The Winter Folly

by Taylor, Lulu

  His eyes had turned dark and fierce. ‘What are you going to do now?’ he said. A muscle twitched in his jaw, revealing the strain he felt. ‘Are you going to leave me?’

  ‘I don’t want to leave you, you stupid man! I love you! I don’t want you to drive me away!’ She felt tears of rage, frustration and despair building up behind her eyes. ‘I want you and I want us to be a family. But I can only do that if you let me help you.’

  ‘I can’t promise you that,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Clearly.’ She raised her eyes to him, his image beginning to blur. She tried to stop the tears; she wanted very much to stay strong in front of him. ‘I just wish you’d open up to me. Not because I want to leave you but because I want to understand what you think and feel.’

  John said in his strange, cold voice, ‘But just by being here, you’re stirring things up. Making things worse.’

  She recoiled, gasping with the hurt of his words. ‘What? How can you say that?’ She felt a sob rising in her throat, turned and stumbled for the door. All she had done for almost a year was try to make John happy. Had she only succeeded in making him more miserable? She didn’t believe it – she knew they’d been happy together once. Surely they could be again. But then, what did he mean?

  He mustn’t see me crying and weak, she thought, almost blinded by the hot water in her eyes. The sobs were coming now, pushed out of her lungs in horrible, convulsive waves, as she opened the back door, longing for the fresh air beyond and the release of the outside from the stifling atmosphere in the house. She saw the darkening blue of the sky, a flash of green and then dashed straight into something hard and warm with an ‘Ouff!’

  ‘Delilah? Are you all right?’

  She had run into Ben, she realised, dazed. He had taken her by the arms to stop her falling back after they’d collided, and was staring down into her tear-streaked face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m fine,’ she said, in the teary quaver of someone on the brink of breaking down.

  ‘No, you’re not! Come here.’ He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tightly against his broad chest. She smelt the musky aroma of his skin with the tang of sweat. The tears fell again and he murmured, ‘There, there, you’re okay now,’ which made a sound deep in his chest that buzzed against her ear. After a moment, she got control of her crying and pulled away, sniffing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling foolish.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right.’ He smiled down at her and she saw again the family resemblance to John in his grey-and-green-specked eyes and the slight hook in his long nose. ‘We all have moments from time to time, don’t we?’

  Delilah glanced back towards the house where she saw a movement at the kitchen door. When she pulled away from Ben and turned to look properly, there was nothing there.

  ‘Come and see the camellia bushes,’ Ben said. ‘They smell incredible at this time of evening. ‘If that can’t cheer you up, then nothing will.’

  She nodded and they walked off down the path together.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  1969

  ‘So, are you happy here?’ Vera, in a neat tweed suit and high heels, kept up a smart pace as she marched down the gallery, and Alexandra had to hurry to keep up with her.

  ‘Yes, very,’ Alexandra said, a little breathless. She’d received a letter on thick ivory paper engraved with an address in the Highlands of Scotland but hadn’t a clue who Vera Harrington might be until Nicky had looked at her oddly and said, ‘How could you have forgotten Vera?’

  Immediately she remembered. Vera was Nicky’s older cousin, George Stirling’s sister, and had grown up at Home Farm where George still lived. As a girl, she had been tomboyish and fearless, with astonishing cheekbones, a pointed chin, and a passion for horses. Nicky said she had married a horse trainer and gone to live in Scotland. Vera had written to say that she was sorry it had taken such an age to call, but that she would be visiting her brother and could she come to Fort Stirling while she was there. Alexandra had replied that she would be delighted to see her again, and a date had been arranged.

  Alexandra had half expected Vera to be like her brother, red-faced and windblown, but she was very elegant, her tweed suit expertly cut and more Parisian than game fair. Her hair was neat and she wore make-up. She had also been a great deal more friendly, hugging Nicky, greeting Alexandra with a kiss, and admiring John, who was now a sturdy two year old with bright fair hair and a mischevious smile. ‘Just like his father,’ Vera had said with a smile, as John raced about the drawing room, stealing biscuits off the china plate on the table. It had been her suggestion that she and Alexandra go for a walk through the house together.

