The Christmas Angel (17 page)

She brings out a little folding canvas chair, sets it beside the lavender for Dossie, and goes back inside to make the
tea
. After a few minutes she reappears with a tray, which she puts on the grass, and then sits down again on the caravan step.

‘I love it here,’ Dossie says dreamily, eyes closed in the sunshine. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, that the grounds have exactly the same atmosphere that you have in the chapel. It’s like there’s some kind of spell over the whole place. You’re not frightened, sleeping out here on your own?’

Janna shakes her head. ‘Sometimes I even leave the door open when ’tis hot at night. The top half, anyway. I’ve felt more frightened in a street full of people than I’ve ever felt here on my own. It’ll be difficult—’ She stops, biting her lip, reaching for her mug.

‘What?’ asks Dossie idly, eyes still closed. ‘What’ll be difficult?’

‘Nothing. Just thinking about managing when the oblates go home. Some of the women come up from the village to help when they can, though, so it’s fine really. So what about you? You look fantastic.’

Dossie opens her eyes. ‘Do I?’ she asks, delighted. ‘Really? I feel rather good at the moment.’

‘So what’s it all about then? Got a new fella?’ teases Janna, and is taken aback when Dossie turns her head to look at her and says, ‘Actually, I have.’

She laughs at Janna’s expression. ‘Crazy, isn’t it? But, listen. Don’t say anything, will you? Nobody knows yet. It’s just I’m not ready yet to talk about it. Pa will start questioning me – you know what he’s like – and Mo will fuss. And Clem …’ Her voice trails away. ‘It’s always a bit tricky explaining to your son that you’re … Oh, well.’

‘I can see that. But Clem would be pleased if you’re happy, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yes, I’m sure he would, but the truth is I haven’t got a very good track record for picking men. That’s why I’m not telling anyone, even my old friends. They always want to remind me about the last time. It’s never quite worked out, you see, and I always feel such a prat afterwards. This time, though …’

She sips her tea and Janna casts about for something to say that will be encouraging without seeming nosy.

‘He’s nice, is he?’ she asks lightly. ‘Does he live locally?’

Dossie shakes her head. ‘He’s rather peripatetic. He’s got a portfolio of properties including some holiday cottages, mostly on the south coast. He lives in the one he’s doing up at the time and then buys another and moves on. He’s never long in one place.’

‘Sounds good,’ Janna says enviously. ‘Does he need a mate?’

Dossie laughs. ‘I’m hoping so.’

Janna grins. ‘I didn’t mean like that. What was that word you said? Perry-something? It means moving about, does it? Sounds better than being a traveller. I’ll remember that one.’

‘Peripatetic. Really, it means living on the edge. He seems very happy, anyway.’

‘And would you like that?’ asks Janna curiously. ‘Moving about and never having a real place of your own?’

Dossie frowns. She puts her mug down on the grass and selects a butterfly cake, peeling off its paper cup. ‘Sometimes the thought of it seems like heaven. No responsibilities. Now here, now there. Seeing each place come together must be very satisfying. And then again …’ she shrugs. ‘I’ve lived at The Court for nearly all of my life, and I’d miss it dreadfully. I can’t really imagine living anywhere else. I suppose a change would be exciting, though I’ve no idea how on earth
I
’d tell Mo and Pa. And how would they manage? I’d feel so selfish.’

‘Maybe,’ Janna suggests, ‘if you get together, this man might decide to settle down somewhere near to them. He could still do places up, couldn’t he? He doesn’t
have
to live in them?’

‘His name’s Rupert. I’ve thought about that too. I just wish I knew how he really feels.’

‘About you, d’you mean?’

‘Mmm. I mean, we get on really well, and he seems keen. Phones up and texts, suggests pub lunches, and he’s shown me the place he’s working on and another one he hopes to buy, but we seem to be a bit stuck, if you know what I mean. He’s really easy to be with, and great fun, and he’s affectionate and … well, he says nice things, but we’re not moving on very quickly.’

Janna takes a cake too. ‘It could be that he’s had a bit of a bad time and he’s being cautious. Is he divorced?’

‘His wife died not that long ago. He doesn’t talk about it, just goes a bit grim and silent. Someone else told me.’

‘Well, then. That could be it, couldn’t it? He might just be feeling guilty about falling for you. Sort of callous when she’s died, poor thing. I can understand that.’

