by C F Dunn
I put it back where it belonged. I hadn’t looked at what lay on Matthew’s desk yesterday, having been preoccupied at the time, but now that I was alone and time not an issue, I felt increasingly like a guest whose eyes prod and probe relentlessly, seeking the source of their hosts’ secrets while all the time being in receipt of their hospitality. I couldn’t bring myself to look any further.
I picked up the telephone and dialled my home number. Beth answered. “Hi, happy Christmas,” I said as I heard her familiar voice. “How’s it going?”
“You’ve missed the washing-up.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve plenty enough here. How are the children; managed to wear them out yet?”
She groaned in exasperation. “Alex and Flora are happy as Larry with their presents. They’ll want to tell you themselves, I expect. By the way, that was very extravagant of you, and it’s your own fault if they expect the same next year. Flora hasn’t stopped talking about it and Alex hasn’t said a word since he opened his. In fact…” I heard her twist away from the phone, her voice fading momentarily, “… Alex is under the table with it now.”
I was gratified, if somewhat surprised, that my presents had been received so enthusiastically. “I’m glad they like them…” I said, but Beth was already part-way through her next sentence.
“Rob and I looked at something similar, but we just couldn’t stretch to it this year.” I had a sneaking suspicion that we weren’t talking about the same things. “And the postage must have cost a fortune, Emma, as well as the combined effect of all that plastic upon the petrochemical industry.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Beth? You’ve lost me.” Silence on the end of the phone. In the background, Flora held a one-sided conversation, while further off still, I could just hear Archie’s intermittent wail.
“The children’s presents, of course – the Barbie castle and the Inter-Galactic Space Station. And Archie’s ride-on dog – he’s been chewing the ear since he got it. What did you think I meant?”
I sighed. “Beth, in all the years we have known each other, when have I ever succumbed to the temptation of mass-produced plastic toys?”
She hummed down the phone. “Never.”
“So why would I do so now?”
“Er, I thought you might have had a complete personality transplant or alternatively that you… so, you didn’t give them the toys?”
“No, it wasn’t me.”
“So, who did?” I let her think about it for a moment. “You don’t mean…? He didn’t! Golly, that’s very generous. Wow, Emma, and you didn’t prompt him?”
“Hardly – not when it comes to plastic, you know me: wood, stone, or metal – and educational.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow,” I muttered, slightly irritated that Matthew had known exactly what my nephew and niece would like and had no qualms about giving them what they wanted rather than what he thought they should have.
Beth had a note of awe in her voice. “He didn’t say they were from him.”
“No, he wouldn’t, and he didn’t tell me, either. You were saying the twins are fine – so who isn’t? Are Mum and Dad OK? What about Nanna?”
“It’s Arch and his teeth, it’s non-stop at the moment.” Archie gave a particularly piercing wail in the background, emphasizing his plight. “See what I mean? Can you send Matthew back? We’ve still got that spare room he can stay in. Nanna’s fine, by the way, we saw her this morning. You know she had a bad turn just after you left? She seems a bit better now, more like her old self. We gave her your love.”
I bit my lip as I thought about her lying there on the edge of life, so very far away.
“Go and see her whenever you can, won’t you, Beth?”
“Oh, we are. Dad’s been brilliant. He’s taking Mum up there most days and he’s even looked after Archie so that I can get to see her when Rob’s at the café. He seems so much better – Dad, I mean, not Arch. And Rob’s fine, too. How about you, Emma – what’ve you been up to, or shouldn’t I ask?” She tittered down the phone, sounding more like a sixteen-year-old than an exhausted mother of three.
“Nothing I shouldn’t, I assure you.” I left out the drama of last night. “I went to church first thing, but it’s still morning here and we’ve lots to get done. Tell the children we have loads of snow and it’s very cold and the sun’s shining.”
“Ooo, it sounds lovely. What about Matthew’s family? What are his parents like? Isn’t it a bit scary meeting them all?”
I traced the edge of the desk with my finger while I tried to remember who was supposed to be related to whom, and resorted to generalities instead. “They’re lovely – most of them. Very welcoming.”
“Has he given you any presents yet? Mum’ll want to know.”
“He gave me lovely earrings last night,” I fingered them, feeling the elongated stones; it seemed like an age ago, “and this morning he left me a huge bar of chocolate. It looks fab and it smells… won-der-ful.” I dragged the word out longingly.
I could hear Beth whispering to someone, and shared laughter. “He certainly knows the way to your heart. So, what have you given him?”
The ivory and silver letter-opener in the shape of a dagger and almost as sharp lay at an angle on the leather-topped desk. I pushed it idly with the tip of my finger and the heavy object spun slowly on the carved ivory hilt and stopped. “Nothing yet, I’m saving that for later.”
“Emma, you wicked girl! What would Nanna say if she heard you talking like that?”
I rolled my eyes and tutted in a spinsterly way. “Is that what having children does for you, Beth – give you a one-track mind?” I picked up the letter-opener, feeling its perfect balance.
