In the deep shade of the veranda, Polonius lay; head on paws, utterly relaxed. Yet a watchful eye gleamed and his ears were pricked attentively. He was not allowed into this part of the garden and he was waiting for Maudie to return from her weeding. Some excitement was afoot, he knew that quite well, but wasn’t certain yet as to what it might be. It had involved a great deal of busyness in the spare bedroom, several trips to Bovey—from which he’d been excluded—and a stocking up of the shelves in the storeroom. He followed Maudie about, faintly anxious, inquisitive, interested, sensing her suppressed anticipation. Now, with the onset of this hot sunny spell, this busyness had extended itself to the garden. Polonius yawned massively, snapping at a passing fly, stretching himself upon the sun-warmed wooden planks.
Maudie, pottering happily with the sun on her back, was in high spirits. In little more than a week, Daphne would be here. She was staying for a month.
‘But not with you, love, don’t panic,’ she’d said. ‘Not for all of it.’
Maudie had protested but Daphne had been quite determined.
‘I shall be with you for most of it,’ she’d promised, ‘but I shall come and go. Leave you time to breathe and have a rest. You’re used to being alone, Maudie, and a month is a very long time.’
Part of Maudie knew that this was true; nevertheless she’d felt ridiculously hurt—almost jealous—that Daphne had other friends to see. She knew how silly this was, how childish she was being, but she couldn’t quite help herself. Daphne was a popular and well-loved woman who made a point of keeping in contact with her friends. Naturally she would want to see them, as well as the few remaining members of her family. It was quite unreasonable to expect to have her all to herself for a whole month and Maudie consoled herself with the knowledge that she was having the lion’s share of Daphne’s company.
‘Just over a week to begin with,’ she’d said, ‘if you can cope with me that long, and then I shall go off for a few days to see an old cousin of mine and Philip’s brother. Oh, Maudie, we’re going to have such fun!’
It was nearly two years since they’d been together last; at Hector’s funeral. They’d stood together—two tall, elderly women, with a wealth of shared memories—straight-backed, dry-eyed. Theirs was not a generation who’d known the luxury of easy tears or the indulgence of indiscriminately or publicly displayed emotion. They’d said their farewells to Hector with dignity and it was only after the door had shut behind the last guests that they’d kicked off their shoes and allowed themselves the relaxation of grief. On that occasion Daphne had stayed for barely a week; this was to be a real holiday.
‘And then I shall come out to see all of you,’ Maudie had said. ‘That’s what I planned to do once Moorgate was sold. This has only postponed it, you know. I long to see darling Emily and the children. Do bring some photographs with you, won’t you?’
Maudie, kneeling beside the border beneath the hedge, prepared herself for the painful act of rising. The garden was looking delightful, the house was spring-cleaned, all was ready; but first, before Daphne was due to arrive, Posy was coming for the weekend. Posy was longing to see Daphne again, always interested in everything that Emily was doing. She had a special fondness for Emily, although she hadn’t seen her for many years, and still liked to talk about the holidays at Moorgate, insisting that she could remember those far-off happy days. Perhaps the three of them might make a visit to Moorgate, to see Rob and the girl whose name she’d forgotten. Maudie had sent a card once the house was finally, legally, his but in the ensuing two months, what with Patrick’s departure and the need to prepare the house for Daphne’s arrival, she’d had little time to spare for Rob. Somehow, the knowledge that Rob was there made her feel that Moorgate was still accessible; that it was not lost to the family for ever.
As she kicked off her shoes, and stepped over the rope which prevented Polonius from going into the garden, the telephone began to ring.
‘Damn,’ she muttered, ‘damn and blast. Don’t hang up!’ and, abandoning the search for her espadrilles, she fled barefoot through the French doors into the living room and snatched up the receiver.
‘Lady Todhunter? Hello. It’s Rob Abbot. How are you?’
Maudie sat down, took a deep breath and began to laugh. ‘Rob, how good to hear from you. You must have second sight. I was just thinking about you and wondering if I might come down and see you. Just a quick one, you know, to say hello.’ A short silence. ‘Not if it’s difficult, though,’ she added quickly. ‘I certainly don’t want to be a nuisance. It would simply be nice to see you—both of you—settled in.’
