Luckily, the inspiration to write was abundant. On most days, it seemed to flow freely inside her, like water in an angry river. There was no stopping it when that happened. In those instances she’d have to drop everything and write. More than once, she had resorted to scribbling while sitting on the bus, at other times hunched over on the steps by the canteen at University. The pain inside her would come and go like the tide. It was odd. It had its ebbs and flows, sometimes within a single day.
When the pain subsided, the writing would flow less freely, and this is when she’d often have to go after it, as if hunting for it. Other times, it would come naturally, like a friend arriving to offer consolation. Whether she invited it in, or it came of its own accord, come, it always did. She could count on the inspiration. It never failed her.
That woman still haunted her dreams. By now, she’d grown so real in her mind that she’d even found a name for her: ‘The Lady’. She felt as if she were real. By now, she would take on an internal voice and speak to her soothingly even when Sofia was awake. She felt her in her heart all the time now, yearning for her lost love and lamenting for past mistakes.
The Lady’s grief was overwhelming sometimes, making Sofia sad for no reason at all, especially at night when the world around her grew quiet and there were no distractions. On one occasion, she woke up in the middle of the night to find herself sitting up on the bed listening intently. And what she was listening to was an eerie voice calling out her name. It made her shiver from head to toe. Above all else though, The Lady made her presence known the most whenever Sofia read her poems aloud to herself. It felt like she was sitting right there beside her, egging her on. And this, felt eerie too.
OFF-WHITE DOVE
Hunting up high and then down low
Longing for you my feelings show
Letters I send and rhymes I write
Still on my own I wipe the tears I cannot fight.
But darling, we were born to love and made to woo
I only wish that you would see and feel it too
My soul still yearns and seeks you like an off-white dove
That’s stained its wings
Searching to find and bring you love.
Keeping the faith, trying not to cry
Without you near I can't get by
A thousand men may be around
Yet only you can make my heart with joy bound.
Your touch left scars all over my body
Your breath has thoroughly burned
Burned all my ancient dreams.
I said I’d go on stubbornly all the way
This only can provoke the end of me it seems.
But darling we were born to love and made to woo
I only wish that you would see and feel it too
My soul still yearns and seeks you like an off-white dove
That’s stained its wings
Searching to find and bring you love.
Chapter 5
Brighton, 1938
Three days later, Dr Barnett knocked on the door at Laura’s house in the early afternoon. Laura led him upstairs, trying to contain her angst since this was the day she expected to hear the diagnosis. Ruth was resting in Meg’s old room as she had to stay in quarantine until they knew what the problem was.
Dr Barnett walked in to find Ruth lying in bed, her head propped up with two large pillows. Her long hair, damp from the fever, looked even darker against her pale face. She seemed exhausted but somehow managed a feeble smile when the doctor greeted her and squeezed her hand gently.
The doctor measured the diameter of the largest induration on Ruth’s forearm, like he’d done the day before. When he finished, he pressed his lips together but didn’t seem surprised by his finding. When he looked up to gaze into the eyes of the two women, his brow was deeply furrowed. “I wish I were the bearer of good news but sadly this is not the case,” he said with a sigh. “I’m afraid it’s tuberculosis.”
“Consumption? Are you certain?” whispered Laura, her voice wavering. Her worst fears had just been confirmed.
“I’m afraid so. The results from both the skin test and the sputum sample are unmistakable. It can only be consumption,” he replied matter-of-factly, but when he saw the fear in their eyes, he felt obliged to give them comfort at once.
“I do have some fortunate news for you though,” he said with urgency. “There seems to be a vacancy for you at a splendid, private sanatorium. I’ve already checked with them. They can accept you at once, and it’s going to be free of charge.”
“A sanatorium? Is this necessary?” asked Ruth.
“Of course, my dear. You are going to need bed rest in a quarantined environment with lots of fresh mountain air, and I have found you the best place there is.”
“And where might that be?” interrupted Laura.
“It’s a private castle in Wales,” he announced with pride. “These days it operates as a luxurious sanatorium that is one of the best in the country.”
Laura’s jaw dropped, while Ruth stared back at the doctor agog with the anticipation to see it all for herself.
“A private castle?” Ruth managed finally. “Sounds very grand . . . but how?”
“Our hospital has gone to great lengths to get the best possible treatment for the people of Brighton,” he informed them, his quality of voice pompous.
“Forgive me, Doctor . . .” said Laura, “I find it hard to believe the few shillings a month we pay you per person is adequate to fund a stay in a fancy sanatorium of such description! How can it be free?”
“You’re quite right, Miss Mayfield. It is funded through your contributions only in part, this is true. However, our hospital receives private funding which covers the rest of the cost, so that the patient never has to pay anything.”
“Private funding? Really?” asked Laura, taken aback.
“Indeed! And now, forgive me, ladies, but I must get back to the surgery. I will make all the arrangements and will keep you duly informed.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” answered Ruth from the bed with a faint, yet grateful smile.
