They had to be banished.
She strode purposefully towards the drawing room, her head full of all those who had loved her and still did love her, and sat down at the piano. Ignoring her body’s reaction, she placed her shaking hands on the keys.
She would play for them all.
And for herself.
When Kit arrived home from his meeting an hour later and heard Chopin’s ‘Études’ coming from the drawing room, his eyes filled with tears. He sat down abruptly on the staircase in the entrance hall, in the spot where he’d first set eyes on Julia. And listened in awe, humbled by her magnificent talent.
‘I’m so bloody proud of you, my darling,’ he murmured to himself. ‘You not only have a rare gift, but you are brave and beautiful and strong. And, God help me,’ Kit wiped his eyes on his forearm, ‘I only hope I can be worthy of you, and keep you with me forever.’
32
From then on, the silence that had held dominion for so many years over Wharton Park was broken. Instead, the house was filled with the sound of beautiful music, as Julia banished her demons and played on the exquisite piano in the drawing room for hour after hour, relishing her return to the instrument that was simply part of her soul.
‘Thank you for helping to lead me back,’ she had whispered to Kit, as they lay in bed on the night that her fingers had first retouched the keys.
‘Don’t thank me, sweetheart. It’s you that’s managed to be brave enough to break the spell,’ he had answered generously. ‘Besides, the piano did need tuning.’
But Julia knew that, without Kit’s thoughtfully executed prod in the right direction, she would not have got there alone.
‘I spoke to Elsie today,’ said Julia over supper a couple of weeks later, ‘and she announced that now I’m living at Wharton Park, she’d like very much to visit us. She suggested this coming weekend. Would you mind if she stayed for a couple of nights?’
‘Of course not,’ Kit was quick to reply, ‘you don’t need to ask. This is your home too. Actually, I’ve been asked to play cricket for the village team this weekend, so that’ll keep me out of your hair on Saturday, at least.’
Julia could see Kit was pleased about the cricket invitation. ‘I’d also like to ask Alicia and her family over for Sunday lunch. They haven’t seen Elsie for years.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Kit. ‘And, actually, if Elsie’s up to divulging the rest of her tale from the past, it’ll be evocative listening to it here. Living in the house makes it even more fascinating to find out what my relatives got up to in days gone by,’ he added.
After supper they went to sit outside on the terrace, in Julia’s favourite corner spot. The old metal furniture set was rusty, but proved that someone before her had also decided this was the best and most sheltered vantage-point from which to view the park.
‘What a glorious evening,’ Kit breathed, enjoying the warm night air. ‘I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to find new vistas to enjoy. Yet here I am, sitting on a terrace that’s part of my roots, thinking there really can’t be a more beautiful spot in the world. I’ve finally stopped running. And I’m happy. I love it here with you. Thank you, sweetheart, for helping me stop.’
‘Kit, as you say often enough to me, it’s you that’s made the decision.’ Julia took a sip of the vintage Armagnac Kit had found on a dusty rack in the cellar. ‘Actually, I wanted to … discuss something with you.’
He frowned and looked at her. ‘Sounds serious. Is it?’
‘I need to go back to France,’ Julia replied quietly.
There was a silence as Kit digested this information. ‘Right. I knew you’d have to go at some point.’
‘I don’t want to,’ she sighed, ‘but I have things I need to do there. And, if I’m going to resolve the past and finally put it where it belongs, I must go back.’
‘Yes,’ Kit replied. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No. I think it’s something I have to do alone. Besides, I know how busy you’re going to be here in the next few weeks, what with the harvest.’
‘Yes, I will be.’ Kit raised his eyebrows. ‘Never thought for a second I’d be learning to drive a combine, but it’s all hands to the pump, we’re so short-staffed. How long will you be away?’
Julia shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. For as long as it takes to do what I need to, and make some decisions.’
‘Yes.’ Kit was quiet for a while as he stared out into the blackness, then he reached for her hand. ‘Julia, you know that no matter how long it takes you to return, I’ll be here waiting for you.’
