The Fleeting Years

by Connie Monk

  ‘I’d like to say Dad. I’ve always called my father Father, the same as his flock did. But, Mum—’ as yet the name didn’t come naturally, she would have to work at it – ‘we’ve been talking about Ruth now that we have come home. You go on, Tom, you tell her what we were wondering.’

  So Tom put the proposition forward that they should make Newton House their base, and Clara would help looking after Ruth. Most of his engagements were either in London or the Midlands, and most of them were in the evening so he would have plenty of time to drive from home the same day, sometimes even returning after the concerto.

  ‘You know this place is always here for you, but oughtn’t you to be looking for a home of your own. That’s what every bride wants surely.’

  ‘I know, but it seems to me right that Clara and I make ourselves responsible for Fiona’s child. I don’t mean that to sound horrible, Mum, it’s not because we’re younger or anything like that, but you know how it always was with us when we were kids. It sort of makes her not being here easier if I am surrogate Dad for her child.’

  Zina nodded. ‘I understand how you feel about Ruth. But in time you’ll be sure to move on to a place of your own and if you feel like that about her you’ll want to take her with you. I don’t want Peter to be hurt any more than he has been; watching them together I think he sees Fiona in her.’

  ‘Can’t we just let time take care of all that. I suppose I’m not being very assertive in wanting us to live here but, Mum, this is a sort of family home, the Marchand headquarters, eh?’

  And so it was agreed. The only thing Peter insisted was that the young couple should have a sitting room of their own. ‘We all get along very well,’ he told them, ‘but if this is to be your base you must have somewhere to call your own. I suggest that you take the morning room for your living room – it’s a good size and gets almost no use. That’s right next to the lobby leading to the back door. How about if we get some plans drawn up to turn most of what is now the lobby into a bathroom for you and have a new back door and porch? What do you say, Zee?’

  Her expression gave him the answer he wanted. Plans were drawn up and the work put in hand. Apart from having first the builders, followed by interior decorators, life went on much as it had when Clara had been a nursemaid for Ruth. The furniture from the morning room was sent to the saleroom, so that the young couple could be surrounded by their own things. But how different it was from the time when Zina had been left with the task of breaking up their home to go to California; now there was a new feeling of hope. Most weeks Tom was away for at least a day and a night, and when he was at home he spent hours of each day in the music room just as Zina used to. She knew she was being selfish, for his hours of practice each day were nothing new, but she had always thought of the music room as especially her own and since she had had to give up the violin she had worked hard on the piano. Now she realized his time was more important than hers and waited until the young ones were out or Tom was away at a recital or concert before she let herself indulge. That was the only thing that marred the arrangement. Of course the bonus was that with Clara still there she was a free agent and often travelled back to London with Peter on Monday mornings.

  It was about six months after Tom and Clara married, the new routine was running on oiled wheels, when he wrote to Ivor telling him of the general situation and asking that he would agree to Clara and him legally adopting Ruth. By return came Ivor’s reply. Although Zina had sent him the occasional photo of Ruth, except for a Christmas card, they had heard nothing. Now though he wrote to Tom saying that he and his wife, Isabel Cornwall (and had they been filmgoers her name would have been familiar, but as they weren’t her fame passed unnoticed) would be coming to England shortly and would discuss plans for Ruth.

  ‘Shortly’ turned out to be some months away, in fact so distant that they all supposed he intended to leave the arrangement as it stood. Then, about a year after Tom and Clara’s wedding, there was a phone call from Ivor. He and Isabel were in London and intended to spend a couple of days in Devon so that arrangements could be made regarding Ruth’s future.

  ‘You’ll stay here, of course,’ Zina said, taking it for granted that that was what he intended.

  ‘No. That’s sure kind of you, Mrs Marchand—’ (on his previous visits he had always called her Zina) – ‘but we’ll just call by for an hour or so. I want to show Isabel something of your country and we shall be in Devon I guess Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.’

  ‘Try and make it Tuesday, Ivor. On Wednesday morning Tom will be on the road heading north. He has a concert in Manchester that evening.’

  ‘Our plans are a bit fluid at the moment, but I surely would be disappointed to miss him.’

