A Midwinter Promise

by Lulu Taylor

  Lala considered while she stirred her cocoa. She was curled up on a big armchair, her feet tucked up under her smart skirt. ‘It sounds unusual. And hard to understand. But I’m just glad you are better. You look like your old self again. Are you eating?’

  Julia nodded. ‘I’m not much of a cook, but I seem to make mean scrambled eggs. Of course I’ll do more once Johnnie is eating. I intend to learn.’

  ‘And then . . . more children?’

  Julia laughed, waving her hand in the air as if batting away the question. ‘Oh really, one is more than enough right now, I can tell you! I can’t imagine ever wanting more than Johnnie.’

  Lala consulted her watch. ‘Talking of your son, he’ll be awake in a couple of hours. You should get to bed.’

  ‘You’re right. He’s got a habit of waking on the dot of two a.m. Most ungentlemanly of him, I must say.’ Julia finished the last of her cocoa and put down her mug. ‘Let’s go up. Mrs Petheridge will clear away in the morning.’

  Lala was gazing at the space where the mural wall used to be. ‘Such a shame Quentin got rid of it. He really should have asked you first.’

  ‘I know.’ Julia looked over as well. ‘I miss it every time I come in.’ She smiled at Lala. ‘Perhaps we should have another one done, when Johnnie’s older. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

  ‘Very. Now off to bed.’

  The next day they walked down to the beach, Johnnie strapped to his mother’s chest in a sling, while Mrs Petheridge did the tidying and made them lunch.

  ‘I can’t pretend she doesn’t make my life a lot easier,’ Julia confessed as they went. ‘I expect most mothers have it a lot harder than I do, with someone to clean up after me. No wonder I’m in such a good mood.’

  They walked down the winding path with its steps cut into the cliff, and got down to the sea. It was a sombre green-grey, sporting foaming curls of crashing waves that beat down on the shore in their strange, irregular rhythm, a pounding syncopation against the battering wind.

  ‘You’re happy with David then?’ Lala said, tying back her fair hair against the whipping gusts of wind.

  ‘Of course.’ Julia looked down to make sure that Johnnie was well protected; he lay tight against her, cosy and insulated inside her coat, which she’d buttoned over the sling.

  ‘He’s not going to be here very much. Will you be all right?’

  ‘I wish it were different.’ They strolled across the wet sand and stood looking out to sea. There was no one else around, not even a dog-walker. ‘But he has a job to do.’ Julia stared for a while, and then said, ‘I trust him.’

  Lala looked surprised. ‘Good. Why wouldn’t you?’

  Julia shrugged. ‘I worry sometimes, about his job. How much it demands from him. He gets so stressed over it. The phone is ringing at all hours these days – not while he’s here, but in London. He told me it can be first thing in the morning or last thing at night. There’s a terrible atmosphere in the office, suspicion and division. Not that he can tell me much about it.’

  ‘Well, didn’t I say all those years ago? I knew she was going to be trouble.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘I’m sure I did. It was bound to happen. I don’t mean she is the problem; I just mean that it was inevitable there would be problems, with all the romantic dreams she had and the reality of his life and the way the world has always revolved around him. I expect he has a mistress and she can’t stand it.’

  Julia frowned with surprise. ‘A mistress? But she’s so beautiful, why would he want a mistress?’

  Lala laughed knowingly. ‘It’s always about more than beauty. Beauty reels men in, but it can’t keep them if their lives become too difficult. Believe me, there’ll be someone loving and caring and full of compassion who makes him feel loved. That’s what men want – to feel loved.’

  ‘Women want that too!’

  ‘Of course. But we’re the ones who give more than we take. Men are the reverse.’

  Julia stroked the top of Johnnie’s woolly hat, staring out to sea thoughtfully. ‘That doesn’t sound fair. We should give and take equally.’