In the darkness, Julia held on to his hand like a lifeline. ‘Thank you.’
Later that night they made love with heightened passion and urgency. Long after Julia had fallen asleep, Kit lay watching her, unable to shake off the feeling of unease that had lodged in his gut from the moment Julia said she had to go away.
Julia spent Saturday morning freshening up one of the bedrooms in readiness for Elsie’s arrival. She realised it would be the first time Elsie had come to Wharton Park as a guest, rather than a servant. She wanted to make sure her grandmother felt comfortable.
Next, she drove into Holt to buy supplies. It was a warm, sunny day, and the pretty town was bustling with the influx of tourists and second-home owners who swarmed into the region during the summer months.
As she piled her shopping into the boot of the car, she resolved that – even though she was now confident she’d be ready for the Carnegie Hall recital – she would not return to the punishing schedules of the past. If the last few months had taught her anything, it was that there was beauty and pleasure in the simple things of life. And that they mattered.
The thought of going back to France terrified her. She didn’t want to lose her new-found sense of tranquillity. She knew, too, that Kit had helped her find it, and she would be leaving his strength behind. But it was an odyssey she could only undertake alone, if she was to be completely free to love him the way he deserved.
At half past three that afternoon, Julia heard a car coming up the drive. She ran to the front door as she watched the driver help her grandmother out of the car, and hurried down the steps towards her.
‘Julia, sweetheart, come and give your old granny a hug.’
Julia did so, then Elsie stepped back to look at her.
‘My goodness me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I always said the Wharton Park air did something magic to you. Look at you! You’re beautiful!’
Julia was still in her apron, covered in a dusting of flour. ‘I’m sure I’m not, Granny, but yes, I’m certainly feeling a lot better than when I last saw you.’
Julia paid the driver, then picked up Elsie’s small overnight case and walked with her to the front steps of the house.
Elsie stopped just before the steps and looked up. ‘It’s exactly the same. Strange, isn’t it? When all our lives have changed so much, these bricks and mortar never alter.’
‘I wish that was true,’ Julia sighed as she helped her grandmother slowly up the steps. ‘It may look the same, but unfortunately, large parts of it are suffering from old age and need to be rebuilt before the whole lot falls down.’
‘Bit like me then, my love, isn’t it?’ Elsie chuckled. ‘Do you know, in all my years at Wharton Park, it’s the first time I’ve ever entered it by the front door.’
‘I was thinking this morning that it might be strange for you coming here. Why don’t I take you up to your room so you can freshen up, and then we can have a nice cup of tea?’
By the time they’d climbed the stairs and reached the bedroom, Elsie was panting.
‘Gracious! My legs aren’t what they used to be,’ she gasped. ‘I used to trip up and down them forty times a day, and not even notice.’
‘I’ve put you in here, Granny,’ said Julia, opening the door to the bedroom. ‘It’s so pretty, and not too big.’
Elsie stepped over the threshold and sighed with surprise and pleasure. ‘My goodness me
! Of all the rooms you could have chosen, you picked the very room that Lady Olivia stayed in when she first came to Wharton Park. It was in here that I first set eyes on her. And,’ Elsie added as she looked around the room, ‘I don’t think anything has changed since.’ She walked across to the fraying tapestry stool at the end of the bed and sat down, trying to get her breath back. ‘Sorry, Julia, that bout of flu really did for me and I haven’t recovered my strength proper since.’
Julia watched her with concern. ‘Would you like to have a rest now? I’ll bring your cup of tea up here?’
‘That’s what I used to say to Lady Olivia,’ Elsie chuckled. ‘I do feel a bit weary, but it’s probably the shock of seeing this place again.’
‘You take your time, Granny, there’s no rush. Have a rest and come down when you’re ready. We’ve plenty of time to chat – Kit’s out playing cricket for the village team and won’t be back until after seven.’
‘Young Christopher …’ Elsie mused. ‘Fancy you ending up with him! I remember when he used to come and stay. Cook and I used to joke that he looked like a lollipop; all skin and bone, topped off with a big head and that great pile of curly hair.’
