'These belonged to Grandpapa and Granny,' she tells Jack. 'I can't imagine why they are still here. I'll get rid of them. It was quite right of you to look after Lucy, darling.' She pulls the curtain right back. 'There's nothing there now, Lucy. See? Only your nice party frock and your winter coat hanging on the rail. Shall I leave it open for tonight?'
Lucy nods wordlessly and Patricia hurries to her and gives her a hug. 'Poor darling. Nightmares are so horrid, aren't they? Now, what about some milk to help you off to sleep again? I'll bring some up and we'll have a little picnic here in Lucy's room, just the three of us.'
She goes out, taking the case with the shoes in it, and Lucy and Jack stare at one another, silent with relief. Once again, Lucy feels that she owes Jack something; this time for freeing her from her nightly terror.
'You were brave,' she tells him admiringly, still huddling beneath the eiderdown and trembling a little from the excitement.
Jack sheaths his sword carelessly but he looks gratified. 'Lucky it wasn't Nanny,' he says mischievously – and, at the mere thought of Nanny bursting in upon the scene, they both begin to giggle. Relief spurts out of them in muffled squeals of laughter – though neither of them knows quite what it is that is so funny – and when Patricia comes back with mugs of milk she finds them fully recovered from whatever it was that had frightened them so badly.
To begin with, Eleanor's reaction to Michael goes unnoticed in the general excitement of having him with them again. The whole family are delighted to see him on those rare forty-eight-hour passes, which give him just enough time to hurry down to Bridge House to spend the best part of two precious days with his daughter. Leaving the train at Brushford Station, he walks the few miles to Dulverton and then takes the road beside the river that leads to Eye Marsh.
All through that autumn, whenever he walks to Bridge House with his eyes upon the gleaming water and his ears tuned to the birdsong echoing high up in the woods, he tries to control his feelings for Eleanor. His stomach churns with excited anticipation yet he is shocked that he can feel like this so soon after Susan's death; though it is not love, he tells himself quickly, nothing like love. Yet the fact that he has fallen prey to this consuming sexual infatuation is almost more terrible to him than if he'd fallen in love. It is shaming that though he knows that Eleanor is shallow and grasping and self-centred, he nevertheless remains in thrall to her physical attractions. He wonders if this is how Edward felt about her – she is so clearly not Edward's ideal mate – and whether the scales fell from his eyes during the short period of time they had together.
Michael strides on, reciting John Clare's poetry in an attempt to distract himself, yet the excitement persists like some overwhelming addiction and he curses himself for disloyalty to both Susan and Edward. At least, he comforts himself, he has had enough control to conceal his feelings from Lucy and Hester and the rest of the family. At the thought of how good they have been to him his heart expands with love for them: it is unthinkable that he should betray them. He can never forget how warmly their mother welcomed him, Edward's friend, and how she encouraged him in his studies. His unclaimed love had been instantly given to them all: to the serious yet loving mother and to the gentle, maternal Patricia, as well as to the two noisy, younger boys and small Hester with her tough mind and uncompromising look.
As for Edward . . . Michael sighs with regret at the loss of his old friend. He realizes that he is coming to accept that Edward is dead but whether that is because he genuinely believes this to be the case, or whether it is because it soothes his conscience, he does not wish to know. He thinks instead about his gratitude to the Mallorys for welcoming Lucy so wholeheartedly. Lucy: at the thought of her his heart lurches with anxious love. It is inconceivable that she should be harmed and he knows that, whatever his feelings for Eleanor, Lucy shall never be sacrificed for them. She is safe here, with the family at Bridge House. When he crosses the little bridge that spans the Barle they will be waiting for him.
Although they all accept that it is Lucy he comes to see, nevertheless each one of them is overjoyed to have Michael home. Patricia and Nanny like to fuss over him, to make special meals for him; it feels more natural to have a man about the place. He plays cricket with the boys and rags with them on the lawn – though Robin cries if it gets too rough – and Patricia and Nanny tell each other that it is good for the boys to have a male influence. They ask him his opinion on the latest war news and when he thinks it will be over, although they are just as reliably informed by the newspaper reports or wireless bulletins, and he reassures them and raises their spirits. He is the nearest to being the head of the house that they have and some instinctive need within them responds to his presence with relief.