  Vera looked about the gallery fondly and said, ‘I used to love riding my bicycle up and down here. It was wonderful for that when it was raining outside. Nicky’s father didn’t seem to mind. He only cared about cricket balls going through the old glass in the hall downstairs.’ She paused and then gave Alexandra a sharp look. ‘I’m glad you seem so blissful. I remember you as such a quiet little thing. I would never have guessed that you and my loud, opinionated cousin would be so suited. But of course we didn’t know each other well, did we? I remember how we played a little down at the old folly, before I considered myself too grown-up for games like that.’ She peered more closely at Alexandra. ‘Are you all right? You’ve gone quite white.’

  Alexandra started and tried to shake off the sick feeling that had possessed her suddenly. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. But you mentioned the folly. Something awful happened there last week.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘John. He ran away from me and got himself up that rotten old staircase. He . . . he nearly fell off. It was dreadfully careless of me to let him get away like that.’ She closed her eyes, feeling almost as though she might faint. The memory of that terrible moment filled her with nauseous panic. She had trembled for the rest of the day and sobbed into her pillow at the dreadful pictures that had filled her dreams that night. The image of her mother had come often into her mind, no matter how hard she tried to banish it.

  Vera eyed her sympathetically. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. Little boys can be very fast and determined. Everything turned out all right, so that’s over and done with, isn’t it?’

  Alexandra nodded, though she couldn’t explain that the terror lived on, as though she was permanently standing with John just out of reach, on the brink of toppling away from her to his death. The image was haunting her constantly, popping into her mind at unexpected moments. Sometimes she saw John, and other times a woman in a white nightdress, blown about by the wind. Either way, it was horrifying.

  ‘You shouldn’t dwell on it,’ Vera said briskly. ‘Nothing good comes of fretting like that. You have so many blessings, and you obviously make Nicky very happy. He’s quite grown up since I last saw him.’

  Alexandra tried to focus on John as he had been just a few minutes ago, when he’d gone back up with Nanny. She longed to be with him, in the cosy surroundings of the nursery sitting room. Despite the mischief, he was such lovely fun at the moment: chatting, smiling and laughing, obviously overjoyed to see her. He was growing fast but he was still such a baby. She loved to hear him say ‘Mama’ in his pretty cooing voice. It made her heart swell and overflow with love.

  Vera stopped and turned to look at her with a strong, direct gaze. She put her hands into the pockets of her tweed jacket. ‘Now, I want to ask you something. I’ve heard that you and Nicky didn’t have the most conventional of courtships.’

  Alexandra flushed. No one had spoken of it since they’d returned – at least, not to her face. ‘That’s right,’ she said haltingly. ‘I . . . was married when Nicky and I met in London. We hadn’t seen each other for years and it was . . . well, it just seemed that it was meant to be. I wish I hadn’t been married – it was a dreadful mistake.’

  ‘I’d heard something along those lines.’ Vera smiled at her, her slim lips curving in a half-moon o
f a smile. ‘Please don’t think me impertinent—’

  ‘I don’t,’ Alexandra said quickly. Vera’s manner was so straightforward it was impossible to take offence at it.

  ‘You must understand that inheritance is a tricky thing in our world. It has to be absolutely above board. Nicky has no brothers and sisters, and we must make sure that everything is done properly. There are plenty of people who might consider themselves to have a stake in this house otherwise. Now – Nicky is young and it’s always been assumed he would marry and provide plenty of heirs, so no one is feeling done out of anything. But I just wanted to make sure that you understand that. Can I ask . . .’ Vera looked uncomfortable just for a moment, and then continued in her plain-speaking way ‘. . . I know your husband died very tragically. Was he dead before you and Nicky married?’

  Alexandra felt a wash of relief that she could answer truthfully. ‘Yes. I was a widow when we married.’

