Postcards from the Past

by Marcia Willett

  ‘But he’s dying,’ Ed told him. ‘He’s been told he hasn’t long to live. How terrible it is. I suppose that facing his own mortality has made him see things in quite a different light.’

  ‘And the way he spoke about his brother – his half-brother, Jean-Paul –’ Billa said, ‘it was actually rather moving. And the way he still calls his mother “Maman”. What a ghastly thing to happen to a four-year-old. No wonder he was so damaged.’

  ‘Can we believe that Andrew was the sort of person who might kill his wife, though?’ Dom asked, thinking back, trying to remember.

  ‘He always had a bit of an edge,’ Billa said. ‘Perhaps that’s why Mother was drawn to him. And it does answer a lot of questions. Like why he left so suddenly and why we never heard from him again. Of course, it might have been an accident.’

  ‘I think we should ask Tris back,’ Ed said. ‘He was very genuine about not outstaying his welcome and giving us time to think it all through.’

  ‘Did he mention me?’ Dom asked.

  Billa shook her head. ‘He wasn’t here very long. But we’d like you to be here when we invite him back. I’d like to get it over with rather than us all sitting about brooding. What about tomorrow? Ed’s away in the morning and I’ve got someone coming to discuss a charity event. What about tea? He said he’d booked in until the weekend but I think I’d rather get on with it. I feel rather sorry for him but I don’t particularly want him hanging around.’

  They watched her while she picked up the card and dialled the mobile number. There was no answer but she left a message: ‘Hi, Tris. Billa here. If you’d like to come to tea tomorrow we’ll be around. Half-three? See you then.’

  ‘And there was nothing that made you suspect anything?’ Dom asked when she’d finished. ‘Nothing at all?’

  Billa put down her phone and frowned. Dom raised his eyebrows but she shook her head.

  ‘Just then something came and went,’ she said. ‘But I can’t think what it was. No, I think he was genuine, Dom, I really do.’

  Now, Dom gets up from the table and begins to clear the remaining breakfast things. He opens the back door to let Bessie out into the garden and switches on the radio. There is a knock on the front door, then a short, sharp peal of the bell. Dom goes out into the hall and opens the door.

  ‘Hi, Dom,’ says Tris. ‘Sorry not to phone first but I couldn’t find your number.’

  Despite Billa’s warning, Dom is completely unprepared to see Andrew’s double standing at his door. All the old antagonism floods into his brain, sends the adrenalin racing through his veins, and he makes no attempt to step back to allow him in.

  ‘Tris,’ he says unsmilingly. ‘It’s been a long time. Thanks for the postcard.’

  Tris laughs: he looks faintly shamefaced.

  ‘I might be carrying an olive branch,’ he says, ‘but I didn’t want you to forget that I haven’t always been a dove.’

  Dom shakes his head. ‘No chance of that.’

  ‘No, well.’ Tris pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘The truth is, I’ve got a document here I’d like you to read. I decided not to show it to Billa and Ed until I had your opinion of it.’ He pulls forward the satchel slung over his shoulder, holds it up. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  Dom stands quite still: all his instincts tell him that this document is what it’s all about. His curiosity is aroused. Then he stands back and gestures that Tris should come in. He does so, looking around him curiously.

  ‘I’ve never been in here,’ he says. ‘Where do I go? In here? Oh, and here’s another dog. Not as big as that great brute at Mellinpons, thank goodness. I don’t really do dogs but he looks nice. Hi there, old fellow. Let me give you a pat. There. Now we’re friends.’

  ‘It’s a she. Bessie.’ Dom switches off the radio. ‘So what is it you want to show me?’

  Tris smiles. It’s an open friendly smile that very slightly mocks Dom’s curtness, and Dom feels a little ashamed of his brusqueness and indicates that they should go through to the parlour. They sit down and Tris opens the satchel. He does it with great candour as if to show Dom that there is nothing inside except a large brown envelope, a flat leather wallet and several small bottles that slip out on to the table.

  ‘My medication,’ explains Tris, putting them away. ‘Just in case I get an attack. I’ve got a bit of a problem.’

