The Lily in the Snow

by Jackie French

  Lily nodded. ‘Yes, Nigel is a good man too. I wish, though, I could be with you for the meeting, not him. But your Daniel will expect your husband to be there, to assure him he does in truth know all the details and is comfortable with whatever role Daniel may wish to play.’

  ‘Except their acknowledged father.’

  ‘Except, of course, that.’ Lily looked at a cluster of goats, driven along the road by a boy with rags wrapped around the rudimentary clogs that kept his feet from the cold mud. ‘Society accepts rolled-down stocking tops and rouged knees, the loss of twenty thousand men in a day’s battle and most of a generation of young men, but not children having two fathers.’

  Lily is so beautiful, thought Sophie, a beauty age only deepened, not just the elegance of her bone structure but the kindness shining through.

  ‘I so very much wish Nigel could offer him joint fatherhood,’ Lily said at last. ‘But to do so would confuse the children, even if it were socially possible, and if my cousin even heard the whisper of a rumour he would be quite capable of launching a court case. We can’t risk Daniel’s succession to the title and the estate. The children must never have doubts about who they are,’ Miss Lily concluded.

  Sophie glanced at her, this woman who had lived all her life — and Nigel’s life — doubting, changing from one and then to the other. How much anguish did that small phrase hold?

  Nanny and Amy were delighted to be given a whole day free to explore Paris. Sophie debated between Rose and Danny meeting Daniel at the hotel, or in a park. But the children must be rugged up for a park and their time there would be limited by the cold. And neither the Countess of Shillings nor Sophie Higgs wished to cry in public . . .

  She realised she was preparing for this meeting with as much thought to strategy as she had once spent on founding a new hospital or factory, or that new line of canned tomato juice that had done so well in the United States, for its health-giving properties and to replace red wine in temperance households — and even to disguise hooch for those who had found a source of bathtub gin.

  Tea would arrive five minutes before John . . . Daniel . . . arrived. Cucumber sandwiches, watercress and cream cheese, crab and ginger on brown bread because the Ritz did them so perfectly, with madeleines, perhaps, and small cherry and custard tarts. There must be nothing that said ostentation, but nothing reminiscent of Midge’s apple pie or fruit cake by the campfire either. Bread and honey, because Danny loved it, cheese and lettuce for Rose . . .

  And her dress . . . Green had put out a new one, magically arrived only twenty-four hours after the visit to the couturier, hazel velvet, the same colour as her eyes, with gold and green embroidered dragons at the hem and collar and a low-slung thin gold belt . . . too like a chastity belt?

  Come off it, duckie, she told herself. Breathe. You are a swan.

  ‘If you don’t sit still,’ said Green, wielding a comb, ‘your hair is going to look like a birch broom in a fit.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have washed it.’

  ‘Of course not. Nothing wrong with the scent of turnip. All of fashionable Paris is wearing eau de turnip this year.’

  Sophie grinned reluctantly. ‘I am behaving like an idiot.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Green.

  ‘I was perfectly calm before my debut. My heart hardly raced when I first met Queen Mary.’

  ‘But then you didn’t care particularly what Queen Mary thought, did you?’

  ‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘It was just an adventure. Such a wonderful adventure. Do you think the world will ever be as innocent again?’

  ‘It never has been innocent. But you were.’

  ‘Were you?’

  Green considered. ‘Yes. The maid who travelled to meet the new Miss Lily was innocent.’

  ‘But you didn’t marry Jones?’

  ‘I was in his bed within three weeks, so perhaps not quite so innocent as all that. But by then I had met Misako.’ Misako was the elderly courtesan who had taught Miss Lily so much. ‘I wanted to be like Misako. Not a courtesan, but myself. Lily taught you all to be successful wives. I don’t think it ever occurred to her she wouldn’t have enjoyed being one herself.’

  ‘She did teach us that marriage was inevitable. Well, for most of us, if we wanted to have influence in the world. Few of us had a choice.’

  ‘I did,’ said Green.

  ‘And I suppose I did too. And now I am sedate and married.’

  ‘And if you don’t sit still your face will look like a clown’s. Part your lips. Just this shade of lipstick, I think . . . do sit still . . . and only a touch of powder. You’ll do,’ said Green.

