The Prodigal Wife

by Marcia Willett

  ‘I’m being stupid,’ she said. ‘I know how it was back then. Of course I do. It’s lots of things, really. We’re all getting older and we feel vulnerable…’

  ‘But it’s more than that, isn’t it?’ He stared anxiously into her down-turned face. ‘What is it really, Fliss?’

  She stared at her clasped hands and he felt a real fear. Suddenly she looked up at him.

  ‘I miss the children,’ she said woefully. ‘I miss Bess and Matt and Paula and little Timmy. It was bad enough when they were in London but now they’re in Boston they seem so far away and I get this pain in my heart and I long to see them. It’s so hard. I know that you’re going to say that it’s not so bad and we can get a flight out whenever we like and all that, but it’s not the same. And now that Jamie’s been posted to Cairo…’

  She stopped, biting her lip, staring down at her hands, and Hal’s heart twisted with pain for her. He covered her cold hands with his warm ones.

  ‘I miss them all coming down for weekends and holidays,’ she said. ‘All the noise and the fun and watching the babies grow up. And I tell myself to get a grip. I think of how Grandmother must have felt when my father and mother moved out to Kenya when I was little and it was so much more difficult to travel. And I worry about Jamie…’

  Hal remained silent: no point trying to assure her that, though her son was a member of MI5, he was not in any kind of danger. They all knew the risks involved.

  The door opened and Prue came into the kitchen; her eyes met Hal’s above Fliss’s bent head.

  ‘The kettle’s boiling. I’ll make some tea, shall I?’ Prue said. ‘Hal, why don’t you light the fire in the hall?’

  Hall nodded, gave Fliss’s hands one last squeeze and went through to the hall. He wished that he could break the news about Jolyon’s engagement – it would cheer Fliss up, make her happy again – yet he knew he must keep it secret until tomorrow: he’d promised Jo. Whilst he laid and lit the fire and then went out to fetch logs his mind was busy with that little tag of memory, the sense of déjà vu, and suddenly he remembered another secret celebration, eight years ago; his mother’s seventy-fifth birthday party and the day he’d decided to propose to Fliss. His sister, Kit, had come down from London and it was she who’d shown him how stupid he was being to let things drift.

  Spring 1998

  Leaving Fliss and Caroline in the kitchen, Hal and Kit stroll in the garden together. The air is sweet and cold, and a thrush is singing in the orchard. The rain has drawn off at last, leaving a tender blue-green sky, and the western hills are washed in luminous golden light. Sparkling raindrops shower over her hands as Kit breaks off a spray of Ribes oderatum and inhales the fragrance of its yellow flowers.

  ‘Ma hasn’t got a clue what’s going on,’ she says. ‘I’ve brought her masses of freesias and smuggled them into Fliss’s bathroom. She’s looking a bit stressed out, I thought. Fliss, that is. Not Ma. It occurs to me, little brother, that you two still haven’t got your act together.’

  He frowns, not looking at her, and she glances at him sharply.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re both still doing the “just good friends” bit? Oh, I don’t believe it! Honestly, Hal. I don’t want to sound callous but Miles has been dead for nearly a year. What the hell are you both waiting for now? Some divine intervention? Authorization from the Pope?’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ he says angrily. ‘It’s not funny. And it’s not that bloody simple, either.’

  She watches him, eyebrows raised, lightly brushing the spray of Ribes to and fro across her lips.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says presently. ‘It’s just…not a joking matter.’

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I can see it wouldn’t be. Not for you two, anyway. But it’s getting silly, Hal. Fliss has got that end-of-tether look about her. That little frown is back and her jaw is all clenched. She’s too thin, too. What’s going on?’

