Change of Season

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘But you put the clean things in with dirty, so they’ll all smell rotten now.’

  ‘You surely didn’t expect me to examine your knickers to see which ones had been worn?’

  There was no answering that one. ‘What am I going to wear tomorrow? I particularly wanted to wear this shirt.’

  ‘Up to you, dear. But if you want to do some washing now, the laundry’s free and I have some undercover lines. Your things will be dry by morning.’

  Glances locked.

  Audrey kept a smile on her face only with difficulty.

  Louise didn’t even attempt to smile. ‘I do not need this.’

  ‘Nor do I. In fact, it’s inconvenient having you staying here, much as I love you. But I’m sure things will work out once you get used to my ways. You need to remember that this is my house.’

  The silence was definitely heavy enough to weigh. Cursing under her breath, Louise stormed into the laundry. Before she could sling her clothes into the washing machine, her grandmother was there beside her.

  ‘I can’t afford new appliances, so let me show you how to get the best out of this old one.’

  Sullenly, Louise listened and obeyed. It certainly was an old machine. She looked round. ‘Where’s the tumble drier?’

  ‘I don’t need one. They’re expensive on electricity and besides, things dry on my undercover lines, even in winter.’

  Louise let out an aggrieved sigh. Great! Back to the Dark Ages!

  Later, when she had finished her first assignment from university, she wandered downstairs again. Her gran was watching some dumb documentary on television. The only books on the shelves were romances – Mills & Boon, for heaven’s sake, and someone called Georgette Heyer! She picked up one of the romances. ‘I didn’t know you read this rubbish, Gran.’

  ‘You know enough about romances to pass judgement, do you?’

  Louise dropped the book as if it were a hot coal. ‘I’ve never read one in my life!’

  ‘That makes you an excellent judge, then. Anyway, who asked you to read my books – or to comment on them?’

  Louise retreated to her room. She was hungry. But she’d put on weight if she ate the things her grandmother cooked. Her stomach growled and she sighed. Maybe she should get some pills to kill her appetite and make her more active. Sandy said they were marvellous. They were a bit expensive, though. She might have to get a part-time job. She switched on her radio and since she and Gran had already had words about noise levels, she turned it down and got into bed. She’d never sleep, going to bed this early. And she’d go mad with boredom in the evenings here.

  People who went gallivanting off to England should make better arrangements for their daughters. Sandy complained about her bedsitter being too small, but Louise would swap with her any day.

  It wasn’t till she was eating breakfast next morning that she realised she’d forgotten to peg out her washing the previous night. She pushed the toast aside with an angry growl and got up to do it. What the hell was she going to wear today?

  This was a lousy start to the university year. Absolutely lousy!

  The following afternoon the phone rang and Rosalind ran to pick it up. ‘Paul?’

  ‘No. It’s me. Sophie.’

  Disappointment knifed through Rosalind. You’d have thought your husband would at least ring to check that you’d arrived safely, whether he was in New York or not. ‘Aunt Sophie! How lovely to hear your voice. How on earth did you find out where I was?’

  ‘Phoned your husband’s company. They didn’t want to tell me your number at first, but I insisted.’

  Rosalind’s smile was genuine. ‘I was going to ring you this evening.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to wait. Look, they told me Paul isn’t expected back until the weekend, so I want you to come and visit me for a day or two. You haven’t got anything else arranged, have you?’

  ‘No. Well, only sorting out the house.’

  ‘Sort it out next week instead. I need to see you now.’

  Rosalind chuckled.

  ‘I’d better warn you. I’ve got cancer. I don’t have long to live, so don’t be shocked at how thin I am.’

  ‘Oh, Soph, no!’ Tears welled in Rosalind’s eyes.

  ‘No maudlin nonsense. I’m eighty-three. Got to die of something. Rather have had a quick heart attack, but there you are.’ More silence, then, ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ Cancer! Poor Soph! Paul was right – Rosalind couldn’t have afforded to wait any longer to come to England. Damn him, why did he always have to be right? And why hadn’t he phoned?

