The Hidden Years

by Penny Jordan

  Without her mother's presence in their lives, all of them seemed to be—to be what? Changing—or simply exhibiting certain aspects of their characters under the stress of her mother's accident?

  Almost without knowing she was doing so, Sage found she was walking towards the study and opening its door, breathing deeply and exhaling the tension from her body, almost as though she found the room a haven of some kind.

  Her glance focused automatically on her mother's desk, and she knew without having to question her own actions that the thought of losing herself, of separating herself from the present and her own problems in the past and the gradual unrolling of her mother's life, was the panacea she sought to distance herself from the events of yesterday.

  In reading the diaries she could blot out her own problems… her own memories… her own pain.

  Muted sounds reached her from the rest of the house. Somewhere Jenny was vacuuming… Faye was no doubt preparing herself for wherever it was she was going, but these activities were as distant from her as though they were taking place on a different planet.

  She settled herself behind the desk and unlocked the drawer containing the diaries, searching through them until she found the right one.

  As she turned the pages almost feverishly, she admitted to herself that now her need to discover more about this stranger who was her mother was almost overwhelmed by her urgent desire to lose herself somewhere where she could escape mentally from yesterday morning's debacle with Daniel.

  Daniel. She shuddered involuntarily, her senses flooded by her memories of the scent and feel of him. Under her fierce self-anger, her outrage, her fury, and just as strong as her sense of self-loathing was her awareness that some part of her must have always known of this vulnerability lying within her like a trap set long ago and that part of her had accepted what had happened with a sense of inevitability that had left her with no resources with which to fight against her emotions.

  For years she had never given him a thought, would if asked have claimed that she could barely remember the man, and it hurt her very sharply that she, who had always demanded of herself far more honesty than she had ever asked from others, should be confronted by the knowledge that she had practised on herself the most dangerous and foolish of all self-deceits.

  The open pages of the diary swam in front of her, and she focused fiercely on them, almost as though they were an actual physical escape route and if her will-power were strong enough she could actually force herself out of the present and on to those pages. Nothing could ever totally banish from her mind the memory of her surprise meeting with Daniel but perhaps for a time at least she could find enough surcease from her thoughts to allow herself a little much needed peace of mind.

  She frowned fiercely as she read the first few words.

  'Today, young Vic left us on the start of his long journey to Australia. I drove him to Southampton. Edward did not want to come with us. He finds travelling even small distances in the car these days too painful. Don't ask me how he managed it, but Chivers managed to find enough petrol from somewhere for us to make the journey. Quite what we'd do without him I have no idea. He's wonderful with Edward, who has found this cold, wet summer a trial. The damp gets into his bones and makes his amputations ache. Ian Holmes does the best he can, but, as he has explained to me, once he starts prescribing morphine for Edward, which is the only thing which can totally alleviate his pain, there is a very strong possibility that Edward will become so totally dependent on the drug that he will not be able to live without it. Chivers tells me that cod-liver oil is marvellously good for all forms of rheumatism, and so somehow or other he has persuaded Edward to have two large tablespoons of the filthy stuff every morning.

  'Ian Holmes has mentioned that having the house centrally heated would be a benefit to Edward, and that maybe we ought to consider approaching the Ministry, to see if something might not be done about relaxing the rules a little in view of the fact that Edward is a casualty of the war, but, even if we could get permission to purchase the materials we need for such a task, at the moment I doubt if we could afford it.

  'We do the best we can, Chivers and I between us, making sure that both Edward's bedroom and the library always have a good fire.

  'Chivers has managed to find us two men who now work here full time… One of them, Dan Holcombe, is actually a fully trained carpenter and he is proving a marvellous help in repairing and restoring the house. The other, Sam Oldfield, is a little bit slow mentally, but strong enough to do all manner of jobs which were outside Chivers's and my own capabilities. He is wonderfully gentle and adores David. His mother is widowed and lives in the village so that Sam is able to walk from there to work and home again each day, while Dan Holcombe is living in the small flat above the stables which he has somehow or other made habitable for himself. He is a very quiet man in his late fifties with a pronounced London accent. He says very little about himself and I suspect that there is some sad tragedy in his life.

  'It seems that his family were killed during the Blitz and that after his discharge from the Army he could not bring himself to return to London and his old life…'

  Liz hesitated before putting down her pen. For the first time since she had started writing her diaries, she had found it difficult to commit her thoughts to paper. She read what she had written and then read it again with shadows in her eyes. Her fingers touched the smooth page, trembling a little as she traced the words, 'Today, young Vic left us…'

  Was it really only this morning that they had got into the car with her driving, Vic sitting a little nervously in the passenger seat in his new suit, his hand reaching out anxiously every now and again to touch the wallet where he was keeping his tickets and other papers?

  Both of them were silent during the drive, but it was a good silence, between two companions who were comfortable with one another. Every now and again one or other of them would break it, Vic normally to warn her of some danger to the flock… some disease or parasite which he might not already have mentioned to her.

