Winter Solstice

by Pilcher, Rosamunde

  “I’m listening,” she told him.

  “This is a new step we’re going to take. Together. A real commitment. Doing up this house, spending serious money, and coming to live here. As well, for the foreseeable future, Lucy is coming, too. Don’t you think perhaps the time has come for us to get married? To be man and wife? It’s a formality, I know, because if we tried, we could scarcely be more married than we already are. But it would put a seal on our union … not in a moral sense, but an affirmation of our trust in the future.”

  Elfrida realized that her stupid eyes were filling with tears.

  “Oh, Oscar….” She drew her hand away and began to search for her handkerchief. Old people, she had once told him, look hideous when they cry. “… You don’t need to do this. It’s only months since they died. So little time to grieve and recover. And you mustn’t think of me … because I’m not that sort of person. I will stay with you happily for the rest of my life, but I don’t want you to feel you have to marry me….”

  “I don’t feel that. I love you and I honour you just the way things are, and I don’t suppose either of us gives a jot what other people think or choose to say. All things being equal, I should happily settle for carrying on just the way things are. But we now have Lucy to consider.”

  “What difference does she make to how we live our lives?”

  “Oh, my dearest Elfrida, just think. So far the people of Creagan have accepted us with great kindness, even forbearance. No questions. Not a single soul has cast a stone, not even a tiny pebble. But for Lucy it is different. She is going to the local school. Children are not always very kind. Rumours can be started, and even in this day and age, parents can be mean-spirited. I wouldn’t want any of that sort of thing to rub off on Lucy. As well, we have Nicola’s new husband to consider. We know nothing about him, and he’s probably a perfectly decent chap, but he might turn out to be one of those high-minded individuals with a strong and unforgiving moral code. Sometime Nicola is bringing him to visit us. We don’t want to give either of them a valid reason for spiriting Lucy off to Cleveland, Ohio, against her will.”

  “You mean, he wouldn’t want to leave her with us, simply because we live in sin?”

  “Exactly so.”

  “So for her sake, we should be married.”

  “Put baldly, yes.”

  “But Gloria …”

  “Gloria, of all women, would understand.”

  “It’s such a short time, Oscar.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure. Because one thing is truly certain, and that is that you have helped me to start again, and it is you who have made a dark and painful time not only bearable and possible, but even joyful as well. I think you carry joy around with you. We can’t go back. Life, for both of us, can never be the same as it was, but it can be different; and you have proved to me that it can be good. I told you a long time ago that you could always make me laugh. As well, you have made me love you. Now, I cannot imagine an existence without you. Please marry me. If I wasn’t feeling so bloody stiff, I’d get down on one knee.”

  “I’d hate you to do that.” Elfrida, having at last found her handkerchief, now blew her nose.

  “But I’d like to marry you very, very much. Thank you for asking me.” She put her handkerchief away, and once more he took her hand.

  “So. We are betrothed. Shall we break the news or keep it to ourselves?”

  “Let’s keep it to ourselves. Secretly relish. Just for the time being.”

  “You are right. There is so much going on. Let us get Christmas behind us, and then I shall take you to Kingsferry and buy you a diamond ring, and after that, we can announce our happiness to the world.”

  “I have to be truthful,” Elfrida admitted.

  “I’m not all that mad on diamonds.”

  “Then what would you like me to buy you?”

  “An Aquamarine?”

  And Oscar laughed, and kissed her. And they might have sat on, in the gloaming, for the rest of the evening, but the last of the logs had burnt out, and the house, with the sun gone, grew cold again. It was time to leave. Outside, the air, so quickly, had chilled and it was winter again. A wind stirred from the north, shivering the leafless branches of the big beech tree that stood opposite their gate.

  Elfrida, her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, looked about her. The moon was rising, the first star pricked.

  “We’ll be back,” she said, to no one in particular.

  “Of course.” Oscar locked his front door, took her arm, and with Horace at their heels, they walked, in the deep-blue evening light, down the pebbled path.

