Winter Solstice (25 page)

We are really all right, and the days pass peacefully. This is a very tranquil part of the world, and I take my dog Horace for long walks on the beach, sometimes returning after the sun has set. We have no television, but really don’t need one. Oscar brought his little radio with him, and we pass the long evenings playing canasta and listening to Classic FM
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We had a long drive up from Hampshire, and were

So intent was she upon her letter, so unheeding of voices in the street below, that she did not hear the wrought-iron gate open and shut, nor the tread of footsteps up to the front door. When the doorbell rang, she was so startled that she dropped her pen. From downstairs Horace, as usual, filled the house with panic-stricken barking. She got up and went out of the room and ran downstairs.

“Oh, Horace, be quiet!” Down the hall to open the heavy door, swinging it wide to the sunshine, to the penetrating cold, to an unknown female figure.

“Sorry about the dog….”

“No matter…”

Her visitor was a woman perhaps in her late thirties, tall and slender and marvellously unconventional in her appearance.

She had very dark, almost raven-black hair, cut in a fringe and hanging loose and straight to her shoulders. She wore a battered Barbour over a long red woollen skirt and what looked like Doc Marten boots. A tartan muffler was wound about her neck, framing a face beautifully boned and innocent of make-up. Her cheeks were tanned, rosy this morning with cold, and her eyes deep-set and dark as black coffee. In one hand she carried a plastic shopping bag, and in the other a little rural basket containing eggs.

She smiled.

“Hello. You’re Elfrida Phipps? I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I’m Tabitha.” Elfrida was no wiser, and puzzlement clearly showed on her face.

“Tabitha Kennedy. Peter Kennedy’s wife.”

“Oh.” Elfrida made much effort not to appear too astonished. She had never seen any person in her life less likely to be a minister’s wife.

“How really nice to meet you.” She stepped back indoors, holding open the door.

“Do come in.”

But Tabitha Kennedy hesitated.

“Not if you’re busy. I just brought you some eggs. From my hens.”

“I’m not busy and fresh eggs are a real treat. Come on, I’ll give you a cup of coffee.”

Tabitha stepped through the door, and Elfrida closed it behind her.

“Do you mind coming into the kitchen… ?” She led the way.

“I’ll put the kettle on, and then we’ll take our coffee upstairs. Or would you rather have tea?”

“I’d die for a cup of coffee, I’m frozen. Peter’s got the car, so I had to walk down the hill. I thought I was going to fall flat on my back, it’s so icy.” She followed Elfrida into the kitchen, put the basket of eggs on the table, and hung her plastic bag over a chair.

“Oscar’s got the car, too. He’s gone to Corrydale to call on someone called Rose Miller.”

“Goodness, there’ll be a reunion. Rose always adored Oscar. Never stops talking about him. Do you know I’ve never been in here? If I did come to the Estate House, it was very formal, straight up the stairs and into the big room. The Cochranes were a funny old couple, very reserved. Not, you might say, into entertaining. But once a year, Peter and I were asked for tea and polite conversation. It was always a bit of an ordeal. How are you settling in?”

Elfrida, having filled the kettle and put it on to boil, began reaching for a tray, and cups and saucers.

“We’re fine.”

Tabitha looked about her.

“This kitchen reminds me of an exhibit in one of those National Heritage museums. My grandmother had one the very same. I don’t suppose the Cochranes went in for gadgets, but if they did, Mrs. Cochrane has certainly removed the lot. Have you got a dishwasher?”

“No. But I’ve never had one, so it doesn’t matter.”

“How about a clothes washer?”

“There’s an archaic one in the scullery. It takes hours, but it does work. And my dryer is the washing line at the top of the garden.”

“A scullery! Can I look?”

“Of course.”

“This door? Better and better. Tiled floors and clay sinks, and wooden draining boards. But you’ve got a fridge.”

“I hardly need one in this weather.”

Tabitha closed the scullery door and came back into the kitchen, to pull out a chair and sit at the table.

“Do you use the big upstairs sitting-room?”

“All the time, though it’s a lot of running up and down stairs.”

“What about the ground-floor rooms?”

