by Hazel Holt
He stopped suddenly. ‘I suppose you think I’m mad.’
I shook my head. ‘No, just excited because you’ve discovered something new. It’s good. And, yes, I do listen to the shipping forecast – when I wake early. I love it too.’ I smiled. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made the right choice. I think you do need a break from your other lifestyle. I think Eva would approve.’
He nodded. ‘When she said she was coming back here after my father died, I thought she was making a mistake. Her life’s always been in London, most of her friends are there. But I can see now that she wanted to – how do they put it? – get back to her roots. She was even doing research into the family on the Internet, making a family tree – her side and my father’s. I don’t think she’d got very far, but I’d rather like to go on with it.’
‘Good for you.’
‘I’m going to talk to Cousin Doris about it – her memory must go back a long way.’
Identifying, with some difficulty, Mrs Dudley, I agreed that she would certainly be a useful source.
‘I like her, she’s a bit of a dragon, but we get on.’
‘She’s a great one for family,’ I said. ‘She approves of you.’
‘Good.’
‘And Patrick approves of all this?’ I asked. ‘Staying down here, I mean.’
‘He’s all for it. Actually, he’s been on at me for ages to take a break.’
‘He won’t find it too boring after London?’
‘Oh, he’ll find something to do. Patrick could find something in the middle of the Kalahari Desert. Though, as a matter of fact, he’s a country boy – came from some remote part of Ireland. I don’t know where.’ He smiled. ‘Somehow, one doesn’t ask Patrick about personal things.’
‘Not even you?’
‘No. That’s why we get on so well together – we respect each other’s space.’
‘Well, I’m glad he’ll feel happy here.’
There was a silence, though a comfortable one, as we both stared out at the sea and the faint, almost indistinguishable outline of the Welsh coast. Emboldened by this I asked, ‘Did your mother ever talk to you about Donald Webster?’
He turned his head sharply and looked at me. ‘No – well not talked, she mentioned him occasionally in passing. Why?’
‘He asked her to marry him.’
‘Oh.’
‘He was just about to go away for a while and she said she’d give him her answer when he came back. But then …’
‘She died.’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you think she would have?’
‘I don’t know. I believe she wanted time to think about it. It was too soon after Alan’s death, but I think she might have agreed eventually. They got on well together, enjoyed each other’s company – but as good friends, nothing more.’
‘I see.’
‘She’d made a lot of friends down here and there was Rosemary, of course, but I think she was lonely. Well, missing a special person – one does.’
He was silent for quite a while and I began to regret bringing the matter up and wishing that Rosemary, who, after all, was a more suitable person, had found the opportunity to tell him.
‘Thank you for telling me.’
‘I hope I haven’t upset you.’
‘No, I needed to know.’ He paused. ‘It’s just that it takes a bit of thinking about. I wish I could have talked to her about it …’
‘She would have told you if she’d decided.’
‘Yes, of course. But I suppose we led such separate lives. I’ve only just realised that. There are a great many things we didn’t tell each other and now it’s too late. That’s sad.’
‘I think we all feel that, or something like it, when someone close to us dies. But that’s just something you have to accept and get on with your life.’
‘You’re right, of course. That’s what Patrick says.’
‘Patrick is a very wise person,’ I said.
‘Yes he is. I don’t think I could carry on without him.’
‘So Daniel’s going to stay on at the cottage,’ I said to Rosemary as we were sorting some books for the book sale at Brunswick Lodge. ‘I saw him down by the harbour. He was in a strange sort of mood – really excited, more animated than I’ve ever seen him; you know how laid-back he usually is. Talking about things being real down here.’
‘Yes. I must say I was surprised when he told me, but I’m sure it’s a good thing. He was very wound up when he came down for the funeral, and, although he’s still sort of wound up, it’s in a different way.’
‘I suppose the life he was leading in London was very artificial in some ways and quite a strain.’
‘I know Patrick’s pleased they’re staying. I think he’d got quite worried about things. He seems to like being down here. He’s planning to begin looking through Alan’s papers – I don’t believe Daniel’s up to that yet, but Patrick thinks that if he gets started, Daniel might become interested.’
‘Good for him.’
‘Mother’s delighted, of course. Daniel’s been spending quite a lot of time with her. Apparently Eva had started looking up the family on the Internet, Alan’s family too – all that genealogy stuff – and Daniel’s going on with it.’
‘Yes, he told me he was going to ask your mother what she remembered about her generation. It was quite a shock when he referred to her as Cousin Doris!’
‘I know. That was Mother’s idea; it makes her feel rather grand and Victorian. Anyway, she’s thrilled to have someone who actually wants to hear about all the relations and off-relations. And Elsie loves having someone who appreciates her cakes and scones. All wonderful for Mother, wonderful for me, too – she’s in a permanently good mood nowadays.’
‘Good for Daniel. I must say it’s not a thing I would ever have thought of him doing. But that’s not the only thing. Did you know that he now gets up at first light and goes running!’
‘Good heavens – that’s the last thing I’d have thought of!’
