Sarah is grateful for Tilly’s sympathy but feel she needs to resist it, lest it weakens her. She’s still feeling over-emotional and stressed. Mainly it’s to do with lack of sleep, which is another reason why she knows that it’s sensible to live where Dave can be home quicker and spend more time with them. Soon the ship will be in for a month and the commute will really begin to take its toll then. Her mother was outspoken on the subject – ‘Of course you must grab it, darling. You can still use the cottage for leaves, if you want it. It was only going to be temporary, wasn’t it?’ – which didn’t make Sarah feel any better.
‘What’s the house like?’ asks Tilly. ‘Did Dave tell you?’
‘It’s a Victorian terrace house on the edge of the village. They’re lovely houses and it would be crazy to let it go.’
There is a little silence.
‘You’ll carry on with U-Connect?’ asks Tilly.
Sarah nods. ‘We always agreed that it doesn’t really matter where we are. What about you? Will you continue here?’
Tilly hesitates. ‘I’ll certainly wrap up any of the clients we’ve started but I’m not sure I would want to go it alone.’
Sarah feels a pang of disappointment, almost loss. U-Connect is her baby, her brainchild. She can’t bear to think of it being abandoned.
‘You could get someone to work with you,’ she says.
‘It’s not that. You know I was never sure that I wanted to be totally committed. It was your project, and it’s been great to get it up and running, but I like to be part of a team. Perhaps I’ll apply for a job at the retreat house, helping out, just until I get another job. It’s lucky that U-Connect depends on new clients all the time but I shall hang in with the old ones until they’re sorted. Don’t worry. I shan’t let anyone down.’
‘I know,’ says Sarah. ‘It’s OK. I know it wasn’t absolutely your thing. Anyway, what’s new with you?’
‘Oh,’ says Tilly casually, ‘well, not much. Harry and I met up with Clem and Jakey on Saturday for fish and chips at Padstow and then we all went to Newquay Zoo. It was really good. All of it, I mean, not just the zoo.’
Sarah stares at her almost indignantly; how had Tilly managed to achieve all that so unexpectedly?
‘And then,’ Tilly goes on hurriedly, rather as if she might lose her nerve, ‘Clem invited us to tea on Sunday. Really, it was because Jakey really took to Hal and wanted to show him his toys and stuff like that.’
She makes it sound as if she’s apologizing for something, as if she knows that Sarah rather considers Clem to be her property – which upsets Sarah even more. It’s as if everyone around her will be going on happily without her, not even missing her.
‘I shall really miss you,’ Tilly says, just as if she’s reading her thoughts. ‘But I’m sure you’ll settle in really quickly and get U-Connect up and running from Yelverton. And you can always come here for holidays, can’t you?’
‘You sound just like my mother,’ Sarah snaps, and then feels guilty. It’s not Tilly’s fault. ‘Take no notice of me,’ she says with an effort. ‘Let’s look at the client list. We’ve got a couple of new punters we can deal with quite quickly. Lucky we pulled the advert for a week or it would be a bit embarrassing. I shan’t put it in again. We’ll go through the list and see what you can manage. Like you said, there will be a few that will be ongoing for a while but we can deal with that.’
‘When will you be going?’ asks Tilly.
‘Oh, at the end of the month, I imagine, when Dave starts his leave. I didn’t ask him. We didn’t get that far.’
‘It’ll be fun,’ ventures Tilly. ‘You and Dave doing the move together and settling in. It was where the other let was, wasn’t it? The one that fell through. It was where you wanted to be. Lots of other naval people around and Dartmoor on the doorstep.’
‘Yes,’ says Sarah politely, bleakly. ‘It’ll be fun. Shall we get on with this client list?’
* * *
Tilly gets into her car and sits for a moment, her lips pursed in a silent whistle.
‘Phew,’ she mutters. ‘That was a tricky one.’
