‘Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs Angent?’
‘You’re a true gentleman, Matti, and thank you for offering but I’m good. Why don’t you pull the big chair in the corner right up to the fire and get warm, I won’t be a moment, and don’t you think you should call me Pauline? I’d prefer it.’
Doing as she asked, he threw a quick look across at Cara, slumped into a faded rose, button-backed, velvet chair, her coat tugged around her.
‘What is it with you, anyway? I’ve no idea what’s between you two but you’d better buck your ideas up because, as far as I’m concerned, you’re being incredibly rude to a sweet old lady.’
‘You know nothing about it.’
‘I don’t need to know about it. All I know is the only person you’re letting down is yourself. She clearly loves you and you’re being a prat.’ Standing up and walking to the fireplace he rested his hand on the mantelpiece, now bereft of any ornaments. He could still see the faint mark on the wood where something heavy; three somethings heavy, had rested long enough to discolour the timber. He carried on speaking as he tried to visualise just what was missing. ‘So, you can’t love her because what? She married your beloved father, because your father actually chose another woman other than your mother or indeed you? There’s such a thing as basic human compassion and that woman deserves all the compassion she can get. She’s already lost her husband and now she’s about to lose the rest.’
Bending down on his haunches he added a couple of logs to the fire before returning to his seat. ‘Got nothing to say, Cara? You disappoint me, you really do. After all you’ve been through and you don’t have a shred of compassion in that granite wall you’ve welded around your heart. I really expected more from you, a whole lot more. Shame on you is all I can say; shame on you.’
She knew he was talking to her but she didn’t hear a word. He was probably having a go, telling her to be nice to Pauline. Yada. Yada. Yada. She’d heard it all before a million, no a trillion times and whatever he had to say wouldn’t add anything to the conversation. The scars of hate were etched too deep to be removed by an apology and a soft smile. Yes, she played the game by visiting once in a while for appearances sake but that was all.
She knew he’d moved in front of the fire, looking at something on top of the mantelpiece. But she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be sure because she had other pressing matters to consider right now, like the pain. The pain in her hand wriggling up her wrist with the clenching gut-wrenching familiarity she’d grown to dread. It had started right after lunch, just a niggle, a niggle like she’d had many times before. She should have taken a tablet but the way it had knocked her out on the plane had put her off, that and showing any kind of weakness in front of this man. He’d already acted the boss in the restaurant and she certainly wasn’t in the mood to give him any further opportunity to go all superior on her.
Try to focus, try to focus and breathe. Yes, that’s right. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In…
Dear God. She closed her eyes, her right hand clawing at her left in an effort to press skin against bone. Sometimes, just sometimes massage helped. It would have to because, in her effort to get in out of the snow storm, she’d left her tablets in the car, along with her bag. He’d gone quiet now. Good! She couldn’t cope with him wittering on, a tear managing to squeeze past her eyelids and through her lashes to finally track down her cheek.
‘Cara Mia. Mio piccolo amore,’ his words and then his hands interrupting her thoughts. He’d taken her into his arms, smoothing her hair away from her damp brow before pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead. ‘Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything…’ his hands now on her lap, her hand, her wrist, her fingers as he took over pressing, prodding and kneading while she rested her head against the back of the chair.
‘Is she all right?’ Pauline, placing the tea tray on the first flat surface she came across, which just happened to be the top of the piano, before hurrying over.
‘I’m not sure.’ His eyes never leaving her face, his hands still working on her skin, her muscles, her arm tracing the scar to where it stopped just below her elbow.
‘My bag; in the car. My tablets.’ She finally managed, her eyes still closed as she worked on counting out her breaths like a five year old practicing her numbers.
‘I’ll go.’ Pauline volunteered, already heading for the door.
‘Cara, sweetheart, I’m going to carry you upstairs. You’ll be better after your tablets and a sleep.’ His voice soft as he scooped her up with what felt like the same amount of effort it took to lift his cup. ‘Okay, tesoro mio. Try and hold on with your good arm. I’m not as fit as I look.’
If he was hoping for a laugh, he was in for a huge disappointment. She knew he meant well but she couldn’t think outside of the pain even as a thread of thought ran alongside it; a thread of thought she’d have to examine later, but not now.
‘Shush, little one, we’re nearly there.’
They heard a door slam and then hurried footsteps as Pauline squeezed past them on the stairs, gesturing to an open door. ‘In here, Matti, I’ve got the tablets and some water.’
She found herself being lowered down on a bed, feather-down soft and could only guess at which bedroom she was in, her eyes still squeezed tight. Someone was raising her head now and helping her with tablets and a drink before slipping her boots off and covering her with something warm and cosy right up to her neck. She wanted to say thank you for their kindness. She wanted to apologise for her rudeness and seek their forgiveness with a gentle smile but, as the drug started to snare her within its folds, she did none of those things. The last thing she felt was a light kiss on her cheek just before the door whispered closed behind them.
Chapter Ten
‘Come and sit by the fire, Matti, and at least try a cup of tea. She’ll be fine after an hour or so.’
‘I can’t bear it. How can she be in so much pain?’ He slumped back into his chair and accepted the tea with a small smile. ‘Surely she’s been to see someone about it? What about more surgery?’
