Women and War (32 page)

‘Packing,' Alys said. ‘You know I'm going in the morning.'

‘I can see you're packing.' There was an edge of sharp impatience in Frances' tone. ‘ Why didn't you ask Norma to do it? Heaven knows it's difficult enough to get maids these days and as for keeping them for more than a few months … While we have one you may as well make use of her.'

‘I preferred to do it myself,' Alys said smoothly.

Frances did not answer. Her disapproval hung heavy and cold in the air and when Alys could stand the accusing silence no longer she said: ‘Do you think I have time to wash my hair? What time is dinner?'

‘The time it always is – and no doubt if you want to wash your hair you'll do so whatever I may say.' Again there was an uncomfortable silence. Alys caught herself from making an angry retort and felt another stab of that nostalgia which had ached in her just now. Impulsively, she turned to her mother.

‘Please, Mummy, don't be like this! There's no need, you know. You just make it hard for both of us. I don't want to upset you, but …'

Frances jerked her hands away. Her eyes were hard, as hard as the glass eyes of the dolls on the shelf.

‘I suppose there's a boy behind it.'

‘A boy?'

‘There usually is when you're so set on having your own way. I haven't forgotten …' she broke off, clamping her lips shut.

Suddenly Alys was trembling. The sadness was sharper now, a physical pain in her chest cutting off breath.

‘Forgotten what?' The emotion was all there in her voice placing emphasis on each syllable of the question. She knew what Frances meant all right but she had to hear her confirm it before she could really believe her mother could bring it up after all this time.

For just a second Frances hesitated. Two high spots of colour had appeared in her cheeks so that it looked as if she was belatedly showing, the effect of the heat.

‘That rogue who tried to worm his way into your father's bank balance,' she said tartly. ‘ You were a fool for him and you'll be a fool again. My God, when I think of what a fool you were – and worse! All I hope is that you learned your lesson. I may as well warn you I couldn't stand for a repeat of that episode.'

And then the pain was very sharp in Alys, the past too real – and too bound up with the present.

‘I loved him, Mother,' she said. ‘You never understood that did you? Because you didn't approve you were so darned sure he was wrong for me.'

‘He was.'

‘How can you be so certain of everything? It's terrifying … Don't you realize that if you had taken a different attitude Race might be alive today?'

‘Don't begin blaming me for that, Alys. There was no call for you to go to Bathurst that day – none at all.'

‘But you were going to send me to Darwin without giving me the chance to see him or speak to him.'

‘It was for your own good.'

‘Rubbish! When did you ever think
of my
good? Your interpretation of it, perhaps. But always what
you
wanted for me, never what I wanted for myself. Oh, when I think of the things that are done because they are supposed to be for someone's good! It's frightening the way some people are so damned sure they know what's best for everyone else.'

‘Don't you talk to me like that!' Frances' colour had risen still further so that her whole face and neck was now puce. ‘I'm still your mother, remember.'

‘How can I forget?' Alys asked bitterly. ‘You still want to run my life, Mummy, just as you did then. Well, I'm sorry. It won't work. I make my own decisions now.'

‘The trouble with you, Alys, is you're so stubborn! You won't admit that someone of my age and experience knows best. Just take this Race business for a moment. We've never talked about it – you wouldn't see sense at the time and then you were in Darwin.' Frances'voice was rising. ‘The point is you were so obsessed you couldn't see he was using you.'

‘He wasn't.'

‘Wasn't using you? Oh Alys, how can you continue to deceive yourself?'

‘Will you please stop this? I don't want to hear any more. I shouldn't have listened to you then, either. I allowed you to spoil the loveliest thing that every happened to me. Oh, I don't blame you for Race's death – I blame myself. But you had a hand in it, Mummy, and for that I shall never forgive either of us.'

‘My God,' Frances said.

