Memories of the Storm (22 page)

Some days later, driving into Dulverton, Clio was
finding it difficult to concentrate. Piers' idea, conveyed
to her by Lizzie, seemed to expand in her
head and crowd out all other thoughts. Once or
twice in the past she'd considered setting up on
her own but she'd never taken it very seriously.
However, listening to Lizzie explaining about the
couple from Norfolk had sparked her imagination
and she'd begun to feel alert and interested, her
thoughts already darting ahead, thinking how such
an undertaking might be achieved. Hester was
quite as positive as Lizzie, both of them convinced
that she could make a go of it.

'And what a great time to start,' Lizzie had said
enthusiastically, 'whilst you're here with Hester.
You could work from here and keep your costs
down until you've got it going a bit.'

It was only after Lizzie had gone back to
Michaelgarth, whilst they were sitting in the bookroom
after supper, that Clio had raised the subject
of Hester's selling Bridge House.

'There's no immediate rush,' Hester assured her
at once. 'Robin has already raised his loan against
his share of the house and Amy can wait a little
longer. Anyway, wherever I go I'm sure there will be
room for you until you're ready to branch out on
your own.'

'I suppose all I'd need is my laptop and a telephone,'
said Clio thoughtfully. 'I'd go to the clients,
they wouldn't come to me, so I wouldn't need an
office as such. But could I make a living out of it?'

'Perhaps the bank could give you some advice
about that?' suggested Hester. 'You said you'd got
some savings so they would tide you over to begin
with, and Lizzie is going to pay you, isn't she?'

'As soon as I've got a business account sorted out.
I have to keep things separate to make the tax man
happy, you see.'

'Well, then. Perhaps this is the moment to do that
and discuss this new idea with someone at the bank
at the same time.'

Clio fiddled about restlessly, getting up to throw
a log on the fire, kneeling down on the rug to
stroke St Francis who slept on regardless.

'You have nothing to lose,' Hester said after a
moment, 'by asking questions. Talk to your bank
and talk to this couple. Why not?'

'Do you think I'd manage? Organizing a whole
house?'

'Do
you
think you'd manage?' Hester smiled at her
encouragingly. 'You've organized events in London
and you're doing a pretty good job for Lizzie, by
the sounds of things. What's the difference?'

Clio shook her head. 'I suppose there isn't any,
not really. It's just the thought of actually going it
alone; it's a lot of responsibility.'

'But you like responsibility.'

'Well, I do actually. I enjoy a challenge. It's just
all the details you don't have to think about when
you're employed. Like what do I charge?'

'I think you simply have to apply your common
sense to that. If you decide to stay in this part of the
country then you must work out how much you'd
need to live on per annum. It would be rather less
down here, for instance, than if you want to live in
London. Divide it by fifty-two and you've got a
rough idea of where to start.'

'I suppose I ought to check out the competition. I
could have a look on the Internet and see if there's
anyone around here.' Suddenly she'd been seized
by excitement. 'It would be rather fun, wouldn't it?
Doing my own thing?'

Hester had nodded. 'Great fun.'

And now, as she drove along Lady Street, under
the churchyard wall and into Fore Street, she was
gripped again by that same sense of excitement. As
she waited for someone to back their car out of a
space outside the butcher's shop she began to
concentrate on her shopping list. Most important
was Hester's birthday present. Clio had already
decided to visit Julia Maxwell's delightful shop,
Eastern Importers, and look at the wonderful
Paisley shawls. Hester's ancient shawl was threadbare,
to say the least, and one of Julia's shawls might
be just the answer. Anyway, Clio enjoyed browsing,
looking at the jewellery and the leather bags, talking
to Julia. She might even have some tips on starting a
business. Clio parked the car and got out. She felt
happy, alive, and, as she crossed the street, it
occurred to her that she hadn't thought about
Peter since early that morning. She checked her
watch: there was nearly an hour before her hair
appointment with Ruth at Bodmins House so there
would be plenty of time for coffee in Woods after
she'd bought Hester's present. She paused in the
sunshine to look at the display of beautiful rugs in
Julia's window and then went inside.

