Too Close to the Sun

by Jess Foley

  ‘And how have you been, Stephen?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Oh – well, thank you. Very well.’

  ‘You certainly look well. The tropical air obviously agrees with you.’

  ‘Perhaps it does.’

  The silence again. Then he said, ‘I came a little earlier this evening because – well, because I had to talk to you.’

  She studied his expression, noting the way his glance shifted away, as if unable to rest on hers for more than a moment. ‘Couldn’t it wait?’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I – I suppose not.’

  Another little silence.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t have some tea?’ Grace said.

  ‘No, really, thank you.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ lifting a hand, gesturing towards the sunlit window frame, ‘you’d care to go outside. It’s such a lovely day – and cooped up in here on such a day, it seems a crime.’ The thought flashed into her mind that she was playing for time.

  ‘Grace,’ he said quickly, ‘Grace – this is very difficult for me. I don’t know how to begin.’

  A little silence, then Grace heard herself say, ‘What is it you want to say to me, Stephen?’ She was forcing herself to sound calm. ‘Tell me.’

  There was a long pause and then, still avoiding her eyes, he said:

  ‘I – I’m to be married.’

  His words, soft in the stillness of the room, struck her like a blow, and inwardly she flinched. She felt that she wanted to rise and run from the room, but she could do nothing except remain where she was, standing there, gazing at him, while outside in the cherry tree the blackbird filled the early evening air with his song. And then at last Stephen turned his eyes to her again – and now it was her turn to look away.

  ‘I’m so sorry to tell you like this,’ he said.

  She gave an inward little shrug, and forced a smile to her mouth. ‘Well, it is something of a surprise, I must admit.’ In truth, she thought, it was like living in a bad dream; perhaps in a moment she would awake and reality would be there. But for the time being she must behave as if she were not moved. ‘Do I know the lady?’ she asked.

  ‘No. She – Miss Shilford – Victoria – was a passenger on board the ship.’

  ‘Ah,’ Grace heard her voice say, ‘ – so that’s how you met.’ She could feel pain in the tightness of her throat. ‘When is it to be?’ she asked. ‘The wedding.’

  ‘Oh, well – we’ve not set a date yet – but some time in the spring, we think.’

  ‘Well, let me say that I hope you’ll both be very happy.’

  ‘Thank you, Grace.’ And then he was rising from his chair, was coming towards her, was reaching out. As she rose before him her hand was taken in his, suddenly cool in the warmth of his own. ‘Grace – my dear friend,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what, Stephen?’

  ‘For being so – understanding.’

  ‘Oh, Stephen, please …’ She withdrew her hand and turned away. His dear friend he had called her. Had his words been so carefully chosen – chosen in order to place their relationship on an uncomplicated footing? Dear Friend. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again, now trying to sound more brisk and casual. ‘Look, I’m afraid you caught me at a difficult time. I’ve got a dozen things to do, and –’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you must have.’ There was no missing the note of relief in his voice. ‘And I mustn’t detain you.’

  Forcing herself to keep up the charade of being calm and unmoved, she gave him a smile, then turned, opened the door and led the way out into the hall. Neither spoke as they reached the front door, where, with the door open, they stood awkwardly facing one another again.

  ‘Where is she from?’ Grace said, ‘ – your Miss Victoria?’

  ‘From Redbury.’

  ‘She’ll be lonely when you go back to sea.’

  ‘Yes, well – I’m resigning my commission in the service. When I go away next it will be for my last voyage.’

  ‘I see. And then where will you go? To Redbury?’

  ‘Well – when we’re married, Victoria and I – we’ll come to live here.’

  ‘In Green Shipton?’

  ‘I’m to help my father in the running of his business. It’s what he’s always wanted.’

  ‘I see. Yes, of course.’ Grace nodded. ‘You’ve come to some very – swift decisions.’ She was aware of a sharp little note of bitterness touching the edge of her voice, and fought to dispel it. Careful of her tone, she added, ‘So you and your wife will be living here in Green Shipton.’

  ‘Yes. Oh, Grace, I know that you and Victoria will become such good friends. She really is the finest young lady you could wish to meet.’

  She remained standing in the room after he had gone, standing there with one hand on the back of a chair, in the very same position she had been in when he had reached out, shaken her hand and, with a final uncertain goodbye, had gone from her sight. And still she could hear the echo of the sound of the horse’s hoofs fading on the cobbles of the yard. A sound at the door, and she looked around to see Billy standing there, looking at her questioningly.

  ‘Grace, are you all right?’

  ‘What?’ Grace gave herself a mental shake and smiled. ‘Of course I’m all right.’ She bent and began to rearrange some flowers in a bowl on the table. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘He was only here a few minutes.’

  ‘Well, yes – he has things to do. He’s a busy man – having just arrived back home.’ She straightened, clasped her hands before her in a businesslike manner. ‘And I have things to do as well. I can’t stand here all day.’

  How she managed to keep any semblance of equanimity as she walked past Billy and up the stairs she did not know. But once in her bedroom, with the door closed and bolted, she sank down onto the bed and put her head in her hands. Moments later she heard over the sound of her sobbing a light tap on the door.

