The Promise (8 page)

‘So that you could go poking and prying into places you shouldn’t?’ A familiar tone of aggrieved anger was mounting in her voice. ‘That woman ruined our lives. Anyway, it was all a long time ago. Your father certainly wouldn’t want you resurrecting the past and asking a lot
of damn-fool questions. I want you out of there, Chrissie.
Now
!
’

‘Why wouldn’t he? Dad was just as affected by their attitude as you were. How did you meet him anyway? You’ve never told me.’

There was a small sigh. ‘He just arrived at the Hall one day, to see Georgia, I think.’

‘When was this?’

‘The summer of 1926.’ Again a slight in-drawing of breath, as if it pained her to speak of him.

‘You mean he just turned up, out of the blue?’

‘I suppose so. Oh, Chrissie, does it matter?’ The irritation was growing again.

‘I’m sorry if it hurts you to remember that time, Mum, but I need to know, to understand. I don’t want to shut him out completely. He was my father, after all. Why did he come?’

‘I really have no idea. It never occurred to me to ask. He arrived in Windermere, perhaps to do some walking, I don’t know. I was young and fell for him right away. It was love at first sight. We married the following year when I turned twenty-one in April.’

‘And I was born in the May. Oh, Mum.’ Chrissie’s heart went out to her, knowing Aaran must have been the love of her life. She’d never remarried but stayed true to his memory, despite their alleged difficulties, which sadly they’d never resolved, and he’d been killed early in the war. ‘But why did your mother not approve? Why would she accuse him of being unworthy of you? What was so objectionable about him? What did he
do
that so offended
the family? Don’t I have the right to clear my own father’s name as an honourable man? OK, I know things didn’t work out for you, but he wasn’t two-timing you then, was he?’

Vanessa almost laughed. ‘No, of course he wasn’t. Oh, how can you possibly understand? You weren’t
there
. And you’re a
child
.’

‘No, Mum, I’m not a child any longer. I really have no wish to hurt or upset you, but I would like some answers, some cooperation on your part to heal this breach. Don’t you think that would be a good thing? OK, Georgia might be bossy and nosy, and interfering, but whatever she did to you all those years ago, your mother is old now. What if she were to die and you’d never made up? You’d be devastated, heartbroken. I know I would be if that happened to you and me.’

At that point Vanessa had put down the phone, leaving only the dialling tone purring in her ears.

Now Chrissie sighed with exasperation, chewing on her lower lip as she watched one of the steamers on the distant lake, packed with day trippers, make its way back to the pier. Was this obstinacy born out of a sense of guilt? Vanessa was certainly very good at avoiding unpleasantness. She liked
nice
things,
nice
clothes,
nice
people. Everything neat as a new pin, and she was a great hoarder, never threw anything away, just as if every little thing she possessed was precious to her. So why not her own family? It was a puzzle. And despite her problems now, she’d always been a loving mother to her, very caring and attentive, almost too fussy and possessive in a way,
constantly reaffirming her love and needing reassurance it was returned.

It was as if a light had switched on in Chrissie’s head. Maybe that was it! It wasn’t her family’s disapproval that had hurt her, it was their lack of affection. Vanessa hadn’t kept in touch with them because she believed they no longer loved her, and she couldn’t bear their rejection. If that was the case, then it was even more sad, yet knowing her mother as she did, Chrissie thought it made perfect sense.

But did that give her the right to prevent her own daughter from being allowed the opportunity to at least meet these family members, and make her own choices about whether she wanted them to be a part of her life? In truth, Vanessa could no more justify imposing her own views and standards than Georgia could. Surely each generation had to step back and allow the next to make its own mistakes?

Chrissie shook her head in despair. What a can of worms she’d opened.

And what had brought Aaran Kemp to Rosegill Hall in the first place? Had he come to the town on holiday and spotted her beautiful mother walking by the lake? Perhaps he’d followed her home, or asked where she lived. What other reason could there be for his suddenly turning up at the door quite out of the blue?

How Chrissie wished her father were still alive today, not simply to answer these puzzling questions, but because she had loved him so much. She’d adored him. The worst of it was, as a child she’d thought that he adored her
mother every bit as much as Vanessa loved him. What little memory she had of those early years were happy ones, of much kissing and cuddling, hardly able to keep their hands off each other, in fact. And then everything had changed. Rows and sulks suddenly became common, father sleeping in the spare room, and long heavy silences that had gone on for days. What could have caused things to go so terribly wrong between them?

