Under Gemini

by Rosamunde Pilcher

  “That was one of the reasons I came to Fernrigg. Because I wanted to help Antony.”

  “I know. I understand. And I think it was very sweet of you. And how you’ve carried on all this week, being Rose, is beyond my comprehension. And being ill in the middle of it. You really have had a wretched time.”

  “But you forgive me?”

  Tuppy kissed her soundly. “My dear, I could never do anything else. Flora, or Rose, you are yourself. You’ve brought us all so much pleasure, so much happiness. My only sadness is that you and Antony don’t seem to want to fall in love and get married. That’s much more disappointing than having you tell me all those dreadful lies. But then, I know, falling in love isn’t anything you can manipulate. Thank heavens. How boring life would become if it were. And now don’t let’s talk about it any more. I want to hear all about last night, and…”

  “Tuppy.”

  “Yes?” Tuppy’s blue eyes were suddenly watchful.

  “This morning I had a letter from my father. Antony may have told you, he’s a schoolmaster, he lives in Cornwall. I wrote to him at the beginning of the week, because I felt I had to tell someone what was happening, and of course I couldn’t tell any of you.”

  “And what does your father say?”

  “I thought you’d better read it.”

  In silence, Tuppy put on her spectacles, and took the letter from Flora. She read it through, from beginning to end. When she had finished, “What an extraordinary story,” she murmured. “But what a very nice man he must be.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Are you going to go home?”

  “Yes, I have to. Today. There’s a train at one. Antony says he’ll drive me to Tarbole.”

  Tuppy’s face became all at once drawn and old, her mouth bunched, her eyes shadowed. “I can’t bear you to leave us.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “But you’ll come back. Promise me that you’ll come back. Come back and see us all, whenever you want. Fernrigg will be waiting for you. You only have to say the word.”

  “You still want me?”

  “We want you because we love you. It’s as simple as that.” Having made this clear, she reverted to her usual practical manner. “And your father’s right. I think you must go home for a little.”

  “I always hate saying goodbye. And I feel so badly about Jason and Isobel and the Wattys and Nurse. They’ve been so kind, and I can’t imagine how I’m going to tell them…”

  “I don’t see why you should have to tell them anything. Just say a letter has come for you, and you have to leave. And when Antony comes back from the station, he can explain it to them all. He got you into this situation and that, for certain, is the very least he can do.”

  “But all the people at the party last night?”

  “The news will filter through the grapevine that the engagement is off. It will be a nine-day wonder, that’s all.”

  “But they’ll have to know, sooner or later, that I was never Rose. They’ll have to know sometime.”

  “That bit of information will doubtless filter through too, and they’ll wonder a little and then forget about it. After all, it isn’t really that important. Nobody’s been hurt. Nobody’s heart has been broken.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “The truth always simplifies everything. And we have Hugh to thank for that. If it hadn’t been for Hugh, taking charge, goodness knows how long this stupid farce would have gone on. We owe him everything. We always seem to be in his debt, if not on one score, then another. He’s very fond of you, Flora. I wonder if you realize that? You probably don’t because he’s naturally shy of showing his emotions, but…”

  The words died away. Flora sat intensely still, staring down at her own clasped hands. The knuckles showed white and her dark lashes made smudges against the sudden pallor of her face.

  With a perception sharpened by years of dealing with young people, Tuppy caught her distress. It chilled the air, and stemmed from some emotion far deeper than a natural reluctance to say goodbye. Much concerned, Tuppy laid her own hand over Flora’s and found it icy cold.

  Flora did not look up. “It’s all right,” she said, sounding as if she were trying to reassure Tuppy about some unbearable pain she was suffering.

  “My dear child, you must tell me. Has someone upset you? Is it Antony?”

  “No, of course not…”

  Tuppy cast her mind back, searching for clues. They had been talking about Hugh, and … Hugh. Hugh? As though Flora had spoken the name aloud, Tuppy knew.

