by Laura Wood
There it is. The whole truth. Except it’s not, I realize, because Robert doesn’t know about Lucky, and Caitlin doesn’t know about the money, and Robert doesn’t know that Caitlin doesn’t want the life that he is sacrificing himself to give her, that it is causing her more pain. What a mess.
“I think you need to talk to your sister,” I say finally.
Robert’s eyes register his surprise at this response.
I hold up my hand to stop him from talking. “I know why you haven’t, and it’s really up to you, but I think that you should. I think there are things that both of you need to say. For her, as well as for you.” I stop there, because to push any further would be to spill secrets that aren’t mine to share.
And I stop because I know now that this means goodbye, and I understand why. I love Laurie too, and Robert will never do anything to hurt her. I am glad about that at the same time as I am devastated by it. I think that somewhere in his confession he is telling me that he cares for me, but I see that it doesn’t matter now.
I get to my feet and so does he.
“I brought you this,” he says, picking up a white box that I hadn’t noticed sitting on the ground beside him. “I wanted to give it to you before we leave.”
“Leave?” I say, and the word is a whisper.
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Now that the engagement is about to be announced we’re all going back to London to see to the arrangements. Apparently Charlie and Caitlin want to do it quickly.” Even though I have always known it would end, that they would go, the sudden reality of it all leaves me breathless.
“I see,” I say, and I take the box from him, tucking it under one arm.
“Goodbye, Lou,” he says softly.
“Goodbye,” I reply.
And then he leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. It is the briefest touch of his lips against my skin, and a drop of rain in the desert. I don’t watch as he walks away. I stand perfectly still, my trembling fingers pressed to my mouth.
Sitting back down on the step, I open the box. The tears come in earnest then. Inside is my green dress carefully wrapped in tissue paper.
Part Three
“Life starts all over again when
it gets crisp in the fall.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
September, 1929
It is four weeks later and Alice is helping me to pack up my bedroom. It turns out that Uncle Albie’s cousin knows someone who knows someone who is looking for a typist in London, and Mrs Bastion’s nephew’s wife’s friend has a room to let in a boarding house for young women. Much more importantly, the magazine that Robert encouraged me to write to have bought my story, and I will be writing monthly instalments for their readers. It will barely pay enough to keep me in typewriter ribbon, but I will be a real writer, and my words will be in print. The thought is electrifying. I sent off the pages the day that the Cardews left, in Robert’s envelope. It’s one final gift from a summer that has changed everything.
Once word gets out that I am moving to London “like one of them young, independent New Women”, everyone has an opinion. Fortunately for me, enough people enjoy running contrary to Aunt Irene that when she blows a gasket over me throwing away my virtue and good name, they rally around. I become something of a pet project for the village, and people are dropping in at all hours with strange and wonderful objects that they think I may need for the move. Mrs Penrith has just brought over four big bags of flour because she has heard that the cost of bread in London is absolutely criminal.
“You’ll never fit all of this lot in Gerald,” Alice says, surveying the mountains of stuff that surround us. My room looks like we are about to stage an enormous jumble sale.
“I know.” I sigh. “Still, I suppose I can leave some stuff behind… Freya will go mad, though, she’s so excited about having our old room. She’s not upset about me leaving at all.”
“Well, she’s the only one.” Alice slings an arm around my shoulder.
“Just think how much fun we’ll have when you come to visit me,” I say, resting my head on her shoulder. “I might actually know where I’m going by then. I can show you around.”
“As long as you know the way to all the good clothes shops we’ll be fine,” Alice says, moving away and grabbing another bucket, which she throws on to the “discard” pile.
“Why do you have so many buckets?” she asks.
“I have no idea,” I say, shaking my head. “People keep bringing them over. I dread to think what they’re for.”
There is a knock, and Pa sticks his head around the door. “How is it going, girls?”
Of all the surprising things that have happened lately, I have to say that my parents’ response to me wanting to move to London has been up there. I expected tears, hurt, anger. What I got was support.
“Of course you’re going to go,” Midge said placidly as I stood with my mouth hanging open.
“But … but…” I sputtered. “Don’t you want me to stay here and settle down and get married like Alice?”
Pa and Midge exchanged a look. “Why would we want you to do the same thing as Alice?” Midge asked, perplexed. “You two are as different as chalk and cheese and always have been.”
“Why do you think we gave you that typewriter?” Pa said. “Time for you to go and set the world alight, our girl.”
Of course I cried then. It seems the Cardew family don’t have the monopoly on misunderstanding each other.
Now, Pa is holding out a small parcel. “This came for you, Lou.” I take it, recognizing the messy handwriting on the front immediately. Alice catches the expression on my face and tugs Pa away by the elbow.
“OK, Pa,” she says. “Let’s go and have a look at the pile downstairs.” And she leads him out of the room, so that I am alone.
