by Kate Field
We wandered back up the lawn and around the side of the house to where his car was parked in its habitual place next to mine.
‘Hang on,’ I said, as he opened the car door. ‘We need to talk about the summer holidays. The St Ives house is booked for the usual five weeks. It’s all paid for.’
‘Is it? I assumed …’ He hovered behind the car door. ‘Of course we mustn’t waste it then. What do you suggest? That we split the summer between us?’
‘Well, yes …’ That was a sensible solution, I supposed. More sensible than the mad idea that we could all go together as usual, with the addition of Clark. How had I believed that would work? That I could bear watching them together for five weeks?
‘Clark can only have two weeks off in the summer. Why don’t you take the house for three weeks, and we’ll take two? Jonas and Ava will still have the full five. I’ll check with Clark and let you know which dates would suit us.’
And then he was gone, leaving me on my own again.
Mum called round later that night, marching in through the kitchen door as if she still owned the place. It used to drive me mad; now I could hardly believe how my mood brightened at the prospect of adult company, of any sort.
‘Tea?’ I asked, winded by a slug of guilt when she looked surprised at the offer. It was how I would have greeted Audrey, not my mum.
‘I’m on my way out. But thank you, Mary.’
She was dressed to go out, now I looked at her properly: a colourful print dress that I had never seen before, court shoes with an inch-high heel, and a seductive shade of red lipstick.
‘I saw you in the garden earlier, with Leo,’ she said, straightening the towels that were hanging on the rail of the range cooker. ‘In a close embrace.’
‘Yes.’ How did she do it? In two sentences she had riled me again, implying I had done something wrong. It had been extraordinarily generous of her to give me this house, but I sometimes thought a mortgage would have been less of a burden than a lifetime spent under scrutiny.
‘Is there a chance, do you think, that you might get back together?’
‘No. It’s too late for that.’
‘It’s never too late. There’s no virtue in being proud and lonely. If he’s the love of your life, Mary, you should take him back. There is nothing that can’t be forgiven.’
I grabbed a piece of kitchen roll and attacked the table, desperate for occupation while I coped with this development. We never had conversations like this; we never discussed love, or sex, or happiness, or feelings. I couldn’t start now. And what would I have said, anyway? Was Leo the love of my life? That sounded too romantic, too idealised to reflect the relationship we had. And too final – because if he was the love of my life, what was I supposed to do with the rest of it?
‘It’s not about forgiveness,’ I said, scrubbing at a sticky ring on the table, until the paper disintegrated and my knuckles grazed the wooden surface. ‘It’s about biology. I don’t have a penis. Leo’s not coming back.’
I regretted my crudeness when she flinched and turned to the back door. She had been trying to help, in her way; the sentiment had been good, even if I didn’t want it.
‘Are you going anywhere nice?’ I asked, as she opened the door.
‘To a folk club, to hear a band playing. The Fergus Brothers or something like that.’
‘The Fergus Brothers? That sounds Irish.’ It sounded like the sort of thing my dad used to make us listen to. I couldn’t believe she would want any reminder of him on a date with her new boyfriend. Even the idea was making her flushed.
‘It’s Scottish, I think. But I’m sure they’ll play a variety of music.’
‘Mum?’ She paused again, not quite out of the kitchen. ‘If you ever want to bring your friend round, we’d be happy to meet him. I promise we won’t scare him away.’
‘Let’s see how it goes,’ she said, and pulled the door tight shut behind her.
Over two weeks passed before I heard anything from the Archers, weeks where the minutes dragged by. I checked my phone for emails or missed calls so often that my touch screen could have had me prosecuted for harassment. Leo proved just as impatient, contacting me several times a day to see if there was news. He hadn’t been so attentive when we were married; it was disheartening to be so relentlessly pursued only as a proxy for a woman dead for 150 years.
The call eventually came first thing one morning, when I was barely home from the school run, and I answered with bad grace, assuming it would be Ava demanding that I go back with the vital piece of homework that she’d forgotten despite my dozen reminders that she needed to pack her bag.
