Memories of the Storm (25 page)

It was much later, when she'd just begun to
accustom herself to the joy, that she saw a line
scribbled on the back of the sheet.

PS. It has just occurred to me, Hes. Have you
thought of inviting Lucy to see your latter-day
version of the Midsummer Cushion? A very
healing prospect if you think about it?

Hester laid the letter down thoughtfully and took
up the Jiffy bag. The book was familiar to her:
The
Impact of God
written by the Carmelite Father
Iain Matthew. She sat for a while, the book lying
beside her on the table whilst she drank some
coffee, momentarily distracted from her new-found
joy. Blaise had an inner wisdom she'd never
attained and she was fearful now that she might
misinterpret him. She wondered how the book
might help: should she read it, hoping that if she
and Lucy were to meet it might give her some
insight into Lucy's pain? Or should she simply give
the book to Jonah to pass on – and, if she were to
do that, how would Lucy receive it? How would it
assist her to step free from the past? Blaise's
warning about Lucy's inability to accept the truth
filled her with fear and she prayed silently for
guidance.

Presently she opened the book, so as to refresh
her memory, and the opening line struck her
forcibly with its relevance to Lucy's need. 'St John
of the Cross speaks to people who feel unable to
change.'

At once the words filled her with an amazing
confidence. Putting the book back into the bag,
Hester seized a felt pen from the jar of pencils and
biros on the table and wrote across the label in
large black letters: 'THIS IS FOR LUCY'. With a
sigh of relief, as if something vital had already been
accomplished, she put the bag aside and once again
picked up Blaise's letter.

'Do you think we could share a house together as
we did all those years ago?'

'Yes,' she answered him silently, and happy
tears flowed again. 'Oh, yes, Blaise, I think we
could.'

April continued a capricious, teasing month,
offering the benison of unexpectedly warm spells
that gave way to cruel hail storms, and with a heavy
fall of snow on St George's Day that weighted the
crimson flowers of the azalea and laid a dazzling
carpet for the bluebells in the wood. Wrapped in
her warm new shawl, Hester paced the terrace in
the sunshine and withdrew into the house when the
black clouds gathered; and each day she waited for
a message from Lucy.

When the heavy downpours of freezing rain fell
high up on the Chains, the level of the river rose
at an alarming rate. The great tide of icy water
roared and raced, foaming whitely over the
rounded stones, battering broken branches against
the stone piers of the bridge, rising rapidly even as
she watched, first from the terrace, exhilarated as
usual by this dramatic event, and then from the
shelter of the drawing-room as the rain drove down
in chill, soaking spikes and the thundering of the
Barle in flood obliterated any other sound.

One cold evening in early May, when the river
was running slow and quiet in its bed and a thrush
was singing at the end of the garden, the telephone
rang. Hester shifted St Francis' warm weight from
her side and got up from the sofa to answer it.

'Hester,' said Jonah. 'Great news. Mum says she'd
like to come and see you and she says that the last
week in May will be fine. She's arranging for someone
to stay with Dad. I didn't tell her why you
wanted it to be later rather than earlier, I just said
that you were going up to Hexham for a week and
that there were things happening to do with selling
the house. Anyway, it'll give her a bit more time to
adjust.'

'That's wonderful news.' Hester could barely control
the swift uprush of spirits. 'I am so pleased. Will
you tell her so?'

'Of course I will.'

'And you'll let me know the dates once she's fixed
with whoever it is who will stay with your father?
Any time after the twenty-first will be fine. She'll
stay here, of course? For as long as she likes.'

'I've made a note of the date. I'll tell her.'

Clio emerged from the study and Hester said,
'Oh, here's Clio. I expect you'd like a word?' and
held out the phone to her.

Clio took it, only very slightly embarrassed at the
assumption that they would want to speak to each
other, and Hester went back into the drawingroom.
She was too deeply moved by grateful joy to
be able to continue the conversation; all she wished
to do was to sit for a moment and think about Lucy,
returning at last to Bridge House.

'Hi, Jonah,' Clio was saying brightly. 'How are
you?'

'Bored, frustrated, driving myself mad. In other
words, I'm writing. How about you?'

'It's going fairly well. I've got Lizzie's event up to
speed. She's away working for most of July and
August, some TV sitcom thing, and so she wants
everything ready to go before she starts. I've
designed the leaflets and we've decided to target
sixth-form colleges and libraries.' She'd relaxed
now, perching on a chair at the table, and hunched
slightly over the telephone as if creating an
intimate place for them both. 'The Coles are an
ongoing job, which is really great from my point of
view. We're working on the dining-room. So when
are you coming down to see my new place before I
move into it next month?'

'Soon. Is this a formal invitation?'