  ‘Oh, Billy,’ she cried out, ‘I can’t talk to you right now. I’m busy at the moment. Leave me for a minute, please.’

  ‘It’s not Billy,’ came her father’s voice, ‘ – it’s me.’

  ‘Oh, Pappy, can it wait a while? Please?’ Try as she might, she could not keep the tears out of her voice. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘Gracie –’ his voice was soft, almost a whisper through the door, ‘let me in for a moment, please.’

  ‘Pappy –’

  ‘Please, Grace …’

  A pause. ‘Just a second.’ She sniffed, dabbed at her eyes and nose with a handkerchief, then got up from the bed. Standing before the glass she touched at her hair and smoothed her hands over her cheeks. It made no difference; there was no hiding the fact that she had been crying. At the door she slipped back the bolt, opened the door and turned away from it. She was standing by the window when she heard her father enter the room, heard the door close behind him. A moment later he was standing right behind her and she was feeling the light touch of his hand upon her arm.

  At the touch she swiftly turned, and then his arms were coming around her and she was burying her face against his shoulder. ‘Oh, Pappy, Pappy …’ She sobbed out the words, her voice muffled in the fabric of his coarse shirt. She could smell the sawdust that lingered in the folds of the cotton. After a while the sounds of her sobbing grew softer, until at last it fell to a little catching of the breath. And this too faded.

  Throughout her weeping her father had said nothing. Now he drew back a little, looked down into her tear-stained face and said, ‘I knew something was wrong. I saw him arrive, but only a few minutes later he was riding off across the yard again. And you didn’t come out to see him off. I knew something was up.’

  ‘Pappy, he – he’s to be married.’ The tears that had died threatened now to rise again like a new spring, and she had to fight to keep them down. ‘He’s to marry a young woman he met on his ship.’

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Her father’s arms clasped her again. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.
I wish there were something I could say that would make you feel better. But there’s nothing. Nothing that you’d believe, anyway.’

  Grace did not speak. After a moment she broke from his embrace and sat down on the side of the bed. Her father sat down beside her. A minute passed, during which time they remained silent, the only sound that of their breathing.

  At last Grace spoke.

  ‘I’ve been a complete fool,’ she said.

  ‘A fool? What makes you say that?’

  ‘I have. This is all my fault. I brought this all on myself.’

  ‘Why are you saying that?’

  ‘It’s true. I have to face the truth. Stephen didn’t owe me anything. He made me no promises.’

  ‘Maybe not, but –’

  ‘No, Pappy, he promised me nothing. He called at the house, and we went out walking together on a few occasions. But that’s all it was. There was no engagement. He’s at perfect liberty to go and marry whomever he likes.’

  She gave a deep sigh and got up from the bed. Her father got up behind her.

  ‘Well, this won’t get the work done,’ Grace said. ‘The world has to go on.’ She turned to face her father. ‘That’s one thing we all realized when Mamma died – that the world has to go on. It doesn’t matter how unhappy you are, it doesn’t matter the tragedy that you might have gone through, the world goes on. The tradesmen still insist on being paid, the livestock still demand feeding, the goat will still want milking.’ Turning to look in the glass, she put up a hand and absently smoothed her hair back in place. As she looked at her father in the glass she noticed that his right thumb was now bandaged. She turned to him and reached for his hand.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘your poor thumb. How is it?’

  ‘It’s getting better. I put the bandage on because I’ve been polishing, and with an open wound it makes it sting a bit.’

  ‘Ah, Pappy.’

  ‘I’m all right, girl,’ he said. ‘It’s you as needs the attention.’

  ‘I shall be fine,’ she said. ‘Really I shall.’

  ‘All right, then. I’ll get back to work. Come on down if you need me.’

  ‘I will.’

  As he got to the door she said, ‘The trouble is, Stephen’s leaving the service soon and coming back to work in his father’s business. Which means I could be running into him at any time. Or his wife.’ Then, waving a dismissive hand, she added, ‘But that’s just something I shall have to deal with when it happens. And I’ll manage.’

  ‘Of course you will.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Anyway – you go on back to your work, Pappy. I shall be all right, I promise you.’

  He stood there facing her, one hand on the doorknob. Grace said:

  ‘I don’t think I can go to Aunt Edie’s tomorrow.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘Not now. Not now this has happened. I shan’t be good company.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’ll be the best thing for you. Get a change of scene for a while.’ He opened the door, turned in the doorway and looked back at her. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right?’ he said.

  ‘Absolutely.’ She forced a smile to her mouth, a fleeting expression that came and went.

  She remained looking in the direction of the doorway for some moments after her father had closed the door behind him and after she had heard his footfalls die away as he descended the stairs. Then, turning from the door she sank back down onto the bed, bent her head and put her hands to her face. The tears began again, filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. Falling forward, she lay down on the bed and buried her face in the coverlet.

