This morning, as she walks swiftly in the ever-thickening mist, Janna remembers the joy and her heart beats a little quicker; it is as if she is in love. She shakes her head, mocking herself, but still pondering on what has happened.
‘What’s all this praying about then?’ she once asked Sister Emily.
‘Prayer unites the soul with God,’ she answered. ‘That’s what Mother Julian tells us.’
Janna didn’t know this Mother Julian but she remembered what Sister Emily said, and now she broods on it. She does indeed feel as if she’s been united with something or someone; bound in delight and sharing and love. When Mother Magda switched on the chapel lights she’d felt as if she were dropping from space – as if she’d briefly transcended the earth’s gravity – and she really understood the phrase ‘coming back to earth with a bump’. Maybe she’ll speak to Clem about it, or Father Pascal.
She wonders how Sister Ruth is managing at night to keep an eye on Sister Nichola. The elderly nun has forged a link between them, and Sister Ruth is appearing more often in the kitchen with her and leaving her in Janna’s care.
It is odd, Janna thinks, how much she enjoys the almost silent companionship of Sister Nichola. Sometimes she might speak but her words are strange to Janna, and she guesses that they are texts or quotations. She thinks about them afterwards and tries to read some meaning into them. She makes her coffee or a cup of tea, which is drunk with great relish. In this way she is like Dossie and Sister Emily: everything is a celebration.
And now it seems that at some deep level she’s taken the decision about staying at Chi-Meur and had more or less committed herself with those words to Sister Ruth, of all people. Afterwards she panicked: the old terrors returned. Then, last night in the chapel, she’d known that extraordinary sense of peace and belonging.
The mist is swirling about her now and she keeps close to the thorn hedge that borders the cliff-top fields. How easy it would be to miss her step; to plunge over the edge of the cliff onto the rocks below. It is with relief that she turns onto the path that leads across the field to Chi-Meur.
* * *
It’s crazy to come up here in this weather, though the sun was shining when he set out. Trouble is, he’s getting paranoid: seeing things that aren’t there; hearing noises. Still, it’s nearly over for him; another twenty-four hours and he’ll be out of it. He and Phil will have done their stuff and it’ll be up to the legal team. Just one more call, out here where there’s nobody about, and he’ll be packing his bag. He passes the good-looking bird from the convent and nods a greeting. The mist is creeping in now but he’ll be quick. He gets out his mobile, scrolls down, presses the button.
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘just want you to know that the nuns know about that old will … Yeah, according to the gossip, I gather they’ve been told it’s OK because they’ll still be within the messuage. Something like that. The wording is very important, apparently, but they’ve obviously got someone who knows his onions … No, that’s all I know. It’s all Chinese whispers round here, but that’s the gist … Look, I’m outa here first thing tomorrow. Then it’s up to you and your solicitor friend. Just hope he’s got the balls for it, that’s all … I’ve told you what it’s like round here. You’ll have a fight on your hands with the locals if you win, but that’s your problem … Yeah, OK. I’ll call in later on.’
The mist drifts over the cliff-top and he turns to go back, but suddenly the mist thickens, rolling in thick moisture-heavy clouds so that he can no longer see clearly. He can hear feet on the path below him; footsteps that grow faster, break into a run. They are purposeful, heavy, and strange cries accompany them, echoing and eerie. It sounds like a group of savages hunting a wild animal and suddenly he is filled with an atavistic terror. They are all around him now, corralling him, guiding him, and instinctively he turns and runs, away from the village, into the thickening mist towards Trevone.
‘I know that I should have told you at once,’ Sister Ruth is saying. ‘It was my pride that held me back. I thought that I’d failed in my duty as carer. I can see now that this was wrong and that Sister Nichola’s safety is far more important than my pride.’
She looks round at the shocked faces: Father Pascal, Mother Magda, Sister Emily. Sister Nichola is watching her too but with great affection and a warm smile. Sister Ruth takes courage from the smile.
‘I simply can’t manage to watch all night,’ she says rather desperately. ‘So I have to ask for your help.’
