The Prodigal Wife

by Marcia Willett

  Lizzie folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. It had been her intention, this year, to spend Christmas with her parents at Pin Mill but that was before she’d known that Jolyon would become engaged and that he and Henrietta would decide to go to Scotland for Christmas and the New Year. It would be strange enough without him but she wondered how young Sam and the others would manage without either of them if she decided to go away too. Fliss had been right when she’d said that she, Lizzie, was the bridge between the older members of the family and Sam – but Jo, too, had proved to be a very strong and necessary part of that bridge. They’d cope without them, of course they would, but she had a good idea of how very different it would be and she felt the stirrings of guilt.

  She got up to make some coffee. Part of her guilt was wrapped up in the knowledge that Bess and her little family wouldn’t be home this year either, and Jamie had already made it clear that his plans were very uncertain, so it was beginning to look as if it would be a very quiet Christmas at The Keep. Putting the cafetiere on the table, fetching a mug from the dresser, Lizzie looked thoughtfully at the letter addressed to Admiral Sir Henry and Lady Chadwick. She recognized Maria’s handwriting and wondered what news it might contain. Fliss came in whilst she was pouring her coffee and she felt a twinge of apprehension, remembering that other morning two months before when a letter from Maria had caused so much disturbance. Fliss said, ‘Wasn’t it cold last night? There’s quite a frost this morning,’ glanced at the letter – and glanced quickly again and more closely – but hesitated for a moment and then left it where it was and went to collect a mug instead.

  Lizzie poured some coffee for her, wondering whether to mention her plans for Christmas. She decided she’d wait to see what Maria’s letter contained; it might not be just the moment to break her own news to Fliss. Instead, she continued to eat her toast and watched out of the corner of her eye whilst Fliss opened a bill, put it to one side, and unwrapped a catalogue. Prue came in and Lizzie smiled a welcome and accepted Prue’s kiss with real affection; she was very attached to Prue.

  ‘Ah,’ said Prue at once – no hesitation here, Lizzie noted with amusement – ‘is that a letter from Maria?’

  Fliss affected a slight show of surprise. She picked up the envelope as if to study the writing more closely and said yes, she thought it was.

  ‘And addressed to you both,’ observed Prue, as if this were something rather special, and Fliss nodded.

  Prue was now waiting, watching Fliss with unfeigned anticipation, as if she expected Fliss to be as pleased as she was to have the letter, addressed to both Fliss and Hal. And it occurred to Lizzie that, previously, letters from Maria had indeed been addressed only to Hal. She discovered that she was just as keen as Prue was to see if this were to be a special communication. Still, Fliss hesitated.

  ‘Perhaps she wants to come for Christmas,’ Prue said brightly – and Lizzie felt a little shock, as if Prue might have guessed at her own dilemma – and Fliss snatched up the envelope rather hastily and slit it open. Prue beamed at Lizzie and asked if there might be any porridge left and Lizzie got up, smiling back at her and trying to analyse exactly what it was about Prue that was so very endearing. She was very sweet-tempered, which was part of it, although she could be surprisingly firm with Sam if he overstepped the mark, but also – and perhaps this was the really good thing about Prue’s character – she was non-judgemental; she wasn’t sentimental or vapid, but she looked at people and situations from her own balanced, compassionate and rather eccentric standpoint.

  Lizzie spooned porridge into a bowl and put it down in front of Prue, who thanked her but did not take her unwavering gaze from Fliss’s face. When Fliss let out a little ‘Oh!’ both of them sat expectantly, watching her.

  ‘Maria’s decided to stay in Salisbury for Christmas.’ Fliss put down the letter and picked up her mug of coffee. ‘She says that Christmas will be very odd without Adam but she’s been invited next door for Christmas Day and she’s planning to do her own drinks party on Boxing Day. She’s also decided to stay in the annexe for a while. Her friends want her to and she’s decided to rent it officially for six months and see what happens then.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Prue candidly, and Lizzie wanted to burst out laughing at the slight look of surprise on Fliss’s face.