Dossie brightens. ‘I’d wondered about that too.’

‘Perhaps he just needs time to sort of fix it with his conscience.’ Janna pauses, feeling anxious in the role of confidante. After all, what does she know? ‘So Mo and Pa haven’t met him?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Dossie speaks vehemently. ‘It’s all so difficult because of living with them. I always feel like a kid taking home a boyfriend. Obviously they’ll have to meet him sooner or later but just for now I’m trying to be low key
about
it, and Rupert doesn’t ask. He knows the situation and I think he’d be as embarrassed about it as I am. I’m hoping that it will happen sort of naturally, somehow. You won’t say anything, will you?’

‘’Course I won’t. I promise. I’m just glad you’re happy. The rest’ll sort it itself out.’

‘I know.’ Dossie finishes her cake. ‘So how about you? No gorgeous men coming on retreat?’

‘Actually, it does happen sometimes. Generally, though, they’re married priests, although there have been one or two others. Widowers, generally.’

Dossie raises an eyebrow. ‘Bit old for you, I should have thought.’ She hesitates. ‘Pity you can’t fall in love with Clem, that’s what I think.’

Janna chuckles. ‘I couldn’t agree more. I love him but just not like that. He’s the same about me.’

‘Funny, isn’t it, this old chemistry business? You simply can’t manufacture it, can you?’

Janna shakes her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love. I don’t just mean the sex thing. That’s easy. But the real passion; I’ve never known that one. Is that what you’re feeling now?’

Dossie blushes and Janna laughs. ‘No need to answer. I can’t wait to meet him.’

‘You may have to,’ retorts Dossie. ‘I’m not going to introduce him to a gorgeous young creature like you until I’ve got him well and truly hooked.’

Later, walking down to the beach, Janna wonders what it must be like to be Dossie: to be in love but unable to talk about it. She can imagine how hard it would be for Dossie to tell Mo and Pa that she would be leaving them, and to
explain
such emotions to Clem. It is so sad, though, that she has to hide her happiness instead of sharing it. It seems that everyone has secrets just at the moment. As she begins to climb the cliff path, Janna wishes that she could share her own secret with Dossie; but the fate of Chi-Meur isn’t just her secret. Clem and Jakey are involved, and Dossie would be anxious about them.

The lark’s song, bubbling up and up and followed by the swift descent into silence, distracts her. Here, on the sheltered path, plump pink cushions of thrift flower; above them, on the rough granite walls, delicate white rockroses clamber amongst clumps of red valerian. She crouches down, gathering her red cotton skirt around her knees, so as to examine a nest of scurrying ants who work busily in and around the base of the wall by the root of a mallow. How organized they are; how committed: fetching and carrying and guarding their home. She teases them for a while with a long grass stalk, smiling to herself but impressed, too, as they rear up and wave their pincer-like forelegs fearlessly at this intruder.

Out on the cliff the strong wind seizes her, battering her; still cold despite the sun’s warmth. As she draws nearer to the cliff’s edge she can hear an unusual sound: a high-pitched noise like the crying of a thousand babies. Curious, she looks out to sea where a white sail thrashes on the turquoise-green and inky-purple water, and tall, white-topped waves race in to smash themselves in flying spray against the steep, glittering-grey walls of the cliffs.

The crying is coming from somewhere below her and, looking down, she sees a strange sight: hundreds of seagull fledgelings are crammed in rows in the rocks’ crevices, all screaming for food. The parent birds dive and plunge
below
the rocks, landing and taking off again in a frenzy of providing. Suddenly the gulls are all around her in a whirling white storm of beating wings, and Janna steps back, instinctively raising her arms to ward them off. She moves away from the cliff’s edge, half frightened, half exhilarated by the encounter, struggling against the force of the wind and turning on to the path again. It will be better down on the beach. Tucked into the shelter of the rocks, she can sit in the sunshine and sleep.

‘Surely,’ Sister Ruth is saying, ‘surely it would be more sensible for us to go to the Sisters in Hereford rather than open Chi-Meur to strangers. To move out of our own quarters into the Coach House would be an enormous upheaval. How would we manage?’ She looks at Sister Nichola, who seems to be listening intently to something that nobody else can hear. ‘How would she cope? She’s been very restless again lately, disappearing on her own, and I’m sure it’s because of all this worry.’