  Chapter Five

  It was after five when Grace arrived at her aunt’s the following day. It had been a pleasant enough journey in her father’s trap for the first part, and in the cab at the end. However, it had been warm in the closed railway carriage. Grace would have liked at least one window open, but a middle-aged matron sitting near a window had made a fuss about the smuts in the smoke, so Grace and the elderly man also present could do nothing but suffer the close air.

  Eventually, however, Grace alighted from the cab outside her aunt’s cottage, the cab driver had set down her little trunk at her feet and was climbing aboard again.

  Seconds later Grace was being welcomed by her aunt and carrying her trunk upstairs to the little room that she would share with her aunt for the next few nights.

  That evening after they had eaten, the two relaxed into conversation and Grace was able to inform her aunt of the family’s comings and goings. Aunt Edie was in her late fifties, a large, jolly woman who seemed to Grace to have a great appetite for life, and who rarely allowed its vicissitudes to get her down. With her rounded figure, pink cheeks and suspiciously red hair she was a picture of good nature, a picture that was not denied in the reality.

  It was not long into their conversation that Stephen came to be mentioned, and soon after that the news of his planned marriage that he had brought to Grace the previous day.

  ‘Oh, my dear …’ Aunt Edie reached across the space between the chairs where they sat and pressed Grace’s hand. And once again, with this touch of real sympathy, Grace could feel the tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. With an effort she forced them back. She had wept already for Stephen; if she could in any way help it, she would not weep for him again.

  Over the following days Grace did her best not to think of Stephen. But it was not easy. Unbidden, thoughts of him would come to her at the most unexpected times. She would imagine him in the lane, walking at her side; see him astride his horse as he stopped outside the house and bent to her from the saddle. So often she told herself that she had no rights where he was concerned. It was true what she had told her father – Stephen had made her no promises. There had been no promises, declarations of love, or discussions of a shared future – from either one of them. And although he had kissed her on two or three occasions, the kisses had been chaste and proper and without passion.

  Grace did her best to fill her days in Remmer Ridge. If her aunt had no proposals for other pastimes, Grace would, soon after breakfast, put on her hat, a light shawl and her pair of sturdy boots and set off alone for a walk. She did not always choose the same route; on some days she walked across the surrounding meadows, following the narrow footpaths beside the hedgerows that skirted the fields, at other times walking beside the river that ran along beside the road before cutting off across the fields on its meandering way. Perhaps in the afternoons her aunt would accompany her on a shorter walk, and sometimes in the evenings Aunt Edie would play the harmonium and Grace would join her, adding her light soprano to her aunt’s rich contralto in singing romantic ballads and songs and hymns of praise. At other times the two would play parlour games, chess, draughts or bezique or sit talking over their needlework – Aunt Edie her embroidery and Grace over the nightdress she was making.

  And the hours, the days went by, and although the time passed Grace found that barely an hour would be spent without her thinking of Stephen. Everything she did, she thought, was merely a diversion. Whatever she did, all it succeeded in doing was filling time, passing time. Whether she was playing chess with her aunt, quietly trying to read, working on her sewing or walking by the river, Stephen would be always there, somehow or other finding a way of looking over her shoulder. Her father had been wrong; he had thought that a change of scene was exactly the thing that was needed to help Grace over her unhappiness. But it was not. If anything, it made it worse, for she had not even the comfort about her that comes with being with familiar things.

  And such was her unhappiness that at night when she got into the bed she shared with her aunt she almost remarked to herself that she had come through the day without dying from heartbreak. And throughout it all, over and over again, she told herself, Stephen would in time turn again to her.

  Not that she waxed vocal about
her unhappiness. Her preoccupations were of the quiet kind, so that all a stranger might observe was a certain constraint about her, a certain seriousness of mien, a lack of readiness to laugh. Her aunt, having traversed such territory herself in days gone by, understood the situation and was sympathetic. And being sympathetic she did her best to find ways and means of further diverting Grace’s preoccupations, while at the same time she was old enough and wise enough to know a lost cause when she found one. In the end she let things be, and merely offered kind, sympathetic words and understanding when she thought they were required.

  And as the days passed, Grace, like a sick animal that heads for his lair, found herself looking forward to getting back home.

  As a matter of course she had written to her father immediately on arrival at Remmer Ridge – just to say that she had got there safely – and four days later she wrote again to confirm the day and time of her return. It had been arranged that her father would meet her in the trap at Liddiston station, and now as the time for her departure approached, she felt she could not get back soon enough.

  And at last the time came when the cab – booked on her outward journey – stood waiting at the gate and she was saying goodbye to her aunt.

  Her journey back was uneventful, and Grace found comfort and a degree of pleasure in the very knowledge that she was heading back home, and even more in the knowledge that when she reached Liddiston she would find her father waiting for her.

  And there he was as she came out of the station, sitting up there with Robin, the young gelding pony, between the trap’s shafts.

  As a young porter carried her trunk to place it in the back of the trap, her father jumped down and hurried forward to embrace her. She saw at once that his left thumb was still bandaged.

  ‘Welcome back, Gracious,’ he beamed as he put his arms around her and drew her close. Gladly she let herself be held, for a moment giving herself up to the warmth of his touch, the comfort in the smell and familiar strength of his body.