Another Life

by Sara MacDonald

  Chapter 66

  Isabella was astonished when Lisette burst in and announced before breakfast that her father’s wife, Charlotte, had ridden over from Falmouth with her groom and was waiting below to see her.

  ‘Will you show her into the morning room and make sure she is served tea and breakfast, Lisette. I will be downstairs in a few minutes.’

  Ten minutes later Isabella went downstairs and saw immediately how nervous Charlotte was.

  ‘Isabella, forgive this intrusion so early in the day.’

  She went towards Isabella and took her hands. Her voice held no hint of censure or coldness and Isabella was surprised at this and the smile she was given. The two women went back to the fire for the morning was chill. Isabella could not think of a thing to say and watched the older woman anxiously, sure she must have come with a message from her father.

  Charlotte was shocked at Isabella’s colour. Her eyes were huge and her healthy, rounded body had grown thin.

  ‘Isabella, I am sorry that we have not been friends or even acquaintances and I hope to remedy that. Your father does not know I have come but when I heard of your predicament I was anxious to see how you were. I thought you might need a friend …’

  She looked away and into the fire. ‘My younger sister found herself in a similar predicament and I … let her down because of pressure from my father.’

  She met Isabella’s eyes. ‘I know that it is a very lonely place to be.’

  Isabella found her voice. ‘I imagine my father would not like you to be here?’

  ‘He is shocked, Isabella, very shocked. He has been very quiet since Richard’s visit, but he has not said one angry word against you …’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘Blood is thicker than water, my dear, and he does not like the way Richard is reacting. He sees no dignity in it and is hurt by condemnation of you coming from the lips of someone who professed to love you so much.’

  ‘I have hurt and wronged Richard, Charlotte.’

  ‘You have, Isabella, and of course it is natural that Richard is angry as well as hurt, but you are your father’s daughter and, whatever you think, he loves you and does not like to hear you spoken of badly. This is what I came to say. I have realized in the last few days how much he wishes you had both been reconciled; how much he partly blames himself for what has happened to you.’

  Isabella’s eyes filled with tears for she suddenly realized how much she had missed her father all these years and how she had conjured hate from hurt. She looked at Charlotte, who was quite different from the imagined figure she had made her into all this time.

  ‘Was it Richard who asked my father to take me back to St Piran, away from here, Charlotte?’

  ‘Yes. But your father did not react in the way Richard expected, or I, for that matter. He refused to condemn you in the way Richard hoped, or to make St Piran pay for what he considers a domestic matter. He will not deprive his own community of work. He is angry that Richard, an outsider in the village, would even contemplate revenge in those terms and on people who have never harmed him but only served him well and faithfully. He will not have his name used. Your family have lived in St Piran for generations and he refuses to penalize ordinary people he knows well.’

  Charlotte got up from her chair.

  ‘Isabella, I do not know what you are going to do, or what is in your mind. I just want you to know you are welcome to your own home, not as childish punishment, but because it is your home.’

  ‘My father …?’

  ‘Your father, my dear, did not ride with me this morning, because he hoped that I would do what I had suggested we do together, and come to you. He is a proud man and a man no longer young … he is distressed, not angry, at the way things have turned out for you. He wants you to know his home is open to you.’

  Isabella, too, got up. ‘Charlotte, forgive me for judging you. Coming here was brave and I thank you for it, for it means more than you will ever know.’

  Isabella walked to the door with Charlotte and they waited for her horse to be brought round.

  ‘Charlotte, will you tell my father that I am waiting to talk to my husband when he returns. I am uncertain, as yet, what I will do, but I believe I must have a place of my own and I would be grateful if he could look into Mama’s legacy to me so that money may be released for this end.’

  ‘I will. Goodbye, Isabella, may God guide you.’

  Isabella watched the two horses walk away down the drive until they were lost in the trees. She clasped her hands together. Her father did not condemn her. He would not put his name to any revenge Richard might have in mind!