“It’s all I’ve got at the moment with Archie keeping me awake at night. I’m too shattered most of the time to do anything other than think about it. It’s all right for you, unfettered with offspring and with no other encumbrances than a rich, handsome boyfriend – or whatever you want to call him. Those were the days,” she sighed, “though Rob was never rich. We don’t need any contraception, I can tell you; Arch’s seen to that.”
“OK, too much information, thanks. I don’t need the details,” I laughed, imagining a pout dimpling her chin at the other end of the phone. I leaned my free elbow on the desk, feeling the pinch in the crook of my elbow where the plaster stuck to my skin. “Send Mum and Dad my love – and Rob and the children, too – especially Archie if he’s suffering.”
Beth gave a short humph. “He’s suffering… I’ll give him suffering,” she muttered. “Mum’s with him now – she’s a saint, really she is. She cried when she unwrapped the knitting wool you gave her. I think she’s missing you, but Arch is keeping her busy. Dad’s in the potting shed fiddling with whatever you gave him for Christmas. He’s been out there for ages, he must love it. Thanks for our presents by the way, oh, and I’ve yours here, do you want me to send them, or will you be back sometime soon?” My sister had mastered the loaded question long ago.
“Hang on to them and save on postage,” I evaded with equal skill. “They’ll be something to look forward to when I do see you. Say happy Christmas to everyone from me, won’t you?”
I put the phone down with a combination of relief that we were getting on so much better now and a hint of homesickness. I placed the letter-opener back where I had found it and considered it high time I broached the chocolate.
I almost stumbled into Jeannie when I opened the door of the study.
“I was just coming to find you,” she stammered. I suspected that Matthew had asked her to check up on me at regular intervals.
“And I have a bar of chocolate that needs eating – care to join me?” I offered.
Jeannie had a sharp face with a tendency towards seriousness that demanded that someone try to inject some levity into her. Chocolate – as I always attest – is the pan-global cure for all ills and the means by which world peace will be achieved. Unfortunately for
the world, not enough men eat it – hence women, by rights, should rule the planet.
She broke into a smile, which warmed her face. “I’ll put the kettle on, you supply the chocolate. Do you know your way to my place?” I shook my head. “Through the store cupboard in the kitchen. The door’s built into the rear wall; it looks like panelling – slide it open. I’ll see you in a minute.” She left without waiting for an answer. I supposed there must a good reason why there should be a door concealed in the larder between the two buildings, and one day I would get around to asking Matthew about it.
I retrieved the chocolate and went into the larder. The shelves of grey-veined marble were not as full as they should have been, even for a man living by himself. The packets were unopened and some, by the looks of it, were out of date. For all the care Matthew took to protect himself and his family, the subtle details were lacking, which would lead anyone who knew what they were looking for straight to the questions that would begin to unlock his secret. I took the only open packet – my tea – from the shelf, and slid the back panel of the wall. I walked straight into Jeannie’s kitchen.
Jeannie and Dan lived in the converted stables opposite Henry and Pat and whereas Pat mothered her home, Jeannie disciplined hers. It made an inspiring space. Open to the rafters along the long, windowed wall of the open-plan room, the skeleton of the old building stood out like the bleached bones of a whale. Two-thirds of the huge area had been floored as a mezzanine to create bedrooms, I assumed. The room was sparsely furnished in white and black, with accents of natural wood. It reminded me of Sam’s designer furniture, except that this seemed minimalist with a capital M. There were no Christmas decorations, but huge modern canvases in shocking, vivid colours were mounted between each window. There were three of them – a series on a theme that eluded me. I curled my toes in abject pleasure on the heated polished stone floor.
“Hi,” Jeannie said, briskly, “the kettle’s just boiled. Is that tea?” She held out her hand.
“Yup, but I’ll do it, if you like,” I offered, to avoid the confusion Pat had faced.
Jeannie gave me a severed smile. “No need,” and held out her hand again.
I tried to think of a topic of conversation which would help us break the thin sheet of ice that separated us. “This is an amazing space, Jeannie – did you design it?”
“Daniel did, yes. He drew up the plans and had an architect oversee the building works. Daniel wanted to be an architect.” I waited for the but that she left hanging off the end of the sentence, but she didn’t supply it. I wondered what had prevented Dan from pursuing his choice of career.
Proffering a handleless cup, she indicated a seating area and I perched tentatively on the edge of a large white leather cube with a curved seat for my bottom. It was perfectly comfortable as long as I didn’t want to lean back. I looked for somewhere to put my cup, and ended up resting it on my hankie.
“I have a request to make, Emma, if I may.”
I shifted my behind so that it found the gentle curve of the cube. “Of course, Jeannie.”
“I prefer to be called Jeanette.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. “Right. Jeanette.”
“Everyone calls me Jeannie, but that’s not my name.”
“I understand. Jeanette it is, then.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Chocolate?” I suggested.
Thankful for something to do, I broke the wax seal that secured the thick tassel to the bar with a reverence second only to the opening of a papal bull. The aroma – spicy, sharp, intense – was equalled by the smooth, bitter-dry flavour with all the whack of a high caffeine-content chocolate. I hoped Matthew would be proved right and I could take the caffeine because I sure as anything didn’t want Jeanni… Jeanette trying to resuscitate me from what I could only describe as chocolate heaven. I let the tiny square melt slowly on my tongue, speechless as the full essence engulfed my senses.