  She finished her own coffee and got up. ‘I’ll send Hal over for some coffee,’ she said. ‘See you later.’

  ‘That was very tactful of Lizzie,’ Prue said approvingly, after she’d gone. ‘She knows that you find it difficult to be really outspoken about Maria in front of her.’

  Fliss began to laugh. ‘I didn’t realize that I wanted to be outspoken,’ she protested, though she knew deep down that her relief was very great. ‘I did have a slight fear that Maria might hint strongly about Christmas and that Hal would feel sorry for her and then I’d feel guilty if I vetoed it. But to be honest, there really is no point in her coming if Jolyon’s away in Scotland. If they are going to put things right between them then it’s better if she comes down in the New Year when he’s back again. It was good of her not to try it on, though. I shall tell her that he’s going off to Scotland with Henrietta and then she’ll feel that her nobleness has been worth while.’

  Prue was eating her porridge contentedly. ‘I think that it will all work out splendidly,’ she said. ‘Though it will be odd to have Christmas without Jolyon.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fliss, rather shortly. She experienced the now familiar little pain of desolation in her heart when she thought about Bess and Matt and the children, and her darling Jamie, so far away at Christmas. And this year there would be no Jo to joke and mess around with Sam, and to make them all laugh. At least Susanna and Gus would be with them.

  ‘Soon we shall have Henrietta with us too,’ Prue was saying gently, ‘and then she and Jolyon will be having babies. Won’t that be fun? And Bess is talking about them coming over at Easter for the wedding. Perhaps little Paula could be a bridesmaid. Goodness! There’s so much to plan and to look forward to, isn’t there?’

  Fliss bit her lip, willing herself not to cry, furious with herself: these days she was so emotional. She tried to smile at Prue, wondering how the older woman managed to remain so positive, remembering how brave she’d been after Caroline died; her real friend and confidante and the last person of her own generation at The Keep. Suddenly Fliss thought how terrible it would be if anything were to happen to Prue: she’d been there since those very first days after their return from Kenya, her warm motherliness embracing the three small orphans.

  Prue had finished her porridge and her warm hand was holding Fliss’s cold one, and then Hal was coming in saying, ‘Goodness, it’s quite chilly out there. Is there any coffee? Morning, Ma,’ and Fliss was able to squeeze Prue’s hand, and give her a little nod to say that she was fine, and the moment passed.

  ‘I must say,’ Hal said later, when he and Fliss were alone, ‘that I’m very glad that Maria hasn’t suggested coming for Christmas. And I think she’s very wise to stay with her friends since they’re happy to have her there.’

  Ever since he’d come into the kitchen he’d seen that there was a change in Fliss. Her reaction was nothing like it had been when that other letter had come and all hell had broken loose. There was no antagonism about this letter; he didn’t feel the usual requirement to play it down, or defend Maria in any way, and this was a great relief. Fliss had referred to it quite casually, almost indifferently, and simply gone on to say how strange it would be with Jo going away for Christmas and that it was a pity that none of Susanna’s family would be down until the New Year. But there was more to it than that. Looking at her, he could see the stress and strain had been smoothed away from her small face and he guessed that whatever threat she’d imagined a widowed Maria might be to them all had finally been neutralized.

  Hal stood up and began to collect the breakfast things together. Actually, he’d noticed the change in other small w
ays, starting when Maria had come down and stayed with Cordelia, and again after the birthday weekend. Of course, Fliss had been emotional about missing her twins at such a big family occasion – and he could understand that – yet that terrible bitterness that he’d begun to fear might seriously damage their relationship had gradually disappeared. There was absolutely no question that part of it was to do with the fact that Jo had faced up to his mother, put his cards on the table, so that it seemed very unlikely now that she could hurt him. But part of it, too, was that he and Fliss had been able to talk about their own feelings together and that’s what had made the real difference; he’d told her he felt guilty about the things that had happened in the past and he’d accepted his share of the blame, and somehow this had brought a kind of shared healing. It had been odd, the way those little scenes from the past had haunted him the last few weeks. Not like him at all to do that introspective stuff. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to – no point in dwelling on it – he was just glad that the air had been cleared and they could all move forward.