  ‘Good.’ Vera smiled brightly. ‘Then that’s all right! I must say, in a perfect world, you and Nicky would have married here where we could witness it – but I’m sure you have your marriage certificate safely tucked away, don’t you?’

  Alexandra thought of the piece of paper that she had stowed in a locked wooden box in her dressing room. John’s birth certificate was there too. They had had him registered at the county register office not long after they’d come back. The registrar had asked to see the marriage certificate but they did not have it, not realising it would be needed. In his loftiest, most aristocratic tones, Nicky had declared that he was sure it wasn’t necessary, and the registrar humbly agreed and registered the birth without it.

  ‘Yes,’ Alexandra replied. ‘It’s been done properly.’

  ‘Good!’ Vera looked satisfied. ‘Then I shall make it my job to quash any silly whispers that might be circulating, and I shall be able to say I’ve heard it from your own mouth. None too soon – for if I’m not mistaken, you’re expecting again, aren’t you, dear?’

  Alexandra’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. She was not even sure herself yet. How had Vera been able to tell?

  ‘I’ve got three of my own,’ Vera said, reading her expression. ‘And I breed horses. I have a feel for when a mare is in foal, if you don’t mind my making such a comparison.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Alexandra laughed despite herself.

  Vera gazed at her earnestly, then took her hand. ‘I’m very glad about what you’ve said. Your little boy is adorable, and I like you very much. Now . . .’ She began to walk on again and Alexandra walked beside her. ‘I shall no doubt see you at George’s wedding in September. Has he mentioned that he wants to hold the reception here?’

  ‘I think Nicky said something about it. Of course we’d be delighted to have it here. That’s exactly what the house is designed for. I sometimes feel that we three are simply rattling in it.’

  ‘Three will soon be four.’ Vera squeezed her hand. ‘And I’m sure there will be many more after that if you’re so inclined. Now, let’s go and find Nicky. I’m dying to see him.’

  Alexandra stood still for a moment. As Vera turned to her questioningly, she said firmly, ‘I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that Nicky and our children are safe and cared for. I’ll do whatever is necessary.’

  Vera looked at her, and appeared to understand why she felt the need to say such a thing. ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ she replied. ‘Very glad indeed. And by the way, why don’t you ask Nicky to have that dreadful old folly knocked down? I think it would be much safer that way.’

  In the high summer, Alexandra gave birth to a girl. Nicky wanted to call her Guinevere but Alexandra thought it too unlucky so they decided on Elaine instead.

  ‘Isn’t Elaine unlucky?’ asked Nicky, entranced by his beautiful daughter as she lay in the cradle next to their bed. Alexandra had recovered well from the straightforward birth but the doctor had prescribed bed rest for a week while she regained her strength and established her breastfeeding. Now she lay tucked up against a pile of snowy pillows, feeling happy and content.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Alexandra gazed down proudly, also enraptured by the tiny being she had somehow produced. The luxury of her bedroom at home was far removed from the seaside Goan hut, and she felt very spoiled but also a little nostalgic for the first carefree, sunny days of John’s life. ‘Who was Elaine again?’

  ‘Elaine of Astolat. The Lady of Shalott.’ He said with a flourish: ‘“‘The curse is come upon me!’ cried the Lady of Shalott.”’

  Alexandra looked at him, her eyes wide and horrified. ‘Is that right? A curse?’

  ‘Well . . . You know, I think there are lots of Elaines in Arthur. I’ll look it up.’

  But once the little girl with her mop of dark hair and her navy blue eyes had been called Elaine, they couldn’t think of any other name that would suit her better.

  John came in to meet the baby, his hand held in Nanny’s big one as he was brought into the bedroom.

  ‘Come here, darling,’ Alexandra said with her arms out. She’d been careful to make sure that Elaine was in the cradle when John arrived. ‘Do you want to meet your sister?’