  Lala shook her head. ‘It doesn’t work like that. Women are required to sacrifice to keep a man happy in a way that they can’t ask for in return. Men expect women to be strong. If the woman starts to crumble, they usually have no idea what to do – so it’s up to women to get on and cope as best they can. We have other consolations but we have to make them ourselves. I have a friend who goes to the theatre and opera three times a week, alone or with a girlfriend. Her husband is nice enough but he seems soulless and a bit cold, so she goes elsewhere for her fix of epic emotion and sense of being alive. That seems to work for her.’

  ‘You mean, we mustn’t look to men for support when things go wrong?’

  ‘Maybe if your car battery is flat. But not if you are.’ Lala shrugged and laughed wryly. ‘I just think they’re too needy themselves to give much, and when too much is asked, they look for an escape. It’s not scientific, and of course there are exceptions, but I think that when men seek their consolations, they find another woman to give what they think you can’t, and then love her and not you.’ She looked suddenly sheepish. ‘I’m not talking about you, of course. You and David are fine, I can see that, and he couldn’t have been more devoted when you were ill. He probably isn’t that kind of man.’

  ‘But is Denis?’ Julia asked shyly. There were whole parts of Lala’s life she had never enquired about; the age difference between them seemed to make it impertinent, somehow, and Lala had never shown any need to confide. But then, she always seemed so confident and secure. Perhaps that was only a front.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Lala replied frankly. ‘The relationships between the sexes are much more pragmatic in France – it’s a cliché but it’s true. Women are expected to look after their husbands in a more giving way. We are made to understand early that what the English believe a man to be is the opposite of the truth. Over here, you all assume he wants to shag remorselessly and be unfaithful. Actually, most men are too lazy for that; they are happy with one woman and even if he strays once or twice, he will stay with her if the marriage is strong. And then sex. Supposedly for men, it is all about the physical act and the release of need, pure desire. But in my experience, they need it to feel loved and valued. Sex for them is love – just love for themselves and not for you.’

  ‘This all sounds very depressing,’ Julia said. ‘Maybe that’s how it is for some people, but surely not for everyone.’ Then she said stoutly, ‘David loves me completely, I know he does.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. But I think that, as time goes by and love changes, it becomes more true for us all.’

  Julia felt annoyed. ‘Everyone keeps trying to tell me that I have to compromise and accept that nothing is going to be what I want. I don’t agree with that! After everything we’ve been through, I’m more certain than ever that David loves me no matter what.’

  Lala turned and took her hand. ‘I’m so glad about that, Julia, I really am. We need people like you two to show us what is possible. I’m sure you and David will be fine. Shall we take that little chap back home? It’s cold out here and I need tea.’

  They turned to go home, Julia’s hand cupped over the woolly cap on her baby’s head. She realised with something like horror that she had almost missed out on this. She had wanted to kill herself, and to kill Johnnie, this dear, precious little thing. It made her heart wobble and jump to think of it. She’d come so very close to never knowing this happiness.

  I’ll never feel like that again, she promised herself. Not now that I know what motherhood can be like.

  She dropped a kiss on his warm head as they headed for home.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Present day

  ‘Well? What do you think?’ Johnnie asked, as he and Alex stood in the hall of the house he had rented. They’d just done a quick tour on the way to visit Pa.

  ‘It’s very nice.’ Alex nodded. It was
a roomy Victorian rectory that had been reconfigured for the holiday market with the kind of chrome and marble finish that she was fearful might one day happen to Tawray: attractive and tasteful but somehow bland, as though lifted from the pages of a style magazine. ‘You could have stayed with me, you know.’

  Johnnie shook his head. ‘We couldn’t inflict the whole family on you for such a long time. The reality of having Bertie around – and with Christmas to organise as well – would be too much. I’ve already had to agree with my mate who owns this that we can put extra locks on the doors.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind!’ Alex protested. ‘I know Bertie, I know what to expect. I love spending some time with him, and Nathan and Joe too.’

  It was a bit overwhelming to imagine a family of five staying with her for over a month at such a busy time, but she would have been more than willing.

  ‘I appreciate that.’ Johnnie shoved his hands into his coat pockets and sighed. ‘Honestly, it would not be easy. I think it’s going to help Netta and me to have our own space as well.’

