The Secret by the Lake (12 page)

‘At risk? Of what, exactly?’

The doctor paused, as if for dramatic effect. He knew he had my attention now. He unclasped his hands and stroked his beard, with his thumb and forefinger. ‘My dear girl, I don’t want to alarm you, but someone like Julia, bereaved, isolated and lonely … how can I put this …? Someone like her might well harm themselves.’

‘Julia would never do anything of the kind.’

‘You’re forgetting, my dear, that I know Julia well. I know the history of her family.’ He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. ‘Julia’s sister, Caroline, had severe mental problems. Did you know that?’

‘Well, Julia intimated …’

‘And her mother, Cora, once attempted suicide.’

I must have gasped at this revelation because the doctor’s face relaxed a little, gratified by my reaction.

‘Cora hanged herself in Caroline’s bedroom,’ he said. ‘Fortunately her husband reached her in time and managed to cut her down, but she was never the same afterwards. She spent several months in the asylum, in this very building, before she was strong enough to return home, and then only under my strict supervision. She had to take medication for her nerves for the rest of her life.’

‘Julia told me her mother went to stay with friends after Caroline died.’

‘Because that’s what we told Julia. She was only a child herself then and we didn’t want to frighten her. Everyone in the village did everything they could to protect little Julia.’

Of course they did. That’s exactly what would have happened.

The doctor spoke again, still in that same low, husky whisper. ‘The female Cummingses have a predisposition towards mental fragility,’ he said. ‘You understand, Amy? Julia is vulnerable and she seems to be following the precise trajectory of her mother’s decline. Frankly, without intervention, I fear the worst.’

‘So what do you think should be done?’

The doctor sat back. His face was etched with pity. ‘Caring for somebody as fragile as Julia is too much for one person. It’s too much responsibility. She needs to be amongst people who know her well. People who could share the looking-after of her. Her husband’s family perhaps?’

Alain’s parents and siblings, an affluent, charming and argumentative family who lived near Toulouse, would, I was certain, have already offered to take Julia and Viviane into their home but Julia must have declined their invitation. She had never felt comfortable with them. She referred to them, collectively, as ‘the Torrents’ – ‘posh’, she said, and ‘too noisy’.

‘I’ll talk to her,’ I said. ‘She’s been thinking, anyway, about putting the cottage up for sale.’

‘Good,’ said the doctor. ‘Well, that’s something.’

There was a moment’s silence, which was, I realized, my signal to leave.

I stood up. ‘Thank you, Doctor, for your concern and your kindness,’ I said. ‘And also thank you for helping arrange for Viviane to go to Hailswood. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.’

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said. ‘My pleasure.’

THE LIGHT WAS
on in the kitchen and Julia was sitting at the table. I saw her as I approached the cottage through the garden. I went in through the back door, crossed the room and kissed her cheek. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, where they had pinched. ‘What was that for?’ she asked.

‘I’m pleased to see you, that’s all. What are you reading?’

‘One of Alain’s notebooks.’ Julia laid the glasses down on the table. ‘I was thinking, while you were out, about Alain, and his death, and making it relevant. I don’t need to talk to Bruno. I can transcribe Alain’s notes myself. His shorthand is atrocious but I can try to make sense of it and then perhaps I could finish his work for him.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea!’

I shrugged off my coat and hung it by the door, pulled out a chair and sat beside Julia. Her blouse was done up on the wrong buttons, and I could see the strap of her bra, dirty and grey through the gape in the neckline. Julia smelled warm and sour, like yoghurt. These small vulnerabilities made me feel very tenderly towards her, the woman who had always been so careful of her appearance, so immaculate in her dress, so kind to me.

She put one hand gently on my arm.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked me.

‘I walked down to Sunnyvale with Mrs Croucher and met the doctor. He obviously cares for you a great deal.’

‘The old darling! Is he still taking care of himself? Still dapper?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘He’s the best-dressed man I’ve ever known. My father always said he was the epitome of a gentleman.’

‘He’s certainly very personable.’