  “It’s Hugh.”

  “Oh, Tuppy, don’t talk about it.”

  “But of course we must talk about it. I can’t bear you to be so unhappy. Are … are you in love with him?”

  Flora looked up, her eyes dark as bruises. “I think I must be,” she said, sounding completely uncertain.

  Tuppy was astounded. Not because Flora had fallen in love with Hugh, which Tuppy found totally understandable. But because it had happened without Tuppy knowing all about it.

  “But I can’t imagine, when…”

  “No,” said Flora, suddenly blunt. “Neither can I. I can’t imagine when it happened, or why, or how. I only know that it can’t have any future.”

  “Why can it have no future?”

  “Because Hugh’s the man he is. He’s been hurt once and he doesn’t intend getting hurt again. He’s made a life for himself, he doesn’t want to share it, and he doesn’t need another wife. He won’t let himself need one. And even if he did, he doesn’t seem to think he has enough to offer her … I mean material things.”

  “You appear to have talked it over in some detail.”

  “Not really. It was just last night, before the party. I’d been drinking champagne, and somehow that made it easier to talk.”

  “Does he realize how you feel?”

  “Tuppy, I have a little pride left. Short of flinging myself at his head, I seem to have reached the end of the road.”

  “Did he talk about Diana?”

  “Not last night, but he has told me about her.”

  “He would never have done that unless he felt very close to you.”

  “You can be close to a person, but that doesn’t mean you’re in love with them.”

  “Hugh is stubborn and very proud,” Tuppy warned her.

  “You don’t have to tell me that.” Flora smiled, but there wasn’t much joy behind it. “Last night, we were going to have supper together. He said he wasn’t going to dance with me because everybody else would want to dance with me, but we’d have supper together. So stupid to let it be so important … but it was important, Tuppy. And I thought perhaps it was important to him, too. But when the time came, he’d gone. There was a phone call, a baby coming. I don’t know. But he’d simply gone.”

  “My dear, he’s a doctor.”

  “Couldn’t he have told me? Couldn’t he have said goodbye?”

  “Perhaps he couldn’t find you. Perhaps he couldn’t take time to find you.”

  “I shouldn’t mind, should I? But it did matter, terribly.”

  “Will you be able to go away, and forget him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t seem to know the answer to anything. I must be out of my mind.”

  “On the contrary, I think you are exceptionally wise. Hugh is a very special person, but he keeps his qualities well hidden beneath that manner, that sharply honed tongue of his. It takes a person of considerable perception to realize that the qualities are really there.”

  “What am I going to do?” Flora spoke quietly, but it sounded to Tuppy like a cry from the heart.

  “What you were always going to do. Go home to your father. Pack your clothes and find Antony and say goodbye and drive to the station. It’s as easy as that.”

  “Easy?”

  “Life is so complicated that sometimes it’s the only thing left to do. Now give me a kiss and run along. Forget everything that’s happened. And whe
n you come back to Fernrigg, we’ll start all over again, with new beginnings.”

  “I can never thank you properly.” They kissed. “I don’t know the right sort of words.”

  “The best way to thank me is to come back. That’s all I want.”

  They were disturbed by small sounds from the end of the bed. Sukey had decided to wake up. Her claws scratched the silk of the eiderdown as she made her way cautiously up the length of the bed, apparently with the sole intention of clambering onto Flora’s knee and reaching up to lick her face.

  “Sukey! That’s the first time you’ve been nice to me.” Flora gathered the little dog up into her arms and pressed a kiss on the top of Sukey’s head. “Why is she suddenly being so nice?”

  “Sukey takes notions,” said Tuppy, as though that explained everything. “Perhaps she realizes that you’re not Rose after all. Or perhaps she just wanted to say goodbye to you. Is that what you wanted, my darling?”

  Sukey, thus addressed, forgot about Flora and went to curl up in the crook of Tuppy’s arm.

  Flora said, “I must go.”

