What the Heart Keeps (49 page)

“
That’s a relief. I was worried.” She returned his smile thankfully. The brief exchange did not go unnoticed by Lisa.

During
the quiet weeks that followed at Maple House, Minnie made a full recovery. A few days after the premiere she had told Lisa of the abortion she had had. Lisa was less surprised by the information than might have been expected, having long since drawn her own conclusions.

“
Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“
I know your opinion on the subject. You could never condone what I have done.”

“
Why did you do it?”

“
I’d never wanted a child by any man other than Risto. It was the first time I was careless enough to allow myself to become pregnant and I feared for my career and my reputation. Moviegoers are narrow-minded about the morals of people like me. We can’t make mistakes. We have to live up to the images that the studios have created, at least in our public if not in our private lives. So I went ahead with the abortion.”

“
And you have regretted it ever since.”

Minnie
’s desolate expression was an endorsement in itself. “I never realised the psychological effect it would have on me. It’s not just guilt, but the realisation that I threw away my chance to have someone of my own to love again.”

“
My poor Minnie.” Lisa regarded her compassionately. “I always wanted more children. After Catherine was born I was sure there would be others. Now there never will be.”

“
Women still have children at your age.” It strengthened Minnie to take on the role of comforter.

“
It’s not that. I think my marriage is almost over.” “I don’t believe it!”

“
There’s another woman.”

“
Are you sure?”

Lisa
sighed on a nod. “Perhaps it’s poetic justice if we think back to a forest fire.”

“
No! That’s not the attitude to take. You gave up everything for Alan.”

“
That’s not strictly true. Alan and I have had a rich and rewarding relationship. I can only suppose he has always felt there has been more love on his side than there ever was on mine. Maybe Rita Davis can offer a perfect balance.”

Contrary
to Lisa’s expectations, Alan came to Maple House for most weekends during the time that Minnie took to make her recovery. With the new Fernley cinema launched to success, he obviously felt able to allow himself some leisure time. There were absences, which Lisa marked to herself with pain, but as the weather grew warmer and the days longer he sometimes drove home to stay overnight during the week as he used to do. Lisa might have felt more hopeful if Catherine had not renewed a campaign of pressure to get her to return to the London apartment.

“
I can’t return all the time Minnie needs to stay at Maple House,” Lisa pointed out.

“
Well, when is she going back to the States? I love her, as we all do, but she’s disrupted your life long enough.”

Lisa
uttered a soft, affectionate laugh. “Minnie has always disrupted my life whenever she and I have been together.”

Catherine
showed no sign of amusement, her face remaining deeply serious. “It’s time to put yourself first for once. Bring Minnie with you to the apartment if you must, but come soon.”

“
Sarah Baker wants Minnie to have a holiday before there’s a move like that and she seems to think I need one, too. A cruise has been recommended.”

“
Oh? Where? The Mediterranean?”

“
No. Minnie would be recognised on a big cruise ship and she’d get no peace from autograph seekers and the rest. She and I are going to take a voyage by local steamer up the coast of Norway to see the fjords and the midnight sun.”

It
had been Sarah’s suggestion. She had done the round trip herself the previous summer from Bergen to the North Cape and declared it to have been a holiday beyond compare. Mostly the steamers on the route went about their own business. Mail and cargo were collected and delivered en route at main ports of call as well as at many tiny villages hidden away amid scenic splendour, and all the way local people embarked and disembarked as those in other lands might use a bus service. As a concession to passengers wishing to make a vacation of what was an everyday voyage to other people, there were a few simple and spotless cabins for their accommodation.

Minnie
had seized on the proposal enthusiastically. “That’s a swell idea, Sarah! Lisa and I can laze on deck in the sun and sight-see when we wish. My movies are shown in Norway, but I doubt if anybody will know or care who I am in the daily bustle on a steamer.” Then she shot a glance at Lisa that was blended of sympathy and encouragement. “Surely you would like to see Norway? We both knew someone who emigrated from there to the States a long time ago.”

“
I think I should like that.” Lisa was smarting that day from Alan’s cancellation by telephone of his coming home at the weekend, and suddenly she felt there would be balm to all the hurt in seeing something of the Scandinavian country that Peter had left behind. She remembered the name of the town nearest to his family farm. It was Molde. When she looked at the brochure of the route that Sarah had brought to the house, she saw that Molde was one of the ports of call. “Yes, we’ll go to Norway, Minnie. I’ll arrange bookings right away.”

They
travelled by train to Newcastle-upon-Tyne and took ship there to cross the North Sea. In the morning they awoke to see the rocky coastline of Norway sliding past the portholes. Later that day they sailed up the Bergen fjord while seagulls wheeled overhead and the ancient maritime city lay against the slopes of seven mountains, its buildings soft-hued with roofs and spires of russet, grey, and copper-green. This was the home of the composer Edvard Grieg. This was the theatrical centre known to Ibsen. This was the harbour from which Peter Hagen and thousands of emigrants like him had sailed over many decades for the New World. Lisa, standing with Minnie in readiness to go ashore, felt herself picking up threads of love with Peter from the past as if the years between had never been.

They
spent two days in Bergen visiting the old churches and the mediaeval houses on the Hanseatic quay, having a guided tour of Grieg’s green and white wooden house in the picturesque setting of Troldhaugen, and taking the funicular railway to a mountain look-out to admire the spectacular view. By chance one of Minnie’s movies was being shown at the largest cinema, and although now and again a head would turn as somebody gave her a second glance, she was not pestered once by any invasion of her privacy. She and Lisa openly ate prawns from a paper cone in the fish market without fear of photographers flashing cameras. They also bought cartons of ripe cherries sold by farm children who had come into town, enjoyed exotic brandy-cured smoked salmon at the Grand Hotel, and indulged in slices of delicious cream cake almost every time they sat down at an open air café table to drink a cup of coffee and rest their wearied feet from all the walking their sightseeing had involved. They were both having a marvellous time and the holiday had barely begun.