* * *

At the same moment, Hester was writing to Blaise:

So you see that it's come rather out of the blue
and taken Clio by surprise but it seems such a
good idea and she's already begun to explore the
possibilities of earning a living in what is rather
grandly called 'lifestyle management'. Piers is
speaking with the couple's lawyer to see if a
meeting can be arranged and poor Clio is now
in a state of terror mixed with bursts of real
excitement. But that's such a nice state to be in,
isn't it, especially when one is young? Rather
exhausting later in life! I can't say that I feel in
the least like that about leaving Bridge House. I
suppose I could take the option of remaining
here but I can only say that something has
changed and the prospect of staying on doesn't
quite feel the same any longer. That sounds
rather foolish but you might understand. It's as if
Robin has triggered off a different way of my
looking at the future. I suddenly don't feel up
to the responsibility of this big old house without
Robin and Amy as co-owners. This might be
irrational but I can't quite get back to feeling how
I did before he telephoned.

As to Clio: at least being here will give her a
breathing space but she'll have to look for her
own place soon. She's been searching the
Internet for other lifestyle management businesses
and it looks as if being centred around
here might be quite sensible, not too much
competition but a good balance of town and
country – and she loves Dulverton so she might
look for a small cottage to rent there. Of course,
if I were to move into the town then we could go
on sharing for a while. To be truthful, Blaise, it's
a rather tempting idea but also a selfish one from
my point of view. I'm finding Clio's young, lively
company very comforting. However, neither of us
could live with the other indefinitely and I can't
decide whether an early break would be best all
round. When we sell, I
do
hope to make enough
money to be able to give her a little bit of a buffer
to help her with this new project. We shall see.

We've heard that Jonah will be coming down
soon to see Lizzie again so we're hoping that we
might find out a bit more about his unexpected
silence. It's still a puzzle to me that he should
have been quite so non-communicative. I try to
persuade myself that it is simply pressure of work
combined with his own commitments in London
and with his family that have distracted him from
his discoveries about the past, but there was so
much more to it than that. I think you will agree,
Blaise, that I am not someone who is given to
wild flights of fancy, yet I felt that Jonah was
not simply looking up an old family friend.
I described to you at Christmas – because I
couldn't do it justice in a letter – how he reacted
on his arrival here and we agreed that, in some
curious way, Jonah connected with Michael. It
was another wild, elemental night and it was clear
that some vibration from that other emotionally
charged evening touched him. Ever since then he
has been utterly involved in Michael's story – and
in us too. I can completely understand that he
hasn't had
time
to come back to see us; what I
can't understand is his
silence
. Jonah doesn't, in
modern parlance, 'do' silence. He is by nature a
communicator and I know that Lizzie, who is an
old friend of his, is just as puzzled.

By this time you will have guessed that I am
fearful that I have told him something that,
having now been related to Lucy, has struck
some tender point or been misunderstood by
her. I have sometimes been accused of being too
detached, even cold-hearted, but with Jonah this
has not been so. I feel sad, as if I have inadvertently
damaged something very dear to
me, but, more importantly, I fear that some
opportunity might have been lost here, though I
don't know what it is. Anyway, he is coming down
soon and I hope we shall see him or have a
message from him.

Oh goodness, Blaise! What a screed! On a
happier note, St Francis sends greeting to
Jeoffrey. What a delightful person he is, and
when I saw him curled up in the sunshine on a
chair in the chapel I thought of Christopher
Smart's lines 'For there is nothing sweeter than
his peace when at rest'. I hope that the usual
winter convent bug, which has been afflicting you
all, has abated now that the spring is here again.

I know I don't need to ask but I shall anyway –
prayers, please, for guidance at this particular
time.

With my love,
Hester

St Francis came sidling and winding round her
ankles, and Hester put the top on her pen, pushed
back her chair and reached for her shawl.

'Quite right, old friend,' she murmured. 'We
need some exercise. Let's go and pick some catkins.
Does that sound appropriate?'

As they crossed the lawn together and entered
the wood, Hester realized that, in seeking his own
history, Jonah had reminded her of things she
thought she'd forgotten long since. In recreating
the past so vividly for him, and searching her
own memory so ruthlessly, she'd become vulnerable
again. As she passed between the dazzling gold of
the kingcups with their brightly glossed leaves, her
usually undefined melancholy became focused and
she seemed to hear voices in the river's whisper.

'
And what's her history?
'

'
A blank, my lord. She never told her love
. . .'

She remembered Blaise's question at Christmas:
'That was a good time, wasn't it?' and her own, swift
reply: 'The best.'

Well, it was true; there have been many good
times since but that brief time with the three of
them together was the best. Hester wrapped the
shawl more closely around her, as if to ward off loss
and loneliness and the terrors of old age, whilst St
Francis stalked ahead, tail held high, and down in
the woods the yaffle laughed.