  At Newton House there was a feeling of excitement; even Mrs Cripps was told about the hopes and plans that appeared to be coming to fruition and when Tuesday came Clara, Tom and Zina found themselves repeatedly drawn to the window waiting for the arrival. But the day ended with no visit. The next day Tom waited as long as he could before setting off northward, but he’d barely been gone more than an hour when Ivor pulled up by the front steps. Standing back in the room Zina watched them, thankful that Peter wasn’t at home. So this was the wife who had replaced Fiona. At first glance she appeared to be much the same as any other of Fiona’s acquaintances Zina had met, made-up to perfection, dressed for the catwalk. It was only as Ivor introduced her, a ring of pride in his voice, ‘This is my wife, Isabel,’ and the girl took Zina’s hand in hers, that she felt she saw behind the mask of perfect grooming.

  ‘I’ve wanted to meet you, Mrs Marchand. Fiona and I were buddies, we sort of got sucked into the Hollywood scene at about the same time, both of us kids trying to believe we were fully-fledged growns.’ How well it suited the description of Zina’s own impression.

  ‘I’m glad Ivor has brought you,’ Zina said, making sure her hospitable tone did nothing to give away her thankfulness that Peter wasn’t here to have to play host to Fiona’s replacement.

  ‘We wanted to come before this, but you know how it is. First I wasn’t free, then it was Ivor who couldn’t make it, then there was all the refurnishing to get sorted and staff … well …’ She cut short what she was saying, warned off it by a sharp drawing down of Ivor’s brows.

  Zina noticed their quick exchange of glances and felt a stab of unease. Yet why? Isabel was clearly a woman who liked to chatter but perhaps he was more aware than she was that this had been Fiona’s home and it might not be tactful to chatter about the details of his life with a replacement wife.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, a smile lighting her face, ‘here comes Clara with Ruth. Such a shame you couldn’t manage to get here yesterday, Tom wanted to be able to talk it all through with you. But I’ll go and rustle us up some coffee and leave you all to get to know each other. Clara’s going to make a perfect mother.’

  ‘She’s pregnant?’ Isabel misunderstood Zina’s meaning and, accustomed as she was to the demands of Hollywood concerning the perfection of a young woman’s figure, supposed that the jolly-looking girl who came into the room at a pace to suit the toddler, had a natural excuse for her waistline.

  ‘Here we are!’ Clara announced with a friendly beam of welcome to the visitors. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come at last.’

  ‘Sure and it is last, too. We fly away almost before dawn cracks tomorrow,’ Isabel told them. ‘My, but aren’t you the cutest little body I ever did see?’ Ruth looked at her with suspicion, her bottom lip trembling. ‘Come on now, honey, what about giving me a big smile?’

  Zina and Clara shared a quick glance, neither quite sure what it conveyed, then Zina escaped to the kitchen to make the coffee.

  ‘They’ve come at last, I see.’ Mrs Cripps greeted her. ‘Him and that “hotlips” he’s wedded to. What does our little Ruth make of them, eh? Oh and are they going to stay to eat with you? Is there anything you want me to be getting on with out here while you chat with them?’

  ‘No
, it’s just a quick visit. They fly home first thing tomorrow.’

  Mrs Cripps sniffed, her action louder than any words. ‘Sooner it’s all done and settled the better for the poor little mite. But what about all the paperwork? Or because her father is a Yankie will it mean Tom flying over there to get it sorted? Surely not. The little lass is pure English, same as you and me.’

  ‘I should think papers will have to be sent back and forth. But I expect it will be very straightforward.’

  ‘’Tis to be hoped so. Tell you one thing, Mrs M, when I saw them get out of the car – I don’t mind admitting when I heard it come I stood on the chair so that I could have a dekko – I was glad the poor master couldn’t be here to welcome them. We women got more steel in us than the men, come to the crunch, and he would have been real upset seeing Ivor with another wife. Now then, that coffee’s been brewing long enough. Time we stopped this chatter.’

