The priest took the tiny infant from Isabella and baptized him.
‘In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I name this child Thomas Benjamin …’
Chapter 73
Richard was exultant when he heard that Isabella had had a son. He had intended to be in St Piran for the birth in order to look the expectant father and he made his presence in the household felt as soon as possible.
Lisette made him wait as Isabella was feeding the baby, and this for some reason irritated Richard.
‘How is she? The doctor said she had a difficult time.’
‘She had a long labour, Sir Richard, and she is still very weak.’
‘And the child?’
‘He is small, but alive and well.’
‘Good. Good.’
Lisette felt anxious. What was going to happen now? Dear Lord, this man was never going to let Isabella or the child alone. He would cart them back to Botallick like the possessions they were. These months of pretending that things might be different were sliding away. Lisette had changed her opinion of Sir Richard. There was something single-minded and relentless about him. He would survive at any cost, but Isabella would not.
When Richard was allowed into the bedroom, Isabella was lying with her eyes closed and the baby in the crook of her arm. He stared down at them both and his heart stirred. Isabella looked pale and drained but more beautiful than he had ever seen her, as if the hard labour of childbirth had made her into a woman. The childish face of the girl he loved had gone. This face was that of a tired woman informed by pain, grateful that she had survived.
Richard felt awkward and large standing in the privacy of her bedroom, and when Isabella opened her eyes he saw immediately that she resented his presence. He moved nearer the bed and looked down at the tiny piece of humanity with its creased little face and downy hair.
‘Isabella?’ Richard asked. ‘How are you?’
‘I am well, thank you, Richard.’
‘May I see your son?’
Isabella moved the baby slightly and pulled the shawl away from the child’s face. Richard peered down. He had never seen anything so small. Tentatively he put out his little finger to a hand the size of his bent thumb. The tiny fingers flexed and closed around his. Richard was enchanted.
‘How small he is. How perfect,’ he murmured.
Isabella looked up at him surprised. She had yet to understand he had spent nine months convincing others of his impending fatherhood and in so doing had almost convinced himself. He did not look down and see Tom’s child but his own, and in a flash Isabella realized this and her emotions were mixed.
She felt a stab of fear for her future, and pity for a man who had married a younger woman in order to procreate. She had wronged her husband and she felt sadness for what might have been between them if she had been a little older, if she had minded less about the physical side of her marriage. If she had never set eyes on Tom Welland again.
If only she could have loved Richard. That moment, as he looked down for the first time on her child, could have been a gift she gave him in return for his devotion. The softening of his face as he reached out to touch his son. These small precious moments that made a union of marriage. If she had loved him. If the child had been his.
They were both still as they looked upon the baby, and in the stillness, Richard, whose nature was to love absolutely when he loved, felt sudden, total and unconditional love for the child in Isabella’s arms.
‘Have you everything you need, Isabella?’ he asked gently. ‘What can I bring you until you are both well enough to move back to Botallick? You look pale, should I employ a professional nurse for you? You need to get your strength back. The doctor wanted to send for a London quack and here you are having managed very well on your own!’
Isabella smiled faintly, but her heart sank at mention of her leaving the Summer House.
‘Richard, you are kind, but I have all I need, thank you.’
‘Then I will leave you to rest …’
Richard felt suddenly at a loss. He had married her too young. He saw that now. He had frightened her with his demands. This business with the carver had just been childhood fantasy. He should have let her play it out instead of handling it badly. He should have stayed silent, turned a blind eye. Isabella would never have pursued it if he had left well alone. God! How he wished he could go back and have that time again.
‘I will leave you. I go to talk to Ben Welland. I shall be staying at The Western Arms, but before I return to Falmouth I will come and see you, for I must register the child in Truro. Goodbye, my dear.’
Register the child? Richard disappeared and Isabella was left with a dry mouth and shaking hands as she pulled the baby closer. She had baptized the child, Thomas Benjamin. Welland names. This truce could not last and Isabella wished it to. It was so much easier without harsh words and she felt so exhausted she wondered if she would ever be herself again.
Chapter 74
Gabby stood in the hall of the London house. She had had to push the front door open against the mountain of circulars and mail that had accumulated since the day she had left. She bent and picked it all up and placed it in a pile on the kitchen table.
Already the house smelt empty and neglected. Devoid of the particular smell of people living there. She stood looking out over the Thames. Small pink clouds floated past buildings. Leaves covered the footpath and the surface of the river. From the kitchen she saw gardens that lay neglected and sodden now that summer had faded. Just a child’s bike or a ball left on a patch of grubby grass.
She walked slowly in and out of the rooms, went upstairs. Everything was exactly as she had left it. Mark’s dressing gown still hung on the bathroom door. The unmade bed still contained the same sheets Mark had lain on. Gabby bent to smell the pillowcase and sheets to see if any of Mark remained. It did not.
She stayed for a moment with her cheek to the place Mark had lain then she got up and stripped the beds, gathered up the towels from the bathroom that smelt, and placed them all in the washing machine.
She unlocked the back door and went out into the dank little garden. All the flowering pots they had planted were withered and dead. A steady light rain began to fall. Josh was on his way home, cheerful, thinking everything was normal. She felt sick at the thought of what she must tell him.
