Memories Of The Storm

by Willett, Marcia

  'Clio's an amazing girl, isn't she?' he'd ventured. 'I rather like her.'

  'So do I,' she'd agreed amiably – and that had been that.

  He chuckled as he took his pint back to his table. Hester was the perfect companion, no doubt about it. Pity she wasn't forty years younger. And here she was, standing before him.

  'Oh, good, you've had your coffee. I shall have a glass of wine and I recommend a Woodman's Lunch. My treat.'

  He raised his glass to her. 'I think I am in love with you, Hester,' he said.

  'Splendid,' she replied. 'Though there was no need for the declaration; I would have bought the lunch anyway. It's my turn, if you remember.'

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Clio telephoned, Jonah had gone back to London and Hester was alone again.

  'So how did it go?' Clio asked – but she sounded remote, as if Jonah's visit had happened in another sphere of time to which she no longer was connected.

  'Very well. We didn't speed and we didn't drink, at least not to excess, and it was a very productive meeting.'

  There was a little silence, as if Clio were puzzling over the words, then she laughed. 'I'd forgotten for a moment,' she said. 'Sorry, Hes. I'm glad it went OK.'

  'And you?' asked Hester lightly. 'The last time we spoke you said that it all felt rather odd after such a long break.'

  'It did. Still does, actually.'

  'Still?' Hester was surprised but she was reluctant to press for information. 'I'd imagined you were back into your routine by now.'

  'The point is . . .' Clio hesitated. 'Well, the thing is, Peter isn't in the office at the moment. His wife is ill and I've only seen him once or twice very briefly when I first got back, so the routine bit hasn't happened. Obviously there's a flap on but I feel rather disorientated, to tell you the truth.'

  'But you enjoy a flap,' Hester pointed out. 'It's what you're best at.'

  'I know it is, but this is different.'

  'Is it different because Peter isn't there?'

  'Something like that. Do you remember asking me whether I'd stay if Peter left the agency? Well, I'm beginning to think that the answer is no. And I'm not terribly certain that I want to stay even when he gets back.'

  'Is this to do with your being away for so long?'

  'In a way. I began to view things a bit differently when he didn't want to come down to Bridge House. It made me take a few steps back and I saw our relationship more clearly.' Clio hesitated and when she spoke again her voice was brittle. 'His wife's had an ectopic pregnancy. She's been very ill and naturally he's terribly worried about her.' A longer pause. 'Stupid of me to believe him when he said there wasn't anything like that between them any more, wasn't it?' she asked bitterly.

  Hester reacted involuntarily: 'Not a bit stupid! We need to believe it. I am so sorry, Clio . . .'

  'It was a shock. He's always seemed so detached, you see. Oh God, I feel such a fool and I feel angry too. I feel cross with myself for being taken in, and guilty. But that doesn't make me stop missing him. It's hell, Hes.'

  'I know it is and it's no consolation to tell you that it will pass. Try to be glad you found out before you were any deeper in.'

  'Well, it might sound rather selfish with his wife so ill but at least it's made me see that I've been living a totally ostrich-like existence. Let's face it, the relationship was never going anywhere, was it? I'm coming to the conclusion that I don't want this any more, Hes.'

  'Will you look for another job?'

  'That's the idea, except that I'm rather tired of being a PA. I'd like something different.'

  'In what way different?'

  'Oh, I don't know. I'm probably being irrational but I just feel rather stale. I see now that it wasn't my work that was giving me a buzz but having Peter around. I have to get over that. Anyway, Hes, I just wanted you to know. After all, you might have some kind of inspiration about what I should do next.'

  'I'll give my mind to it. I imagine you want to stay in London?'

  'I'm not even sure about that at the moment. I was going to ask you a favour, actually. If I decide to give in my notice at work and at my house, would it be possible to stay with you for a bit if I needed to? Just until I sort myself out? I've got savings, of course, but I just thought – a kind of sabbatical?'

  'Is it wise to give up your little house? You are so fond of it and it's not easy to find accommodation in London, is it?'

