Staring up at the window, Lucy steadily swallowed down the bitter-tasting bile of resentment and anger – and guilt. Why, she asked herself, why was it not possible simply to accept the truth and be glad? After all, she was glad – of course she was glad to know that her father was not guilty of killing his friend and running away. Here was the relief for which she'd longed; that she could think about him again, freely and lovingly. And she wanted to – oh, how she wanted to – and yet, following fast on the heels of the shame and misery she'd nursed in secret for so long, had come a huge wave of bitterness and terrible rage that was steadily filling the great space where once the secret horror had greenly flourished, and was cramming itself into every little corner so that there was no room left for joy.
Fiercely Lucy stared away the tears that brimmed in her eyes, blurring the glorious colours and the happy, dancing creatures. Her tears of bitterness distorted the joyful scene and she blinked them away, touching the back of her hand to her eyes, setting her lips more tightly together.
'Why didn't you tell me before?' Jerry had asked, shocked. She'd seen at once that he was terribly hurt to know that she had never shared with him something that had been such an integral part of her. She could almost see him thinking: What else might she be hiding? and she'd been filled with new anxiety and despair. To damage Jerry's trust was unthinkable.
'Listen,' she'd said urgently, kneeling beside his chair, holding his hands, 'just listen for a minute . . .' and she'd told him the whole story properly, trying to show that, even by the time they'd met, she'd buried her knowledge so deeply that it was impossible to disinter it. Even as she talked she could see the pitfalls looming ahead of her: if she'd buried it so deeply then why had it continued to affect her so much? If she hadn't needed to confide because it wasn't important then why was she now so adversely affected by this new discovery?
She'd thought: I can't win with this one. He's simply got to trust me. He must understand that this doesn't reflect on him in any way.
'I knew there was something,' he'd said at last, 'but I always put it down to the fact that you'd lost both your parents so traumatically.'
'And part of it was,' she'd cried, hoping to lessen the importance of the other thing in his eyes and so preserve his confidence in her need of him. 'And you helped me to deal with it, Jerry. You know you did.'
They'd talked for hours, until they were both exhausted, and Jerry – true to form – was already beginning to think less about his own shock at her secrecy and more about her reaction to Jonah's discovery.
'But you can be happy now?' he'd said hopefully, making it more a statement than a question – almost willing her to accept the joy – and she'd responded quickly that she could, of course she could, relieved that he seemed to be ready to accept that no harm to their relationship had been done.
'Poor old Luce,' he'd said. 'Poor Luce. What a terrible thing to live with. But now you'll be free of it. Thank goodness Jonah got to the truth of it.'
She longed to repay this generosity, to be happy simply because it would delight him to see her step free. Consciously she concentrated on the wonderful news – Edward had not died – reliving the nightmare scene in the light of this information, seeing how everything fell into place. There was joy here, and relief, but at the same time it seemed that some great emotion against which she'd pitted herself for so long had been unexpectedly removed; as if she'd leaned all her life against a restricting wall that had been suddenly toppled, and now she was kneeling helplessly amongst the rubble rather than standing upright, gazing out at a new and glorious view. This was crazy, she told herself anxiously. Surely she hadn't been actually dependent on the fear and horror and guilt? Yet it felt as if she had been; as if, in somemacabre way, it had sustained her, and now that it was gone she felt exposed and confused amongst the ruins of the carefully constructed lie.
Occasionally, her hatred of Eleanor threatened to overwhelm her and she prayed for deliverance from such a destructive emotion. Yet it seemed unbearably cruel that those few words should have had the ability to poison her life: to make her unable to think happily of her father whom she'd loved so much. And then there was Hester . . .
'She'd love to see you,' Jonah had said, 'only she thinks you might need time to adjust. She sends her love.'
That had been several weeks ago and still Lucy was unable to make the necessary gesture of friendliness.
