Beyond the Arch

by David Evered

  ‘That is an excellent choice but what about dessert?’

  ‘I’m not sure I shall be up to a dessert after all that.’

  ‘We can always add that later or offer you some cheese. We only offer a small number of choices and all that we serve is fresh. Now tell us how you got to know Sally.’

  He explained that he had met her quite by chance and offered an abridged account of the previous year.

  ‘And how well do you know her?’

  ‘In some ways I feel that I know her well and in others scarcely at all. She can be a very private person, but you have obviously known her for some time.’

  ‘Yes, for much of her teenage years and all her adult life, but what do you know of her family?’

  ‘Only that her parents died relatively young and that she has no close family. She doesn’t talk of them much.’

  ‘You’re right, she is a very private person despite her easy manner socially. You are, we believe, the one person who seems to have got close to her in the last few years. You are certainly the only one who has been invited for an extended stay here.’ He paused before continuing. ‘I hope that I’m not speaking out of turn and I hope you’ll treat what I say in confidence. I only say it so that you may perhaps understand her better. She has had a difficult time. As you know, her father was a diplomat. She spent part of her childhood abroad in various places. Will retired slightly early, two or three years before he was sixty, after the death of their son, but then he himself died very suddenly. He committed suicide. It was devastating for the family. Colette had this house near Sarlat which I believe she inherited from her parents. She decided to cut herself off from all her links in London and move back here after his death. We saw her once or twice in the year after Will’s death but then she developed an invasive cancer and died within two years of her husband. Sally was left on her own through her years at university and as she made her way in her career. She was well enough provided for financially and we would include her in some of our family celebrations but she’s always been very independent and determined to chart her own course through life and has always avoided situations where she has been reliant on others.’

  ‘She has never said more to me than that her parents were no longer alive. I’ve never felt that it would be proper to probe and I didn’t know that she had had a brother.’

  ‘That is the other major sadness in Sally’s life. Her brother George was a twin and he died when he was fifteen. Sally and her parents were in Bonn when he died. He was at boarding school in England and contracted meningitis, as did two other pupils in the school. It was not long after that Will decided to retire early and that was followed by his suicide a year later. It’s difficult to believe that George’s death was not a factor in Will’s suicide. Sally was very close to her brother, as twins frequently are, even non-identical twins.’

  ‘Does she have more distant relatives?’

  ‘Her father had a younger brother and she has some cousins. We met them briefly at Will’s funeral but I don’t think they were close. I believe the brother was a good number of years younger. As far as we know, there are no close relatives on Colette’s side. Her family, of course, lived through the German occupation, although she was married and living in England by that time. She was always very reluctant to speak of it. You will understand why we sometimes feel protective towards Sally – although she is well able to look after herself. We sensed that you were becoming very close to her which is why I thought I would tell you this.’

  ‘I like to think I am – and I value her friendship very highly. Thank you. I shall, of course, not break your confidence.’

  ‘Tell us, what are her plans now and what are yours?’

  ‘As you know, she has this project which will involve a great deal of travelling in this country and Germany and this will continue until the end of October when she will come back here. She then plans to shut the house up sometime after All Saints and go back to London for the winter. I shall be here until that time, writing. It’s a wonderful haven.’

  ‘Good, we shall certainly invite you over again and the two of you when she is back at the beginning of November. Now we should talk about less serious things and enjoy our dinner. We’ve been fortunate enough to find an excellent chef, an absolute prerequisite for success in this business in France. And you must tell us frankly if there is anything which you spot which might improve the environment for the hotel guests.’

  ‘From what I have seen so far, that is unlikely.’

  The evening passed quickly and congenially and Peter retired to bed, sated and mellow. He left his hosts the following morning and was pressed to return for an evening during October.

  * * *

  The following evening Jenny called to say that they would be arriving in Sarlat two days later and would probably stay for two nights before moving on to St Etienne. They arranged to meet at noon in Sarlat so that Peter could guide them back to the house. After dinner on the evening of their arrival, they relaxed to music which they had brought with them. They had driven south in a leisurely manner and stayed for several days exploring the valley of the Loire before heading for the Dordogne. Some evenings they had created their own music as Stefan had brought his violin along, in the expectation that there would be some informal music-making on the margins of the jazz festival in St Etienne. His musical career had developed over the previous few months. He had landed a job with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and was in the process of forming a string quartet with former students at the Academy and one of his new colleagues in the orchestra.

  ‘I thought that your ambitions were to play Gypsy Jazz,’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes, they are but I also have other ambitions. I’m classically trained and love many types of music. Who knows where my career will take me! I’m happy to be labelled a crossover artist, despite the negative connotations that has for some. I just love playing, that’s why I have my instrument with me.’

