by Rosie Thomas
Felix made his way towards the new house in the Boltons, but the cheerfulness of the early afternoon had deserted him.
The red Mini swung between the stone gateposts.
Julia blinked once in the dappled shade of the trees, and then again as they came out into the brightness once more. Alexander stopped the car, leaving it at an angle just as he had done when he first brought Julia to Ladyhill. As if he couldn’t wait to jump out and run into the house.
‘Look at the roses,’ Julia said.
The Albertine on the red-brick wall that enclosed the garden on two sides was a cascade of coppery pink. Pale gold and grey-green spikes of verbascum reared against the backdrop of roses. It was in her autumn walks around the gardens that Julia had learned it was called verbascum. At the far end of the long border a fine copper beech tree was like a full stop. The leaves had lost the greenish sheen of early summer, and were turning through polished copper to the mahogany brown of maturity.
‘The garden is beautiful,’ Julia whispered.
There was a blackbird singing somewhere close at hand. She turned deliberately and looked at the house.
There was scaffolding enclosing the badly damaged wing now, and masking the whole centre front of the house. But it still didn’t hide the smoke-blackened brick, and the charred roof beams soaring above it. She shook her head imperceptibly, telling herself that she couldn’t smell smoke. She mustn’t smell it. And there was silence, except for the birdsong.
As Julia watched, a length of new timber was winched upwards. A workman at the top of the scaffolding unfastened it and hoisted it away. Now that she looked more closely, she saw that two or three of the huge beams had already been replaced. The raw wood gleamed yellow in contrast with the stark black of the others. Alexander had been staring intently, and now he nodded. ‘They’re making good progress. We must get the roof on before another winter comes.’
He bent down and reached into the car. Lily had been asleep in her carrycot on the back seat, but now Alexander lifted her out, swathed in her white shawl. He held her up and her heavy head rolled against his shoulder. ‘Look,’ he whispered. ‘Look, Lily. We’re home.’
They stood for a moment, the three of them, in front of the stricken house.
Then Alexander took Julia’s hand and, still holding the baby, he drew her arm through his. With Alexander setting the pace they walked briskly towards the gaping mouth of the front door.
There were no flames, of course. No terrible face, turning to her. Johnny was gone, but Alexander was fit and well, beside her. Julia made herself breathe evenly, remembering what Felix had said. The fire will pass. She looked at Lily, in the crook of Alexander’s arm. Her eyes were wide open.
The hall was as derelict as when they had left it for Markham Square, seemingly more so since the builders had taken possession of the house. There were tarpaulins spread over the floor, a concrete mixer in the corner, piles of tools. Julia could hear whistling, and sawing somewhere overhead. A man in an overall came through from the back of the house. Alexander shook hands with him, introducing him as the site foreman.
The man said, ‘Welcome home, sir. Lady Bliss.’
‘Julia,’ she responded automatically.
Alexander’s expression didn’t change. He was quickly absorbed in conversation with the foreman. Julia listened vaguely to the phrases as they drifted around her. Estimates … weakened structure … new joists. The language was utterly foreign. She took Lily out of Alexander’s arms and held her up, like a shield against her own resentment. She rested her cheek against the baby’s knitted bonnet and thought, You’re on my side. I know you are. What are floorboards to you? People are what matter, Lily. Remember that. Julia was surprised by the sudden intensity of her feelings. This … house. This house is a tomb, for me and Alexander as well as Johnny. Or just for me, now. She half turned, shivering, wanting to run.
Alexander saw it, and caught her arm. ‘I’ll come and see you later, Mr Minns.’
Behind a hanging tarpaulin there was a well-sealed door, and on the other side was the relatively undamaged wing of the house where Alexander and Julia had set up home. The little room on the ground floor had been Sir Percy’s den, and now it had become their sitting room. They had assembled two old sofas and a pair of armchairs, a bureau and a gate-legged table, and a Turkish carpet that was much too large and had to be folded against the walls. Pictures and books and ornaments salvaged from the further corners of the house were crammed in wherever there was space.
