by Adele Geras
Sean smiled at her from across the room and something in her leapt and glowed. Oh, act your age, she told herself. She turned her attention to what Nanny Mouse was saying. The old lady seemed to be more like the person Rilla remembered, managing to stay in the present for most of the time at least. Maybe that was because Sean was such a good interviewer.
‘I remember the wedding. There weren’t any relations on the bride’s side. All empty the pews were in the church. They let me go. I was only a parlour maid then but Mr Walsh said I could be her lady’s maid. Miss Maude’s. I called her that before she was married and couldn’t seem to get out of the habit. She was a pretty thing, but quiet. I’m as much of a mouse as you are, she said to me once. She was, too. Hardly opened her mouth.’
‘And Ethan Walsh loved her very much,’ Sean said, his voice making the words a statement rather than a question. He hoped that his remark would change the subject. Nanny Mouse was muddling her weddings. Ethan and Maude had eloped. She must have been thinking of Leonora’s wedding to Peter, just after Ethan’s death.
‘Funny way he had of showing it!’ Nanny Mouse said this with such firmness that it seemed to tire her. She stopped talking and began to stare at a point in the middle distance and pick at the fabric of her skirt with one hand. When she next spoke, her voice was quite different, wavering and uncertain, and her memory had gone sliding through the years from one wedding to another. Rilla listened for clues. Mr Peter. That was her own father, so she must be thinking of Leonora. Sean gently reminded her of Maude, and her early days at Willow Court.
‘Maude? Yes, you’ll find her in the garden most likely. She’s planting a border. No yellow, she hates yellow flowers. I expect you’re surprised because people like yellow flowers generally, don’t they?’
Rilla felt tears pricking in her eyes. Poor old Nanny! God, I hope I don’t live to be as confused as that! She’s making polite conversation now. I wonder if she knows who Sean is?
‘Leonora was very ill, you know,’ Nanny Mouse said confidingly, leaning towards him and lowering her voice. ‘She got soaked through, you see, and took a dreadful chill which turned into pneumonia, I think the doctor said. Such a high fever, for days and days I was washing her down with damp cloths. And when they had the funeral, I didn’t know who to be with. I didn’t know. It was so hard to choose, but I chose my baby, because she was still alive. Stood to reason that the living come before the dead. Oh, dear, but I didn’t like to think of my Maude all closed up in that coffin.’ Tears fell from Nanny Mouse’s eyes and she blinked.
Sean handed her his clean handkerchief and muttered something about not distressing herself. Then he changed the subject. ‘What did Maude do while Ethan was painting? Did she help him at all? Give him advice? She was an artist, too, wasn’t she? Before they married?’
Nanny Mouse seemed frightened. She shrank back into her armchair and turned pale and began to mumble to herself under her breath, blinking and holding both hands up in front of her face as though Sean were about to hit her.
‘Don’t distress yourself, Nanny,’ he said quickly. He laid his hands soothingly on hers and stroked them. ‘It’s all right. We won’t talk about that if you don’t want to. You can tell me whatever you like about Maude. You choose. Tell me about the garden again.’
Nanny Mouse looked at Sean as though she had no idea what he could possibly be referring to. She pulled her hands away from his and sat up straighter. ‘He has to have her with him. Don’t you think that’s odd? I think that’s odd. What sort of a man needs his wife there every minute while he works? Cook says she hears him throwing things. I’m not one to gossip, you know. I never speak ill of anyone without good reason. Only the way he goes into those long silences and doesn’t even pass the time of day with her … well, is it any wonder she’s got so thin and pale? She’ll hardly look at the child. Unnatural, I call it. Well, she does look of course, she’s looking all the time in a manner of speaking. Sits there with that blessed book of hers and scribbles and scribbles and I know what goes on. I don’t dare say, though. He’s warned me. He took me aside in the scullery last night and I’ve got his fingermarks on my arm, see …’ She pulled back the sleeve of her dress and showed Sean her wrinkled forearm, marked with nothing more sinister than age-spots.