  ‘Perhaps you might play tomorrow evening? I had some vague ideas for tomorrow, but it’s up to you as it’s the only full day that you have in this area. I was going to suggest that we drive up the valley of the Vézère and visit the prehistoric sites around Les Eyzies. There are also many châteaux we could visit but I suspect that after the Loire you may well feel that you have seen enough castles for this year. There are also some wonderful walks close to the village. I would also suggest that we go up to the bastide of Domme in the evening and watch the sun setting over the valley. It’s a wonderful sight. Alternatively, if that all sounds too much, we could just chill out locally in Sarlat or by the river. Either way, I would suggest that we still go to Domme at the end of the day.’

  They looked at each other and agreed on a compromise: a visit to Les Eyzies and a relaxed afternoon to be followed by the evening in Domme. At the end of the day they drove up to the village and walked along to the Belvédère de Barre, carrying a bottle of wine and glasses, to watch the evening sun slowly fall away in the west over the village of Beynac. The rays caressed the surface of the river, creating a phosphorescent golden ribbon which slowly faded to a deep blue as night fell. The sky dissolved from vivid azure to inky black and as it did so myriad points of light emerged from the houses along the river, casting threads of light over the darkening water. As the night encompassed them, they dropped back to the benches on the edge of the square and opened the wine. Stefan disappeared briefly and returned from the car with his violin. He played the jazz standard Dark Eyes, looking at Cass as he did so. She then walked across and kissed him, whispering in his ear. With an abrupt change of style and mood, he moved on to the light and lilting refrain of Dvořák’s Humoresque and then slowed the tempo as he played the Meditation from Thaïs. He lingered over the sensuous phrases, the slow vibrato creating a sense of romance tinged with melancholy. He paused for a few moments; a small crowd had gathered drawn by the music and he received a round of applau
se. Stefan had been lost in his music-making and was unaware that he had attracted an audience so was surprised by the sound of the clapping behind him. He turned back to Cass, Jenny and Peter and raised his violin once more. The strains of Elgar’s Salut d’Amour flowed over them and, as the final plaintive note faded into the dark of the night, they sat for a few lingering moments. Jenny leaned across to Peter and whispered, ‘That was magical, it’s all magical. Will you ever be able to leave this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he smiled. ‘Uncertainty seems to be the leitmotiv of my life at present but I’m surprisingly content with that.’

  They ambled back to the centre of the village. Peter turned to them. ‘It would break the spell that Stefan has cast if we were all simply to go our separate ways. Why don’t we stay and eat here in the square?’ There was little hesitation as they looked at one another and agreed. They finally drove back slowly to the house, reluctant to bring the evening to an end. Jenny came close to Peter at the door of the house and put her arms round him. ‘I was just wondering if Cass and Stefan might have preferred a little more privacy for one night than is possible with three of us in the motor home.’

  Peter looked at her and after some moments of hesitation he said, ‘Jenny, I love you dearly but my life is complicated just now. I don’t think that I am able to add to that complexity just at the moment.’

  She looked a little rueful. ‘I understand, but that proposition was not simply the effect of the mood of this magical evening nor a whim of the moment.’

  ‘I’m flattered. I’ve got to know you better during the last few months than I ever did in the years when I was married to Ann. You are very special.’

  ‘I did say when we were last together that I wouldn’t promise not to do this again,’ and she kissed him firmly on the lips and he responded warmly. ‘Good night, you complicated man.’

  He headed back to his bed uncertain of his feelings. A longing for Jenny pervaded his thinking and his body, and twice he was tempted to knock on the door of the motor caravan and bring her back to his bed. There was a straightforwardness and directness about her words and affections which encircled him with an opulent warmth. Her sincerity and lack of inhibition were so strikingly different from her sister and perhaps from Sally too. Yet here he was, in Sally’s house and beholden to her for so much that had been exhilarating in his life over the last few months. She had provided him with a lifetime of experiences which he could never have envisaged when his original, poorly formulated ambition to free himself from the cage of conventionality had first surfaced with any force only a year earlier. It was difficult to analyse with any precision what she meant to him and impossible to foresee if he had a longer term future with her. Even if this were to be, it was not clear what the nature of the longer term future might be. Her alluring presence had bewitched him. Was she his lover or was he simply her loving friend? Was there a difference and could such a relationship ever be simple? He had been enamoured by her gently humorous and sardonic observations on life and circumstances and he had learned at least some reasons why this might be. But beneath the composed exterior he knew there was an immense capacity for kindness and generosity and almost certainly many other facets of her personality which he had yet to discover but which he might never unveil. He was not wholly sure that Jenny’s final remark had been entirely right. Possibly it was circumstances which were complicated rather than that he was intrinsically a complex man; but maybe this distinction was simply sophistry on his part. Yet as he turned in his bed he reflected that he was happier than he had ever been during his adult life. Happiness and fulfilment, if not equanimity and tranquillity, could derive from ambiguity and perplexity. He wondered if his uncertainties would be resolved by the time of the self-ordained deadline when his leave of absence would come to an end, or might he, in footballing terms, require extra time or even injury time? He was quietly amused at the thought.

  Cass, Stefan and Jenny left the following morning. As they were going, Jenny hugged Peter and said, ‘Let’s get together when you’re back in the winter. I want to know how your complicated life is developing.’