  Nigel looked up from the desk, where he had been reading a telegram. ‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and would look glorious in a hessian sack. But today you also look completely appropriate.’

  Miss Lily could not have said it better. Sophie relaxed. Had he heard Green’s comment about Miss Lily? Or had he been too absorbed in his telegram? It was an unusually long telegram, Sophie realised. She had assumed it was from one of the few House of Lords committees to which Nigel still lent his name and, occasionally, his time. He held it out to her. ‘I think you should read this.’

  Green tactfully slipped out. She and Jones would read the telegram, of course. Nigel would leave it on the desk for them. If it was important all of them would discuss its contents that night. Sophie was not sure how she felt about that. She had always assumed that marriage was a nation of two, but aristocrats were used to having attendants for everything from putting on their boots to supporting their personal crises. Nigel was different only in that his attendants were also friends.

  ‘Sophie?’ Nigel looked puzzled at her hesitation.

  Sophie took the telegram.

  Daniel Theophilus Greenman MD Sydney Dip Psych Edinburgh stop Colonel stop Born 8 August 1890 Father Theophilus Greenman grazier Burrawinga Western Victoria deceased 1916 motor accident stop mother Virginia Anne Greenman née Hillier 1868 D 1890 stop stepmother Elaine McDonald née Fusilier died 1916 stop brother John Gilbert McDonald Major grazier married Harriet Windermere 1913 stop missing in action Somme 1917 stop D Greenman service record significantly insignificant stop demobbed August 1921 delay due influenza epidemic stop whereabouts unknown December 1922 to December 1928 stop attended Burrawinga church Christmas 1928 with sister-in-law stop gossip only follows stop studied psychoanalysis in New York stop intends setting up Macquarie Street practice query marry sister-in-law query politics unknown mental stability minor query probably trustworthy on all counts fuller report follows yours Lorrimer

  She put the paper down. ‘James has been busy,’ she said evenly.

  ‘James’s secretary and assistants have been busy. James has been attending a Friday to Monday in Northumberland. Do you mind?’

  ‘Asking about Dr Greenman? No. Or rather, yes, I mind very much, but admit the necessity, if Dr Greenman is to play a role in the children’s lives.’

  Nigel smiled. ‘I meant asking James about Dr Greenman without your knowledge.’

  To Sophie’s surprise she did feel a slight niggle of resentment — James was her friend, but of course Nigel — and Miss Lily — had known him and worked for him far longer. But she also felt gratitude that Nigel had not bothered asking her when she was . . . discombobulated . . . not just at meeting Daniel, but at seeing the change in him.

  The greatest shock, perhaps, was that maybe he had not changed so much at all.

  Four years earlier she’d thought she’d seen a saint living in a hut by the Thuringa gate and giving out simple wisdom. Instead that man had been an experienced professional, war damaged, but able to assess his own mental state and respond to it and to that of others. But he was still ‘John’, too. Did that make a difference to how she felt about him? Perhaps it was wise not even to probe how she felt about him . . .

  Nigel held out his hand. ‘Come on. It’s time to go.’

  Nanny left to investigate the delights of Paris in a haze of la
vender water; Amy in a fog of Eau Des Nuits de Paris. Sophie made a note to ask Green to advise the girl. Amy could be pretty with a better haircut . . . ‘Rose darling, no, we do not hit our brother on the head with a wooden horse.’

  ‘Gogunk!’

  ‘Yes, very probably, but kiss him sorry. That’s a good girl.’

  ‘Orse?’ demanded Rose.

  ‘Orse orse?’ asked her brother hopefully.

  ‘All right, Danny darling, I’ll be your horse, but just for a minute. Daddy, will you be Rose’s horse? Oh, thank you, don’t mind us,’ as a small team of waiters (three) brought in a tea tray, cutlery, sandwiches, followed by Daniel, his face cracking to a grin at the sight of the earl and countess galloping about the floor, each with a toddler on their back, and three Ritz staff attempting to look as if this was something they encountered every day.

  Nigel stood, deftly placing Rose on the ground and holding her hand. ‘Greenman, old chap, good to see you again. How is the patient?’