Alison Shelby, who’d been hovering nearby, came up with some books in her hand.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said, ‘but I wondered if these would be all right for the sale. I’ve been having a bit of a turn-out and, really, we do seem to have a lot of books nobody ever reads.’
She handed them over and I looked at them with some curiosity, wondering what sort of books the Shelbys read. There was a guide to Hadrian’s Wall, The Letters of Queen Victoria, Tennyson’s Poems, Little Women and Good Wives.
‘Actually, they belonged to Maurice’s mother,’ she said. ‘Not the sort of things we would care for. Well, Maurice only reads those stuffy old law books and things about the First World War, and really I don’t have time for reading. I like a good magazine, but books take up so much time, don’t they?’
‘Didn’t your daughters read Little Women?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ she said quickly, ‘that’s very old-fashioned, isn’t it? Nobody reads that sort of thing nowadays, do they?’
I was careful not to look at Rosemary. We are both devoted to Louisa Alcott and renew our acquaintance with the March family quite frequently.
‘Well, thank you. They can go into the sale,’ I said. ‘I’m sure someone would like them.’
‘Oh good. It seemed a shame to throw them out.’
I was delighted to get an invitation to tea with Mrs Dudley with the information that Daniel would be there. I was eager to see her in the role of Cousin Doris. When she let me in, Elsie whispered, ‘Such a difference since Mr Daniel’s been here. Quite cheered her up!’
Certainly the atmosphere was much livelier than usual. Instead of sitting immoveably in her chair by the fire, Mrs Dudley was seated at the large table in the centre of the room which was covered with albums. Daniel was sitting beside her sorting through a large number of loose photographs scattered around them. When she saw me, Mrs Dudley raised her head and called me over.
‘Ah, Sheila, thi
s will interest you – a photograph of your parents, taken, I believe, in the 1930s at a garden party we all went to at The Castle.’
The Castle was Dunster Castle, now in the hands of the National Trust to Mrs Dudley’s profound regret (‘Another beautiful home gone!’) since, in her youth, it had been the scene of many eagerly sought after social occasions.
I looked at the photograph, sepia with age, so much a part of history now that it seemed almost impossible that anyone in that group, caught forever in time, should still be alive today.
‘How interesting,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one.’
‘I remember that hat your mother was wearing,’ Mrs Dudley said. ‘It didn’t have a brim – we all thought that very new and daring. Your mother,’ she continued, ‘was always very fashionable.’ And I could catch quite clearly the note of disapproval echoing across the years.
Daniel looked up and gave me a quick smile. ‘Isn’t it fascinating?’ he said. ‘Cousin Doris has a wonderful collection of photographs.’
‘They should all be in albums,’ Mrs Dudley said. ‘I’ve spoken to Rosemary about it several times. Loose like this, some of them could quite easily get lost. Now, Daniel,’ she continued, opening one of the albums, ‘these are the later ones, after the war. This is one of Eva’s mother, Lydia. Your grandmother. Now that was taken at a point-to-point somewhere. She had a horse of her own and rode a great deal. She was most disappointed when Eva never showed any sign of wanting her own pony.’
I remembered how Eva hated her riding lessons (‘I’m scared stiff most of the time and that wretched little pony knows and plays me up – he had me off the other day, and Mummy was so disappointed when I wouldn’t get straight back on!’).
‘She hunted too. She led quite a social life and I believe she could have married very well, so it was a great surprise when she decided to marry a colonial. Her family were disappointed, of course, but they made the best of things, even helping him to set up that business.’ The last word tinged with distaste. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘he did make a success of it and, I believe, made a great deal of money. Not,’ she added sharply, ‘that money is everything – not compared with a good family.’
‘I don’t suppose you have anything of her parents?’ Daniel asked.
‘Nothing of her mother, but there is one of her father’s father – we share a common great-grandfather – it’s in the hall. Sheila, perhaps you will very kindly go and fetch it.’
I lifted the framed photograph carefully from its place. It was a formal studio portrait of a man in a frock coat with smoothed-down hair and an air of consequence.
Mrs Dudley received it with pleasure and handed it to Daniel.
‘He looks very important,’ Daniel said. ‘What did he do?’
‘He was a doctor,’ Mrs Dudley said with satisfaction. ‘I believe he did, on one occasion, attend royalty.’
‘Sounds very grand.’ Daniel put the photograph down and picked up one of Eva’s mother Lydia. ‘She looks very nice, good-looking too – Eva looks very like her. I’ll see what I can turn up on the Internet.’
Mrs Dudley was about to express her opinion of the Internet (unfavourable) when Elsie came in and ushered us all into the dining room for tea. Mrs Dudley was one of the few remaining people I know who still provided a sit-down tea for her visitors and the table was spread with a variety of sandwiches, scones and cakes. I saw with a sinking heart that there was also her best silver tea set, whose heavy teapot I found difficult to manage when Mrs Dudley, as she always did, required me to pour. However, I did manage it without disgracing myself and the conversation became general.
I was interested to see how Daniel had changed. From being rather remote and formal, he was now lively and enthusiastic, eagerly asking questions about Taviscombe before the war.
‘Isn’t it extraordinary,’ he was saying to Mrs Dudley, ‘how life has changed in such a relatively short time.’
