by David Evered
‘I stayed in her flat for a week just before she came back to France,’ said Jenny. ‘At the end of that week she was in a considerably better place than she had been earlier but she was still quite disturbed.’
‘She told us you’d been staying with her and what a wonderful friend you’d been. Peter, we just didn’t know what to do – we knew that we had to contact you – she didn’t have any close family, as you know. She was not in touch with her father’s younger brother and it’s quite possible that he’s no longer alive. There was no-one with the name Dunham in her address book. We simply weren’t sure whom else we should contact – all the other names were unfamiliar to us. Many were clearly professional contacts from the addresses and then there were a number of names with private addresses but none of them meant anything to us. Will you look at it as well, Peter?’
‘I will but I’m not sure I’ll be able to add anything much. Sally’s life was very compartmentalised. The only other people I can think of might be the family in Norfolk with whom she used to spend Christmas. I’m not sure of their name but it might be possible to identify them from their address. They’ve known Sally for some years. Could we talk more about this tomorrow? I just need to go outside for a while to try to take this in.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ asked Jenny tentatively.
‘I’m not sure – yes, it might be helpful but I’m not sure how much I want to talk – if at all.’
‘That’s alright.’
Peter looked over at Tilly. ‘Do you mind if we just go and walk quietly somewhere in the grounds?’
‘No, of course not. I’m just desperately sorry to be the bearer of such awful news. Take as much time as you want. We have two spare rooms here in our flat – I think it might be best for you to stay here for the moment. We can go over to Sally’s tomorrow as we have a key and you can decide what you want to do, and what we need to do, after that. You are more than welcome to stay here.’
Jenny put her arm round Peter as he walked slowly and silently to the edge of the pines which lay behind the château. He sat on a bench with his head in his hands – mute and uncomprehending. Eventually he turned and said, ‘Jenny, what have I done? I can’t believe this – I don’t want to believe it. But it’s true. I’ve failed her and it has all followed from my immature wish to follow my fantasy and become a writer. I’ve killed her.’
‘Peter, don’t say that. You can’t be held responsible – we don’t even know what happened for sure and quite possibly never shall. Remember, I spent a week in Sally’s flat at the end of last month and we talked endlessly. I know that she had worried in the past that her fate might be the same as her father’s but that did not arise while we were together. Her main concerns were that she should make things right with you and that the two of you should remain close, very close. They were very positive thoughts.’
‘I should have come out here straightaway after we met in Northumberland. I should not have delayed. Everything would have been different had I done so.’
Jenny shifted uncomfortably, aware that the delay in Peter’s departure for France was due to the time it had taken for her to arrange leave from work. Eventually she said, ‘No-one could have known that this would happen.’
‘But I should have called – I should not simply have sent her a card. I only did that because I had a postcard of Dunstanburgh Castle and I knew that would strike a chord with her. Even if I couldn’t let her know immediately after the bank holiday when we would be coming, I should have rung to let her know that we were planning to be with her in June.’
‘Oh Peter, you could not have known what was to happen – nobody could have foreseen this.’
‘Is that really true – can it be true? Would this have happened if our paths had not crossed?’
‘Peter, I can’t answer “what ifs”. Nobody can. They are unanswerable.’
‘There is so much more that I might have done. I should not have let her go last month.’
‘I don’t think you could have stopped her. It was Sally’s decision that she needed time – it was her choice. I know that from the long evenings we spent together before the bank holiday weekend when we talked endlessly about her life and her hopes for the future. I know she was thinking positively when she left and that you were central to all her positive thoughts.’
‘But I could have done more – phone calls or I could have written. I should have written.’
‘Peter, I’m quite sure if Sally could communicate with you now, with us, she would say continue living, follow your stars and dreams. We may both have to live with a sense of inadequacy, even if it’s not justified. And we’ll never know if it’s justified or not. Either way, we have to live through a time of intense sadness – we have lost a remarkable friend.’ Jenny looked up to see someone coming towards them. ‘Peter, someone’s coming over – could this be Tilly’s husband?’
Jonny came close. ‘I don’t want to intrude but I just came to say how sorry I am that Sally has gone and how terrible it must have been for you to learn of the accident in this way. Like you, we cannot come to terms with it. It’s so final.’ Peter nodded. ‘She seemed somehow more content when we saw her last week than she had been a month or so earlier when she discussed her emotional turmoil with us. You must both stay here with us for the next few days. I’ll take you over to see her on Monday if that is still what you want to do.’
‘Yes, I do, but what happens after that?’
Jonny sat beside them. ‘I understand there will be a post-mortem as it was an accidental death and I assume some sort of an inquest. We’re not sure how these things are done in France.’ He paused. ‘This might not be the best time to discuss this but we need to think what to do after tomorrow. As far as we know, Sally had no close relatives. Someone needs to take steps towards finding out if she does and for organising her funeral. I think it will probably have to be the four of us.’ Peter nodded. ‘We should also go over to the house and make sure that all is well there. There is never going to be a good time to discuss these things but it might help us all if we were to have practical things to do.’ Peter nodded again. ‘We simply have no idea what Sally’s wishes might have been.’
