Adele’s voice filled the domed room. Startled, he sat upright and looked about him. ‘Sorry to have to replace Hoist or whoever tonight,’ she recited steadily from the tape. ‘But I thought this was the only way of being sure I would catch you and have your attention.’ His hands drifted wearily to his face.
‘Edward, I think that we both have realised for some time that our marriage is a failure and now I think it is time to bring it to an end. I have gone away for a while. I am with a man whom I have known for several years. I think you will guess who it is – because you have been so derogatory about him – Peter Rose. He is not now the successful person he once was. His business has gone the way of many others during the recession, in fact he is facing bankruptcy. His marriage is over and his health is also broken. I am with him because I believe that I can help him to regain at least something of what he had, what he was. He was a winner once and I know he can do it again. This time I want to be with him. As for you, I don’t think you need me any more than I need you. So let’s make the break as decent as we can, a compliment to the memory of the good times we had once. Toby has written to you to tell you that he is going to live over Mr Old’s shop and I am happy about that and I hope you will be. I will expect you to vacate the house within a reasonable time since I want to go on living there as my family have done for so long. I am sure you will be able to make other domestic arrangements, wherever they may be, here or abroad. Now, I will leave you to get on with looking at your stars. Goodbye, Edward.’
Rona had packed her belongings and her case was lying open on the bed when Mrs Durie knocked and came into the room. She regarded it with damp eyes. ‘We’ll miss you,’ she sniffed. ‘It’s all been a bit too much.’
Rona comforted her and smiled. ‘I’ll certainly miss everybody here,’ she said. She could see that the Englishwoman wanted to say something. After picking up the morning tea tray and putting it down again, Mrs Durie said: ‘I’ll look after the grave for you.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Rona. ‘I was hoping you would.’
‘I’m glad you left her here.’
‘This is, I think, where she would want to be.’
Mrs Durie sat on the side of the bed. ‘Isn’t it funny how things work out,’ she said. ‘A few months ago we didn’t know you and you’d never heard of us. And all the things that have happened since.’
‘They certainly have. My mother did what she wanted to do by coming here.’
The Englishwoman looked up with her reddened eyes. ‘It was something to do with her husband, wasn’t it? Your father.’
‘It was.’ Rona folded the top of the case down.
‘What time is your plane?’
‘Oh, I’ve got plenty of time. I’m just going over to the churchyard.’
‘Yes, you’d want to. I’ll keep an eye on everything there for you. When the spring comes I’ll take some pictures, I’ve got a camera, and I’ll send them to you.’
‘I intend to come back,’ Rona told her. ‘Some time. Perhaps in the summer. I may even get around to see all the tourist sights next time.’ She smiled reassuringly at Mrs Durie. ‘No royal dates today?’
‘Not much. Duke of Kent, the one who was killed in the war. His birthday’s tomorrow, December twentieth. Born nineteen hundred and two.’
‘You really should go on a television game show.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m losing interest in it a bit. All these royal divorces and separations. Makes you think they’re just like everybody else. And I’ve been thinking a lot, like you do when things happen like they’ve happened, that I ought to do something a bit more. I might get myself a bike. There’s a new cycling club started. I might meet a nice man and get married again. It’s been ten years. You’ve got to look forward in this life, not back.’
They went together down the curling stairs. Rona left her case in her room. Her mother’s was packed and in the room that Pearl had occupied so happily. ‘I won’t be a couple of minutes,’ she said to Mrs Durie. Dilys Turner, her face ashen with deep black rings dark as bruises around her eyes came into the bar and said: ‘We’ll be so sorry to see you go, Mrs Train. Jim will be back in time to see you off. He had to go to Slough.’
Rona kissed her gently on the cheek. She said: ‘But I’ll be coming back. I’ll come and see you.’
She walked out into the bright sky of the forenoon. The air was sharp and the sun lemon coloured. It filtered through the stripped branches of the trees along the churchyard wall. The vicar was sweeping up in the porch. He laid his broom down and came towards her, his hands stretched out. ‘You’re on your way then,’ he said.
‘In a few hours,’ said Rona. ‘I just thought I would come over …’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll be here sweeping up for a while. I have to change the notices too. And the numbers of the hymns for Sunday.’
‘Do you always choose them?’
‘Naturally, that’s one of the perks. That’s why we have the same hymns so often. The organist complains because he thinks people believe he can’t play anything else.’
She went under the dark yews along the old stones of the church path. Vivid flowers, wet with dew, shone on her mother’s grave, a patch of brilliance in the dull grass. Rona stood there and closed her eyes, keeping her tears in check. Then she walked a few steps along the ancient wall to the white stone of Elizabeth Hickman with its two lines from Matthew Arnold. She read them aloud to herself:
‘And we forget because we must,
And not because we will.’
How strange that two women, divided by an ocean, united by one man, should now be lying there almost side by side. She shook her head and walked back towards the porch. Henry Prentice was pinning a notice on the board. ‘We’re giving it another try,’ he announced standing back and regarding the pamphlet.
‘Footballs for Africa,’ read Rona aloud.
