The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  ‘They have to install a dampcourse before they can start on anything else,’ Gerald explained. ‘The house has never had one apparently. You were right about that, Cathy.’

  They were sitting round the fire having tea at Chestnut Grove. It was half-term and he had come to ask if Cathy would like to go down to Melfordleigh with him on Sunday to see how the work was progressing. ‘It means digging down deep into the foundations and inserting a waterproof membrane. All very technical.’ He laughed and Johnny, who had been watching them closely, thought he looked happier than she had ever seen him.

  ‘Then most of the interior plaster has to come off,’ he went on. ‘The damp has caused it to disintegrate. But that’s the exciting part. The builder rang me yesterday to say that it was covering up some very interesting earlier features.’

  'So you might get your inglenook after all?’ Cathy’s eyes were shining. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

  ‘I warn you, it looked a terrible mess last time I was there,’ Gerald said. ‘But at least we’re getting on. I want you to come so that you can have a chat with the builder, Cathy. I’ve told him about your en suite bathroom ideas and he’s looking forward to meeting you.’

  Neither of them saw the look old Mrs Bains exchanged with her daughter and when Cathy had gone out to the car with Gerald later, to see him off, the old lady spoke her mind with characteristic bluntness.

  ‘That girl is getting a sight too keen on that so-called guardian of hers if you ask me,’ she said, clicking her knitting needles ferociously. ‘I’m not sure I trust him either. Too smart by far for my taste.’

  Johnny made light of her mother’s misgivings. ‘At least he takes an interest in the child,’ she said. ‘He could just have left her here with us and acknowledged her with a card at birthdays and Christmas. He’s her godfather and her guardian, Mother. He’s only doing his best!’

  Mrs Bains grunted. ‘His best for who? That’s what I’d like to know!’ She put down her knitting and leaned forward. ‘And I hardly think I have to remind you that Cathy isn’t a child any more, Mary. You’ve seen the look in her eyes when he’s here.’

  Johnny had seen the look, and it worried her far more than she cared to admit, but she forced herself to laugh. ‘Oh, Mother, really! It’s hero worship, that’s all. Mr Cavelle was her father’s oldest friend. He’s a musician too so she feels at home with him. He’s a father figure to her. That’s all.’

  ‘Mmm.’ The old lady resumed her knitting, pulling her mouth into a tight line. ‘All right. You have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she added ominously. ‘At her age hero worship can soon develop into something more dangerous. And that man has the look of an accomplished philanderer if I’m any judge. You heard the way he was flattering her — making out he wanted her advice about this house of his. What does a girl her age know about such things?’

  ‘She is studying Home Economics, Mother.’

  The old lady grunted. ‘Huh! Home Economics my foot! Turning her head, that’s what he’s after. Next thing you know he’ll be getting her to go there to live.’ She drew her breath in through her teeth with a sharp hissing sound. ‘And I don’t have to tell you what road that leads to.’

  ‘Mother, really! How can you suggest such a thing?’ Johnny was concerned that Cathy might be developing a crush on her guardian but she felt sure that he would never take advantage of it. Whatever any of them might think he was a mature man; an intelligent, talented man whose name was well known. He had a reputation to uphold. Nevertheless, as she gathered the teacups together she promised herself that she would have a quiet word with Cathy sometime soon.

  *

  Sunday was bright with golden autumn sunshine and as they drove up to Suffolk Cathy’s spirits were high. She looked forward so much to seeing the house again. Gerald seemed so enthusiastic. He hadn’t mentioned his illness again and she hadn’t asked. He had seemed so much better ever since he became involved in the restoration of Cuckoo Lodge.

  When they drove in through the gates she saw at once that work had begun in earnest. The ramshackle corrugated iron garage had been removed and the house was now in full view. It was surrounded by scaffolding.

  ‘They’re re-pointing,’ Gerald explained as they got out of the car. ‘The old lime mortar was crumbling — letting in the weather.’

  Cathy saw that all round the perimeter of the house a deep trench had been excavated. Standing looking up at Cuckoo Lodge she was slightly dismayed.

  ‘Poor old house,’ she said. ‘It looks rather forlorn, doesn’t it? I feel as though I shouldn’t be looking.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you be looking?’ Gerald asked.

  She lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. It’s the indignity of it — a bit like catching someone in their underwear.’

  He laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. ‘You are a funny girl. Just you wait another few months. The ‘poor old house’ as you call it will be positively pristine then. Restored to its former glory as they say.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She looked up at him. ‘Can we go inside?’

  ‘Of course. It’s perfectly safe. You’ll just have to watch your shoes in the mud.’

  They picked their way over planks to get to the front door, which Gerald opened with his key.

  ‘This will have to be replaced,’ he told her as he unlocked it. ‘The wood is rotten. I’m having a replica made by a firm that specialises in them. You were right about the listing. I’ve had special instructions about the windows too. No knocking the walls about and installing modern ‘picture’ windows.’

  Cathy pulled a face. ‘God forbid. As if you would.’

  Standing in what was to be the house’s main reception room Cathy drew in her breath. It looked so much larger now that the plaster was down to the original brickwork and the fireplace had been removed. ‘So that’s your inglenook,’ she said, pointing to the cavernous chimney space.

