‘No. I was invited, but I think Viv and Hattie deserve some family time with Alfie.’
‘So you’re off home? To the windmill?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it far?’
‘No. I cycle.’ He indicated the painting over the mantelpiece. ‘That’s a picture of Creake Hall.’
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed. You wouldn’t believe I had an art school training, would you? Tax payers’ money completely wasted.’
I approached the fireplace, stood beside Marek and peered up at the painting. ‘That,’ he said, pointing with a long index finger, ‘is the old mill. The sails are gone now.’ He turned to me and said, ‘Has Viv put you in the attic bedroom?’
I was thrown by the question. I may even have blushed. ‘Yes, she has,’ I replied briskly. Blushing for the second time today, and in this man’s presence. I was losing my grip. Either that or he’d spiked the orange juice.
‘You can see the mill from up there. Look to the right. If you look beyond the mill, you can see the sea on a clear day.’
‘You must have wonderful views then.’
‘I do.’ He paused a moment, then added, ‘You must come and see them. If you have time.’
‘I’ll make time. I love the sea and I’d love to see inside your windmill.’
Hattie’s head appeared round the door. ‘Oh, good! You found someone to talk to. Dinner in ten minutes, Viv says. Help yourselves to drinks. Things are reaching a critical stage in the kitchen and I’ve been summoned. Is Tyler looking after you?’
‘Yes, he is, thanks, Hattie. Don’t worry about me. I feel quite at home.’
‘Oh, Alfie said, would someone please pour him a large whisky. I’ve driven him to drink apparently.’ A door banged. ‘Oops - here he comes. I’m off.’
And with that she was gone, her figure replaced almost immediately by Alfie’s, like a Punch and Judy show. I hurried over to the sideboard to mix him a drink.
Alfie came into the room and asked wearily, ‘What’s the female version of fratricide?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ I replied, pouring a generous measure.
‘It’s still fratricide,’ Marek said. ‘Sisters aren’t deemed worthy of their own term, even when murdered.’
‘I agree entirely,’ Alfie drawled. ‘It’s a crime I’ve been contemplating, but, as they used to say in the good old days, she’s not worth swinging for.’ I held out the whisky glass, offering it to his left hand. ‘Thank you, Gwen. You’ve saved my life. And probably Hattie’s.’
He took it with his right.
~~~
The black sky was tinselly with stars and Capella, the brightest winter star, hung like a gold bauble. Marek buttoned up his jacket, wound a scarf round his neck and wheeled his bike down the gravel path towards the road.
He’d said too much. Far too much. She was pretty, possibly attracted to him, and he’d fallen into a trap she hadn’t even set. He would be on his guard next time. It would be easy to avoid being alone with her over Christmas. He just needed to remember that, however great the temptation to talk, it just wasn’t worth it. No one had ever understood, could ever understand, and those who’d tried fell by the wayside eventually.
He knew why he’d slipped up. She was intelligent. Sensitive. She’d taken some knocks herself, evidently. He couldn’t see what a woman like her was doing with a waste of space like Alfie, but that was no reason to get involved. There was no point, even though he knew from years of embarrassing, sometimes painful experience, that all he needed to do was ask a few searching questions, listen attentively to the answers and offer the odd insightful remark. That was enough. Insight wasn’t even essential. Women thought you were God’s gift if you simply listened. But the bright ones (and she was bright) could tell the difference between listening because you were interested and listening as a way of getting into their bed - a distinction that had become blurred for him once he’d given up his practice. But he did want to listen to her. And get her into bed? Yes, probably, if he was honest. And when was he not? Self-deception was a luxury long foregone.
He switched on his lights and set off. The road was icy and he cycled carefully. He looked up at the yellow beacon of Capella and wondered idly which star the three Wise Men had followed to Bethlehem.
He knew why he wanted to talk to her. It was because he’d thought she might understand. His grin was sardonic, savage in the cold moonlight. Self-deception wasn’t totally a thing of the past, then. He was still more or less human.