This outburst tired Nanny Mouse and her head drooped on to her chest.
‘That’s splendid, thank you very much,’ Sean said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll leave you to rest now. We’ll come and see you tomorrow and bring a camera so that you can be on the television.’
Even the magic word television failed to rouse Nanny Mouse. Her eyes were closed and Miss Lardner, who’d been sitting quietly in a corner listening to the conversation, stood up and said, ‘Miss Mussington needs to rest now, I’m afraid. It’s all been a little too much for her.’
‘I understand,’ Sean said, and added, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll see ourselves out.’
Rilla said, ‘Thank you for the tea, Miss Lardner. Everything was quite delicious.’ She went over to Nanny Mouse and bent down to kiss her.
‘Goodbye, Nanny,’ she said. The old lady’s eyes opened and for a second they were out of focus as she struggled to understand who was crouched in front of her. Then she smiled. ‘Rilla! How lovely to see you, dear! You’re quite the lady now, aren’t you? Not a little girl any more.’
‘No, not a girl any longer. I’ll come and see you again soon.’
Nanny Mouse plucked at Rilla’s sleeve. ‘She’d never have agreed to it if she hadn’t been frightened to death. D’you understand? She lived in fear. All the time. Fear of him. Yes.’
Outside Lodge Cottage, Sean exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath for a long time.
‘Well …’ he said. ‘Who do you think she meant? Maude? Or Leonora?’
‘Maude. It has to be. Leonora makes a point of not being frightened of anything. And besides, my father died very young and she’s been a widow for most of her life. What Nanny Mouse was describing sounded like a really brutal man.’
‘I’m sure you’re probably right. Ethan Walsh is beginning to emerge as something of a domestic tyrant.’ Sean shook his head. ‘Of course you can’t learn very much about a person’s character from the art they produce.’
They began walking together up the drive to the house, and the works of Ethan Walsh and his relationship with his wife were the last thing on her mind. She wished the avenue of scarlet oaks could stretch and extend itself and go on for miles and miles. She wondered what she could say next. If this silence goes on, she thought, it will become a proper silence and not just two people walking along quietly together. ‘I want …’ Sean began, just as she said, ‘I think …’ They laughed and Rilla said, ‘You start.’
‘Right. I wanted to say thank you for being there while I was filming this morning. I realized too late that some of those pictures in the drawing room probably wouldn’t be your favourite Walshes. All those lakeside scenes. I’m sorry if it was hard for you.’
‘No, not at all. I can look at pictures all right.’ Rilla stared at the tips of her shoes as she walked through the gravel, listened to the sounds that their footsteps were making. She looked up at Sean. ‘It’s only the real thing I can’t take.’
‘Still …’ Sean stopped and took her hand. Rilla turned to face him, suddenly aware that her heart was beating very fast.
‘I won’t be at supper tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ve promised the crew I’d go and eat down at the pub with them. I wish I didn’t have to.’
‘No, that’s all right. I understand.’ Rilla smiled. ‘It’ll be another family circus I’m sure. I don’t think you’ll be missing much. Most of the time, we’re all just talking either about arrangements for the party or else Efe’s plan and what should be done about that.’ She was aware that she was filling the air with sound to cover up how foolish she felt at being so disappointed.
Sean said, ‘I expect you’ll need to have another cigarette, though, won’t you? Like last night?�
� Rilla felt his hand tighten on hers, and she found it hard to speak in a level voice.
‘Oh, yes, I always do. This time, though, I might have my cigarette in the gazebo. Do you know where that is?’
‘I do.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ll be there. At about midnight, say? Can you bear to wait up till then? It’s awfully late.’
Rilla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She could scarcely believe her own daring. How was she going to keep her excitement under control for another six hours? Where was Beth? She’d understand how thrilling this was, this assignation. Yes, Rilla decided, that was the proper old-fashioned word for it: assignation. They’d begun walking up to the house again, but he hadn’t let go of her hand. He kept hold of it until they were almost at the front steps.
