The Prodigal Wife

by Marcia Willett

  With an uncomfortable little pang of self-honesty she admitted to herself that if it had been left to her there would have been many changes to this old house, and this very atmosphere, which was so soothing to her now, might have been utterly destroyed. It was odd how your values changed as you grew older. Things became less important whilst people, friends…She sat down suddenly on the bed, her hands full of underclothes, and wept. It was terrible how these fits of grief came from nowhere and she was unable to control them. Suddenly it seemed quite impossible that she should be here alone at The Keep, whilst Adam…She doubled over, her face amongst the sweet-scented underclothes, her cries of anguish muffled. She wished, now, that she’d been kinder to her mother when Dad had died but her mother had seemed so contained; her stiff upper lip had never so much as quivered. Maria straightened up, feeling inadequate, and shrugged. Well, that wasn’t new – her mother had always had the power to make her feel deficient in one way or another. It was her mother, after all, who had promoted her marriage to Hal and, just as skilfully, assisted in the detaching from him when it appeared that her daughter was not destined to be the chatelaine of The Keep. They’d been so afraid, her mother and Dad, that their money would all vanish into the Chadwicks’ coffers. They’d hated the prospect of losing control of their property and their daughter and their grandsons, especially Ed. They’d been so proud of Ed, winning the scholarship to the choir school, though Jolyon had been too much like Hal – and too loyal to him when the chips were down – to inspire the same devotion. How ironical it was that it should be Ed who had lost the house her parents had left to her!

  Maria wiped her cheeks on a pair of soft cotton knickers and stood up. As she finished her unpacking there was a knock at the door and Lizzie put her head in: ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘It’s wonderful. Just like old times. It’s so good to be here.’ She wanted Lizzie to approve of her and to be on her side. She needed approval; it warmed her. ‘And it’s so cosy. I feel the cold terribly just lately. I think I’m still in a kind of shock. It was all so sudden.’

  She smiled rather pathetically at the younger woman, waiting for the little look of sympathy that would comfort and lift her. Lizzie nodded understandingly.

  ‘In that case you might like a cup of tea. Fliss is just getting it organized. See you in the hall when you’re ready.’

  She disappeared and Maria brooded. Part of her liked the idea of being treated like a special guest, but part of her needed to be accepted as one of the family; to come and go as she pleased. She frowned, slightly irritated. They might have guessed that she’d know that they’d be having tea in the hall. Even if the apocalypse were destined for half past four in the afternoon, and the whole world had been informed, there would still be a Chadwick having tea in the hall at The Keep…Maria caught herself up sharply; made herself smile. Picking up her cashmere cardigan, she went out and down to the hall.

  Jolyon followed his mother into the hall, watched her sit down near the fire beside Prue and saw how the older woman smiled sweetly at her.

  He wondered how they were all managing to look so naturally happy; even Fliss was behaving as if Maria were a dear old friend, despite what she’d said to him earlier. He could barely contain the anger that surged in him when Maria slipped her arm through his, or gave him a little hug, or patted his hand in a motherly attempt to demonstrate their special relationship. He had to subdue a violent urge to shake her off; to shout, ‘It’s too late.’ It was impossible to return her affectionate looks or to call her ‘Mum’: he simply couldn’t do it.

  He heard Fliss coming through from the kitchen and turned, glad to take the tray from her, to have something to do. Their eyes met and he saw that her face was very serious, almost grim, and he realized that she was not as happy as she was making out. He raised his eyebrows, signalling understanding, and she smiled gratefully. They went in together and as he put down the tray he was able to position himself on the opposite side of the low table so that when he sat down he would be at a little distance away from Maria.

  ‘We were just saying,’ she said to him, ‘how much you look like your father when he was your age. It’s quite uncanny.’

  She put her hand to her heart in a foolishly theatrical way, as if the memory were in some way deeply moving, and although he managed to smile vaguely he was unable to respond because the anger had seized him again.