“Doctor,” said Laura, catching up with him at the door. “Should I accompany her for the journey? Or will someone be appointed to travel with her?”
“Of course, my dear! A nurse will accompany her in the ambulance that will take her to Wales. There’s nothing to worry about. She’ll be in good hands.” He tipped his hat and left in a hurry.
Back in the room a bit later, Laura sat by her mother’s bedside, and they both looked at each other silently for a few seconds as she wiped her brow, willing the mixture of bad and good news to sink in.
“A private castle! How posh!” said Ruth, grinning.
“Oh, Mum!” replied Laura with a chuckle as she caressed her forehead. This was one of very few times that she had found it endearing, her mother’s eternal pursuit for all things luxurious. It was then that it hit her.
The dreams she had initially held when she came to Brighton, to be part of the rich and fortunate crowd, had all stemmed from her mother. They had crept into her heart over the preceding years of hardship, like a poison that works so slowly in you, you won't know about it until you’re actually dying. It was the same poison which had nearly made her lose Christian.
Her rise at the theatre and her subsequent associations with Charles had given her a taste of the world she had hoped for. Yet, it had all proven insignificant and of lesser value as soon she’d lost the man she loved. This had been a hard lesson to learn, and she didn’t plan to ever forget it.
***
The next couple of days came and went in a blur. Laura skipped some more classes at the Society in order to be with her mother as much as possible, keeping her company, hand feeding her and packing her suitcase for the journey. When the big day arrived, the ambulance stopped outside the house at midday as planned. A nurse came in with the driver and an orderly to take Ruth away. Five minutes later, Laura and Maggie, having seen them off, returned to the h
ouse.
Maggie had asked her boss for the morning off, and Laura was thankful for having her around. All the worry that she hadn’t allowed herself to show her mother in the past few days spurted out of her in an enormous gush of emotion when she sat down at the kitchen table while Maggie put the kettle on.
Her friend rushed to her to hold and soothe her. She helped her wipe away her tears and sent her off to the bathroom to wash her face while she made the tea. That’s when the doorbell rang. Maggie cursed the bad timing. She was also upset about Ruth and didn’t feel at all like socialising. Among all possible candidates, she hoped it wasn’t Mrs Beesley from next door. She was more than capable to call in for a cup of sugar and take a seat uninvited like she often did, to moan over her many family troubles for a good half hour before remembering she had the food on the stove or the baby needed feeding.
When Maggie did answer the door, she wasn’t sure how to feel. As it turned out, it wasn’t Mrs Beesley, but Maggie caught herself wishing it had been her after all. Alas, Charles stood outside instead, and she recognised him immediately. Smooth and gracious, in an impeccable dark blue suit and matching hat, he looked like trouble incarnate. Maggie wished she could just shut the door on his face.
It was then that Laura returned to the kitchen. Her face became ashen to see him standing at her door. She had no idea what to make of it, and she felt too emotionally drawn to deal with it, but sadly, he had already seen her, and it was too late for her to get Maggie to lie she wasn’t there. There was nowhere to hide.
“Good morning, miss!” Charles said politely with a little bow to address Maggie first, since he didn’t know her name. He had seen her around the Pier and in the Pavilion before, but they’d never been introduced. “And good morning to you, Laura!” he said turning to her. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was the kindest, sweetest man in the world. His eyes had a unique honesty about them, his face glowed with good intentions, his stance and manner projected nothing but benevolent intent.
Laura thought he was the last person she would have chosen to meet that day, yet she couldn’t help thinking how suave he looked, and besides, she was curious. With a pleasant smile, she approached to shake his hand and introduce him to Maggie.
Seconds later, Laura led Charles to the living room at the back of the house. Maggie had volunteered to fetch tea and biscuits. Charles gave an appreciative smile when he took a seat in the tattered armchair and made a kind remark about the lush view to the park.
“So what brings you here?” asked Laura when she sat on the sofa opposite him. It had been a couple of months since she last saw him, and although she didn’t intend to resume a friendship with him, she saw no reason to be cold or impolite. Her manners would never allow her to act like this towards anyone visiting her home.
“I’m here to express my heartfelt wishes for your mother’s health.”
“Oh, you’ve heard,” she replied, not really surprised. Brighton could be very small for people like him, who seemed to know everybody.
“Yes I have . . . and I sincerely wish her a prompt recovery. Dear Laura, I’m sure she’s going to be fine and back home before you know it! The sanatorium she is going to is the best there is.”
“You know about that too?” she asked, this time fairly surprised.
“Of course! Actually, it was my family that suggested the specific sanatorium to the hospital. My grandmother, bless her soul, she used to go there every winter. She suffered terribly with arthritis, you see. Also, my uncle from my mother’s side got ill with consumption two years ago. He came back from the welsh mountains in better health than all of us put together.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean you suggested it to the hospital?”
“Oh! You see, my family make the odd donation . . . and since we are so committed to helping the community, we’ve made sure to inform Dr Barnett of this fine sanatorium for his patients.”