* * *
The following days passed almost as if detached from a reality that none of them wished to acknowledge. The sense of finality was too overwhelming to comprehend fully. Peter and Jenny went over to Sally’s house. They collected the mail from the box. It included the card he had sent. She had not seen it. Peter cursed himself again and again for his failure to telephone. It was simply a whimsical and romantic act which had led him to post an image of Dunstanburgh to Sally. He could not free himself from the thought that possibly she had deliberately driven the car off the road. It was not possible to envisage what thoughts might have colonised and filled her mind, and what feelings of despair might have driven her to her death. Jenny, Tilly and Jonny reassured him endlessly that it was most likely to have been a tragic if inexplicable accident, but it was impossible to dispel the sense of melancholy and guilt which overcame him.
Jenny searched through Sally’s address book and found the names of David and Jane Straker in Norfolk. Peter called them hesitantly, explaining who he was, and was surprised when they immediately responded by saying that they knew that he was Sally’s lover. He choked and was unable to continue for a few moments before he could tell them of Sally’s death. There was a stunned silence before they asked what they could do to help. Peter was relieved to receive the offer of help and they agreed to take steps towards organising the funeral once the legal formalities had been completed. They confirmed that Sally had no immediate relatives and they believed that the uncle in Canada had died a few years earlier. Peter then called Michael who agreed to arrange the repatriation of Sally’s body to England, after the police investigation had been completed and the Procureur had issued the burial permit.
* * *
Peter reflected as he listened, once more, to the melancholy and dispiriting words of the Anglican funeral service that his odyssey had been framed by two accidental deaths. Andrew’s challenges had provided the stimulus that had initiated his journey. Sally had been his companion, mentor and lover who had given him the assurance to pursue his aspirations and to reshape his life in so many ways. He was close to despair at the thought that this was a journey he would have to continue alone, yet it was not a journey he could or should abandon. Among Sally’s innumerable gifts to him was this enduring legacy, a legacy more valuable than any tangible item, a legacy too valuable to squander. He knew that he had more to learn by going, with no certainty about a final destination, but go he must.
35
Nearly a year had passed since Sally’s death. Jonny and Tilly had invited Peter and Jenny to the Dordogne to mark the anniversary. Jenny had suggested going to Dunstanburgh over the May Bank Holiday weekend beforehand, which they agreed would be a fitting prelude to their trip to France. They parked the car once more in Craster and the smell of kippers instantly triggered memories for Peter. They walked silently and slowly along the coastal path to the castle and then very slowly to the cliff edge. Jenny took his hand and said quietly, ‘This place was so important for Sally and you, and it has also become so for me. I feel that today is a day of pilgrimage and that this, in a sense, is a shrine to her memory. She has given both of us so much.’
They stood looking down as the waves struck the base of the cliff, throwing diaphanous plumes of spray of infinite variety into the air. The thunderous noise as each successive wave cannoned into the rocks below sheltered and isolated them from their surroundings. Peter looked at Jenny. ‘It was a good idea to come here. We’re standing on almost the exact spot where I first saw Sally three years ago.’ He pointed. ‘I was resting on the grass just over there. It’s somewhat ironic that my first concern was that she was contemplating suicide, although it became clear that nothing could have been further from her mind at that time.’
Jenny looked at him and said gently, ‘And we don’t know that it was ever at the forefront of her mind. I know, as you do, that one of her demons was the thought that her father’s fate might also be a portent of her own destiny. But during the week that I spent in her flat last year, she was certainly agitated and anxious but never once did it appear that she was in any way suicidal. Through her agitation, she had hopes for a positive future – and a positive future in which you would be not only a major part but the major part.’
‘I still find it difficult to get the thought out of my mind that she might have ended her own life.’
‘Peter, we can never know exactly what happened that morning but there is one thing of which I am absolutely certain. Sally would never have wanted to generate demons in your mind.’ They walked up the slope and sat by the walls of the castle.
‘You’re right. I was struck by what you said just now that this journey is in a sense a pilgrimage. This place has been so important to us – perhaps we should come here every year. I’ve never been able to decide what should be done with Sally’s ashes – perhaps we should scatter them here. So many key events seem to have happened during the last three years, since that first meeting.’ He looked at Jenny. ‘And you’ve been the most wonderful and supportive friend to me throughout, as you were to Sally. I’m so glad that you are coming with me to Sarlat next month.’