  LUCY

  Christmas Eve.

  It’s nearly eight o’clock in the evening, and there’s still masses to do. I must write everything down, otherwise it will be lost forever. So much has happened. The worst was Mummy ringing yesterday in the middle of Elfrida’s party to say that she has married Randall Fischer. I think it was the worst thing that ever happened to me, because all I could think about was having to go and live in America, and lose all my friends, or else have to live with Gran in London on my own. And not fit in or be wanted in either place. It was really dire. I had horrible hysterics and made myself feel quite ill and was beastly to Carrie, but that’s all over now.

  Anyway, now it is all sorted out, and I’m going to stay here, in Creagan, with Elfrida and Oscar for the time being, and go to day-school in Creagan. Rory was the one who told everybody that I must do this, and I am so pleased that he and I had time to talk, when he was fixing the television. So that he knew exactly how I felt, even if nobody else did. I think he is really my best friend. He is going to Nepal in the mid the of next month and is tremendously excited about it. I shall miss him, but will see him again, I am sure, when he gets back in August. Whatever has happened by then, I shall make a point of seeing him, and I shall be fifteen then. Fifteen sounds much older than fourteen.

  So this morning I woke up and knew that everything was going to be all right, and it was like having a huge weight off my mind. Carrie rang Gran and told her about our plans, and she went along with them; and then later she rang Mummy in Florida, and with a bit of coaxing, persuaded her, too. Actually, it didn’t take very long. And then I had a chat with Mummy, and managed not to sound too delighted, in case she took offence and changed her mind.

  So then Rory appeared, and we got a picnic together, and Sam drove us over to Corrydale. I have always longed to go there and see it all. It is beautiful and it was a beautiful day, with no clouds or wind and really quite warm. Oscar’s little house is too sweet, tucked away on the estate with a few other little houses in view, great big trees, and a long view of the water and over hills. It was tremendously quiet: only bird-song, and no sound of traffic or anything. The house isn’t very big and is fairly shabby and dreadfully cold, but Oscar had lit a fire which made it look cosy. There are only two bedrooms, and the one I shall have is a bit gloomy, but Elfrida says it will be better when they have done a few alterations. Sam thought up lots of clever ideas, and when it is finished it will look really nice. It has a garden, a bit weedy, and a sort of little terrace where we all went out and ate our picnic. Elfrida says there are other children, called Cowper, who live nearby at the farm, and they go to the Creagan school, too; so maybe when term starts, I can get a lift in the mornings with them.

  We all came back with Sam, and left Rory at the Manse and then came home. Carrie made a huge dish called an egg tortilla for us to have for supper: it has potatoes and leeks in it, and eggs, bacon, and heaps of other delicious things. While she did this, I finished laying the table for Christmas dinner, and put on the candles and the crackers and dishes of chocolate, and folded the napkins. There’s a bowl of holly in the middle of the table and it looks really festive, and when we’ve lit the fire, will look exactly right, like a Christmas card. Carrie said all that was missing was a Jolly Cardinal.

  Then we‘re goin
g to play cards to fill in the long evening, and then we‘re all going to Midnight Service, except Oscar, who says he doesn‘t want to come.

  I don’t know how long it will be before they are able to move to Corrydale, because of all the work that has to be done there. I would love to be there in the summer, but Elfrida says we “II have to see. Meantime, it’s lovely here. And Sam is going to come and be our lodger until everything is sorted out.

  I can’t believe that I could be so miserable and despairing one day, and so utterly happy the next.

  The next time I write in my diary, Christmas will be over.

  ELFRIDA

  Elfrida endeavoured to fan out her enormous hand of cards, and at the same time decide what she was going to throw away. She had run out of twos and threes, and was now in the uncomfortable position of trying to work out whether or not Carrie had a pair in her hand, and if so, a pair of what? The discard pack was too large for comfort, they were nearing the end of the game, and if Carrie picked it up now, Elfrida and Sam would be defeated.