  He wanted to shout: ‘You mean you can remember when Dad was my age and there were all those rows and shouting and sulking? And you were carrying on with that bloody man Keith Graves, and beating Rex up for coming from the garden with muddy paws and then screaming at Dad about it whenever he got in from the base.’

  He poured tea, biting his lips, aware of Fliss beside him setting out the cups and shielding him from Maria’s view. He saw her concerned sideways glance at him.

  ‘Forgot the milk,’ she muttered and hurried out. He saw that there was a jug of milk on the tray but it was too late to call her back, and then Lizzie came in.

  ‘Jo,’ she said, ‘sorry to break up the party but there’s a rather important telephone call. Could you come over to the office?’

  He straightened up, barely able to contain his relief, smiled vaguely at the two women.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ignoring Maria’s look of disappointment. ‘It probably won’t take long.’

  ‘Here we are.’ Fliss was there again with a jug of milk. ‘You and Lizzie can have yours later, Jo.’

  He followed Lizzie out; when they reached the kitchen she put out a hand to him.

  ‘There isn’t a telephone call, Jo. Fliss just thought you might need a break.’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. ‘Was it that obvious? I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’ll go over to the office anyway. I’m hoping Henrietta’s on her way by now – she might even be with Cordelia. I’ll phone her. It might calm me down.’

  ‘You do that. Send Hal over to help Fliss out. I’m going out on the hill with the dogs. We’re trying to keep them out of the way as much as possible while Maria’s here.’

  He nodded. ‘She’s not a dog person. Thanks, Lizzie.’

  He went out across the yard and into the converted barn. His father glanced up from his desk.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  Jo shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered coolly. ‘I feel as if I’ve been cast in the role of the prodigal son when I haven’t asked for the part and I don’t like it much.’

  Hal leaned his elbows on the desk, chin in hands. ‘I’m sorry, old son. When Adam died and Maria asked to come down to see us I really thought it might be an opportunity to get all this out of our systems. Perhaps I was wrong. I just hate ill feeling and bad-mouthing people and no-go areas, and I hoped that now might be the right time to sort it all out.’

  Jo sat down at his desk and stared at his computer. ‘I don’t intend to feel guilty,’ he said angrily.

  His father looked surprised. ‘Why should you feel guilty?’ he asked. ‘Nobody can blame you for any of it. You were the scapegoat. You took the flak. My God, Jo! Why the hell should you feel guilty?’

  ‘Because I can’t forgive her,’ he shouted. ‘I don’t want her here suddenly playing the devoted mother. I thought I’d got over it, dealt with it. And now she’s brought it all back again. I can remember all the bloody pain and I don’t need that just now.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Hal was beside him, his hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Jo. Fliss was right. I’ve completely misjudged this. You’re right too, though, about bringing it all back. When I first saw Maria at the station it was almost like looking at her mother however many years ago. Really odd.’

  Jo didn’t look at him; he didn’t want any confidences, any heart-to-hearts about the past. ‘Well, we’ll just have to deal with it,’ he muttered. ‘Fliss might need some help, though. They’re having tea, and I want to make a phone call. I might be a while.’

  His father went out and J
o waited for a moment, then took out his mobile. Henrietta answered after a few rings.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. Her voice was warm with love, and he felt his heart move in his breast. ‘How are you managing? Has she arrived?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve done the lunch bit and she’s unpacked and now they’re having tea. You’re an important business call. Where are you?’

  ‘I’ve just pulled into a lay-by not far from the M5.’

  ‘I wish I could see you,’ he said. An idea occurred to him and he sat up straight. ‘Listen, I’ve had a brilliant idea. If I give you directions we could rendezvous on the A38 in about half an hour. What d’you think?’

  ‘Great,’ she answered calmly. ‘But you’ll have to make the instructions very clear. I’ve only driven to Mum’s once before from here. I’d love to see you, though.’

