by Deryn Lake
“I can’t afford one.”
“Then get married. Once you’re another man’s property our Nige will soon lose interest.”
“I shall never be anyone’s property as you put it.”
“Oh stop being so bloody feminist. You know what I mean.”
She had laughed and he had rolled his Italian eyes. “Are those my agent’s instructions, to get married?”
“They most certainly are.”
“I’ll pass the message on.”
But she hadn’t and just a tiny bit of that old feeling, that old uncertainty about exactly where she and Finnan were going, had returned.
‘But I mustn’t let it,’ she thought. ‘Things are so perfect, so blissful, I musn’t allow a single thing to spoil it for me.’
But it was too late. The thought was in her head and there was no way that it would come out again. All she wished was that Finnan would come back from whatever medical conference he was attending so that she could put it to him that the time had come for them to make some kind of decision about the future.
To take her mind off all the things that needed sorting out, Sidonie picked up her much loved copy of The Life and Letters of Lady Sarah Lennox and turned to a letter which she always enjoyed reading.
It was from Hove, near Brighthelmstone, 9th April, 1781, and said:
“If my affection for you, my dear Lady Susan, was to be measured by the regularity of my correspondence, j’aurais mauvaise grace à y prétendre, but I trust it is not; for I could not very well give any tolerable reason for never writing to you for a whole winter, when I’ve so very often thought of you and talked of you with my daughter. I have passed this whole winter within two miles of Brighthelmstone for the benefit of sea bathing, partly for Louisa’s and my health, but still more out of a desire of being useful to my brother and the Duchess, who have a little protégée whom they are mighty fond of, and to whom winter bathing was necessary. As she was too ill to trust her with servants I offered my services, and accordingly have now passed seven months here. I have been very well repaid for my trouble by the pleasure of being of use to the little girl, who is quite recovered, otherwise my séjour has not been remarkably pleasant; to a person who like me has no society or acquaintance but her near relations, to be separated from them is the greatest solitude. But although Brighton has had a tolerable number of people in it continually, yet I’ve never mixed in the society there, and by walking about a great deal I’ve become personally acquainted with a number of faces and names whom I know no more of.
My spirits are by no means good but I still prefer the greatest solitude to company I do not love; for I must more than like my company to be perfectly comfortable.”
Sidonie put the book down. Two hundred years earlier, Sarah Lennox had discovered what Sidonie had finally done since Finnan’s return. To be perfectly, utterly comfortable with someone it really was necessary to love them.
*
It had indeed been a long lonely winter by the ocean, in fact the reclusiveness had seemed worse than ever. She and Louisa, together with little Maria Grey, one of the Duke of Richmond’s brood of bastards, had gone for long walks along the endless beach, watching the cold sea relentlessly shifting. It had seemed to Sarah as she had gazed out to the distant horizon that she was looking at the rest of her life, stretching on and on, always icy, always the same, and that if it had not been for the company of her charming child, grown no prettier to look at but such a dear good creature, she may as well have thrown herself headlong into that selfsame ocean and allowed it to drag her down to its silent depths.
There had been no word from Donny Napier, doing his best to restore a career in Ireland, other than a letter at Christmas which had been forwarded on from Sarah’s home. She had written back, giving her address in Hove, but he had not written further and Sarah had presumed that he had met some solitary Irish widow and thrown in his lot with hers, and wondered why the idea of that plunged her into such gloom.
The one bright thing during those long chilly months had been the joy of watching Louisa develop into a delightful girl. Still only twelve years old, Sarah’s daughter was none the less treated as grown-up and received many invitations to visit. At present she was in London staying with Sir Charles Bunbury whom she always addressed as Papa. The love of this child had brought about the final mellowing in his attitude towards his former wife, and Sarah was filled with a great sense of relief that Charles and Mrs Soame, his married sister, were taking Louisa out and about in Society just as if she really were their daughter and niece. Her mother’s fears that the innocent child might suffer her same fate of ostracism had been allayed. Yet Louisa’s absences made for even lonelier times and Sarah could not wait for the day when the doctors pronounced her small bastard niece finally cured and she could go home to her dear little house.
It was April again, the days bright as a daffodil, the evening sea soft with the shade of bluebells. Walking along the beach, both of them carrying their shoes, Sarah and Maria would look for shells or stop to examine an interesting rock pool, their tiny world totally absorbed with trivia. But destiny was ready now, the wheel of fortune had turned, the time had come at long last for Sarah to be set free.
Looking up from staring at a small crab, Maria said, “There’s a man waving at us, Aunt. Look.”
She lifted her head and thought she must be dreaming, for Donny Napier, dressed in the uniform of a captain, was striding towards them calling out a greeting. Life flowed into her veins like fire and Sarah, throwing propriety to the winds, started to run to meet him. And he must have been in the same mad mood as she, for as they drew level Donny picked Sarah up by the waist and lifted her high in the air.
“Oh gracious,” she said, laughing and breathless, “I am so very pleased to see you.”
“And I you, believe me.”
