by Ann Swinfen
'Yes, well,' said Mia, unable to suppress her smile. 'He certainly has a very appealing face. I'm sure we will get along very well together. But now, girls, you must take them away – we can't have the dogs near the food.'
'Chrissie,' said Frances firmly, as she put down another tray of rolls, 'I think we've all had quite enough of those puppies for one day. Take them back to Jeannie and wash your hands.'
The two girls obediently picked up the puppies, and as they headed back to Chrissie's door she winked at Samira.
* * *
Hugh's dramatic arrival had been seen by everyone both on the stage and in the audience, and for half an hour after the play finished he felt like a parcel being passed round from hand to hand. At last, however, he found Frances and seized her in a bear hug.
'Surprised?'
'No, not really.' She laughed and hugged him back. It was wonderful to feel the solid reality of him again. Sometimes, when he was away for years at a time, she almost wondered if she had imagined the existence of her brother.
He pulled a face. 'That's putting me in my place. After all the exclamations of joy and astonishment from everyone else.'
'It's not that. This morning I did wonder whether you were going to manage it, and I was so worried for Natasha's sake. But just before you appeared, I knew you were here. I felt you. Just the way we used to know, when we were children.'
'Yes.' He grinned and ruffled her hair. 'You may be my kid sister, but I've always felt that was an accident – I'm sure we were meant to be twins. Gregor will be glad to have us both here. I've got the feeling he isn't too happy at the moment.'
'There's something very odd happening to his work.'
'We could always tell, couldn't we?'
'Poor Gregor. I was thinking earlier today about how horrid we were when he first came.' She sighed.
Hugh looked at her shrewdly. 'He soon got over that, as soon as we did. It was the things that happened later that were more serious.'
Frances turned away from him abruptly, but he put his arm round her shoulders.
'You've finished with Giles, haven't you?'
She stared at him. 'I really can't believe you sensed that without being told. You must have been speaking to Dad or Natasha. They are the only ones who know.'
'No, they haven't said a word. Two things. Giles went off in my taxi – which struck me as a bit odd. And then you – ' He held her at arm's length and studied her. 'You look somehow – shiny. Bright and liberated.'
'Idiot!' she said affectionately. 'In fact it upset me far more than I had expected, telling him I was leaving. You can't just snuff out thirty-five years of your life with no sense of regret, no sense of failure. But – I do feel liberated.'
'Come on,' he said, steering her towards the lawn overlooking the rough ground below the ha-ha, where Nick, Tony, Anya and Spiro had the barbecue lit and the food ready for cooking. 'Mabel has got Dad sitting over there at a table for four, and has gone to find Mum. 'Let's just sit with the parents for a bit, and let all your offspring and guests look after themselves for a while.'
* * *
Irina could not think why she should feel both so tearful and so joyous. She sat between Hugh and William, and the scent of charcoal and sizzling meat filled the evening air around her. Hugh kept giving her little hugs, with his arm round her shoulders, and every time he did, the tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to be fierce with him.
'Why haven't you been in touch? We haven't heard from you for months. Don't you know how much we worry about you when you go off on these dreadful expeditions?'
'Shut up, Mum,' said Hugh cheerfully. 'There are no nice red pillarboxes in the Hindu Kush. Nor yet on the upper reaches of the Yangtze Kiang. Nor in the high plateaux of Kashmir. That's where I've spent most of the last two years.'
Irina sniffed. 'You can't hoodwink me with your romantic tales. They probably have satellite TV in all those places now.'
Hugh laughed. 'Well, I confess, Mum – in the towns they do. But I'm not in the towns. I'm off up the remote valleys and into the mountains. Or following footpaths through forests. Honestly, it's very difficult to get messages back. But I do admit that I occasionally pass through civilised places and I haven't been as thoughtful as I should have been about sending word.' He crossed his heart elaborately, licked his finger and drew it across his throat. 'I promise I won't be so unkind again.'
'You won't be going off again?' Irina looked mournful and dubious.
William laid his hand on her knee.
'Our Hugh,' he said. 'You know him. Wouldn't be our Hugh. If he didn't wander.'
This time Irina's tears did spill over. She did something quite out of character. She turned to William and buried her face against his shoulder. 'Oh, William, I've been so afraid. I thought you had slipped right away from me. But your speech – it's coming back. It's a bit blurred. But you're really speaking again.'
Frances wondered why William looked a little ashamed.
'Been practising my exercises,' he said gruffly. 'Been afraid. To try in front of all of you. You can thank Frances. For giving me the jolt I needed.'
'Frances?' Irina looked across the table at her daughter.
'Later, Mum. Look, here comes Spiro with some food for us.' She smiled as Spiro put a dish down in the centre of the table with a flourish. 'That smells delicious – I'm sure our barbecues have never smelt like that before.'
Spiro laughed and laid a napkin over his arm with a flourish. 'I made a little marinade, you understand,' he said, mimicking a stage waiter with a thick Greek accent, 'for the pork chops – garlic, olive oil, red wine. And then I put rosemary on the charcoal. This makes the difference.'
As he hurried back to join the other young people grouped around the barbecue, Hugh grinned at his sister. 'Am I right? He is the prospective son-in-law?'