‘He always wore a suit, even when he was lancing a boil or cutting out an infected tick. His shoes were always polished. He had very clean fingernails. And do you know what he used to do, Amy, to make himself less frightening to children? He used to wear coloured socks and he always had a handkerchief folded in the front pocket of his suit to match his socks. It was a joke for his young patients. Whenever we saw him, my mother used to say: “What colour handkerchief will the doctor be wearing today?” And we tried to catch him out but his socks and his handkerchief always matched. He took great care of that. He was always so gentle with children.’

Julia’s smile suddenly faded. ‘Caroline never found it funny, though.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘She used to sabotage the socks.’

I laughed. ‘How did she do that?’

‘She was so naughty! Mrs Croucher used to do the washing every Monday and she’d hang the coloured socks and hankies out to dry on the clothes-line, all paired up, seven sets of each, one for every day of the week. Caroline used to sneak over the fence and mix them up: a red sock next to a blue one, or else she’d turn alternate socks over so they were pegged at the ankle instead of the toe. Sometimes she stole a handkerchief. We’d hide behind the hedge and watch Mrs Croucher come out and we’d see the confusion on her face when she unpegged the mismatched pairs. And Caroline would be watching with a kind of glee but I was terrified –
terrified –
that Mrs Croucher would realize what was happening and that Caroline would be in the most awful trouble. The fear made the whole thing funnier. I used to have to stuff my cardigan sleeve into my mouth to stop myself shrieking with laughter.’

Her face had softened at the memory. She looked younger. I could see behind the mask of middle age the pixie-faced child who used to hide with her sister.

‘Why were you so afraid that Caroline would be in trouble?’ I asked. ‘Mixing up the laundry is hardly a capital offence.’

Julia winced at that phrase, but recovered quickly.

‘I didn’t want there to be any more upset. Caroline had already caused a dreadful stink for the doctor.’

‘Goodness. What did she do?’

Julia pushed her hair back from her face and clasped her hands on the table in front of her.

‘I haven’t thought of it in years. Perhaps if I tell you, you’ll understand more what Caroline was like.’

I nodded encouragement and she continued. ‘It was crazy. Completely and utterly crazy. She made this stupid accusation … it was just ridiculous. I never understood
why
she did it but then I never understood the half of why Caroline did what she did.’ She sighed. ‘My father had a pocket-watch that had been passed down through his family. It was his pride and joy and one day it went missing. Mother and I searched the house, searched high and low, but we couldn’t find it. Father was in a terrible state. While we were hunting for the watch, Caroline took it upon herself to walk all the way to Chew Magna. She went into the police station there and told the officer behind the desk that Dr Croucher had stolen her father’s watch. She said she’d seen him take it and hide it in his black bag.’

‘No! What happened?’

‘The police officer drove Caroline back to Blackwater. He parked the car outside the cottage here – you can imagine the commotion that caused – then he came in and told our parents what Caroline had said. I was sent next door to fetch the doctor and ask him to bring his bag round to our house, which he did. Everyone was in the kitchen, right here at this table, my mother and father, the police officer and Dr Croucher. Caroline was standing where you are now. I was watching her. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. She seemed … oh … excited. The police officer asked Dr Croucher to open the bag and empty it. He took everything out, one item at a time, all his instruments and bottles and jars, and he laid them on the table. It seemed to take for ever. It was excruciating. And Caroline … Well, as soon as the bag was opened, the excitement disappeared. As each item came out of the bag she became paler. I thought she might cry, or faint. By the time the bag was empty, it was as if she had shrunk down inside herself, become a shadow of the girl she’d been earlier.’

‘So the watch wasn’t in the bag?’

‘Of course it wasn’t.’

‘But it sounds as if Caroline really believed the doctor had taken it?’

‘She knew perfectly well that he hadn’t. Once everyone had left, Father asked her directly, he said: “Do you know where my pocket-watch is?” and she said: “It’s in my satchel,” and he looked and it was.’

‘Why would she do that? What did she possibly have to gain from hiding the watch in her satchel and then accusing Dr Croucher of its theft?’

