Her Frozen Heart

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Whatever it takes to make them happy,’ he said. ‘I hate to let the young people down.’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’ She followed him as he led the way to his tiny garret kitchen. ‘You should hire it out for films. Are you happy up here?’

  ‘I am. It can be a bit reclusive. But I always get away during the holidays. I spread my wings and escape Oxford’s little enclave, do some living. But I love coming back. It’s a kind of home to me.’

  ‘Yes. I know what you mean.’ Caitlyn watched as he filled the kettle and set about making coffee. ‘Ever since we moved here, I’ve felt as though I’ve come home. Which is odd, as I grew up in Southport. But there’s something about this place, isn’t there?’

  ‘It stains you. Marks you. Like the ink hidden in banknotes to explode over robbers. You can’t see it but it’s there.’ Nicholas grinned at her. ‘But in my case, I grew up really quite close.’

  She looked around the little set. ‘And you live here alone?’

  He nodded lightly. ‘Yes. I’m single. It hasn’t always been the way, but it is right now.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was wary of stamping over his life, asking questions when she so dreaded the same herself. Besides, how well had she really known Nicholas all those years ago? Did she have the right to make such personal enquiries?

  They went back through to the study-sitting room and Caitlyn sat down on the squashy sofa. ‘I feel as if I’m about to have a tutorial. I’m nervous. I haven’t got an essay.’

  ‘Do you mean to tell me, Miss Collins, that you don’t have your essay with you?’ Nicholas sat back in armchair. ‘What’s your excuse this week?’

  ‘Ugh, that just gave me nasty butterflies. And I’m not Collins any more. I’m Balfour. I’ve even got a son, Max. He’s eleven.’

  ‘Ah. I’ve got a daughter. Twelve.’

  ‘Really?’ Caitlyn almost looked about as if she might spot a twelve-year-old girl hiding behind the curtains. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She lives in the States with her mother, who is also an academic, at Columbia. That’s where I go during the holidays.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  There’ve been twenty years of living since I last saw him. We both have our stories. She smiled at Nicholas again. ‘It’s so nice to see you. You’ve hardly changed.’

  He ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair, his expression rueful. ‘That’s nice of you, but I have a bit. I’m getting on a little now.’

  ‘We all are. What’s nice is that we’ll always remember how we used to be.’

  ‘True.’

  They looked at one another, and there was a moment of awkwardness as their gaze met. A memory swum into her mind but she rejected it before it had time to form properly. Nicholas glanced down into his coffee and Caitlyn, wanting to ease the sudden tension between them, found herself propelled up and out of the sofa. She walked over to his desk, a battered antique piled up with books and papers, and a green-shaded brass reading light. There were some framed photographs propped up on it, and her eye was caught at once by the picture of a merry young girl with long blonde plaits wearing denim dungarees and a stripy top. ‘Is this your daughter?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Coco.’

  ‘Isn’t she pretty? She’s so fair! Not like you at all. But she has your brown eyes.’

  ‘Yes, her mother is Swiss German. She got the Nordic colouring from her.’ Nicholas stood up and came over, looking fondly at the photograph. ‘She’s the light of my life. I miss her horribly when I’m over here. Thank goodness for technology, that’s all I can say. We connect on the screen all the time. But we both count down the weeks until I can get there.’

  ‘I’m not surprised you miss her.’ Caitlyn looked back at the picture. ‘There’s no way she can live here?’

  ‘Nope. None.’ Nicholas sounded final on the subject.

  God, listen to me. I’m prying. When I promised I wouldn’t.

  ‘So,’ Nicholas said. ‘What brings you to Oxford? Are you working here?’

  ‘No . . . no. I used to work in the art world, assessing paintings for an auctioneer. But I’m not working at the moment. I don’t know what brought me back exactly. It’s close to my son’s school, I suppose, but also . . . well, it sounds a bit odd, but I wanted to find out more about the past. To see if I’d remembered it correctly. I thought you might be able to help me with it, that’s why I dropped by on the off chance you were here.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m happy to help.’