  ‘Billa told me,’ says Dom briefly, refusing to be sidetracked into sympathy. ‘And a drug habit, too, so she said. How would we know which bottle to use in an emergency? Or do you inject?’

  Tris bursts out laughing. ‘Don’t be too kind to me,’ he says. ‘I might cry. Now here it is.’

  He opens the flap on the envelope, slides out the document and pushes it across the table to Dom. Even from a distance Dom can see that it is a formal will – though not drawn up by the family’s lawyer – and his heart sinks. He picks it up and studies it very carefully. In short, it states that Elinor Caroline St Enedoc bequeaths all her property, shares and belongings to her children Edmund Henry and Wilhelmina Jane, and to Andrew Richard Carr the sum of ten thousand pounds. If he should predecease her then the sum reverts to her children. It is signed, dated and witnessed.

  Tris watches him across the table.

  ‘But he didn’t predecease her,’ he says. ‘I’ve checked.’

  Dom reads it again and then pushes it back towards Tris.

  ‘Rather late in the day, isn’t it?’ he asks. ‘Why now? According to Ed and Billa you won’t have much time to spend it, assuming that it were to stand up in a court of law after all this time.’

  Those cool frosty eyes survey Dom carefully, then they grow softer; he looks away.

  ‘It’s for Léon,’ he says.

  Dom frowns. ‘Léon? Is that your half-brother?’

  Tris shakes his head. ‘My brother’s name was Jean-Paul. Léon is his son. My nephew. He’s just twenty.’

  Dom stares at Tris. Like Billa and Ed, he is aware of a complete authenticity in Tris’s statement. He has no doubt at all that he is speaking the truth. There is a look in his eyes that tells Dom that Tris loves Léon very much.

  ‘I’m sure that Billa and Ed have already told you the story,’ Tris says. ‘When my father and I left here we went to Toulon. Tante Berthe took us in and then she had my father’s child. Jean-Paul. I loved him so much. It was my first chance at having a family again and when my father had to move on I stayed with them. With Tante Berthe and Jean-Paul. I wanted to look after them as I grew up but I didn’t make much of a fist of it. In the end I had to leave and Jean-Paul got a job down at the docks. He was killed when he was in his early twenties. An accident with some machinery. Léon wasn’t much more than a baby. Aunt Berthe died soon afterwards but Léon is still there with his mother in the old house in Rue Félix Pyat. They have four rooms on the top floor. He tries to look after her – she’s rather sickly – and he has quite a good job at the marina but it’s pretty tough going. Ten thousand pounds isn’t much in the scheme of things but it would be one hell of a lot to Léon.’

  ‘And you have nothing of your own to leave him?’

  ‘This is mine. It was left to me, like your father left you this cottage and Ed and Billa Mellinpons. There’s no shame in that. Elinor left my father ten thousand pounds and he left everything to me. It’s legally mine.’

  ‘So why didn’t you show the will to Billa and Ed?’

  ‘It wasn’t the only reason I came back and I didn’t want to talk about it on that first visit. Anyway, I wanted you to see it first. I know it’s a legal document, I’ve had it checked, though the time lapse might prove awkward. But I wanted you to tell me what the chances are of me getting the cash.’ He laughs. ‘Come on, Dom. Get real. If anyone is going to block this it’s going to be you. We might as well get that over with straight away. Billa and Ed would probably do the decent thing and pay up but I suspect that you still have great influence with them and you won’t be quite so ready to let bygones be bygones.’
>
  ‘No,’ Dom answers honestly. ‘I shan’t. Leopards, in my experience, don’t change their spots.’

  Tris shakes his head rather sadly. ‘I was a little kid, Dom. I saw my mother dead on the floor when I was four and after that I never knew a moment’s security. How do you think it felt coming amongst confident people with houses and families and dogs and all the stuff that had been torn away from me? I’d lived with two other families before I came here and I’d learned some pretty tough lessons, I can tell you. “If you’re not one up, you’re one down” became my mantra. Get in first before some other bastard does you down.’ He pauses at the use of the word and gives a little chuckle. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Not a very tactful use of the word.’

  Dom laughs. Oddly, the fact that Tris has used the word makes him more open towards him; it adds to his authenticity.

  ‘Not very,’ he agrees.