  ‘When do you move in?’

  ‘When the family come down. I’ll have to get it set up before then. I hope you don’t mind me crashing with you until I manage to get it sorted.’

  ‘Of course not. You’re always welcome. You don’t even have to ask.’

  They went out and Johnnie locked the front door behind them.

  ‘How are things?’ Alex asked gently. She’d been aware of the strain on her brother’s face since he’d returned, staying with her until he had the new house sorted out for the family, and she knew it was more than Pa’s condition.

  ‘Not good. She’s not happy. In fact, she’s talked about divorce.’

  ‘What?’ Alex put a hand on Johnnie’s arm in alarm. ‘I had no idea it was that bad!’

  ‘Neither did I,’ he said grimly. They went over to the car and got in. ‘It’s come out of the blue as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  Johnnie shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, there might be, but I’d be surprised. I think it’s about us, about her and me.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  He started the engine. ‘The usual. Communication. Feeling undervalued. Resenting the fact that I don’t help enough.’

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ Alex said, trying to be positive. ‘You can change all that. You can learn communication and make her feel valued, and start to help more.’

  ‘Sounds easy enough.’ Johnnie pulled the car round to face the road. ‘But it isn’t, Al, you know that. I’m doing all I can and I just have no idea how I can do more. I help out at home, I try and reassure her about how much I appreciate her. Nothing seems to work.’

  ‘Well, don’t give up, for goodness’ sake. I’ve been through divorce, and I can tell you, it’s desperately horrible. The worst thing ever, except for Mum dying. Even though Tim and I have done all we can to be civil and grown-up and put the kids first, doing birthdays and school concerts together, never arguing in front of them and telling them all the time how much we love them, both the girls cried nearly every day for two months. Scarlett is still really unsettled, although Jasmine seems more stable. Do anything to avoid it, you have to.’ She gave him a sympathetic look even though his eyes were firmly on the road in front of them. ‘It sounds like Netta still loves you.’

  ‘Does it? I’m not so sure. She said she doesn’t think she can make me happy but I think what she was really saying is that I don’t make her happy.’ He bit his lip, misery over his face. ‘And I don’t know how to change that.’

  Alex sat at her desk, frowning at her computer screen through her reading spectacles and putting together a costing for Jasper. He’d emailed just after their discussion in the potting shed, full of enthusiasm for the plan they’d concocted and eager to get a date in the diary and local producers on board. She’d written back to explain in more detail what the flower exhibition entailed, he’d replied with more ideas, and before long they’d hammered out a plan: the two main rooms on the ground floor would be decorated and the house opened for a full weekend. Refreshments provided in the orangery by a local cafe who prided themselves on using Cornish produce and providing vegan options as well as regular fare. Stands would be set up in the hall, with tasting tables in the dining room and gift stalls in the drawing room.

  The only problem is that a lot of suppliers are booked out close to Christmas, so there might not be as many as we’d like. But it’s a start. We’ll have enough to make it worthwhile, I reckon. So if we’re agreed on the date, just send me your costing, and let me know when you’d like to come up and do the decorations. I’m sorting out all the boring stuff – licences and insurance.

  See you soon.

  Jasper

  It was odd to have this new force in her life so unexpectedly, one that was drawing her back to Tawray with such insistence. The major and Lady Clare, who had rented the house for eight years, had been kind enough but the door was firmly closed most of the time. They’d been gone for six months, and the house only sold at the end of the summer. Mentally, Alex had made her farewells, and now Jasper was keen to get her up there to help him survey the rooms and make a floorplan, and he’d mentioned other schemes, which seemed to come pouring out of him in a flood.

  She smiled at his email, then thought, I wonder what Polly makes of this. Jasper hadn’t mentioned her. Polly hadn’t given off even a whiff of the kind of enthusiasm that Jasper had in spades. She didn’t seem the type to get excited about produce fairs and dried flowers. That might make things difficult. She looked at his email address: Jasper@jaspergardyne.com.

  Gardyne. That’s a nice name. It sounds like garden.