  'The point is, Hes, the house is so tied up with the whole Peter thing. I moved in just after I met him, if you remember. I needed to have a place on my own, so that he could come and go, and now I just don't see myself separating him from it. I know that sounds muddled but I'm sure you know what I mean. I feel that for the last year I've been obsessed and I want some space to step right out of it and get a clear vision of what I want to do and where I want to be. I've got a few friends I could go to but they wouldn't be capable of giving me that kind of space. It's not only physical space but the other kind too. They fuss and advise, and if I'm sharing their homes I'd feel a kind of obligation to listen to them. It would be such a comfort if I could think I could come to you for a very short time.'

  'Of course you can come, Clio, and I promise not to fuss or advise. You can stay for as long as you need; that is, as long as I'm still here. I wasn't going to worry you with this just at the moment but Robin wants his share of the house in cash and I have to decide whether I want to buy something smaller or take the equity release route.'

  'What? Are you kidding?'

  'Sadly, no. And Amy is of the same mind so I don't have too much choice.'

  'I can't believe that Robin and Amy would turn you out.'

  'That's rather melodramatic. I hoped it wouldn't arise, of course, and that the house would remain a kind of insurance for them for a while yet. Knowing Robin's tendencies there was always the chance that it would happen sooner rather than later, and they both have a perfect right to ask for their share, but I don't quite know what to do, which route to take. He rightly pointed out that since my operation I might feel happier in a smaller place. I admit that I feel rather more vulnerable but not quite enough to move into a sunset home.'

  'Surely he didn't suggest that?'

  'Not quite but nearly. Anyway, like you I am thinking about my future. However, you are more than welcome here, Clio. I don't imagine I shall be flung out into the snow quite yet. However, please, don't do anything in a rush. Give yourself time, talk to your friends and don't be pressurized by your emotions, especially negative emotions. If you decide to leave London it should be because you feel you are going towards something better, not because you are trying to leave Peter or the agency behind.'

  'I realize that. Thanks, Hes.'

  And to be fair, she wrote later to Blaise, I don't really feel anxious about Clio taking a sabbatical. To be honest I am just so deeply relieved that she's free of her obsession with Peter at last that I can't worry too much about her having a short holiday. Poor Clio! How painful these things are. But she's not at all the sort of person to become idle or unmotivated and she's worked very hard ever since she left university. Do you agree with me?

  Regarding the other problem, I should be glad to know your thoughts. Bridge House is a big place to keep in good repair and with Amy and Robin out of the financial equation it might rapidly deteriorate. If it is to be passed over to the mortgage company when I die you might well say, 'Does it matter if it does?' I simply cannot decide. Meanwhile, I have arranged to have it valued, and Amy and I have agreed to sign some kind of document so that Robin can then raise a loan against his share of the property. I hope this is the right thing to do. He sounds rather desperate and I don't want Bridge House sold in a tremendous hurry simply so that he can meet his debts. Apparently his bank is happy with that arrangement.

  As for Jonah's visit – I enjoyed it very much, Blaise. He is so like Michael, and not just physically, that it made it easier to recapture the past. Do you ever wonder what happened to Eleanor a
fter she followed Michael to London? After he was killed we had that brief message saying that she was going to the States, if you remember, but I wonder how she survived. Lucy, apparently, remained with that aunt of Michael's who lived in Chichester and she has continued to live in her house. I am slightly puzzled by her refusal to talk to Jonah about her childhood. It was a terrible thing to lose both her parents in such a violent way but it seems odd that she has tried to wipe us all from her memory. She was so fond of us all. I'm now beginning to wonder what might have happened with Eleanor and Michael in London in those few months before he was killed and whether Lucy was affected in some way. At least she has given her permission for me to talk to Jonah: a big step on her part. Jonah thinks that she's facing some sort of crossroads in her life since his father has become ill and is trying to come to terms with various aspects of her own character. Jonah senses that she is fearful of the future and is attempting to cast off this fear. He is clearly deeply attached to her – to them both.