Further along the corridor a kitchen had been created in what was once the gun-room, and above, reached by a back staircase, there were two bedrooms and a sort of bathroom.
‘There isn’t much space,’ Alexander had said when they returned to the house from his stepmother’s cottage.
‘More than we had when I lived with Mattie and Felix and Jessie,’ Julia had said dully.
Alexander had read it as stoical determination, and he had kissed her delightedly. ‘That’s my girl. We’ll be thoroughly comfortable here, the two of us. And the baby, when he comes.’
Julia hoisted Lily on her shoulder and looked around the room. It had been repainted in a fresh clear yellow and the pictures and ornaments had been attractively arranged. There were flowers in bowls, roses and scabious and stocks from the garden, in big, fragrant bunches. It looked much better than it had done before they left, but Julia regarded it without affection.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alexander said.
She looked at him in surprise and his shoulders lifted, awkwardly. He was neither stern nor ironic. The lines in his face had melted and he looked like an apologetic boy. ‘I shouldn’t have kept you standing there while I talked to Minns. I was just excited to see the work, I wanted to hear what they were doing. It seems months since we were here.’ He hesitated, searching her face, and then his shoulders dropped and he walked away to the window. He put his hands flat against the glass, staring out through the small, square panes. ‘I love this house,’ he said. His voice was so low that Julia had to strain to catch the words. ‘I want to see it, to make it come alive again for the three of us.’ He swung around again, coming to her, putting his hands on her shoulders while Julia wrapped her arms protectively around the baby. ‘Do you understand?’ he asked.
‘I will. I’m trying to,’ she answered him. No, her own voice insisted. How could I?
Alexander kissed her. ‘I’ll go and make us a cup of tea. Do you like the new paint?’
‘Very much. It’s bright.’
Alexander went away into the kitchen. She could hear water running and the rattle of the kettle under the tap. Julia settled Lily on her spread-out shawl in a corner of the sofa, then wandered across the room. She touched the furled petals of the roses, and looked out of the window as Alexander had done. The lawns needed mowing, but the borders were at the peak of their midsummer brilliance. Julia’s mouth had lost some of its tautness as she moved on to the walnut bureau. There were neat piles of post arranged on it; a stack for Alexander, a handful of letters addressed to both of them, perhaps a dozen for herself. She flipped through them. Julia saw the thin blue envelope at once, and the US stamp. She didn’t need to look at the handwriting; even though she hadn’t seen it for more than two years it was as recognisable as her own. She held the envelope in dry fingers, hearing the faint, infinitely promising crackle of the paper inside it.
Alexander came back with a teapot and cups on a tray. ‘Anything interesting in the post?’
‘Not really,’ Julia lied, out of a dry throat.
They drank their tea together, and they talked about the house and the progress that Mr Minns was making with the huge task of rebuilding. Now that Julia was out of hospital, restored to real life, Alexander was anxious to draw her into his great project.
‘The assessors have caused very little trouble. Beyond the original facts, and no one can change those. When the insurance company does pay out, the money should cover the structural minimum. The outer f
abric, the new roof. I’ve taken out a short-term mortgage on the land, to see us through until it does come. There won’t be anything left for the interior, or for replacing the pictures and furniture. The old man’s fault, and mine, for not revaluing. But when the time comes, we might think about selling a parcel of land, to raise another slice of capital.’
With the blue envelope hidden in her lap, Julia nodded her head. She was trying to listen. ‘What land?’
‘Well. Perhaps the lower four acres. It’s convenient for the village. Good building land …’
Julia nodded again, dimly imagining bungalows spreading between the house and the village. And the money from that, paying for George Tressider to hang his chintzes and arrange his English oak furniture. Julia laughed, an abrupt bubble of it, then covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Bliss. I suddenly thought about George.’
He smiled at her. ‘Go on laughing. I like it. There hasn’t been enough, for a long time.’
‘I’m going to feed Lily. If I laugh now it’ll give her hiccups.’ Alexander stood up and stretched comfortably. ‘In that case I’ll go and see Minns, and leave you in peace.’