For a long moment they stood quite still staring at each other. Then Alys turned away pressing her hands over her eyes as the pain inside doubled her up. Race, Race – how could it still hurt this much after so long? Oh Race, I loved you so. You did love me, didn't you? You did – I know you did …

Above the roaring in her ears she was aware of a dull thud but she remained bent double with her hands still covering her eyes as the painful memories unrolled as raw and fresh as ever. It was only as the dry sobs subsided that she realized something was wrong. She turned then gasped in shocked horror.

Frances was on the floor slumped into a half-sitting position against the tallboy. Her legs were folded awkwardly beneath her, her head lolled forward onto her chest like a broken puppet.

‘Mummy!' Alys screamed. ‘What's the matter? What are you doing?'

Frances made no reply. Alys took three quick steps towards her, then her trembling knees gave way and she half-fell to a crouching position beside Frances.

‘Mummy, for goodness' sake …!' she took hold of her mother's shoulders lifting her up and as she did so the uncontrolled head rolled to one side. ‘Oh God!' Alys cried. Her mother's eyes were open and staring, but one appeared to be wider and more staring than the other and one corner of her mouth was drawn. A thin stream of dribble had escaped from it and was trickling slowly down her chin towards the collar of the immaculate dress. Worst of all, her face seemed to have been frozen into a parody of that last accusing expression. Somehow, Alys staggered to her feet again and ran to the door.

‘Norma!' she screamed. ‘ Morrie! for God's sake, somebody help me!'

And in the long moments before their footsteps came running Alys felt she aged a hundred years.

‘Your mother has suffered a very severe stroke. No doubt you already realize that.' Donald Whitehorn, positioned in front of the marbled fireplace in the drawing room, rocked lightly back on his heels and looked from one sister to the other.

‘Yes,' Beverley said. She was hunched in a nervous heap on the edge of the ruby velvet chaise while Alys slumped, head in hands, at the small escritoire. ‘What we want to know is – will she get over it?'

‘I'm afraid at the moment it is impossible to say.' Donald Whitehorn's tone was grave. ‘The next hours and days will be crucial. The sooner there are any signs of a recovery, the better her chances. But I think I should warn you that at this stage there is no way of knowing how complete that recovery, if any, is going to be.'

Alys raised her head a fraction, looking at Dr Whitehorn over her splayed fingers. ‘You mean she might be paralysed.'

Donald Whitehorn met her eyes levelly. ‘To some degree, yes. She could have difficulty with speech – that is very common. And clearly the use of her left arm and leg – everything on the left side of her body, in fact – is going to be impaired. But let us not cross our bridges before we come to them. She has not even regained consciousness yet. And then there is the danger that she may suffer a second stroke following on the heels of the first. If that were to happen …'

Beverley sobbed softly and Alys sunk her head into her hands, once more.

‘Can we come to practicalities?' Donald Whitehorn pressed them gently. ‘Daniel – your father – is away on business, you say. How long is it going to be before he can get home?'

‘He's in Perth and we haven't been able to reach him yet,' Beverley said. ‘But we have left messages for him at his hotel and everywhere we could think of. He'll fly back the moment he gets to hear what has happened, but …'

‘So you girls are going to have to make the decision. Shall I get your mother into the Cabrini Private Hospital?'

‘Oh goodness …' Beverley hesitated. ‘Do you think that would be best?'

‘I do. That way she will be properly supervised when the crisis comes.'

‘Well, then, in that case …'

‘No!' Alys said. Her tone was sharp and they both turned to look at her. ‘No, you can't have her taken off to hospital,' she said more quietly. ‘You know how she hates hospitals. If she does regain consciousness and comes round to discover she is in one, she'll raise Cain. And if she doesn't … well, it doesn't seem right, going against what you know she would want when she can't speak for herself. I think she should stay here.'

Donald Whitehorn nodded. Since Alys had called him to the house she had scarcely spoken – she seemed in a state of shock. This was much more like her – having a firm opinion and expressing it forcibly.

‘Are you in agreement with that, Beverley?' he asked.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so …'

‘It will mean getting a nurse in, of course. Two, in fact, at the moment. One for the days and another for the nights.'