'Well, I mentioned it to Hester, who said that
she'd be away next week if you'd like to keep me
company for a few days.'

Jonah gave a crack of laughter. 'Good old Hes.
Not quite your stereotypical godmother, is she?
Nothing remotely protective or motherly about
Hes.'

'Hester doesn't do maternal. I remember she said
that to me once. She thought it would be a relief for
us to be on our own for a change. Well? It would be
nice to have some company . . .'

'You've got it. Just let me know the dates. Does
that mean I shan't see Hester, though?'

'I think you've got a thing about my godmother,'
Clio said lightly. 'You could come at either weekend;
before she goes or when she comes back. I
can't take her this time but she's determined to
drive herself. I feel worried but at the same time I
think she needs to have a go. She's so thrilled at the
thought of being with Blaise again that I think it
will give her all the energy she needs.'

'That's what I wanted to talk to her about, you
see. We never got as far as what happened after the
war, with Hes and Blaise and Edward all together,
and it might be important. I'm trying to see the
shape of this play; where to begin, where to end.
Mum seems a bit more relaxed about it now. She's
coming down to Bridge House, by the way, in a
couple of weeks' time.'

'But that's fantastic. Hester must be really
pleased.'

'She sounded it. I am too. I think none of us can
really move forward until Mum's been back to
Bridge House. I know Hester feels the same.'

'And was it Hester's message that made her
change her mind?'

'Yes, it was. It was the thing needed to sort of jolt
her out of her shock. It made her curious, you see.
Hester simply said, "Tell Lucy that I'd love to show
her the Midsummer Cushion once more before I
leave Bridge House." She was horrified to hear that
poor old Hes was having to go and I think that that
was part of her decision too. It would be terrible to
think that she'd left it too late ever to see Bridge
House again.'

'Good for Lucy,' Clio said. 'I'm looking forward
to meeting her . . . for all sorts of reasons.'

He chuckled. 'She wants to meet you too. Don't
know why. Just something I mentioned in passing, I
think.'

'What?' asked Clio immediately. 'What did you
say?'

'Can't remember now,' he said maddeningly. 'So
what are these dates then?'

She told him and waited while he muttered and
checked through a diary and muttered some more
and then told her which days he could manage.

'Can you meet me from the station?'

'I suppose so,' she said with exaggerated patience.
'Are you ever going to be able to drive
again?'

'I have a confession,' he said. 'I might as well
make it at once. I've never passed a test. I have an
antipathy to driving. I am clumsy, get distracted
easily, crash into unsuspecting cyclists, and anyway
I don't need to – at the moment.' A silence. 'Does
that mean it's all off?' he asked anxiously.

'No,' she said, after a moment. 'No, of course not.
I'm just . . . well, surprised, that's all.'

'But not horrified and repulsed?'

She laughed. 'You're an idiot, Jonah. Of course
I'll pick you up. Let me know when you can get
down and I'll tell Hester that you're coming for the
weekend before she goes to Hexham, and staying
on for a few days. We could go to Woods one
evening . . .'

Later, she put her head round the door and
grinned at Hester.

'Great news about Lucy, isn't it?'

'It's wonderful news. I can hardly take it in.'
Hester removed her reading spectacles and looked
at Clio with a kind of happy disbelief. 'I've
imagined it so often, you know; going through it in
my head, and trying to picture exactly how it would
be, but none of the scenarios quite fit satisfactorily.
I shall have to ask Jonah to write the script for us.'

'It's rather scary,' agreed Clio. 'It'll be best for
you and Lucy to do this one alone, I imagine? I
shall be around, of course. In case you need me.'

Hester nodded. 'Quite alone,' she agreed. 'I
think that Lucy and I will have much to say to each
other. But I hope that she'll stay for at least one
night and anyway, you'll want to meet her, won't
you?'

The question sounded innocent enough but Clio
coloured a little.

'Of course I will, after all you've told me about
her. Oh, by the way, Jonah can manage the first
part of next week when you're away in Hexham.'
She spoke quite casually, though unable to repress
a little smile at the thought of it. 'But he'd like to
come earlier, for the weekend, so as to see you
before you go. I've said that's OK.'

'Good.' Hester replaced her reading spectacles
and smiled back at Clio. 'You'll have fun.'

Clio's smile grew wider: she beamed. 'I know,'
she said happily.

* * *

So it was in late May that Lucy came again to Bridge
House. Horrified at the prospect of such a crucial
meeting taking place on a railway platform – a
feeling that Hester had readily understood – she'd
insisted on taking a taxi from the station. Hester
was waiting for her on the terrace when the car
drove in over the bridge and turned again to go
back out. When the sound of the engine had died
away, Lucy passed through the little gate. The two
women stood staring at one another, each seeking
some sign of recognition in the other's face, while
the river murmured in the hot sunshine and down
in the wood the cuckoo called.