*
‘Are you listening, Mum? And Dad too, I suppose, but mainly Mum.’
Gwen looked up from the large, hard-backed notebook open in front of her on the kitchen table and nodded absently at Chloë. James was sitting next to her, reading the newspaper. Where did he find the time to read when there was so much to do? She was too preoccupied with the current list (checking to see that arrangements were in hand for parking on the day of the party and had she let everyone know who needed to know) to take in the detail of what her daughter was wearing, but got a general impression of black hung about with metal and wished that Chloë would put on something more like what Beth was wearing. She felt that it was somehow unfair that Rilla’s child looked elegant even in a T-shirt and jeans while hers would have done a good job stuck in a cornfield to scare the crows. She was instantly ashamed of this thought, and made an effort to smile at Chloë and not sound as though she were dissatisfied with her in any way.
‘I’m just going over my lists,’ she said. ‘There are so many of them. I suppose after the party I’ll reach the stage where everything is crossed off every one of them, and by then it’ll be too late to do anything about disasters.’
‘Won’t be any disasters, Mum, don’t worry.’ Chloë stretched her arms out above her head. Philip had come into the kitchen with her and was now leaning against the wall. James put his newspaper aside.
‘What are you after, sweetheart? I can tell you want something,’ he said. ‘You’ve got that look on. I know it well. All right for money, are you?’
‘It’s nothing to do with money, Dad. I just wanted to know what you’ve got planned for displaying the presents, that’s all.’
Gwen ran a hand through her hair and sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, it only occurred to me last week that they ought to be displayed. We’re going to give her our presents, just the family, after dinner on Saturday, but as for all the other gifts, I’ve decided that as people arrive, someone can put the presents on the dining room table or somewhere and then Leonora can open them after the party, when it’s just us. Why?’
‘Because,’ said Chloë, leaning over the table towards Gwen for added emphasis, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea. A few parcels came today, and there’ll be some more tomorrow, and everyone who comes will bring something and there’ll be too many to go on the dining room table, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t really know. I hadn’t thought of that.’ A frown appeared on Gwen’s face.
‘What about this, then?’ said Chloë. ‘Philip and I’ll pick some willow branches and make a tree in the hall and arrange all the presents under it, just like we do with the Christmas tree. I’d decorate it really spectacularly, I promise. We can put the presents Leonora’s already opened nearest the trunk and then all the wrapped ones can go in sort of circles all around it. It’ll be great, really. Please, Mum, please, say we can do it?’
Gwen thought for a moment. ‘I suppose so,’ she said finally, and Chloë leapt up from her chair and ran round to the other side of the table to hug her mother. ‘Fantastic! You won’t regret it, I promise,’ she cried and, grabbing Philip by the hand, she raced out of the kitchen, almost bumping into Rilla and Sean on their way in.
‘Chloë seems on good form,’ Rilla said. ‘She looked as though she was on the way to something really urgent.’
‘She’s had one of her brilliant ideas,’ James said. ‘I don’t think any harm can come of this one though.’ Rilla laughed. Chloë’s ideas had, over the years, led to some spectacular catastrophes. Once she’d decided to try and make a fountain in the middle of the conservatory floor and the whole room had needed recarpeting.
‘Do sit down, Sean,’ said Gwen. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No, thanks, Gwen,’ Sean said. ‘We had tea not long ago.’
‘What was Chloë suggesting?’ Rilla asked, and James told her.
‘That sounds gorgeous!’ she said. ‘It’ll look splendid, Gwen.’
‘I expect it will. And I’m pleased that she wants to do something special for the party. It’s a bit last-minute of course, but that’s typical of the young, isn’t it? I wish she’d thought of asking me weeks ago what she could do to help, instead of springing all this artistic improvisational stuff on us at the last moment. A law unto herself, that girl is.’
‘But she’s very gifted, isn’t she? It’ll work beautifully, Gwen, you know it will.’ Rilla stood up and went to stand near her sister beside the sink. ‘You’re just tired, that’s all, and no wonder. You never stop working, that’s your trouble. Come and sit down with us and have a chat. We’ve just been down to tea with Nanny Mouse.’