She went back inside leaving the door open, and pulled the fridge door wide and piled all the stuff inside in a bin liner. She switched the kettle on, made tea, added dried milk from the cupboard, then she sat at the table and tried to think logically.
Did she cancel all the services? Phone, gas, electricity? On whose authority would she do these things? Her name was not on any of the bills. She did not know the name of Mark’s English solicitor. She felt as if her lifeblood was going to be depleted once this house was dismantled. Once it was empty of their things, who was to say she and Mark had existed together here at all?
Mark was back home with his family. Canada, his last resting place. Gabby got up and went into the sitting room and looked down at the answer-machine. Five messages and the first would still be Mark’s. She pressed ‘Play’ and skipped back after she’d heard the others to listen to him. She closed her eyes. The sound of his voice remained.
‘Honey, you will just about be home now … You will just about be home now …’
She could almost, with her eyes tight shut, pretend Mark was in the room.
The other calls were from Lucinda and from a university, expressing shock and sympathy. She zapped them.
‘I’ll ring you tonight … something that might interest you …’
Gabby shivered and went back into the kitchen. Had Mark told Veronique he was leaving her before he was killed? Gabby prayed fervently he had not. To lose your husband twice … how would that leave the rest of your life? It would colour and taint all her happy memories. All they had had together.
Gabby began to sift through Mark’s mail, making a
small pile of his letters and throwing the junk mail into the bin liner. There was a small, thin envelope with her name on it in his writing. Gabby opened it with unsteady fingers. It was a Peter Nero tape of ‘The first time I ever saw your face’. Mark had been looking for this version for her for a long time. Gabby shut her eyes, holding the tape close to her, and wondered if she would ever bear to be able to play it.
Opening her eyes again, she saw another letter addressed to her: Mrs G Ellis. On the envelope was the name of a solicitor: ‘Daniels, Jacob and Lean, Cumberland Place’. Gabby turned it in her hands. At least she had somewhere to for ward Mark’s mail. Here it was then, the polite reminder that she had no right to be there.
Grief had kept all practical decisions at a peculiar distance. Blind instinct had told her that she was pregnant and Elan’s doctor had confirmed it. It was early days but it changed everything. She had never intended to take advantage of Elan or Lucinda’s offer of accommodation. She had to find somewhere affordable and on her own. Somewhere large enough to restore from home. She must earn as much as she could before the baby came and her ability to work long hours was limited.
Practically, she could not afford to live in London and she felt dismay at the thought of being alone in a London that did not contain Mark or the tiniest garden. Should she go somewhere quite new? Find somewhere in Cornwall, away from the farm but near friends; Nell, people she knew, and clients she had built up?
It was hard to think. It was hard to make any decisions. She had only made two big decisions in her whole life …
Gabriella, are you going to open that letter or not?
Gabby smiled and opened the envelope.
Dr Hannah instructed us in April 1999 to act on his behalf, in respect of the property 14, Riverside, Chiswick …
Dr Hannah left a will with us with instructions that we contact you in the event of his death. He has left 14, Riverside, with all contents and in its entirety, solely to you, Mrs Ellis. We have been in contact with Dr Hannah’s solicitors in Canada and they confirm that this was Dr Hannah’s legal and binding instruction in a more recent will they held.
On the death of his aunt, Mrs Clarissa Shreeve, Dr Hannah became the sole owner of the property. There was no mortgage outstanding …
We were very sorry to hear about Dr Hannah’s untimely death and we offer you our deepest sympathy.
I would be grateful if you could contact me at your convenience …
Gabby stared and stared at the piece of paper then burst into tears. Mark had even thought of taking care of her after his death. It was such confirmation of his conviction they would have a life together, be together in old age.
Oh, God, Mark, you have given me a home, for me and our child.
Gabby clutched the letter to her. All things seemed suddenly possible. She looked around and touched the door-frames of the house. Mark would always be there in the house and it could stay just as it was. She could catch his shadow in the turn of the stair; hear an echo of his voice as she stood in this kitchen. Sleep in the bed they shared.
Gabby went upstairs. She had a shower and remade the bed with clean sheets. She rang Lucinda and arranged to meet her for lunch. Then she took the coloured basket Mark bought her in Camden market and she walked out by the fast-flowing river to the shops.
Marika met Josh at the airport. He looked brown and well.
They hugged and hugged.
‘I’ve booked us into a little hotel for the night.’
Josh grinned. ‘Good.’ He stared at her. He was home and everything was right with his world.
That evening he phoned Gabby’s mobile but it was switched off. He left a message. Perhaps she was in Cornwall. He rang the farm and no one answered. He tried Nell. She was not there.
Josh had caught an earlier flight than planned. He had thought he would surprise everybody and he felt mildly deflated that everyone was out. He rang Elan’s London number and Elan did answer.
‘Thank God someone’s home, it’s like the Marie Celeste.’
‘Josh! Dear boy, how lovely, you’re back in Blighty!’
‘I am, but my whole family seems to have evacuated somewhere. I can’t get hold of anyone, really weird.’