‘Is that Mary Black? Bridie Archer here.’
‘Hello? Did you enjoy the book?’ So much for playing it cool. I’d never learnt how to play hard to get.
‘We’ve read it.’ Not quite what I’d asked, but I supposed it was progress. ‘Can you call in?’
‘Yes, of course, when were you thinking?’
‘Twelve o’clock. We shut up shop for thirty minutes to have our dinner. We’ll see you then.’
Bridie put the phone down without waiting for a response. I flew round to Audrey’s and caught her trying to assemble the ironing board using one hand, two feet, and her chin.
‘What are you doing?’ I snatched the ironing board off her and stuck it back in the cupboard, then stood in front of the door to prevent any further raids. ‘I told you I’d do your ironing.’
‘I know you did, Mary, but Ethan did it while he was here, and now he’s gone there hardly seems enough to bother you with.’
Ethan had moved to Waterman’s Cottage a few days ago, after we’d agreed that Audrey was managing well one-handed. It was odd without him. I knew he called in every day, but it was strange not to see him in the garden, or setting out on a jog, or taking Audrey out somewhere.
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s only two hankies and a vest, you’re not to go near this ironing board again, okay?’
Audrey laughed.
‘I wouldn’t dare disobey when you’re looking so ferocious, my darling. Goodness, I thought it was only Ethan who could make you lose your temper, and stop being so capable and efficient. Divorce suits you.’
‘You want me to be incapable and inefficient?’
‘Oh yes, why not? I want you to let go and be yourself.’
How had we strayed onto this treacherous ground? Audrey had a glint in her eye that suggested she would push me further given half a chance. She wasn’t getting that chance from me. I hauled myself back.
‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to take you to physio later. Do you mind if I book a taxi for you? I hate to let you down, but I’ve had a call from a bookshop and they want to discuss Leo’s book at lunchtime today.’
‘Then you must go, and don’t worry about me. You can’t do everything and be everywhere. But ring Ethan first. He might be free to take me.’
‘Won’t he be working?’
‘Oh, he only fiddles with the internet, he can do that anytime.’ I had to smile at this dismissal of Ethan’s work; I didn’t really understand what he did, but he owned a successful international business, so I guessed it must involve more than messing about on Google. ‘I need a lover, like your mother. It would solve so many problems – as long as he has a car! I wonder where I could find one?’
I was still laughing when Ethan answered the phone.
‘What’s tickling you, Mary Black?’ His voice curled into my ear like a warm breeze. ‘If it’s a who, not a what, don’t tell me. It’s too early in the day for gory details.’
‘It’s Audrey.’
‘Has she said something outrageous?’
‘Doesn’t she always?’ I smiled at Audrey, who was now sitting down looking deceptively innocent. ‘Would you be free to take her to physio later? I was supposed to do it, but now I have a meeting about Leo’s book.’
‘What time?’
‘Two.’
‘Sure, no problem.’
<
br /> I marvelled again at how easy everything was with Ethan. He did what you asked: there were no hoops to crawl through, no tightropes to cross, and no obstacles to negotiate. He had all the makings of a perfect husband, if only he could discover a sense of loyalty: it was his fatal flaw, as I had seen for myself at school, and by all accounts nothing had changed since then.
‘When are you coming round?’ he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
‘Round where?’
‘Here. To the cottage. For a house-warming.’
‘Are you having a party?’
‘No, I meant …’
Whatever he meant was lost under Audrey’s squeal.
‘A party? A house-warming party? What a marvellous idea. Tell him we can discuss the plans this afternoon. Maybe I’ll find a lover there!’
‘She said …’
‘I heard. Please don’t make me hear it again.’ He sighed, but I could tell he was still smiling. ‘So I’m having a party? Well, the first invitation goes to you. If I have to entertain a bunch of horny geriatrics, you’re going to be right there at my side.’
Chapter 15
In comparison to previous visits, my welcome at Archer’s bookshop was positively lukewarm – pleasing progress. Bridie locked the shop door behind me, turned the sign to ‘closed’ and ushered me down the passage at the back into a room that appeared to function as living room, dining room, and kitchen in one.
