The nurse smiles. ‘Your sister likes this one, too. “Depuis le Jour” by Charpentier. I didn’t think we’d see you today. Isn’t it the flower show?’
Lillian nods. ‘Yes, but I wanted to introduce my friend to Helena. He’s brought her some flowers. This is Mr Fincher,’ she adds.
‘Well now,’ says the nurse, casting an admiring eye over Jack who stands a little behind, clutching the posy, ‘aren’t they lovely? I’ll find you a vase.’
‘Thank you.’ Lillian moves across to Helena and perches on the empty seat beside her sister. ‘Helena,’ she says softly. ‘Helena, it’s me.’
Helena stirs at the sound of Lillian’s voice. She turns slowly and regards Lillian with a blank expression. Lillian reaches out and strokes the right side of her sister’s face – the side that still resembles the girl she once knew. The bright sunlight flooding through the conservatory windows catches in her fair hair and illuminates the left side of Helena’s face, revealing its full devastation. Lillian forces herself to look at Helena’s empty eye socket, the twisted corner of her mouth and the deep concave crater running from her temple to her chin where the shrapnel struck and the bones have collapsed in on themselves. Her disfigurement is neither new nor shocking to Lillian, but she wants to see again what Jack is seeing for the very first time. She wants to see it as if through his eyes and understand how difficult he might find it.
Lillian reaches for Helena’s hand. ‘I’ve brought someone to meet you. This is Jack. He’s a friend of mine.’
She turns to find Jack has moved closer. He smiles down at Helena then crouches so that she can look at him properly with her one good eye. ‘Hello, Helena. It’s lovely to meet you.’
The record player crackles in the corner and the soaring aria comes to an end. Helena doesn’t say anything.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ Lillian asks her sister. ‘Would you like some fresh air?’
A noise leaves Helena’s mouth and her free hand – the one Lillian isn’t holding – jerks up to touch Jack’s cheek. Lillian holds her breath, ready to intervene, but Jack remains still as Helena clumsily caresses his face. ‘I think she likes you.’
They take Helena out into the grounds, Jack pushing the wheelchair as Lillian points out the summer flowers that have blossomed since her last visit and the birds flittering through the tall cedar trees. They settle for a while beside the banks of the stream meandering through the grounds, Lillian chatting to Helena about the flower show while Jack reclines on the grass, sketching a picture onto a white paper napkin retrieved from his pocket. It is peaceful out in the grounds and Lillian is relieved that Helena is so calm. She had been silly to worry about bringing Jack. The gentle and considerate way he has moved her sister about the gardens and included her, always, in their conversation has put Helena at ease and speaks volumes for Jack’s aptitude for compassion and kindness.
On the walk back up to The Cedars, Helena begins to shift in the wheelchair. Lillian, sensing her agitation, reaches for her hand. ‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘It’ll be supper time soon.’ But Helena lets out a low moan and throws off Lillian’s hand. Lillian bends down to face Helena as she starts to thrash and strain against the chair. ‘Helena,’ she says. ‘Helena, look at me.’ But Helena lets out a loud howl and lurches forward, her hand striking Lillian’s face, the force of her movement pushing her backwards onto the ground. Helena kicks out, spit flying from her contorted mouth as her howl turns into a piercing shriek.
‘Lillian!’ Jack shouts in alarm.
‘I’m all right,’ she says, standing quickly and brushing herself off, though her cheek is agony where her sister’s nails have raked her face and when she reaches up to rub it, beads of blood come away on her fingers. ‘Will you help me? We should get her back to the house. I need you to hold her in the chair. She’ll only get hurt if she throws herself out of it.’
Helena’s cries grow increasingly distraught as Jack helps to hold her in place and Lillian pushes the wheelchair back to the house. A nurse, hearing the commotion, appears and guides them into the conservatory. ‘Now, now, Miss Helena,’ the woman says, ‘there’s no need for this fuss. I’m sure you’ve had a lovely afternoon.’