  Of course, the wedding would be a vital thing for focusing minds away from the past – the women were all beginning to get excited about it – though it was a pity that Christmas was likely to be an unusually quiet affair.

  ‘I’ve had an idea about Christmas,’ he said now, to Fliss, as he loaded the dishwasher and she sat at the table finishing her coffee. ‘Why don’t we invite Cordelia over for Christmas Day? She gets on really well with Susanna and Gus and I imagine she’ll be on her own, won’t she?’

  Fliss looked at him rather oddly, as though he were missing some point, and he raised his brows. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you remember I told you about Angus?’

  ‘Yes. But…Oh, I see. You mean they’re back together again, officially?’

  Fliss bit her lip, shook her head. ‘Well, probably not. Not officially. I think Cordelia won’t do much about that until Henrietta is married, and even then…She’s been alone a long time.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ He felt impatient with all this pussy-footing about. ‘Ask them both to Christmas lunch. After all, he’s on his own now, isn’t he? Good grief, we’re all adults. Surely there’s no need to play games?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘but it’s up to them, isn’t it? I’d rather sound Cordelia out first and see what she’s got in mind. After all, Angus might be going to one of his boys, or they might be coming down to Dartmouth. It’s a nice idea, though.’

  ‘Well, then. I’m just going to check emails and see if there’s anything from Ed. He’s really enjoying his new job. Let’s hope it lasts.’ He felt pleased, happy again. He couldn’t really be doing with all this emotional stuff and he was relieved that things were getting back to normal. He went into the study and switched on the computer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  She recognized the voice at once.

  ‘Hi, Henrietta, just to say we’ve just got back to Tregunter Road. We’re all fine but pretty exhausted after the long flight. We’re going to stay here for a couple of days to get Susan and the kids sorted but we’ll be with you some time on Thursday. Everyone sends their love.’

  Henrietta switched off the answerphone. Roger and Maggie would be back on Thursday, which meant that in three days’ time she’d be travelling back to London. It seemed impossible that it was only eight weeks ago that she’d first met Jo; so much had happened since then. And how strange it would be to be back in London with Susan and the children, picking up the old routine – and much further away from Jo.

  She went into the kitchen and sat at the table; it was too cold this morning to sit out in the small court, though the sun shone in at the window and lit the berries on the little spray of hawthorn to a bright, rich crimson. Juno came to sit beside her, her head on Henrietta’s knee, and Tacker scrabbled at her feet with his rubber bone on a frayed rope. He shook it fiercely and tossed it up and pounced on it again, inviting her to throw it for him. She kicked it across the floor and he bounded after it, scrabbling over Pan’s recumbent form. Henrietta was pierced with sadness: she’d miss it all terribly, the little cottage and the dogs and the two old ponies; the walks on the Quantocks hills, Jo coming in on his way back from Bristol and lighting the wood-burning stove, and then sitting with him late into the night, talking and planning, and making love. Just for these two months they’d been able to step out of the world and be private and alone together, with only the dogs for company.

  How would it be in London, with Susan not really approving of their engagement and nowhere to go to be with Jo to have a quiet talk? It wouldn’t be very easy to find the right moments to have time together away from Tregunter Road – and Susan would need her even more without Iain there, especially at weekends when the children weren’t at nursery.

  ‘We’ll manage somehow,’ Jo had said comfortingly. ‘After all, it’s not your fault that Susan’s marriage has broken up, and you simply can’t be expected to become a surrogate father. I know it will be difficult, and we shall miss the wonderful freedom we’ve had here, but we’ll set the date for the wedding and that will make Susan see that she must find another nanny as soon as she can. We can’t dither around; that would be fatal for everyone, especially the children. They need to settle down as quickly as possible with the new routine.’

  ‘But I’ve promised her I’ll stay until she finds a new nanny,’ Henrietta had said anxiously, feeling trapped between Jo’s determination and Susan’s needs. ‘It just makes it so much more difficult now I know that she disapproves.’

