The Forget-Me-Not Sonata

by Santa Montefiore

  When Isla returned home from school she was pale and tearful, claiming that she felt unwell. Albert rolled his eyes and accused her of pretending in order to get attention and Rose silently agreed with him until she took the girl’s temperature to find that she had been struck down by a nasty bout of flu. ‘I ache all over,’ she wailed, crawling beneath the sheets and curling up into a ball.

  ‘You’ll be fine, Isla dear,’ reassured her mother gently. ‘I’ll make you a nice hot drink of lemon and honey and have you right in no time.’

  ‘I suppose she won’t have to go to school tomorrow,’ Albert grumbled. It wasn’t the first time that Isla had skipped school due to some phantom illness. But this time she had the temperature to prove it and lay in bed soaking up all the attention with the melodramatic air of an actress.

  ‘Oh, darling Isla,’ Audrey sighed taking her sister’s hot hand in hers. ‘You poor thing. Do you feel dreadful?’

  ‘Dreadful,’ replied Isla. ‘But you can cheer me up. Are you going to see Louis tonight?’

  ‘Of course, then I’m going to tell Cecil the truth.’

  Isla pulled a face as if she doubted her sister had the courage to be so bold. ‘Just Cecil or are you going to tell Mummy and Daddy the truth as well?’

  ‘Everyone, I’m sick of lying and hiding the way I feel, so is Louis.’

  ‘Good!’ Isla exclaimed, grinning widely. ‘I can’t wait to watch the ripples.’

  ‘I feel sorry for Cecil though, you know, he’s a very sweet man. He doesn’t deserve to be treated the way I’ve treated him. I’ve been horrid and careless with his feelings.’

  ‘Oh, goodness me, Audrey,’ chided Isla. ‘It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have rushed in like that. It was only the first dinner invitation, men aren’t supposed to propose so soon.’ Then she looked at Audrey through narrowed eyes that sparkled with flu and mischief combined. ‘You must have encouraged him to be so impulsive.’ Audrey’s face paled with horror.

  ‘I did nothing to encourage him,’ she protested firmly, affronted by the accusation. ‘Nothing.’ She folded her arms defensively, recalling with a shudder that she had allowed him to hold her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that you had encouraged him on purpose, only that he must have read you wrong.’

  ‘He certainly read me wrong,’ she replied swiftly, averting her eyes from her sister’s intense scrutiny.

  ‘You’ll put it right,’ Isla reassured her. ‘Just prepare for the storm.’

  Aunt Hilda sat at her dressing table rubbing cold cream into the cracks in her skin. Like many women who lived in hot climates she had allowed her face to be burned too many times by the sun, but no amount of caring now could erase the rough texture of solar damage or the ever-increasing corrosion of bitterness which scorched her features with equal intensity. If youth had once bestowed on her a handsomeness of sorts, age had robbed her of it. There was little that was attractive in her cold, bloodshot eyes and in the thin line of her mouth, which rarely smiled even during the rare moments when she genuinely had something to be happy about. She was incapable of taking pleasure from other people’s good fortune and had settled into the habit of being perpetually disappointed with her own life. To Aunt Hilda her negative world was as dependable as it was reassuringly familiar. When Nelly, her second and least insipid daughter, entered her room with the news that Isla was bedridden with flu, Hilda stopped tormenting her face with cream and remarked that she didn’t believe it for a second. ‘That child runs circles around Rose,’ she sighed. ‘I have good reason to believe that she’s enjoying a secret tryst with that ghastly Louis Forrester. Flu indeed.’

  Nelly, who had been raised on an unhealthy diet of her mother’s resentment that her sister’s daughters were more beautiful and charming than hers, enjoyed nothing more than to indulge in long conversations tailored to undermine her cousins’ perfection and make her feel better about herself, albeit temporarily. The fact that she too was sweet on Louis Forrester made her eagerness to criticize all the more intense. ‘What makes you think that?’ Nelly asked, concealing her mortification by feigning disgust. Hilda replaced the lid on the cream then removed the excess from her face with a tissue.

  ‘It’s perfectly obvious to everyone else, Nelly, except dear Rose and Henry,’ she replied. ‘They’re far too distracted by Audrey’s romance with Cecil. I tell you, they’ll rue the day those two boys descended on Hurlingham.’