  Jonah wants to take our story and make a play of it. Naturally he would change names, places, etc. Can you see any harm in it? After all, it wasn't a particularly unusual little drama, was it? War touches us all, whether we are away fighting or at home: lives are battered or destroyed, and loves and loyalties are put to the test. Anyway, he will be coming back again as soon as he can. He script-edits for one of the television soaps and has two or three weeks' work ahead but I am looking forward to seeing him again and also, I will admit, to the prospect of having Clio back. I miss her. When we are old the presence of youth has an invigorating effect: their confidence and fun and vitality rub off on us a little and bring warmth. As I've had young students about me for most of my life, I've been used to the privilege of connecting with their minds and enthusiasms.

  I'm sure that something will come along for Clio and I am so thankful that her liaison with Peter is over. Pray for us all, Blaise, with all these changes happening in our lives.

  How is Jeoffrey? Is he like his namesake, '. . . a mixture of gravity and waggery. For he knows that God is his Saviour'?

  Give the sisters my love. An idea! If Clio is here at Christmas she might well offer to drive me up to Hexham. She's going out to Greece to see her parents for the New Year but I'm sure she'll agree providing you can manage both of us in your little flat. What fun it would be. Let me know. I simply cannot get Lucy out of my mind. What will Jonah tell her of his visit, I wonder. Will she be able to accept it?

  St Francis sends his felicitations to Jeoffrey.

  And mine of course to you,

  Hester

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In Litten Terrace, Jonah and Lucy were sitting at the table: Jonah at one end with Lucy at right angles to him, facing out into the garden. Jerry was having his afternoon's rest in bed and Lucy had waited until now to talk to Jonah about his visit to Bridge House. So it had often been, Jonah reflected; this kind of mutual recognition between them that certain subjects were best avoided until they were alone together. His father had never been able to enter easily into the world of the imagination that Jonah had inhabited from a small boy upwards. His mother, however, had always related to his creative needs, taking him seriously, encouraging him, whilst managing to prevent his father from feeling excluded.

  'So you liked Hester,' she was saying. 'She was kind to you.'

  Jonah watched her. There was a guarded quality about her, though she clearly wanted to know what had happened.

  'She was brilliant,' he answered warmly. 'She showed me a photograph of you and her together, like those ones you've got in the attic.'

  He'd decided to be perfectly open with her, hiding nothing and hoping that this would allow her to speak freely. Lucy nodded but made no response, merely sipping her tea thoughtfully, so he elaborated a little more.

  'She was obviously terribly fond of you and of Michael.' Since he'd been with Hester it seemed more natural to call him Michael: this man he'd never met and of whom he knew so little. 'She told me how he used to stay with them when he was at Cambridge with Edward. Do you remember Edward?'

  She set her mug down, biting her lips, and he was aware of a brief reaction of fear.

  'Yes,' she said after a moment. 'Yes, I remember Edward but not terribly well. After all, Jonah, I was very young, only four when Edward came back.'

  Her voice held a note of pleading – as if she were asking him not to press her too far – yet, at the same time, he could see that she wanted to talk. It was she who had introduced the subject, after all. The creative force within him was always ready to sacrifice finer feelings if there were a story that needed to be told but he had no wish to hurt her.

  'It's very young, isn't it?' he agreed reflectively. 'I can't remember much about my life when I was that age. Before starting school, just a bit, and one or two people. It's impressions that you remember, though, isn't it? The feel of things; atmosphere. Memories of people are much more to do with the reactions they engendered – fear or joy, for instance – rather than what they looked like.'

  'That's right,' she agreed eagerly. 'When I first saw Hester I knew that she was what I called a "safe" person, so was Patricia, but Edward was frightening. I realized, ages afterwards, that he'd come back very damaged from the prisoner-of-war camp but at the time . . .' She shook her head, her eyes wide with memories. 'His fits of temper were frightening and his behaviour was extremely odd, although he rarely took any notice of me. But there was a kind of turbulence around him: an uncertainty of what he might do or say. I was afraid of Edward. And of Eleanor.'