  ‘We can’t seem to take the plunge,’ he says slowly. ‘I know it seems as if it should be easy. We’ve loved each other all our lives, and we’ve been under the same roof for years, but now we’re both free at last we can’t seem to break out. I honestly think that none of the family would give a damn. After all, we’re not going to have children so the old fears don’t apply, but even so…’

  ‘It’s sex,’ says Kit cheerfully. ‘Amazing how it always comes back to it, isn’t it? That’s what’s blocking it. Well, there’s nothing to stop you both now, is there? For heaven’s sake, just get on and do it.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy,’ he says irritably. ‘Just think about it. The whole family has got used to our situation. They take us for granted now. How passionate would you feel if you knew that Ma was likely to come wandering into your bedroom at midnight with an attack of insomnia? Or that Jolyon might burst in with some brilliant new idea for his damned market garden? And how do we behave the next morning? Do we subtly imply with loving gestures and caresses that the Rubicon has been crossed and that we are now the equivalent of a married couple? I’m sure you’d manage splendidly but Fliss and I are very conventional people and we don’t get too much time together to iron out the problem. The other thing is that she’s never really recovered properly from Mole’s death. I thought she was coming to terms with it but just lately she’s been rather odd.’

  ‘I know that’s been a nightmare for her.’ Kit looks grave. ‘Like her parents and Jamie all over again. It was a terrible thing, appalling, but I thought she was more or less over it. Maybe this new peace agreement has brought it all back again. It’s rather bitter to think that such people might be walking about free in a few months’ time, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that.’ Hal shakes his head. ‘I can’t describe it but she’s…oh, I don’t know. Abstracted. Not quite with me.’

  Kit stops quite still so that Hal is obliged to pause too. He looks at her, surprised at the serious look on her face.

  ‘You’ve got to do something,’ she says urgently. ‘It’s gone on too long, Hal, and soon it will be too late. You can’t expect Fliss to make the running. Like you said, she’s too conventional and she might be anxious about the family’s reaction. Especially Ma and Jo’s. Just do it, Hal. No, I don’t mean the great seduction scene. I agree you’re both a bit too old for creeping along landings or going away for the weekend. It’s too ridiculous and undignified. You’ve just got to tell them. Don’t even ask Fliss. Just do it. There are times when a man needs to take the initiative, never mind about how emancipated we women are or how high our consciousnesses have been raised.’

  He is staring at her. ‘But how can I not tell Fliss? She’ll be a bit miffed, won’t she?’

  ‘Of course she won’t,’ Kit says impatiently. ‘She might be embarrassed, anxious, surprised, but she won’t be angry. Take my word for it. She’ll feel an overwhelming relief. Poor old Flissy has had a rotten deal. She’s loved you all her life, Hal, but if you’re not careful her love will pass its sell-by date and go bad on her and she could finish up bitter and miserable. Just trust me and do it. Tell the family that you’re getting married, set a date for it and afterwards go away for a few days together. Then come home and settle down. It will be so simple, I promise you, if you’ll just do it. You were the one who told her first time round. You took the responsibility and made the final decision. Now you’ve got to do it again.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He is looking past her and she knows that he is thinking back to a spring over thirty years before. ‘You’re absolutely right.’

  ‘There’s another thing,’ Kit tells him. ‘You took my advice then, little brother, so take it now. It’s the same advice but for different reasons. When you’ve told them, don’t stay around. It’ll be embarrassing and mawkish and you’ll both find it hard to handle. Say your piece and say it loud and clear. Name the day, tell Flissy you love her and then clear out. Ma and Caroline will be delighted and she’ll have quite enough on her plate without you hanging about like a star-struck lover.’


  ‘I’ve been a bloody fool,’ he says. ‘Bless you, Kit. You’re so right and I just couldn’t see it.’

  ‘You’re too close to it,’ she tells him, ‘and it’s gone on so long. She looked after Miles for all those years and now he’s dead and for the first time she’s free. She doesn’t know how to handle it. She’s lost her bearings and I suspect that deep down she’s scared stiff. The poor girl’s all at sea…’

  ‘Very nautical.’ He’s grinning at her, relief and excitement in his eyes. ‘I’ll go and polish up my anchor.’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’ She aims a blow at him and drops her spray.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ Fliss is coming across the lawn. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready and I wondered if you’d like a drink?’

  ‘An unnecessary question, little coz.’ Kit finds the Ribes and picks it up. ‘Just lead us to it. I was telling Hal about Ma’s freesias and he was trying to persuade me to let him in on it. He’s forgotten to get anything, as usual.’