They walked together down to the lych-gate, now in silence. Then Henry Prentice said: ‘Your mother certainly made her mark on this place. She was unique, quite wonderful.’ He regarded her carefully. ‘Wasn’t it strange that she wanted so much to read the lesson that Sunday, at the harvest festival?’
‘It was,’ agreed Rona. Some geese flew over from the reservoirs, their wings sounding like drums. ‘But not out of character with her.’
‘She changed the verses around you know.’
‘Oh? I didn’t know that.’
‘She read Ruth, chapter two, verse seven first – about Ruth gleaning in the fields, and then she skipped back to chapter one, verse sixteen. The lines go: “… where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people.” And then “Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.”’
‘How very strange,’ said Rona slowly. ‘As though it were a message.’
‘Perhaps it was,’ said Henry Prentice. ‘I thought I was mistaken so I checked when everyone had gone.’
‘And it was read by Dobbie Dobson at the funeral,’ said Rona. ‘I’m glad of that.’
‘So am I. I don’t remember a day like that. Not in this village.’ Then he said: ‘I hope you will come back to Bedmansworth.’
‘I intend to,’ promised Rona. ‘I want to make arrangements for a stone on my mother’s grave. And I feel I have so many friends.’
‘You most certainly do.’ They shook hands fondly. ‘Well, if you need any assistance with the stone let me know. It’s strange that she rests just below the wall your father may well have helped to rebuild in the war.’
‘That’s true. There are … so many connections.’
They said goodbye again and he watched her walk slowly along the street in the chill sunshine. She turned and waved and then he went back into the church.
Rona went into the Swan. The taxi was due. Her case and her mother’s case were in the bar. Jim came through, shook hands with her and then, suddenly, embraced her, too full to bring out any words. Randy appeared, his hair projecting in short spikes, and shyly picked up the
suitcases.
‘You’ve got a new hairstyle, Randy,’ said Rona.
‘Punk,’ said Randy, looking gratified she had noticed.
The car for the airport arrived. The boy insisted on putting the cases in the boot. As he did so Bernard Threadle came by on a pedal cycle wearing a black crash helmet. He waved awkwardly.
‘He’s got to face the inquest yet,’ said Dilys.
‘He wrote me a letter,’ Rona told her. ‘But he wasn’t to blame. I also wrote to the family of the driver. I thought it might be difficult for them to write to me. It was just an accident. They happen.’
She shook hands and embraced them again before getting into the car. They stood and waved quietly as she went away. Sad-eyed she watched the village go by. The Latimer twins were kicking a football, Major Broughton-Smith was walking staunchly along the street, eyes fixed, stick striking the pavement. Almost before she realised it Rona was staring at the broad oak, stripped of its bark down one side, the place where her mother had died. She turned her head away and the car continued to the airport.
Edward Richardson had remained observing the stars until the early hours. Then, before going down to bed, he played Adele’s message once more, listening hunched shouldered. He closed everything up and went to sleep unpeacefully in the single room.
At seven he got up and made himself some coffee. The house was disconsolate, cold and unfriendly towards him. He avoided looking at Adele’s parents’ portraits. He went out of the front door and locked it with a sense of escape. A damp bird sat on the garden wall. It was still before eight o’clock.
There were some routine calls to be made at Heathrow. Bramwell Broad, Barbara Poppins and the steward they called Holy Holloway were crossing the concourse. Edward said: ‘Beware of Arabs carrying pineapples.’
‘We pray not,’ said Holloway.
Bramwell said: ‘I’ve got enough trouble as it is.’
Barbara moved away answering: ‘I’m on a different flight this time.’
Edward went to his office at ten. He sat at his desk trying to rub the weariness from his eyes. That day he was going to write his letter of resignation.
‘The word has it that Mr Grainger’s going,’ said Harriet with studied casualness from her desk.
He looked up sharply and said: ‘Good God. Who told you that?’
She remained concentrating on her word processor screen. ‘It’s everywhere,’ she said.
‘It’s probably a false rumour,’ he answered. ‘You know what this place is like for rumours.’
Harriet sniffed. ‘He’s cleared his desk,’ she said.
Richardson shook his head. ‘I thought he’d never move,’ he said. He surrendered to the fact that she probably had the correct information. She usually did. ‘How … how did that come … about?’
‘You mean was he … or did he?’ she inquired mischievously.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘The word is that he was leaving anyway. He’s landed some superjob somewhere. They reckon in America. And he was going to resign …’
Richardson completed it for her: ‘But, not aware that he was leaving anyway, they made him redundant.’
She looked disappointed. ‘Yes, more or less. Apparently he had his letter of resignation on him. Moira, his secretary, had typed it. He was going to deliver it to the Board when there was a call from the Board for him to go in and see them. When he went they said the usual business about reorganisation, rationalisation, and all that stuff, and said he was being made redundant. Very sorry, nice big payoff and all that. And there he is sitting with his goodbye letter in his pocket. And, naturally, there it stayed. He’s getting thousands and thousands.’
‘Lucky Grainger,’ said Richardson.