Pauline passed him a plate with a scone already cut and buttered. ‘She’s had more operations than I care to remember but, really, I’m not the person to ask,’ she added, picking up her own cup.
‘Why’s that, or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘It’s a very long story…’
‘I’m sure,’ his eyes now on the window with deep pockets of snow piling up around the edges. ‘But we have time. It looks like that’s the only thing we do have.’
‘I suppose you could say it’s all my fault really,’ she continued. ‘I should never have married her father, but we fell in love – something neither of us was expecting. I was only meant to fill in as a temp for a few weeks, but…’
‘But sometimes things just happen, don’t they?’ he said, remembering the first time he’d seen her in the park. He should have known then there was something special, something indiscernible that was happening, if only on his side, his eagerness to keep checking out the park, almost an obsession. He should have realised he’d fallen in love with her, his hand shaking as he returned his cup to its saucer.
‘Yes, sometimes these things happen, but…’ She repeated, her gaze frank. ‘She was eight and a real daddy’s girl, a real daddy’s girl far too grown up for her years. Her mother died shortly after giving birth, which was the first tragedy. It could have been prevented, or at least that’s what he believed, right up to the end. It could have been prevented, he could have prevented it. She had post-natal depression. He found her – that’s all I know, he’d never talk about her, even to me but I know deep down however much he loved me, he loved her more.’
‘Pauline…’
But she paused him with a wave of her hand. ‘No, it’s fine. I accepted I was second best a very long time ago. But Cara. Cara couldn’t accept me coming into her father’s life. It certainly didn’t help she found us in bed together, something I’ll always regret. She changed from a
n adoring, albeit spoilt, little girl. She turned against her father just as she never turned towards me. I tried. I’ve tried everything and I’m still trying but it’s as if she’s surrounded by an impenetrable wall. Apart from her best friend, Sarah, and then Aaron there’s been nobody.’ She leant closer and, resting her hand on top of his gave it a gentle squeeze.
‘I’m bilingual, Matti, but Cara’s a polyglot.’
‘A poly-what?’ his eyes widening at the sudden change in subject.
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘You Americans are so funny. A polyglot is someone that speaks more than three languages.’
‘Oh, I know that, she told me,’ ticking them off on his fingers. ‘There’s German, French, English and American.’
‘American isn’t a language.’
‘It is according to Cara!’
‘Cara also speaks Italian. Her degree at university was a combined Italian, music one,’ she added, her voice soft, her look softer. ‘Her father used to tease her about her choice of boyfriend and the need for her to learn yet another language.’
He felt the heat on his cheeks, remembering all too well the sweet nothings he’d whispered in her ear. The only hope was she was too tied up in pain to actually notice but he very much doubted it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh is right.’ Standing up she walked towards the tray and, lifting his cup poured him another. ‘Unless you’d like something stronger that is, I think there’s some whiskey somewhere…?’
‘No, I’m good, I think.’ His smile bashful. ‘So, now you know I like your stepdaughter, would it be correct to tell me a little about the accident?’
‘You mean she didn’t tell you? Well, I’m not sure how much I can add as I don’t know much myself. Her father was ill around the same time. We just managed to attend the wedding before he collapsed.’ Heading for the mantelpiece she pushed a log back with the toe of her shoe before adding another misshapen branch. ‘It’s a good job that tree fell down a few weeks ago or we’d freeze.’
He stood up from the chair and joined her in staring down at the flames, his arm resting gently across her shoulder and only then did she continue.
‘I was at the hospital when I took the call. He was barely conscious by then so at least he never got to hear about the accident, or about Aaron. I told him that Cara was fine, that’s all he needed to know.’
‘The accident?’ he prompted. He had the greatest respect for this woman, coping as she was without moaning even once, but if she didn’t hurry up with her story, he’d strangle her on the spot without a moment’s regret.
‘They were honeymooning in Mallorca.’
‘Honeymooning,’ he interrupted, aghast.
He should be glad, shouldn’t he? He should be glad they hadn’t been married for years. He should be delirious her love hadn’t had time to grow and mature into something stronger than steel. He wasn’t glad, how could he be? Everything that affected her now seemed to affect him, even the destruction of her relationship with another man.
‘Horrible isn’t it. They were on their last day, driving back from a trip in the mountains visiting the tiny village of Valldemossa, famous because Chopin spent a winter there.’
‘How do you…?’
‘How do I know? I know because that’s where they buried him. They had to delay the burial until she was well enough to attend. I wasn’t invited, of course, but I keep in touch with Aaron’s mother. Even though it’s two years now, she’s still going through hell. At least Alex had a good life but Aaron was scarcely out of long trousers.’
‘How did it happen?’
Reaching up she tapped his shoulder with a friendly pat. ‘I’m sorry, Alex used to always say I could never get to the point. It drove him to distraction. I remember one time...’
‘Pauline?’ His eyebrows rose.