Poor Sarah; her face looked white and brittle, as if it might shatter, and she was so tense. Tilly is filled both with sadness that Sarah is going and remorse that this end of the business will shut down just when it was getting going. Of course it’s been fun: driving all over the county, dropping in to see Sarah to arrange appointments, and to debrief after a session with a client, but this is because Sarah is a very old friend. It’s difficult to imagine doing it with anybody else; to have the responsibility of making it viable commercially when your heart isn’t really in it. It’s better to be part of a team, working on your own special part of the project whilst liaising with other members of the group so as to make the whole mesh together like clockwork. Actually, the retreat house is a good example of just that kind of project, though she can’t imagine where the suggestion that she might ask for a job came from; it just popped out of her mouth.
She thinks of Clem as she straps on her seat belt, wondering how he’d react to this suggestion, fearing that he might think she was pursuing him. She wonders why she can’t simply drive down to the vicarage, knock on the door and see if he is there. Why shouldn’t she? She tries to imagine the scene, but shakes her head. She’d feel too awkward, embarrassed. He might be in the middle of composing his sermon for next Sunday, or a parishioner might be there. Tilly shivers with the horror of it. But suddenly she knows exactly where she will go. She drives away from the cottage and down the steep, narrow hill, pulls on to the hard-standing behind Sir Alec’s car, switches off the engine and gets out.
When he opens the door his face lights up with genuine pleasure and she is so grateful that she feels she could hug him. She does hug him, and he hugs her back with the enthusiasm of a man who knows all about proper hugging. She follows him in, stoops to greet Hercules, stands up and comes face to face with Sister Emily who is sitting at Sir Alec’s kitchen table.
A green cotton handkerchief is tied gypsy fashion over her fine white hair and she is wearing a navy-blue jersey over narrow, cord jeans. Tilly, who has only seen her in her grey habit, is taken aback.
‘Oh,’ she cries, confused. ‘I am so sorry. I don’t want to interrupt.’
‘But you’re not,’ says Sister Emily. ‘This is delightful. I have a whole day off so I’ve come to see my good friend. I’ve put that nun away in the cupboard just for today.’
Sir Alec smiles at the expression on Tilly’s face. ‘I expect you’ve been with Sarah,’ he says, ‘but could you manage another cup of coffee?’
Tilly sits down at the table. Suddenly she feels full of lighthearted happiness. ‘Only if it’s Fairtrade,’ she says wickedly. ‘None of your chemicals in a cup, today, Sir Alec.’
Sister Emily laughs aloud, appreciating the joke. ‘And there is cake,’ she says gleefully.
‘Only from the village shop,’ says Sir Alec, ‘but it’s made locally and it’s good cake.’
He makes more coffee, cuts her a slice of cake, and Tilly strokes Hercules, who has come to sit beside her at the head of the table.
‘Hercules presides,’ says Sister Emily. ‘We think it is we who are in charge here, but really it is Hercules.’
‘He isn’t allowed cake, though,’ warns Sir Alec.
He fetches a dog biscuit from the larder and gives it to Hercules, who crunches gratefully while they watch him.
‘We’re having a dogs’ tea party on Thursday,’ Tilly tells Sister Emily. ‘My godfather, who I’m staying with, has a golden retriever called Bessie and his brother and sister, who live nearby, have a Newfoundland called Bear. Hercules is coming to the party and so are Clem and Jakey. The party is for Jakey, really. He wants to see Bear.’
She manages to say the names quite casually – ‘Clem and Jakey’ – but Sister Emily’s eyes are keen and Tilly feels the traitorous blood rising in her cheeks.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ says Sir Al
ec, sitting down. ‘I think Jakey will be very impressed by Bear.’
‘A Newfoundland,’ muses Sister Emily. ‘I don’t think I know the breed.’
‘They’re huge,’ says Tilly. ‘Twice as big as Hercules, with really thick coats.’ She glances at Sister Emily, assessing this new information that nuns have days off, watching her tackling her slice of cake with evident relish. ‘You could come, too,’ she suggests tentatively.
‘Well, there’s an offer you can’t refuse, Em,’ says Sir Alec – and Tilly receives another little shock at hearing Sister Emily addressed so casually. ‘I’ll pick you up.’
‘I’d love it,’ she answers rather wistfully, ‘but I don’t think I deserve another day off quite so soon. Jakey will tell us all about it when we see him, I’m sure of that.’
‘Do you see him quite often?’ asks Tilly.