'I hope so,' said Frances, tasting her chop. 'I certainly hope so.'
* * *
'Where's your girlfriend?' Anya asked Tony, as they turned the new batch of chops on the grid of the barbecue.
'Don't know,' said Tony glumly. 'I should think I'm finished there. Apparently our esteemed father tried to seduce her in the shrubbery.'
'Oh, no!'
'Oh, yes.'
'God,' said Anya savagely, 'that really is the limit. Why couldn't we have had a nice normal father, like other people. You know, one of those who went off to work in an office with a rolled umbrella and a bowler hat.'
Tony gave a snort of laughter in spite of himself. 'I suppose we might have felt more secure, but it would have been more boring.'
'I'm not sure I ever felt insecure,' said Anya, pricking the skins of another pound of sausages – real sausages made by the butcher in the village, not bought in a plastic packet. 'With Mum always there, I think I always felt safe. But – Alice. . . Surely she doesn't hold you responsible for Dad's behaviour?'
'I don't know. I don't suppose it makes the prospect of any involvement with me more attractive, do you? Apart from which . . .' He groaned. 'Oh, I don't know.'
'Come on, spit it out.'
'Well, she was so cool and indifferent about it. And, well, coarse.' He looked suddenly embarrassed and youthful. 'She said, "Your father tried to get me to spread my legs for him" – oh, I don't want to repeat it all.'
Anya patted his arm kindly with her hand in its oven glove. 'Maybe he's done you a favour. After all, she spent the afternoon chatting up that awful smarmy developer man. And I've just spotted her again. She's looking very intimate with the famous TV director.'
Tony jutted out his chin. 'To hell with her then. What do I care? Watch out, those other sausages are getting charred. Bung them on this plate and I'll go and feed them to the teenagers who are snogging over there in that dark corner. They won't notice.'
* * *
Frances pushed away her plate. 'I seem to have eaten more today than I usually do in a week. My skin feels like those sausages – overstuffed and splitting.'
Hugh la
ughed. 'Well, I was glad of it.' He helped himself to another blackened potato and some salad from a wooden bowl. 'I can't remember when I last had a meal – apart from the plastic stuff they give you on the aeroplane.'
'You said your plane was late into Heathrow, but you didn't say where you were coming from,' said Frances.
'Weren't you in Kashmir?' asked Irina.
'Yes, till about a month ago. But I came home via Russia.'
'Russia!' Frances's eyes swung round to the table where Natasha was sitting with Gregor, Mabel and the Kaufmanns.
'Yes.' Hugh's eyes followed hers. 'Extraordinary, going back. I haven't been since the Berlin Wall came down, you know. Didn't much care for it before. Hedged around with bureaucracy, no chance of getting out into the wild places that I like to explore. All that has changed now.'
William cleared his throat. 'Did you. Explore?'
'This time? Not in the sense you mean. But I've made some contacts. I'm going back in the spring and meeting up with a fellow who can take me into the interior of the Siberian forest.'
Irina made a small involuntary noise.
'Quite safe now, Mum. And a really beautiful place. I plan to stay at St Martins till then, if you'll have me. And work on a book. That'll be nearly nine months.'
'In what sense,' asked Frances, 'did you explore?
Hugh looked at her. 'I promise I'll tell you all about it, but later. I want to talk to Natasha first.'
'Something I have to do,' said Frances, getting up and making a face, 'is to speak to Simon Frobisher. I promised Natasha I would, and I expect people will start leaving soon.'
'Who is Simon Frobisher?' Hugh stood up as well.
'A developer who has offered Natasha a hundred thousand pounds for the meadow, so he can build nasty little houses on it.'
'A hundred thousand pounds!'
'Yes. Which just happens to be what we need to stop St Martins falling down.'
'You're not going to accept!'
'No, I'm going to refuse. And I don't think it will be a very pleasant experience. Simon Frobisher looks like a man who expects to get his way. All the time.'
'I'll come with you,' said Hugh.
* * *
Simon Frobisher was not pleased. He loomed threateningly over Frances against the darkening sky, so that she nearly took a step back. She was glad to have Hugh beside her.
'Not worth your while, Mr Frobisher,' said Hugh smoothly. 'We already have matters in hand to have the site declared a protected area. As I am sure you are aware, the number of unspoiled mediaeval meadows in the country is tiny. This site is unique for a number of reasons. It is the only known location of one species of wild orchid, and it is also the habitat of a species of butterfly found in just three other places. Even if we agreed to sell, you would not be allowed to build.'
Frances glanced up at him with gratitude. She wasn't sure whether he was inventing the orchids and the butterflies, but no one would question Hugh Appleton's authority – certainly not this man of the urban jungle. She could actually hear the snap of Simon Frobisher's teeth as he tried to control his fury. Where he had hoped to drive like an earth-mover over the artists and elderly people who made up most of the St Martins community, he found himself confronted by a man who, for more than thirty years, had been taking on officials, army officers, and dictators in some of the toughest countries in the world, and winning.
Hugh flung that expansive arm of his around Simon Frobisher's shoulders and steered him towards the terrace, where the candles had been left burning and the table of drinks set up again.
