by Joan Lingard
The night before their wedding, Alasdair arrived bringing with him a surprise present for Natasha. He said he had bought it at an auction in London.
‘What can it be?’ Natasha held the object in her hands. It was rectangular, about forty centimetres across, wrapped in gold and white paper, and it felt like a box.
‘Go on, open it!’ Alasdair was smiling. He could barely contain his excitement.
Carefully, she unwrapped the parcel. She was so surprised she almost dropped it.
‘It’s my sewing basket!’ she cried, raising the lid and looking inside. She couldn’t believe it! Everything looked just as she had left it. The silken threads, the packet of needles, the little silver scissors. She lifted them out and held them in her hand.
‘I was fairly sure it must be yours,’ said Alasdair. ‘You had described it to me. I had such a strange feeling when my eye lit on the basket, as if I had seen it before. And your name “Natasha” was embroidered on the inside of the lid.’
Natasha felt as if a part of her childhood had been returned to her. It brought back memories of sitting in her sunlit room with the box in her lap and the window open, letting in the smell of spring air and the sound of bargees on the river Neva calling to one another.
An exile, they concluded, must have brought the basket from St Petersburg to London. It was possible that someone, perhaps their former maid Lena, had sold it in the first instance.
‘It’s a magic box,’ said Alasdair.
‘A magic box?’
‘Yes, didn’t you know?’
Natasha shook her head.
‘The auctioneer told me about it. He had come across a similar box before. Watch!’ Alasdair lifted the lid and putting his thumbs into the bottom far corners of the basket, he pressed down firmly. Slowly, a small tray slid out from underneath.
Natasha was overwhelmed. ‘A secret tray! How wonderful! I won’t tell anyone else. Only you and I will know. I’ll be able to keep secret things in there.’ She had always liked secrets.
And so Natasha went to live with Alasdair in Scotland, taking her sewing basket with her. They lived in a house on the west coast looking over a long sea loch. Some years later, Anna, the granddaughter of Eugénie, met Duncan McKinnon on a visit to Natasha, and fell in love with him. And so she too came to live in Argyll, and they had two children, Alexander and Sonya, who Natasha looked upon as her own great-grandchildren.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE OTHER BOX OF DELIGHTS
‘Do you think you could remember what was in the note?’ asked Alex anxiously. To think that they had come this far and the last clue had been thrown away!
Mr Crawford thought. ‘It was something about another box of delights.’ He shrugged. ‘But beyond that I can’t really remember. I’m very sorry, but I only gave it a quick glance. If only I’d known it was important!’
‘But it did say something else apart from “a box of delights”, did it?’ asked Alex anxiously.
‘I’m pretty certain it did. I think it was some sort of instruction.’
‘About doing something? Looking for something?’
‘Could have been. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be, I’m afraid. Old age, you know!’
‘Would you like to have the book back, Alex?’ asked Mrs Crawford.
‘No, thanks all the same. It was only the piece of paper that I wanted.’
Only! Alex cycled home feeling pent up with frustration. He dropped his bicycle on the front step and ran in to tell his father about this latest turn of events.
‘Imagine, Mr Crawford threw away our very last clue!’
‘We do know part of it,’ Duncan reminded him.
‘Another box of delights. It can’t be another book, can it? Natasha said it was the last clue.’
‘So it should lead us to the will itself.’
‘And she wouldn’t put that inside a book, would she?’
But how did they know how Natasha’s mind would have been working at that stage?
‘If only Mr Crawford had remembered the other part!’ said Alex gloomily. After all the excitement of the search he felt down in the dumps. ‘It’s not worth looking at other books, is it?’ But he needed to do something. He couldn’t just sit here hoping Mr Crawford would have a sudden flash of recall and ring up and say, ‘I’ve just remembered!’
‘Why don’t you go up to Natasha’s room and look at some of her boxes?’ suggested Duncan. ‘Any kind of box. She had quite a number, didn’t she?’