  His spirits swooped upwards. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ll be on the end of the phone all the time, and I’m setting off now, but this is what you do…’

  Hal crossed the yard. Jo’s outburst had upset him and he was worried. He wondered if he’d so completely misjudged the situation that, instead of it being the start of a healing process, Maria’s visit would be a catastrophe. There was no question that he’d underestimated the depth of Jo’s hurt; well, he could understand that Jo hadn’t forgotten how Maria had rejected him, nevertheless he was shocked by the bitterness in Jo’s voice and he was kicking himself for going along with Maria’s wishes. Fliss had been against it from the beginning and he should have listened to her. The trouble was, he felt guilty; guilty that he hadn’t stood up to his mother and grandmother in the first place and insisted that he and Fliss should be together; guilty that he’d ever told Maria about Fliss and undermined her fragile self-esteem; guilty that Jo had borne the brunt of his and Maria’s failing relationship.

  It was damned odd, though, how that look on Maria’s face had reminded him of her mother and an unpleasant scene when she’d accused him of misleading them about his inheritance. When she’d seen Prue sitting in the car in the station car park Maria’s expression of irritated indignation, though it was gone in a flash, had brought back the past with a sharp shock. He shrugged: well, they’d have to go through with it now. He passed through the scullery and into the kitchen, took a deep breath, bracing himself.

  Fliss glanced up as he came into the hall and he saw the tension on her face and smiled at her, sending her a tiny wink.

  ‘Jo’s going to be a while,’ he said. ‘That’s what comes of doing two jobs at once, but he’s happy. That’s the great thing.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ agreed Prue comfortably, tackling her slice of cake. ‘I was just telling Maria that you’ve got some new photographs of Ed and their flat. Or apartment, do they call it? So clever, this method of sending photographs on the computer. Maria hasn’t got a computer, darling, so I said you’d show them to her.’

  Fliss nodded encouragingly, slipping him a quick look, which, interpreted, meant: ‘Please do. It will fill the next half-hour!’

  ‘I’d love to see them,’ said Maria. ‘I’m afraid Ed and Rebecca aren’t very good letter-writers. And as to phone-calls…’

  She looked rueful, deprecating the non-communication of the young, inviting a sympathetic response and Hal chuckled.

  ‘Ed takes after me, I’m afraid,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Luckily email and the internet make things a bit easier for busy people. I’ll go and get them.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jo managed to postpone Maria’s guided tour of the gatehouse until after breakfast. By the time he’d got back from his rendezvous with Henrietta the previous evening it had been nearly dark and despite his mother’s gentle protestations that she couldn’t wait to see his quarters he’d managed to stand firm. He was surprised that he’d been able to withstand her request and knew that it was his meeting with Henrietta that instilled the courage to refuse.

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into me,’ he’d said, sitting in her car, holding her hands. ‘I feel so angry. I’m not usually an angry person and I can’t understand it.’

  They’d turned sideways to face each other and he’d stared into those strange-coloured topaz eyes and known that here was someone who completely understood him.

  ‘I do,’ she’d said quietly. ‘Unintentionally our parents undermined our belief in love. Our homes and families were torn apart and we can never quite forgive them for it. And we can never really trust that the same thing isn’t going to happen to us. That there might be something in us, some similar gene, which makes it possible that we might do the same thing. We can’t really trust love, them – or ourselves. Or forgive them for that betrayal.’

  They’d stared at each other. Jo nodded. ‘That’s absolutely it,’ he’d said. ‘But what can we do about it? Until I met you I never wanted to take the risk of a serious relationship.’

  Her clasp on his hands tightened. ‘Me, too. It’s why I became a nanny. I’d decided never to marry and have children of my own so this was the next best thing.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I think – I think I think – I might want to take a chance.’

  He’d let go of her hands then, and put his arms round her. They’d sat for ages, holding on to each other, and she’d said, ‘I still don’t know how you manage Maria, though. It’s easier for me. Mum was always there, though I’ve been pretty awful to her at times. It was Dad who went; though I’ve always been on his side. Crazy, isn’t it?’