  She went to repack her suitcase and set off within the hour, arriving in Lancashire around three in the afternoon after a trouble-free drive along some delightful country roads, then up some busy motorways.

  Southport had such a pretty main street she was tempted to stop for a few minutes and walk round, but resisted that idea and drove on, following Sophie’s instructions.

  ‘This can’t be it!’ she exclaimed as she pulled up. She checked the number again, but it was correct. Somehow, she hadn’t expected Sophie to have such an impressive house. Although it was a terraced house, it was far larger than the one she and Paul were renting and was three stories high, with attics above that. But it was an old house and there was no garage, so she had to park in the street.

  As she walked along the path the front door was opened by a complete stranger. ‘Am I at the right place? I’m looking for my aunt, Sophie Worth.’

  ‘Yes, this is her house. You must be Rosalind. I’m Prue Daking, a sort of nurse-housekeeper. Do come in.’ She smiled conspiratorially and lowered her voice. ‘Your aunt’s been waiting for you impatiently all afternoon.’

  At the sitting-room door, Rosalind stopped and tried to keep smiling through her shock. Sophie Worth was skeletal, the faded yellowish skin stretched across her bones like crumpled parchment. She was sitting in a wheelchair and didn’t get up, just held out both hands to Rosalind, then pulled her close, cheek to cheek, for a moment.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve come, dear.’

  ‘I am, too.’

  ‘Prue, would you get us a tea tray?’ Sophie let go of Rosalind’s hands and gestured towards the comfortable sofa next to her.

  Tears filled Rosalind’s eyes. She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘You can go away again if you’re going to weep all over me.’

  ‘You know I always cry easily, Soph.’

  ‘Well, if I’m not crying, you certainly shouldn’t be.’ She reached out to pat her great-niece’s hand. ‘I’ve had a long life and a good one, too. Never married,’ she grinned wickedly, ‘but had a few lovers in my time.’

  ‘Aunt Sophie!’

  ‘Ha! Shocked you there. Don’t know why, though. Did you think we were all sexless in those days?’

  Suddenly, Rosalind felt at home. Each time Soph had visited them in Australia, she had felt drawn to her – as she did now. The two of them had corresponded intermittently for years, but Soph had never even hinted at her present health problems.

  ‘What did that husband of yours say when you told him you were coming to see me today?’

  ‘Paul doesn’t know.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Rosalind shrugged, trying to speak lightly. ‘He hasn’t been in touch yet. And he didn’t meet me at the airport as he promised. If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t even know when he’s coming back from America.’ In spite of her efforts, her voice wobbled.

  ‘You’re too soft with him. I’ve always said that.’

  They both stopped speaking as Prue brought in the tea tray and poured cups for them, her actions quick and efficient, her short dark hair sleek as a seal’s coat.

  When she’d gone, Sophie continued thoughtfully, ‘Paul came to see me – when was it? – two years ago. We didn’t get on very well without you to mediate. He stayed for tea, then left for “an urgent business appointment”. In Blackpool, he said, but that was just an excuse. He came
mainly to value my house and he didn’t need much time to do that.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Of course he did! Don’t stick your head in the sand, girl. He’s a businessman. Why else would he visit an old woman he can’t abide?’

  Rosalind could feel heat creeping across her cheeks.

  ‘Anyway, after he came, I changed my will.’

  Rosalind sat up very straight and said stiffly, ‘You can leave your money as you like. I don’t care about inheriting your property, Soph.’

  ‘Pity, because I’ve left it all to you.’

  ‘But you said you’d changed your will.’

  ‘I just changed the conditions under which you inherit. My lawyer, Mr Dennison, has all the details.’ Sophie gave her niece an urchin’s mischievous smile. ‘Everything’s now left in a trust and your precious husband won’t be able to touch a penny of it. You’ll get the income, not him, and it must be paid into a bank account that’s in your name only. Paul offered to manage my affairs for me, did you know? I told him I could manage them myself, thank you very much.’