“Is this sheer chance, Captain, or had you come to find me?”
“I’m on leave from my regiment. I went to your house but they told me you were still in Hove. The landlady of your lodging directed me to the beach.”
“It’s wonderful to see you,” she said earnestly, taking hold of his arm. “It’s been very dull here with only the two young people for company. I should so enjoy a little adult conversation for a change.”
“Then will you dine with me tonight? I have booked into a lodging close to yours.”
“Louisa’s not with you?”
“I left her behind in Dublin, she’s very happy there.”
“Then provided my landlady can watch over Maria I shall gladly accept.”
“Is your Louisa not here?”
“No, she’s in London enjoying herself.”
“Then let it be hoped her mother can do the same now that I’ve come to relieve the boredom.”
It was just as if they had not parted at all, as though it was the same April evening on which they had originally met.
“Has a whole year passed since last we saw each other?” asked Donny as they walked back to the lodging house.
“About that I believe,” Sarah answered, almost casually, not telling him that the past twelve months had seemed like a decade, that she had never in all the time of her penance known the hours drag by so wearily.
“Then I reckon we need to make up for the time we have lost,” said Donny Napier and, catching her hand, raised it to his lips.
Maria settled for the evening, they hired a chaise to take them into Brighthelmstone, where they dined in some small, rather deserted, pleasure gardens. But it did not matter, nothing did, because they were laughing together and all the terrible times through which both of them had passed seemed to be diminished by their rekindled friendship.
Each drank a little too much wine in order to overcome their nervousness, but it was Donny, somewhat flushed, who finally said, “You’ll never know how hard I’ve worked to achieve this moment.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I strived to get my captaincy not just to give
Louisa a future but also that I might come and see you.”
“But you could have visited me whatever your position in life.”
Donny covered Sarah’s hand with his. “May I confess something to you, my Lady?”
“Of course.”
“When we first met all those years ago I was a married man.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“And I had to remind myself of it frequently at the time.”
Sarah could feel a slow warmth creeping up her neck and towards her cheeks. Somewhat shakily she said, “I don’t follow you.”
“I was enormously attracted to you on sight, Lady Sarah. I thought you were the most beautiful, intelligent, vivacious woman I had ever set my eyes on but was hardly in a position to do anything about it.”
Sarah gazed at him in silence, her heart quickening its beat.
“If I had been single,” Donny went on, the words pouring out now, “I would have fallen in love with you. In fact, though I did love Elizabeth very much, I realised then that my feelings for her were different. She was a warm fire, you were the fireworks. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I think so.”
“But now my circumstances are changed. I am free to speak my mind at last.”
“Have you come all the way to England just to say this to me?”
“Yes, by God, I have. When you have been as near to death as I you realise there is precious little time left for any of us. I only waited until had some position in life, however meagre. But now there isn’t a moment to lose. I am here, Lady Sarah, with the express intention of declaring myself.”
“Then promise me one thing, I beg you.”
“Which is?”
“To study me closely before you commit yourself. I am a woman with a past, Captain Napier. A woman who has been divorced. Before you say another word I want you to think carefully about all of those things.”
Donny leant across the table and kissed Sarah on the lips. “I promise to do so.”
“Then may we just spend the next few days as friends?”
“Friends or lovers,” answered Captain Napier, “just to be in your company is enough for me.”
*
It was hardly possible to believe that Rod Rees was getting married, but the invitation was abundantly clear. “Cressida Cartwright and Roderick Rees invite you to their wedding at Kensington Register Office and afterwards at Rod’s flat.”
There followed addresses and the date.
‘And throughout the land there was a multitude of raised eyebrows,’ thought Sidonie and, picking up the phone, dialled her agent’s number.
“You could have knocked me over with a feather. Rod, who is Cressida Cartwright?”
“My fiancée.”
“Yes, I realise that. I mean where did you meet her and how long have you known her?”
“The answers are, in the supermarket, and three months.”
“Good gracious.”
“Our eyes met over some cod steaks as we patiently queued at the fish counter and we got chatting. After that, it was downhill all the way.”
“Is she a musician?”
“Heaven forbid! No, she’s a lawyer, a barrister to be precise. Australian, very easy-going.”
‘She’d have to be,’ thought Sidonie but refrained from saying so. “Well, I can’t wait to meet her. Will you bring her to lunch next Sunday?”
“I will consult her.”
“Good. I’ll invite Finnan too.”
“Have you proposed to him yet?”
“No.”
“Then get on with it.”
“Cressida Cartwright, Rod’s pure delight, right?” Sidonie whispered to the doctor five minutes after the Australian had arrived.
“She’s got his number.”
“I’ll say.”
The barrister was large, cheerful, friendly and nearing forty. She also had the delightful trick of ignoring Rod at his most lunatic, literally not seeming to notice, and was fresh as a daisy on the cynical London scene.
“I adore your flat,” she said enthusiastically, doing a tour of inspection. “Hey, Rod, we must get a place like this. It’s fantastic. Sidonie, if ever you’re moving put me top of your list.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And so near Holland Park. It’s ideal.”