  ‘Startled to find himself impatient with being a patient.’ Daniel looked down at the small boy, who had discovered his mother’s belt made excellent reins, and at the boy’s mother, slightly flushed with exertion. ‘He has begun to speak more frequently and easily, he demands news of home and has eaten an extraordinarily large serving of devilled kidneys and bacon. Harriet has promised there will never be a turnip again in the kitchens of Burrawinga. He even laughed at that.’ He glanced down again, amusement overtaking self-consciousness, which was exactly what Sophie had intended. ‘Good morning, Sophie.’

  Sophie clambered to her feet. ‘Please excuse us. Danny, this is your Uncle Daniel. That is all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Dr Greenman’s tone was cautious again.

  ‘And this is Rose. Say good morning, Rose.’

  ‘Hello.’ Rose beamed as Daniel bent to shake her hand. ‘Hello, hello, hello . . .’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Nigel. ‘She’s only just learned the word. Can you say hello too, Danny?’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Danny, bouncing slightly with superiority.

  His sister glared at him. ‘Hello!’

  ‘I’ve brought you something,’ said Daniel hurriedly. Sophie noted that somewhere, sometime, not noted in James’s summary, Daniel Greenman had spent time with toddlers. He held up a drawstring bag with a picture of a giraffe on it, then squatted and tumbled out a mound of wooden blocks, in squares and rectangles, brightly coloured and each with its own animal.

  ‘No, Rose darling, we don’t hit your brother with blocks.’ Sophie sat. ‘You build them up. One block and then another block. See?’

  ‘Block,’ said Danny, with proud clarity.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ asked Nigel, handing sandwiches down to them on the floor.

  And suddenly it was easy, the twins absorbing the technique of building towers and, even more fun, knocking them down, smearing crab and watercress into hair, tablecloth and Daniel’s trousers, but nothing a wet cloth could not wash off, and finally giggles edging into yawns. Both children were surprisingly compliant as Sophie put them down for their afternoon sleep in the bedroom next to the suite’s living room.

  ‘All they need is three adults’ complete attention for an entire morning and luncheon,’ said Sophie quietly, as they looked down at the sleeping children, the room suddenly extremely quiet.

  ‘Perhaps every family needs three parents,’ said Daniel, then seemed to realise what he’d said. ‘Speaking professionally,’ he added.

  ‘You’re not a Freudian?’ asked Nigel, moving into the living room again and sitting on one end of the sofa. Sophie sat next to him, Daniel in an armchair.

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Freud is a master, of course. His concept of the subconscious is revolutionary, but I’ve been more concerned with the differences between neurasthenia, battle fatigue, soldier’s heart and hysteria.’

  ‘And your conclusions?’ asked Nigel.

  ‘That those labels may be useful for War Office clerks, but not for a doctor. The kind of warfare we have seen is one of the greatest traumas possible, but ten men can have exactly the same experience, with ten quite different reactions. In some men it may trigger problems they could otherwise have coped with. Others have the enviable ability to look forward, not back, though even there, problems may arise suddenly and unexpectedly — at a birthday party, perhaps, or hearing fireworks in the distance. No, my motto is, understand your patient then find out what works for them. Which is possibly older than Hippocrates.’ He took another sandwich.

  ‘Will I ring for more tea?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Not for me, thank you.’ He glanced at his pocket watch. ‘I need to get back to John and Harriet. John still needs help physically, and prefers not to ask Harriet.’

  ‘What will they do now?’ Sophie asked quietly.

  ‘Speaking as John’s brother . . . John and Harriet will go back to Burrawinga. He has agreed to a male nurse-companion. We’ve got a good manager there. Hopefully John can be part of it all again, and it’s a small enough society for people to get used to his appearance. Speaking as a doctor, I know a Melbourne therapist who should be able to make walking easier for him, and I think more exercise will help too. Mentally it’s going to be far harder than they both think now.’

  He shook his head. ‘They are both in the “it’s a miracle” phase and not thinking about future problems — and there’ll be a lot of those — but I think they’ll make it. Possibly those years in hospital might actually help — John learned to accept being nursed there. There was a lot of love too, even if an excess of turnip.’