  On impulse, she did an internet search of Jasper Gardyne and he popped up at once, so she clicked on a couple of links that mostly went through to Scottish news sites and a few business articles, but it was all quite dry and without much personal detail. He’d grown up in Scotland, gone to Edinburgh University and as soon as he left, started a media company with a couple of friends and a tiny start-up fund. Within ten years, the company had grown to owning several newspapers, a brand of local magazines, some websites, a production company and an online news channel. Then, quite suddenly, he’d organised the sale of the company to a larger media conglomerate and disappeared from view. There was nothing more she could find out about him, and he didn’t appear to be on any of the usual social media sites.

  Frowning, she went back to her search results. They went on for a couple of pages, but the results seemed to be repetitions of the same articles and reporting in different guises. Jasper was still a bit of a mystery. Polly Gardyne appeared on Instagram but her account was locked and there was nothing more Alex could find out about her.

  Just then, she heard the front door slam closed.

  ‘Is that you, Johnnie?’ she called. She was expecting him back for a late supper, just the two of them as the girls were at Tim’s.

  Heavy footsteps came down the hall towards the study and she turned to the door.

  ‘Johnnie?’

  The door pushed open and she saw that Mundo was standing there, smiling at her in that odd way he had, as if only half his mouth would cooperate. She gasped.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Did I frighten you?’

  She stuttered as she pulled off her glasses. ‘N-no. I thought you were Johnnie, he’s due home any minute. Did you just let yourself into my house?’

  ‘I knocked but you didn’t hear. The door wasn’t locked, so I came right in. You ought to get a decent doorbell.’

  ‘I’ve got a doorbell,’ she said coldly. ‘You didn’t ring it or I would have heard.’

  ‘Sorry. My mistake.’ Mundo strolled in, looking about at the piles of paper and the pin boards covered in pictures. ‘You’re keeping busy then. But you could be a bit tidier.’ He threw her an amused look. ‘But you were always rather messy, weren’t you? Remember your bedroom at Tawray? Piles of shit everywhere.’
>
  Alex swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘What do you want? Why are you here?’

  ‘I was driving past and suddenly thought I’d see if you were in. We’re supposed to be talking about the future, remember? The three of us? About my mother, and Pa’s will.’

  She tried not to show how much she disliked him calling her father ‘Pa’. After all, he had a right to, as David had brought him up from the age of eight. ‘We didn’t set up a time or anything.’

  ‘No. And my mother told me you and Johnnie visited Pa today while I was out, and you never even told me Johnnie was back.’ Mundo gave her one of his sardonic looks, which seemed to be amused but also appeared to conceal anger. ‘Didn’t we agree that we had to have a chat as soon as we could?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been busy.’ It sounded lame.

  ‘Right. So Johnnie’s due back now is he? Shall I wait?’

  ‘I’ll text him.’ She pulled out her phone and tapped out a message.

  Are you on your way back? Mundo’s here.

  She pushed send.

  Mundo was gazing at the cards and pictures pinned to one of the boards. He looked dapper as usual, in smart cord trousers, a bottle-green jumper over a pink checked shirt. His dark hair was carefully arranged, his skin smooth and stubble-free. He was well turned out, handsome even. But there was something about the protrusion of his lower lip, with its hint of petulance, that repelled her. He glanced over, amused. ‘How do you make sense of all this? It just looks like a giant mash-up to me. I could never sort out a case with this kind of confusion. I like order. Neatness.’

  ‘I know.’ Alex remembered Mundo’s obsessively tidy room back at Tawray, his pleasure in organisation. She’d hated that room. So clinical and so cold.

  ‘Is he coming?’

  She glanced down at her screen. ‘Nothing yet.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Now Mundo was at the side of her desk, pushing some pieces of paper into a neat pile, which sent a prickle of irritation over her skin. She caught a whiff of his aftershave – something rich and oriental. ‘So what happened with you and Tim?’ His voice dropped to a mellow note, honeyed and deep. ‘Did he find out you like to sleep around?’