  “Yes. You mustn’t keep Antony waiting.”

  “Goodbye, Tuppy.”

  “It’s not goodbye. It’s au revoir.”

  For the last time, Flora got up off the bed, and went to the door. But as she opened it, Tuppy spoke again.

  “Flora.”

  Flora looked back. “Yes?”

  “I never thought of pride as a sin. To me it’s always seemed rather an admirable quality. But two proud people, misunderstanding, can make for a tragedy.”

  “Yes,” said Flora. There did not seem to be anything else to say. She went out of the room and shut the door.

  It took so little time to pack, so little time to clear her room of all traces of her presence. When she had finished it appeared impersonal, stripped—ready and waiting for the next person who should come to Fernrigg to stay. She left the white dress that she had worn the night before hanging on the outside of the wardrobe door. It was creased now, molded to Flora’s shape, grubby around the hem, and stained where someone had spilled champagne down the front of the skirt. She opened the cupboard and took out her coat. With this over her arm, and carrying her suitcase, she went downstairs.

  Everything was back to normal. The hall looked as it always did, furniture back in place, the fire smoldering, Plummer sitting beside its warmth, waiting for someone to take him for a walk. From the drawing room came the sound of voices. Flora set down her case and her coat, and went in and found Isobel and Antony standing by the fire deep in conversation. This ceased instantly as Flora appeared, and they stood there, with their faces turned towards her.

  Antony said, “I’ve told Aunt Isobel.”

  “I’m glad you know,” said Flora, and meant it.

  Isobel appeared to be stunned by confusion. It had taken her some time to understand what Antony had spent the last fifteen minutes trying to explain to her. She was tired and suffering from lack of sleep, and in no condition to listen to, let alone comprehend, the long and involved story.

  But one fact was sadly clear. Rose—no, Flora—was leaving. Going. Today. Now. Just like that. Antony was going to drive her to Tarbole to catch the London train. It was all so sudden and unexpected that Isobel felt quite faint. Now, seeing Flora so pale and composed, it began to be real.

  “There’s no need to go,” Isobel told her, knowing it was hopeless but still wanting to try to persuade her to stay. “It doesn’t matter who you are. We don’t want you to go.”

  “That’s very sweet of you. But I must.”

  “The letter from your father. Antony told me.”

  Flora said to Antony, “What about the others?”

  “I’ve told them you’re leaving, but I haven’t told them you’re not Rose. I thought that could wait till later. It might make things a little easier for you.” She smiled her thanks. “And Mrs. Watty’s packing you a box lunch. She has no faith in restaurant cars.”

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  “I’ll tell them,” said Antony. “They want to say goodbye.” He went out of the room.

  Flora went over to Isobel’s side. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” said Isobel.

  “Tuppy’s invited me.”

  “I wish you were going to marry Antony.”

  “I wish I was too, just to belong to such a marvelous family. But it can’t work out that way.”

  Isobel sighed. “Things never seem to work out the way you want them to. You think they’re all beautifully arranged, and then in front of your eyes, they all fall to pieces.”

  Like my flower arrangements, thought Flora. She heard the voices of the others, coming down the passage from the kitchen. “Goodbye, Isobel.” They kissed with great affection, Isobel still not quite clear how this unsatisfactory situation had come about.

  “You will come back?’

  “Of course I will”

  Somehow, the last of the farewells were accomplished. They all stood in the hall with sad faces and said what a shame it was she had to leave, but of course, she would be back. Nobody seemed to notice that she was no longer wearing Antony’s engagement ring, and if they did, they made no comment. Flora found herself kissing Nurse, and then Mrs. Watty, who pressed a bag containing plum cake and apples into the pocket of Flora’s coat. Finally Jason. She knelt to his height and they hugged, his arms so tight around her neck that she thought he would never let her go.

  “I want to come to the station with you.”

  “No,” said Antony.