  Carrying the tray up the basement stairs the sound of raised voices in the drawing room warned Zina that all wasn’t well. For a few seconds she stood outside the door listening. That was when she felt the first grip of fear. Then, taking a deep breath and standing straight, she pushed the door open and carried the tray to the table.

  ‘Mum!’ Clara seemed to have lost control of her voice as her words tumbled out. ‘Tell them they can’t do it. They want to take her back with them. She’s always been here. You can’t just move little children as if they are – are – parcels. She’s a proper person. You can’t do it to her. She’s not a tiny baby, she knows where she is here, she’s loved here.’

  ‘Hey, hey, Mrs Tom.’ Ivor spoke before Zina had had a chance to gather together her scattered wits. ‘You wouldn’t be saying she won’t be loved back home where she was created? If you could just see the nursery she’s got waiting for her. And her bedroom looks like every little girl’s idea of fairyland. Sure she’ll be happy.’

  Zina felt utterly helpless. Fight these two and inevitably she would be the loser; he was Ruth’s father, surely no law could be on their side. She thought of Peter and what losing Fiona had done to him. His salvation had come from Ruth, from her dawning intelligence, from the way she followed him as if she knew the special bond that had always been between Fiona and him. If Ruth went, all the wounds would be open and, worse, there would be the constant fear for her happiness.

  Turning to the visitors she didn’t even try to hide her anguish, indeed she felt it was her only hope.

  ‘Please, please,’ she begged, ‘don’t take her away from us.’ Then, ashamed that she could sink to such depths and yet knowing she did it for Peter’s sake, she continued, ‘After Fiona died – I just can’t tell you what it did to Peter. I believe he will be scarred by it for the rest of his days, but his salvation has been Ruth. To watch them together is almost like looking back down the years. If you take her away …’ She heard the croak in her voice and held her jaw stiffly, frightened to speak.

  ‘It’s hard, Mrs Marchand,’ Isabel said in her slightly southern drawl, ‘but at least Peter does have memories. I guess Ivor would like the chance to come first with his own little girl.’

  It was Clara who seized what she saw as a way to tip the scales. ‘But there will be other children, children from your own marriage. And when that happens, don’t you see, Ruth must always come second for you, you wouldn’t be human if your own didn’t seem closer.’

  The silence seemed tangible and then, speaking almost uncertainly, Isabel said, ‘I didn’t mean to say anything about this, but I guess it’s only fair that you have the whole picture. I said just now that Fiona and I were buddies, we really were sort of soul mates. I was away on location when you and Peter came out, that’s how it was we didn’t meet up. We were real kindred spirits and one of the things we were hundred per cent agreed on was that we didn’t mean ever to get pregnant. Neither of us was married, but we knew that wouldn’t make any difference, no husband would change our minds. I had an operation just to be on the safe side and make sure there couldn’t be any slip-ups, but she was real chicken and said she’d stick with the pill – and you know what happened. Ivor wants to be a father, well he is a father but you know what I’m saying, it’s Fiona who has given him his child. But, like I say, she and I were two peas in a pod. If our positions had been reversed and she’d had herself put out of danger’s way and I’d forgotten to take the wretched pill, then she would want to take the baby home same as I do. There! Now you can see why we aren’t going home tomorrow without her. We’re truly sorry for you and I hope your Peter will take it on the chin, but it’s right that she comes back with us. Fiona was hundred per cent happy out there, she only ran home because she couldn’t face being fat amongst all those beautiful people.’

  As she stopped speaking Ivor took up the tale: ‘She’ll lack for nothing, I promise you.’

  ‘Things don’t matter, it’s love she needs.’ Still holding her jaw stiff Zina heard her tone as aggressive.

  ‘Love has to be earned, but she’ll earn it right enough and get it in spadefuls.’ Ivor was getting restless. They had a long drive ahead of them and he wanted to get started. ‘Look, Zina, nothing you can say will make me change my mind about this, but I promise faithfully that she will grow up knowing about Fiona and you folk here, I’ll send you pictures and maybe one day you’ll come and see her for yourself – or we’ll bring her here. Do you reckon that coffee’s still warm?’

  Clara and Zina looked at each other in miserable silence. They knew they could do nothing but accept.