But she wasn’t going to find any answers today, that was certain, and Chrissie was feeling decidedly hungry. Dusting grass from her skirt, she got up and began to retrace her steps down the stony path through the cool shade of the woods. Since it obviously caused her mother so much distress, perhaps she should let things lie and ask no more questions, at least for the present. She should simply enjoy her holiday, plan her own future, and try to think of a different approach.

Chrissie met Ben every day after that. He would take her out on the lake, stopping off at various quiet bays where he’d help her to collect flowers and leaves, wild grasses, seeds, old acorn shells and whatever they could find, always careful never to take a rare plant. ‘Even the most common buttercups and wild geraniums can make a stunning design for greetings cards.’

‘You must be very talented. I never saw myself as an artist’s assistant, but I can see the appeal. It’s like treasure hunting, isn’t it?’

‘I love it because you never know what you might find, particularly in this quiet backwater where few people come to disturb it.’

‘And you were the finest treasure ever to be washed up on Lake Windermere’s shores.’

‘You won’t get around me with flattery,’ she teased,
attempting to sound fierce. ‘I’m immune to masculine charm.’

He looked at her with a knowing smile in his eyes and Chrissie was forced to turn away, in case he should see how his words did indeed affect her.

Lying on the grass, their eyes closed, not speaking, not touching, just soaking up the sun, Chrissie was acutely aware of his nearness. It took all of her self-control not to roll over and rest her head in the crook of his shoulder. How warm that would be, how solid and comforting. Exciting even. She imagined him drawing her close, lowering his lips to hers … She quickly blocked the thought from her mind. ‘Isn’t there something more important you should be doing? Like working?’ she asked, abruptly sitting up, determined to get a hold of herself.

‘It’s August, I’m entitled to a holiday too, even if it is in my own backyard.’

‘Quite right.’

‘Why, don’t you like having me around?’

‘No fishing for compliments allowed,’ she said, and he laughed.

Ben never made any attempt to kiss her, which was something of a disappointment to Chrissie, despite her very firm resolution to avoid all emotional entanglements. One little kiss wouldn’t have created a problem, would it? But then she’d look at him and think that perhaps it was wiser not to risk it. One kiss could lead to another, and another, and then where would they be? Even if she didn’t have Peter waiting hopefully in the wings, she would be leaving Windermere soon, wouldn’t she? Unless …

In the late afternoon when the sun had warmed the lake a little, they might swim in the glass-calm waters, picnic on delicious pasties made by Mrs Gorran. In the evenings they’d search out small fish restaurants in town, sip wine and talk about Chrissie’s dream of owning her own small business.

‘Will you do it, do you think?’ he asked her one evening, as they sat frying sausages on a driftwood fire in the soft warmth of a summer’s evening.

Chrissie sighed. ‘I’m not sure I can,’ she admitted. ‘It’s such a risk, and a huge commitment. Am I even capable of running a business on my own? Of dealing with things like suppliers and profit and loss accounts?’

He scoffed at that. ‘Of course you’re capable. You’re an intelligent, wonderful woman, why would you not be capable?
I
believe you can do it.’

She looked at him, astounded. ‘Do you?’

‘Absolutely.’

Chrissie couldn’t remember anyone having believed in her before, certainly not her mother who was far too
self-obsessed,
as was Peter in a different way. She half smiled to herself, thinking how these two were so alike in many ways: selfish, demanding, and yet vulnerable. She turned the smile into one for Ben alone. ‘But you don’t even know me terribly well.’

He gently touched her cheek with one finger, sending a tiny thrill flowing through her veins. ‘I know you enough to appreciate how you weigh everything up carefully before you act, that you can feel vulnerable
and a bit lost at times, as many of us did following the war. I certainly felt that way when I first came out of the navy, floundering like a stranded fish. But I’ve found my métier here with my carpentry, and … well … I have other compensations in my life too. Friends. Family. I’m grateful for that even if things haven’t quite worked out as I’d hoped. It’s important for you to keep faith too, Chrissie, and to be true to yourself. I have every faith in you.’