  22

  Sally telephoned shortly after Jenny and the others had left. ‘How are you? I’d been hoping to call you earlier than this but my time has been so taken up between travelling, pre-arranged interviews with a very tight schedule and trying to find time to talk to people informally.’

  ‘I’d been wondering how you were getting on. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Munich. This is the most challenging and interesting journalistic assignment that I’ve ever taken on. I’m accumulating so much material, some of it has an immediacy about it which needs to be reported promptly. I’m already feeding this back to London. At times I almost feel like a news reporter! But much of what I’m hearing and seeing will need detailed analysis and reflection if I’m to transmit properly the wide range of opinions which abound and the more subtle nuances which are fine-tuning those opinions. But tell me how you’ve been.’

  ‘Well, since I’ve been back I’ve reached a point when I’m eager to start writing each morning and I quite often continue to write well outside the fixed times that I’ve set for myself. It remains a challenge but it is not a chore.’

  ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘I hope so but I won’t fall into the trap of assuming that quantity necessarily equates with quality! I’m currently scoring highly for effort but it will be a matter for others to judge to what extent my exertions have any literary impact.’

  ‘I hope you’ve not felt too isolated.’

  ‘No, not at all. I was invited to join Tilly and Jonny for a night at the end of last week. The castle is magnificent and the setting is amazing. The evening with them was very relaxed. I gather that you knew them long before they settled in the region.’

  ‘Yes, they probably told you a little about the circumstances in which they first met my parents and that they used to socialise when we were back in London. But what about the evening with your ex-sister-in-law and her friends?’

  ‘They came and stayed a couple of nights and left this morning. We had a magical evening yesterday in Domme. We watched the sun set over the river and as it grew dark Stefan played his violin – beautifully – gathering quite an audience of appreciative locals and visitors. It was a magical and, in some ways, a mystical evening. It was one of those occasions which one could wish to replicate weekly for the rest of one’s days. It has left me with a picture which I have already tried to describe in words.’

  ‘Peter, that sounds wonderful.’ She laughed. ‘It also sounds as if you could be seduced by the possibility of the life of a lotus-eater! You did after all refer to your journey as an odyssey! Perhaps you might need to be dragged back to reality at some stage.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it in that way and I certainly don’t want to be dragged back to the reality of my former life just yet. But I have not totally succumbed to a life of languor and forgetfulness – at least not yet.’

  ‘No, I suspect your middle-class protestant work ethic would never quite permit that. More seriously, there is one thing that I did want to ask you. I have recorded many of my interviews and have managed to find people to make copies of the tapes. I’m planning to have three copies made of each – one for London, one for me and I should like to send the third one to you by post every few days. I don’t want to run the risk of any of this going astray.’

  ‘Good idea and that’s fine. But what are your plans after the end of next month?’

  ‘I thought I’d return to Sarlat by way of London and spend my time writing there well away from the distractions of the city. What do you want or plan to do?’

  ‘I’ve promised to go back to London to see the family over the winter and Christmas, but I have no fixed dates in mind. Would it be a hindrance to you if I stayed on until sometime around the middle of November?’

  ‘No,
the occasional distractions you offer would be more than welcome from time to time!’

  ‘I’m more than happy to be a distraction, and maybe something more than that.’

  ‘You are, but can we stop the conversation there? It’s important not to say words that cannot then be unsaid.’

  They spoke for a further few minutes and then rang off, leaving Peter with a deep-seated sense of unease.

  * * *

  Summer in the Périgord was turning to autumn. The pale ochre of the leaves in the previous week had become a mellow gold. The departure of the summer visitors had left the indigenous community to its own private domestic ways and the town now seemed quiet and introspective. The house felt emptier as each day passed. Peter found that the impenetrable quietude of the French countryside generated a sense of aloneness which was profoundly unsettling. He needed the opportunity to think clearly about his immediate future. Only three months of his leave of absence had elapsed but this had exposed him to many new environments, experiences and emotions which he was finding exciting and intellectually challenging but also disturbing. He had moved so far out of his comfort zone and was not sure he was adequately equipped to see his way forward. Much of his life in the last year had been shaped by extrinsic events and interactions. Sally’s earlier words had found their target. He had embarked on an exhilarating but perplexing journey through a mysterious land and was travelling hesitantly to an unknown and unknowable destination. The writing was proceeding well, at least in terms of quantity. He had generated approximately thirty-five thousand words. The emotional tumult he had experienced at the end of Jenny’s visit continued to perturb him at times. Sally remained intriguing, inscrutable and elusive. He relished her company as a mentor, as a friend and as a lover but a barrier remained between them which he had been unable to cross and which, perhaps, was insurmountable. He remained uncertain of his status in her mind but felt he was becoming increasingly able to view the evolution of their relationship with a degree of detachment. That evening, he selected some music to match his melancholy mood and was assailed by the plangent tones of the first Bruch violin concerto. He cooked himself a simple meal and opened a bottle of wine which he consumed slowly to assuage his sense of isolation before falling into a dreamless sleep.