‘And not for the better,’ was the reply.
It was obvious that Mrs Dudley was revelling in this attention, something that didn’t happen every day, and I was grateful to Daniel for giving her this treat and hoped that this unexpected relationship would continue for the benefit of both of them.
Chapter Ten
‘Well, I do think it’s been a great success,’ Anthea said complacently.
I looked over to where the speaker, an elderly man in spectacles, was surrounded by a group of enthusiasts. Though, sadly, the pile of signed copies of his book, the reason for his talk, seemed to be undiminished. ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Local history is always popular.’
‘It was so splendid that he was able to give Sybil and Pauline a history of their cottage,’ she went on. ‘Of course he’s made quite a study of that particular period. Our house is very much earlier – we have entries in the church records. He was most interested when I told him all about them.’
Alison Shelby detached herself from the group and came over.
‘Such a good talk! I’ve always been fascinated by local history. Such a pity Maurice couldn’t come today. He’s quite an expert, always looking things up on the Internet. I often say he’s living in the past not the present!’
‘I’d better go and see how the refreshments are getting on,’ I said, moving towards the kitchen.
I found Rosemary taking the cling film off plates of small cakes.
‘I think we might start taking these in now,’ she said. ‘That poor man looked as though he could do with a cup of tea, at least.’
‘I think he was a bit overwhelmed by the response,’ I said. ‘It was a mistake asking if anyone wanted to ask questions. So, of course, after Sybil and Pauline, everyone wanted to know about their own houses.’
I helped Rosemary to take in the refreshments and, out of pity (having also taken part in book signings in my time), I bought a copy of Taviscombe Revisited, signed by the author.
‘Of course, your cottage is really old, isn’t it?’ Alison suddenly materialised at my elbow. ‘Our house is quite new – well, I think it was built about 1980 or thereabouts. I would have liked an old property, something thatched, you know, but Maurice is so practical, he said there would always be something that needed doing to it.’
‘As far as thatch is concerned,’ I said with feeling, ‘there always is.’
‘That cottage poor Eva bought, that was old, wasn’t it? A bit remote for me but she seemed happy there. So sad. And her son, poor Daniel, is he staying for long?’
‘I don’t really know.’
‘Someone said he seemed quite settled there.’
‘Really?’
‘I heard he was spending a lot of time with Rosemary’s mother. I suppose he’s interested in the family. This often happens, doesn’t it, when someone dies? Poor Eva told me she was doing some research about it on the Internet. Perhaps he is carrying on with that? It’s really very interesting, people get quite absorbed in it.’
‘I really don’t know. Do excuse me,’ I said, edging away, ‘I really must go and see to things in the kitchen.’
Gathering up some discarded cups and plates, I made my escape. I was peacefully washing up when Rosemary came in looking very ruffled.
‘I’m absolutely fed up,’ she said.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Well, for one thing, Anthea’s being quite impossible,’ she said. ‘She’s going on about the refreshments – says they weren’t adequate. I told her that if she’d let me know in time how many tickets she’d sold, we’d have known how many people we had to cater for.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘Completely ignored me as usual, of course, and swept off to persecute poor Derek.’
‘Well, he can hold his own. So what else?’
‘Oh, that tiresome Alison Shelby buttonholed me and kept going on about poor Eva and poor Daniel. It was all I could do not to be thoroughly rude to her.’
‘Yes, she is a menace. She got hold of me so I
had to take refuge in here.’
‘You’re all right in here,’ Rosemary said sourly. ‘She’s always talking, but you never see her doing anything useful like washing up.’
‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ I said. ‘At least we’re safe in here. Anyway,’ I said, ‘I’m more or less finished, so let’s slip out the back way and go home for a restorative drink.’
Daniel and Patrick seemed settled at the cottage, keeping themselves to themselves and not really taking part in Taviscombe life. Daniel continued to visit Mrs Dudley (much to Rosemary’s delight – ‘I’ve never known Mother so easy, it’s wonderful!’) and occasionally having supper with Rosemary and Jack.
‘They’re actually getting down to going through Alan’s papers,’ Rosemary said. ‘Patrick’s doing, of course. But I think Daniel is becoming really involved. He never seemed to be interested in his father’s work.’
‘Odd, really,’ I said. ‘I mean, you’d think he’d be fascinated by all the adventures Alan had in those exotic places. Michael would have boasted about them to all the other boys.’
‘Yes, it was strange. Eva always thought that he’d sort of withdrawn himself from his father’s job because he was afraid something would happen to him.’
‘Didn’t want to get too close so that he wouldn’t be hurt?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But such a grown-up way of thinking about things when he was so young!’
‘Daniel was always grown-up, in many ways. He never had friends of his own age, only really liked to be with adults. Patrick is the first person, the first contemporary, he’s ever connected with.’
‘And he’s odd too,’ I said. ‘Well, it’s splendid that they’ve found each other.’
‘Eva was very relieved. She and Daniel were never close – she did try, but, again, he sort of held aloof. All part of the same thing, I suppose. So, after he was grown up and had his own life, she became more and more involved in her own work.’