A round table covered by an intricate lace cloth dominated the space, but was carefully positioned to allow wheelchair passage all round. The table was set for three, and I had been sitting in my allocated seat for barely thirty seconds before Bridie placed a bowl of steaming vegetable soup and slices of margarine-slathered white bread in front of me.
‘So you’ve read the book?’ I said, determined not to waste a second as we were clearly on a deadline. ‘What did you think?’
Bridie glanced at her mother, but the old lady was too busy slurping soup with surprising gusto to reply.
‘It was better than we thought, I’ll grant you that,’ Bridie said. ‘Your husband has a soft spot for our Alice, that was plain enough.’
‘More than a soft spot. He adores her. So do I. This book was a pure labour of love for both of us.’
‘You?’ Mrs Archer looked up from her spoon, narrowed eyes glittering at me like tiny slivers of onyx. ‘What did you do?’
It would have been quicker to say what I didn’t do, but discretion had to come before speed.
‘I’m Leo’s research assistant, so I helped with the background material and with a first edit. I …’
‘You wrote it.’ Mrs Archer didn’t let me finish. She jabbed her spoon at Bridie, splattering soup across the tablecloth. ‘I knew. There was a woman’s hand all over it. Didn’t I say a man couldn’t have understood the half of it? Can’t fool me.’
Clearly not, but it was more than my life was worth to admit it.
‘Really, it’s Leo’s book …’
Another loud slurp shut me up.
‘Tell her,’ Mrs Archer said to Bridie, twitching her head in my direction. ‘Tell her about Grandma.’
‘Grandma?’ I put down my spoon and leaned forward, hoping that we were getting somewhere at last.
‘Mum’s great-great-grandma,’ Bridie said. ‘She worked for the Hornby family, as a housemaid.’
‘Who was it?’ I asked. I pushed my bowl away, all thought of food forgotten. ‘Mrs Coombs kept a record of them all. There was Mabel, Ellen, Florrie …’
‘Florrie Betts,’ Bridie said. ‘She worked at the Hornby house for five years, then moved with Alice when she went to live with her sister, Elinor. Alice put in a word, she thought that highly of Florrie.’
‘That’s amazing,’ I said. More than that – it was a miracle. Alice had never married, and had spent four years living with her sister’s family as Elinor’s health was poor. When Elinor died, Alice had returned home and remained a spinster until her own death ten years later. Those four years with Elinor were a mystery: we had no diary and only a handful of letters. All we knew was that on her return home, she had written her final novel, which she described to friends as her ‘heart’s work’, but it had never been found.
‘How do you know so much about Florrie?’ I asked. ‘Do you have letters from her, or did she keep a diary?’ It was surely too much to hope for, but I still held my breath. A look passed between Bridie and her mother. Mrs Archer nodded.
‘Fetch the box.’
Bridie opened a door through which I could see an iron single bed, and came back in a moment carrying a blue, metal strongbox, secured with a padlock.
‘Not that one!’ Mrs Archer screeched, spinning her chair round as if to block my view. ‘In the drawer. The black one.’
Bridie returned with a much smaller box, the size of a conventional jewellery box. She put it down on the table and I had to sit on my hands to stop them yanking it open. Bridie lifted the lid, and I peered in and gasped. The first thing I saw was a folded sheet of paper, yellowed with age, covered in handwriting that I knew as well as my own.
‘A letter from Alice!’ I could have kissed them both, notwithstanding the dribble of soup on the old lady’s chin. ‘May I look?’
Mrs Archer nodded, and so I washed my hands and, with infinite care, took the letter out and unfolded it. I scanned the contents: no revelations, nothing to cast light on her secrets, but it was so wonderful to hold anything new from Alice that I wouldn’t have cared if it had been a list of the most popular vegetables of the day. There were a few more letters underneath, a sketch of a pretty young girl, and a gold chain with a simple cross hanging from it.
‘That’s Florrie,’ Bridie said, indicating the sketch. ‘Alice sent it to her with one of those letters. And the necklace was a gift when Florrie married. There’s a letter about that too.’