‘Yes, do that please,' Alys said. ‘If Daddy wants to change the arrangements when he comes home that's up to him. I don't think he will, but at least my conscience will be clear.'

Dr Whitehorn looked at her quizzically. What a strange turn of phrase to use at a time like this. Just what had been going on when Frances had had her stroke? he wondered. Strange, Frances being, struck down like that. This was one of those cases he would simply never have predicted. Frances had appeared in good health and he would have been prepared to wager half his salary on her having at least another decade of trouble-free years. It just went to show you never could tell.

‘Just one other thing,' he said, looking from one girl to the other. ‘Be very careful what you say when you are in your mother's room. In spite of all appearances to the contrary she might be able to hear you without being able to respond in any way. So talk normally and don't make any comments about her condition. Now, if you will excuse me I'll get the wheels set in motion for the nursing staff you need.' He paused in the doorway looking back at them. ‘If you need me any time, day or night, call me.'

He left the room and Alys got up to follow.

‘Where are you going?' Beverley asked accusingly.

‘To Mummy. One of us should stay with her until the nurse gets here. It's not fair to expect Norma to do it.'

Beverley half rose, then sank back, ‘It's a bit late now, isn't it, to start playing the concerned daughter.'

Alys swung round, her eyes narrowing. ‘ What do you mean by that?'

‘You know very well what I mean!' Beverley was very pale, her trembling hands clenching and unclenching on a small lace handkerchief. ‘You weren't concerned about upsetting Mummy before – it's a bit late to have an attack of conscience now!'

Alys opened her mouth then snapped it shut again. ‘I'm not going to quarrel with you, Bev. Not now.'

‘That will make a change as well!' Beverley retorted. ‘You were ready enough to quarrel with Mummy, weren't you? And now see what you've done!'

‘What
I've
done?' Alys repeated.

‘Don't deny it!' Bev wept. ‘Everyone in Toorak must have heard you. I heard you and I was in the nursery giving Robyn her tea.'

Alys, too, was shaking now. ‘We were arguing, yes, it's true – but that isn't the reason she's …' she broke off, unable to frame the words. ‘That's an awful thing to say, Bev.'

‘Perhaps so, but it is true!' Beverley insisted. ‘If you hadn't caused an upset, Alys, she wouldn't be lying up there now in a coma. And what is more, you know it's true. Otherwise you wouldn't suddenly be acting so concerned. ‘‘ Someone has to stay with Mummy.'' Oh yes, if you had been willing to stay with Mummy in the first place none of this would have happened!'

For a moment, Alys stood choking back the angry words then she turned and ran from the room. Bad enough to have quarrelled with her mother, she did not want to quarrel with Beverley too. Up the broad staircase she fled, pausing only for a few seconds on the landing to compose herself before going into her mother's room.

As she pushed open the door the first thing that struck her was the quiet. Two people in that room and neither of them making a sound except, yes, when you really listened there was the soft even rattle of indrawn breath. Nervously, Alys took a step towards the bed. The curtains had been drawn to keep out the evening sun and the light coming through the rose pink silk cast a glow over the figure in the bed and disguised the pallor of the skin. From here the drawn side of Frances' face was hidden; she looked for all the world like a healthy pink sleeping child.

Alys crossed to the bed and Norma looked up, her eyes were full of tears. How tenderhearted she was, Alys thought in surprise. She had only been with them a month or so and Frances had not exactly treated her with loving kindness – in fact she had been more sharp than anything, tutting about the girl's incompetence. Alys gave her a small comforting smile which only caused the girl's tears to overflow.

‘No change, is there, Norma?' she asked, briskly.

‘No, Miss Alys, none. She just lies there not moving at all. It's not natural – I'm glad you're here. I was afraid she might … well, die … while I was on my own with her …'

‘Of course she's not going to die!' Alys said, making her tone falsely bright as she remembered the doctor's warning about loose talk in Frances' hearing. ‘A day or two and she'll be fine again, you'll see.' But her eyes signalled to the maid that she was only playing a part and Norma pressed her hands to her mouth, choking back the sobs.