Mother Magda is the first to speak. ‘But it was never part of your duties to have to do so,’ she cries. ‘How frightening for you it must have been. None of us would ever have imagined that Sister would go out at night. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘How lucky that Janna saw her,’ says Father Pascal.
‘Very lucky.’ Sister Ruth raises her chin almost defiantly and looks at them all in turn. ‘She brought her back to me, as I told you, and between us we’ve been more watchful. But the nights are too much for me.’
‘It will be easier in the Coach House,’ Sister Emily says thoughtfully. ‘Or … will it?’
‘Janna has suggested that Sister Nichola occupies a room between hers and mine.’ She ignores the surprised reaction, the uplifted brows. ‘And that at night we put a gate across the top of the stairs to prevent accidents.’
‘That sounds a splendid idea,’ Mother Magda says warmly. ‘So, does this mean that Janna has decided to stay with us? She hasn’t mentioned it to me.’
She glances around enquiringly but Father Pascal and Sister Emily remain silent, with little shakes of their heads, merely looking surprised and pleased. Sister Ruth’s cheeks are bright with colour.
‘We simply talked of it in passing,’ she says quickly, ‘when we were trying to think of a solution. I wouldn’t want to preempt Janna’s final decision. The idea of the gate was hers, not mine. Clem used one for Jakey.’ Her blush deepens. ‘I have no wish to denigrate Sister Nichola by implying that …’ She hesitates, flustered. ‘I know that she is not a child but …’
‘But it sounds a very practical idea.’ Father Pascal helps her out of her confusion. ‘We need to make her feel safe and I agree that locking doors is not an option if we can avoid it. And I think you need feel no shame for something that was quite beyond your remit.’
‘Indeed not,’ agrees Mother Magda. ‘This rests with all of us. And I quite see what you mean about removing the key. If there were to be an emergency it could be disastrous. Whatever can we do?’
‘Move into the Coach House straightaway,’ suggests Father Pascal. ‘There’s nothing to prevent you now that the kitchen is done and the new door into the chapel is in place. The rest of the work is simply making the orchard secure for you and laying a proper walkway around the house so that you can get into it easily from the back. If you are happy to move in then your quarters here can be made ready for guests.’
They all exchange glances. Sister Ruth, it is clear, is only too ready now to make the move and share the load of her responsibility; Sister Emily has her usual positive enthusiasm for a new project. Even Mother Magda, less confident and more anxious, recognizes that the moment has come. Yet between the three of them passes a tremor of regret, of sadness, and of a backward glance to other times. Only Sister Nichola remains impassive, her lips curved in a half-smile, as she waits placidly.
Father Pascal watches them: this is not the time for platitudes and reassurances. They are drawn together, these three survivors, in a shared moment that belongs only to themselves. It is Mother Magda who makes the first move.
‘This has happened in so many other communities,’ she says quietly, ‘but for us it is much more than moving to another house. We are beginning a whole new project of our own in which we are deeply involved. We have already supplied the foundation stones and now we must build on them with Christ as our cornerstone. This is the very first step. We should make it wholeheartedly.’
She reaches out and takes Sister E
mily’s hand, eagerly stretched to her, and Sister Ruth’s, who responds with a slight embarrassment. Just for a moment they remain, united, and then she releases them and turns back to Father Pascal.
‘We are ready,’ she says.
‘I’m sure Clem will be at your disposal,’ he says, ‘and it needn’t be done all in a moment. It will take time to decide what you need in your own library, for instance, and the kitchen.’
‘And Janna?’ asks Sister Emily. ‘Will Janna be prepared to move too?’
‘She certainly shouldn’t be in that caravan for another winter,’ Father Pascal answers firmly. ‘But whether she is ready fully to commit …’ He shrugs and looks at Sister Ruth. ‘Shall you speak to her? She has implied to you that she will stay. Could you, d’you think, ask her what she intends?’