After all, she never wrote to me: the thought rose childishly in her mind and Lucy dismissed it with an impatient exclamation of self-contempt. Hester's behaviour too must be seen in the brighter light of the truth. Here was the chance to make all things new, the real opportunity to change for which she'd strived, and she seemed incapable of taking it. Turning from the window she made her way through the cathedral, back to Jerry; past the Lambert Barnard paintings of the Bishops of Chichester where they'd first met, and back home to his hopeful, watchful gaze that longed to see her set free at last.
Coming out of All Saints' church, Clio paused for a moment to look out over the trees and roofs of Dulverton with a sense of pleasure. She loved this little town, and the prospect of living in it excited her. In her bag were the details of a flat for rent: a small piece of an old house, high on an attic floor, from which she would have a view much like this one.
Clio was seized with a tremor of excitement and apprehension at the prospect of this further step towards complete independence. She'd driven Hester into Dulverton this morning, to do some shopping and go to the library, whilst she collected the details of the flat from the estate agent's office. Having made an appointment to view she'd come out into the street, passing around the double flight of steps outside the town hall, still clutching the details in her hand and glancing at it now and then as if she could hardly believe her luck. Collecting her chaotic thoughts, she'd folded up the paper and pushed it into her bag, determined not to allow herself to become too hopeful. That's when she'd decided to spend a few minutes in the church.
Ever since Christmas she'd fallen into a habit of taking a few moments out of the rush of her newly expanding life; going into All Saints' to sit in the corner of a pew, to spend time in meditation. Very occasionally she recaptured a fleeting sense of the peace and joy she'd experienced at the convent, though most of the time she'd find that she was simply allowing plans and anxieties to crowd out any quietness of mind.
Nevertheless, she clung firmly to Blaise's advice: 'Never forget what you've experienced but don't come to rely on it.' She didn't rely on it but gradually she was coming to value these moments, and now, standing below the medieval tower that watched over the town, she felt a tiny echo of that peaceful detachment from stress bringing her strength. She took in a deep breath, noticing the daffodils fluttering in the sharp, cold April breeze, listening to the bustle of the town drifting upwards, before she set off down the path. Passing under the lich-gate, through Bank Square and into Fore Street, she saw Hester emerging from the library and hailed her.
'I've got an appointment for tomorrow afternoon,' she told her triumphantly. 'It looks good, Hes. It's very small but it's all newly done up. Three flights of stairs, though! I'll be thin as a rake. I was hoping you'd come with me to view it. Will you be able to manage them, d'you think?'
'As long as I'm allowed a breather on the way up,' said Hester cheerfully. 'Of course I shall come. Time to go home?'
'I'm afraid so,' answered Clio regretfully. 'I wish we could stop for coffee but I've got to dash over to the Coles to meet someone delivering furniture. We'll stop off and have tea and delicious cake in Lewis's tomorrow after we've viewed the flat. I asked the agents if they had anything new that might interest you but nothing has come in that you haven't already seen. I wish you could find something, Hes.'
'So do I,' said Hester, waiting for Clio to unlock the car doors. 'The difficulty is that I don't know quite what it is that I want, which makes it rather complicated.'
As they drove out of the town Hester quelled a twinge of
uneasiness, determined to trust this sense of waiting that had grown so strong: it was a gift, knowing how to wait, and she was trying to accept it patiently.
'Something will turn up,' Clio said confidently, buoyed up by her own good fortune. 'I just know it will. I'm sorry I can't stop, Hes. I should be back about four o'clock if all goes well but I'll phone you if I get held up.'
They crossed the little bridge and then Clio reversed the car, turning so as to be ready to drive out again. Hester climbed out, clutching her library books and her shopping, and waved her off. It was only after she'd found her key and unlocked the door that she saw the parcel leaning in the corner of the porch. Clearly the postman had been unable to fit it through the letter-box earlier and she hadn't heard him ring the bell.