  ‘I gave her a present on her birthday,’ he says, unperturbed by his sister’s aspersions. He slips an arm about Fliss’s shoulders and gives her a hug and she smiles up at him. Remembering Kit’s words he feels a thrill of fear. How terrible if he should lose her now through procrastination. ‘Play to us?’ he suggests. ‘Play to us until dinner’s ready,’ and they cross the grass together and go through the French doors into the drawing room.

  All through the last few days of his leave he waits for an opportunity to follow Kit’s advice. Looking at Fliss with new eyes, he sees the lines of strain about her mouth, the tiny frown between her feathery brows. There is a tense, coiled look about her, as if she is waiting, wound as tight as a spring. Anxiety washes through him leaving fear in its wake. Supposing she has ceased to love him? He knows that she was deeply fond of him, no question of that, but supposing her love for him has already begun to go bad on her and she is dreading the question she is expecting him to ask? It might explain her prevarication, her reluctance to discuss the future.

  As soon as he’s identified his fear he acts upon it and takes her up on to the moor. As he drives through Buckfast, towards Holne, he sees how her thin hands clasp and unclasp on her knees, notes her introspection. He sets himself the task of relaxing her, talking idly, pointing out small indications of spring’s arrival: a chiffchaff swinging on a branch of budding crab apple; a clump of early purple orchis on a grassy bank; two painted ladies fluttering above a patch of violets that cling in the crevice of a dry-stone wall. The moor shows a placid, smiling face: fold on fold of blue distant hills, smooth grey stone, wooded valleys misting into a new tender green. Venford Reservoir is a dazzling shield of water, blue as the sky that overarches it; a secret shining jewel set deep within the surrounding ink-black pines.

  They walk out to Bench Tor and stand together looking down into White Wood; seeing the gleam of water far below between the branches of the trees that cling to the coombe’s steep sides; listening to the river thundering through the narrow rocky chasm. Sheep scramble, sure-footed on the piled granite, watching them with narrow yellow eyes, whilst ponies graze undisturbed on the lower slopes.

  Across the valley a cuckoo calls and suddenly they see him, unmistakable with his pointed wings and long tail. They watch his dipping flight as he drops down towards Meltor Wood and disappears from sight. They laugh, delighted, hugging each other.

  ‘Odd, isn’t it?’ says Fliss. ‘He’s such a rogue and yet we love him.’

  Looking down at her, Hal sees that the signs of strain are gone and her face is as carefree as a child’s. He pushes back the fair strands of hair that blow about her face and bends to kiss her. Her arms tighten about him and her response tells him all that he needs to know. In his relief he clasps her closely to him but before he can speak there is the sound of yelping and thudding feet. A dog appears over the rocks, sheep scattering before him, and behind him comes a young man, shouting threats, brandishing a lead, gasping for breath.

  ‘Sorry,’ he cries when he sees them. ‘He’s only a puppy, really, but I should have kept him on the lead. A sheep broke right in front of him…’

  They acknowledge his dilemma, sympathize, agree that the puppy must be controlled, but by the time the fuss is over, the moment has passed. Once or twice, on the journey home, Hal attempts to find appropriate words, to warn her of his intention to tell the family, but each time he opens his mouth, Fliss begins to speak and he is forestalled. Nevertheless, he no longer doubts that Kit’s advice is sound; it is simply a matter of timing, of finding the right moment.

  It comes on Sunday afternoon, hours before he is due to leave for the station. He’s been down in the stable yard with Jolyon, and when he comes back into the hall, Jolyon at his heels, they are sitting by the fire: Caroline and his mother; Fliss and Susanna. Tea is in progress and they are laughing. Fliss glances round at him and he sees that the old expression is back; a kind of patient resignation that is worlds away from the happy face that had laughed into his, up on Bench Tor in the warm spring sunshine. He clenches his fists, pushing them into his pockets and walks into the circle of firelight and warmth. They all look at him now and he smiles at them, swallowing down a ridiculous spasm of terror.

