to have them brought up to the orphanage and then to have the furniture sold. Now, I had never been to Monte Carlo before, but of course Michel had and knew his way about. We took the bus down and really I can remember it being quite a shock, quite bewildering you know. It was so long since I had been in a city, it took my breath away. I felt stunned by all the noise and activity. The whole time I was there I was in a sort of daze.'

Sister Claire paused and took a sip of lemonade.

‘I'm afraid I'm talking an awful lot,' she said apologetically. ‘I do hope I'm not boring you.'

A chorus of voices assured her that she was not boring us.

‘Well,' she went on, ‘when we got to Miss Booth-Wycherly's home I must admit I was a little surprised and disappointed, for Michel had been so sure that we would find something of value that would help save the orphanage. I could see that the furniture was so worm-eaten that it would not fetch a good price, and the clothes, though beautifully kept, I felt were too old-fashioned to sell. But there were piles and piles of them. Such beautiful materials. I'd never seen so many clothes for one person.'

‘I know,' I said. ‘She once gave me a fashion show of her clothes and it lasted three hours. It ended with the gown she had worn for the dance that King Edward VII had attended, a blue and white silk gown and a blue and gold velvet cloak. It was a startlingly beautiful get-up and I thought she must have looked ravishing in it when she was young. No wonder Edward pinched her bottom.'

‘Gerry!' said Melanie, but Sister Claire only chuckled.

‘I'm glad you saw the cloak and remember it,' she said. ‘It was that cloak that really started the whole thing.'

‘How?' I said, astonished, remembering Miss Booth-Wycherly pirouetting in front of me, making the heavy blue velvet cloak lined with gold brocade shimmer and curl in blue waves around her.

‘Well, naturally, we had to unpack all the clothes and examine them,' she went on. They were all beautifully kept in tissue paper and camphor, but even so I felt we had to make sure they were all right. It was quite a job, I can tell you, unpacking and then repacking all those clothes, and at the same time, it was really rather exciting, like unpacking a rainbow. Then at the very bottom of one of the trunks we found a very large cardboard box, and inside it were the dress and cloak you described. Now, the box was a big one and filled the whole of the bottom of the trunk. Michel was doing the unpacking and took the lid off the box and lifted out the gown. Do you remember how it was embroidered around the neck and sleeves with small white beads like pearls? Michel held up the dress and said how he wished they were real pearls, so that we could sell them and the orphanage would never have to worry again. I said that I felt sure that if God wished us to have the money for the orphanage He would show us the way, and as I was saying it, Michel pulled the cloak out of the box. Remember the blue and gold cloak, so beautiful, like summer skies and buttercups? A corner of it caught on the edge of the box and lifted it up, and underneath where it must have slipped ages and ages ago was a small bag. It was a tiny thing made out of the same materials as the cloak and with a golden clasp and a short golden chain handle. My first thought was of Lina — she was a young girl at the orphanage and she loved pretty things — for I felt that this bag would be a wonderful gift for her, and then of course I realized that the other children would be jealous. You know they can't help it sometimes, poor little things. Anyway, I picked up the bag and at once I noticed something curious about it.'