A Midwinter Promise

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘I don’t know, but we will,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I can’t turn it down, David, you know how I feel about it.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He sighed. ‘Oh God, this is not going to be easy, is it? Let’s go and see the old place first. Then we can have a proper talk about it.’

  She hugged him hard. ‘Thank you, darling. Let’s go as soon as we can. I’m longing to see it again.’

  They drove down that weekend, when David’s employers were out of town, though not together, and he had the whole of Friday to Monday to spend as he liked. As soon as they were out of London and on the road heading west, Julia felt her spirits lift. Once they were past Basingstoke and Andover, and she could see the miles to Exeter melting away, she began to feel quite joyous, as though the wind blowing against them was breathing life back into her. She could hardly stay still in her seat as they got closer to Tawray, and once they were though the gates, she couldn’t stop herself shrieking with her first glimpse of the house at the end of the drive.

  ‘Oh David. We’re home!’

  He glanced at her, unable to stop smiling at her enthusiasm but with an air of apprehension. ‘Yes. We’re back.’

  When the car stopped, she leapt out and opened the boot for Greta to come out as well, and the dog jumped about with excitement at being set free among so many interesting sights and smells. Julia stood on the gravel drive, looking up at the old house. It already seemed more dilapidated than she remembered. It’s lonely too. Like me.

  She searched in her pocket for the key to the front door. ‘Come on. I can’t believe it’s really mine. And Lala’s too, of course. But mine.’

  David went to the back of the car for the bags. ‘Not quite yet. There are papers to be signed, aren’t there? The money to be decided.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you literal thing. The papers aren’t signed yet, but it’s all agreed.’

  She pushed the old door open, hearing it creak on its hinges, and stepped inside. It was dusty and cool within, everything the same and yet lacking lustre, as though even furniture took its gleam from the activity of human life around it. Julia saw dozens of things that needed doing just gazing from the top of the staircase to the hall and back. A pile of post lay on the mat and in a heap on the side table. Someone was coming in then, from time to time. She saw that the drawing room door stood ajar and that Greta had disappeared in there, so she followed her as David came up behind with the cases. As soon as she was inside, she screamed.

  ‘What is it?’ called David, and he dropped the bags to hurry in after her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘David – look! Oh look!’ She pointed with a trembling finger.

  ‘It’s gone,’ he said with surprise.

  Where the wall and the mural had been there was only space, and the drawing room now opened seamlessly into the room beyond. Where there had been the illusion of the library, the real thing now occupied the same space. The effect was eerie, as though half a dozen people had simply vanished. Their absence seemed to echo in the air.

  ‘He’s destroyed the mural,’ Julia said in a broken voice. ‘It’s gone. My mother. Her letter to me. Daddy. All gone.’ She looked to David. ‘Couldn’t he have left me that?’

  David hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Couldn’t he have left me that? Out of all of it?’ And she burst into tears.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Julia couldn’t bring herself to ask Quentin why he had destroyed the mural and broken down the wall into the library; she had a feeling he would not even know and that would make it worse. It was too terrible, that it had been destroyed for no reason at all. But it had gone and there was nothing she could do about it, though the pain of absence did not diminish; she felt it every time she went into the drawing room and saw it wasn’t there.

  Another thing to go, to disappear without trace, with no questions to be asked.

  She and David spent a long weekend going over the entire house from top to bottom, making lists of what needed to be done. By the end of the process, David’s expression was grave.

  ‘It’s an enormous project, Julia. Huge and expensive. And for what?’

  ‘What do you mean, for what?’ She gazed at him, bewildered. ‘What choice is there? It’s Tawray, and that’s that. It needs to be done. The money will come from the trust, I suppose. The house makes a bit of an income.’

  ‘I’ll bet you it costs a lot more than that to run and maintain.’ David looked about sadly. ‘These places are a relic of the past now, more of a burden than anything else. It would make sense as a school or a business or even a museum. You should think about selling it, darling. Lala won’t want it; she lives in Paris and her whole life is in France. How are the two of us going to manage this?’