  I ask my brother Harry to sail me round from St Piran to Mylor. I know Trathan is riding with Sir Richard to Truro before he goes back to Mylor and I want to reach Isabella before he gets home. The wind is strong but it serves my purpose and we fly along the coast in a heavy autumn sea.

  When we reach Mylor harbour I write a note to Isabella and send a boy with it up to the house. Twenty minutes later I make my way quickly up to the woods behind the house and lean against a gate, praying Isabella will come swiftly.

  Within ten minutes I see her hurrying along the ha-ha towards the wood and I go to meet her. We turn into the shelter of trees and hold each other for a moment, my hand pressing her head to my chest. I can feel the frightened beating of her heart as she leans against me. A feeling of impotence fills me. I cannot protect both her and my family.

  Isabella tells me breathlessly what happened after I left her, and of Richard’s distress.

  ‘I had to see your husband for my father’s sake,’ I tell her. ‘I saw only anger. Anger and a need for revenge. Isabella, he is never going to let you go. He has threatened to put the whole village as well as the shipyard out of work unless I sail on my own for New England. Worse, he says he has the power to prevent me working in Prince Edward Island if I do not renounce you. Isabella, I can work anywhere but I cannot think of a way of safeguarding the livelihood of so many people.’

  ‘I cannot believe he would carry out his threats, Tom. He is angry and wants to hurt … Would he tie me to him forever when he knows I carry your child? I do not think so, for I know he does not wish ever to see me again and tried to banish me to my father before he came home.’

  ‘Believe me, Isabella. He is determined we will never be together and he will hurt people to this end. By keeping you and bringing up my child as his, he saves face and revenges us. He is a proud man and I believe at this moment his pride is paramount to all else.’

  Isabella leans against a tree. She looks suddenly weak and sick.

  ‘Isabella, are you ill?’

  ‘No, it is just the baby …’ Her face is young and miserable as she looks up at me.

  ‘So, Tom, you must go away from here and I must live out my days with a man I do not love because of his threats to innocent people?’

  I smile. ‘Isabella, how can you doubt me? I will not leave without you. I will not leave you to his anger and threats. I do not want my child brought up as Sir Richard’s, it makes me sick. I lied to him and to my father …’

  ‘Tom, my father’s wife visited me. She wanted me to know that my father is shocked but will not condemn me, and that he will have no part in Richard’s wish for revenge on any of his tenants or workers in the village and shipyard.’

  I look down at her surprised. ‘He said that?’ I close my eyes in relief. I hope my father knows this and I pray he will forgive me, not see my escape with Isabella as a betrayal. I pray also that Daniel Vyvyan’s influence will prevail.

  I take Isabella’s shoulders with a sense of urgency, although I do not want to frighten her.

  ‘Isabella, can you be ready tonight?’

  Isabella’s eyes widen but she nods. ‘Yes. Yes, but where will we go, Tom?’

  ‘The quickest way out of here is by boat. There is one in the harbour. I sailed with Harry from St Piran this morning. If we sail first to Truro and then continue to Plymouth we can see what s
hips lie there. Isabella, are you sure you can do this? Are you sure you can leave this life behind?’

  ‘Do you doubt me now, Tom?’ She smiles.

  ‘No.’ I take her cold hand. ‘It is not going to be easy or comfortable for you at first. And we must travel by dark out of Cornwall, Isabella. Can you wear something plain and warm and bring only what you need …?’

  I fold her hand between mine. ‘I will buy you the things you leave behind later, I promise. I do not want you to go without …’

  Isabella smiles once more. ‘Do I come to the harbour tonight, Tom?’

  ‘No, I will meet you here. It is too dark for you to walk the coastal path alone. I will be here at nine o’clock for the tide will be right.’

  We stare at one another, wishing the deed was done, that we were safely out of Cornwall.

  Chapter 67

  Elan drove Gabby back to his cottage two days later. She was in no state to go home and in no state to be left in London. He phoned Nell before they left.