“One’s a very gloomy Victorian dining-room. Lots of heavy, dark mahogany furniture, and plush curtains, and an upright piano with candle sconces. The other, I think, was the original estate office. I don’t suppose the Cochranes ever used it. There’s still an old roll-top desk, and a table with special drawers for collecting rents. I’m afraid we’ve kept the doors shut on both of them. We either eat in here or by the fire.”

“Much simpler.”

“And Oscar doesn’t seem to mind.”

Tabitha said, “I’m glad Oscar’s not here. One of the reasons I’ve come is to apologize, and now I shan’t have to.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“Peter sent me. He’s afraid he was rather crass and pushy yesterday afternoon. He hopes so much that he didn’t upset Oscar.”

“I think Oscar feels he’s the one to apologize. It was rude, just running away like that, but he panicked and fled. He was filled with remorse. He knew he’d behaved dreadfully badly.”

“Hector wrote and told us about his wife and his child dying in that appalling car accident. It takes a long while to move out of something like that, and get back into life again.”

“It’s called grieving.”

“I know. It can’t have been easy for you.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s been hellish.”

Elfrida heard herself come out with this, and was amazed that the impulsive words had been spoken, because the moments of hellishness she had never acknowledged, nor admitted, even to herself.

“I think frustration is the worst, because there is not a mortal thing one can do to help. And then, impatience. And then guilt for feeling impatient. More than once, I’ve had to bite my tongue. And another thing is, I’m quite a sociable animal. I don’t mean endless parties, but I like making friends and getting to know people, but because of Oscar I’ve had to keep a low profile. I’ve probably created a very snooty impression.”

“I’m sure not.”

“Mrs. Snead has been my lifeline. We have long conversations over cups of tea.”

“I’m glad she’s working for you.”

“Today … today I have a feeling that the hellish time might just about be behind us. For Oscar’s sake, I hope it is. He’s such a sweet man, he didn’t deserve what happened. Perhaps going to see Rose Miller is a step forward.”

“We were always there, Peter and I, but we decided you both needed a bit of time. It’s sometimes difficult to gauge exactly the right moment….”

“Don’t think about it. Please.”

“If Peter came to see Oscar, would that be a good idea? They could put things right between them.”

“I think it’s a marvelous idea, but tell him to telephone first.”

“I’ll do that.”

The coffee was made, the jug set on the tray. Elfrida picked it up.

“Let’s go upstairs. It’s more comfortable.”

She led the way, and Tabitha followed.

“I’m always impressed by this beautiful staircase. It gives such a grand feel to your entrance. Peter says the banisters are made of Baltic pine, brought back as ballast on the herring boats.” She paused on the half-landing to gaze out at the garden. This, still frosted, and bleak with midwinter, climbed the slope of the hill in a series of terraced lawns, with a path and small flights of steps running up its centre. At the very top was a stand of pines, filled with jackdaw nests.

“I’d forgotten how much land there is. You can’t see it from the lane because of the high wall. I love a walled garden. Old Cochrane was a great gardener. He kept the Manse supplied with free lettuces.”

“Oscar gardens, but so far he’s just swept up a few leaves.”

“In spring, there are daffodils and the terraces are purple with aubrietia. And there’s a lilac, too….”

Elfrida, laden with the tray, went on upstairs, and behind her, Tabitha continued her running commentary.

“It hasn’t just got a grand feel, it really is imposing. The size is unexpected, like Dr. Who’s Tardis … it all gets bigger and bigger….” Low sun streamed through the open sitting-room door. “… And I always thought this drawing-room one of the loveliest…. Oh, look, you’ve been allowed to keep the chandelier. That must have come from Corrydale.” She looked around her at the empty walls and spied the little painting that Elfrida had brought with her from Dibton.

“Heavens, what a darling.” She moved to inspect it more closely.

“This wasn’t here, was it?”

“No. It’s mine.” Elfrida set the tray down on the table by the window.

“It’s a David Wilkie. It has to be.”

Elfrida was impressed.

“Yes, it is. I’ve had it for years. I take it with me to every house I live in.”

“How did you come by such a precious possession?”

“It was given to me.”

Tabitha laughed.

“Someone must have liked you very much.”

“It looks a bit like a stamp on a blotting pad; too small for such an expanse of wall.”

“But enchanting.”

Elfrida went to put a match to the fire.

“Do we need a fire?” Tabitha asked.

“Everything feels so warm.”