She turns to Lillian. ‘Let us handle this, Mrs Oberon. I think it’s best if you go.’
Lillian nods. ‘Goodbye, Helena,’ she calls, struggling to hold back her tears. ‘I’ll visit next week. I promise.’
Back in Jack’s car, Lillian pulls a clean tissue from her handbag and presses it to her cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, gazing ahead unseeing. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t see her like that.’
‘Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. At least, not on my account.’
‘Sometimes she gets upset when I leave; other times it’s just a bad day and I know the moment I arrive that the visit won’t go well.’
‘Are you all right?’ Jack is looking at her with concern.
‘Yes, it’s just a scratch.’
They both fall silent. ‘It can’t be easy.’
‘I just wish we knew how much of her remains. Sometimes, when I’m with her, I think I see flashes of something – recognition, life – passing over her eyes; but it always fades as quickly as it arrived. Charles thinks I’m seeing what I want to see, hoping she knows who I am still. But I’m not sure.’
‘You’re a good sister.’
Lillian shrugs. ‘I do what I can, but it never feels enough.’
‘You’re quite alike, you know.’
‘We are?’
‘Yes.’ He reaches into his pocket and hands her the white napkin. Lillian’s eyes widen at the sketch: the two sisters seated together beside the stream, cast in dappled sunlight. ‘It’s . . . beautiful,’ she says, gazing at the image. She stares at her sister’s face. He has captured her good side, the side untouched by the shrapnel. In the picture they do look alike. Lillian can see it, too. ‘She reminds me more and more of my mother, the older she gets.’
‘Your mother must have been a very beautiful woman.’
‘She was.’ Lillian smiles up at Jack, only just managing to contain her tears. ‘Thank you. I will treasure this.’
They follow the road into secluded green valleys, before climbing back up into the chalk hills. She looks across at Jack and finds him smiling at her. ‘Eyes on the road,’ she warns, but she takes up his hand and places it on her warm thigh, gradually directing it under the edge of her skirt and petticoat. He glances across at her again, his smile broadening. Lillian shifts a little in her seat, parting her legs slightly, releasing a soft sigh as his fingertips graze her inner thigh. After the distressing visit to Helena, she craves life and warmth and love.
They drive on, taking roads at a whim, until Lillian recognises where they are. ‘Can you pull over?’ she asks. ‘There’s somewhere else I’d like to show you, before we head back.’
They park in a small roadside clearing then set off on foot, taking a trail leading through woodland until they emerge out onto the near-summit of a hill. Jack breaks his stride and stops to take in the view of the vale stretching far below, a green and yellow patchwork of fields and farmland, villages and market towns dotted as far as the eye can see. Ahead of them, on the very crest of the hill stands a tall monument, an impressive stone pillar jutting up into the sky. Lillian is already halfway to it when she turns back to him. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘You get the best views from up here.’
‘What is this place?’ he asks, approaching the monument, before turning to look out over the vista. ‘It’s breathtaking.’
‘Coombe Hill. You can see for miles. Chequers is down there somewhere. Aylesbury to the north, the Thames valley to the south,’ she says, pointing it all out. ‘You can see all the way to Salisbury Plain on a day like today.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ he says, gazing out at the view. ‘I should like to come back with my paints.’
Lillian smiles, pleased at his reaction. In no hurry to leave, she sits on one of the stone steps leading
up to the Boer War monument. Jack settles beside her, his arm brushing hers. She marvels at how the merest touch of his skin can make every inch of her body long to be closer, a sort of alchemical reaction, a physical, cellular desire.
They have the place to themselves and for a while they simply sit and look out at the view, her body relaxing into his. The cloudless sky is a spectacular wash of graduated colours – navy highest above them, fading to lighter cyan closer to the earth, under-lit by the rosy blush of the sun hovering upon the horizon. There is a peace to the place, a certain stillness, nothing but the setting sun and the occasional silhouette of a soaring bird to distract from the awe-inspiring view.