‘That would be good.’ Rob sounded as if he’d made up his mind about something. ‘Yes. You do that. Only, could you come this weekend?’
‘This weekend?’ Maudie was rather taken aback. ‘Well, I could. I’d have my granddaughter with me, if you can cope with that?’
‘Of course. Bring her along. Would Saturday or Sunday be best?’
‘I’d prefer Saturday. She travels back to Winchester on Sunday.’
‘Saturday it is, then. About coffee time?’
‘Excellent. I shall look forward to it. Goodbye, Rob.’
Polonius came padding in and sat down beside her chair. ‘That was rather sudden,’ she told him. ‘But it should be fun. Perhaps I can go again later, with Daphne. I hope Posy won’t object to being dragged down to Cornwall. Well, never mind. Saturday it is. If it’s not too hot we might take you with us but don’t count on it.’
Polonius sighed heavily, as one who was continually and cruelly exposed to disappointment, and Maudie patted him consolingly. She knew how much he hated being left alone; she also knew that Posy would be loath to leave him. Posy had spent most of the Easter holidays with Maudie, although Selina had not gone to Australia after all. Chris and his wife had arranged to take a holiday and had invited Selina to go with them to Edinburgh. Selina had accepted with alacrity and Posy had felt free to travel to Devon without feeling guilty.
‘Trust Chris,’ she’d said rancorously. ‘Chris always does the right thing. It makes you sick. I wish you could have seen Mum doing the wistful abandoned wife bit. She was like, “Oh, however shall I manage?” with her handkerchief at the ready and Chris doing his filial stuff and saying what a bastard Dad is. I wouldn’t mind but when Chris went she was back to her normal sarky self before he’d got outside the gate.’
‘Never mind. At least she’s being looked after and you can relax.’
‘I know.’ Posy had still looked cross. She’d frowned, dragging her hands through her hair. ‘I know it’s silly but it hurts. I offered to spend the holidays with her and she just chucked the offer back in my face and said she was going out to see Auntie Pat. But the minute Chris steps in she changes her mind and goes off with him and Sarah.’ She sniffed. ‘I can’t think why I’m surprised. Chris has always been her favourite. I suppose I can understand it but she’s so … so blatant about it.’
‘Perhaps Patricia didn’t want her.’
It had been a naughty and provocative thing to say but it had distracted Posy from her woes.
‘I never thought of that,’ she’d said, shocked. ‘Oh dear. You could be right. Poor old Mum …’
Maudie pushed Polonius’s heavy head off her knee and stood up. It might be tactless to take Posy down to Cornwall so as to see Rob and his partner happily settled into the house she’d always loved so much. On the other hand, they might all become friends. Either way it was too late now to worry about it. Maudie went into the kitchen to wash her hands. Her knees and back ached from weeding and stooping, and she longed for a cup of tea.
‘I’m an old, old woman,’ she told Polonius, who had followed her and was now staring hopefully at the biscuit tin. ‘And much you care. Oh, very well then. One biscuit and that’s all and now go away. I’m going to sit down with my cup of tea and read the paper.’
It was only much later that she’d realised that she hadn’t asked Rob why he’d telephoned.
Rob stood at the kitchen window, hands in pockets, gazing at nothing. He did a lot of this these days: walking from room to room, staring out of windows. Fortunately he had a great deal of work at the moment, and for most of the time he was occupied, but during those other empty hours he was apathetic, unfocused and lonely. The odd thing was that, before Melissa, he had never been lonely. He’d been self-sufficient, quite content with his own company if none other was forthcoming. It was as if she’d shown him how delightful life could be with the right companion and then departed, leaving him alone, dissatisfied and miserable. Only his friendship with Mike had kept him going. The shock of her death had momentarily unbalanced him but Mike’s need had steadied him, giving him something which enabled him to think his existence was worth preserving.