  ‘Susan isn’t so stupid as to believe that because it hasn’t worked for her it won’t work for you. She’s just upset at the timing – and, I agree, it isn’t ideal. But we can’t put our lives on hold indefinitely, and it’s the sort of thing that could drift if a date isn’t set. Anyway, we want an Easter wedding…don’t we?’

  There had been a sudden anxiety in his voice, as if he were wondering if she’d changed her mind, and her heart had brimmed with love for him.

  ‘Of course we do,’ she’d answered vehemently. ‘Mum and Fliss and I are beginning to work it out together. Oh, it’s going to be fantastic. It’s just…oh, poor old Susan. I feel guilty being so happy when she’s so miserable, that’s all.’

  He’d held her tightly. ‘I know how you feel but we’ll just have to do what we can for her until Easter. Thank God we got Christmas booked and she’s not making a fuss about that.’

  It was Maggie who’d helped out there. She’d said that she and Roger would be spending Christmas with Susan and the children in London, and this information had given Henrietta the courage to go ahead and book the hotel in Scotland. Quite suddenly she remembered how she’d wondered whose voice it had been on the answerphone all those weeks ago, and how she’d dashed over to the stores in Bicknoller to buy a cake. And then a few hours later Jo had arrived and her whole life had been changed. Even her father was dead…

  Henrietta bent down to stroke Tacker and subsided on to the floor beside him, hugging him. It was so difficult to come to terms with this knowledge. Yes, she knew that it had been her father’s decision to go, to cut her out of his life – and she’d been too shocked, too hurt, and, at fifteen, too inexperienced to fight it – but, later on, she might have been able to track him down and make him explain why she must be made to suffer for her parents’ faults and inadequacies. Instead it had been easier, less painful, to blame her mother; she’d punished her in a thousand tiny ways, subconsciously some of the time, but now she felt differently: more compassionate and very sad. She wished she’d had her photograph album with her so that she could look at the photos of them all together as a family, just to prove that she had some happy memories.

  ‘Probably it’s just as well you haven’t,’ Jo had said. ‘Not while you’re on your own so much. That sort of thing can get out of proportion and you can lose control and never stop crying. It’s so difficult to remember the past exactly how it was and sometimes you find you’re overw
helmed with guilt and remorse. You have to be very balanced and contented to remember happy times in a positive way. It can so easily segue into sheer sentiment, followed by regret and all sorts of other emotions. It’s best to do it with other people around.’

  It had sounded odd when he’d said that, but she knew what he was trying to tell her. It was because he’d been through it all himself that he understood the way she was feeling; his own experience had given him a strength and stability that sustained her. She kissed Tacker’s soft head, stood up, reached for her mobile and texted a message to Jo: ‘C u l8er. Luv u x’.

  She looked around her sadly: this was the last night they’d spend together at the cottage. Suddenly she picked up the phone again and dialled.

  Two telephone calls before she even got to her desk, she’d mis-laid a crucial telephone number from a magazine editor, and her coffee was cold – but she was too happy to care.

  Cordelia sighed contentedly and sat down to stare at her computer screen; even now she couldn’t concentrate. The first call, not long after breakfast, had been from Henrietta.

  ‘Jo’s just gone,’ she’d said rather wistfully, ‘and this is my last whole day here alone. Maggie and Roger will be back sometime tomorrow, and I feel so, well, so disorientated. It’s just really weird. To be honest, I feel a bit panicky about going back to London and seeing Susan and the children again after all this time, and I’m really going to miss the dogs, especially Tacker, and the cottage. It seems like I’ve been here for ever. The point is, Mum, I suppose you couldn’t manage to get over for some lunch, could you? I expect you’re working but we could meet at Pulhams Mill and have a walk at Wimbleball Lake afterwards.’

  ‘Of course I can come,’ she’d said at once. ‘Not a problem. Let’s say one o’clock. What fun! You can choose your Christmas present in the craft shop…I promise, it’s not a problem. See you later. ’Bye darling.’