‘He hasn’t changed,’ grinned Julia, ‘and he’s really looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘And me him,’ said Elsie as she moved towards the bed and heaved herself on to it. ‘Strange the way life works out, isn’t it? All of us back at the old place again. Right, my love, you take yourself off, and don’t bother bringing me a cup of tea. I’ll come down when I’ve had a little nap.’
‘I’ll see you later,’ Julia whispered, leaning over to kiss her forehead. Elsie’s eyes were already closing.
An hour and a half later, Elsie arrived in the kitchen, looking refreshed.
‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now, where’s that cup of tea you promised me? I want to hear all about how you and Kit got together.’
The two of them sat at the kitchen table, and Julia told Elsie how Kit had come to her rescue when she was so ill, and the subsequent move to Wharton Park.
‘Julia, I’m over the moon for you, my love. I can see in your eyes how happy you are. After the terrible time you’ve been through,’ Elsie shook her head, tears in her eyes, ‘it’s wonderful the two of you have found happiness together.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘And I’ll be honest, that’s what has really brought me here today. What with you and Kit getting together, it’s like everything has come full-circle. And I’ve decided you should know the whole story. And maybe –’ Elsie glanced around the kitchen – ‘telling it here in the place it all happened, will help me remember.’
Twenty minutes later, Kit walked through the kitchen door, looking tanned and healthy in his cricket whites.
‘Elsie, how wonderful to see you again, after all these years.’ Kit walked over to her and kissed her warmly. ‘You’ve hardly changed a jot.’
‘Flatterer,’ grinned Elsie. ‘Well, let me tell you, you have, Master Kit. You’ve filled out good and proper, and grown into a fine-looking young man.’
‘So you no longer think I’m a lollipop?’ Kit eyed her sternly, then, as Elsie blushed, broke into a wide smile. ‘I heard you and Cook talking about me one day, when you didn’t know I was lurking outside. I didn’t mind. I was grateful to you two for always feeding me up.’
‘Well,’ said Elsie defensively, ‘you were always far too skinny. In fact,’ she added, ‘you both were.’
‘Well, look at the two of us now,’ said Kit, putting an arm round Julia’s shoulder affectionately. ‘Glass of wine, Elsie? I’m going to have one to celebrate a win. I bowled two overs and thoroughly enjoyed being proclaimed man of the match.’
Elsie caught Julia’s eye as Kit opened the wine and nodded appreciatively. ‘Grown into quite a looker that one, hasn’t he? Who’d have thought it?’
As Kit sat with Elsie at the table, chatting companionably about her years at Wharton Park, Julia pottered about the kitchen preparing supper. She could see that Elsie was completely at ease, as Kit’s warmth and gentle teasing relaxed her. Julia put a chicken casserole and fresh Jersey new potatoes on the table, and sat down with them to eat.
‘My, my, Julia,’ said Elsie, swallowing appreciatively, ‘never thought you’d be one for the cooking, but this is really tasty.’
‘Julia has lots of hidden talents, Elsie,’ added Kit, sneaking a sly wink at her.
After supper, Julia made coffee and suggested they went through to the library. Having settled Elsie in the comfortable chair by the fireplace, Julia joined Kit on the sofa opposite her.
The air was suddenly tense with expectation.
‘Now,’ said Elsie, taking a sip of her coffee, then placing it down on the table. ‘As I said to Julia earlier, I’ve thought long and hard about whether I should tell you this. But under the circumstances …’
‘What “circumstances”?’ queried Kit.
‘Be patient, young man, and by the end of it, you’ll understand. Right,’ Elsie took a deep breath. ‘Last time, Julia, we had got to the part about Lord Harry and Lady Olivia making up their differences, just before Harry went off to the war?’
‘Yes,’ Julia confirmed.
‘Well now, I’m going to tell you Harry’s story, and though it happened a long, long way from here, I can promise you that what I’m going to tell you is the truth, even if the ending isn’t in the diary he wrote.’
‘Harry wrote?’ questioned Julia.