  ‘But how do you know Louis is in love with Isla?’ Nelly persisted impatiently. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. ‘Isla’s too young to be interested in boys, I’m certain of it.’

  Her mother scoffed and raised her over-plucked eyebrows into her shiny brow.

  ‘My dear, Edna agrees with me. Rose even noticed them passing notes to each other, and apparently a lot of horse play goes on between them.’

  ‘Why would they bother to keep it secret? Isla’s no stranger to trouble. She thrives on it.’

  ‘That may be so, but she knows the difference between “trouble” and “scandal”. She’s as shrewd as a stoat that one. Thinks she’s pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. Flu indeed. She’s just feigning being ill so she can enjoy secret rendezvous with Louis. Mark my words.’

  ‘If it’s true, Louis and Isla are made for one another, they’re both irresponsible,’ said Nelly in order to provoke her mother to expand on the subject. Her ploy worked for Hilda swivelled around on her stool and drew her pink dressing gown across her bony chest.

  ‘You’re so right, Nelly. At least I bred a daughter with a fine mind. Isla’s got the cunning of a fox but her mind is filled with goodness knows what. Young men these days respect women who think. To choose to embark on a secret liaison with Louis Forrester is to choose social suicide. Yes, it is, mark my words. The stories that have made their way across the Atlantic, and I suppose he thought his past would never catch up with him.’ She raised her eyebrows again to insinuate all sorts of horrors. ‘A woman’s virtue is her greatest asset, she loses that and she loses everything,’ she said solemnly, clearly reinforcing her daughter’s education on the matter. Nelly was unable to meet her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Are you suggesting that Louis is only after one thing, Mummy?’ she asked, blushing deeply at the sensual thoughts that entered her head and served only to make him more attractive.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Thank goodness you and your sisters have too much class to catch his roving eye.’ But Nelly longed to catch his eye and secretly she admired and resented Isla’s courage. If it were her, she would find him irresistible too.

  It was raining hard as Louis and Cecil arrived at the Garnets’ house for drinks. Cecil was eager to see Audrey and hopeful for an answer, while Louis was desperate to finish with the whole charade and tell everyone the truth. Isla languished in her bed, her fever rising with such speed and viciousness that Rose had called the doctor. The wind of Fate rattled the window as if threatening to fight its way in and carry Isla off into the darkness.

  She heard the rain pound against the glass and in her fragile state of mind, debilitated by fever, she believed the scratching to be the clawing of a hideous beast and cried out for her mother. Rose was too distracted by her younger daughter to give any attention to the brothers who shuffled in out of the cold, shaking their wet shoulders like dogs. So Henry discussed business with Cecil in the sitting room by the fire while Louis sulked on the sofa, wishing that Audrey would end his nightmare by telling everyone the truth. But Audrey waited anxiously for the doctor with her mother. Cecil felt it wasn’t the moment to press her for an answer and Louis realized that they’d just have to wait to drop their bombshell.

  When the doctor arrived the two women fell on him, Audrey taking his soaking coat while Rose almost pushed him in the direction of the stairs. ‘She’s delirious, doctor, the fever is vicious, vicious,’ she repeated, shaking her head with worry. ‘She’s sweating profusely and mumbling things about a monster.
I hope there’s something you can do to alleviate the poor child’s suffering.’ Doctor Swanson, an old Englishman with the thick woolly head of a sheep and the ruddy round face of a man who liked a few strong drinks after a heavy day’s work, followed Rose up to Isla’s bedroom, clutching his black doctor’s case which had always fascinated the sisters as children. Now it merely looked ominous and Audrey was gripped with fear.

  When he saw Isla’s burning eyes he put down his case and walked to the side of the bed, frowning gravely. ‘You have quite a fever, my girl,’ he said, placing his cold hand on her forehead. Isla blinked at him mutely, overwhelmed by the force that was sucking the energy out of her with such velocity.

  ‘She was just off colour when she came back from school this afternoon,’ said Rose, wringing her hands. ‘It’s been very quick. One minute she had a temperature, the next minute she was on fire.’ Doctor Swanson pulled up a chair and sat down, drawing his black bag onto his knee.