Lisa
sent picture postcards of Bergen to Catherine and Harry but nothing to Alan. It had not been her intention to omit him, but it was almost as though the accumulated distress over Rita Davis had finally caught up with her and brought about a complete change in her attitude. She simply did not want to pen his name or write to him. Just as Minnie was already benefitting from the change of air, which Sarah had insisted would be the final healing touch, so she was revelling in a freedom from the constant worry that Alan had invoked. In Peter’s homeland she had become herself again, strong and independent. Let Alan have another woman for the time being if that was what he wished. Whether, when the holiday was over, she would end their marriage and relegate him forever to Rita Davis, remained to be seen. The choice would be hers entirely. In the meantime she was her own mistress again and it was exhilarating.

They
boarded the S.S.
Vesteraalen
in the evening hours for the coastal voyage north that would take them far beyond the Arctic Circle. They sailed at ten o’clock, as the persistent daylight of the northern summer defied the night hours, and went to sleep with the sound of the gentle waves being sliced through by the steamer’s bow.

Lisa
was up first and joined soon after by Minnie in the dining saloon. They breakfasted and watched the ever changing views of the wildly undulating rocky coast through the table window. When the North Sea swell gave way to the Norwegian Sea, they were in west fjord country where the mountains reached new heights and waterfalls cascaded in thundering torrents or in spray as delicate as bridal veils. Wild flowers grew in abundance on the lush lower slopes from which came the distant clank of cowbells. By noon they were in the port of Alesund and they went ashore for an hour while some cargo was unloaded and replaced by more goods. The town was built on three islands, and every turn of the street presented a phalanx of moored boats of the herring-fishing fleet. A rich and salty atmosphere prevailed.

Lisa
used her box camera to take a snap of Minnie against a great rock covered with nesting seabirds in the centre of the town, and afterwards bought some more postcards in a corner shop on the way back to the steamer. As they set sail again, Lisa was gripped by a special excitement. The next port of call was Molde, the town that held Peter’s birthplace within its vicinity.

When
she stepped ashore there she would be a short distance from the family farm to which his brother must surely have returned some years ago if everything had gone according to plan. Would there be time to drive out and see it? Not to call on anybody living there, but just to view it. Or was that wise? In her regained mood of independence she felt suddenly divested of past and present involvements. It would be better to remain that way without tempting providence.

Minnie
noticed that Lisa became increasingly quiet and withdrawn as the afternoon wore on. The steamer sailed deeper and deeper into the great Molde fjord, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake across the sun-diamond water. Six miles wide in places, the fjord was flanked on either side by mountain scenery of a grandeur almost beyond belief. Yet Lisa made no attempt to use her camera. It remained lying in the deck-chair, while she stood with one arm resting on the rails and her other hand in the pocket of her white jacket, the hem of her yellow dress fluttering gently about her calves. She was watching for Molde to come into view. Suddenly she gave a delighted gasp and swung around to where Minnie was sitting.

“
There it is! The fragrance! It’s coming on the breeze.”

Minnie
rose to her feet and went to face ahead at Lisa’s side. She caught the scent. It was sweet and heavy, coming in faint little gusts. “What is it?”

“
The Molde rose! Peter told me about it once. It’s a dark red rose that grows nowhere else in the world. That’s how Molde has become known as the Town of Roses. He said that in summer its perfume reached out to incoming ships.” Lisa inhaled it blissfully with her eyes shut. When she opened them again the town itself was coming into sight in rising tiers on the south-facing slopes of the fjord, its houses and hotels painted in pastel shades of pink and white and grey and green, its solitary church spire shining in the sun. As the steamer headed for the quayside, it became easy to pick out the Molde rose growing in gardens and in flower-beds bordering the streets and clustered about the church where beeches and limes and chestnut trees provided gentle shade from the late afternoon sun, still high and brilliant in a cloudless sky. A smart crimson touring car with the top down was waiting to take any travellers from the ship off on a local sight-seeing trip while the steamer lay alongside. Lisa and Minnie had already decided to take advantage of this facility as they went down the gangway.

The
driver, a middle-aged man in a chauffeur’s cap, greeted them as they approached and held the door of the vehicle wide for them.

“
Good afternoon, ladies. Welcome to Molde.”

“
Thank you,” Lisa replied. “What a beautiful town it is.”

“
We think so.” He closed the door when they had settled themselves on the rear seat and took his place at the wheel. His commentary as they drove along was conversational and not irksome, his English faultless. “On your left is the Alexandra Hotel, named, as so many hotels are in Norway, after a member of your Royal family. Our own Queen Maud being an English lady unites us closely to Great Britain. We have more visitors from your country than anywhere else, although recently with Germany making a financial recovery under Herr Hitler we have had many Germans coming here this summer. I’ve never seen people use cameras more, and such costly ones! They don’t only take pictures of the scenery, but they include railway stations and electric power plants and every inlet and harbour. It strikes me as odd sometimes. Almost as if there was a sinister purpose behind all that photograph-taking.”

Lisa
had found mention of the German Chancellor a jarring note in an otherwise beautiful day. There had been disquieting reports of what was going on in that country under his government. In an English newspaper she had purchased in Bergen, there had been further distressing accounts of Jewish children having stones and tin cans thrown at them by their fellow schoolmates. The driver was still on the subject of cameras.