  ‘I didn’t know any of this.’ And the thought of her husband trying to take over Sophie’s affairs didn’t sit well with her. He not only dealt with their own finances, but wanted to know where every penny went, so that you couldn’t even buy him a present without him knowing where you got it from and what it had cost. It was only by saving from her housekeeping money that Rosalind managed to have anything of her own. But whenever she got irritated about this, she reminded herself that he had their welfare at heart.

  ‘Wish I could be there to see his face when the will’s read,’ Sophie went on. ‘He’ll be bitterly disappointed not to get his hands on the capital, and you’re not to hand the income over to him, either. You’re to keep it in your own bank account and spend it yourself. Promise me!’

  ‘Well – if you want me to, I promise. But Paul was probably just trying to help you. He’s not quite so – so mercenary.’

  Sophie gave her a wry look. ‘Of course he’s mercenary! If he weren’t, he’d not be any good at a job like that. Do you even know how much he earns?’

  Rosalind shook her head, unable to meet her great aunt’s eyes.

  ‘Well, don’t tell him how much money you get from me. That’ll even things up. Anyway, that’s enough talking about him. I want to tell you exactly what you’ll be inheriting.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were so rich,’ Rosalind faltered when the tale was over. She felt quite shocked at the thought of inheriting so much money. This house was the least of it.

  Sophie looked smug. ‘I did rather well with my investments, if I say so myself, and a couple of friends left me their money.’ Her smile faded. ‘It’s sad seeing your friends die one by one. I’m the last of my circle left. It’s time I went.’ She picked up a little brass hand bell and rang it. ‘I’m afraid I need a rest now. Can’t stay upright for too long these days. Get Prue to show you round the house, then you might like to go out for a walk.’

  Prue took Aunt Sophie away to the bedroom they’d made out of the old dining room, then came back a few minutes later to show Rosalind to the large bedroom on the first floor, with its square bay window and big pieces of mahogany furniture. ‘Don’t keep Miss Worth up too late tonight,’ she warned in a low voice.

  ‘How is my aunt? Really, I mean.’

  Prue shrugged. ‘As you’d expect. The doctors have prescribed something for the pain, but she’ll only take it at night, because it makes her so dopey. She’s a brave woman and I shall miss her when she dies.’

  ‘So shall I.’

  ‘She likes people to ignore her condition as much as possible.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. Um – I think I will go out for a stroll. Sitting in a car all day makes me twitchy.’

  On her short walk Rosalind passed a florist’s and on impulse went inside. There were so many types of flowers available, even at this season, that in the end she asked for a large mixed bunch.

  When Sophie reappeared that evening she looked tired, but had changed her dress and tied her long white hair smoothly back at the nape of her neck with a black velvet ribbon. Rosalind gave her the flowers and her face lit up.

  ‘How lovely! Thank you so much, my dear. I’ve always loved flowers, but I can’t even remember the last time anyone bought me a bunch.’ She sighed, her eyes blind with memories. ‘It used to be men who bought me flowers, of course. I’ve had quite a few bunches of red roses in my time. But they’re all dead now, the men of my generation. They died so quickly. It’s the women who’re the survivors. Remember that, Rosalind.’

  After a light but delicious meal, Prue went to clear up and the other two sat talking for a while until Sophie rubbed her forehead and sighed. ‘Have to go to bed again now. Damned nuisance. Need one of those blasted injections. Call Prue, will you? I’ll see you in the morning, my dear. There’s some rather fine cognac in the sideboard. I can’t drink it now, more’s the pity, so don’t stint yourself. And watch the television, if you like. It won’t disturb me.’

  But Rosalind didn’t watch television. Instead, she sat staring at the flames of a gas fire that imitated burning logs rather well, while cradling a brandy glass in her hands. Sipping occasionally she let her thoughts wander where they would. The room was crowded with mementoes and ornaments, all Sophie Worth’s life set out in careful patterns. But when it came down to it, you went out of the world on your own, as deprived of possessions as you’d come into it.