  She fell silent and Jonah waited. He didn't want to disturb the flow of these revelations although he was anxious to hear the story from her perspective.

  'Eleanor,' she went on slowly, 'was rather like an animal who works from instinct and has no thought for any kind of human morality. I can see that now. She was in love with your grandfather and she wanted him. It didn't matter about Edward or me or anyone.'

  This time the silence was rather longer.

  'But you were happy there to begin with?' Jonah asked gently. 'At Bridge House with Hester and Nanny and the boys?'

  Lucy smiled. 'Nanny.' She repeated the name affectionately, as if she'd forgotten her until this moment. 'Nanny was very sensible. She treated me as if I were a perfectly ordinary little girl who'd had a bit of a misfortune but wouldn't be allowed to milk it. She pointed out that the boys' father was at sea and that they worried all the time that he might be killed and, since we were all in the same boat, we must simply get on with it. She was very good for me. Normality is so important for children. Patricia spoiled me terribly, she had such a soft heart, but Nanny kept me straight. Nanny and Jack. Jack was my friend. I had nightmares, you know. They put me in a little room next to the boys and Jack used to come in if I cried out.' She smiled again, rather sadly. 'I was such a nervous child by then. I was afraid that Daddy would be taken away too, you see. I can remember that I was afraid of the dark and of the old people behind the curtain.'

  'What old people?' In his surprise he interrupted her and she looked at him, her eyes clouded now with anxiety.

  'I'd forgotten so much,' she said rather desperately. 'And now it's beginning to come back to me. Just lately I can't seem to prevent it but I still can't decide if it's right to disinter the past or just a form of self-indulgence.'

  'I have this feeling that you think it might be right,' he said carefully. 'That for some reason the time has come to face what happened back then.'

  'It's to do with your father,' she said at last. 'I feel frightened when I think of the responsibilities I'm having to shoulder. I'm not talking about silly things like paying the bills and remembering the MOT, but being strong and tough enough to keep him going through his pain and despair. I panic easily, especially at three in the morning when I can't sleep, and I'm beginning to feel that need to understand myself better so as to be able to cope with whatever is ahead. It would be easy to say, "This is me. Don't expect too much," but Jerry needs a
great deal of support and I want to give it to him. All these dreadful drugs are making it impossible for him simply to grit his teeth and bear it bravely. There's the terrible depression, for one thing, which is so unlike him. You can see his fear, Jonah – you've remarked on it yourself. I don't want to worry you or to be a burden – you do what you can for us – but I need to find some extra strength from somewhere and I have this feeling that if I could control my own fear then I could help Jerry more. Fear is such a stupid, disabling emotion but it comes before you can prepare for it and then you feel guilty for being unable to conquer it. For a little while now I've been thinking that if I can't change myself then I might not be able to help Jerry when things get really bad. I want to know why I am instinctively afraid of certain things and I began to wonder if it's to do with what happened when I was a child. Then you phoned and said you were going down to Exmoor and it seemed as if I were being shown that I was right to be thinking about the past after all the years of denying it. Even so, it's not easy to change: perhaps it's not possible.'

  Jonah was silent. He was beginning to be anxious that he was opening Pandora's box and he might not know how to handle the results. He had an unshakeable belief, however, that communication must be a good thing. Lucy was already beginning to face up to things she'd kept hidden. At least he could assist her to confront them. Not for her, though, Hester's methodical, scholarly way of approach: she needed to be drawn gently along the path of remembering, exploring byways on the journey.

  'Tell me about the old people behind the curtain,' he suggested at last. 'Were these people in your imagination?'

  To his relief, she laughed. 'It was the shoes, you see. There was an alcove in the corner of the room with a hanging rail and a curtain pulled across to hide the clothes. Some shoes stood below it so that it looked as if a row of people were hiding behind the curtain. I knew there was nobody there, of course, but when it grew dark I imagined them standing there, listening. I was afraid that if I made a noise they'd come out.'