  ‘I suppose,’ says Tris, after a minute, ‘I struck at you where I was at my weakest. I’d lost my mother so I attacked yours. I’m not a psychologist but there might be a connection there. I was ten years old and I hated you all.’

  Such honesty is refreshing. Dom allows himself to relax, just a little. He indicates the will. ‘What do you intend to do?’

  Tris shrugs. ‘I can take it to a lawyer. Like I said, I wanted your reaction. Would I get the money anyway?’

  Dom hesitates. Between them all they could probably raise the money, but why should they? Elinor made the will as a gesture to Andrew because she loved him, but two years later he’d abandoned her. And he’d never been the man she imagined him to be. Dom has no doubt that when all these facts are arranged before a court that no money will be forthcoming. On the other hand it was Elinor’s intention, her wish … and there is Léon in Toulon, attempting to support his sickly mother, trying to survive. Unexpectedly Dom thinks about Harry, about the same age as Léon but much better equipped to deal with life.

  Tris is watching him. He takes the document and puts it back in his satchel. ‘It didn’t matter much before,’ he says. ‘To be honest, I never thought it would run. But now I’ve had the death sentence passed – and there’s Léon. Anyway. Think about it. I’m here for a few days. It’s waited all these years, a few more days won’t make any difference. Like I said, it wasn’t the only reason for coming back.’

  He stands up and Dom stands, too.

  ‘Shall I tell Billa and Ed?’

  Tris shrugs again. ‘I leave it to you. I certainly shan’t mention it to them until we’ve had another talk about it. Are you coming to tea this afternoon?’

  Dom thinks about it; shakes his head.

  ‘I don’t think so. We’ll meet again when I’ve had the chance to think it all through. Twenty-four hours, perhaps.’

  ‘Good,’ says Tris. He takes a card from his back pocket and lays it on the table. ‘There’s my mobile number.’

  He goes out and Dom closes the door behind him. He is disturbed by the interview, confused. He needs time to think. He goes through to the back door, puts on his boots and with Bessie running ahead he sets off towards the woods.

  * * *

  Tris gets into his car and sits quite still. This time he has no inclination to laugh. Dom is a very different proposition from Ed and Billa but he thinks he’s hit the right note. Tris heaves a huge breath and closes his eyes. The interview has left him exhausted. He thanks all the gods at once for Harry. Those hours in the pub with him were indeed a gift from the gods. During that time Tris was able to pinpoint the St Enedocs’ weakest spots: Billa’s lack of children: Ed’s creative and emotional instincts: Dom’s love for Harry himself. Artlessly, the boy had laid all these facts out before the attentive, fascinated Tris.

  Tris opens the satchel, takes out a bottle and pops a pill. He wonders if Dom has picked up on his love for Léon. Oh, it’s genuine enough – there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Léon – but has Dom connected, sympathized far enough to convince Ed and Billa that they should cough up? He’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile he’s invited to tea at Mellinpons and he can begin his next move of the real game. The interview with Dom, just like the will, is simply a sideshow. He’d told the truth when he said it wasn’t the only reason for coming back.

  Tris starts the engine, turns the car and heads off down the lane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Clem comes out of the front door just as Sir Alec is passing the vicarage gate. He’s walking slowly, with Hercules plodding at his heels, and carrying a bag of shopping. Clem calls to him and goes to meet him. The older man is looking tired and he’s limping a little and Clem feels anxious.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks. ‘You look a bit “dot and go one”, as Pa would say.’

  Sir Alec grimaces. ‘Turned my ankle. Just slipped off the bottom stair and gave it a twist. Nothing serious. We’ve managed to hobble along the beach together and Mrs Sawle did offer to deliver the shopping later on when the shop shuts at lunchtime but I needed a few things.’ He looks at Clem hopefully. ‘Time for some coffee?’

  Clem shakes his head regretfully. ‘Nice idea, but I’ve got a meeting with the rector. I’ve got time to carry that home for you, though.’

  He takes the bag from Sir Alec’s unresisting hand and they walk together up the steep hill.

  ‘Things seem to be working out,’ observes Sir Alec, pausing for a moment, taking a breather. ‘I hear that Tilly’s got the job. That’s a really good start, isn’t it?’

