by Lucy Gordon
“I love you, my darling,” he whispered. “I’ll always love you.”
And it was there, unmistakable, the slight squeezing on his hand from a little girl at the last of her strength. He looked up at Briony, who’d come to the bed. “She heard me.”
“Yes. She knows that you love her.”
“She squeezed my hand. Like Sally. You said—”
“Look,” Briony said through her tears. “Look.”
Slowly Emma’s eyes were opening. They were fixed on her father’s face. “Hello, Daddy,” she said.
He stroked her face. “I thought you’d gone away from me.”
“But you were there with me.”
“Was I?”
“All the time. Mummy was there, too. She said it would be all right.” She smiled and closed her eyes again.
Then the medical machine took over. Nurses came, and doctors, checking, monitors, smiles of relief and happiness. Briony went to the window and stood looking out. The light was growing stronger all the time, a brilliant daybreak full of hope and promise. And suddenly she had to close her eyes, because the light hurt them.
Emma recovered fast. With her heart functioning efficiently at last, strength flowed back into her limbs, color returned to her cheeks and her breathlessness vanished.
After a few days in Intensive Care she was put into a little sunny room on the ground floor, overlooking the gardens. Outside the spring daffodils made a riot of yellow. Everywhere new life was bursting, underlining the dramatic change that had come into their lives without warning.
Every evening Carlyle hurried to the hospital from work. Emma would fling her arms open wide to him, and be gathered into a bear hug. Briony would watch them fondly, smiling. They’d found each other in a way that hadn’t been true before.
Emma’s attitude to herself was unchanged. She accepted Briony as her mother as unquestioningly as before. Which was strange, Briony thought, after what had happened to Emma as she lay between life and death. The two people with her then had been Carlyle and Helen. Briony had come nowhere. Yet Emma almost seemed to have forgotten the experience, and Briony couldn’t bring herself to question the child.
She was happy for Emma and Carlyle, yet there was a faint, half-acknowledged ache in her heart that wouldn’t go away. She felt stranded in limbo. In the language of the business world, where Carlyle was king, the terms under which she’d married him were no longer valid. The conditions were null and void. The contract rested on a false premise.
It would have been easy just to let things drift. For Emma’s sake, Carlyle would never ask her to leave. They could have a contented life, growing closer over the years, having their own children, until perhaps at last the origins of their marriage became blurred with time. The voice of the tempter whispered that it would be better than life without him.
But would it? Some deep, uncompromising part of Briony’s nature, something that wouldn’t settle for second best, refused to let it go at that. She could say nothing until Emma had completely regained her health. But the time was coming when she and Carlyle must face the truth, whatever that might lead to.
One evening Carlyle arrived for his visit to find Briony just leaving Emma’s room. “I’ve got to see the doctor about the arrangements for taking her home,” she said. “Any day now.”
“Great. Can’t be too soon for me.” Briony vanished down the corridor. Carlyle went in and enfolded Emma in a bear hug. For a while they made gleeful plans for her return, but he soon became aware that she was distracted. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“Daddy, I’ve lost Oswald. He fell off the bed.”
Carlyle ducked but could see nothing. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I’ve lost him. If he’s not there he must be somewhere else.”
“You stay in bed. I’ll find him. Which one am I looking for?”
“Oswald.”
“Yes, but which Oswald?”
“Oswald.”
At last Carlyle located the whale and the penguin lying together on the floor. Emma opened her arms for them and thanked him.
“You had me pretty confused there, for a while,” he told her. “I didn’t know if I was looking for one or two.”
“But they’re both Oswald. Oswald and Oswald is Oswald. Don’t you see?”
“I’m beginning to, darling.” Carlyle got up from the floor and dusted himself down, muttering something.
“What was that, Daddy?”
“Nothing,” he said hastily.
“It sounded like ‘saucepan.’”
Emma returned home to great rejoicing. There were cards and gifts from all the family, and a letter from Denis full of drawings of matchstick men that made her giggle. The milestones began to slip by, her first day back at school, her first evening with the Brownies, her first dancing class.
One night, when Emma was in bed, Briony said casually, “Have you given any thought to what happens now?”
He frowned. “Why should anything happen now?”
She took a deep breath and spoke brightly. “Really, Carlyle, you’re very forgetful. You hired me for six months, and the six months are up. They’ve ended more happily than we hoped, and that’s fine. But it really is time for me to get on with my own life now.”
There was a short silence before he replied. “I didn’t know you felt like that—”
“It was only a temporary bargain,” she reminded him.
“But you and Emma have grown so close. I thought—aren’t you happy with us?”
“I’m delighted it’s worked out so well for you both,” Briony said, choosing her words carefully. “But after all, a promise is a promise, and you always said you were a man of your word. Neither of us anticipated this situation.”
He stared at her, and she saw the anger gather in his face. “And that’s all it is to you?” he snapped. “A situation? Are you really prepared to simply walk out on Emma, when you mean so much to her?”
Say how much I mean to you, she thought. Please say that.