  There was a pause, then he said awkwardly, ‘And Max’s dad? Is he with you?’

  ‘No. No. I’m . . . on my own.’ For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say that Patrick was dead. Instead she said hastily, ‘You remember Sara, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do. She was unforgettable. Trouble with a capital T. Do you still see her?’

  ‘Oh yes. I do. Not recently, she’s in America. She’s a successful interior designer now.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Nicholas smiled and raised his coffee cup to his lips.

  ‘We’re still close. She’s Max’s godmother.’

  Nicholas looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you two were still friends. Forget what I said about trouble, I was only joking.’

  ‘No, I’m interested. Really. What do you remember about her?’

  ‘Sara was great. Lovely, intelligent and fun, if a bit highly strung. And you two were best friends. I remember you sharing tutorials and being basically inseparable.’

  ‘Yes.’ Caitlyn knew that wasn’t the real story but that she’d mishandled it and missed her opportunity to find out the truth. She would have to win Nicholas’s trust to do that. She felt flustered, impelled to change the subject. ‘Perhaps I can pick your brains about something else. I’ve had a rather frustrating piece of news. Just when I’d got Max and myself settled in town so I could be close to his school, the landlord has served notice on me. I’ve got to be out in a few weeks, right in the middle of the holidays, so I need some recommendations of places to live.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Spring Hall.’

  ‘I know it. I went there myself, actually. It’s not far from my childhood home.’

  ‘Your childhood home? I don’t suppose it’s for rent, is it?’ Caitlyn asked jokily.

  Nicholas looked at her oddly. ‘Well . . . as it happens, some of it is for rent. My great-aunt lives in part of it. But the other half is empty. She’s let it out at various times, but it’s vacant right now. There’s plenty of room there.’

  Caitlyn gazed at him, interested. ‘Where did you say it is?’

  ‘In a village not that far from Spring Hall – about ten miles the other side, twenty-five miles from Oxford. The house is called Kings Harcourt.’

  ‘I don’t know it.’

  ‘Then why don’t I show it to you? It has a famous painting you might be interested in, if it’s in your sphere of interest. A portrait by Gainsborough.’

  ‘Really?’ Caitlyn was intrigued. ‘That’s my period, actually. I’d love to see it.’

  ‘Good. I can show you the house at the same time. It could be just what you need.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  With the school shut and the children cooped up at home, Fred declared that he would resume the Latin lessons, but Tommy was too distracted even to thank him for the offer. No one seemed particularly bothered when she told them that Barbara Hastings and her daughter were coming to stay. Even her mother, whom she’d expected to complain, said only that it would be pleasant for Thomasina to have a friend around.

  ‘I barely know her!’ protested Tommy. ‘I haven’t seen her for years if you don’t count last week.’

  ‘If she’s been living with Veronica Macintyre, she must be respectable.’ Her mother was embroidering a cushion cover but her fingers were now become arthritic and her progress was very slow. She peered down hard at it as she moved her needle carefully through the fabric, drawing a long shiny thre
ad after it. ‘What do you know of her circumstances?’

  ‘Only what she told me the other day. Her husband was in the army and they lived in India for a long while. Their daughter Molly was born there. He was killed in Burma and now she seems quite alone.’

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t want to help her then.’

  ‘I do want to help her! But . . .’ She stopped. There seemed no answer to it. Hadn’t she opened her doors to a parcel of little evacuees, total strangers from goodness only knew what background? So why was she so reluctant to shelter Barbara and her daughter?

  ‘It seems to me,’ her mother said, ‘that another woman who knows what you have suffered might be a comfort, not a hindrance.’

  ‘Well, they’re coming tomorrow afternoon and even if I wrote now, I don’t suppose it would reach them in time.’

  ‘You could telephone if you’re determined to refuse.’

  Tommy quailed at the thought of talking to Veronica and in any case, she knew exactly what would happen: she would back down and give in. ‘No, it’s all right. I might as well tell Clara to make up the extra beds.’

  The one thing that cheered Tommy up was the sight of the coal man, his truck lumbering up the lane to deliver her ration.