  She laughed as though he were joking. ‘Sell it? No! I can never do that. We’ll make it work. It’s going to be my project, my thing.’ She hugged her notebook to her and spun around on the spot. ‘Sally is right, she said I needed something to do, and here it is – my purpose. My reason for being here.’

  David half smiled but his expression was apprehensive and his brow creased with a frown. ‘You say that, but how on earth is it practical?’

  ‘I’ll make it happen,’ she said with determination. ‘Just you see.’

  David said no more, but she knew that he was against the idea of Tawray. She suspected now that he’d been glad when it was left to Quentin rather than to her. But he said nothing and mucked in just as hard as she did. They spent a busy weekend, getting filthy in jeans and shirts, as they cleared and cleaned, with Julia getting progressively more enthusiastic and her lists longer and longer.

  They went back to London exhausted but Julia was sure that David was glad to see her mood so much improved and her old energy and verve returning. The strange, bitter jealousy she had felt towards his employer seemed to have disappeared and they didn’t speak of it.

  ‘I’ve been in a slump,’ she said that night in bed, as they hugged in the darkness before sleep. It was always easier to talk then, close together, just bodies and voices. ‘I’ve been really low.’

  ‘I know,’ David said sleepily. He yawned. ‘I love you, you know that. More than anyone in the world. I just want you to be happy.’

  ‘Tawray makes me happy.’

  ‘You say that but I find it hard to understand. In the past, you’ve said it scares you and makes you miserable.’

  ‘It does both, I suppose. Like family. Sometimes you hate it and other times you need it. I think I need it right now, and it needs me.’

  ‘It’s going to be a massive bloody problem. It’s a five-hour drive away from here.’

  ‘We can do it,’ she said obstinately. ‘I know we can. And you’re away so much, so it will stop me feeling lonely.’

  ‘It’ll be worth it if it makes you happy.’ He hugged her tighter. ‘And besides, there will be all the more reason to fill it with scampering children, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes! What a lovely idea.’

  For a moment, in her joy at having her home restored, she really thought it was.

  Sally was impressed. ‘How extraordinary to have the house handed back to you like that.’

  Julia nodded, the wind whipping her tawny hair over her face. They were walking in the park, slowly making their way towards the Albert Memorial while Greta raced about, exploring. ‘I think my cousin had grand ideas of using it as a place to work when he wasn’t at Cambridge, but the reality of looking after it put him off. Notoriously lazy, academics.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it, of course,’ Sally said. Her fair hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail against the wind. ‘It sounds glorious.’

  ‘It is. You and Bill must come down.’

  Sally looked gloomy. ‘That’s all off, I’m afraid.’

  Julia stopped short and gaped at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes. We broke up at the weekend.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I did it. I suppose my heart really wasn’t in it anymore.
Bill is lovely, but he’s not very go-getting, not very . . . well, he’s lovely, but not really for me.’

  ‘What a shame, I liked Bill,’ Julia said lamely, wishing she could offer more; but she couldn’t really protest that Sally was wrong when she felt just the same about Bill’s niceness and general all-round dullness. He didn’t have David’s brooding dark handsomeness or quiet magnetism.

  Sally pulled her pink tweed jacket a little tighter around her against the blustery April wind. ‘He was a bit cut up but he’ll get over it. So I’m young, free and single again.’ She grinned at Julia. ‘Know anyone you could set me up with?’

  Julia laughed. ‘I’ll do my best! David’s got some friends but most of them are in the navy, and head off on service for months at time.’

  ‘Naval officers are sexy, I quite like that idea. Prince Andrew – yum.’

  ‘Shame he’s already taken.’

  ‘More’s the pity. Oh well, you’ll have to get on the case and find me someone like David: handsome and imposing and successful.’

  ‘I don’t know if being an equerry is all that successful, is it?’