After a moment she replied, “I’m not going to walk out. I wouldn’t do that to her. But there’s a business course I’d like to enrol in. It’s about sixty miles away from here, so I’ll have to find digs. We don’t have to make any dramatic announcements to Emma. I’ll just fade out of the picture gradually. With all the new things in her life, she’ll hardly notice.”
“Do you really think that?” he asked coldly. “Or is it just a convenient excuse to do what you want?”
Ask me to stay because you want me. Tell me that all we’ve been through together means something.
“For heaven’s sake, Carlyle, look at Emma’s life. She’s doing well at school now she’s going full time. She’s got lots of friends. She’ll be going to stay with Elaine and her children, then she’s got Brownie camp. And the next thing will be ballet school. I’ve really played such a small part in her life that she’ll hardly notice me gone, if we go about it the right way.”
“And what, in your view, is the right way?” he demanded in a colder voice than she’d ever heard him use.
“Joyce called me today. Your father is going on a painting holiday next month. He’ll be away for six weeks. I thought Joyce could come here.”
“To cover your exit, you mean?” Carlyle demanded ironically.
“To be here for Emma so that she doesn’t feel any lack. You know they adore each other.”
He regarded her, his head on one side. “You get on well with my mother, don’t you?”
“Yes. I think she’s lovely.”
“She loves you, too. So do all my family. Not just Emma, but all of them. Even my sister Paula, who takes offence at everybody on principle, talks kindly about you. But that’s not enough for you, is it?”
“No,” she said with a little sigh. “It’s not enough for me.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll do what you want to do,” he growled. “And never mind how anybody else feels about it.”
Tell me how
you feel about it. Not the rest of the family. You.
“I shall need your help, Carlyle. The college only takes students ‘of proven ability.’ A letter from you should smooth my path.”
“A letter recommending my own wife? How much attention will they pay to that?”
“You’re right. I’d better use my maiden name.”
He scowled. “I should have expected that, I suppose. All right, I’ll give you the letter. And be damned to you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WITH Carlyle’s recommendation Briony had no trouble being accepted into the college. She began to spend weekdays in digs, returning home at the weekends. Joyce regarded the arrangement with raised eyebrows, but held her tongue, and Emma, too, said surprisingly little. She was happy with her life filled with new interests, and at weekends she greeted Briony cheerfully.
Usually Briony drove back on Sunday night, but one weekend she stayed over until Monday morning, and was still there when Carlyle left for work. He returned that evening to find Joyce and Emma playing draughts.
“Did Briony get off all right this morning?” he asked gruffly, throwing himself into a chair with relief.
“I dropped her at the station,” Joyce informed him.
There was a silence, during which Carlyle became aware that his daughter and his mother were exchanging glances. “What?” he asked.
“We think it’s time you told us what’s going on,” Joyce said.
“Why should anything be going on?” he demanded.
“Because Mummy said she wouldn’t be coming back next weekend,” Emma said.
“She’s very busy with this course,” Carlyle said lamely.
“Is that all?” Joyce asked.
He threw her a look that meant “not in front of Emma,” but she seemed not to see it.
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, both of you,” he said.
“Why is Mummy so dreadfully unhappy?” Emma demanded.
“Honestly, darling, you imagined that—”
“No, I didn’t. She is unhappy.” Emma fixed her father with an accusing look. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“I—no, I didn’t.”
“You should have known,” Joyce informed him.
“How could I?” He looked to Emma for support, but found her regarding him accusingly. “I gather you both think it’s my fault.”
“It probably is,” Joyce observed.
“I didn’t want her to go,” he said, goaded. “There was no need. I told her she was being ridiculous.”
Emma and Joyce spoke with one outraged voice. “You said that?”
“There are things—Briony and I—” He looked helplessly at Emma. “Things were different when you were ill. You nearly died. You needed her then.”
It might have been his fancy that his daughter regarded him with pity. “But what about you?” she asked. “Don’t you need Mummy?”
He stared. After a moment he recovered himself. “Darling, there’s a lot you don’t understand—”
“Don’t treat the child like a fool,” Joyce said bracingly. “It seems to me that Emma’s not the one who doesn’t understand.”
In the silence that followed this pronouncement Carlyle seemed to hear the air singing around his ears. He had a feeling that the earth had shifted on its axis, leaving everything the same but totally transformed.
“I think the sooner you get Briony back, the better,” Joyce went on, as if nothing had happened. “Then perhaps you’ll stop acting like a bear with a sore head.”
He was about to defend himself, when he caught Emma’s eyes on him again and something warned him to watch what he said. “Is that what I’ve been doing?” he asked her meekly.
She nodded. “Horrible,” she confirmed. “Especially if the phone rings, and it isn’t her.”
“Look, darling, it’s better to face facts. The real reason Briony went away is—” It was strange how hard he found it to say the words. “I guess—she just doesn’t love me. She loves you—but not me.”
Emma frowned. “But she does love you.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She does.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Does!”