‘Yes,’ Elsie confirmed, ‘it was Harry’s diary. Always had beautiful writing, he did. It could never have been written by my Bill,’ she chuckled, ‘he could barely sign his name, bless him. Now, my love, please don’t interrupt my train of thought. What I was trying to say is that Bill, your grandfather, was out in Malaya with him during the war. Then, when Harry finally returned home, Bill and me were drawn into his story in a way we could never have thought possible. This part really begins after the war had ended, when your grandfather and Harry were liberated from Changi jail, after three and a half long years in captivity …’
33
Bangkok
1945
When Harry regained consciousness, he was confused by the unfamiliar feeling of having slept for a long time without being disturbed. He was used to changing positions constantly as the pain in one hip bone, resting on the rudimentary bed he had managed to gather for himself, woke him to insist the other hip take the strain. Nor did he remember waking to swat the endless mosquitoes or to rub away the sharp, sudden sting of a red ant.
And there was none of the sticky sweat that normally drenched his thin torso on waking. In fact, he felt positively cool, but perhaps he was imagining the light breeze that seemed to brush gently against his face.
In short, he felt comfortable. A sensation he barely remembered.
He wondered whether he was hallucinating. During the long three-and-a-half years of his captivity, he had often dreamt of Wharton Park, and of the queerest things, such as his father handing him a tin of sardines, of jumping into the cool, clean water of the fountain in the centre of his mother’s garden, and of Olivia, holding out his son to him …
But mostly his dreams had been of food. He and the other fellows had spent many a long, humid night discussing their mothers’ best recipes. It had kept them sane, if ‘sane’ was a word that could be used for the inmates of Changi jail.
There wasn’t much left of any of them, physically or mentally, and Harry awoke every morning simply amazed he was still alive. And sometimes, rather wishing he wasn’t.
He decided to keep his eyes closed and enjoy the comfort, whilst pondering how miraculous it was that his body had withstood starvation, and the kind of physical exercise that would tax a healthy man in a moderate climate, let alone in this kind of brutal heat. Many of the fellows hadn’t made it: over a thousand were buried in Changi cemetery, and on occasions he had envied them their eternal rest. During his recurring bouts of dengue fever, nicknamed break-bone fever for the excr
uciating pain it caused in every limb, Harry had expected to join them at any moment. But Lady Luck, if one could suggest that spending another day here alive was luck, had been on his side. And so far he had survived.
Harry understood now that life and death depended on a throw of the dice: many of the fellows he had come into the camp with had been physically stronger than he was, yet he had seen malaria and dysentery strike them down like newly hatched chicks. The diet of rice and raw tea, supplemented occasionally by a couple of ounces of rice polishings, complete with maggots for protein, required an inner-engine of the strongest stuff. And it seemed that Harry – although not a natural soldier and so afraid he was not a ‘man’ – had been genetically issued with the main necessity for surviving such a place.
Given that he had been awake for some time now – or it felt as if he had – and was still comfortable, Harry tried to collect his thoughts and coordinate the events of the past few days.
He had some memory of lying in Changi hospital with a high fever. Then he thought he remembered a familiar face staring down at him; Sebastian Ainsley, his old friend from Eton, who was now working for his father’s shipping company in the Far East. He had some vague recollection of being stretchered on to the back of a truck.
The continuing silence, physical comfort and clean smell indicated that something was definitely up. Perhaps he had finally bought it and this was heaven. Harry decided to open his eyes to check.
The glare of white walls, hazy through the mosquito net, was a stark contrast to the dark, squalidly filthy wooden huts, with their fetid stench of unwashed human bodies hanging heavy in the humid air.
He then saw a woman … a woman! Again in white, approaching his bed.
‘Well now, Captain Crawford, we’ve decided to wake up, have we? About time, too. Open wide, please.’
Before Harry could say anything, a thermometer was popped under his tongue. The woman took his thin wrist in her soft hands and checked his pulse.
‘Much better,’ she nodded approvingly, then added with a smile, ‘I suppose you have no idea where you are?’
Hothouse Flower Page 26