“I prefer milk chocolate,” Jeanette remarked, her piece already consumed, corrupting the exquisite flavour with a slug of coffee. Pearls before swine; pearls and swine… I folded the bronze foil around the open end of the chocolate, and put the bar down beside me on the cube. “Matthew said that you’re not a doctor, but he didn’t say what area you do specialize in?” I asked politely.
Her pale face brightened a little. “I’ve two doctorates: one in chemistry and one in pharmacodynamics. I’m considered an expert in my field.”
“Gosh, another Dr Lynes – is there anyone who isn’t? It’s very confusing.”
Jeanette’s face became stony. “Actually, I’ve kept my maiden name for professional purposes. I’m Dr Rathbone.”
“Right. Dr Rathbone. Twice.” I couldn’t help it, there was something about her that just made me want to be flippant. Or perhaps it was the exhilarating effects of the chocolate kicking in.
“Yes, twice,” she said, missing the joke. “My parents are both academics and my brother is a professor in a nuclear physics department in Europe. We are a very intellectual family. You must come from a similarly academic background.” She made it a statement of fact rather than a question.
“No, not really. Apart from my grandfather, who also held a post at Cambridge, I’m the only academic. The D’Eresbys were all land, military, or the church. I was a bit of a disappointment.” I laughed.
Jeanette stared, nonplussed. “Oh – I see.” I heard the note of disillusionment. We both struggled to find something to say in the gulf between us.
“I don’t understand,” she said at last, daubs of red the colour of rose hips rising on her neck, “when you have achieved so much, why would you want to stay here in Maine when you could return to Cambridge? It would be such a sacrifice. You won’t be able to achieve anything like the recognition you have now. Why would you want to do that?”
For a brief moment, I stared at her dumbfounded before I found my voice. “Why would I be sacrificing anything? I can work just as well from the States as I can from home, and what I can’t access remotely, I can always travel to.”
The red patches faded and flared again, making her look feverish. “Why should you give up your position? You won’t be able to retain your post at Cambridge, will you?”
“No, probably not, but there are compensations.”
“There are?” she said flatly.
I thought they were obvious, but Jeannie – sitting on the edge of the her X-frame chair, her hands clasped in front of her, her pinched face even sharper than usual – waited for an explanation.
“Well, yes – Matthew’s here.”
She leaned forward. “And…?”
Perhaps I missed the point. “And he’s not in Cambridge.” I frowned. “I’m not sure if I understand. You live here and you have a successful career; I can’t see what the difference is.”
Jeannie bristled. “I could have done so much better. I had the opportunity to work for an international pharmaceutical group but Daniel didn’t want to leave. We decided to stay here, but you have a choice.”
I picked up the square cup awkwardly, and sipped out of one side, taking care not to let the liquid spill either side of my lips. “And you blame Matthew for that?” I asked, not sure how I would react if she said “yes”.
She shrugged. “It’s true Daniel wouldn’t stay if it weren’t for Matthew and his… peculiarities. He won’t leave Matthew and I won’t leave Daniel. I can see why, of course; Matthew has a brilliant mind, although it’s wasted here.” She screwed her face, making the word ugly. “And he has helped us, I accept that. But you – you don’t have to make the same mistake I did. You have everything ahead of you, Emma. I don’t know why you would want to lose what you have.”
I repositioned the scalding cup, giving myself time to collect my thoughts. “I think,” I said slowly, carefully selecting my words, “that we have a different perspective on what we might deem to be priorities, Jeanette. My career is – was – important to me, or at least my subject w
as. Meeting Matthew has changed the way I look at things; my priorities have altered. I still love history and my work and Cambridge, but they are no longer the be-all and end-all of my life, it’s as simple as that. I choose to stay because of Matthew in the same way as you choose to stay for Daniel. It’s not so very different.” Except that it was, of course. She had been coerced to a degree by circumstance, whereas I had made my choice freely. Had I been ten years younger, about nineteen, the age she had been when she met Daniel, would I have come to the same decision as I did now, when history was all I desired? I had chosen it over Guy, after all. I looked into the eye of the cup, at the tar-black depths of my milk-less tea, and thought that probably – given the man – I would.
“Hey-ho,” I said cheerfully. “What needs to be done for dinner this evening?”
I found it a relief to escape to Matthew’s kitchen perhaps as much as she felt relieved of the burden of responsibility for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Jeannie, just that we were completely different people, and being near her sometimes made me feel as if I were sitting under a black cloud, devoid of all hope. I concluded, as I made myself another cup of tea and snaffled a square of chocolate, that she sounded depressed, or at least, that the compensations of living the life she did – with her doting husband, three children, and a great job all wrapped up in a very comfortable lifestyle – made no impression on her psyche. It would be bad enough sitting under a cloud, but it must be so much worse being it, because how could she escape? Four months ago, would I have said the same thing? After nearly twenty-five years of being with the same man in the same situation would I, too, feel trapped like a flightless bird on a rock in the middle of the ocean? I thought of my particular rock and, given his peculiarities, as Jeannie put it, considered myself blessed.