  ‘There’s something I want to say,’ he announces. ‘It might come as a shock but it shouldn’t, not after all this time.’ They are all silent now, watching him. ‘Fliss and I are going to get married. You all know that we’ve loved each other since we were children and now there’s nothing to prevent us being properly together. I think it’s best if we have a registry office ceremony as soon as possible and then Fliss and I will have a few days away somewhere. We don’t want a huge fuss…’

  The echoing surprised silence crashes into a noisy hubbub of words and laughter. Prue is in tears, Caroline is hugging Fliss, and Susanna sits in open-mouthed amazement. Hal stands quite still, feeling almost foolish, undecided as to what he should do next, trying to gauge Fliss’s reaction. It is Jolyon who carries him through. Hal feels his arm seized in a fierce grip and then his son is hugging him, thumping him on the back with his free fist, congratulating him. Hal barely has time to register his gratitude before Jo releases him and turns to Fliss, opening both arms to her. Her eyes meet Hal’s at last and, in that brief moment before she is engulfed by Jolyon’s embrace, he sees that they are bright with pure joy, shining with unutterable relief.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Driving to Bristol on Monday morning, Jolyon covered whole stretches of the familiar road without seeing them; his vision was still filled with other joyful images and though he reminded himself from time to time that he must concentrate on the journey, nevertheless another happy memory would distract him and he would give himself up to this unfamiliar sensation of exhilaration; even his translation from the grower of organic food to popular TV presenter hadn’t given him such happiness.

  He was loved, desired, wanted, for himself: not as a son or a brother or a cousin but simply for himself. And by such a gorgeous, wonderful girl. Jolyon shook his head and pulled obligingly into the inside lane as a BMW tailgated him, lights flashing. The driver leaned to glare at him as he swept by, fingers raised insultingly. Jolyon beamed blindingly at him and raised his own hand in a kind of benediction. The BMW powered past, baffled, deprived of its victory, and Jolyon was filled with a benign compassion for all poor fellows who were so sad that such actions gave them pleasure. Clearly they had no Henrietta in their lives; clearly they did not know – or had forgotten – what it was like to be exalted by love. And it wasn’t just him – the whole family was exalted.

  He’d got back to The Keep quite early in the evening to find them all – Fliss, Granny, Lizzie and Cordelia – sitting by the fire in the hall surrounded by the remnants of tea, just as he and Dad had planned. They’d greeted him as usual, Cordelia hardly daring to meet his eyes lest she should give the secret away, and then Dad had appeared and said, ‘Hail, the conquering hero comes,’ or some nonsense like that, and they’d smiled a
nd Granny had offered him tea. But Dad had said, ‘Hang on a minute, I think Jo wants to tell us something,’ and they’d all – except Cordelia – looked puzzled, turning to him.

  He’d felt nervous and a bit silly, but he was still so elated that he’d been able to walk into the little group and stand with his back to the fire so that he could see them all.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ he’d said. ‘It probably won’t be too much of a surprise, actually. I’ve asked Henrietta to marry me and she’s said “yes”…’ The rest of his little speech was lost in the reaction of his family. Cordelia was beaming at him, tears in her eyes; Lizzie was crying, ‘Wow! Great. Gosh, you clever old thing,’ and Granny was sitting quite still, with her hands clasped, and saying, ‘Darling Jo. Oh, how wonderful.’ Miraculously, Dad had produced a tray with glasses on it and was opening a bottle of champagne, but it was Fliss who leaped to her feet and came to him, her arms opened wide and her eyes bright and shining with joy. They’d held each other really tightly, her cheek pressed against his as she whispered her happiness into his ear, and then Dad was there, glass in one hand and seizing his, Jo’s, free hand with the other, pumping it up and down and congratulating him.

  He’d never been so happy, and he’d longed for Henrietta to be there with him – but, at the same time, it had been very special, that little moment with those dearest to him, who had supported and encouraged him for so many years. And then, on Sunday, they’d done it all over again, with Henrietta. He’d driven over and fetched her and the dogs, and they’d had another celebration – ‘This is what The Keep does best,’ Dad had said to her. ‘We love celebrations’ – and she’d looked so happy and so relaxed, and he’d been so proud…

  And now he’d nearly missed his turning; Jo laughed aloud. He glanced at his mobile, lying on the seat beside him. As soon as he could he’d pull in and send a text to Henrietta, who’d asked him to let her know when he was safe at Bristol – and how strange that was; to have someone special waiting to hear from him, caring where he was and what he was feeling. He wondered what she was doing right now.