“That’s the best. An oil-fired boiler and central heating. When we came, I was so afraid it would all be piercingly cold, but we’re snug as bugs. The boiler does the water, too, so scalding baths.”

“And of course these old Victorian houses were so solidly built there’s not a draught in the place.”

The fire kindled, snapped, and crackled. Little flames leaped. Elfrida put on a chunk of coal, another log.

“Shall we sit by the window?”

“Let’s. The sun is so gorgeous.” Tabitha unwound her muffler and unzipped her Barbour, which she took off and tossed onto a chair before coming to settle herself on the window-seat.

“Do you sit here and watch all the goings-on? Already you must know enough about us locals to write a book.”

“It is pretty fascinating.” Elfrida pushed aside the letter she had been writing to Hector.

“Have you lived here long?”

“About twenty years. We were married just before Peter came here as minister.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty.” Tabitha made a face.

“Some of the parishioners didn’t approve at all, but at the end of the day, it all worked out. Both our children were born in the Manse.”

“How old are they?”

“Rory’s eighteen. Just left school. We sent both of our offspring to the local Academy. He’s got his Highers and a place at Durham University, but he’s not taking it up till next year.

So we’re into his Gap year, and goodness knows what he’s going to do with himself. Peter says he doesn’t care provided the boy is either earning or learning. And Clodagh’s twelve, and for some reason, mad on horses. We haven’t worked out why she had to choose such an expensive hobby.”

“She might have gone for hang-gliding.”

Suddenly, they were both laughing, and it was lovely to be gassing to a girl-friend over a cup of coffee as though they had known each other forever.

She looked at Tabitha, sitting there in her black polo-neck sweater, and with her young girl’s hair, and was filled with curiosity.

“Do you like being a minister’s wife?”

“I adore being married to Peter. And I’m not totally a minister’s wife, because I teach art at the school. I’m a qualified teacher, with all the right degrees. Five mornings a week.”

“Are you an artist?”

“Yes, I paint and draw. But I teach crafts as well. Pottery and sewing. The senior girls stitched all the kneelers in the church. It was a huge project. And every mother in Creagan has a rather wobbly pot for her begonias.”

Elfrida said, “I was an actress.” And then felt a bit shy, and wished she hadn’t said it, because it sounded as though she were capping Tabitha’s talent.

But Tabitha was gratifyingly amazed.

“Were you really? Actually, I’m not a bit surprised. I can just see you on the stage.”

“I wasn’t exactly Ibsen material. It was light stuff. Musical comedies, that sort of thing. I was in Rep for years, playing every sort of part from teenager to ragged crone.”

“Were you famous?”

“No, not a bit. But I was always working, however humbly.”

“That’s what matters, isn’t it? Doing what you like, and being paid for it. That’s how I feel, too. Really good for one’s self-respect. Peter understands. It’s one of the reasons I like him so much. I can’t wait for you to meet him. I’d ask you up to the Manse, but perhaps we’d better wait until he and Oscar have sorted themselves out. Once they’ve done that, I’ll issue invitations. Which means a telephone call.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

“I don’t think we’re doing anything. It’s Oscar. And I understand because it can be a dreadfully emotive time. But it is tricky because I’ve got a cousin coming to stay next Friday and she’s bringing her niece with her…. I’ve told them we won’t be very festive, but they’re coming anyway.”

“How old is she?”

“Carrie? About thirty. But the niece is fourteen. She’s called Lucy, and I’ve never met her. I just hope she isn’t too shy. Or too un-shy, for that matter. I… I hope she won’t be bored.”

“There’s so much going on in Creagan at Christmas, she’ll have a wonderful time. All the local children get together-”

“She won’t know the local children.”

“We’ll introduce her to Rory and Clodagh and then she’ll meet them all.”

Elfrida felt a bit doubtful about this.

“Won’t they mind?”

“Mind? Why should they mind?”

“Well… a strange child. From London.”

“All the more reason to take care of her,” said Tabitha, and suddenly Elfrida caught a steely glimpse of the schoolteacher, keeping order. And the minister’s wife, raising her children to true Christian standards. And knew that Tabitha Kennedy, for all her bohemian appearance and youthful attitudes, was a person to be reckoned with. Heightened respect made her like her even more.