'I know you are interested in St Martins,' he was saying. 'Now this wouldn't make you a profit, but it could be set off against tax. Have you considered the possibility of marking your support of the work of the community? Perhaps by establishing a travelling scholarship for young artists, to be administered by the community? The Frobisher Award? And there is part of the east wing that is almost derelict. It could be done up as a new centre – perhaps an arts centre for the use of local people. Those who haven't the exceptional ability to be full-time artists or musicians, but who are talented amateurs. You've seen this evening how good the local dramatic talent is, but they have nowhere proper to rehearse and perform. You could really do some good in the community, and do your business some good at the same time.'
They walked off together, and Frances watched them go, not even trying to suppress her smile. Simon Frobisher was a very tough proposition for Hugh to take on, but it wouldn't altogether surprise her if he was successful. The Frobisher Award! She gave a muffled chuckle.
'You're looking pleased with yourself,' said Anya, coming from the house.
'So are you.'
'Yes, I am.' She threw her arms briefly around her mother and kissed her. 'I am indeed.'
Frances did not need to ask questions. She had been watching Anya and Spiro together since the play had finished.
'Why are you waving that walking stick about?' she said.
'Natasha asked if I would get it for her. I think she's a little tired. No, don't look so worried. She seems very cheerful. It's just been a long day.'
'What's the time?' Frances tilted her watch towards the light from the terrace. 'A quarter past nine. Not much longer to go. To tell the truth, I'm a bit tired myself.'
'Poor old thing, not up to the high life any more?' Anya teased.
'Don't be impudent! I left the house at five this morning, when everyone else here was still sound asleep in bed.'
'Why don't you go and put your feet up then?'
'I just might do that.'
* * *
Hugh did not leave Simon Frobisher until he had extracted the promise of a meeting the following day to discuss ways in which one or more of the Frobisher businesses might invest in the work of the St Martins community. As Simon went off to find Emileen and make his escape from the party before someone else tried to extract money from him, Hugh started down the steps of the terrace, whistling softly between his teeth.
Gregor emerged from the shadows. 'You're a crafty devil, Hugh. How did you manage that?'
'Been listening have you, boyo?' said Hugh, punching Gregor affectionately on the shoulder.
'Came to get myself a beer and overheard the end of your persuasive arguments. Kept out of the way so I didn't cramp your style.'
'He was being a bit threatening to Frances when she told him we wouldn't sell him the meadow, so I thought I'd take him on, just for the devilment of it. I'll count it one of my greatest successes if I can persuade that killer shark to put some money into promotion of the arts.' Hugh gave a bark of laughter. 'Or how about the Frobisher Meadow Preservation Trust?'
'Wouldn't put anything past you.'
They walked companionably back towards the supper tables, where members of the community and their guests were sitting quietly talking, nibbling at the last crumbs of the cakes and finishing the coffee.
'Something you ought to know, Gregor,' said Hugh quietly.
'What's that, then?'
'Frances is leaving Giles. She told him today.'
Gregor stopped dead. 'Truly?'
'Truly. She and Katya are coming back to live at St Martins at the end of Katya's school term.'
Gregor stood with clenched fists, every muscle tense.
Hugh touched him lightly on the arm. 'Strange, isn't it, how things happen? Perhaps it will all work out after all, the way it should have done.'
'I wouldn't count on it,' said Gregor harshly.
Frances, still standing by the archway to the walled garden, where she had met Anya, saw them in the distance walking away from the terrace. Hugh and Gregor. The three of them had once been so close that Natasha had said you could not slip a sheet of paper between them. But the passing years had pulled them apart, scattered them, destroyed that strange mental closeness they had once felt. I've become so disillusioned as I've grown older, she thought. It seemed that I must have imagined the way things used to be. But I'm not so sure. Today I f
eel as though it has come back again. Not so strongly. There are so many other influences at work on us now – their careers, my children, other people, other pressing concerns. But underneath everything else, it's still there, that closeness.
At the edge of the light from the terrace, and still outside the circles of lamp-light from the supper tables, she saw the two men stop suddenly. They seemed to be talking earnestly. She saw Hugh lay his hand briefly on Gregor's arm, and then both men glanced in her direction, though they could not possibly have seen her, standing still and silent in the dark shadows of the ivy-covered wall.
* * *
On Christmas Eve, 1953, Frances went out for a walk by herself. There had been a fall of snow in the afternoon – not heavy, but enough to blanket the garden and fields and lay a ridge of snow along every branch and wall. The bushes in the shrubbery crouched like fat polar bears, and when she reached the Ludbrook she found a lacy fringe of ice along the edges of the stream, delicate as fine glass, beneath which the stream hurried dark grey and sinister. The grasses and water weeds rising through the ice were sheathed in transparent tubes that tinkled together in the breeze like a ring of chimes.
She had come out soon after lunch, but already the sun was sitting like a tired red ball on the horizon. It looked elliptical, as though it had been squashed, and the rest of the sky, menacingly dark, was tinted faintly over its surface with the blood red reflected from the sun sinking behind the Black Mountains, as if it were burying itself in Wales to hibernate for the winter.