* * *
It was a long drive to Sarlat and Peter and Jenny arrived at the house late in the morning at the start of the second week in June. Tilly and Jonny had bought some basic provisions for them and left a note saying they hoped that they would join them for dinner at the château at the end of the week. Peter walked round the house opening the shutters and, as he did so, the bright midday sun flooded in. Wandering through the rooms, he recalled the last time he and Jenny had been here nearly a year ago when, with the help of Jonny and Tilly, they had performed the melancholy tasks of sorting Sally’s possessions and arranging for them to be repatriated to England. He walked back into his room in the house and stood by the window. The view was as he remembered it with the meadow stretching down to the pines in the valley below, the mauves and pinks of the wild flowers amongst the meadow grass and the spasmodic movements of the lizards on the wall. He smiled as he recalled the mystical moment when he had awakened that first morning in this room. It had been and remained a scene of unparalleled beauty and serenity. He turned and walked out onto the terrace where Jenny had laid out the baguette, cheese, pâté and wine that they had bought for their lunch. He walked to the edge of the paved area and looked towards the woods which lay between the house and the town. Tears filled his eyes as the memories engulfed him. Jenny remained silent.
Finally, he walked across to the table and sat down, looking at Jenny as she silently handed him a glass of wine. He began to talk haltingly. ‘You know, in some ways, many ways, I was dreading coming back to the house here. I was just not sure what memories it would evoke nor how I would feel. I thought that Sally’s presence would overshadow every moment that I spend here and so it does, but not in the way that I had feared. I can certainly sense her presence but it’s a benign presence, a caring presence, a benevolent presence. I can understand why this place provided her with such a degree of peace which she found difficult to find elsewhere, despite its memories for her. This place has retained its magic in a way I never thought would be possible. I think it also helps to allay some of the concerns I’ve had about the nature of her death. It has been one of the most important way-stations for me during the last three years. My times with Sally are too important to forget or suppress.’ Jenny laid a hand on his arm. Peter continued, ‘We’re here for a week and I’d been wondering what we might do during that time. We should certainly accept the Brownings’ invitation to dinner but I should also like to re-visit the local places which Sally and I used to frequent – Sarlat, “our” beach by the river, the walks we took, Beynac, Domme.’
‘Would you prefer to do that on your own?’
‘No, if you would like to, then I should very much like you to come with me. You too became close to her and were a good friend. I feel I want to share my memories of Sally with you and I know that you’ll understand if at times I’m tearful, but I don’t want to forget. I want to remember positively. Perhaps you’ll share some of your memories with me? I guess you have some of this area too from the time you spent here with Stefan and Cass. There are not many emotions that I haven’t shared with you over the last year – and that goes back to our first visit to Dunstanburgh nearly two years ago now.’
* * *
‘I think that we should drink to Sally,’ said Jonny on the Saturday evening. ‘She was a remarkable woman who not only touched but also changed all our lives.’ They were sitting round the dinner table in the Brownings apartment in the château. ‘It is one year ago today that she died. We’ll never know exactly why or how it happened but it’s much more important to cherish the memory of her and the times when we enjoyed her company.’ They raised their glasses.
‘Tell us what you’ve been up to this week,’ said Tilly. ‘We are so pleased that you’ve come back and that you’re here with us this evening.’
‘I have to admit that I was very apprehensive about coming back,’ said Peter, ‘but in many ways it has been a good week, although naturally tinged with sadness. I had thought that to return to a place which had become such a symbol of so much important change in my life would be unbearably painful after what happened, but it has not been so. It’s true it has been painful at times but it has also been a good week. Sally and I shared so much while I was here. I, we, have visited places which I got to know so well, evoking memories of the times that Sally and I spent together, and these have been good memories – ones to treasure. Visiting them has helped lay some ghosts to rest.’
‘We are so pleased about that,’ said Jonny. ‘We we
re wondering what you intended to do with the house.’
‘I was totally taken aback, when Sally’s will was found in the flat in London, to find that codicil leaving the house in France to me. I couldn’t believe it. My first reaction, particularly remembering the sad time we had spent sorting out her effects, was to come back this summer and put it on the market but now I no longer want to do that. I want to keep it and to come here as frequently as possible. My times here have become an intrinsic part of my life. I don’t want to lose that – this place is too precious to me now.’
Tilly looked at him. ‘You have no idea how happy that makes us. We were so concerned for you when you left last summer to go back to England for Sally’s funeral. We would have understood it if you had decided to sell the house, but you provide a link to Sally whom we looked on as a surrogate daughter and that would have been severed if you had decided to sell. Sally loved you dearly and I am quite certain that her death was a tragic, if unexplained, accident. She made her feelings for you very clear the last time we saw her. I cannot believe that she would have ended her own life – that love was simply too important to her. I’m sorry,’ she added as Peter’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No, it’s alright,’ said Peter. ‘I do want to be able to talk about her. She was so important to me. I don’t wish to expunge memories nor do I wish to make it difficult for myself or for others to talk about her. And you and Jenny provide a tangible link to Sally – and that is one I never want to lose.’
‘We are also happy that you’re thinking of coming back here regularly,’ added Jonny. ‘Having got to know you well now, we’re beginning to look on you as part of our extended family. But tell us – what are your plans and how’s the writing going?’
‘Quite well, I think. I’ve completed a second book. I seem to have struck a reasonable balance between working part-time and writing. The first two books are now with the agent and they’re going to be published.’