‘The Devil looking after his own,’ muttered Harriet. He glanced at her disapprovingly. ‘Well, it is,’ she added her voice subdued. She looked up. ‘Are we going to apply?’ she asked suddenly. ‘We could get it.’
He frowned. ‘I … I really don’t know.’ He regarded her across the space between the desks. ‘It’s possible I may not be here too long myself, Harri. I am thinking of making a change …’
To his surprise she did not seem shocked. Her phone rang. ‘Yes, he’s here, Mrs Train,’ she said. ‘I’ll transfer you.’
Edward picked up the receiver. ‘Yes, Rona,’ he said quietly. ‘Right, I’ll be over right away.’
He replaced it and stood up. ‘She’s going,’ guessed Harriet.
‘Yes. I’ll just go over to see her off. I won’t be long.’
He went out. She shook her head sadly after him. It was a blank, cheerless day and he ran between his office and the terminal. The building was decked out for Christmas; there was tinsel and greenery, a tall decorated tree and carols were broadcast between flight announcements and security warnings. He went up the stairs and saw her waiting in front of the Departure doors. He held her hands and kissed her on the cheek. Desperately he wanted to tell her Adele had left but realised he could not.
‘This is like one of those scenes you used to paint,’ he said instead. ‘But with Christmas trimmings.’
‘I suppose it is,’ she agreed with a sad smile. ‘I still have some work to do on them but when they’re completed I’ll send one to you.’
‘Will I recognise the figures?’
‘It’s possible.’
For God’s sake tell her, his inner voice was demanding. Tell her that they were free, that they could be together. But his honesty, his decency, the very qualities that his wife had found so irritating in him, kept him back. As much as he wanted to tell her, to ask her, he could not. Not then. It would be too easy now that Adele had gone. Rona would have to stay because she wanted to stay, not because it was now convenient. She moved close to him. ‘Edward, I have to go. One day I’ll come back and things may be different. But now, I just have to go.’ She shook her head. ‘Some things happen too late.’
‘The Copernicus Syndrome,’ he said.
He held her for a moment. Tell her, tell her, his inner voice repeated. But there was more to it than that.
She made up his mind for him. He felt her relax against him. ‘Goodbye,’ she said kissing his cheek. ‘Edward.’
‘Goodbye, Rona.’
She turned decisively like so many of the departing people she had sketched, and without looking back went to the door, showed her boarding card and was gone.
Richardson watched the gaping door. Others took her place, turning and waving to those left behind, or going straight through as she had without a backward glance. He waited for a moment and then turned despondently and went down the steps and out into the December day.
Harriet watched him return from the window. She was back behind her computer screen by the time he came into the room. ‘Don’t forget you’re going to Manchester tomorrow,’ she said not looking up. ‘And back to Australia on Friday. More trouble.’
‘Ray Francis is quitting,’ he told her. ‘He wants to come home. His wife is having an affair with someone in the Sydney office. It started almost the day they got out there.’
He picked up a document from the desk, columns of figures which he hardly saw let alone comprehended. ‘How’s the cycling, Harri?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Oh,’ she replied surprised. ‘It’s going well. Really well considering it’s winter. We’re expanding the club. We’ve sorted out PEDAL – “Pursue Energy Deportment And Longevity”. It’s a revolution against the engine.’
‘Won’t do us much good here,’ he said. ‘Try pedalling a Boeing.’
She had remained observing him. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she,’ she said.
‘Yes. She’s just gone,’ he said.
‘Where’s Mrs Richardson?’
‘She’s gone too. Everyone seems to be deserting me.’ He laughed drily. ‘What with Grainger as well.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m still here.’
‘Thanks Harri. I know you are.’
‘You didn’t tell Rona … Mr
s Train … that your wife had left?’
‘No.’
‘Will she come back?’
‘I don’t know. I expect so. Her mother’s grave is in the churchyard.’
Harriet’s telephone rang. She looked up. ‘There’s a problem with the Los Angeles flight,’ she said. ‘The gate says that somebody wants to get off.’
‘Oh hell,’ he said. ‘These people who discover a fear of flying at the last moment. It messes up security, the baggage – let alone everything else. And it takes a hell of a lot to persuade them …’ Suddenly he realised. Slowly he looked up and across to her. She had realised before him. ‘You’d better go across,’ she said.
Richardson almost fell down the stairs. The receptionist jumped in alarm but he was out of the door before she could say anything. It was raining briskly now, but he ran head down, across the road and the pavements, dodging taxis and passengers with their luggage, scattering a group of gossiping sheltering porters, and hardly giving the sliding doors time to open for him. He knew where to go. He made for the Arrivals area. The familiar parade of waiting people lined the barriers, some holding up name cards, scrutinising the faces as they came from the customs hall piled with baggage.
He halted and watched the opening and closing doors. Rona came through at once, carrying her small hand case. She saw him waiting and ran towards him, tears glistening on her cheeks. He folded her in his arms and she put her wet face next to his. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘I thought you had departed,’ he said.
She told him: ‘Not me. I’ve only just arrived.’
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