This time it was Lucy who looked down, just a
little, at the older woman, but it was Hester who
spoke first.

'No grey rabbit this time?'

Lucy smiled involuntarily and Hester reached out
for her hand, holding it tightly for a brief moment.

'Not this time.' Lucy returned the pressure
readily. 'Though I still have him. He was a great
favourite with Jonah.' She set down her case
and looked about her curiously. 'I've thought and
thought about how this would be,' she said. 'How
much I'd remember and whether I'd think that
everything had shrunk. You know how people say
that, when they go back years later to places they've
known as children? The odd thing is that I don't
really remember any of it at all. Just the atmosphere
and odd flashes of things.' She grimaced
a little. 'You'd think I'd remember this place
particularly, wouldn't you?'

'Not necessarily. You children spent much more
time in the garden and the wood than on the
terrace. If you were inside the drawing-room looking
out on a dark wild night you might have a
different experience, of course.'

Lucy looked at her again, a long, searching look.
'What a mess,' she said bitterly. 'Wasn't it, Hester? I
can't get over the waste. All those years of thinking
that it was all my fault.'

Hester was silent for a few seconds, watching
her compassionately. She gave a tiny sigh. 'I only
hope you can forgive us, otherwise nothing can be
salvaged. You being here is . . . it's a miracle. Thank
you for coming, Lucy.'

Lucy leaned on the wall, staring down into the
water, and when she spoke again, Hester came
close to her so as to hear her voice above the sound
of the river.

'Why didn't you write to me, Hester?'

The older woman felt unexpected tears pricking
and stinging her eyes. 'Probably because you didn't
answer my letter,' she said remorsefully. 'I thought
you might not want to resurrect the past, you see.
Eleanor told me that you'd said you'd settled in
with your aunt and that you'd soon be starting
school . . .'

'
Eleanor
told you?'

'She wrote to tell us that Michael had been
killed and that she was going to America but that
letters and cards would be forwarded to you from
the London flat. We all sent Christmas cards and
letters: me and Nanny and Jack. I remember he was
very particular about me sending his card. And
then we heard from Eleanor just after I'd sent the
package to you.'

'Jack sent me a card?' Her face crumpled, her
lips trembled. 'Oh, how much that would have
meant, back then.'

'You never got them.' It was a statement, not a
question. 'So that explains it. I never thought of
that, you see. I just assumed that you were busy with
a new life, after all, you were only four or five – and
you must take into account that I had no idea
that you'd seen the fight and that Eleanor had
lied to you. Even so,' Hester shook her head, 'it
doesn't excuse the fact that I should have stayed
in touch. Made sure. I was taken up with Edward,
and with Blaise. I didn't think clearly. That was
unforgivable.'

Lucy covered Hester's hand with her own where
it lay clenched on the stone wall. 'I keep going over
it until I think I shall go mad, you see,' she said. 'I
don't want to but I can't seem to help myself. I can't
step free of it. And then Jonah gave me your
message about the Midsummer Cushion and it was
like a kind of trigger. I always feel that it all started
with the Midsummer Cushion and that, if I saw
it again, I might be able to put everything into
perspective. You said that I should see it before you
leave Bridge House – we'll talk about that later,
Hester, if we may – and I wondered if you meant
that I ought to see it on your wall, where I first saw
it.'

'That's not quite the way of it,' answered Hester
carefully. 'I have a different reason although I hope
that the outcome will be the same. Are you ready to
see it now or would you like to see your room or
have some coffee or something?'

Lucy shook her head. 'I'd like to see the Midsummer
Cushion first,' she said. 'I feel that it's
terribly important somehow.'

The two women stared at each other, each
one's heart was beating fast: Lucy's with a fearful
anticipation; Hester's with terror that she might
have misjudged the situation.

Hester swallowed down her fear resolutely and
turned towards the house. 'Come, then,' she said.
'Come and see.'

Lucy went with her into the house, staring round
as they passed through the drawing-room, trying to
fit the shape of it into the memories that had
haunted her for so long, and Hester hesitated,
eyebrows raised, as if suggesting that Lucy might
like to take time to look around her or ask a
question, but Lucy instinctively shook her head – all
that must come later – and followed her out into the
passage. On the hall table a Jiffy bag with the words
'THIS IS FOR LUCY' written across it in black ink
was propped against a jar, and she glanced at it
curiously before going on again – not up the stairs
as she had imagined but through the kitchen and
so into the garden. Hester crossed the lawn, walking
quickly as if to ward off questions, and Lucy
hurried to keep up with her, growing more and
more puzzled. As they approached the gate in the
hawthorn hedge Hester paused, turning to Lucy.