‘Oh, yes. He comes to visit Janna, who looks after us. The community lives separately from the retreat house, you see. We are in the Coach House and Janna keeps an eye on us. She looks after Jakey sometimes when Clem has duties over in the house. We love to see Jakey. He keeps us young.’
She watches Tilly, and her gaze is far-seeing, almost questioning.
‘I was just saying to Sarah,’ Tilly says recklessly, unnerved by that steady appraisal, ‘that I might apply for a job at the retreat house.’
There is a silence; they both stare at her.
‘But I thought that this job you’re doing with Sarah was going very well,’ says Sir Alec.
‘It is, but Sarah will be moving soon. You know that she’s always planned to move back nearer to the dockyard? Well, Dave’s been offered a house that they don’t think they can turn down. Sarah’s very torn, of course, but it’s the right thing to do for all of them. And I don’t want to go on with U-Connect on my own while I try to find a job I really love. There’s a lot of travelling about, for one thing. Really, I prefer to work as part of a team. It was Sarah’s thing, and it’s been fun doing it with her, but I shall have to think of something else.’
‘I hope you’re not going to abandon me yet,’ says Sir Alec, alarmed. ‘We’ve only got to the letter M on my database.’
Tilly laughs at him. ‘Of course I shan’t. I shall carry on with our existing clients, but we simply won’t be taking on any new ones around here.’
‘And are you serious,’ asks Sister Emily, leaning forward a little, ‘about applying for a job at the retreat house?’
Tilly feels a whole mixture of things: anxiety, embarrassment, annoyance at having allowed herself to speak without thinking. Yet still the happiness that she experienced when she first came into the kitchen is buoying her up and carrying her forward.
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘except that I don’t really know anything about what you do. And I’d need some kind of salary and you probably can’t afford it.’
Sister Emily takes a deep breath and sits back again. ‘What lovely joy,’ she says lightly.
Tilly looks at her anxiously and Sir Alec smiles to himself.
‘And what do you see as Tilly’s role?’ he asks, since Tilly seems unable to speak.
‘Everything,’ says Sister Emily expansively. ‘Anything. Tilly is capable of drawing us all together. Fitting the pieces of the jigsaw into one pattern so that we all work as a whole.’
This is so exactly what Tilly was thinking earlier that she remains silent. Sister Emily smiles at her.
‘This is your gift,’ she says, in that high clear voice that sounds so sure, so certain. ‘It is your talent. What a privilege if you would put it to work for us.’
Tilly stares at her, alarmed yet impressed. Nobody has ever considered that she has a talent, let alone one that might be considered by others as a privilege.
‘Well, there you are, Tilly,’ says Sir Alec, seeing her confusion. ‘Looks like you’ve got a job.’
‘But is there such a job?’ asks Tilly. ‘I mean, how do I apply? And I thought that your funds were still … you know?’
‘We are doing very well,’ says Sister Emily confidently. ‘We’ve had some very generous donations and a very sizeable bequest. I’m sure something could be managed. We would feed you, of course, and,’ she adds eagerly, ‘you could have a room.’
‘A room?’
‘The Priest’s Flat,’ cries Sister Emily, her eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘Years ago we had a resident priest but times changed and the flat is used by guests. Just a big bed-sitting-room but it has its own bathroom and lavatory.’
She sighs with pleasure at such a prospect, clearly feeling that this will be impossible for Tilly to resist. Tilly thinks about Mr Potts’ bedroom, her brain reeling with these suggestions and ideas, and feels that she is being swept inexorably along on Sister Emily’s enthusiasm.
‘I don’t know,’ she says uncertainly. ‘I’d need to find out a bit more.’
Sister Emily beams at her. ‘Come and see us,’ she says. ‘I shall talk to the others when I get back. You will come, won’t you?’
Tilly nods. ‘I’m coming to see you tomorrow morning, anyway. About the website.’
‘Excellent,’ cries Sister Emily. ‘Somebody shall show you the flat.’
‘Yes,’ says Tilly. ‘Thank you. Gosh, is that the time? I must be getting on. Thank you for the coffee, Sir Alec. I’ll see you on Thursday. Goodbye, Sister Emily.’