  ‘Thank goodness you rang. Elan, we can’t get hold of Gabby. Normally she phones me every two or three days. I wouldn’t have been worried, but the Lucinda girl from the gallery rang, she hasn’t been in to work …’

  ‘It’s OK, Nell, she’s with me.’

  ‘What on earth’s happened? Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, Nell, she is all right in the sense you mean. I can’t explain over the phone. I will come and see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you bringing her home?’

  Elan hesitated. ‘Nell, she is going to stay with me for a few days. Is it possible for you not to say anything to Charlie until we’ve talked?’

  Oh God, Gabby wants to leave Charlie.

  ‘All right, Elan, I’ll see you tomorrow. Drive carefully.’

  ‘I will, Nell. Take care.’

  Charlie was out and Nell sat down heavily on a chair in her kitchen. Oh, why have I not seen this coming? Gabby taking on more and more London work … The last time I put her on the train … I love you Nell, she had said. Gabby had been leaving.

  Nell picked up her newspaper from the table and distractedly started to thumb through it, while she thought about what to say to Charlie. Just as she was closing the paper her eyes fell on the obituary page:

  Professor Mark Hannah was one of the passengers killed on a Canadian Airline internal flight to Montreal on Tuesday. Currently on sabbatical in London, he was responsible for returning a ship’s figurehead to the small Cornish port of St Piran. He was a popular writer of marine history and well-known on the lecture circuit for his innovative and slightly eccentric slant on history. He aimed to make the past accessible and alive and he succeeded. His passion was figureheads from the small trade schooners of the nineteenth century. He was completing a book on this underrated art form when he died. He leaves a wife and five daughters.

  There was a fuzzy and much younger photo of a very beautiful man.

  Nell closed the paper and folded it slowly and neatly into fours, stepped over her cats and went outside. Charlie was sitting in his Land Rover chatting to Sarah Caradon, who was facing the opposite way in her truck. They were obviously talking fruit and flirting. When Charlie saw Nell, he called, ‘I’m going to the pub to pick Sarah’s brains, see you later.’

  He didn’t ask about Gabby and Nell went back inside and put on her favourite Mahler, and continued restoring a small painting for John Bradbury. It was only when she could no longer see the painting that she realized she was crying.

  The wind rattled the cottage windows of Elan’s house and wuthered round the walls dramatically. Elan had piled wood on the burner so that it stayed on all night and Gabby lay in the dark or wandered round the cottage, making tea and getting as near to the stove as she could.

  She found it impossible to accept Mark was dead and swallowed Elan’s tranquillizers as if her life depended on it. It prevented her from thinking. It prevented her doing anything coherent or practical and in the end, small dose or not, Elan flushed them down the loo.

  Gabby walked miles along the coast in all weathers, but Elan knew he could not play guard dog. He said quietly, ‘If you ever feel like doing something silly, think of Josh, darling, and how he would feel, apart from the rest of us.’

  ‘I do,’ Gabby said. ‘I do.’

  When Elan went over to see Nell she had already guessed.

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. You don’t have to be a brain surgeon. I saw the obituary.’

  Elan was shocked at how defeated Nell looked. She was furious with Charlie because he was so busy with setting up his fruit for next year that he had failed to notice that Gabby had not rung for some time. He was also spending too much time in the pub with the giggly Sarah.

  Elan and Nell told him together.

  ‘The fucking little bitch! The deceitful, fucking bitch. She can bloody-well stay out of my sight. Who else knows about this?’

  ‘Apart from me and Nell, no one. John Bradbury might suspect. He came round because he had seen her at the museum and was worried about her.’

  ‘She wasn’t working?’ Nell asked.

  ‘No. Just sitting in front of the figurehead.’

  Charlie jumped in. ‘That was the start of this, that bloody, fucking figurehead! I’m glad that …’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ Nell snapped. ‘Don’t you dare say you are glad another human being is dead.’

  Elan got up and went to the door and Nell walked with him. Out of earshot she said, ‘I packed Gabby some things, Elan. Changes of clothes, soap, and stuff she might need. They are just inside my front door.’