Sister Ruth looks uncomfortable. ‘She did speak of staying, but she was anxious about it. And about retaining some kind of privacy but, more importantly, not disturbing us. I tried to reassure her but I was probably clumsy. Janna and I have not always been … easy together. I have to tell you that she very kindly agreed to keep Sister Nichola’s visits to the Lodge to herself until I was ready to speak to you all. Nevertheless, I think Sister Emily would have a more open and truthful response from her.’
There is a little silence during which Father Pascal carefully refrains from meeting Sister Emily’s eye. He almost believes that he can hear the beat of angel’s wings, newly released from captivity.
‘Would you be prepared,’ Mother Magda is asking Sister Emily, ‘to approach her for us? It’s very sensitive, we all know that, but it seems that perhaps Janna has decided to throw in her lot with us and you have always had a special relationship with her.’
‘Of course I will speak to her.’ Sister Emily’s natural ebullience is slightly subdued. She gives Sister Ruth a little smiling nod of approval. ‘Nevertheless, you must have won her confidence since she was so ready to say even that much to you.’
‘Shall we say a prayer, then,’ suggests Father Pascal, ‘asking for the courage and wisdom for these new undertakings? Let us be silent for a moment.’
When Sister Emily arrives at the caravan, however, in the quiet hour after lunch, she receives a shock. Janna is sitting at her little table and in her hands is her old tote bag, which she is turning reflectively; shaking it out and smoothing it. She gets up quickly at Sister Emily’s knock, hurrying to let her in. The mist has become a heavy rain and it drums on the caravan roof and drips in rivulets down the windowpanes.
‘Come in,’ she says, pulling Sister Emily inside. ‘Quick. You’ll be soaked. Whatever are you doing wandering round in the rain?’
‘I’m not wandering,’ she protests. ‘I’m paying you a visit. Are you planning a holiday?’
Janna smiles and shakes her head. She folds the tote bag and puts it on the floor. ‘Just thinking about things,’ she says. ‘I haven’t got much to put in it now. All my treasures are gone.’
Sister Emily sits down at the table. ‘I hope not all,’ she says. ‘Sister Ruth has been telling us an extraordinary story about Sister Nichola going out at night and you finding her and bringing her back. She was very grateful that you haven’t spoken of it until she was ready to tell us.’
Janna shrugs. ‘It was a shock to both of us. And I knew that she’d feel she’d failed in her duty and needed time to tell you in her own way. It was very scary.’
‘She says she’s been very anxious ever since and, of course, so are we all now. We have decided that it’s time we moved into the Coach House so as to be able to keep a better watch on Sister Nichola. After all, we were going to do it quite soon anyway.’
Janna fills the kettle and turns on the gas. ‘Well, that sounds sensible,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t see how Sister Ruth was managing at night. She was really frightened. So was I. But there isn’t much I could do about it over here.’
‘She said,’ says Sister Emily carefully, ‘that she’d gained the impression that you might have made up your mind to stay with us. It would be helpful if we knew whether you’ve made the decision.’
Janna leans against the bulkhead, staring at the kettle. ‘It’s been odd,’ she says reflectively, ‘the last week or two. First, that night when Sister Nichola went walkabout and then when Sister Ruth came here to the caravan the next morning to talk things over. I kind of saw her differently. We talked. And I saw, just a bit, that it might work after all. And then, well, just other things have made me feel that I sort of belong here.’
Sister Emily watches her, almost too frightened to speak lest her great joy might put pressure on Janna. ‘You know that we all think so too,’ she says at last. ‘I, for one, firmly believe that you were guided here for a reason. Perhaps many reasons.’
The kettle boils and Janna makes tea – raspberry and blackcurrant – and spoons in honey. She puts the mugs down on the table and sits opposite Sister Emily. The rain beats down harder, tattooing on the roof, and the wind gusts through the orchard and shakes the caravan’s fragile sides.
‘Shall you come with us tomorrow, then? Into the Coach House? We shall make an early start. Perhaps do some packing this evening but, like you, we haven’t too many treasures to take with us. It will be hard for us to leave Chi-Meur, after all the years we’ve been there in the house, even though we’re only moving across the courtyard. We shall be glad to have you with us on our new adventure, Janna. You have become very dear to us.’