  He nodded happily. ‘It will be. Can you imagine it with a massive log fire crackling away? I’m combing antique shops for some genuine fire dogs and a basket. If I can’t find any I might have to have them specially made.’

  At the back the outbuildings had gone, apart from the barn. And the lean-to kitchen had been demolished. As they went from room to room Cathy watched Gerald’s face. His eyes were alight with pleasure as he pointed out the work that was being done. All the depression of previous months had gone. The difference it had made to him was nothing short of miraculous.

  ‘Jack Rigby, the builder, is meeting us here after lunch,’ he told her. ‘It’s the kitchen and bathrooms I want you to talk to him about. They’re more your province than mine.’

  She looked at him with surprise. ‘You want me to advise the builder? Won’t he think it a cheek?’

  ‘Why should he? I’m employing him so I get to choose what I want. And as you are the only family I’ve got … ’

  ‘But surely he’s the expert?’

  ‘I’ve only asked him to listen to your ideas. If any of them are impractical I expect he’ll tell you.’ Gerald laughed at her doubtful expression. ‘Cathy, if I still had a wife I’m sure she’d demand to have her say in the kitchen and bathroom. Builders are used to that, I assure you.’

  As they walked down the hill the wind coming off the sea was sharp and salty and icy cold. The view today was different from the last time she had been here. Out to sea the waves were crested with white. The boats that were still moored by the sea wall bobbed on the swelling tide, their masts and rigging clicking and creaking in the wind. Overhead seagulls rode the wind, swooping occasionally for food, filling the air with their plaintive haunting cries.

  ‘It’s still beautiful, isn’t it?’ Gerald said as they stood together by the sea wall. ‘In a wilder way than before. Most of the boats will be gone soon, taken into dock for the winter months. The artists and weekend fishermen will pack up their palettes and rods till spring, then the place will belong to the locals again.’


  ‘And you’ll be one of them soon.’ She looked up at him. ‘How long will the house take to be finished?’

  ‘Depends on the weather. It’s a race against time to get the place weatherproof before the winter sets in. If they can do that they can work on the inside till spring.’ He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘You look cold.’ He laughed. ‘Your nose is turning pink. Come on, let’s get inside in the warm. I’ve booked a table.’

  Inside the Admiral Nelson it was warm and snug and the mouth-watering aroma of well-cooked food made Cathy realise how hungry she was. The landlord greeted them like old and valued customers and showed them to the table Gerald had insisted on: Cathy’s favourite, the one by the fo’c’sle window that looked out over the sea. But after she’d made her choice from the menu he noticed that she was quiet and thoughtful.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to change your order?’

  ‘No. I’m fine.’ She’d been puzzling over something he had said back at the house and was trying to summon up the courage to ask him about it.

  ‘You’re looking rather pensive. Anything worrying you?’

  ‘No … ’ She looked up at him. ‘At least … ’

  ‘Yes — come on.’

  ‘It was just something you said … ’

  ‘Yes? What did I say?’

  She bit her lip. ‘You said, if I still had a wife … ’

  He smiled ruefully, shaking his head. ‘Did I really say that?’

  She blushed. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but it sounded almost as though … ’

  ‘As though I once had one? Well, it’s no secret. Why shouldn’t you ask, Cathy? Yes, I was married once. But it was so long ago that I hardly ever think about it now. What I said was a mere slip of the tongue. It must be this business of making a proper home for myself.’ When she was silent he leaned across the table, his eyes slightly amused. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You want to know about her — so ask.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s none … ’

  ‘Of your business? Well, perhaps it is, Cathy,’ he told her, his eyes serious. ‘Perhaps it has more to do with you — with you and me — than you realise.’

  She didn’t know what to say. Sometimes he seemed to speak in riddles. ‘If — if you want to tell me about it — about her — okay,’ she said. ‘If not I don’t mind. Honestly.’

  He reached out to cover her hand with his. ‘I do want to. Not that there’s much to tell. It didn’t last very long. We were both very young, you see, very green and inexperienced. Still at college in fact. She was a musician too. We both had lofty ambitions. My grandfather was dead against it, which, as far as I was concerned, was one very good reason for going through with it. We were head over heels in love, or so we convinced ourselves. We had stars in our eyes. Nothing mattered except being together. But a few months of sharing one room and the meagre allowance my grandfather gave me, which he flatly refused to increase, soon put out the stars for us. I think being a wife was a big disillusionment for her.’ He smiled wryly. ‘They say that when poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the window, don’t they?’

  ‘What happened?’

  He smiled. ‘The war happened. In a way that made the decision easy for us. She was from New Zealand, you see. Her parents wrote when things began to look bad, insisting that she went home. They added, a trifle half-heartedly, that I was welcome too. But they must have known that no self-respecting British male would desert his country at a time like that. We parted tearfully, vowing eternal love and making God knows what empty promises, but I think we both knew it was the face-saving escape we’d been looking for. We exchanged letters, but gradually they dwindled to the occasional line. Then, a couple of years later I heard from Sarah’s solicitor that she was seeking an annulment. It wasn’t a great surprise and I didn’t contest it.’