  ‘You pour the coffee, Mum. I’ll pack a bag for her,’ Clara said trying to spare Zina.

  ‘All we need is enough till we get home.’ There was relief in Isabel’s voice; a few minutes and they’d be on their way.

  ‘All her toys are upstairs, doll’s cot and doll’s pram, things that will have to be crated and sent by sea.’ Zina tried to put expression into her words, but she felt numb with misery.

  ‘No, don’t bother with any of that,’ Ivor told her. ‘As long as you put enough in a bag for us to get her home, then you should just see what there is waiting for her.’

  But still Zina couldn’t give up the fight. ‘Have you young brothers or sisters?’ she asked the glamorous Isabel. ‘Have you had experience of young children?’

  ‘No, but honestly you don’t need to worry. We’ve got it all worked out. On the way back to London we are calling in to collect a real English nursemaid, a proper trained one, uniform and all.’

  Ruth staggered across the room carrying a picture book. Then tugged at Ivor’s trouser leg. ‘Ook,’ she said hopefully with a smile that was enough to touch any heart, let alone that of her natural father. ‘A ’tory. We read a ’tory?’

  Clara disappeared upstairs to pack the case, a change of clothes, nappies for the night (with enough for tomorrow night in case they hadn’t been on the list of essentials awaiting her arrival) nightdress, dressing gown and slippers, then on the top, despite being told that nothing else would be needed, she packed Rupert, the teddy bear that many years ago had belonged to Fiona.

  ‘Truly, Zina, we’ll keep in touch. And she’ll have a splendid life.’ Now that the difficult part was over and in a few moments they’d be on their way, Ivor wanted to help her through what he knew couldn’t be easy. ‘And don’t you think Fiona would be glad if she could know Ruth was to grow up where she had been so happy?’

  But it wasn’t Fiona Zina was thinking of, nor even herself; in her mind she held an image of Peter walking across the grass holding the tiny hand, giving her all his attention as they were deep in what Ruth considered conversation. It wasn’t fair! Hadn’t he suffered enough? This would break his heart.

  Ten minutes later she and Clara stood at the head of the front steps watching the car disappear down the drive. They waited in silence until they could no longer hear the sound of the engine.

  ‘We couldn’t stop them,’ Clara said, as if the knowledge that they’d had no power to prevent Ruth going might someh
ow make it more bearable.

  ‘No,’ Zina answered, one word spoken so quietly it was barely audible. Then, seeming to square her shoulders and raise her chin, she glanced at her watch. ‘Clara,’ she spoke with new determination, ‘I’m going to drive up to town. I can’t tell Peter on the phone, I must be there with him.’

  Clara nodded. ‘Poor Dad. There’s no easy way of breaking it to him.’

  ‘No. I dread it. It’s not fair,’ and she heard the dangerous break in her voice. ‘It’s going to rake over all the ashes. I know they are within their rights – and they’ll love her and give her a happy home, but …’ Helplessly she turned to dear, understanding Clara. They might have found solace in crying together, but reason told them both that this was a moment for action.

  ‘I’ll bring the car round to the front while you pop up and get your things,’ Clara said, feeling the need to do something to help.

  And so it was that only minutes later she stood alone at the head of the front steps, this time waving Zina goodbye as she headed for London and Peter.

  Stepping out of the lift Peter noticed a line of light shining under the door of his apartment. Imagining that he must have gone out without switching the light off, just as he put his key in the lock the door opened and there was Zina.

  His spontaneous reaction was delight, but one look at her and he knew something was wrong. He drew her to him, holding her close.

  ‘What is it? Something’s wrong.’

  With her face burrowing against his neck he could feel the movement as she nodded. Then, kicking the door shut as he still held her, he led her back into the room.

  ‘… had to come.’ Hardly more than a whisper as she pulled back from him and forced herself to meet his worried gaze. ‘Ivor and his new wife came this morning.’

  ‘Yes you told me he was coming. Hell, darling, I wanted to be there with you. It must have been so difficult – Ivor – with a new wife.’

  She shook her head. She’d come all this way to break the news of what had happened and now that she was with him she couldn’t find a way to ease the pain, either for him or for herself.