When she heard the further door shut, Julia tore open the blue envelope. She unfolded the thin sheet of airmail paper and began to read.
Dearest Julia, Josh had written. Harry Gilbert saw the birth announcement in The Times. I can’t imagine you married, and married to a Sir, no less. But somehow I can see you with a baby, especially a daughter. Has she got black hair, and eyes like yours? I wish I could see her. And her mother, too, if she would let me. It seems a long time, doesn’t it? And yet no time at all. I think of you often, you know.
There were more paragraphs, describing Vail and the new ski-lodges, skipping on to some flying work that Josh had done in Brazil. Greedily, Julia devoured the words. Josh had no great skill as a letter writer but she could hear his voice framing the sentences. He seemed so close that his shape was silhouetted against the light from the window. His vibrancy seemed to spring out at her, a bolt of pure energy. She reached the last paragraph.
I guess Sir Alexander must be Sophia’s brother. I told you all that time ago that you should get to like those Wengen girls, didn’t I? And now you’re one of them. What would you say, that serves me right? I hope you’re happy. I’m sure you are. If you will let me, I’d like to come and make certain, and to see your baby and your English manor house in the green country. Do you remember the cottage in the corner of the wood?
Julia, Julia.
I hope you think, once in a while between the garden parties and the summer balls, about your aviator.
Julia looked up, and there was nothing standing between her and the light streaming in through the window. The room was empty, except for Lily on her shawl.
She said aloud, ‘Josh,’ but nothing answered her except the silence.
She began to cry then, desperate and furious tears that didn’t assuage the loss or the loneliness.
Fifteen
Lily tottered to her feet, took two steps and flopped down again. She had been installed on a rug in the shade of the copper beech tree, but the moving fringe where shadow met sunlight was irresistibly fascinating. She set off again towards the pattern of leaves, crawling now, rubbing grassy stains into the toes of her new white shoes. The shoes and the pink and white broderie anglaise dress were a present from Faye, and scattered around Lily’s rug were the torn wrappings and chewed ribbons from other presents. Lily was more interested in crumpling the bright paper than in playing with the pull-along yellow wooden duck or the woolly elephant, but the circle of adults watched her approvingly. Now she crossed the line between shade and sun and set off towards the blazing colours of the flowerbeds.
It was Lily’s first birthday.
Sophia and Toby and their two boys had come to Ladyhill for the weekend to celebrate it with the rest of the family. The boys were bored with the baby and with baby toys, and had gone to play somewhere in the garden. Occasional whoops and shouts sounded across the grass.
The adults sat around the tea table. Alexander and Toby had drawn their chairs a little way away. They were talking, Julia suspected, about money. The four women faced each other: Julia, Faye, Sophia and China. China sat still, her small figure upright and her face deeply shadowed by the brim of her straw hat. Faye and Sophia were gossiping, their high voices blotting out the low murmur of the men’s. The picture of perfection, Julia thought. Tea on the manor house lawn. White dresses and thin-cut sandwiches. The village church clock was striking five, and she counted the slow strokes and the dragging seconds between them. A stifling sensation clogged her chest and rose into her throat. Her face was suddenly burning and her heart thumped. Julia realised that she was possessed by an ecstasy of boredom. It was distilled by the limpid afternoon to a purity that rushed to her head like a drug. Her hands gripped the wicker arms of her chair and her mouth opened. She had the impression that China was studying her under the brim of her hat.
‘The sun’s very hot,’ Faye said.
Julia fixed her attention on containing the boredom. She was becoming expert at it, but this was a powerful onslaught.
‘The sun is very hot,’ Faye repeated, more loudly. ‘I’m worried about it on Lily’s head. Don’t you think she should have her little sunhat on, Julia dear?’
Julia stood up. The table rocked, and the faces turned up to look at her. Even Alexander and Toby paused momentarily in their low conversation.