It seemed so utterly extraordinary that five short days could have changed his life, given it new, sweet meaning, whilst now the slowly passing hours were flat, empty, wearisome. Even the possession of Moorgate could not comfort him. It was ironic that Melissa should have supplanted Moorgate in his heart and then left both heart and house untenanted. Without her the house simply underlined all that he had lost. He saw her everywhere; expected to hear her voice. Missing her was a permanent physical ache. Yet he was not bitter; he utterly understood why she had allowed herself those five days of fun and love and he did not begrudge her a minute of them. So many things had become clear once he’d read her letter and talked to Mike, but he wished that she had not wanted him to have Moorgate. He knew quite well that this was her offering to him, the only thing she could leave to him, but she hadn’t foreseen that without her it kept his grief and loss at the forefront of his mind.
‘I don’t think I can go on here alone,’ he’d said to Mike, one evening on the telephone. ‘I keep expecting to find her, sitting by the fire or looking out at the moor or watching the rooks. I think I can hear her voice. It should be comforting, to be here where we were so happy, but it isn’t. It’s agonising.’
‘It’s early days.’ Mike had sounded almost as desperate as he was himself, and Rob had been struck by remorse.
‘I know it is,’ he’d answered quickly. ‘How are you managing? How’s Luke?’
‘He misses her. He looks for her and grizzles to himself. I don’t quite know how to deal with it.’
‘Why don’t you come down?’ Rob had suggested eagerly. ‘You and Luke. Just for a weekend or something. It would distract him.’ And me, he might have added. ‘Or would it disrupt your work?’
Mike had laughed rather mirthlessly. ‘I’m not getting much done. It sounds a great idea, Rob. Are you sure? Luke’s a bit of a handful.’
‘Just tell me what you need.’ Rob had sounded almost buoyant. ‘I can buy some secondhand bits and pieces. After all, I’m hoping you might consider this to be a second home.’
‘Well.’ Mike had hesitated. ‘He still needs to sleep in a cot. And a playpen is an absolute necessity if we want a few moments of peace and quiet. Honestly, Rob, I can’t put you to all that trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ Rob had sounded almost happy. ‘I might have been his uncle if… if…’
‘You are his uncle,’ Mike had said quickly. ‘Definitely. His only uncle. OK, I accept your offer with gratitude. Maybe a few days in the peace and quiet of the Cornish countryside will unblock my thought processes.’
So it was that Mike and Luke had made their first visit to Moorgate together. Once they’d settled in, joking at the makeshift arrangements, jollying each other along, Rob, and Mike—with Luke slung papoose-like across his chest—had walked across the moor as far as Rough Tor. It had been a calm, mild day and Mike had visibly relaxed in the soft air and warm sunshine.
‘I can see why Melissa loved it here,’ he’d said. ‘It’s a different world. It meant so much to her, Rob. That glorious week of freedom coming out of nowhere when there was nothing left to look forward to.’
Out there on the moor they’d talked naturally, easing their pain, sharing their grief. Even Luke had been soothed by the peace and had slept soundly in the old, white-painted cot.
‘Melissa wanted this to be the nursery,’ Rob had said. ‘She’d have guessed that Luke would probably be the first to use it.’
A few weeks later Mike and Luke had made another visit. It was clear that Mike was puzzled by the continuing scarcity of furniture although he said nothing.
‘I can’t bring myself to get on with it.’ Rob had answered his quick glance around the kitchen, still furnished only with the gate-leg table and two chairs. ‘I had very little down in the caravan so it means a special shopping trip and I simply can’t bring myself to make it. Melissa was so sure about what the house needed. She had such positive ideas … and so did I. It’s just not the same without her.’
For a brief moment he’d feared that Mike might offer to go with him, to jolly him along, but Mike had remained silent. Luke’s playpen sat proudly in the middle of the huge floor space and it was almost a relief when the usual detritus that gathers about small children began to spread around the house. When they’d gone Rob left the playpen where it was; it was company for him.