Jack wraps an arm around her shoulders. She turns to meet him and they kiss and kiss until she is overwhelmed once more with desire.
‘I love you,’ he says.
She pulls away, and studies him carefully, but the words rise up in her too, undeniable, irrepressible. ‘I love you.’
He smiles. ‘L’amour étend sur moi ses ailes!’
‘What is that?’
‘A line from the song your sister was listening to.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘Love spreads its wings over me.’
‘How beautiful.’ She looks out over the horizon and sighs. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Shhh,’ he says, pulling her closer, his eyes reflecting the rose-gold fire of the fading sun. ‘Enjoy this moment with me.’
‘But we should talk about—’
He shakes his head and silences her with another kiss.
On the drive back to Cloudesley, Lillian feels her mood shifting with every passing mile. All the gaiety and freedom she’d felt just an hour or so ago is fading with the setting sun. She loves Jack’s ability to be so present – to focus only on the here and now – but with it comes a sense of unease. Does he realise how impossible a dream they are?
Jack too seems more solemn now, his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. It’s as if the shadows of their old selves – who they must be under the roof of Cloudesley – snap at their heels like dogs chasing them back to the house. She would reach out to him but something holds her back, and this time his hands remain fixed upon the steering wheel.
She begins to rehearse excuses to Albie in her head. He might be cross to have been deserted at the show. The cooler night air wraps itself around her, making her shiver. She longs for a warm bath and her bed. She longs for Jack’s arms around her. ‘Come to me tonight, won’t you?’
Jack nods and reaches out to squeeze her hand.
The first stars are beginning to emerge in the darkening sky as they turn through the wrought-iron gates, the car headlights sweeping the gravel drive and illuminating the overhanging branches of the trees. As they round the final corner to the house, Jack takes a sharp intake of breath and slams on the brakes. ‘Christ,’ he says, the car skidding to a sudden halt, throwing Lillian against her seatbelt. He switches off the car headlights and sits staring straight ahead.
She follows his line of sight, looking for whatever creature has run across their path. But caught in the lights blazing at the windows of the house is no animal but the distinct outline of Charles’s navy blue Aston Martin, parked across the drive. Dread unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Jack, still hunched over the steering wheel, shakes his head. ‘Damn. I thought we had more time.’
Lillian stares at the car. She is having trouble formulating words. He turns to her. ‘Are you all right? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’
She nods, but inside her guts twist with fear. ‘He must know.’
‘He doesn’t know,’ says Jack firmly. ‘There’s no way he could know. We’ve been careful.’
She wants to agree that of course Charles doesn’t know and that everything is and will be fine, but the words stick in her throat, and what she says instead blurts from her mouth in a strange, shrill tone: ‘But he will know. As soon as he sees me, he will know.’
Jack shakes his head. ‘No. He won’t.’
‘He isn’t a fool.’
‘Lillian, please, there’s no need to panic.’
‘I’m afraid,’ she says, her voice barely a whisper. ‘Turn the car around. Let’s go, right now.’
‘No!’ says Jack. ‘Don’t be afraid. We just need a little time, that’s all. I have to finish the room.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s . . . it’s important.’ He frowns. ‘I can’t explain. It’s just a feeling. I can’t leave it half-done.’
Lillian sighs. ‘Of course you must finish it.’ She stares out at the dark blue car and the huge house towering at the end of the drive. Charles. Cloudesley. Jack will be gone by the end of the summer but here she will remain, caught in its grip like an insect stuck in a web.
‘Lillian,’ Jack says suddenly. ‘Lillian, look at me?’
She meets his gaze, his grey eyes shining black in the darkness. ‘Lillian. I’m not a rich man. I can’t offer you a fancy house or sports cars straight off the production line or expensive jewellery. I rent a couple of rooms in London. I own a modest house in Somerset. The life you are accustomed to . . .’
Lillian feels something hot rise within her. ‘If you think any of those things are important to me then you don’t know me at all.’
‘What I’m trying to say is that you’d be giving up a lot to be with me.’