‘I’ll go in and get it, if you’re worried,’ she said clearly. She grabbed the big teapot and held it up. ‘And I’ll make some fresh tea. You would all like some, wouldn’t you?’
If she stayed in the same position, frozen into her chair and into the contented tableau, she was afraid that she would scream, or swear, or upset the pink and white birthday cake in a shower of breaking china. Bearing the teapot in front of her she almost ran across the lawn, past Lily who was happily putting earth into her mouth, over the gravel beneath the yew trees, under the portico and in through the front door. There was a new door now, in thick, well-seasoned oak. The insurance money had provided that, one of the last items before it ran out. The restoration work had come to a stop, and Mr Minns and his workmen had departed until Alexander could raise some more funds.
Julia went through into their salvaged wing, and put the kettle on in the kitchen. The crusts that she had cut off the teatime sandwiches littered the table. Waiting for the kettle to boil she folded her arms on the deep windowsill and looked out. This side of the house faced away from the gardens and the village, out over open countryside. The mild, tolling landscape was drowsy under the sun and empty of human life.
Sophia’s voice behind her made her start. ‘You look a bit cheesed-off.’
Julia turned back into the room. Sophia’s choice of words almost made her laugh. But she was fond of her good-natured sister-in-law, and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She said, vaguely, ‘Oh, you know.’
‘Mmm, only too well. Motherhood’s a full-time job, isn’t it?’
It was, Julia reflected, not that Sophia knew much about that. Sophia had a Norland nanny, and a girl who came in to help on the nanny’s weekends off. ‘And Faye does fuss a bit. Sunhat in England in June, indeed. When we took Jem and Rupert to Corfu they toddled about all day long in blazing sun, and it was me and Toby …’
In the next room, the telephone began to ring.
‘Excuse me,’ Julia murmured.
‘I’ll make the tea, shall I?’ Sophia asked blithely. Leaving all the doors open between them Julia went to the telephone and answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Julia. It’s Josh.’
Julia’s eyes widened and her breath stuck in her throat. The room went dim, and Sophia’s humming faded in the kitchen. His voice was unmistakable, like everything else about him. Julia put her fingers up to shield the mouthpiece, staring imploringly at the open door.
She whispered ‘Josh?’, and heard him laughi
ng.
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘Why not?’ Her bearings were coming back. She had answered Josh’s letter, sending her reply to the address he gave in Colorado, but there had been no response. She had waited months for another letter, through the frozen Ladyhill winter, and her dreams of the fire, and into the spring. She had stopped hoping, then.
‘It’s her birthday, isn’t it?’ he demanded.
‘Yes. How did you know?’ Julia felt stupid with surprise, and pleasure.
‘Harry Gilbert sent me the clipping from The Times. I keep it in my billfold. You didn’t know I was so sentimental, did you? Tell her happy birthday, from me.’
She could see the yellowing fragment of newsprint, tucked away with the scribbled addresses and business cards and dollar bills.
‘Where are you?’ Julia breathed. ‘You sound close.’
‘I’m in London. I’m going to be here for a while. I want to buy Lily a present. Can I see you, Julia?’
After a year of silence. Years of separation before that. When she had needed him, and he had shaken her off. For her own good, she knew he had believed that. But now she was old enough to know for herself. And she knew that she loved him as much as she had ever done.
Without hesitation, she said, ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
Julia could hear Sophia clanking in the kitchen. She was suddenly terrified that she would appear in the doorway, overhear everything. Josh Flood? Golly, how super.
‘It’s not a very good time now,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Give me a number where I can call you.’ He recited the digits and Julia gabbled, ‘Thanks for ringing. I’ll talk to you soon. Goodbye.’
The receiver clattered into its cradle. She snatched a piece of paper off the desk and wrote down the number. She folded the paper once, then again and again into a tiny square, and pushed it deep into the pocket of her cotton dress.
In the kitchen Sophia was wiping the table top, still humming. She was too well mannered or else too deficient in human curiosity to listen to other people’s telephone conversations, Julia thought with relief. But when she saw Julia’s face she asked concernedly, ‘Something up?’