Now, as he stared out of the kitchen window, he realised that he hadn’t given Lady Todhunter a reason for telephoning. It was just as well that she’d jumped into the breach. He had no idea why he’d needed to speak to her; a sudden requirement to hear her crisp old voice had possessed him. He’d remembered those conversations with her, and cheerful pub lunches, her sharp humour and charming smile, and he’d simply picked up his mobile and dialled her number. He’d had no opportunity to explain about Melissa and he could foresee difficulties there but—Rob shrugged—he had to get it over sometime. Maybe it would be easier with a granddaughter about but, anyway, he’d had little choice. Mike and Luke were coming down again the following weekend and he preferred to see Lady Todhunter without that added complication.
Rob frowned. He had the oddest sensation that Melissa was sitting at the table behind him, her ruana clutched about her, eating chocolate, smiling at him. He wouldn’t turn round. He’d done it before and had always been disappointed. Yet, today, he’d felt her presence keenly. Whilst he’d been thinking about Lady Todhunter she’d been there, in the shadows of his mind. He clenched his teeth, tears starting in his eyes, his body aching for her.
… You can’t imagine what you gave to me, Rob, she’d written. The best and most precious gift, ever. Love and life when I’d thought it was all over. Forgive me, won’t you? I shall always love you. Think of me when you see the rooks building and hear the new lambs each spring …
He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and allowed the tears to fall.
Chapter Thirty-two
Mike sat at the kitchen table looking through his post. He still occasionally received letters of condolence, as the sad news filtered outward through close friends to acquaintances, but this morning he was studying the latest details sent from estate agents. There were photographs of beautiful cottages, in idyllic Oxfordshire villages, and larger rectories and vicarages in Wiltshire and Gloucestershire. Mike studied them thoughtfully whilst Luke chuntered cheerfully in his highchair. He had no plans for taking out a large mortgage—as a writer he felt that his income was too uncertain to justify such a risk—but he had a very respectable sum at his disposal. The proceeds from the life assurance policy that Melissa had taken out against the mortgage of her London flat were now his. The flat had been a modest little affair and, comforting though it was to know that the money was there, it seemed a small sum compared with the prices of these houses. Mike and Melissa had both used the twenty thousand pounds, given to each of them by their father, as deposits to buy flats but Mike still had a mortgage to pay. His real hope, now, was to buy outright, to take this opportunity to free himself from debt and begin to build a stable future for himself and Luke. It seemed that, if he wished to realise this hope, he might have to move further afield than these expensive counties of middle England. The buzz of the doorbel
l disturbed his reflections and he piled the house details aside and went out into the hall.
He opened the front door and hid his dismay behind a smile.
‘Rebecca. How nice …’
‘No, honestly, I shan’t stay a minute. I’m sure you’re much too busy to be disturbed.’ Her expression—rueful, flirtatious, intimate—was a masterpiece. ‘Just to say—what about supper on Saturday evening? We’ve got a little party going …’
‘Come in,’ he said, trying to keep the despair from his voice. ‘Don’t stand on the pavement.’
‘Only for a tiny second, then. Promise. I know you writers.’ She preceded him into the kitchen. ‘Oh, the little darling. Good morning, Luke. Do you know, I think he recognises me.’
Mike thought: I’m not surprised. We see enough of you. Aloud he said: ‘It’s possible. Coffee?’
‘Oh, well…’ She clasped her hands together, a girlish gesture which sat uncomfortably with her years. ‘Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. Can I, Lukey?’
Mike grimaced horribly at the percolator: Lukey! Lukey! ‘How are the girls?’ he asked politely.
‘Don’t ask. Just don’t ask!’ She rolled her eyes humorously. ‘Thank God, for a wealthy ex and boarding school. Now! Don’t go putting that in your book, will you? My friends are just so impressed that I know you. “He’ll be putting you in one of his books,” they say to me. Honestly!’
Resisting the urge to observe that he never wrote about the commonplace or banal, Mike smiled noncommittally. ‘Black?’
‘Fancy you remembering. No sugar. I’m desperately trying to lose weight.’ Another of her expressions—an agonised grin of bravery. ‘How do you manage to stay so lean?’
Mike refused to be drawn into the weight debate. Perhaps she was hoping he might tell her that she had no need to diet; if so she was destined for disappointment.
‘It’s Luke who keeps me in training,’ he answered lightly.
A Week in Winter: A Novel Page 28