As Jonah travelled down to Michaelgarth he was
filled with trepidation. Even though it had been
agreed that he should tell the truth, the prospect of
facing Hester was a daunting one. He guessed that
both Lizzie and Clio now knew part of the story and
he wondered how he would deal with their questions.
Lizzie, he had no doubt, would be quite open
and direct – as she had been with her text messages
– but ready to understand his dilemma. Anyway, he
had little doubt that just at present she was concentrating
so much on the success of her film event
that she wouldn't demand a post mortem: Lizzie
would simply be relieved that he'd turned up. She
would rely on Clio to deal with anything concerning
Hester.

As the train slowed down for Tiverton Parkway,
however, Jonah's anxiety increased. He suspected
that Clio might be more difficult to deal with,
protective of Hester, puzzled by his silence; Clio
would require some kind of explanation – and here
she was now, waiting on the platform, watching him
walk towards her. He could see at once that her
expression was wary and his heart sank, although
part of him was ready to be defensive: he felt rather
as if he had been caught between Hester and his
mother. He had no desire to criticize Hester to her
god-daughter yet he needed to defend his mother's
reaction to Hester's version of their shared past,
should the question arise.

They stood looking at one another: she with her
hands in her jacket pockets, her eyes cool; he
holding his overnight bag, his expression neutral.
However, she said none of the things for which
he'd braced himself: no recriminations, no sarcastic
observations. Instead she simply looked at him
intently, as if reminding herself about him, and
suddenly she smiled.

'Hello, Jonah,' she said. 'Can we go somewhere to
talk?'

His relief was overwhelming. 'Hello, Clio. Why
not? If there's time. I'm not sure what Lizzie's got
planned.'

'There's plenty of time,' she answered, as they
walked out to the car. 'You'll probably think I'm
being pushy and that it's none of my business but I
just hoped that we could get a few things straight
between us before I see Hester.'

'Does that mean that I shan't be seeing her?' he
asked, cautiously.

She looked at him quickly, hopefully. 'Will you
want to? We didn't know, you see, whether you
planned a visit to Bridge House, and Hester didn't
want to press you.'

He heaved a sigh, a great gasp of frustration, and
she watched him anxiously across the roof of the
car as she unlocked the doors and he threw his bag
onto the back seat.

'This isn't simple,' he said almost angrily, climbing
in beside her. 'It isn't just a misunderstanding
or a cooling-off on my part. If you think Hester
won't object I'm very willing to explain the complexities
of all this to you but I don't want to put
you in a difficult position.'

'I think I understand a bit of it.' Clio pulled out of
the car park and they drove away. 'I know it's to do
with your mother staying at Bridge House during
the war. Hester thinks she's told you something
that's upset your mother and she can't think what
it is.'

A rather bitter smile touched Jonah's lips.
'It's rather what she didn't say that's causing the
problems.'

'That's why I hoped we could have a talk. Unless
you'd rather simply explain it all to Hester and
leave me out of it. It's just that she's really upset,
Jonah, and that's why I'm interfering. I hate
muddles.'

His smile this time was a genuine one. 'I can
believe that. And anyway, I think I'd like to talk
it through to someone who isn't tied up in it.'
Suddenly this was true. 'I've thought about it all so
much that I wonder if I'm going crazy. You can give
me an unbiased view.'

'I can try to.'

They drove a little way in silence before Clio
swung the car left over an iron bridge into a
twisting lane and presently pulled into a small
lay-by beside a little stone bridge. Still without
speaking, they got out and stood together, staring
down at the water. The river glittered, shining in
the sunshine, sweeping between miniature cliffs of
red earth; willows leaned from the banks, their
slender branches dipping and trembling in the
clear rush of water. A grey wagtail flitted to and fro,
darting from the bank out onto the rounded river
stones, and making sudden swoops upstream where
a shimmer of midges hung in an ever-shifting cloud
beneath the branches of a great beech.

When Jonah began to speak, his arms resting on
the stone, Clio leaned nearer so as to hear him
more clearly. He told the story very well, as if he'd
gone over it time and again, sorting it out in his
mind so that now it flowed chronologically, building
the whole picture as it grew. He began by
describing Michael's arrival at Bridge House with
Lucy, of Eleanor's growing passion for him and his
more reluctant return of love; he told of Edward's
return from the Far East and of Lucy's fears of him
and Eleanor, and of her love for Hester. All the
while Clio listened, fascinated, her eyes on his face;
though when he spoke about the fight, and Lucy's
departure from Bridge House, she opened her lips
as if she might interrupt – but changed her mind,
waiting until he'd finished.