Gwen
I barely tasted dinner. My eyes were fixed on Alfie seated opposite me, carving the joint right-handed, passing the gravy right-handed, pouring wine right-handed. Despite the festive occasion and Viv’s competence as a hostess, the dinner was blighted for the others by Rae’s absence and for me by my preoccupation with family snapshots. Alfie caught me staring at him and mouthed, ‘You OK?’ I nodded, forced a smile and turned my attention to Viv, seated by my side.
‘Alfie suggested I take Rae’s tea up to her after dinner. Do you think that would be a good idea? Apparently she told him she’d like me to go and see her.’
Viv’s face lit up. ‘Did she? Oh, that’s splendid! I’m so pleased she’s taking an interest. I thought she probably would, but you never can tell with Rae. We’ll make up a tray for her after dinner and I’ll take you up. I’ll sit with you if you like - share the conversational burden. Talking to my mother can be a bit like negotiating a maze!’
‘Oh, you don’t need to come. I’m sure I’ll manage.’
For a moment, Viv looked disappointed, or perhaps she was worried. Whatever her feelings, she soon masked them with her warm smile. ‘Have some more beef, Gwen - there’s loads left. And I’m sure you could manage another potato.’ She served me without waiting for a reply and I remembered my mother loading my plate with food she knew I couldn’t or wouldn’t eat. It was how she expressed her love for me: giving me things I didn’t want or need, sometimes things she’d stolen. All I actually ever wanted was for her to hold me, just sit still for a moment and hold me, but I couldn’t remember her doing that. Aunt Sam gave me drunken bear hugs and Uncle Frank would sit me on his knee, but I couldn’t remember Sasha holding me, couldn’t remember anyone holding me, holding me as if I was precious, as if they never wanted to let me go. Even Alfie liked his own space in the beds we shared. He’d make enthusiastic love, cuddle and kiss me afterwards, but he’d always turn away to go to sleep.
Viv deposited another Yorkshire pudding on my plate. As I stared down at a puddle of congealing gravy, I fought back a wave of nausea and decided that I would ask Alfie. There was no way round it.
I had to know.
Chapter Nine
Gwen
After dinner Viv made up a tray with a pot of camomile tea and two cups. As I mounted the stairs with the tray I felt a little nervous, but mainly curious. Viv preceded me, knocked gently on her mother’s door and ushered me in.
‘Ma, you’ve got a visitor! It’s Gwen, Alfie’s girlfriend. Do you remember? She’s brought you your tea.’ Viv moved over to the bed and started to plump pillows, obscuring my view of Rae, so I had a moment to take in the room, dimly lit apart from a pool of light around the bed.
Everywhere I looked I saw flowers. Some were on the curtains and wallpaper, some were in vases. Others turned out to be pot plants. The air was scented with something heady and floral - jasmine, or perhaps gardenia - and the overall effect was like being in a conservatory. There were family photos framed on the floral walls, as well as paintings and needlework samplers, some old and faded, one of them obviously Hattie’s handiwork. I glanced up and read:
The sun though hid
Is always shining
And the darkest cloud
Has a silver lining.
The stitched picture was divided into night and day. A silver-threaded moon and stars hung above a house while a gold-threaded sun, half-hidden by an ominous cloud, shone down on another version of the house. Underne
ath it said:
Creake Hall
Home Sweet Home.
Harriet Donovan Aged 12
The sampler hung above Rae’s desk which was neatly laid out with pens, pencils, notebooks and a diary. There were several very small vases of flowers on the desk, the only one I recognised being hellebore, the Christmas rose. I could see no evidence of any work being done and there was no laptop or PC , but given Rae’s age, that didn’t surprise me.
When she’d helped her mother to sit upright in bed, Viv stood aside and I finally got to see Rachael Holbrook. Her hair was a dark, steely grey, cut in a sleek but school-girlish bob, pulled back from her forehead with a hair-grip. The effect was severe but quirky. Her face was long, the nose hawk-like, but patrician. It was a strong, almost masculine face, but the eyes were good: dark and lustrous like Viv’s, but without her twinkling humour. Rae’s eyes looked nervous, even confused. My heart went out to the old lady. She might be curious to meet her son’s girlfriend, but this was evidently something of an ordeal for her.