  Sally looked surprised. ‘Oh yes, it’s a real feather in the cap. David will be able to get a fabulous job once he’s finished that, if he doesn’t want to go back to the navy. Has he talked about that?’

  ‘No. He seems rather addicted to this job, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It must be fascinating. I’d love to work in the palace.’

  ‘Would you? I can’t help thinking it must all feel rather silly once you get close up.’

  ‘Silly?’

  ‘Princes and princesses, bowing and scraping, footmen and ladies-in-waiting and all the rest of it. David doesn’t tell me much but he’s given me the distinct impression that it’s all as camp as Christmas.’

  Sally looked shocked and frowned at her. ‘That’s awful, Julia – that’s our monarchy! Our royal family. We should be terrifically proud.’

  ‘Yes . . . yes, of course,’ Julia said quickly. Sally evidently took the whole thing very seriously. ‘Well, I’m sorry about you and Bill, but if it wasn’t working, it wasn’t working. Let’s see if we can find you someone else.’

  Sally had gone back to work and Julia was on her way home, Greta pulling at the lead like crazy whenever she saw another dog she wanted to befriend. She saw a Scottie dog padding towards them along the pavement and made a dash for her before Julia knew what was happening and the next moment, she’d been pulled headlong into the owner.

  ‘Oh, goodness! Sorry, sorry! Down, Greta!’

  ‘Well, hello,’ said a drawling voice.

  Julia looked up and blinked with astonishment as she realised she was looking at Mark. ‘Oh!’

  He grinned. ‘This is a surprise. Fancy crashing into you like this. You do look respectable, Miss Teague. And is that a wedding ring I spy? So you’re not Miss Teague at all. Who are you then?’

  ‘Mark! I can’t believe it.’ She gazed at him. He looked quite well, in comparison to how he had been a few years before in the Stockwell house. ‘I’m Julia Pengelly now. But how are you?’

  ‘I’m all right actually. You?’

  ‘Fine, fine.’ She could feel herself flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure at seeing him again.

  ‘Are you busy? Why don’t we pop to The Antelope, and you can tell me all about it?’

  ‘Well . . .’ She thought about the rest of her day, and how little she had to do apart from chores and lists. ‘Yes. Yes. That would be lovely.’

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the pub, which was quiet with only a few lunchtime drinkers left, and Julia had a gin and tonic in front her, while Mark had a pint. Greta curled up at her feet and went to sleep.

  ‘I don’t usually drink at lunchtime,’ she said, as he shuffled himself into the tight space of the wooden bench they were on.

  ‘I expect you don’t, not these days. You used to be quite the party queen.’ He grinned lazily and she remembered his slow charm, the way he talked in a drawl that meant his sharp wit was all the more surprising and amusing.

  She said jokily, ‘Well, you can talk! You used to be absolutely out of it most of the time. What’s happened? Are you better?’

  ‘Better?’ He raised an eyebrow at her, which made her laugh.

  ‘Off drugs.’

  ‘Not exactly off, dearie. Let’s just say I’ve got things a bit more under control. My dad sent me to rehab, if you must know – three weeks in a godawful place in America, and another three in a nicer place in Surrey. I think it cost him about fifteen grand.’

  ‘Really?’ Julia’s eyes went wide. ‘And it helped?’

  ‘It helped a bit.’ Mark lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Now I only take heroin at weekends. I stick to coke and speed the rest of the time.’

  Julia laughed despite herself. ‘Oh Mark. Honestly.’

  ‘What about you? Married, of course.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s a damn shame,’ he murmured. ‘I always rather hoped you’d come back to me.’

  ‘No you didn’t, you old charmer. I bet you never gave me a second thought.’

  ‘That’s not true. I was heartbroken. So, who stole you away? Was it that rather stiff-looking type who was with you when you moved out?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I could see you’d got it bad, so I’m not surprised. And now you’re busy living happily ever after.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Mark was staring at her and she took a nervous sip of her gin. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you really?’