“What’s wrong with my place?” said her fiancé, slightly hurt.
“It’s great for one, sweetie. But the two of us would get stuck if we met in the bathroom, and though I grant you that could prove interesting, how the hell would we get to work?”
“And there you have it in a nutshell,” commented Finnan.
“I just love your voice,” Cressida answered him enthusiastically. “As far as I’m concerned you could talk all night. Though, on second thoughts, that could eventually get boring.”
“You’re a tonic,” said Sidonie, and was sincere.
After lunch they went for a walk, Rod very reluctantly, while Cressida enthused over Holland Park gardens and what was left of Holland House.
“I bet that was some place in its day.”
“Oh, it was. It has a very interesting history.”
Cressida gave a large friendly smile. “So have I. I’ve never been married but I’ve got a little bastard. A girl aged ten actually.”
“Is she with you?”
“Oh, yes. My relies would have taken her but I thought too much of her to let her go. I pay a fortune to nannies but it’s worth it.”
“Does Rod get on with her?”
“He thinks she’s the bee’s blooming knees.”
“I thought he disliked children.”
“He does — all but the ones he’s friendly with.”
“You,” answered Sidonie, meaning every word of it, “are going to do that man a power of good.”
“Yes, I think so,” Cressida answered artlessly.
After they’d gone and it was getting dark, Sidonie put some more wood on the open fire which she’d had restored in the living room and snuggled onto the sofa, realising that these days she only felt relaxed in the Garden Flat when Finnan was there.
“I think Rod’s met his match,” she called to where the Irishman was getting a drink.
“Hasn’t he just. Funny that, it must be catching.”
“What?”
“Meeting one’s match. You see, I’ve recently met the right girl too.”
She felt so sick, Sidonie believed she was going to be ill, but she controlled herself and said, “Oh?”
“It happened about three weeks ago.”
“At a conference?”
“No.”
Thinking it was like a bizarre guessing game, Sidonie said, “I suppose she’s come to work at St Mary’s.”
“No, the truth is she rushed into my flat in the middle of the night with her face knocked to blazes, her tights all torn and her rapier bent, and I suddenly saw her properly for the first time.”
Sidonie gazed at him, speechless.
“That was the moment, darling girl, when I knew I really loved you, when, had we lived in a different age, I would have happily shot our fat friend and laughed as I did it. But nothing’s for nothing. It took nearly a year apart and a violent assault to show me, fool that I’ve been, that what’s past is past and the future is all one should concentrate on. Sidonie, does your career mean everything to you?”
“No, you silly bugger,” she shouted, launching herself at him. “Because I’m greedy, I want it all. You, children, music, the lot. Finnan —” she dropped on one knee, “— will you marry me?”
“By God and the saints on high,” he answered, “I thought you’d never ask.”
*
That week together at Hove had, as much as the presence of young Maria would allow, been a hothouse of suppressed passion. Two people, one of whom had been chaste for many years, the other several, finally made love to one another on their last night together. And what had been so wonderful, so immensely reassuring, was th
at once that was done both of them knew they could never part again, that magic had been created between them.
“Oh, Sarah,” said Donny, stretching the long lean length of him in a contented sigh, “I never realised, innocent that I was, that it could be like this.”
“To be honest I had almost forgotten,” she answered, her body aching with the joy of long awaited fulfilment.
“This may be the most terrible place to ask but I simply can’t help that. Sarah, I have loved you as a person for years, now at long last I love you as a mistress. Will you grant me the greatest favour of all and let me love you as a wife?”
She looked at him very candidly. “Donny, I am seven years older than you are. When you are fifty I shall be staring sixty in the face.”
“You look younger than I do and always will, that’s my answer to that.”
“But neither of us has any money to speak of. We shall be as poor as mice.”
“I’ve endured poverty before. It can’t be any worse the second time around.”
“But you hardly know me. In all we have probably only met a dozen times.”
“It’s more than that, I’ve counted each meeting. But that apart I am acquainted with you well enough to judge your character. You’re honest and open and loving and kind. What more could a man ask for?”
“But what about my sordid past?”
“What about our divine future?”
“Listen to me,” she answered firmly, “you are about to make a commitment for life. Please think carefully.”
“I’ll ask you one question,” Donny said, propping himself on an elbow the better to look at her. “Do you love me, Lady Sarah?”
“With all my heart, you good sweet man.”
“Then if that is so I have not the least doubt of our being happy, come poverty, come age, come every other objection you are trying to put in the way.”
“But —”
“No buts. I adore you, you foolish woman. I could never regret marrying you. It is the thing I want most in all the world. And the idea isn’t new, you know. In my dreams I’ve been thinking about it for years. As for your past, to hell with it. Now are you going to marry me or not?”
“Oh yes,” she answered, snuggling close to him, feeling the blessed warmth of his body close to hers. “Yes, yes, yes, a hundred times. My brother will be against it, so will Susan, but I don’t give a damn.”