  ‘Am I going to die?’ Isla asked suddenly.

  Doctor Swanson chuckled in amusement. ‘Not from the flu, my dear. No one here has ever died of the flu,’ he said reassuringly, taking out a long black stethoscope.

  ‘Really, Isla, don’t say such things,’ cried Audrey, looking to her mother for support.

  ‘Trust Isla to be such a dramatist,’ said Rose, feigning amusement. But she felt uncomfortable as if her instincts were trying to tell her something. ‘Come, Audrey, let’s give the doctor some room,’ she said, leading her eldest onto the landing.

  ‘You go down and talk to the boys, Henry must be boring them with business. That’s not why they came over, they have all day to talk business,’ she said. But Audrey didn’t want to go.

  ‘I want to wait with you.’

  ‘No, dear, Cecil will be disappointed if you don’t go down.’

  ‘Isla’s more important,’ she protested.

  ‘And she’ll be fine. She’s got a bad case of the flu. As the doctor said, no one’s ever died here of flu.’

  ‘All right, I’ll go down, but only if you promise to come and tell us what he says the minute he’s gone.’ Rose nodded her head and pushed her daughter gently by the elbow. Audrey heard her mother return to Isla’s room and close the door behind her.

  The atmosphere in the sitting room was tense even though Albert and his two younger brothers played whist at the card table in the corner. Audrey sat beside Louis on the sofa while Cecil watched her stiffly from the armchair. ‘How is she?’ Henry asked in his usual phlegmatic tone as if he were asking as a matter of routine.

  ‘She’s not at all well, Daddy,’ Audrey replied solemnly.

  ‘Poor girl,’ said Louis, holding Audrey’s eyes for as long as he could without giving himself away. Audrey knew what he was thinking, but to her surprise she was unable to feel anything but anxiety for her sister.

  ‘She looks dreadful,’ she continued. ‘She was fine earlier, it’s just suddenly taken hold of her.’

  ‘The first night is always the worst with flu,’ said Cecil, wanting to be helpful. ‘The night is always bad.’ Then he added in a low voice, looking from Henry to Audrey, ‘Perhaps we should leave you all.’

  ‘Absolutely not, Cecil,’ Henry replied, picking up the humidor. ‘Cigar?’ Cecil leant forward and peered inside. ‘Damn fine cigars, fresh from Havana,’ said Henry with pride. ‘Louis?’ Louis shook his head. Cecil chose one and leant back in his chair to light it. ‘Isla’s made of strong stuff, she’ll be right as rain in the morning, you’ll see,’ he continued, smiling at Audrey. ‘It takes very little to worry the women in my family.’ He chuckled. ‘No one’s ever died of flu.’

  Audrey sat quietly while Cecil and her father talked about politics and industry and then moved on to discuss the little island miles away that they considered home. Louis longed to hold her hand in order to give his support but she seemed far away, as if for the time being she had withdrawn her love. He felt his throat constrict at the thought of her slowly drifting away from him. He sensed something terrible was about to happen and his face drained of colour until he felt faint with nausea. Finally Audrey heard the doctor talking in a low voice with her mother at the top of the stairs. She strained her ears but was unable to make out what they were saying. They then descended into the hall, hovered while the doctor struggled into his coat then bade goodbye in raised voices that Audrey desperately tried to interpret as positive in tone. Eventually Rose entered the sitting room and forced a smile that quite clearly sat uneasily on her strained face. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she said, directing her words to Audrey. ‘It’ll be an uncomfortable night for her, but she’ll feel better in the morning.’

  ‘Can I go and see her?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but don’t be long, she needs to rest,’ replied her mother, sinking into a chair. ‘Being a mother is no easy task,’ she said and sighed, ‘one worries constantly about one’s children, even when they’re not children any longer.’

  Louis watched Audrey leave the room and wanted to go after her. He knew that although the rain wouldn’t put her off their midnight rendezvous, Isla’s illness would. She was closer to her sister than she was to anyone else in the world and that included him. He watched Cecil smoke his cigar and knew that behind his steely composure he was equally anxious. Yet, Louis resented his brother’s anxiety. How dare he entertain such ideas. But as much as he wanted to crush his brother’s hopes he knew he’d have to wait until Isla was well again, because, until she recovered, Audrey belonged to her.