‘Attention? Notoriety? You’re the one who’s studied Psychology – you tell me. Everything Caroline said was a lie. She had a compulsion to lie. I don’t know
why
, perhaps these days it would be recognized as some kind of condition.’ Julia sighed. ‘Anyway, Father took off his belt and he beat her. He said he would beat the badness out of her.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Oh dear indeed. It was awful. Father was weeping as he hit her.’ Julia covered her face with her hands and shuddered. ‘And Mother was begging him to stop but he said he didn’t know what else to do. He said it was for her own good. I was upstairs in my room. I had my hands over my ears but I could still hear. Father was weeping and Mother was pleading and Caroline … I don’t know what Caroline was doing. She didn’t cry out; she didn’t make a sound. Oh God.’ Julia trailed her fingers through her hair. ‘Dr Croucher was terribly good about it, you know. He consoled my parents, told them that he didn’t hold them responsible, that young teenage girls were prone to fantasies and that nobody should make too much of it and so on and so forth – but of course they were still hideously embarrassed.’

‘And after that you were afraid of something similar happening again?’

‘Yes, I was. I can only have been eight or nine years old but I was concerned about my sister. I didn’t know why she was behaving as she was, but these battles she insisted on fighting were battles she could never win.’ Julia reached out for my hand. ‘Do you see, Amy, how difficult it is to talk about Caroline? Are you beginning to understand how troubled she was?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I am.’

Later, when I was alone, I took Caroline’s satchel out from under my bed, and I removed the gold pendant from the matchbox. I held it in the palm of my hand, the light shining through the ruby making pinpricks of red like spots of blood on my skin. It was such a lovely thing. I closed my eyes and I tried, once again, to make myself feel as Caroline must have felt when she held it in her hand.

‘Caroline,’ I whispered, ‘were you going to blame the doctor for this one, too?’

VIVIANE CAME HOME
from school humming ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. Her eyes were alive and happy but when she looked about the cottage, the joy drained from her face.

‘It’s so miserable in here. We need to get ready for Christmas,’ she declared, shrugging off her coat and hanging it up. She looked about her again; I followed her eyes and sympathized. There was nothing joyful in the hallway of Reservoir Cottage, nothing bright or cheerful at all. Julia looked too and I knew what she was thinking; I could read her thoughts by the expression on her face.

‘Oh darling,’ she said gently, ‘not this year. Let’s let Christmas pass us by this year. We have nothing to celebrate.’

And no money to celebrate with.

Vivi’s face was a picture of consternation. ‘But we must have a proper Christmas, Mummy. We must – it’s our tradition! And Papa would be mortified if he thought we were letting things slip.’

Julia laughed. ‘Mortified? Since when have you used the word “mortified”?’

‘Everyone says “mortified” at school, Mummy,’ Viviane said primly. She turned to me. ‘Remember what Christmas was like in France, Amy?’

‘Oh, yes.’

The lavishness of those French Christmases! The lights, the candles, the greenery, the food, the wine, the parties. The apartment in Paris was red, green and gold, gifts piled beneath the tree, people coming and going, beautiful people, little girls in bows and barrettes come to play with Viviane, and adults dressed up to the nines, those glamorous women in their heels and silks and stoles, the men in their suits, the cigarettes and perfume and hair oil, the conversation, the seduction, the dancing. And we’d all come from that to this chilly, dark cottage, not one single decoration, not one single card. Was it really only a year that had passed? Paris felt, to me, like a lifetime ago. I looked at Vivi’s urgent little face and I thought: She’s right. We should make an effort for Christmas.

I turned to Julia and I could see that she was thinking the same.

‘There were some trimmings,’ she said, ‘a few bits and pieces – fir cones that Caroline and I painted when we were children. We used to keep them in the loft.’

‘The loft’s empty now. Where else might they be?’

‘The shed?’ Viviane suggested.

‘The shed’s not been used for thirty years.’

‘I’ll go and have a look anyway,’ Viviane cried. She pulled her boots back on, grabbed her coat and ran outside, calling to Bess. I followed her into the kitchen and stood at the back door watching as she skipped down to the bottom of the garden, the dog following.