For Hester it is a more simple, if poignant, joy. Michael reminds her of happier times. They talk about Edward and her mother, retell little anecdotes and laugh over old jokes. She longs for him to be the Wilfred Owen of this war, and encourages him to write, but Michael seems reluctant. His always dilatory muse has deserted him, and she doesn't press him too far. Just to have him here is enough.
Lucy is in seventh heaven: it is her daddy who is the cause of so much excitement and affection, her father who is so handsome and popular. She is so proud and happy she can barely contain her emotions. Though she feels possessive about him and clings to him like a limpet, she tries to be unselfish where the boys are concerned – but she is not prepared to share him with Eleanor. It doesn't take Lucy long to understand that, frightening though the old people behind the curtain were, Eleanor is a much more dangerous threat to her happiness. Instinctively Lucy realizes that, unlike the other women in the household, Eleanor puts herself first. Her care is not for the children, or even for the small community as a whole, it is for Eleanor. She pursues her desires with an almost childish clear-sighted single-mindedness that Lucy recognizes – and fears. Eleanor is prepared to grab what she wants no matter what it costs; and what she wants is Michael.
Abnormally alert to her father's reactions, Lucy senses that Eleanor unsettles him. He is not so natural with her as he is with the other women, and in her anxiety Lucy tries to force some kind of scene that will show Eleanor that she, Lucy, is his favourite. If Eleanor manages to engage him in private conversation Lucy climbs on to his lap, she wraps her legs about his waist and her arms around his neck; she kisses him lavishly and holds his hand possessively – and all with one eye on Eleanor. Her father reacts with generous love, believing that his daughter is missing her mother and is naturally making the most of every moment that he and she can spend together.
Lucy's watchful brown eye detects that this irritates Eleanor but that she cannot let Michael know that it irritates – that would be to show herself unsympathetic, unwomanly. Instead she smiles with a saccharine, understanding expression that deceives Michael but not his daughter, who is aware that he is in some way grateful for the protection she affords. She doesn't understand that her father is not ready for the advances Eleanor is making, that he is bewildered – almost shocked – by this direct approach. She only knows that he welcomes her shows of affection and makes no attempt to shoo her away.
Lucy has no idea of the strength and danger of the undercurrents. She is working purely on instinct, responding as a small animal that is threatened might, but she knows that Hester is on her side and this knowledge increases Lucy's love for her.
Hester watches with disbelief as the affair begins. In her innocence she has believed that neither Eleanor nor Michael will betray Edward, even though it is clear that Eleanor is not above flirting with Michael, yet soon it becomes evident that the situation is moving out of control. During the winter and into spring Michael manages only a few visits to Bridge House but when the war ends everything changes. When Patricia's husband returns home, and she and Nanny and the boys go back to their home near Plymouth, Hester and Lucy are left alone with Eleanor.
Travel becomes a little easier, Michael gets his car back on the road, and Eleanor makes
one or two trips to London. Hester imagines that she is seeing her parents and old friends but, when Michael makes his next visit to see them, Hester sees a change in him. In his presence, Eleanor has a triumphant air – she is glossy with satisfaction – and the way she looks at him is unmistakable. Hester is quick to guess what has happened on one of those visits to London but she is unwilling to believe it. That is, she can quite believe such behaviour of Eleanor but not of Michael.
In the possession of Eleanor's body Michael has sacrificed some element of self-worth: he is no longer free. His eyes follow Eleanor almost furtively, even his voice sounds weighted with shame. Now, when Hester talks about Edward – which she does with almost indignant insistence – he can hardly bear to answer her. It seems that they have both denied his existence and she burns with anger and resentment on his behalf – and on Lucy's.