  He’d nodded. ‘Fliss said to me once that children expect their parents to be perfect simply because they’re adults, but that it’s an unrealistic expectation because nobody is without faults and weaknesses. All I know is that I love you. I shall always love you. That’s how it seems to me now.’

  ‘I love you too. But I still don’t want to rush things.’

  He’d held her tightly, his heart bursting with joy, his face buried in her soft shining tortoiseshell hair. ‘We won’t. When we meet tomorrow I’ll just be friendly and casual. Like I am with Lizzie. I shall hate it, though.’

  She’d held him away from her, studying him: ‘Promise you won’t cheat. Not for a minute.’

  ‘Not for a minute,’ he’d promised. ‘You can trust me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she’d said on a deep breath. ‘I think I can.’

  Now, as he watched Maria looking round his small sitting room, he experienced a twinge of pity for her.

  ‘It’s not very big, is it?’ he said, taking her criticism for granted, bracing himself for it. ‘But I like it here. It’s given me independence, though it’s nice to know that I can have company when I want it just across the courtyard. Best of both worlds.’

  ‘It’s a perfect set-up,’ she agreed, her face thoughtful. ‘I’m beginning to realize how bad I am at being alone. I hate it.’

  Jo stiffened, warding off pernicious temptation to his former reactions to her attempts at emotional blackmail.

  ‘It’s bound to take a while to grow accustomed to it,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s very early days. But you’ve got lots of friends in Salisbury, haven’t you?’

  Maria looked at him almost reproachfully but he met her eyes squarely: he would not feel guilty or responsible. She turned away, examining his rack of CDs and his bookshelves, studying the two paintings, both by David Stead, and then paused to examine the ginger jar.

  ‘How pretty,’ she said. ‘It looks valuable. Is it?’

  He hesitated. ‘It is to me,’ he said at last. ‘Fliss gave it to me years ago.’

  ‘Really?’ Her interest sharpened. ‘Where did she get it, I wonder?’

  ‘She brought it back from Hong Kong. It was given to her by the twins’ amah as a token of the love and friendship they’d shared. Fliss left it behind at the house in Dartmouth during one of her moves with Miles, and her tenants broke it. They got it mended but Fliss could never forgive herself for being so careless with something which meant so much. She gave it to me as a symbol.’

  ‘A symb
ol of what?’

  He hesitated again; reluctant to admit too much. ‘Of loyalty and friendship. She said that though a relationship might be damaged it didn’t necessarily mean that it was irretrievably destroyed. Sometimes it could even become more special.’ He shook his head, cross with saying too much, for betraying something Fliss had said in a private moment. ‘Something like that, anyway.’

  He was fearful that Maria might cross-question him but she wasn’t looking at him. She touched the ginger jar gently, tracing the cracks, her head bent.

  ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said at last.

  She turned, and he saw that her face was serious; for once she was making no attempt to create an impression and suddenly, despite the make-up and the carefully tinted hair, she looked her full age. A familiar treacherous shaft of pity pierced him again, though he resisted it.

  ‘Do you want to see upstairs?’ he asked, trying not to sound reluctant.

  But she shook her head. ‘Just this room,’ she said. ‘This says all I needed to know. Thank you, Jolyon.’

  She went before him out into the courtyard and he followed her, surprised but relieved.

  When Cordelia and Henrietta drove into the courtyard an hour later it was Fliss who went to meet them.

  ‘Are you surviving?’ muttered Cordelia in her ear as they hugged, and Fliss snorted with frustration and said, ‘Only just,’ before letting her go.

  She waved across the roof of the car at Henrietta, who was looking very beautiful and faintly formidable. Fliss smiled to herself; she knew only too well how she, herself, looked when she was frightened. Miles had summed it up once: ‘A clear, cool look that can make you feel awkward. You feel school-boyish, and you wonder if you need a haircut or if your shoes are clean. It keeps you up to scratch but at the same time it keeps you at arm’s length and lets you know you’re found wanting.’