'So that's what happened.' He looked at her at
last. 'And the terrible thing is that my mother has
lived with this knowledge – that her father killed his
best friend and then ran away. Or that's how it
looks to her. She's seen him as a murderer and a
coward and, until I first met Hester, she's refused to
talk about it. Then, when I go crashing in all these
years later, Hester doesn't even mention it when
she tells me the story, and, to add insult to injury
as far as my mother is concerned, agrees that it
would make a great television play. When I told my
mother in all ignorance that we were thinking
about it she was utterly horrified. That's when she
told me the truth at last: that Michael killed Edward
and was persuaded to run away. She simply can't
understand this detached outlook – and neither can
I, now I know the whole truth. Of course, Hester
has no idea that Mum saw it all. Well, you must be
able to imagine now how impossible it would have
been for me simply to carry on as if nothing had
happened. I simply didn't know what to do for a
while, so I did nothing. As it is, having dragged it
all into the open, Mum agrees that the best thing is
to face it out with Hester.'

He fell silent while Clio continued to watch him
with compassion and a kind of horror.

'But, Jonah,' she said when he'd finished his
recital. 'Jonah, you've got it wrong. Edward didn't
die that night. I don't know why Eleanor should
have told your mother that he was dead. Listen to
me, Jonah. Edward didn't die.'

He stared at her, his brows drawn together. 'What
do you mean?'

'He didn't die.' She put her hand on his arm and
shook him slightly. 'I know he didn't. He and Blaise
and Hester lived together after the war. Hester's
often mentioned that time the three of them were
together at Bridge House. In fact, we were talking
about it at Christmas with Blaise. Edward prepared
Hester for her Oxbridge exam. He
didn't die
,
Jonah.'

His eyes slid away from her urgent gaze, staring
at nothing but as though he could see some other
scene playing itself out in the middle distance. His
face was immobile, grim.

'What happened, then?' He sounded angry, as if
defying her to make sense of the story. 'She saw
him go into the water . . .' He hesitated, thinking it
through, suddenly seeing the weaknesses in Lucy's
account. 'But . . . why should Eleanor tell my
mother such a terrible lie?'

'I don't know. I'd need to think about it. But
that's why Hester didn't make anything of it. Why
should she? She insisted that Michael and Eleanor
should go simply because it was impossible for them
to stay any longer, and they agreed with her. It
would have driven Edward raving mad to see them
together after that. Look, Hester's told me a bit
about all this in the last few weeks, mainly because
she was trying to see what aspect of what she told
you might have upset your mother, and although I
don't know all the ins and outs of it I do know that
Edward didn't die.'

'But Michael knocked him into the river, and
Hester wouldn't let him go for help.'

'There must be some other explanation about
that. You must ask her. But surely this explains
everything else? Obviously your mother must have
been terrified and, having seen the fight, there's no
reason why she shouldn't have believed Eleanor,
but at least it makes sense now. Not why Eleanor
should tell such a terrible lie but it makes sense
about Hester.'

Jonah raised his head. On either bank of the
river the combes rose high and steep, covered with
larch; above the tallest of them, black against the
pale blue sky, a raven flapped his slow, calm way.

Jonah took a breath, allowing his mind to
experiment with this new information: Edward had
not died. He longed to believe it. His heart was
beginning to fill with a tremulous joy. Clio watched
him anxiously, willing him to accept the truth. He
turned to look at her and, quite instinctively, she
opened her arms to him and they embraced.

'Sorry.' He let her go, feeling a fool. 'It's just a bit
overwhelming. I'd convinced myself, you see, and
yet I didn't want to think about Michael like that.
The way Hester talked about him, I'd begun to love
him.'

'I can see that.' She was remembering that first
arrival at Bridge House and Jonah plunging out
into the rain. 'Oh God! And your poor mother.
Living with it all these years.'

'I'd like to speak to Hester,' he said urgently,
catching her arm. 'It's not that I don't believe you,
Clio, but I want her to describe it to me exactly as it
happened and then I can explain it to my mother.
Can you phone her?'

'There's no signal here but we'll just go straight
there. Come on.'

'We need to warn her.' He hung back anxiously.
'It's not fair to arrive unexpectedly.'

'Don't be a twit.' Clio reached into her pocket
for the car keys. 'Hester will be only too pleased to
tell you the truth and get things sorted out. Trust
me. Get in the car, Jonah. We're going to Bridge
House.'