They had already searched Natasha’s room more than once, but Alex agreed to give it another try. It was possible that they might have missed something, though not very likely. He investigated every box he could find, inside and out. He was thorough. He went through jewellery boxes and trinket boxes, and two hat boxes that contained the summery kind of hats with long trailing ribbons that Natasha had liked to wear in the garden, and old shoe boxes full of photographs. But there was no sign of a will or of any kind of paper in any of the boxes. Alex returned to the library and flung himself down in the big leather chair where Natasha herself used to sit reading.
‘When your mother phones we’ll ask her,’ said Duncan. ‘She might have an idea of what kind of box Natasha might have meant.’
Anna was later ringing that day than usual. Alex couldn’t stay still. He got up and wandered restlessly round the house; his father occupied himself in the kitchen making a chicken casserole. When the phone did ring Alex made a dash for it.
‘Hi, Mum!’ He asked first after Sonya.
‘She seems to me to be going through a change. I can’t explain exactly. The nurse doesn’t see it. But I feel the expression on her face looks different.’
They talked for a moment about Sonya, with Duncan coming in on the extension, and then Alex asked his question. ‘Mum, what would Natasha mean by a box of delights? Other than the book?’
‘Why, her sewing basket!’ said Anna. ‘She always said just to look at it delighted her. Especially because of Alasdair finding it at that auction in London. She said it was like a miracle that it should turn up all those years later and he should be the one to buy it.’
‘But we’ve already looked in the sewing basket,’ said Alex. ‘Dozens of times. Sonya too. She opened that basket nearly every day after Natasha died. She kept all sorts of things in it. How could she possibly have missed a piece of paper?’
‘It is a bit of a mystery,’ agreed his mother. ‘Why don’t you go and take just one final look?’
‘Oh, all right.’
Alex was sure it was going to be a waste of time, but he went off to do it, leaving his father on the line.
He opened the basket, looked inside took out the threads and the packets of needles and pins, and the little pair of silver scissors. He ran his fingers over the satin covering and the satin lining. He examined the lid, the sides, the bottom. He closed the lid, feeling utterly frustrated. Perhaps Natasha had put the will in there originally, but it had got mislaid. Perhaps she had never put it in there. Perhaps she had been playing games with them all along.
TWENTY-NINE
SONYA’S DREAM
Sonya was dreaming. She was in that state of consciousness when she knew she was dreaming. It was as if she was above what was going on, and observing it. Natasha was in the dream, not the Natasha that Sonya had known with white hair and a slight stoop to her back. This was a younger version of Natasha with a straight back and loose fair hair, yet Sonya recognized her…
Natasha is in a sunlit room with Alasdair, holding something between her hands. It is a present, which he tells her he bought at an auction in London. She is laughing and asking, ‘What can it be?’ And Alasdair is saying, ‘It’s a surprise. Go on, Natasha, open it!’ She carefully takes off the gold and white paper. Her eyes widen as she sees what it is, as if she cannot believe what she is seeing.
‘It’s my sewing basket!’ she cries, laughing and crying at the same time.
‘I was pretty sure it must be. I
saw your name embroidered on the lid!’
She tells him that it is the best present he could ever have given her. He has brought back a part of her childhood for her.
‘It’s a magic box,’ says Alasdair. He too is smiling.
‘Magic?’
‘Yes, didn’t you know?’
She shakes her head.
‘The auctioneer told me about it. He had come across a similar box before. Watch!’ Alasdair lifts the lid and putting his thumbs into the bottom far corners of the basket, presses down. Slowly, a shallow tray slides out from underneath.
Natasha is overwhelmed. ‘A secret tray! How wonderful! I won’t tell anyone else. Only you and I will know. I’ll be able to keep secret things in there.’ She likes secrets…
Sonya felt herself surfacing. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean bed and gradually coming up to the top. She was still holding on to the dream, she could still see Natasha’s smiling face as she bent over the sewing basket. She told herself to hold on to the dream, not to let it go, and to remember. She knew that it was important to remember. Remember, remember… She was going up and up. She was reaching the surface. She opened her eyes and the light burst upon her.