‘Gabby’s here in London,’ Elan said guardedly.
‘Oh, good, I’ll try her mobile again later. Charlie and Nell aren’t answering either.’
‘How are you, Josh? Glad to be home, I’ll bet?’
‘Very glad.’ Why was Elan being so hearty? ‘After my leave I’m off to Germany. How’s the painting going?’
‘Bit of a dip at the moment. I haven’t been painting for a few weeks. Where are you?’
‘In a hotel with Marika.’
‘How lovely for you! When are you heading home, Josh?’
‘Not sure, probably within the next few days, but I need some time with Marika.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Have you time to meet up while I’m in London, Elan?’
‘Of course, old thing. Ring your mother first. Gabby would hate to have missed you. Then just give me a ring and I’ll take you all out to supper.’
‘Great. Elan, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, dear boy. I’ll talk to you soon. Have fun.’
Josh switched the phone off.
‘What is it?’ Marika asked.
‘I don’t know. Just a feeling.’
Josh lay down beside Marika and they held each other. She said softly, ‘You are tired and all your family are out. It is an anticlimax. When you return from a journey you think everyone will be in the place you have imagined them to be all the time you were away, and when they are not, you suddenly realize that the world has gone on without you. That the people you love are not in exactly the same position waiting for you to return. It is very sad, this feeling. Very lonely. Almost as if you have died and they can get along fine without you.’
‘Yes,’ Josh said, breathing in the smell of her hair. ‘That’s exactly it. It doesn’t matter how old you are, the need to touch base, to reassure that all is the same as it ever was, remains.’
He turned over on his back in the dark room listening to the noise of traffic outside, and people inside walking down the carpeted corridors sliding cards into hotel locks. Gabby had sent him airmail letters, shorter than usual, and he had had no sense of her days or where she was. There were no amusing little anecdotes about things around the farm or people he knew. Nell had written her witty little missives regularly and Charlie never wrote letters to anyone. Marika had written every day.
He propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her.
‘I had forgotten what a wise little witch you are. Will you marry me?’
‘No. I want a proper romantic proposal with you on bended knee in some romantic setting.’
‘Oh, you’re so girlie!’
‘I know.’ Marika sighed happily. ‘Go to sleep.’
Chapter 75
Isabella was feeling stronger and sat in a chair by the glass doors to the courtyard which Lisette had thrown open to let the spring air inside the room.
Lisette was concerned. Isabella was eating little, but she was feeding her baby and must take nourishment. The baby was small and always hungry and Lisette doubted Isabella was going to have enough milk.
Anna came daily to help with the baby. She looked down at her grandson in wonder and love. Thomas was not yet beautiful but he was to Anna. Both she and Ben knew this was a child they would not be able to hold for long or watch grow up.
Lisette watched Isabella. She fed and crooned to her baby but neither read nor sewed, and showed little desire to leave her room but sat staring, staring at the sea, waiting.
The spark in her was gone. She had no spirit. She seemed seized by a listlessness and lethargy that seemed to Lisette more than physical. Anna, too, had noticed.
‘I have seen it before in women, Lisette, after a difficult birth. The pain is too much for the body. The mind takes leave for a while.’
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br /> ‘Then we must call the doctor.’
Anna was cautious. ‘I do not trust doctors in the pay of gentlemen such as Sir Richard. Have a care that we do not play into his hands. Let us look after her for a while longer ourselves.’
Lisette stared at Anna. ‘You mean that to Sir Richard the child is more important than Lady Isabella?’
‘I do. I have seen a woman dragged off to Bodmin Asylum when it suited her husband.’
Lisette smiled. ‘Anna, I cannot see Sir Richard committing his wife to the asylum. He has a kind, if bitterly proud heart.’
Anna compressed her lips. ‘Lady Isabella has baptized her son Thomas Benjamin. Is that an act of a woman who plans to return with her baby to her husband? Sir Richard’s gentleness with Isabella is only to this end.’
Lisette was silent. She had been too near to see the truth. If you lived a lie it became so easy to believe it and Lisette did not know which she was more afraid of, Isabella going back to Sir Richard with her spirit gone, or her escaping with Tom to unknown hardship in her fragile condition.
Anna, returning down the hill to the village, prayed Tom came soon. Anna knew the nature of gentlemen. Sir Richard would have his wife home, and the baby, too. His concern for Isabella was only concern for himself and an heir. If Isabella had loved her husband Anna would have been prepared to lose her grandson to the big house, but when she looked at the scrap of a thing, a child only, wedded to that old man, it seemed to her perverted. What Mr Vyvyan had been thinking of, the Lord only knew.
Isabella looked down on Thomas. He made small gurgling noises and stretched his tiny arms, opened his eyes and squinted up at her, not focusing as yet. His eyes were little slits of tiger eyes, not blue like Tom’s, but like her eyes, like Mama’s.
‘Mama, this is Thomas Benjamin. Is he not beautiful?’
‘He is indeed, my darling. He will need much love and care.’
‘Yes. Do you like his name?’
Silence.
‘Mama, I asked Father O’Callaghan to baptize my child Thomas Benjamin.’
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