  ‘How do ye do, ma’am,’ he said as she ran out to greet him.

  ‘Well, this is very welcome!’ she cried. The bright morning sun glittered on what was left of the previous fall of snow. ‘You’re just in time. We’re nearly out!’

  ‘I’ve got two ton for you.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness. We’re running so low. But my ration is six tons. Is more coming?’

  The coal man jumped down from the cab of his truck and began to haul the dirty sacks off the back. They left black and grey smudges in the snow, which looked even filthier against the white. ‘I don’t know about that. There’s plenty who won’t get their ration, not enough is coming through. And if you’ve got your boiler coke, don’t waste it now. There’s no more to be had.’

  ‘No more?’ Tommy said, dismayed.

  ‘Not right now. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’ll take these to your bunker.’

  The arrival of the coal was a great relief but her two tons did not go far to filling up the coal bunker, and there was little clue as to when there would be more. They would have to be careful; there could be no relaxation in their vigilance.

  I’m so tired of it all, she thought, putting on her hat in front of the mirror in the passage by the kitchen. It’s been so long since we were able to live without thinking about saving everything. Petrol, soap, clothes, food. On and on it goes. Never ending.

  She reached for her coat and was pulling it on when Fred came down the passageway looking anxious.

  ‘What are you doing, Tommy?’

  ‘I’m driving to the station to collect Barbara, remember?’

  ‘I’ve just been listening to the wireless news and they are warning of severe weather conditions tonight. A frightful blast of snow and cold.’

  Tommy sighed. ‘Well, that’s just wonderful. At least we got some coal before it arrived.’

  ‘Are you sure you should drive to the station?’

  ‘What choice have I got? I can hardly leave Barbara and Molly to freeze on the platform, can I? They’re coming and that’s that.’

  ‘Can’t you telephone to Veronica and ask if they’re on their way?’

  ‘Oh, they will be, believe me. You’ve never seen anyone so eager to be rid of her guests as Veronica. I’m sure I shall be all right. It’s not snowing yet and if it started now, I’d have time to get there and back.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Fred said. ‘Just to be sure. I’ll meet you at the car.’

  Before she could say anything, he had hurried off to get his things.

  Fred put a shovel and some blankets into the back of the car, and two stone hot water bottles wrapped in more blankets.

  ‘Won’t those be useless in no time?’ Tommy said, coming out after him. ‘Oh my goodness – it’s so cold!’

  The air had a hard bite to it, eating at her cheeks with icy fangs, and her fingers were instantly numb. It was already getting dark and trepidation filled her as her animal senses told her there was danger in the world tonight and that the safest thing was to retreat to somewhere warm.

  ‘Go and change your shoes,’ Fred said briefly, looking down at her sturdy leather lace-ups. ‘Those won’t be warm enough. Do you have anything else?’

  ‘I’ve got some fur-lined boots,’ she said.

  ‘Put them on.’ He grimaced in the gathering gloom. ‘This is a fool’s errand but we’re in for it now. Shall I drive?’

  ‘No, it’s my car. I’ll drive it,’ Tommy replied quickly. ‘I think I can manage a bit of cold. We’ll be fine.’

  Once they set off, though, she was shivering quickly. Beside her, Fred sat wrapped up in a blanket, his hat pulled low. ‘We might warm up in here in a bit,’ he said. ‘The hot water bottles might do something.’

  But their two bodies and the stone bottles seemed like nothing against the might of the cold. The roads were not too bad, though Tommy could sense a little slipperiness under the wheels. It felt like everything was waiting, anticipating whatever was to come.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the end of the lane and then things became a little easier on the main road, where there were other cars and trucks. Very few people were out on the streets of the village, and lights glowed from behind curtains as darkness fell hard around them.

  ‘What train are they on?’ Fred asked.

  ‘The 5.05.’

  ‘We should be there in time, then. But it’s going to be slow getting back.’