  Clem stands beside him, waiting, turning to look back out to sea. He’s beginning to dare to believe that things are indeed working out.

  ‘It’s good news, isn’t it?’ He hesitates, unwilling to be too optimistic. ‘The Sisters are very pleased.’

  Sir Alec chuckles and sets off again. ‘Sister Emily must be dancing for joy.’

  ‘She is,’ agrees Clem, thinking about Sister Emily’s delight. ‘She was in very good form when I saw her yesterday. She told me that she’s given up self-pity for Lent but she’s finding it more difficult than she realized.’

  ‘The last thing I’d associate with Sister Emily is self-pity,’ says Sir Alec. ‘But I suppose we’re all at it, one way or another. Rooting about in the injustices and resentments of the past, clinging to a sense of grievance. Why is it so difficult to let it all go and move on?’

  Clem thinks about it. ‘Perhaps it adds to our sense of self-righteousness,’ he suggests, ‘if we feel wounded and hard done by. We need grand gestures of apology and abasement to soothe our egos.’

  ‘Even so,’ says Sir Alec, as they reach his front door, ‘that doesn’t seem to chime with Sister Emily’s character. Now if she’d given up that glass of wine she so enjoys on Feast Days, I’d have said it was a far greater sacrifice.’

  Clem laughs as he watches Sir Alec delving for his key. ‘I don’t think they celebrate Feast Days in quite the same way during Lent. I’ll have to ask her.’

  He helps take the shopping inside, hurries back down the hill and gets into the car, thinking about the way he had rooted about in the injustices of the past after Madeleine died. His anger and resentment had caused him to turn his back on his vocation, to deny it for three years, until the day he’d seen the advertisement for a gardener and handyman at Chi-Meur and decided to take a chance; to take the first step on the road home. It was a signpost.

  Father Pascal used the same word when Clem, still resentful and angry, questioned his future, which, despite the healing influence of the Sisters and Janna, and Father Pascal himself, still seemed obscure.

  ‘The generosity of strangers and the love of friends are signposts on the road to God,’ the old priest said. ‘The promises of God, who is on the road ahead of you.’

  ‘I thought I’d already started on that road,’ Clem answered wearily, ‘and then it blew up in front of me.’

  ‘But you found Chi-Meur,’ Father Pascal told him. ‘You are on the road again. Perhaps even a little further on. But the initiative is with God.’

  Now, as Clem dri
ves out of the village he feels fully in tune with the spring that is unfolding all around him. The cold, sealed earth is stirring and breaking with new life and Clem is filled with hope and energy. His own emotions, so long frozen in, are beginning to emerge just like the uncurling leaves, and it is a very painful process. Because of Jakey he still knows how to love, and to be tender; because of Dossie, and Mo and Pa, he still knows how to be affectionate and caring, but the commitment to a long-term emotional and physical relationship fills him with terror.

  There will be time for us to get to know each other, he reassures himself. Jakey will need time. We all will.

  He was very impressed with Tilly at her interview: she was focused, eager, and very aware of what the retreat house needed to continue its progress. Clearly she’d done her homework, researched other retreat houses and weighed up Chi-Meur’s strengths and weaknesses. Everyone was delighted with her and he was foolishly proud and had to stop himself from grinning madly. Just once Sister Emily’s eyes had met his own and he knew that they were privately sharing a high-five, though neither of them even smiled.

  Afterwards, Sister Emily had whisked Tilly away to have another look at the Priest’s Flat and to meet Janna again, and it was much later before he was able to congratulate her on her presentation and tell her how well she’d done. He was getting used now to that little blush that stained her cheeks and the way she pressed her lips together to prevent herself from beaming.

  ‘I can’t wait to start,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to give notice at the pub, of course – that’s not a problem – and I need to keep up with U-Connect’s clients until the last ones are sorted.’

  ‘Perhaps you could do both,’ he suggested. ‘Would that be possible?’

  ‘Nearly,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’ve got some new people to put on to Skype, and there’s Sir Alec’s database, of course. We’ve got a long way to go there.’

  ‘Well, you certainly can’t abandon him. I’m sure it could be sorted out. Let me know if you need any help.’