I sit on the bed and stare at the parcel for several minutes, wondering at what it might contain, and then, taking a deep breath, I tear it open. Inside is a letter.
Dearest, darling Lou,
I am writing this letter to you from the most terrible dive in Paris and I could not be any happier about it. Freddy is sitting across the table from me, and he says to send you his best love, although I told him that you would happily settle for second best, after me.
My darling friend, I am more sorry than you will ever know for how we parted that morning in Cornwall. What you said to me was right, but I was too afraid to hear it. I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me. I called it off with Charlie almost immediately, and I think the poor boy knew in the end that he had had a lucky escape!
Not long after we got back to London, Robert and I had the first completely frank conversation that we have had since our father died. He told me that he had filled you in on the grisly details and, darling, I am truly relieved that you know. Not sharing it with you myself was another mistake, but it seems that I am full of those. I have got some help now, and I am trying to do better about opening up. Robert and I were keeping far too much from one another, while trying to do what was best, and it was only because of you that we were able to untangle ourselves. For that, and for so many other things, I will always be grateful.
Of course, I should have had more faith in my brother. Freddy and I are together now, with his blessing. I think I would have gone with Freddy anyway – I hope I would have found the courage – but I have to admit that Robert’s support has lifted a heavy weight from me. It was Elodie who suggested Paris, and she was quite right. Freddy’s band have taken the city by storm, as you might expect. Things are so much easier for us here, and for the first time in such a long, long time I feel … free.
Robert and Laurie have called off their engagement. It happened two weeks ago, and I think they have managed to keep it out of the press so far. Robert has been so careful not to mention you that I know he has been thinking about you incessantly. Call it female intuition if you like, but I think you
need to hear this: the two of you belong together.
We are selling the Cornwall house now. It is one of the only things I will miss, and much of that is down to you. Thank you for being there this summer; your friendship was truly a lifebelt that kept me from drowning. Every day I will be grateful that you climbed into our tree.
If you want to write back to me it would make me very happy, although I quite understand if you don’t. I would love to hear all of your news and how you are getting on. I miss you quite terribly.
Your loving friend,
Caitlin.
P.S. I know how much you loved Robert’s sketches. He left this lying around and I couldn’t resist stealing it. I think it’s time it found its way to you.
I am filled with an enormous sense of relief. I am so happy for Caitlin, happy that she finally has what she wants. And I’m grateful to her for writing, for valuing a friendship that has become so important to me and for the real affection that lies behind every word. Of course I will write back to her. I will do it soon, and I will tell her about my London plans and the way I am striking out on my own. I know that she will enjoy that.
The information about Robert is harder to digest. Two weeks. His engagement ended two weeks ago. Whatever Caitlin might say to the contrary, any part of me that thought he felt the same way I did dies then. Before, I could have believed it was his engagement to Laurie that was keeping us apart, but now that is ended and he still hasn’t come for me. I was wrong. It feels like dropping from a great height, the rush of blood in my ears, the furious blurring of the world around me.
Alongside the letter the parcel contains a small black notebook. I open it and freeze.
Inside are dozens of sketches drawn with a deft hand and crackling with life. They are scenes from Lady Amelia’s Revenge. Some of the sketches have dates beside them, and I realize that the first one goes all the way back to when Robert and I first met. As the weeks go by, the sketches become more detailed, more definite. The heroine looks, I think, an awful lot like me. When I get to Lord Marvell I can’t help but laugh. There is Robert at his most smirking. He has drawn himself half in shadow, but I can still tell it is him. I pore over every drawing, committing each one to memory, tracing my fingers over the bold, black lines. There is so much time and effort in these pages, so much life and humour. It is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen, and my heart aches for the man who made it.
I sit and stare at the drawings for a long time. Alice will have gone home by now, I know. I will go round in the morning and tell her what has happened. She’ll be with Jack, and I don’t want to disturb them. I heave myself to my feet and carry on half-heartedly with my packing, until the room is in slightly better order. I want to keep moving, to keep busy so that I don’t have too much time to think about what Caitlin has written. It is early evening by the time I am done, and my limbs are tired from lugging things back and forth and up and down all the stairs. With a sigh, I kneel on my bed, pushing the window open and sticking my head out into the cooler air. The temperature has dropped in the last couple of weeks. Summer really is at an end.
I decide to take a walk and clear my head, so I stick my feet in some battered plimsolls and pull on a scruffy cardigan – one of Midge’s terrible creations that hasn’t made it into a box. The breeze coming off the sea has a definite chill to it, and I pull the cardigan more tightly around me. I pretend to myself that I don’t know where I am walking to, but I absolutely do. The tide is out, and I pick my way across the cobbled causeway towards the house, which I know now is sleeping once more.
I head for the orchard. The first of the apples will be perfectly ripe, and I help myself to the reddest, rosiest one I can find. I go around to the back lawn next, and over to the oak tree. I place my hand against the bark, closing my eyes and remembering that kiss, but also the first time I saw Robert. How he looked at me, how he dared me to stay and drink champagne. How that moment changed everything.