‘Do you?’ She was gazing up at him entranced.

‘I do.’ He leant closer, so close she could feel the warm draught of his breath on her cheek. ‘Be brave. Nothing ventured and all that. But you’d best watch what you’re doing right now or you’ll burn that sausage.’

She started, almost dropping it into the flames, and they both laughed.

But she couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t kissed her.

Almost three weeks had slipped by in this delightful fashion, and Chrissie had already asked the redoubtable Mrs Gorran if she might extend her holiday by another week. Even so, time was fast running out. She couldn’t stay indefinitely … or could she?

Ben was right. It was time to have faith in herself, to summon up the courage to make some firm decisions about her life. She should banish this lack of confidence that was holding her back – or was it guilt over Peter? She hadn’t meant to string him along, or give him the wrong idea, but she really should settle that matter once and for
all. She’d sent him a few postcards, even a brief chatty letter, but hadn’t rung him in weeks. It was long past time she resolved that problem, at least.

The very next day, taking her courage in both hands, Chrissie telephoned him. His choice of greeting was not encouraging. ‘Ah, at last. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.’ He sounded rather like a small child whining about having been abandoned. ‘I’m tired of leaving messages with your mother that you choose to ignore.’

‘Hello, Peter, I’m fine, thank you, I hope you are well too.’

‘How can I be
well
when my fiancée is gallivanting off God knows where with God knows who? When are you going to stop this nonsense and come home?’

Chrissie took a slow breath, determined to remain calm. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she made it clear that she wasn’t his fiancée and never would be, the information failed to penetrate his obstinate brain. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I felt I needed some time alone, to think and relax.’

‘No doubt too busy enjoying yourself to even care about me!’

Ignoring that snide remark she brightly enquired, ‘Have you spoken to Mum recently?’

‘Vanessa? No … well … yes, but only briefly. Why?’ He sounded decidedly touchy on the subject, no doubt because the two of them sat pulling her character to shreds like a pair of gossiping fishwives. Chrissie doubted either
of them would have imagined she had it in her to rebel and stay away for so long.

‘I just wondered how she was.’

‘She’s sick, that’s how she is, needing the care of her daughter.’

‘She is not sick, except in her reliance on the bottle, and on sleeping pills and goodness knows what else from the doctor, which do her no good at all.’ Even as she protested, a rush of guilt flooded Chrissie’s cheeks to a bright pink. Peter always did have the knack of finding her more sensitive spots. ‘I’ve called her a couple of times, but I confess the weeks seem to have rushed by in a flash.’

‘You should come home
now
, at once! Your mother needs you.
I
need you. What have I done to deserve such callous disregard? You’re my fiancée, for God’s sake.’

Chrissie closed her eyes for a moment in despair. ‘Peter, I would much prefer to tell you this face-to-face, but the truth of the matter is that I am not, and never will be, your fiancée. I cannot marry you because I do not love you.’

There was a small silence while he digested this, followed by a heavy sigh. ‘Now dearest, you know that isn’t true. We’ve been together as a couple for over a year and are perfectly happy. We have both suffered the travails of war, so we’re not silly young things needing all that romantic nonsense. You wouldn’t even allow me to buy you flowers and chocolates, if you remember, as you said it wasn’t necessary. But you know that I love you, Chrissie dear, and promise to look after you. I really don’t see the problem.’

‘You aren’t listening to me, Peter.’ When did he ever? ‘I can’t ever be your wife. At first I was still grieving over Tom, and glad of your company, a friend to talk to who understood. I like to think we helped each other recover from the terrible effects of war, but I can’t take this “friendship” any further. It wouldn’t work. We just wouldn’t suit each other. We want different things out of life. It’s time for you to forget about me, Peter, and move on.’

‘Damnation, woman, don’t you dare tell me to
move on
!’

The explosion of anger startled Chrissie, causing her to jerk the telephone receiver away from her ear. She’d grown used to Peter’s black moods over the last fifteen months or so, his tendency to fall into a depression. She sympathised deeply, as he’d seen many of his comrades killed during the war, including his best friend. Chrissie had done her best to calm and placate him, even suggested he seek advice from doctors or old comrades, but had failed to persuade him to talk to anyone else about his grief. Nevertheless, this was the first time she’d heard his normally quiet voice raised in anger against her. It seemed to indicate a new low in his state of mind, perhaps a growing resentment against her refusal to do as he asked.