A clock on the mantelpiece above the blazing gas fire chimed the half hour.
‘Time to open up,’ Bridie said. She picked up the box to put it away again.
‘Can I just take a picture?’ I already had my phone out. ‘Leo will be thrilled to see this.’
‘You’ll have to be quick.’ Bridie gestured at the clock, and I took a few quick pictures, although it was unlikely one minute’s delay in opening was going to lose them custom. I wandered back onto the street in a haze of excitement, and didn’t even realise until I was halfway home that I had failed to persuade them to stock even a single copy of Leo’s book. But it hardly mattered. I had discovered a new aspect of Alice’s life, a friendship with a housemaid that we’d known nothing about, and some items that her hands had once held. And if the small black box contained such treasure, what might there be in the blue box that was precious enough to need a padlock?
It was no surprise that the sun cracked the flags on the evening of Ethan’s house-warming party; he had always lived a charmed life, and even nature couldn’t resist smiling on him. Much to Ava’s disgust – she was wearing ridiculous shoes, bought under the supervision of friends, not me – we strolled through the village and down the lane to Waterman’s Cottage: me, Mum, Audrey, Jonas, and Ava, a merry little band despite the shoe grumbles. How could we not be? It was a glorious June day, lush with the sort of rare warmth that allowed us to shake off our cardigans, and that we normally had to travel many miles south to discover. It was almost the summer holidays, and we were going to a party. Even Mum had been caught smiling, and had told me I looked nice. The evening couldn’t possibly not go well.
A few early birds had already staked a claim on the wine and food when we arrived. I couldn’t see Ethan, but assumed he wouldn’t mind if I stowed the children’s bags in one of the spare bedrooms – they were going home with Leo after the party, to save him a journey next day. I nipped upstairs, dumped the bags, and emerged on to the small landing just as Ethan came back down from the master bedroom. His hand landed on my waist as we stumbled to avoid a collision.
‘What are you doing lurking outside my
bedroom, Mary Black?’
‘Oh God, you’re drunk already, aren’t you? You’re not going to try to seduce all the ladies from the village, are you?’
‘Not all of them.’ He leaned forward and teased my cheek with the softest of kisses. He was wearing that delicious floral aftershave again. ‘You’re looking exceptionally lovely tonight.’
Whichever lady he picked didn’t stand a chance. The smile, the twinkling eyes, the laughing charm, the muscled body that lay under particularly well-fitted clothes, the way he could make you feel as if he had waited his whole life to spend that moment with you – it was irresistible. As a teenager, I had seen countless girls fail to resist it, and it had only become more potent with age. Even I, who knew well what a meaningless performance it was, felt a momentary enchantment steal over me at the pressure of his hand against my waist – a weird and totally inappropriate reaction, as if he were a man and not Leo’s brother, my teenage sparring partner, and the world’s biggest flirt.
‘Behave,’ I said, stepping back and wriggling to dislodge the hand. ‘Don’t waste your blarney on me. You’ve not changed, have you?’
‘And neither have you. You don’t look any different now than when we were teenagers and you were the hottest girl in school.’
I shook my head.
‘I’m beginning to wonder if you’re going to stay on your feet long enough to greet the rest of your guests. Is there any alcohol left?’ I headed down the stairs.
‘There’s Prosecco in the fridge. I’ve been saving it for special people.’
I paused mid-flight, and turned back, hands on my hips.
‘Don’t tell me. I’m on water, right?’
‘Wrong. I bought it for you. You can have your very own bottle if you like.’
I made do with a glass, to start off with, and we wandered out into the garden, where most people were gathering in tribute to the gorgeous evening. The cottage sat in the centre of its plot, and extensive lawns wrapped around the house; the front lawn looked out across the reservoir, which sparkled like molten silver in the evening sun.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a lodger?’ Audrey exclaimed, as we joined her, Mum, Jonas, and Ava, who had barely progressed beyond the front gate. ‘I’m very well house-trained, and I’d be so quiet you’d think you had a mouse!’