  “Come along now, Elfrida.” Oscar was getting tired of the long wait.

  “Be brave. Throw something you don’t want.”

  So she gritted her teeth, threw the eight of hearts, and waited anxiously for Carrie to let out a shout of glee and pounce. But Carrie shook her head, and Elfrida relaxed with a sigh of relief.

  “I can’t stand the nerves! If I wasn’t going to church, I should have another large drink.”

  It was now ten past eleven, and they were on the last hand. So far, Sam and Elfrida were ahead on points, but the tension would continue until the final card was turned. Elfrida had played Samba long ago, when limbo was still alive, and they had sometimes whiled away the evening with a couple of friends. But she had forgotten some of the rules, and it was not until she started playing again that the old tricks and shibboleths came back to her. Oscar and Sam were both old hands and up to all the nuances of the game, but Carrie and Lucy were starters. Carrie quickly picked it up, and Lucy played with Sam, who was kindly and patient about explaining; and by the end of the first hand he was allowing her to make the choices of discard, and not becoming annoyed when she made the wrong one.

  Carrie picked up two cards, put them into her hand, and was then able to finish a Samba. Oscar let out a grunt of approval. She threw the four of spades.

  “If you pick that up, Sam, I shall strangle you with my bare hands.”

  “I can’t.”

  Lucy said, “There are only four cards left.”

  “When they’re finished, the game’s done,” Sam told her.

  “Pick two up, Lucy, and see what we’ve got….”

  From the landing, the telephone rang.

  Oscar said, “That damned telephone. Who’s ringing us at this hour?”

  Elfrida said, “I’ll go.”

  But Oscar already had laid down his cards and was getting to his feet. He went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Elfrida heard him say, “Estate House.”

  And then silence, as the caller spoke, and then a murmured reply. The next moment, he was back with them, settling down in his place on the window-seat, picking up his cards again.

  Elfrida was curious.

  “Who was it?”

  “Nothing much. A mistake.”

  “You mean, wrong number?”

  Oscar gazed at his cards.

  Sam said, “If you’ve the wrong number, why did you answer the phone?” And Lucy giggled at the old joke, sitting with her head to one side, trying to decide what she should throw.

  In the end, they ran out of cards, and nobody won. But Sam pulled the score-pad towards him, totted up all the figures, and announced that he and Elfrida were the overall winners, and that he hoped that Oscar was about to come up with a valuable prize.

  “I am about to do no such thing,” Oscar informed him with dignity.

  “You were extremely lucky and held all the best cards; nothing to do with skill.” And with that, he laid his cards on the table and got to his feet. He said, “I’m going to take Horace for a walk.”

  Elfrida stared at him in some astonishment. He often took Horace out into the garden last thing at night, but never for a walk.

  “A walk? Where are you going? Down to the beach?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel the need of some fresh air and to stretch my legs. Horace might as well come with me. I may not be back by the time you set off for church, but leave the door open, and I’ll still be up when you all return. Have a good time. Sing nicely, Lucy.”

  “I will,” she promised him.

  He left them, closing the door behind him.

  Elfrida’s expression was puzzled.

  “Funny. You’d have thought he’d had enough exercise today to last him for a week.”

  “Oh, leave him, Elfrida,” said Carrie, gathering up all the cards and starting to sort them out into three separate packs, one blue, one red, and one flowered.

  “Help me, Lucy. You can do the flowered ones. I think that’s a marvelous game. There comes a subtle moment when you stop playing Samba and start playing Canasta. The scoring’s a bit complicated, though. You’ll have to write it down for me, Sam, so that I don’t forget.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  The cards were sorted, stacked, and put away. Elfrida went around the room puffing up cushions and picking up newspapers from the floor. The fire was low, but she left it, and stood the guard in front of the smouldering wood ashes.