  Tommy nodded and stared out at the darkness that awaited beyond the lights of the village. The station was still a way off, on the outskirts of the small town of Wedford five miles on from the village. She knew this road well: she had roared along it without a second thought many times. Now it was strange and perilous and she strained to see every familiar landmark.

  Fred said quietly, ‘I admire your courage, Tommy. You’ve got grit.’

  She laughed lightly. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Driving a car is nothing. I’m sure you’ve seen real courage.’

  ‘I’ve seen different courage, perhaps. But it’s all from the same place. It’s pressing on with determination no matter how grim it looks outside. That’s what you’re doing now. It would have been easier to call Veronica and cancel Barbara – is she your problem after all?’

  Tommy tightened her grip on the steering wheel. ‘You don’t understand. I’ve taken the coward’s way out.’ She turned quickly to smile at him. ‘You should try crossing Veronica, it’s much more terrifying than this.’

  Fred laughed. ‘Even so. I admire it.’

  It was a relief to see the lights of the town and the sign to the station. They were five minutes early for the train, and they stood together on the platform, stamping and blowing on their gloved fingers to thaw them. Fred offered her a cigarette and they stood smoking together.

  ‘Is the Oxford train on time?’ enquired Tommy of the stationmaster as he came out.

  ‘As far as I know.’ He shook his head gloomily. ‘But who knows what waits for us tomorrow?’ There was a click as the signals changed and the lights above them glowed green and red. ‘Ah, here she is!’

  The sound that was muffled at first grew louder as the train rounded the bend in the track towards them, a great black shape in the darkness with a bright yellow eye, then puffed to a stop with a shrill whistle and a release of steam. Tommy was both relieved to see it and filled with a sense of gloom that it was now inevitable. Barbara was here.

  They waited until all the doors were open, watching for a woman and a little girl, and then there they were, Barbara unmistakable with the broad shoulders of her navy coat and her blonde hair falling long over her shoulders. She carried a Gladstone bag and a box tied with string. Next to her was a small girl well wrapped up against the cold, clutchin
g a teddy bear.

  Tommy waved, full of a sudden sympathy for the two figures that seemed so lost. How horrible it must be to be homeless. ‘Barbara! Hello!’

  Barbara spied her and waved back. ‘Tommy. How marvellous to see you.’

  Tommy and Fred went over to meet them. ‘Barbara, this is Mr Burton Brown. Fred, this is Mrs Hastings.’

  They said their how do you dos while Tommy said, ‘Hello, Molly, how nice to meet you,’ but the little girl said nothing, only gazed up at her from light blue eyes like her mother’s. Fred arranged to collect the suitcases from the porter while the women made their way back to the car.

  ‘It’s absolutely freezing,’ Barbara said, in her high, thin voice. ‘Molly and I were huddled together all the way, and we were still shivering. The guard said there was warm air coming out of the vents, but we never felt it, did we, Molly?’

  Molly shook her head and Tommy could see she was trembling with cold. ‘You poor things. Let’s get in the car. There are blankets and hot water bottles, though I’m afraid they may be only tepid by now. There are sandwiches too. Oh good, here’s Fred with the suitcases. Now we can start for home, and the sooner we get going, the sooner we shall be there.’

  The drive home was much worse than the one out. The temperature was lower than Tommy thought she’d ever known, and as they pulled away from the station, the first scattering of white fluff in the air, swirling in the beam from the headlights like large motes of dust, heralded the snow.

  ‘It’s here,’ Tommy said, wide-eyed.

  ‘Let’s hope we get back in time,’ Fred murmured.

  Barbara started off by trying to talk in a jolly voice, but she soon gave up. All of them could only think about the snow which went in a matter of minutes from a light flurry to a thick blizzard of flakes, whirling around them. As they left the lights of the town, Tommy could see almost nothing in front of her and was forced to drop her speed to barely a walking pace as she tried to pick out the road in front of her through the spinning white. Outside the snow was settling fast. Within twenty minutes the ground was thickly blanketed and she began to feel real fear at their situation. In the back Barbara and Molly sat close together under the blankets, their anxious eyes gleaming in the darkness as they stared out at the wildness beyond the car.