  ‘Of course. Why on earth would you say otherwise?’

  ‘I know you, Julia. I’ve seen you at your absolute lowest. We’re alike, you and I,’ he said slowly. ‘We don’t battle our demons, we make alliances with them. We join in the fun. That’s why we’re both headed the same way.’

  She felt a chill of fear prickle over her at his words. ‘That’s awful. Of course we’re not. We’re quite different now, aren’t we? I’m happily married, you’re recovered. We’ve got everything to look forward to.’

  Mark shook his head. ‘Bottomless pits, that’s us. You can pour love and hope and life into us and we will never fill up. We escape from time to time, and think we’ll be happy, but then it all comes back, doesn’t it?’

  He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered it to her. She took one, even though she’d almost given up as David didn’t like it, and was surprised to find her fingers trembling. Mark lit it for her, and then his own.

  ‘That’s a very bleak prognosis,’ she said, exhaling her first drag.

  He shrugged. ‘Just realistic. I know better than anyone that I’m not going to be clean for long. It will take more strength than I’ve got to stay away from the lusciousness of my favourite mode of escape.’

  ‘I’m going to be all right,’ she said firmly. ‘And you could be too, if you want.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that about you, but I don’t share your confidence about me. Fancy another drink?’

  Julia got home late, her head swimming with gin, and with Greta ravenous for her supper. The house was dark and she remembered that David was at a function that evening. He was on duty so would probably stay on afterwards for some whisky with some of his colleagues. It was one of the perks of his job he enjoyed: the excellent food and the supply of very good single malt and vintage brandies that were made available when the work was done.

  When Greta was fed, Julia went and stood in front of the mirror over the fireplace in their small sitting room. She saw suddenly the face of the girl who’d lived with Mark: gaunt, hollow-cheeked, eyes rimmed with kohl, white hair. Now she was a respectable wife, just as he said, with her thick, natural hair held back by clips, pearl earrings glowing in her lobes, her face peachy and healthy. For a moment she felt nostalgic for the crazy, hedonistic world she’d once lived in. After a moment, she went to the drinks table and poured herself a large gin and tonic, and
fetched herself a cigarette from an old box in a handbag, and put on some music. She sat alone in the sitting room, drinking her gin, singing to Blondie and smoking, and wondered if what Mark had said was true: that she’d never escape the darkness inside her. It would always, always call her back.

  A week later, Lala was waiting for her at Charles de Gaulle airport, waving hard as soon as she spotted Julia among the arrivals and then pulling her into a tight hug.

  ‘Oh darling, I’m so happy to see you! Come on, the car is just outside, we must go before I get a ticket.’

  On the drive into central Paris, Lala chattered away, telling her the latest news. Although they talked from time to time on the telephone, they hadn’t met since their father’s funeral.

  ‘I’m so busy, that’s the problem,’ Lala said. She seemed to have the faintest French inflection these days, as though she had taken up residence in the space between the two languages.

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Julia asked, with a laugh. She was proud of her sister’s success, her promotion to Head Designer, and she understood that the frantic pace of the fashion year meant that Lala was hard at work all the time.

  ‘Oh yes, very good! I’m loving it, to be honest.’ Lala slid a look at her. ‘And you? How is married life?’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. But I think you’re here to talk about Tawray, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . let’s wait until we’re settled.’

  Lala managed the feat of driving through the madness of the city without a collision and they left the car in a private courtyard near her apartment, before walking to a nearby cafe. It felt perfectly Parisian to sit outside on cane bistro chairs in the sun. The waiter brought café crème accompanied by tiny bitter-sweet biscuits and Lala lit a Gauloise.

  ‘Now I know I’m in Paris,’ Julia said, sniffing the air. ‘Coffee and cigarettes.’

  ‘And the bloody drains,’ Lala said, laughing.

  ‘I can’t smell that.’