For now, Michael's unwilling passion for Eleanor colours his feelings for his child. He is no longer natural and happy with her. Though he still accepts her hugs and kisses it is clear that she has become a problem to him and his love for her is stained by Eleanor's presence.
Hester wishes that Eleanor would go away – for what can keep her at Bridge House now? Why should she make her home with the family of the husband she has betrayed? Yet she cannot bring herself to confront Eleanor even though, womanlike, she blames her for Michael's fall from grace. She can hardly bear to look at him, so embarrassing is his lack of pride as he watches Eleanor like an anxious puppy waiting on its master's command. And, anyway, there is Lucy to consider.
Michael holds her as a shield, a defence against Eleanor's rapacity, and Hester guesses that although Eleanor's physical attractions are more than he can resist he is not prepared to commit himself utterly to her. Meanwhile, Hester works hard to make sure that Lucy is happy. She knows how much the child is missing the boys, especially Jack, and she tries to keep her occupied. Michael makes no attempt to take Lucy back to his aunt in Chichester, though it is quite safe there now, nor does he have any plans for making a new life for her. Soon, Hester decides, soon she must make a move, ask him what he plans to do, but she postpones the moment of truth. All through that summer she feels that she is waiting: Eleanor and Michael may have given up on Edward but Hester hasn't.
When they hear that he is coming home Eleanor is silent with disbelief and horror. She has convinced herself that Edward is dead and simply cannot accept that he is returning to ruin everything that she has worked for with Michael. In contrast, Hester feels weightless with joy and relief; Edward is alive and his homecoming will put everything to rights. He will be back where he belongs. It is only after the first rapturous sensations of happiness that she begins to wonder how, exactly, problems will be resolved.
It is Michael who persuades Hester to allow him to meet Edward from the troopship at Southampton and drive him down to Bridge House.
'Just in case,' he says. 'Please, Hes. There are some very disturbed men coming back from the Far East at the moment. Good God, think about what they've been through! Well, you can't, of course. We're only just beginning to know the truth of it. He's been a prisoner in appalling conditions for three years and the adjustment might be much more difficult than you can imagine. I know I'm not in your good books at the moment but please let me do this. I've got some extended leave due and I'd like to spend it with Lucy anyway.'
So it is Michael who meets Edward from the troopship at Southampton, who makes a hasty telephone call to tell Hester to make up the beds in Edward's room that Jack and Robin have been sharing.
'He's a bit disorientated,' he says. 'To be honest, he looks terrible, Hes. I've had a chat with the MO and he's given me some stuff for Edward to take. He had a few bad moments on the ship but he's OK if he's kept calm. For God's sake warn Eleanor. Don't expect too much.'
His appearance shocks all of them. His dark hair is liberally streaked with white, he is bone-thin and malnourished, and his grey-tinged skin – the result of beriberi – is scored with deep furrows. He is not yet thirty and he looks sixty. Even more worrying than this is his behaviour. He is clearly bewildered, withdrawn, and he looks at them warily as he comes in with Michael. Despite the shock, Hester hugs him warmly though he barely responds. It is as if he has forgotten how to behave normally and Hester feels chilled. This gaunt, frightened man is not the brother she remembers and she is glad now that, against her better judgement, she agreed that Michael should be here for the homecoming.
Now Edward's sunken eyes shift uneasily, flicking away from direct contact, although he stares fixedly at Eleanor for a few seconds who cannot help but shrink against Hester as if for protection. He has made no attempt to greet his wife – nor she him – and it seems that now their opportunity for some kind of natural reunion has passed.
'Come on.' Michael puts his hand on his shoulder and Edward reacts suddenly, shaking him off violently and then seizing his arm so aggressively that Michael winces; but he carries on calmly enough. 'We've got your old room all ready and I'm sharing with you again,' he tells Edward. 'I've been looking at your books. Remember how we used to read to each other in the old days? We'd take bets who'd drop off to sleep first.'
Still talking, he leads Edward very slowly towards the door as if he guesses that any sharp movement will unsettle him. Hester hesitates, then steps forward and kisses him lightly on the cheek.