  It had been Ian Holmes who had taught her to drive, at Edward's insistence, and this was Ian's old car.

  She had thought at first that a car was a luxury they did not need, and that besides with petrol rationing they would hardly ever be able to use it. Even though it was second-hand, it would still take the last of Aunt Vi's money, after the ram had been bought, but Edward far-sightedly had pointed out that they would not always have rationing and that in the brave new world everyone was talking about the ability to drive and it could well become a necessity rather than a luxury.

  Much to her surprise, she had discovered that she quite enjoyed driving.

  They had set off just before dawn, since young Vic's boat was due to leave Southampton at four in the afternoon, which meant that he had to be ready to embark at noon. She had sensed that Edward would have preferred her not to drive Vic to the boat but to let him make his own way there. She knew that Edward resented Vic, that he was jealous of him. She knew in fact that Edward bitterly resented her spending time with any other men, with the exception of Ian. He was becoming increasingly morose, increasingly possessive, yet when she felt impatient with him, she forced herself to remember how much she owed him and how painfully he suffered physically and emotionally from his wounds.

  Contrarily, after a poor summer which had left her garden bedraggled and her larder without its normal store of fruits and jams, the last few days of September had been warm and benign.

  They reached Southampton in good time and made their way to the docks. They had to stop several times to make enquiries as to where they could find Vic's vessel.

  'Emigrating?' one man asked them, obviously mistaking them for a married couple. 'Can't say as I blame you… There's not a lot left for the ordinary man in this country these days. At least that's what it seems like. You go off to fight for your country and what happens when you get back? Like as not your wife's gone off with some Yank, or they've got someon
e else… someone who never lifted a finger to protect this country when it needed it, sitting snugly in your old job…'

  There was a lot of unrest in the country, Liz acknowledged as they thanked him for his direction and she drove cautiously into the open dock yard.

  People were no longer content to be told what was good for them and how they should live. The war had changed things, many of them for ever.

  The number of large vessels tied up along the dockside surprised her, as did the number of people milling around, families with small children saying tearful farewells…

  She had read in the papers and heard on the wireless news that many people were emigrating, making new lives for themselves in Commonwealth countries such as Canada and Australia and New Zealand, but to see so many people surrounded by their belongings, obviously on the point of leaving their homeland for ever, made her feel suddenly very insecure and emotional.

  She tried to imagine how she might feel if she was leaving England for ever… leaving Cottingdean, which had come to mean so much to her, and she gave a tiny shiver.

  Was it wrong to love a house so much? To feel so at one with it that it was almost as though in some way she and the house were indivisible, as though it was her spiritual home? Normally pragmatic, she chided herself for the foolishness of her thoughts. Cottingdean was, after all, only a house—a very beautiful and precious house, but only a house. David, Edward… they were what was really important.

  Since they had arrived in good time, she suggested to Vic that they look for somewhere to have a quick meal. He demurred at first, but gave way beneath her insistence.

  They drove into Southampton itself, parking the car along with some others on a half-cleared bomb site.

  It amazed her to see how much building work was going on in the city, and she paused to gaze enviously at the industry of half a dozen men working on the foundations of a new building, wishing momentarily she might have their energy and expertise for just long enough to repair a little more of the crumbling fabric of Cottingdean.

  They had a quick lunch at a Joe Lyons, where Vic insisted on paying the bill, and she tactfully let him.

  There had always been a bond between them since David's birth, and, although he was her senior by a couple of years, in many ways to Liz it was as though he was the younger brother she had never had.

  He was an inarticulate man, with little to say for himself, but one only had to watch him with his flock to sense his tenderness and compassion.

  Liz knew she could trust him absolutely with the task she had set him, but she still felt a little guilty at separating him from all that he knew… at sending him out into a world with which he was totally unfamiliar. She also felt, she discovered, as they headed back to the docks, in some small way envious and resentful of his freedom.

  Much as she adored David, much as she loved Cottingdean, much as she was grateful to Edward, there were times when she ached for the freedom to just be herself… to escape from her responsibilities—and then she would remind herself that it was those responsibilities, and in particular Edward, which had enabled her to live as she did… that without Edward her life and David's too would have been very different indeed…and she would be overwhelmed by a fierce tide of guilt and pain and would push her rebellious thoughts to the back of her mind, forcing herself to lose them in a sudden exhausting burst of hard physical work that would drive everything else but the knowledge that all her time, all her energy, and much of her love was needed if she was ever to come anyway near fulfilling her self-imposed task of bringing Cottingdean back to life.

  Between them she and Chivers had already achieved a great deal, or, as Ian Holmes was inclined to say wryly, 'had worked miracles'… Certainly, when David had been born, she could never have envisaged a time when she would not only have her large vegetable and fruit gardens productive and under orderly control, but that also she would have gone a long way to restoring the gardens' long double herbaceous border to something of its original beauty… Here she had been helped enormously by Sam, who, despite his handicap, seemed to have a natural affinity for anything that grew, as well as a knowledge about plants which constantly amazed her.