  “We shouldn’t be too long making our way, I think. There’s bound to be a huge congregation, and we want to be able to get a seat.”

  “It’s like going to the theatre,” said Lucy.

  “Will it be cold in the church? Should I wear my red jacket?”

  “Yes, definitely, and your warm boots.”

  Alone in her bedroom, Elfrida combed her hair, put on a bit more lipstick, and sprayed herself with scent. Then she took her blanket coat from the wardrobe, buttoned it up, and put on her tea-cosy hat. She sat on the bed and pulled on her fur-lined boots. Some money for the collection. A handkerchief in case she felt emotionally touched by carols, and a pair of gloves.

  All ready. She surveyed her reflection in the long mirror. Elfrida Phipps, soon to become Mrs. Oscar Blundell. She thought that she looked terrific. Here I come, God. And thanks.

  She went out of her room and downstairs to the kitchen, to check that all was in order for Christmas morning, and that she hadn’t left the gas on, or the kettle boiling itself dry, which she quite often did. And in the kitchen, in his basket, she found Horace.

  She frowned.

  “Horace, I thought Oscar had taken you for a walk.”

  He gazed at her and thumped his tail.

  “Did he leave you behind?”

  Horace closed his eyes.

  “Where’s he gone?”

  Horace did not tell her.

  She went upstairs again and into the sitting-room.

  “Oscar?” But the sitting-room was dark, empty, and all the lights switched off. No Oscar.

  On the landing she found Sam, pulling on his good navyblue overcoat.

  “Oscar’s disappeared.”

  “He’s walking Horace,” Sam reminded her.

  “No, Horace is back in the kitchen. In his basket. It’s a mystery!”

  Sam grinned.

  “Oscar’s probably sneaked off to the pub.”

  “What a suggestion.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s a big boy now.”

  “I’m not worrying.” And of course she wasn’t. Just puzzled as to where Oscar could possibly have taken himself.

  Lucy ran downstairs from her attic.

  “All ready, Elfrida. Do we need collection?”

  “Yes. Have you got any?”

  “Is a pound enough?”

  “Fine. Where’s Carrie?”

  “She’s still getting ready.”

  “Well, you and I will go, Lucy, and bag a pew for the four of us…. Sam, wil
l you wait for Carrie, and come over with her?”

  “Of course …”

  Elfrida and Lucy ran downstairs. Sam heard them open and slam shut the big front door.

  He stood there on the landing, in the emptied house, and waited for Carrie. Soft sounds came from behind her closed bedroom door: drawers being opened, a cupboard door shut. He felt no sense of impatience. He had waited, during the course of his life, for countless women to appear-sitting at bars, standing around in the foyers of theatres, whiling away the time at the table of some small Italian restaurant. He had waited, more times than he could remember, for Deborah, who had never been punctual for anything. So now, in the house which would, one day, belong to him, he waited for Carrie.

  “Oh, Sam.” She came out of her room, slammed shut the door behind her, saw him there, and looked a bit abashed.

  “Are you waiting for me? I am sorry. I couldn’t find my silk scarf.” She wore her loden coat, her fur hat, her long, shining boots. The errant scarf, all pinks and blues, was softly wound around her slender throat, and although all of this was by now dearly familiar to him, he knew that he had never seen her more beautiful.

  “Where are the others? Have they already gone … ?”

  He said, “Yes,” and put his hands on her shoulders, drew her close, and kissed her. Something he had been longing to do ever since that first night, when she had opened the door to him, and found him standing on the doorstep in the falling snow. So, now, it took a long time. When at last they drew apart, he saw that she was smiling, and her dark eyes had never seemed so lustrous.

  He said, “Happy Christmas.”

  “Happy Christmas, Sam. Time to go.”

  Elfrida and Lucy crossed the street. The square, lamplit, was already busy with cars arriving and people walking, converging on the church. There was, it was clear, going to be a huge congregation. Voices called out, country people greeting each other, falling into step as they made their way.