‘Sonya!’
She heard her name, recognized the voice. She blinked. The light was so powerful that she almost could not bear it. She wanted to close her eyes again and sink back down into that other world. What was that other world? What had she been dreaming about? She frowned. She remembered that she had been dreaming, but she could not remember what it was that she had dreamt. Yet she knew it was important to remember.
‘Sonya, it’s Mum here. Can you hear me?’
Sonya looked up into the face bending over hers. She knew it. She knew it well. ‘Hello, Mum,’ she said. Her voice felt strange and creaky as it emerged.
‘Oh, darling, I can’t believe it!’ Her mother was crying.
‘Where am I?’ asked Sonya. She did not recognize the room or the woman who was standing at the other side of the bed wearing a white apron. Then she thought, She’s a nurse, isn’t she? Yes, of course she is. I’ve seen a nurse before.
‘You had an accident, Sonya,’ said her mother.
‘An accident?’ Sonya had no memory of that.
‘You’ve been sleeping.’
‘How long?’
‘Quite long. Days.’
‘Days?’
‘Weeks. Five, almost six.’
Sonya could not comprehend that either.
‘Don’t think about it,’ said her mother. ‘Just rest. I’m going to leave you with the nurse while I go and phone Dad and Alex.’
‘Alex?’
‘You remember Alex, don’t you? Your brother?’
Sonya nodded. Yes, she remembered her brother with his dark eyes and serious frown. Things were gradually coming back to her. Some things, at least.
A doctor came and examined her and removed a tube that he said had been feeding her.
‘Have I not been eating?’
‘You couldn’t eat while you were asleep, could you?’ He smiled. Everyone was smiling at her. The doctor said she could have some weak tea and toast. The nurse brought it and helped her to sit up. Her mother held the cup. Sonya’s own hands and arms felt too weak to hold it herself. It would take a little while for her to get her strength back, said the nurse. Her muscles would have weakened from lying so long in bed.
‘But you’re young. It won’t be long before you’re strong again.’
‘And then you’ll be able to come home,’ said Anna.
THIRTY
THE RETURN VISIT OF BORIS MALENKOV AND MR HATTON-FLITCH
Sonya would not be allowed to come home for some time. She must stay in hospital until she became stronger. They thought that her brain had suffered no permanent damage, although she was still having headaches and she kept forgetting things that she thought she should know. She felt at times that she was chasing them round the edges of her brain, but they kept scurrying away out of her grasp. The doctors said she shouldn’t let it worry her, it was a case of letting everything return gradually to a state of normality. She couldn’t expect to emerge from a coma and jump out of bed the next day!
Mr Bell, the minister, drove Alex and Duncan down to Glasgow. They thought Sonya looked thin and pale, but that was not surprising. Anna looked rather pale and thin too. Sonya had the same wide smile though, and her eyes lit up when she saw them. She was sitting in an armchair by the window. She got up to hug them and all their eyes were damp.
‘Mrs Bell sent you one of her carrot cakes,’ said Alex, putting it on the bedside table, ‘and a batch of her scones. She says we’ve got to fatten you up.’
Sonya laughed. ‘What’s been happening in the village? Tell me all the news! I want to hear everything. How’s Tobias?’
‘He’s great,’ said Alex. ‘He says you’re to hurry home and get on his back again.’
‘Tell him I’ll be there as soon as they let me out of here. I’m dying to get home!’
They had decided not to mention the missing will and Cousin Boris and it seemed that she had forgotten them.
They didn’t stay too long. After an hour they could see that Sonya was wilting.
‘See you back home then!’ said Alex. ‘So stay out of trouble until then, Sis, OK?’
‘OK.’ She gave him a weak punch in the chest.