Janna looks at her, biting her lips, tears in her eyes. ‘’Course I’ll come,’ she says. ‘’Course I will. I really finally decided this morning out on the cliff.’
Sister Emily breathes a deep, grateful sigh. Having been at Silent Prayer the night before she has a very good idea why, finally, Janna has made her decision; she saw her exaltation and knows that some great gift has been vouchsafed her. Thankfully she takes up her mug and raises it to Janna in a toast to their future.
Janna smiles back at her and lifts her own mug. ‘Good job I got the old tote bag out then,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’d better start packing.’
‘Tommy. It’s me, Phil … No, I know. Listen. Really bad news. Jim’s dead … Listen, just listen. He drowned. Fell off the cliff, well, sort of. Same thing, anyway … That’s just it. Thick fog, lost his way. That’s the dit but I’m not sure. Did he tell you how it was down there? … Yeah, he had a really bad vibe about the place, poor old Jim. Look, the thing is, the police were crawling around and I just wondered if they’ve found his mobile and got the SIM card. See what I’m saying? … Quite. That’s why I’ve got a new phone and you didn’t recognize the number. I don’t want the Old Bill asking me what my connection is with Jim Caine, and neither do you … No, I’m right out of it. I just hope there wasn’t anything on his laptop. We did everything by mobile. Thank God, we did Pay as You Go! You were right about that … Yeah, we’ll be in touch when you’ve changed your phone. Make a note of this number. See you.’
Mummy dies quite suddenly, quite quietly; it is pleurisy that defeats her at the last and quenches the long struggle for life. Rupert comes up for the funeral, all Kitty’s friends surround her, but now she is alone again in the flat with Mummy’s ashes in a container that looks like a sweet jar.
‘Honestly,’ she says to Rupert, ‘you’d think they could do better than that,’ and he hugs her sympathetically and comforts her but he has to go away again, back to Cornwall.
Kitty stands at the sitting-room window staring out at the rain. It’s odd to be here alone, without Mummy somewhere in the background. The structure of her day has gone and she feels odd and lonely and sad.
‘Of course you do, lovey,’ Sally says. ‘It’s only to be expected. You should think of the future now. But for goodness’ sake don’t give in and go back to Cornwall. Stand firm, for once in your life.’
Kitty turns away from the window. She is beginning to form a plan, a plan that Sally suggested once before: a visit to the cottage. It might be fun to go down to see how it has come
on; to take Rupert by surprise. He’s been so sweet since poor Mummy died that she’s almost forgotten that she was getting suspicious about his not getting home. He told her that he’d been thinking it best to let out the cottage after all and he’s been really working at it to get it absolutely right. She really wants to believe him. In her state of sadness and grieving for Mummy she’s coming to the decision that they need to be together, but not in Cornwall. She’s definitely made up her mind about that. She can understand if he doesn’t want to stay in the flat – he’s always found it claustrophobic, and Rupert is a man who needs to feel free – but there are some very nice properties around here or just across the Suspension Bridge in Leigh Woods, and she’s still holding on to her idea about buying and renovating houses for student lets. He needs a project, she can see that: he hates to be idle and confined. That’s why he was always so sweet with Mummy.
‘Poor old Mummy,’ he said once. ‘If I had to be so restricted I’d top myself.’
Tears overwhelm her at the thought of poor Mummy. She always loved Rupert and he made her laugh with his terrible teasing. Weeping bitterly now, Kitty texts him: Hope ur ok. Looking fwd 2 w/e xx. She puts the phone on the table and dries her eyes, wondering where he is.
Rupert is driving through the narrow lanes, cursing the rain, one eye on his watch. It is just his luck that the weather should change so drastically when he’s arranged for someone to come and see the cottage with a view to taking it on a long let. Heading down the hill, windscreen wipers slicing the rain away, he tells himself that it is foolish to worry about the weather; this couple have been coming to Cornwall on holiday for many years and they know the score where the weather is concerned. Even so, it is a stroke of luck that they should have phoned to ask for his advice about renting.
The Christmas Angel Page 24