She carried her things in and then returned for the parcel, a medium-sized Jiffy bag, reused and with Blaise's familiar writing. It was with a sense of anticipation that Hester went through to the kitchen, pushed the kettle onto the hotplate and then hurried back into the breakfast-room to open the parcel. St Francis came pacing to meet her, jumping up onto the table and pressing himself beneath her arm, purring a welcome. She stroked him with one hand, holding the letter with the other, waiting for the kettle to boil.
Darling Hes,
I'm sorry it's taken a little while to answer your letter. There was so much in it to think about and I've spent a great deal of time trying to take it all in. Yes, I did suspect that Eleanor might be at the root of the problem but I had no idea of the extent to which she might have harmed Lucy. No wonder that she didn't want to talk about the past to Jonah or that she had tried to wipe us all from her memory. At one point, in a previous letter, you wrote that Jonah said she had decided that the time had come to confront the past in order to deal with new difficulties in her life; she needed to change in order to cope. Well, we can only be grateful that she was courageous enough to go through with it. I fully agree with you that the thought of her carrying this weight for so long is appalling but what worries me now is that she might buckle under new pressures. To keep this secret hidden for so long will have required energy and determination, and their sudden removal might allow other adverse feelings to flourish in their place. Imagine the temptation she's under now to put all that energy into hating Eleanor and feeling bitter about the damage she's suffered! I'm sure that she will want to embrace this opportunity for change but it might prove surprisingly difficult. I remember writing to you about something like this back last autumn and reminding you about the enclosed book on the teachings of St John of the Cross, which I know you've read. It just might help if you read it again in regard to Lucy. I admit to feeling fearful for her, Hes. She'll need help, and who better to give it than St John of the Cross? Of course I might be quite wrong but I send it because it feels right of this moment when you are both very vivid with me. I've marked some pages relating to the desire for change and the importance of remembering that desire when one feels incapable of any effort and overwhelmed by failure. I wish you could get her to Bridge House – I feel that it's important.
Anyway, enough of this for the present. There is something else I want to 'talk' to you about, Hes. I've been feeling for a while now that I should retire from the chaplaincy at St Bede's although I hope to remain available for the sisters and the Abbey, should they require my assistance at any time. A younger man, just retiring from parish life but looking for a house for duty, is very willing to take my place at St Bede's and I've decided to move into Hexham. Would you consider joining me, Hes? Do you think we could share a house together as we once did all those years ago? I have some savings and you should get a reasonable share when you sell. Shall we buy a small cottage or a flat together? I know how much you love this part of the world and how attached you are to the sisters. I think we could be happy, Hes. Let me know what you think.
The rest of his writing blurred and swam as she stared down at the page and she was conscious of a high whistling noise that had been going on for some time in the background. The kettle was boiling. Hester put the letter down and briefly buried her face in St Francis' warm fur before hurrying through to the kitchen. Happy, grateful tears poured down her small face as she made coffee and took it back with her to the table, settling down to read part of the letter again and again.
It was much later, when she'd just begun to accustom herself to the joy, that she saw a line scribbled on the back of the sheet.
PS. It has just occurred to me, Hes. Have you thought of inviting Lucy to see your latter-day version of the Midsummer Cushion? A very healing prospect if you think about it?
Hester laid the letter down thoughtfully and took up the Jiffy bag. The book was familiar to her: The Impact of God written by the Carmelite Father Iain Matthew. She sat for a while, the book lying beside her on the table whilst she drank some coffee, momentarily distracted from her new-found joy. Blaise had an inner wisdom she'd never attained and she was fearful now that she might misinterpret him. She wondered how the book might help: should she read it, hoping that if she and Lucy were to meet it might give her some insight into Lucy's pain? Or should she simply give the book to Jonah to pass on – and, if she were to do that, how would Lucy receive it? How would it assist her to step free from the past? Blaise's warning about Lucy's inability to accept the truth filled her with fear and she prayed silently for guidance.