  Elan hugged her. ‘Oh, what a mess, darling.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ She tried to smile. ‘Sorry you’ve got landed with it.’

  ‘Both you and Gabby were wonderful when Patrick died. It’s a sad thing if you can’t be there for the people you love. I am not taking sides, Nell. I am simply being there.’

  ‘How long have you known about Gabby and the Canadian, Elan?’

  ‘For a while, Nell. I thought it would blow over,’ Elan lied, for he thought no such thing. The first time he spotted Gabby and Mark together at his exhibition, he saw that the Canadian had a magnetic personality, was very much his own man. Elan had liked him and the way he had looked and listened to Gabby as if she was someone very special, which she was. Then, seeing them at Paddington …

  ‘I don’t suppose she is in any state to think about what she is going to do?’

  ‘No,’ Elan said. ‘Putting one foot in front of the other is all she can manage. Oh, Nell, this is so difficult for you …’

  Nell put her hands up to stop him and her pain was naked.

  ‘I don’t know how to react, Elan. At the moment I don’t even know how to feel … Please go before I let myself down …’

  ‘Oh, Nell.’

  ‘Go!’

  ‘I’ll ring you. I’ll ring you, darling Nell.’

  As he drove back home Elan thought how glad he was that Josh was still out of England.

  Nell felt as if a whole lifetime was about to unravel, pivoting Charlie and Josh out of their safe and sure positions in the family, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

  As she scattered corn for the bantams she felt cross with herself, for believing that Charlie could get away with not addressing the inevitable needs and changes in the sad and lonely seventeen-year-old Gabby and the woman who evolved and became so much her own person, with a surprising talent for restoration.

  That young Gabby had surprised them all. She had embraced the farm, Nell and Charlie with a single-minded intensity. She had adapted to pregnancy, a speedy marriage and the isolation of this small farming community as if she had been born to it.

  She had been so rewarding to teach, so eager to learn. So proficient it had been extraordinary. Something in Gabby’s goodness had always made Nell anxious. She had anticipated Charlie’s needs, worked by his side, waited on him. Nell had watched his surprise grow. He had done the right thi
ng without pressure and it was working out.

  When Josh was born he had been ecstatic. Those had been the happiest years, Nell thought, the very happiest. Later, she had wanted to yell and shake Charlie awake. She had tried to warn him, urge him not to take Gabby for granted; dear God, she had tried.

  Charlie had worked hard in those early days to keep the farm out of debt. There was little time or money for even small extravagances, but it was more that Charlie, like Ted, believed that putting bread on the table should be enough. Their hard work provided safety and security. Their women should know that the farm and a home was their exchange of love and duty.

  Gabby had never given Charlie any reason to believe she did not understand this or appreciate it. But it does not mean it’s enough to sustain a woman from seventeen to seventy.

  If Gabby kept her eyes closed she was back in the sitting room. She could hear and smell the river through the window. She could feel the polished floorboards beneath her feet and listen to the music playing softly as the candles flickered over the walls. With her eyes tightly closed she could feel Mark’s touch, feel the warmth of his body as he guided her slowly round the small room that always smelt of flowers, in a dance that was not a dance, just an excuse to be close.

  They were both silent, concentrating on their bodies moving in perfect unison, bare feet never faltering on the smooth wood floor. With their eyes closed, they clung to those moments. Those moments that might slide away into an unknown future if they did not hold them, breath held, like a breakable thing.

  Round and round the small room they moved to the faint slap of water, light as air, the rhythm of their bodies conjuring a melancholy so sweet and sad it was like joy, for they knew the fragility of that time in their lives as they danced to the sound of the river.

  They knew they might have to move back to their other lives, but this, this perfect moment would live on, stored against the second when they heard the same piece of music, played at another time, in another place; and they would fly back sickly and with sorrow to the river, the faint scent of hyacinths and the feel of one another in the dark silent room.