  “But I want…”

  “I don’t want you to come,” Flora told him quickly. “I hate saying goodbye at stations, and I always cry and that would be dreadful for both of us. And thank you for teaching me how to do ‘Strip the Willow.’ It was the best dance of the whole evening.”

  “You won’t forget how to do it?”

  “I shall remember for the rest of my life.”

  Behind her, Antony opened the front door, and the cold wind flowed in like a sluice of icy water. Carrying her case he went down the steps to the car, and she ran down after him, her head bent against the rain. He flung her suitcase into the back of the car, and helped her in and slammed the door behind her.

  Braving the weather, they had all come out into the open to see her off in style, with Plummer standing at the front of the little group, looking as though he expected to have his photograph taken. The wind tore at Nurse’s apron, blew Isobel’s hair into confusion, but still they stayed there, waving as the car came around in a circle and sped away from the house down the spine-jolting, potholed drive. Flora twisted around in her seat and waved through the back window until the car turned into the road and the house and its occupants were lost from sight.

  It was over. Flora turned and slumped in her seat, her hands deep in her pockets. Her fingers closed over Mrs. Watty’s “box lunch.” She felt the shape of the slice of cake, the round firmness of an apple. She stared ahead, through the streaming windscreen.

  But there was nothing to be seen. The rain closed in on them. Antony drove with the side lights on, and every now and then a large wet sheep materialized out of the gloom, or they passed the side lights of another small car, going in the opposite direction. The wind was as strong as ever.

  “What a horrible day to be leaving,” said Antony.

  She thought of the day they had climbed the hill; of the islands, looking magical, floating on the summer sea; of the crystal air and the snow-capped peaks of the Cuillins. She said, “I’d rather it was like this. It makes it easier to go.”

  They came down the hill into Tarbole and saw the harbor full of boats, stormbound by the weather.

  “What time is it, Antony?”

  “A quarter past twelve. We’re far too early, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. We can go and drink coffee with Sandy, just the way we did that first morning when we arrived from Edinburgh.”

  “It seems so long ago. A lifetime.”

  “Tup
py meant it when she asked you to come back.”

  “You’ll take care of her, won’t you, Antony? You won’t let anything happen to her?”

  “I’ll keep her safe for you,” he promised. “She can’t forgive me, poor Tuppy, for not cutting my losses and marrying you, and bearing you back to Fernrigg as my bride.”

  “She knows it could never happen.”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “She knows.”

  They were into the town now, running alongside the harbor. Waves broke over the low stone wall and the road was awash with salt water, the gutters choked with dirty foam. There was the familiar smell of fish and diesel oil, and the scream of air brakes tore the air as a huge lorry came grinding down the hill from Fort William.

  They came to the crossroads, and then by the bank where Flora had once illicitly parked the van. The little station, gray stone, soot-stained, waited for them. The lines of the railway curved away beyond the platform, out of sight. Antony switched off the engine. They got out of the car and went into the ticket office, Antony carrying Flora’s suitcase. Despite her protestations, he bought her a ticket back to Cornwall.

  “But it’s so expensive, and I can pay for it myself.”

  “Oh, don’t talk balls,” he said rudely, because he was feeling emotional and didn’t want to show it.

  Making out the ticket took some time. They stood and waited. A small fire burned, but the office smelt musty. Peeling posters exhorted them to go to Scottish resorts for their holidays; to take boat trips down the Clyde; to spend weeks at Glorious Rothsay. Neither of them spoke for the simple reason that there didn’t seem to be anything left to say.

  The ticket was at last ready. Antony took it and gave it to Flora. “To do the thing properly I should have bought a return, and then we’d be sure of your coming back.”

  “I’ll come back.” She put the ticket into her bag. “Antony, I don’t want you to wait.”

  “But I must put you onto the train.”

  “I don’t want to wait. I hate goodbyes and I hate railway stations. Like I said to Jason, I always make a fool of myself and cry. I’d hate to do that.”