  Perhaps, she thought as she got ready for bed, she’d clung to her own possessions too much.

  Perhaps Paul was right about her needing a change.

  In the morning Rosalind slept late, for her, because she still hadn’t adjusted to the time change. When she got up around nine, she found Sophie waiting for her impatiently downstairs.

  ‘Thought you were never going to surface. I was about to send Prue to wake you. Look – I know you spent yesterday driving, but do you feel like a trip out today?’ It was typical of her not to bother with the meaningless small talk she had always despised.

  ‘I’d love it, but ought you to—’

  ‘I hired a car and driver yesterday. Forgot to tell you last night. The injections make me a bit woozy. I want to go to the Lake District one last time. Will you come with me?’

  ‘I’d love to. But there was no need to hire a car. I could have driven you.’

  ‘Oh, no! Much more fun to let someone else do the driving. This way, you’ll see more of the scenery and we can talk properly. I’ve ordered a big car so my stupid wheelchair will fit into the boot.’

  The car was a grey Mercedes with a driver in a navy chauffeur’s uniform. Sophie giggled and nudged Rosalind as he fussed over them. ‘This is doing things in style, eh?’

  ‘Don’t you always, Soph?’

  The day passed swiftly. They drove north along the motorway to Kendal, then stopped for a while beside Lake Windermere. Rosalind noticed that her aunt was dozing, so sat quietly enjoying the scenery.

  ‘I’d have bought a house up here near the lakes if it wasn’t for the holidaymakers cluttering up the place,’ Sophie said suddenly.

  ‘You’re awake again.’

  ‘Of course I’m awake. Do you think I talk sense in my sleep?’ She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Need a toilet. One of those bigger ones for disabled folk. Would you mind helping me?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Afterwards Rosalind pushed the wheelchair along the lakeside for a while, worried at how white her aunt’s face was. She didn’t go far, but found a bench with a lovely view of the water and its fractured reflections of the hills around them. They sat chatting quietly as a light breeze rippled the surface.

  ‘Tell me about your life,’ Sophie said abruptly. ‘Has it been good for you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ve made my career out of my husband and family. They’re the centre of everything, my whole life and—’

  ‘No!’ Her aunt sounded really angry. ‘They’re not your who
le life. He’s your husband, and important to you, but you’re a person in your own right as well. You should have a life of your own and think of your needs as well as his. The same with your children. Never forget that.’

  Silence sat between them like a chaperone for a few moments, then Sophie sighed. ‘Let’s go back to the car now. I’m weaker than I thought.’

  ‘Perhaps we should go home?’

  ‘No!’ Sophie’s voice was sharp. She looked at her niece, pleading for understanding. ‘This’ll probably be my last outing. Let’s make the most of it, eh? We’ll stop again later and I’ll probably have another doze. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll have seen the hills and lakes again.’

  She was very quiet as they drove round by Keswick and stopped near Helvellyn. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she asked once, then nodded off before Rosalind could answer. She slept most of the way home, too.

  Prue took one look at her when they got back and said firmly, ‘Bed now, Miss Worth. You’re not staying up for dinner tonight, either.’

  ‘Bully!’ said Sophie, but went without further protest.

  ‘I shouldn’t have let her go out,’ Rosalind worried when Prue came back down to join her.

  ‘Well, the doctors would tell you that. But in my opinion she should do whatever she wants. Does it really matter if the outing shortens her life by a few days? She enjoyed it greatly.’

  ‘You’re very good to her.’

  ‘Not all my patients are as much fun to be with.’ Prue hesitated. ‘It’s not my place to say it, but you will come and see her again, won’t you? She’s thoroughly enjoying your company.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ll come as often as I can. But I’ll have to leave tomorrow, I’m afraid, because Paul will be home at the weekend.’

  There were tears on Rosalind’s cheeks as she drove away from Southport, but she was filled with admiration for Sophie’s bravery. Old age was cruel and she didn’t know how anyone could face death so cheerfully.