'Goodnight, Edward,' she says. 'Sleep well.'
The gesture seems to calm him and he smiles; barely more than a little flicker of the muscles around his mouth. His eyes slide round again to study Eleanor as if wondering who she is. She holds her breath, trying to outface him calmly, terrified that he might confront her, but his eyes slide away again and she gasps silently with relief.
He shuffles out with Michael, whose voice can be heard as he guides him upstairs, and the two women stare at each other in shocked anguish.
'Oh, the poor darling,' whispers Eleanor. 'Oh God, Hes. That was terrible.'
'He'll need time,' Hester says quickly, defensively. 'Time to adjust,' but she is frightened.
'Thank God Michael's here.' Even at a moment like this, Eleanor cannot quite hide her feelings. 'He was wonderful with him, wasn't he?'
And Hester cannot deny it: she too is grateful for Michael's presence.
Eleanor thrusts her arm within Hester's as if requiring physical support. Hester can feel that she is trembling, and when she looks at Eleanor she sees that her eyes are dark with distress and fear. In that moment, Hester connects. Though she has no experience she can imagine how frightening it might be to meet again the man with whom you have had no contact for three years. A man, moreover, who not only has the right to expect affection and great intimacy but also looks as old as your grandfather and is clearly unstable.
They stare at each other and quite suddenly Eleanor's grip tightens and unexpectedly she smiles. It is a smile of great sweetness.
'Oh, darling,' she says ruefully, 'I'm not being very brave.'
'I can sympathize with that,' says Hester feelingly. 'He's not himself. Don't worry. Thank God we've got Michael.'
Eleanor regards her with a pleased surprise at such a ready capitulation. 'Can you see how it is at last, darling? Can you understand? Oh, I know it's been hard for you to forgive Michael and me. You've been shut up here ever since you left school, first with your mother and then with the family. You've never been in love. I know all that. Just don't be too hard on us, that's all. Remember that Edward and I were married for only seven months, Hes. Seven months! And he's been away for over three years. I thought he'd been killed, I really did. Can you understand?'
This plea for clemency rather undermines Hester's new-found ability to connect; she is not ready for girlish confidences or intimacy, nor does she think that it's the time for them. The puritanism of youth, not yet softened by experience, reasserts itself at the sight of this over-emotional display. Nevertheless there has been a shift in their relationship: a shift towards friendship and a greater tolerance.
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Eleanor reaches for her bag and lights a cigarette. She turns her head, blowing the smoke sideways, cupping her right elbow in her left hand.
'I'm frightened,' she says simply.
Hester sighs. She sees that Eleanor's feelings as Edward's wife must take precedence over her own as his sister. She experiences a sharp jab of resentment. She has lost a great deal in the last five years – her two younger brothers, her mother – and now Edward seems to be the last straw that might break her courage. Yet that brief moment of connection has had its effect. She knows that if they are to survive this calamity she must relinquish the dislike she's indulged for so long; that she must allow Eleanor to be fearful without judging her. As she struggles to reconnect, it surprises her to realize just how much her dislike of this woman has upheld her and how much more difficult it will be to love rather than to hate.
'It's bound to take time to adjust,' she says – but she speaks with no confidence, and Eleanor looks at her with brooding sincerity.
'But you must see that it will never work now with Edward and me,' she says. 'You can see that, can't you, Hester?'
And in this new awareness, this new maturity, Hester can see that it could never work again; that their brief, ill-matched relationship could never be resurrected.
'Perhaps not,' she says, 'but you can't just walk out on him. Not just yet.'
Eleanor watches her, still puffing at her cigarette, her eyes narrowed against the smoke.
'Are you sure that it wouldn't be wiser?' she asks quietly. 'Just to disappear quietly before he remembers anything properly?'
'Not if it means you'd take Michael,' answers Hester almost angrily. 'How can I manage alone? Just think, Eleanor. When Edward went away he had a whole family. And you. Now there's just Patricia and me. She can't come back to look after him. That leaves me.'
Memories Of The Storm Page 15