I moved forward with the tray which Viv took from me and set down on a side table. I approached the bed which was covered with a Baltimore wedding quilt on which appliquéd roses and honeysuckle intertwined. Trying not to be distracted by the beauty of the quilt, I extended my hand. ‘Mrs Holbrook, I’m so pleased to meet you! Alfie’s told me such a lot about you and your wonderful books!’
The voice was querulous but clear. ‘My dear, you must call me Rae. Absolutely everybody does. Even the gardener. We don’t stand on ceremony at Creake Hall. Come and sit beside me. Let me look at you.’
Viv placed a chair behind me, touched me on the arm and whispered, ‘Good luck!’ She slipped out of the room and I was left alone with Rae, who lay back on her pillows and regarded me.
‘Lovely! Quite lovely! My son has very good taste. I approve. Now would you be kind enough to pour the tea, my dear? Thank you so much. If I do it, I shall only slop it into the saucers.’
I poured tea into the bone china cups and handed one to Rae. Beneath the quilted bed-jacket (also floral) her hands were large and her arms sturdy. Rae’s mind might be frail, but her body certainly wasn’t. Viv had obviously inherited her Amazonian physique from her mother.
‘Now, are they looking after you? Are you enjoying yourself?’ She didn’t wait for an answer but continued, ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t come down for dinner. Alfie tried very hard to persuade me, but I simply couldn’t face it. It’s been an emotional day. Seeing him again… I always cry a little and then I feel unsettled afterwards. I’m happiest in my room, you see. In my own little world, with all my things around me.’ She indicated the floriferous clutter with a wave of her big hand. ‘Alfie said you would come up and see me. He says you’re not the nervous type. Not shy… I gather you don’t have any family of your own and that he’s lending you his for Christmas!’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes! I think it’s a splendid idea - borrowing someone else’s family! I’ll be your surrogate granny if you like. I’d love another grandchild. I only have the one. Deborah’s boy… I forget his name now. I think it begins with D. Like Deborah.’
‘Daniel?’
‘Yes, that’s right! Clever girl. Daniel. He’s my grandson.’ She nodded. ‘Deborah’s boy… But he isn’t coming for Christmas, he’s abroad. Working. I forget where… But he’s doing good works somewhere. Somewhere abroad… So, you poor thing, you really don’t have any family?’
‘No, none at all. They’re all dead. I was an only child.’
‘So was I! It’s not much fun, is it? I was the only child of a man who wanted sons. He had no time at all for girls. Thought they were just a drain on the finances. Unless they made a good marriage, of course. Fortunately, I did. I made a very good marriage. Well, good for money and position. Not good for love…’ Rae’s eyes wandered from my face and as they did so, her voice became softer, as if she was talking to herself rather than me. ‘I didn’t really love Victor… But I think he might have loved me. I don’t remember now… Victor wanted a son. So did my father. He was hoping for a grandson. As some sort of consolation prize, I suppose.’ She sipped her camomile tea and sighed. ‘But it wasn’t to be… Victor didn’t live to father a son, just the three girls. He was disappointed, of course. But I don’t think he was disappointed in me. Not like my father! I was a source of constant disappointment to him. I was no good to the business and no good for breeding! Oh, he was a cruel man. Quite horrid.’ Her eyes swivelled back to me and she leaned forward, suddenly conspiratorial, spilling tea into her saucer. ‘Do you know, when he died I felt relieved? And horribly guilty, because I felt relieved! And because he’d gone to his grave a disappointed man. But then - and this is very wicked of me, I know - I thought he didn’t deserve to get what he wanted out of life!’ She sank back onto her pillows. ‘Oh dear, I’m rambling on, aren’t I? I’m sorry, my dear. So very rude of me… Are they looking after you downstairs?’
‘Yes, they are. Viv and Hattie are really spoiling me. And they feel like old friends already. Hattie’s great fun, isn’t she? Viv took me on a little tour of the garden. Well, she started to show me round, then she had to come indoors, so I carried on exploring on my own.’