  ‘And it didn’t hurt? Not at all?’

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’d be lying if I said it didn’t dent my ego a little. As I said, I was very young. At that age you’re so sure about everything. Discovering you can make mistakes like anyone else can be pretty shattering. But soon afterwards I went off to join ENSA and on the whole I spent the rest of the war quite enjoyably.’

  There must have been other girlfriends?’ Cathy said daringly.

  True.’ He smiled wryly. ‘We all suffer from the rebound syndrome.’

  ‘No one serious though?’

  ‘No.’ He paused, and for a moment his eyes clouded. ‘No one serious.’

  ‘Don’t you miss your music now that you’ve retired?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I haven’t had time to miss it yet. I’ve been too busy planning for the future.’ He smiled. ‘There’s so much to look forward to.’

  The food arrived and they applied themselves to it. Cathy was learning something new about Gerald every time she saw him. As she ate she wondered if he would mention her moving here with him again. And what Johnny would say if she decided to. Deep down she had the feeling that the decision would be frowned upon. But why? After all she was almost nineteen now. By July she would be finished at college. Qualified with any luck. And Gerald was her legal guardian. Although she would prefer to do it with Johnny’s blessing, she didn’t really need anyone’s permission.

  The builder was waiting for them at the house. He was a burly man with a red face and a brusque manner. But it was clear that he knew his business well. He listened politely to Cathy’s ideas, pointed out the snags and suggested modifications, while Gerald looked on. A new kitchen was to be built on at the rear of the house. Its position and specifications were decided upon. Jack Rigby made copious notes and sketches which he promised to pass on to the architect and the plumber who would soon need to begin installing the necessary pipes before plastering began.

  Dusk was gathering by the time they left for home. As they headed towards London Gerald looked at her.

  ‘I’m very proud of you, Cathy.’

  She looked at him with surprise. ‘I can’t think why.’

  ‘You’re taking such an interest in Cuckoo Lodge. I’m grateful as well as proud.’

  She glanced at him. ‘Like you said, I’m your family. You’re all the family I’ve got too.’

  ‘The house won’t be finished till this time next year. I expect you’ll be looking for a job by then.’

  ‘Perhaps. If I pass my exams.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll pass all right. I have every confidence in you.’ She felt his eyes on her but did not turn to meet them. ‘You’ll probably rush off to the north of Scotland or somewhere and I shan’t see you again.’

  Something in his voice made her turn and say fervently, ‘I’ll never do that. I’ll always be here, Gerald. As long as you need me.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Of course I mean it.’

  He was slowing the car. Drawing off the road into a quiet lane, he switched off the engine and turned in his seat to look at her. ‘Cathy, I think we should talk.’

  Her heart was drumming fast. ‘Should we?’

  ‘You know we should. There’s been a question hanging over our heads for months now. Ever since that first time we looked at Cuckoo Lodge together and I asked you if you’d come and live there with me.’

  She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t want to … ’

  ‘I know. I could have bitten my tongue out afterwards. It was too soon. I didn’t mean to rush you. You wanted to finish your course, naturally.’ He picked up her hand and regarded it for a moment, then he held it softly against his cheek. ‘Cathy. You know what was in my mind, don’t you? Maybe you’ve known all along. Women seem to have an instinct for these things. And you are a woman now. You’re not a little girl any longer.’

  She could scarcely breathe. His eyes held hers in the dim interior of the car. They seemed almost luminous — hypnotic. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Could she really be sure? So
many times she had dreamed of a moment like this, yet she was so afraid of making a fool of herself.

  When she didn’t reply he turned his head and pressed his lips into the palm of her hand. ‘You know what I’m trying so clumsily to say, don’t you, Cathy? I’m trying to say I love you.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You can laugh now if you want to. If all that sounded like the foolish ramblings of a man old enough to be your father, just say so. I don’t quite know how it happened. Maybe it shouldn’t. So if you’re going to tell me to get lost, please do it quickly and put me out of my misery, will you?’

  ‘Gerald.’ She reached out to put a finger against his lips. ‘Don’t. I’m not laughing,’ she said softly. ‘And I’m not going to tell you to get lost. I want to live with you at Melfordleigh. I always have. I want to be with you more than anything else in the world. Since that first time I’ve been so afraid you wouldn’t ask me again.’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘Is that true? You’re not just being kind?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. I wouldn’t know how to handle that kind of situation, Gerald. I mean it.’

  ‘Would you mind saying it? Just so that I can be sure.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I love you too, Gerald. It’s not infatuation. It’s not new either. I think I’ve loved you ever since that time Dad brought me to hear you play for the first time.’

  When he kissed her she thought she would drown in happiness. Matthew had kissed her once or twice; clumsy embraces and awkward, embarrassed kisses under the tree by the front gate when they came home from a dance or the pictures. But nothing like this. She wasn’t in love with Matthew. It made all the difference.

  When Gerald released her, her head was spinning. She felt as though her heart had swelled to fill her whole body. Every nerve tingled — every pulse throbbed. She buried her face against his neck, waiting for her heartbeat to slow and the world to stop spinning.