Carlyle almost said “Doesn’t!” but checked himself in time, wondering where his wits had wandered. Father and daughter squared up to each other, while Joyce muttered, “Heaven give me patience!”
“Honestly, Daddy!” Emma said, regarding him with exasperated sympathy.
Carlyle looked from Emma to Joyce and back again. He’d always known that his daughter was a mixture of Helen and himself. Now it occurred to him that she was uncomfortably like his mother, as well.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “Briony doesn’t love me.”
“She told me she did,” Emma announced.
“That’s imposs—when?”
“Weeks ago. I asked her and she said she loved you ever so and ever so,” Emma finished with a triumphant air.
At the sound of the childish phrase a kind of tense eagerness went out of Carlyle. He gave a forced smile. “Of course she did, darling. I expect you had a lovely talk.”
Sensing disbelief, Emma eyed him indignantly. “She said ever so and ever so,” she insisted. “Nobody says ever so and ever so, unless it’s true.”
“So now you know,” Joyce observed.
Carlyle rose, scowling. “I think the two of you have taken leave of your senses,” he growled. “This is reality, not a fairy tale, and the reality is that Briony was here for Emma’s sake, not mine. You were ill, darling, but you’re not ill now, and Briony wants to get back to her own life.”
“Well, that’s your fault,” Joyce said.
“Codswallop!” Carlyle said angrily, making for the door.
Emma seized her notepad. “Cods—”
“Two I’s,” Carlyle snapped, and walked out.
When she’d first started attending the college Briony had worried in case she wasn’t up to the work. But she soon found that her powerful memory and tidy mind handled everything easily, and she grew in confidence. This, she decided, was what nature had intended her to be. Her love for Carlyle was no more than an aberration, best put behind her and forgotten. She told herself this very firmly, very often.
By day, with plenty to occupy her mind, she managed fairly well. But at night, lying alone in the darkness, her body would ache with longing for Carlyle’s arms around her. But the real ache was in her heart.
She constantly tormented herself, wondering if she’d done the right thing. Shouldn’t she have stayed with Carlyle for Emma’s sake? But Emma didn’t really need her anymore, not the way she’d once done.
As for Carlyle himself, of course he’d wanted her to stay with Emma. But Briony knew that if she’d accepted those terms she would have felt like a pensioner, kept on the strength out of kindness. It was better this way. The future stretched out before her, in which she would become successful and probably rich, using her mind in the way it was meant to be used. And using her heart not at all.
Carlyle blinked at the computer screen where the figures were beginning to dance. It was three in the morning and he should have been asleep long ago, but he was oddly reluctant to go upstairs these days. The king-size bed, which had so exactly suited him in the past, now felt like a desert.
He left the computer and went to sprawl on the sofa. Through the sleep that began to overtake him he thought he heard his study door open and close. He blinked again, wondering if he was imagining the small, dressinggowned figure who stood there. But then the figure gave him a very tangible prod, and said, “Daddy!”
He rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No. It’s about Mummy.”
He pulled himself together. “Darling, we said it all this afternoon.”
“No,” Emma said earnestly. “I mean Mummy—a
nd Mummy.”
He stared at her and spoke cautiously. “I’m not sure that I—” Something warned him that what he said next would be important. After a moment enlightenment came to him. “Do you mean, like Oswald and Oswald?”
She gave a sigh of relief. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Not everything. Perhaps you’d better explain.”
He held out an arm, crooked in invitation. Emma snuggled up on the sofa beside him, and began to tell him all about it.
The sound of a knock on her door at nine in the evening sent Briony across the floor with a fast-beating heart.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
Denis sighed. “Well, that tells me what I wanted to know. Don’t I even get offered a cup of coffee?”
Briony pulled herself together. “Come in, Denis. It’s nice to see you.”
“But it would have been far nicer to see Carlyle, eh? Now what does that shrug mean?”
“It means that things are over between Carlyle and me. I don’t even think of him these days.”
“Little liar. You hated me for not being him.”
Briony gave a wan smile. “Only for a moment. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
“I came to see you, of course. I thought there might be a chance for me now, but you’ve already answered that.”
“Sit down and tell me all the news. How is—everybody?”
“I can’t tell you much. Carlyle never exactly sought my company, and since he knew I was attracted to you I’m persona non grata.”
“That’s nonsense. Carlyle and I married for Emma’s sake. He never cared for me.”
“Now who’s talking nonsense? He was jealous as hell when he caught me giving you that little peck at Christmas.”
“He wasn’t jealous. He was only afraid that Emma would see.”
Denis was silent for a moment before saying, “Briony, for a clever woman, you’re an awful fool. But then, your husband’s an even bigger one. Ah, coffee! Thank you!”
He stayed for half an hour, talking his usual nonsense, but then, with more sensitivity than she would have given him credit for, he left her in peace. Briony was left to ponder his words. They seemed to contain some hope, but she’d finished with hope. Whatever might have been between herself and Carlyle was over, and that was that.