At the door, Sir Alec grasps Tilly’s elbow. ‘I call it the S. E. E.,’ he murmurs in her ear.
She stares at him blankly. ‘Sorry?’
‘The Sister Emily Effect,’ he whispers. ‘Powerful stuff. But she’s usually got the root of the matter in her. Good luck tomorrow morning. And you can tell me all about it on Thursday.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dom is in the potager, checking the willow fencing that edges the beds, planning what he will sow and plant for the coming summer. In his mind’s eye he sees patterns and shapes taking form in the empty beds; a riot of colour painted over the cold, bare earth. Actually, he doesn’t need the potager now. With Mr Potts’ garden added, he has room to separate the vegetables and flowers – and Ed has offered him land that he can use – but he loves Granny’s potager and keeps it in the spirit that she created it, faithful to his memories of her and of his childhood. Sunflowers will look out from between the runner beans climbing their hazel wigwams, and there will be red and green lettuce, maroon amaranth, sweetcorn, opium poppies, pumpkins, gourds, and chard with ruby and yellow stems. There will be sweet peas scrambling amongst the mangetout, and many-scented herbs growing at the foot of the encircling stone wall, which carries a miniature rockery of phlox and campanula and dianthus.
His own girls loved the potager, though Griet could never see the point of grubbing in the earth when she could buy vegetables and fruit all year round from a supermarket. Kneeling there, the sun like a blessing on his back, Dom thinks of the years they spent here, as a family; his teaching job at the Camborne School of Mines; the girls at the local schools. Here he began to see that Griet, far from her own home, was finding it difficult to adapt. Without the support system of her huge family and their social commitments she grew edgy. The girls became her whole world, but even they were not enough.
Dom commuted to Camborne each day. He bought a Daimler 4.2, which guzzled petrol but drove like a dream, and hoped that Griet would begin to love her new home. It was clear that she needed projects, goals. The first project was the house itself. One or two things had been done to turn it from two cottages into one but now Griet took it in hand. She approached it carefully, thoughtfully, and, with the help of a local builder who was a carpenter and a craftsman, the cottages were slowly reshaped, opened up. Dom approved. The essential character remained whilst convenience, light, and the benefits of modern life were brought into the original structure.
These were happy times. Griet rose each day, took the girls to school and then she and Andy began work. Rubbing down, painting walls, polishing and waxing floorboards fell to her lot but she loved it. Once th
e conversion was complete, however, Griet had to look elsewhere for outlets for her considerable energy. As the girls grew older, her talent for planning parties and outings was no longer required; the girls were capable of doing it for themselves. The locals found her rather bossy and overbearing – though they respected her skills for organization and fund-raising – and she grew discontented. The trips back to South Africa became more frequent and lasted a little longer each time and, as her parents grew frail, she began the campaign of moving back to Johannesburg.
Dom gets to his feet, wanders along the paths that wind through the potager and into the little orchard. Only West-country apples grow here: Malus Cornish Gilliflower, Tom Putt, Cornish Aromatic, Devonshire Quarrenden. He touches the trees lightly, greeting them as old friends. A blackbird hedge-hops into the orchard, flying low between the rough, grey tree trunks, flipping over the far hedge. In the ash tree on the lane a great tit sings its two notes insistently, demanding to be heard. Dom stands, listening, trying to remember when it was that he’d discovered the difference between solitude and loneliness. As a boy, as a young man, he’d learned to listen in the silence to the chaos that was inside himself, beginning to face his own frailties, until slowly, very slowly, he’d come to terms with some of them. Gradually he discovered that this made him a little more tolerant of the shortcomings of others but this solitude of the heart, the contentment that can only be found in silence, was unknown to Griet. Without friends, telephones, radios, books, she was lonely. She needed immediate relief from her loneliness and so she sought companionship, requiring noise and busyness to satisfy her craving.
With the two girls at university, one at Bristol, the other at Exeter, she grew lonelier, and when Dom was given the option to extend his contract he refused it. He took early retirement, found a tenant for the cottage and returned with Griet to Johannesburg. He knew it was the only way to save his marriage.
Postcards from the Past Page 16