Presently she opened the book, so as to refresh her memory, and the opening line struck her forcibly with its relevance to Lucy's need. 'St John of the Cross speaks to people who feel unable to change.'
At once the words filled her with an amazing confidence. Putting the book back into the bag, Hester seized a felt pen from the jar of pencils and biros on the table and wrote across the label in large black letters: 'THIS IS FOR LUCY'. With a sigh of relief, as if something vital had already been accomplished, she put the bag aside and once again picked up Blaise's letter.
'Do you think we could share a house together as we did all those years ago?'
'Yes,' she answered him silently, and happy tears flowed again. 'Oh, yes, Blaise, I think we could.'
CHAPTER THIRTY
April continued a capricious, teasing month, offering the benison of unexpectedly warm spells that gave way to cruel hail storms, and with a heavy fall of snow on St George's Day that weighted the crimson flowers of the azalea and laid a dazzling carpet for the bluebells in the wood. Wrapped in her warm new shawl, Hester paced the terrace in the sunshine and withdrew into the house when the black clouds gathered; and each day she waited for a message from Lucy.
When the heavy downpours of freezing rain fell high up on the Chains, the level of the river rose at an alarming rate. The great tide of icy water roared and raced, foaming whitely over the rounded stones, battering broken branches against the stone piers of the bridge, rising rapidly even as she watched, first from the terrace, exhilarated as usual by this dramatic event, and then from the shelter of the drawing-room as the rain drove down in chill, soaking spikes and the thundering of the Barle in flood obliterated any other sound.
One cold evening in early May, when the river was running slow and quiet in its bed and a thrush was singing at the end of the garden, the telephone rang. Hester shifted St Francis' warm weight from her side and got up from the sofa to answer it.
'Hester,' said Jonah. 'Great news. Mum says she'd like to come and see you and she says that the last week in May will be fine. She's arranging for someone to stay with Dad. I didn't tell her why you wanted it to be later rather than earlier, I just said that you were going up to Hexham for a week and that there were things happening to do with selling the house. Anyway, it'll give her a bit more time to adjust.'
'That's wonderful news.' Hester could barely control the swift uprush of spirits. 'I am so pleased. Will you tell her so?'
'Of course I will.'
'And you'll let me know the dates once she's fixed with whoever it is who will stay with your father? Any time after the twenty-first will be fine. She'll
stay here, of course? For as long as she likes.'
'I've made a note of the date. I'll tell her.'
Clio emerged from the study and Hester said, 'Oh, here's Clio. I expect you'd like a word?' and held out the phone to her.
Clio took it, only very slightly embarrassed at the assumption that they would want to speak to each other, and Hester went back into the drawingroom. She was too deeply moved by grateful joy to be able to continue the conversation; all she wished to do was to sit for a moment and think about Lucy, returning at last to Bridge House.
'Hi, Jonah,' Clio was saying brightly. 'How are you?'
'Bored, frustrated, driving myself mad. In other words, I'm writing. How about you?'
'It's going fairly well. I've got Lizzie's event up to speed. She's away working for most of July and August, some TV sitcom thing, and so she wants everything ready to go before she starts. I've designed the leaflets and we've decided to target sixth-form colleges and libraries.' She'd relaxed now, perching on a chair at the table, and hunched slightly over the telephone as if creating an intimate place for them both. 'The Coles are an ongoing job, which is really great from my point of view. We're working on the dining-room. So when are you coming down to see my new place before I move into it next month?'
'Soon. Is this a formal invitation?'
'Well, I mentioned it to Hester, who said that she'd be away next week if you'd like to keep me company for a few days.'
Jonah gave a crack of laughter. 'Good old Hes. Not quite your stereotypical godmother, is she? Nothing remotely protective or motherly about Hes.'
'Hester doesn't do maternal. I remember she said that to me once. She thought it would be a relief for us to be on our own for a change. Well? It would be nice to have some company . . .'
Memories Of The Storm Page 25