  The rain continued to rattle down in a seemingly endless deluge. Louis and Cecil rushed back to the Club beneath their umbrellas, both silent, alone with their thoughts. While Cecil worried for Audrey, praying that Isla would be well again in the morning, Louis arrived at the Club disgruntled with frustration. Audrey had barely noticed him. Infuriated that she had treated him with the distance of a stranger he sat in his sodden clothes on the tapestry stool, drunk with misery and alcohol and bashed out his torment on the ivory keys of the piano until his brother and Colonel Blythe were forced to drag him away swearing and lock him in his bedroom.

  ‘My good fellow,’ said the Colonel to Cecil as they later shared a double whisky in the lounge, ‘what that young man requires is a touch of discipline. The army would have done him the world of good. Made a man out of him. No use crying over a woman. They’re not worth it, mercurial vixens.’ He knocked back his glass and thought of Charlotte Osborne. ‘Mercurial vixens, the bally lot of ’em,’ he said with a snort. Cecil wondered whether Louis had lost his heart to Isla, then as the whisky warmed his spirits he ceased to wonder at all and his thoughts drifted once more to Audrey.

  Audrey remained with her mother in an anxious vigil, watching over the burning body of her sister as little by little the fire consumed her weakening spirit. Finally Henry persuaded them to go to bed. ‘You’re just going to frighten her,’ he said, gently leading his wife away by the arm. ‘Let her sleep in peace.’

  Audrey couldn’t sleep. She listened to the rain and worried about Isla until the tears ran down her nose and onto her pillow, staining it with anguish. Cecil and Louis were far from her thoughts. She clutched the sheets and remembered those nights when she had lain pressed against the warm body of her sister, recounting her midnight rendezvous with Louis and her secret trips to Palermo. Isla had enjoyed every vicarious minute. Audrey wished they could go back in time and relive those moments because something horrid pulled at her gut, something ominous. She dared not listen to it. Tried to ignore it. But the more she attempted to focus her thoughts on the good times the fear that she was losing Isla persisted until she could ignore it no longer.

  Softly she padded into her sister’s bedroom. The windows clattered beneath the torrent of rain but the light from the street lamps shone through, illuminating the bed and the feverish form of Isla that twitched and turned in its fiery hell. With a suspended heart she sat on the edge of the bed and, taking the sponge out of the bowl of water, she began to dab Isla’s swea
ting forehead with great tenderness. ‘Please get well,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, please fight, Isla.’ Isla shook her head from side to side and moaned. Audrey began to cry. ‘God help her because I feel so hopeless, I don’t know what to do.’ Then she spoke with more urgency, willing her sister to wake up and listen. ‘I feel you’re slipping away, Isla. Please don’t slip away. I need you.’

  At that moment Isla opened her eyes. They were red-rimmed and glistened like wet pebbles. Once so focused they now seemed distant, as if at the halfway house between this world and the next. ‘Isla, can you hear me?’ she asked in a trembling voice, placing the sponge back in the bowl to rinse it. Isla looked around as if unfamiliar with her own bedroom. Audrey brought the sponge up to her neck and began to pat the hot skin there. But Isla seemed unaware of it and continued to look about her, blinking at the small room that now meant very little to her. Audrey watched her in despair. She wanted to call her mother and yet Isla wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t crying out. To the contrary she seemed content and serene. Audrey hoped she was over the worst.

  When Isla focused on her sister she thought for a moment that she was an angel come to take her on to the next dimension. She had never believed in the world of spirit. That was Audrey’s belief, but now, as she wavered on the brink of death she was certain of it. She wondered why she had been such a sceptic, it all seemed so obvious to her now. She laughed and noticed Audrey’s face flinch in surprise. Disappointed, Isla realised she wasn’t an angel after all, but her sister. It wasn’t her time yet. ‘Audrey,’ she whispered, then wondered why her voice didn’t work as before. She didn’t have the energy to speak in anything other than a whisper. Audrey leant forward to hear.