And standing in the town’s small post office, in full view of customers queuing for stamps and postal orders, Chrissie wondered if they’d heard his shout as faces swivelled in her direction in open curiosity. Turning her back on them, she spoke quietly and calmly into the mouthpiece.

‘Peter, if you’re going to yell at me, then I shall ring off now. I’ll be home soon, but first I have some important decisions to make about what I intend to do with my life. I’ve rung you first, out of courtesy, as I feel guilty over having kept you hanging on for so long. I’m sorry, but it’s all over between us.’

‘Absolute stuff and nonsense! You’re only saying that because you’re annoyed I refused to go with you on this wild goose chase to the back of beyond.’

‘No, I’m not,’ she patiently informed him. ‘I didn’t actually invite you, if you recall. I invited Mum. And it isn’t the back of beyond. I rather like the Lakes, it’s a beautiful place to live.’

‘Heavens, you aren’t thinking of staying, are you?’ There was panic in his voice now, along with irritation, rather as a headmaster might speak to a recalcitrant child.

‘I haven’t quite made up my mind about anything yet, so please don’t mention this to Mum. If I do decide to stay on, I want to tell her myself when I come home next week.’ Chrissie was beginning to regret having confided this particular snippet of information with him.

‘I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing. The responsibility for breaking your mother’s heart is entirely yours. Have you found yourself a lover? Is that what this is all about, some silly holiday romance?’

‘No, of course it isn’t,’ Chrissie snapped, but her denial didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.

‘I shall expect you home by next week, and trust you will have come to your senses by then.’

Gritting her teeth, and not wishing to examine too closely the possible truth of his accusation, Chrissie very gently and firmly repeated her point. ‘I assure you I have not taken a lover. And whether or not I had come to the Lakes, it would still be over between us. That is a fact, I’m afraid.’

He wasn’t listening, just blithely continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I won’t have my fiancée cheapening herself in such a common way. I expect you to act with more decorum, not like some loose trollop.’

At which point Chrissie dropped the receiver softly into its cradle, the sound of his disapproving tones still echoing in her head. She leant her forehead for a moment on the glass panel in despair, then walked out of the post office, chin high, blind to the curious stares all about her.

Finding that her legs were shaking, Chrissie had to sit on a bench on the promenade until her anger had dissipated somewhat. What damage the war had done to that man, making him entirely oblivious to anyone’s needs but his own. She appreciated that he’d suffered, that it had been long and difficult, with him only getting demobbed late in 1946 after a spell in India, but he seemed deaf to her words, oblivious to her needs. At first she’d found in him a sensitivity and a kindness not present in her mother, at a time when she’d most needed it. But lately he’d grown increasingly self-obsessed. Smooth, sympathetic, and always agreeable, yet stubbornly determined to have his own way. Chrissie could take no more. He was
suffocating her, and in a very subtle way attempting to control her.

She refused to wallow in guilt over calling an end to a relationship that had turned into a nightmare.

Chrissie remembered then his remarks about the constant calls and messages he’d left with her mother. Had he bullied some information out of Vanessa? If so, she didn’t much care for the sound of that. But then it occurred to her that even her mother wouldn’t risk giving Peter her location. If she didn’t want her own daughter investigating her past, she surely wouldn’t encourage any possible future son-in-law to go poking his nose into her private business.

Peter knew nothing of the family feud – no more than Chrissie had, until recently.

She felt deeply offended, though, by that last cutting remark. ‘Loose trollop’ indeed. No doubt he was simply trying to frighten her into submission, hoping she would go crawling back to him. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Far more important that she start to look forward, not back, make plans for her own future as Ben had suggested, and decide what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

Later, following lunch at her favourite café on Crag Brow, Chrissie was strolling in and out of shops, agonising over what she should do, when quite by chance she discovered one that was empty. It was situated up a small side street just opposite the church, its location excellent for passing trade. Today, being August, the town was buzzing, so many holidaymakers crowding the strip of pavement that
they spilt right across the narrow cobbled streets. Out of season might be a different story. Could a small shop like this earn enough during the busy months to see her through the quiet ones?