‘Oh dear, I told you just how hopeless I am! The route is scenic, beautiful even - All lush foliage, high mountain terrain and the hairpin bends that go with it. I haven’t been, you understand. I couldn’t, not now. Anyway, they were going around a bend, a hairpin bend when they met a coach party of school children off to do exactly what they’d just been doing, following the Chopin route.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘No, well it would have been. Aaron, in that split second, unclicked her seat belt and, with some herculean effort threw her out of her seat before ploughing the car down the deep ravine. Poor boy, he never had a chance, but in doing what he did, he averted a disaster.’ Lifting her hand from where she’d left it on his shoulder she scrubbed it across her face. ‘He was just a lovely, kind boy, none better and to do that. He received a posthumous medal both in Spain and Switzerland for his actions, which must be a little comfort to his mother. Cara was too ill to pick up her own medals, but they’re waiting for her when she wants to receive them.’
‘Her own medals. You’ve lost me again, Pauline. If he threw her clear then why would she receive any recognition?’
‘The burn, the fire. She didn’t even tell you about the fire? Oh dear. I’m not very good at all this stuff.’ Wandering absentmindedly over to a tall mahogany cupboard in the corner, she pulled open the doors to reveal a couple of dusty bottles and, choosing one at random proceeded to blow the dust out of a couple of glasses before pouring thick measures of an amber coloured liquid. ‘Whiskey doesn’t go out of date I suppose, don’t want to be poisoning my guests, I get few enough,’ she said, handing him a glass before taking a deep sip, her nose wrinkled up against the taste. ‘Sit down, Matti, and I’ll tell you just what kind of woman you’ve fallen in love with.’
‘I’m not…’
In love? Of course he was in love. Madly, passionately in love with the woman lying upstairs half prostrate with pain. In truth, this was the first time he’d felt like this. The feelings he’d had for his first wife were lust at best, lust that twisted very quickly into something horrid. He didn’t hate her exactly; hate was too strong a word for what he felt for the woman that had walked out on her child. Despise was probably a better one. He despised her for the way she’d moved on with her life at the expense of her daughter.
‘Okay, I love her, so you’d better tell me the worst.’
‘There is no worst, you silly boy. My beautiful but stubborn daughter,’ she joined him in a smile. ‘Yes, that’s how I think of her, that’s how I’ve always thought of her. My beautiful daughter is a hero. After watching her husband careen to his death, she dragged herself to where the coach had collided with the mountainside and burst into flames. Goodness knows how she managed to pull out twenty five screaming children to safety, in addition to the unconscious coach driver but she did. The flames engulfing the mountainside alerted the nearest village but when they finally turned up, the coach was a burnt out shell and when they finally managed to move the last child from her arms, they found her top had melted into her…’
‘Please!’ He held up a hand before making his way to the same cupboard and, choosing the same bottle, topped up both their glasses. ‘I don’t think I can hear any more. Is there more?’
‘Oh yes, there’s more.’ Leaning heavily on the worn arms of the damask chair, she eased herself to standing and headed for the door. ‘But it can wait. Come into the kitchen and I’ll get us something to eat. I’ve the Aga cranked up, so at least it will be warm even if the food’s not anything exciting – I wasn’t expecting guests.’
The kitchen was very much as he’d expected; old and tired like the rest of the house. Glancing around at the terracotta tiled floor and wall to wall handmade cabinets, his eyes landed on the cardboard box in the corner with a smile.
‘You’ve got kittens!’ Hunching down he put out a hand to scratch mum’s head, well aware he was being watched by four pairs of tiny blue eyes, hidden in bundles of grey fur.
‘I found her in one of the barns a couple of days ago,’ she said, joining him in stroking mum’s black back. ‘That’s the only thing Cara and I have in common, apart from
loving her father,’ she added, placing a hand on his back to ease herself back to standing. ‘We can never walk past an animal in distress without at least trying to help. I even remember, at one point, the barn looking more like an animal shelter with cages for injured birds competing with kittens and even a lame dog she found limping down the lane on the way back from school.’
A smile hovered on his lips as he imagined a young Cara, hair in pigtails, acting the ministering angle to a host of needy animals. He sort of got that already with the way she was with the girls, a born teacher if ever there was one. ‘Well, she’s great with the girls, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s a blessing at least.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because of her…’ She edged back out of the larder cupboard, a tin of soup in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, before staring him squarely in the face.
‘How long exactly have you known my stepdaughter?’
‘What, as in hours, minutes, days?
‘Matti, don’t prevaricate with me.’
Well, I don’t really know her exactly.’ He took the bread off her and, setting it on the bread board, started to cut it into thin slices; happy to have something to do to keep his mind off the piercing blue eyes peering at him from under her fringe.
‘Matti, Cara was never meant to be a teacher. She’s the most amazing talented pianist of her generation, and those aren’t my words. They’re the words of anyone and everyone that has ever heard her play. When she lost Aaron in that accident she lost a lot more than just her husband.’
‘But surely they can do something?’ He placed the knife carefully on the side just in case he decided to do something with it, like fling it at the nearest wall. Just how much was she meant to take before cracking up completely? After all, there’d been a family history of depression with her mother… He glanced over to the door with a frown. She wouldn’t think of doing something silly, would she? And even if she did how the hell were they meant to try and stop her?
The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan Page 43