“It is very odd you should come here today, Charles . . . and at this particular hour,” she interrupted him. An uneasy thought sprung in her mind. “My mother left this house just a few minutes ago . . . did you know that too?” She fixed him with a bold stare, willing him to lie if he could, for if he did, she was sure she’d be able to tell.
“Yes,” he answered and then looked away clearing his throat. She took it as a clear sign he had something to hide, and she knew he felt cornered. There was that glint in his eyes when he looked at her again. She couldn’t mistake it. It had been there every time he had tried to convince her about something with fervour, or every time he had something to hide.
“How do you know all about my mother’s situation?” she demanded, trying to keep calm. This is when Maggie walked in with the tray. Charles looked away with obvious embarrassment when Maggie tried to catch his eye, and he thanked her feebly when she placed the cup before him. Maggie sensed the ice in the air between them and removed herself from the room at once, taking her mug with her to enjoy her tea in privacy.
“Charles? I asked you a question,” said Laura, coldly this time.
“Oh, Laura,” he said shifting his weight to lean towards her across the ancient low table. “I do confess, I have been worried about you and your mother since hearing about it all. So I’ve asked Dr Barnett to keep me updated.”
“What? But why?”
“Well, what alternative did I have? We haven’t spoken for so long. How else was I going to know that you and your mother were going to be all right?”
“I don’t understand. Why do you even care to know? What is it to you?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I still care for you, Laura. Very much so! I know you said you didn’t want me in your life any more but it hasn’t been easy for me. I can't just forget about you.”
“Please, Charles!” she said, springing up from the sofa to take a few steps away. “I thought my intentions have been clear from the start. I never intended to be more than friends. I’m with Christian once again and I love him. I’m sorry.” She threw him a swift glance, then cast her gaze to the carpet, wondering how she could make him understand she wanted him to leave, without being rude.
“You misunderstood,” he replied standing up and walking up to her. “All I ask is for your friendship. To have you in my life, to know you are happy and safe. That is all I want.” He took her hand in his, his expression earnest.
“I’m sorry, Charles,” she replied cutting him off and removing her hand from his tender grasp. “I simply cannot forget what you did back in London. It was a devious thing to do to Christian!”
Charles gave a deep sigh. “I have no excuse, I’m sorry. It was a stupid mistake. But if you only let me be your friend, I swear you will never regret it again.”
“I don’t know . . . I just don’t know,” she said shaking her head, turning away, her eyes seeking refuge at the view outside the window. A flock of seabirds flew in circles above a cluster of willows in the distance. She wondered what it would be like to fly, to feel the air, cold and bracing on your face, to be able to spread wings whenever you felt cornered, to have the power to distance yourself at will, weightless, and safely out of reach.
“Give me another chance, Laura,” he pleaded, not in the least deterred by her objections. “And if you must know, should you turn me down, you’d be disappointing two of your greatest fans, not just one,” he added and as he’d expected, he caught her attention.
Laura turned around at once with evident astonishment. “What on earth do you mean?” she scoffed.
“It’s my mother. You know what a big fan of the arts she is; an old piano teacher, who in her youth shared the stage with some of England’s greatest virtuosos. Now, in her twilight years, she has got to adore you, dear Laura, for your amazing singing voice. She has seen you perform at the Pavilion, and I must admit, my stupid mistake that cost me your friendship, has also cost my mother the chance to meet you at last.”
“I’m very flattered, but I don’t see how your mother cannot mee
t me. You’ve probably heard from Mr Mills that we are scheduled to perform again next month with a new show,” she paused, and when Charles nodded with hope, she added matter-of-factly, “Her ladyship could come and meet me at the Pavilion after the show.”
“Indeed, she could. Yet, this is not what she really desires.”
“What did she have in mind then? I don’t understand.”
“Well, back in the summer, before we even went to London, do you remember I had proposed for you and your mother to visit Lakeview Castle?”
Laura raised a single brow. “Yes, of course. But it never came to pass. The reason you know only too well.”
“Yes, of course.” He winced. “But you see, my mother was really hoping you’d come to one of our parties and perhaps sing for us all with her on the piano. She kept talking about it all summer, and now I feel very guilty.”
“Is this your way of passing on the guilt, Charles?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Is it working?” he asked mirroring her amused expression.
She arched a single brow. “Is it even true?”
“Yes! My mother adores you, Laura. She won't stop playing the songs from the show on the piano. She’d asked Mr Mills to deliver the music sheets at home. Please spare me! Unless you come to visit and sing while she plays them, I don’t think she’ll ever stop!” He let out an easy laugh. He could tell from Laura’s expression that she’d started to give in.
“Oh, Charles, really! Do you ever not have your way?”
“I don’t know about me, dear, but I can tell you, my mother always does. Both my father and I will go to great lengths to please her. I’m here begging to get her wish, aren't I?”
The Flow Page 3