  It was Sam who from here and there produced the cuttings and plants which were beginning to fill the empty spaces in the border… it was Sam who had spent long back-breaking hours cleaning away the weeds and thick thorny briars, so that today when she had returned home she would be able to spend a precious solitary hour in her gardens, admiring all that they had done, absorbing its peace and tranquillity.

  Between them Chivers and Dan had set to work inside the house, using whatever materials they could 'find' to repair the worst of the havoc. The roof no longer leaked, the kitchen range produced hot water, the damp patches had begun to disappear from the walls, and Dan had proved unexpectedly inventive in managing to do a great deal to repair the old plaster ceilings so that little by little the house was gradually coming to life again.

  She could tell that young Vic was nervous as they parked the car and walked along the dock. She slipped her arm through his, squeezing it reassuringly in a sisterly fashion, while a tiny corner of her mind had a second's shocking awareness of how very different his body felt from David's soft baby flesh, and Edward's wasted, damaged frame. Just for a moment she remembered Kit… Something that happened rarely these days. After all, there was nothing about him that she wanted to remember, but just for a brief, searingly painful breath of time she had felt, in touching young Vic's muscled, male body, a frisson of memory… of sensation… of how it had felt to be young and in love…to desire a man, to…

  Quickly releasing him, she turned her head away, looking out to sea. These were foolish thoughts for a woman of her age and in her situation. Very foolish thoughts. Especially when she had not in fact enjoyed Kit's physical possession of her.

  When the passengers were finally allowed to board, Liz went on board with Vic. He was sharing his small cabin with another man travelling alone, and once Vic had stowed away his things in the cabin's minute storage space they went back up on deck, both of them silent, both of them engaged with their own private thoughts.

  Vic broke the silence first, turning to her to say anxiously, 'Tom Hudson is a good farmer, but it won't be like he's looking after his own…'

  'I know that, Vic,' Liz assured him gently. 'Don't worry. I'll make sure the flock is properly cared for.'

  The intercom crackled into life, announcing that it was time for all those who weren't sailing to disembark. Vic walked with her to the gangway, and then, once there, just as she was about to turn to him and wish him good luck with his mission, to her astonishment he took hold of her, gripping her almost too tightly as he gave her a clumsy but hardly fraternal kiss.

  Almost instantly he released her, his face red, avoiding her eyes as he made a stumbling apology, but the shock of that unexpected embrace, of the sensation of a male mouth moving against her own, however lacking in experience its touch might have been, awakened so many memories that for a moment she couldn't speak. Had he somehow subconsciously read her mind earlier—had she however unintentionally somehow given him the impression that she wanted…? She swallowed, angry with herself, fighting to take control of the situation as she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and said briskly, 'This is a very emotional time for you, Vic, leaving England for the first time.'

  'Yes.'

  His assent was muffled as he turned away from her. He was embarrassed, she knew, suddenly awkward with her. She couldn't let him leave like this… not when she owed him so much—David's life and possibly her own.

  She reached out and touched him, trying to convey both comfort and understanding as she felt his forearm muscles bunch under her fingertips.

  'I'm going to miss you, Vic,' she told him softly. 'But it would be selfish of me to keep you at Cottingdean, especially when we need that ram so badly. Who knows?' she added with false brightness. 'You might even bring a pretty Australian bride ba
ck with you as well as one of Woolonga's prize rams!'

  He was smiling back at her now, valiantly trying to match her distancing conversation as he told her drily, 'A ram's of more use to me right now than a wife…' He hesitated and looked at her, and the look in his eyes made her look sharply away, her stomach muscles quivering in silent tension. She had seen that look in a man's eyes once before. Then she had mistaken it for love… Young Vic could not love her, must not love her..-. If he did she would have to send him away and they needed him too much, Cottingdean needed him too much. And besides…

  She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine how sweet it would be to go up to him and lean against him, to let him take her in his arms and to whisper to her that there was no reason why both of them should not go in search of their golden fleece… That this could be their special private time… That…

  That what? That they could be lovers? she demanded bitterly of herself. Hadn't she learned anything, anything at all from the past?

  She was a married woman with an ailing husband and a young child… A married woman, moreover, who had willingly chosen celibacy.

  And yet as she looked at Vic standing there, remembering how tenderly he had cared for her during David's birth, remembering how gentle his hands were, how caring his touch, there was so much she wanted to say to him that the words burned in her throat. So much she wanted to say and yet could not say, because she knew in her heart of hearts that, much as she liked him, much as she needed his strength and companionship, she did not love him. That to allow him to think otherwise would be to cheat not only Edward and David but Vic himself as well; and so, even though it tore at her heart to do so, she stretched out her hand to him, forcing her lips to curve into what she hoped looked like a smile, and, shaking his hand, said as brightly as she could, 'I'd better go. Bon voyage, Vic… and remember, we're counting on you to bring back that ram. I've got very big plans for our new flock…'