A deep rumble splits the air, and before I know it the heavens have opened and it is pouring with rain. I run over to the house, to the window with the broken latch. Somehow, I discover with relief, they have fixed everything else, but not this. I slip inside, shaking the rain from myself like a dog. I peel off the soggy cardigan and set about lighting a fire. The furniture is all under dust sheets again, and everything is back as it was when the house was mine alone.
But not quite. Now, I can see Laurie slinking through the door, I can see Caitlin draped over a sofa, I can see Robert at the bar, accusing me of cheating at cards. I think about the girl I was before and the girl I am now. Whatever else has happened, my life has been changed completely this summer. I have made something happen for myself, and perhaps I no longer quite belong in this house of shadows. I shiver, fumbling with the matches. Finally, the fire is burning and I begin to dry my hair, feeling the warmth spread through my frozen bones.
I am sitting in front of the fire eating my apple when I hear a loud bang. I freeze. Footsteps clip along the floor, the sound ringing through the air towards me.
I leap to my feet and move to grab my cardigan, ready to make my escape, but this time I am too slow and I have hardly moved at all when the door bursts open. There, standing right in front of me, is Robert. He is wearing an overcoat, and he is soaking wet. I watch, hypnotized, as drops of water fall from his dark hair and on to the floor.
The apple drops from my hand with a dull thud, and it rolls over to his feet, gently kissing his right shoe. He bends and picks it up, looking at it with great interest.
“What – what are you doing here?” I choke. It feels as though I’ve wished him into being. I can’t believe he’s truly standing in front of me. It must be a dream, some ghostly apparition that the house is teasing me with.
He smiles, a smile that goes right through me, and I see bright lights exploding in front of my eyes. I almost stumble forward, but just about remain upright. He’s here. He’s really here.
“What am I doing here?” he says casually, taking off his coat in neat, efficient movements and hanging it over the back of one of the dust-sheet-covered objects. He moves closer to the fire, closer to me. My heart is thundering in my chest. “It’s my house,” he says. “I think the question is, what are you doing here?”
I don’t say anything, can’t say anything. All words are gone. There’s something in his eyes that’s too good to be true; I can’t let myself believe it yet. I just watch as he holds the apple out towards me. “This time, little thief, there’s no getting out of it. I’ve caught you red-handed.”
I look at him, and now I really do start to believe it. I feel a smile spreading across my face, a huge, unstoppable smile that makes me feel lit up like a Christmas tree. Trying hard to look serious, I reach out and take the apple from him, glancing down at it. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge a girl shelter from the storm,” I say slowly.
He raises an eyebrow; his eyes are glittering. “I suppose not,” he replies.
“Of course not,” I say. “That would be completely heartless.”
“Mmm,” Robert agrees, “which I most certainly am not.”
“Maybe not,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “And what about a little sustenance? Would you deny a girl that? To keep her going?” I look up at him.
He laughs. “No, not that either.”
“So I wasn’t really doing anything wrong when I…” I begin, and then I can’t say anything else because he has pulled me into his arms and he is kissing me as if he can’t stop himself. Not that I want him to. I melt into him, the taste of him, the feel of his lips against my skin. It is all I have been able to think about for these last four weeks and here it is, finally happening. Kissing Robert Cardew is as good as I remember … better, even, because this time there are no misunderstandings, no secrets between us. When we eventually break apart, I look up into his eyes and see so much there that my heart feels as though it might burst.
“Robert,” I say finally. “What are you doing here?
”
“Having a very nice time,” he murmurs, kissing my neck in a way that turns my knees to water.
“Robert!” I gasp, and he grins, kissing my nose, but I am not to be distracted. I need to understand why he is here to be able to believe it all.
“Fine,” he says. “Sit here with me and I’ll tell you the whole story.” He sits on the floor in front of the fire and pulls me down next to him, his arm around my waist.
“Now, tell me,” I demand. My head is reeling, and while I couldn’t be much happier about my current situation, I have absolutely no idea how it has come to pass.
“I came to see you,” he says simply. “I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. I drove down to Cornwall in the rain like a madman and I was headed for the farm when I saw the smoke coming from the chimney here. It wasn’t hard to guess who had broken in.”
“Why were you trying to stay away?” I ask, frowning.
Robert rubs his fingers across my forehead, smoothing the frown away. “Well, for starters, I was sort of under the impression that you were in love with Charlie,” he says.
“What?!” I pull away to get a better look at him.
He nods. “I see now that I had that part wrong.”
“Of course you had that wrong,” I say. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“Well, to be fair, you did rather throw yourself at me and call me by his name,” Robert says mildly.
I blush crimson. “Well, that is not really the whole story…”
“And when I tried to talk to you about it, you said that you had no idea it was me. A thought that, by the way, made me feel completely miserable.”