The phone was ringing as they opened the front door on their return. Alex ran ahead to answer it. It was Boris on the line. He had been phoning at regular intervals to find out if there was any change in Sonya’s condition. On hearing the latest news, he declared himself delighted. He then did a bit of throat-clearing and said, half apologetically, that he would be coming north with Mr Hatton-Flitch in two weeks’ time.
‘Oh?’ said Alex.
‘Well, yes, we expect to get confirmation from the court then.’
‘We’ve only got two weeks,’ said Alex to his father, after he’d put the receiver down.
He was determined to carry on his search for the will, even though it was beginning to seem more and more like a wild goose chase. He took down every book from the shelves in the library and went through them, on the off-chance that Natasha might have tucked away an extra clue. But she hadn’t. And it took hours.
He went back to school. The doctors were pleased with Sonya’s progress and had promised her that soon she would be able to go home. And soon Cousin Boris and his lawyer would be getting into their black car and heading north.
‘We have to face up to it,’ said Duncan. ‘We’re going to have to start looking for somewhere else to live.’
Mr Trotter had sent details of two or three country houses within a fifty mile radius, but they were too far away from their school to begin with, and to be going on with, they couldn’t afford them. The trouble with most local properties was that they were rented out as holiday lets during the season, which gave their owners a higher return. The summer rents would be too expensive for the McKinnons. They also had the complication that not every house would be suitable for Duncan with his wheelchair.
‘Boris couldn’t put us out in the road, could he?’ said Alex.
‘We could stall for a while, but eventually we’d have to go. I’d rather we went in a dignified way and found our own accommodation,’ said Duncan.
Alex didn’t feel at all dignified about the idea of giving up their home! He kicked a burst football along the beach, pretending it was Boris’s head! At least Sonya was growing stronger day by day. And as his father said, that was more important than anything else that was happening to them.
Mr Hatton-Flitch telephoned. ‘Mr Malenkov has kindly offered to pay a rental for you for the first three months. Mr Trotter has a house on his books that might suit.’
The house he proposed would not suit. It was one that Mr Trotter had already offered them. After the first three months they would not be able to afford the rent. And they didn’t want to accept any favours from Boris.
‘Mr Malenkov might be prepared to extend his offer to six months,’ said Mr Hatton-Flitch.
Anything to get them out, thought Alex. His father turned that offer down as well.
The minister came up to tell them that Mrs McPherson, one of the villagers, was prepared to rent them a cottage which he thought might suit them. The rent was reasonable. He drove them down to the village to look at it. Mrs McPherson had given him the key.
Birch Cottage sat straight on to the pavement like the other village houses, with a small back garden. The doorway and hall were wide enough for Duncan’s chair. That was the first hurdle satisfactorily crossed.
The sitting room proved to be small, but bright enough, as was the bedroom off the hall on the other side. At the back was a large kitchen, big enough to eat in, and a decent-sized bathroom. Upstairs were two attic bedrooms, which would do for Alex and Sonya. Duncan would be able to live totally on the ground floor.
‘I think we’ll have to take it,’ he said.
‘I’ll tell Mrs McPherson,’ said Mr Bell.
Two days later, Sonya came home. They didn’t tell her that day about their forthcoming move, but they couldn’t keep it from her for long. She was very upset, as they had expected.
‘We’ve got to leave here?’ She frowned. ‘But wasn’t there a will? Natasha said she’d made one.’
‘We couldn’t find it,’ said Alex. ‘We’ve looked everywhere.’ He told her about the hunt and the trail they’d followed. ‘I think Natasha may just have played a game with us.’
‘She wouldn’t do that. Not with something so serious. She really did want us to have the house, I know she did!’
‘Don’t get worked up now, love.’ Her mother put her arm round Sonya. ‘It won’t do you any good. We’ll have to go. We have no choice. So we must be brave about it.’
‘I don’t want to be brave!’ Sonya dissolved into a torrent of tears.
Alex went back to kicking the burst football along the beach. And when he’d had enough of that he went and talked to Tobias, which always calmed him.