  ‘And you?’ asked Sophie quietly.

  ‘I’ll stay at Burrawinga for a while, but they need me out of the way.’

  Ah, thought Sophie, so possibly there was truth in the rumour about Daniel and his sister-in-law, at least potentially. Or maybe he was just concerned that his brother might think so.

  ‘I plan to set up practice in Sydney. And you intend coming back to Australia?’ The question was slightly more intense than a social pleasantry would have been.

  ‘Next spring — the Australian spring.’ The question was meant for Nigel — Sophie had told Daniel this yesterday. But she had answered instead. ‘Nigel has promised I needn’t experience the next English winter.’ She met his eyes. ‘Will you want to see the children?’

  ‘Yes. As often as I may.’

  Once again she was filled with longing for the twisting river, the scent of hot sand. Danny and Rose needed to play barefoot in the shallows, watch cockatoos swinging from the trees outside the homestead. She glanced at Nigel. ‘Then perhaps we should sail to Australia sooner.’

  Nigel smiled at her. ‘Yes. And stay longer.’ He turned to Daniel. ‘May we dine with you and your brother and sister-in-law before you leave? A couple of times, if it’s not too much for Mr McDonald.’

  Daniel looked startled. ‘Of course. But we may not be good company just now.’

  ‘The best of company,’ said Nigel lightly. ‘But it would be good to forge a strong link between our families, if you are to be Uncle Daniel.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Thank you. A good idea.’ Daniel hesitated. ‘I’d like John to meet Rose and Danny, but his appearance might scare them.’

  ‘We have scarred men on the estate.’ Sophie did not add that Nigel had deliberately created work on new tree plantations for those whose appearance made it difficult to find other jobs. ‘The children will be fine. Exhausting, sticky and rambunctious, but fine.’

  ‘Tonight, then? I’ll check with Harriet, but I’m sure she’ll agree. She’s more grateful than she can say. As am I. Will you bring your sister too? Harriet said she was the one who convinced John to . . . to come back to us.’

  ‘I’m afraid Lily had to go back to England early this morning.’ Nigel leaned back in the sofa. ‘By the way, I am considering a change to my will, something you would need to agree to, though, Greenman. You too, Sophie. No need to answer now, but would you think about sharing
the children’s guardianship with my secretary, Jones, should anything happen to Sophie and to me?’

  Dr Greenman stared at him. ‘I . . . I am not sure what to say.’

  ‘We are not planning on immediate decease,’ said Sophie. She glanced at Nigel, slightly overwhelmed at how quickly this new relationship was being woven. ‘But it is a good idea.’

  ‘As their Uncle Daniel?’

  Just like it is ‘Aunt Lily’, she thought. ‘Yes, as Uncle Daniel, and only ever that. It’s important neither child is ever confused about who they are, and that there is no question about Danny’s inheritance. Legal fees alone would be crippling, not to mention the blight on his life.’

  ‘I agree,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You are always welcome at Shillings. And that hut on Thuringa is yours forever — or whatever building you might like in the future in its place. I’d like you in our lives too.’ Suddenly she realised that she meant it. For months John had been a friend, before that one night when he had been a lover. Now, miraculously, perhaps the friend was back.

  She had always liked him. Even more miraculously, Nigel not only liked him too, but accepted that her feelings for Daniel did not affect her love for him. Nigel, of all people, could understand that a person might have more than one face to show to the world — or even to themselves.

  And one day, just possibly, if Daniel came to Shillings, she might be able to explain that their children had not three parents but four — and Daniel could meet Miss Lily too.

  Chapter 16

  A child usually knows exactly who they are. But it may take years for them to accept that knowledge in adulthood. Many never will.

  Miss Lily, 1913

  ‘You don’t like Alice in Wonderland?’ Mrs Maillot put the book down. She had taken to reading to Violette each afternoon as they sat beside one another on the sofa in the living room.

  Violette looked for a tactful refusal. ‘It is . . . not real.’ She no longer called the older woman madame, nor Mrs Maillot. The day would come, she thought, when Mrs Maillot would ask her to use ‘Mama’, though not till Mrs Maillot was sure the position of Violette’s mother would not be claimed by another.