‘And I saw you on your way back, didn’t I? Did you see me at the window? I waved.’
‘Yes, I did. I waved back at you.’
‘Did you meet… the gardener?’
‘Tyler? Yes, I did. He was cutting greenery to decorate the house.’
‘He’s a good man, Tyler. Reliable. And traditional. I can’t abide all these exotic new flowers and shrubs you get nowadays. They look absurd in an English garden! The light is all wrong, especially in Norfolk.’ Her eyes wandered off again, followed by her mind. ‘Tyler must be getting on now. He’s been with us for years. But he never seems to look any older. But, you know, I always say, gardening keeps you young. Gardeners always live to a ripe old age, have you noticed? Well into their eighties. Even nineties… I should get outdoors, I really should. Viv says, it would rejuvenate me.’
‘Why don’t you go out into the garden, Rae? Do you find it difficult to walk?’
‘No, not particularly. I do a few tours of this room every day - and it’s a big room - and I do exercises for my knees and ankles.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Vivien nags me. Says I need to do them to keep my joints supple. She says you don’t have to be energetic, but you do need to look after your joints when you get to my age.’
‘She’s right. Keeping mobile is important. Otherwise you seize up.’
A large hand flew up to her temple and Rae clasped her brow, her expression pained. ‘Ah! That’s what happened to me.’
‘What?’
‘My mind seized up. Seized up altogether.’
I was in over my head already, but floundered on. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I don’t remember. It was a long time ago… When Alfie came to stay… When they made that film. The film for television. Everything stopped after that but I don’t know why. Alfie came home… They made the film… I became very famous and we sold lots and lots of books, then… everything seized up!’
‘Were you ill?’
‘Suppose I must have been.’ She turned and put her cup down on a bedside table. ‘I simply don’t remember. I stopped writing, I do remember that. I just couldn’t do it any more. My mind went blank. I thought about Tom and… and then I’d get confused. And upset… So I tried not to think about him.’
‘Tom Dickon Harry? Your creation?’
She looked at me, her eyes vague, as if she was struggling to focus. ‘He seemed quite real to me… He was real! He was a real boy. My son. Alfie! But it was all very confusing… When they made that film…’ She shook her head and looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. ‘We shouldn’t have done it,’ she said, her voice firm now.
‘Made the documentary?’
‘No, we shouldn’t. Frances said I would manage, that it wouldn’t be as bad
as I feared. But it was! It was … overwhelming. There were people all over the house - everywhere! And they kept asking me questions. About Tom… About Alfie… I couldn’t sleep for worrying about it all. I don’t know how we all got through it! Well, I do. Tom saw me through it. He was the hero of the hour! He was what the filmmakers were really interested in. And the viewers. They loved him. People always do, you know! That’s his particular quality. His ability to be all things to all people. Well, we all see what we want to see, don’t we?’
Before I could respond to this cryptic utterance, Rae was off again on another tack. ‘Tell me about the garden! Did you like it?’
‘Very much. It’s so beautiful, even now, in the depths of winter. I think that’s because the structure is so good. You have all sorts of solid, architectural things like walls and brick paths, the stone benches and statues, and of course the trees and hedges. Those are the bare bones of the garden, aren’t they? They make interesting patterns, so you almost don’t notice there’s not much in leaf or flower at this time of year.’
‘You’re absolutely right! The garden was designed with winter in mind. If a garden looks good in winter, it will look good all year round. Winter is the great test!’
‘Well, it certainly did look good. Viv and Tyler have done a wonderful job. I can’t wait to get out there tomorrow and have another look round.’
‘Get Tyler to show you the hellebores and the winter sweet. Chimonanthus praecox. And ask him if Iris unguicularis is in flower yet. They often flower before Christmas. If they are, would you pick me a few blooms - for my desk?’
And with that Rae sagged against her pillows and closed her eyes. I wondered how she was able to remember Latin botanical names but not her grandson’s. I also wondered if I’d been dismissed. I leaned forward and asked softly, ‘Have you finished your tea, Rae? Shall I take your cup and put it on the tray?’
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