Gwen flashed a look at Rilla that she couldn’t interpret. Is that envy crimping Gwen’s mouth, she wondered? Could it possibly be that she’s put out to see me and Sean together? Poor Gwen! She thinks of herself as Queen Bee of Willow Court; the main person in charge of all arrangements, including the filming, so that when anyone else wants to join in, or contribute in some significant way, like Chloë a moment ago, her nose is put slightly out of joint. Rilla felt irritated with her sister and sorry for her at the same time. She said, ‘Nanny Mouse strongly implied that Ethan Walsh used to hit his wife.’
‘She’s confused,’ said Gwen. ‘She can’t remember what she had for breakfast, so I shouldn’t think she’s to be relied on about anything like that. Maybe she’s thinking of something she saw on television.’ She turned to James. ‘I need a long, hot bath after the kind of day I’ve had. I’ll see you upstairs.’
‘That sounds remarkably like a summons,’ said James to Sean and Rilla as he followed his wife out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll take her up a nice cold Pimm’s. Times like these, what would we do without alcohol, eh?’ He gave one last wave in their direction and closed the door behind him.
*
It was still quite early, but James had already changed for dinner and was lying stretched out on their bed. Gwen sat at her dressing-table sipping the last of her drink as she patted some powder on to her nose. She said, ‘I can’t think how Rilla has the patience to go through her make-up routine every day. It would drive me mad. “Slap” she calls it. She says that’s the theatrical word for it.’
‘You don’t need any help from powders and paints, my love. It would be gilding the lily.’
Gwen turned to look at him. ‘Do you want something? What’s all this flattery about?’
James laughed. ‘Can’t a chap pay his wife a compliment? You’re looking particularly fetching tonight.’
‘Thank you,’ Gwen said and picked up her hairbrush. Before a silence could grow between them, she spoke again. Silences that went on too long were not a good idea because they gave her thoughts room to go back to the days when James could not be trusted. That was all long ago now, and he’d sworn to her then that he loved her, loved her best and passionately, and he’d never never never … and so forth. She had made it quite clear that one more infidelity on his part would mean that he never crossed the threshold of Willow Court again, nor exchanged another word with her. That had been the end of the matter. Neither of them had mentioned it since, but James knew that she was careful to watch him and monitor his comings and goings discreetly but thoroughly. Now
she said, ‘I think Rilla’s rather set her cap at Sean. She seems quite smitten, doesn’t she?’
‘He seems a decent chap,’ said James. ‘And they’re both adults and so on. Can’t see the harm in it, myself.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Gwen, ‘but I do hope Rilla isn’t going to get hurt.’
‘Good Lord, why ever should she? You worry too much, my darling.’
‘I suppose I do,’ Gwen said. ‘I can’t help it. Still, I expect it’ll be all right.’
*
This was the best part of the day in summer: the hour or two before dusk, when the sun was low in the sky but not quite setting. Beth was on her way to the lake, and wondered why the pearly light and the warmth and the sight of butterflies hovering above the poppies in the wild garden which normally lifted her spirits were not having their usual effect. The day hadn’t been what she’d dreamed of when she was back in London.
There, she’d found it easy to weave fantasies of herself and Efe walking together through the long grass, which she would soon be walking through all by herself. Also, in her dreams of the weekend she’d forgotten to include swarms of people moving chairs and tables into the marquee, and coming and going constantly over the lawns behind the house. She’d managed to leave the film crew out of her imaginings as well. They kept popping up wherever you went in the house, whenever you least expected it. And somehow she’d blanked out the rest of the family – Fiona smug about the new baby; Douggie running about everywhere; Leonora materializing in that quiet way she had; Rilla mysteriously hidden away in her bedroom for half the morning and then disappearing with Sean Everard; Alex nowhere to be seen for most of the time; and Efe, the main focus of her feelings and attention, not in a sunny holiday mood at all, but looking sulky and cross whenever she caught sight of him.