‘Please,’ she says, resigned, ‘you don’t need to explain. I understand.’
‘No, Lillian. I don’t think you do.’ He reaches for her hand. ‘I love you. I want you to come away with me, just as soon as I’ve finished the room. I’ll complete Charles’s commission and then we’ll sit down and talk to him. We’ll explain everything.’
‘Explain?’ She can’t help her small, sharp laugh.
‘Yes. He won’t like it, of course, but what choice does he have if you want to leave?’
Lillian shakes her head, baffled at his naivety. ‘I can’t leave him.’
Jack frowns again. ‘Why not? Things have changed since the war. It’s not so shocking to divorce in this day and age.’
‘You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter if Charles wants me or not, he will never let me go. I belong to him. Like one of his fancy cars or his fine paintings.’
‘But you’re not his property. You’re a woman, with her own free will.’
Lillian doesn’t know how to explain it to Jack. She changes tack. ‘He’d ruin you.’
‘I’m not afraid of him. And nor should you be. I understand, he’ll be angry. His ego will be bruised. But what choice does he have if you choose to leave? He’d have to let you go.’
Lillian shakes her head and lets out a low moan. ‘What about Helena? You’ve seen her. You’ve seen what she needs. I couldn’t afford to keep her at The Cedars, not without Charles’s help. And there’s Albie, too. I promised him.’
Jack leans back in his seat, the first signs of defeat dragging at his shoulders. But then he turns to her. ‘I know it will be hard, but we can find a way.’
She shakes her head. ‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘It is simple.’ Jack reaches out and gently tilts her chin, angling her face so that she is looking up at him. ‘I love you, Lillian. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Isn’t that as simple as it gets?’
Lillian shakes her head. Jack doesn’t understand. He lives in a different world; a world of freedom, colour and sensation; of beautiful moments and optimism; a world where love is enough. She wants to believe in this world, but she knows it doesn’t exist. Not for her. It is a beautiful picture he paints, but like his work, it isn’t fully rooted in reality. It is a fantasy . . . a dream.
He reaches across and squeezes her hand. ‘There’s no need to be afraid. Let me finish the room. It will give us time to make arrangements. I won’t slink away into the night with you.’
Lillian nods, even though every particle of her being wants to insist Jack turn the car round and drive away from Clo
udesley.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asks.
Lillian nods.
‘Good. Then go inside,’ he says. ‘Play the dutiful wife, for now.’
She would give a hollow laugh if she weren’t so frightened. Play the dutiful wife. Jack, in that moment, strikes her as so simplistic, so naive, so unaware of all that her life entails that she could almost strike him. All her rage, her passion, her simmering desire for this man at her side, her anger and frustration at her impossible situation – at how little he understands it – threatens to burst out of her right there in the car and tear her in two.
‘We will make a plan and find a way to be together,’ he continues, oblivious to her rising emotion. ‘Everything is going to be all right.’
She nods but she’s only half-listening. A plan? Jack is dreaming. She is Charles Oberon’s wife and he will never allow her to bring shame or scandal upon his family name. He will never let her go.
The weight of her panic is overwhelming, like a wave threatening to pull her under but Jack, seemingly unaware of her distress, squeezes her hand one last time then turns on the car headlights and puts the car into gear, beginning the slow creep up to the house and parking his battered Morris Minor next to the sleek Aston Martin. Lillian’s breath is constricted in her chest. She has to put her hands in the folds of her dress to hide their shaking. Jack is wrong. Nothing will be right. There is no way that anything can be right again.
Chapter 20
The flower show seems to have taken it out of Lillian. Maggie’s not sure what has happened on the drive home, but returning to the house has seen a cloud descend over her grandmother. She declines Maggie’s offer of supper and retires to bed with a cup of tea and her medication. Maggie tucks her in, straightening the blankets.
‘We lived in separate worlds,’ says Lillian.
Maggie looks up from the end of her bed, puzzled. ‘Who did?’
The Peacock Summer Page 20