  John nodded, his blue eyes, now tinged grey like his father’s, round as saucers. He ran forward to his mother’s embrace and then, from his vantage point beside her on the bed, he stared down into the cradle where Elaine lay, gazing upwards, her small limbs moving jerkily. ‘Is she a dolly?’

  ‘No, darling, she’s a real live baby.’ ‘Is she going to live with us? For all the time?’ ‘Yes – forever and ever. She’s your sister and she’s going to be your friend. Isn’t that lovely?’

  He nodded obediently, then climbed down and took a closer look. He put out one chubby hand and brought it close to the baby’s face. Alexandra held her breath, fighting the impulse to tell him not to touch and to be careful, and then John put his fingers gently on the soft cheek and said, ‘Hello, baby.’

  Elaine’s small fists waved in the air as if in reply, and Alexandra found her eyes filling with tears. Somehow life had brought her to this place – to a man she loved and two beautiful children. For the first time she began to wonder if the fears that flourished somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind were unfounded.

  She and Nicky had never been closer. Their life with two small children was entirely absorbing, and they stopped looking for anything else to fill it. They both found the children a source of intense interest, huge amusement and constant concern. If they weren’t laughing at a silly dance that John liked to do for them, or the expression on Elaine’s face when she tasted pumpkin, they were in anxious debate about whether to call a doctor to attend to John’s fever, or what to do for the baby’s teething. Nanny had little truck with any of it, hustling them out of the nursery at any opportunity and telling them briskly that nature was the best doctor and not to fret.

  Alexandra treasured the way that Nicky adored the children. It was so different from her own experience of a distant, disapproving father who seemed to consider parenthood a disagreeable duty which consisted of teaching children about the misery of existence. Nicky wanted to share life’s joys with John, as he grew into a sturdy little chap with a placid temperament that seemed programmed for happiness. He had no fear of trotting up to the office door, pushing it open and running in to Nicky, certain of kisses and smiles. ‘You’ve got to learn about this place, John,’ Nicky would say, pulling the little boy on to his lap to show him what he was doing. ‘You’re going to be running it one of these days, just like me, and my father before me.’

  John loved to play at his father’s feet while Nicky worked on estate business, or held a meeting with his agent or saw the tenants. There was always Nanny on hand to take him away if there were grizzles or sniffles.

  Nanny would have whisked Elaine away too, if she could, keeping her in the nursery domain where she could be run like a little engine on Nanny’s routine, but Alexandra resisted as much as she could. She insisted on feeding the
baby herself, even when Nanny sniffed that Elaine was three months old and ought to be weaned. Nanny knew how things were done in big houses, how the children were brought up, and it was difficult to make her change her ways. Alexandra felt as though she and Nanny were locked in a tussle over the children, but she was determined to win it. Nicky saw nothing strange in Nanny taking the children so much, as that had been his own experience, and only laughed when Alexandra complained.

  ‘You’re so funny, darling,’ he’d say fondly. ‘Nanny does an excellent job. And why is she here, if you’re going to look after the children?’

  Alexandra said she hadn’t wanted Nanny in the first place, but Nicky couldn’t see any other way of doing things.

  She adored John, but something about having a daughter drew Alexandra ever deeper into motherhood. She had a deep yearning to connect with the little girl, and memories of her own mother began to come unexpectedly into her mind. She thought she’d forgotten everything but those years of strain and tension that led up to her mother’s death, but other recollections started to return. She found herself humming songs to the baby that she had not realised she knew. She kissed the baby’s soft cheek and remembered a presence and a warm, comforting aroma that meant safety and love. She brushed the baby’s cheek with her lashes in a butterfly kiss and felt that delicate tickling flutter on her own skin across a distance of many years.

  The thoughts she had tried to lock away, ever since the day Nicky had told her what he knew of her mother’s death, began to resurface and she started to wonder exactly what had happened to that loving presence and why it had left her life so violently and suddenly. She was shocked by the startling ways she was recalling her loss: a violent thrust of pain in her stomach when her children smiled at her and lifted their arms to her, or a sudden desire to weep when she kissed them.