Ruth feels the situation is slipping beyond her own control. She knows that Sister Emily will welcome it – she’s always been a radical – and that Magda will dither anxiously, trying to make certain everyone is happy. Can’t they see, she asks herself crossly, the unsuitability of cramming themselves into the Coach House?

Father Pascal waits for Mother Magda to speak but when she remains silent, he says: ‘Any change is going to be an upheaval. Surely, if it could be arranged, it would be less of an upheaval to move across to the Coach House than to go to a completely strange place. I know that you communicate regularly with the Sisters in Hereford but, even so, it would be a very big change.’

‘I think,’ says Sister Emily, eyes shining, ‘that it is a
wonderful
idea. To stay here and to see Chi-Meur still used for the spiritual comfort and guidance of many,
many
people. Even to have a small part in it. Oh, what a gift it would be.’

She opens her cupped hands, as if already receiving the gift, and Father Pascal tries to suppress the uprush of affection and joy that she always invokes in him.

‘But,’ says Sister Ruth rather desperately, ‘surely this would all take time? It seems rather a risk. And if it doesn’t work? What then? We might still have to move, and think what a toll that would take on Sister Nichola.’

‘I think, if we were able to ask Sister Nichola, she would want to stay here if it were at all possible,’ says Sister Emily. ‘She was born and brought up here, after all. Her relatives visit her regularly. Think how much she would miss them.’ She raises her chin, in the imperious way she has, and beams upon her old adversary.

Sister Ruth stares back. She would like to smack Sister Emily very hard. This is not a new sensation and she wills herself to sit still, reluctantly acknowledging that it is an important point. The fact that she has been trying to ignore this aspect of the move to Hereford simply makes her feel guilty about Nichola and even more resentful towards Emily.

Father Pascal watches them, aware of Sister Ruth’s muddled emotions; still he waits for Mother Magda to speak. He knows that she is very taken by the idea of Chi-Meur becoming a retreat house, though she is anxious – Mother Magda is always anxious – about how it is to be done.

‘Try not to worry about the nuts and bolts of it,’ he said, when they first talked about it. ‘Just try to think about it as a whole, and pray about it, and then we can speak to Emily and Ruth and Nichola.’

‘It sounds a wonderful solution,’ she said cautiously. ‘We could remain a community but still have a part in this greater movement.’

‘Exactly!’ He was barely able to contain his excitement. ‘You could live in the Coach House and keep the orchard for your own use. You’d still be quite private and self-contained. Naturally there would have to be some small changes to the Coach House to make it easier for Nichola – perhaps a stair-lift – but I’m sure it could be sorted out. And Chi-Meur could continue its tradition with people coming on retreat and on courses, and you could still be part of that but not responsible for it.’

Now, as he waits, she gathers herself to speak, her thin, lined face intent with the need to say the right words: to convince, to encourage. Suddenly he remembers the young Magda who looked after the small herd of dairy cows in the days when the convent was much more self-sufficient. How she’d loved those quiet, gentle creatures; she’d hurry from the milking parlour, coming in late to the early Office with wisps of straw on her habit, boots kicked off at the chapel door, her face rosy and peaceful. How sad she’d been when keeping the farm had no longer been an option.

‘I believe that this is something we must think about most carefully,’ she says now. Her fingers nervously pleat and repleat the skirt of her habit. ‘It could be a very great opportunity to see our community growing rather than shrinking. We’ve been unsuccessful in finding any other group to join us and some of us are unwilling to leave Chi-Meur and allow it to become an hotel. Who knows? Out of the retreat house we might find vocations being discovered and novices wanting to join us …’

‘In the Coach House?’ Sister Ruth speaks sneeringly, and Mother Magda is silenced.

‘Yes, if necessary.’ Father Pascal is firm. ‘All things are possible with God. And this kind of movement is much more likely to attract young women than the older, more retired ways would. You must be prepared for change.’

Sister Emily takes a deep, happy breath. ‘And Clem and Jakey and Janna could stay with us.’

‘If they wish to, and I feel certain that Clem will.’ Father Pascal hesitates, choosing his words carefully. ‘You all know that Clem was selected for training and hoped to go on to ordination. It was only the tragic death of his wife that made him postpone it so as to bring up Jakey. Perhaps, now, he could start his training again. In my opinion he would make an excellent priest and warden. Of course, I would still be here, and so would you. It is you who would be laying the foundation stones.’