Chapter Thirty-Three
‘One day, Lyd,’ Jonty said, his arms wrapped tightly around her, the springs of his ancient single bed mattress digging in his ribs, although no way on this earth was he going to move, ‘when I’m rich, we’ll go to Italy.’
‘Why not now?’
‘You are joking! Your parents would go ape if this scruffy, impoverished potter was to whisk their darling daughter away to foreign parts.’
‘We don’t need to be rich, we only need to love one another. Everything will work out okay as long as we have love.’
‘Oh, Lyd, if only it were that simple.’
‘It is. But if you don’t take me, then I won’t go with anyone else. Not ever.’
‘There speaks the true romantic.’
And then Jonty kissed Lydie and she kissed him back and Italy was completely forgotten. For now.
‘Italy?’ Lydie said. Grace had come striding into the gallery – a woman on a mission – taking Lydie by surprise.
‘Yes. I’m going for Dad. Dad was forever asking you to go and you never would. I’ve got to go somewhere. I can’t stop here a moment longer. Well, after Becca’s funeral, I’ll go. I’m going to Italy. For Dad.’
‘Oh.’
‘Don’t try and stop me because my mind’s made up.’
‘But what will you do there? You don’t speak Italian.’
Grace shrugged, and Lydie knew she hadn’t given what she was going to do a single thought.
‘Find somewhere to rent. Dad left me enough money to survive for a while …’
Grace’s voice trailed away, and Lydie was glad now that she’d insisted she and Ralph update their wills before they came to Devon because that was one worry Grace wouldn’t have in a foreign country – lack of cash. Or anywhere else for that matter.
‘And I’ll look for a job. Anything really. Hotels are always desperate for staff so I’m sure there’ll be one somewhere I can use my experience. Or I might look for a pottery somewhere that can use a painter. Learning the language can come second. How hard can it be?’
‘It’s a bit sudden,’ Lydie said. ‘After the tragedy of Becca, I mean.’ She could see that Grace had been crying and her hair was all over the place as though it had been blown about in the wind. ‘You don’t think …’
‘It has nothing to do with that! Honest. This is about me. Me! I’ll never know what I’m capable of unless I set myself some challenges, Mum.’
‘No. We all need challenges.’
‘Well, I guess the language will be my first challenge. I can translate any menu from English into Italian and vice versa – French and German, too for that matter – but only with the aid of a dictionary. Grazie? That’s please, isn’t it?’
‘No, grazie means thank you.’
‘Like I said, some challenge, eh?’ Grace said. ‘But I’m up for it.’
‘I think you’re being very brave, darling, but I don’t want you to think I want you to go, or that I don’t. Does that make sense? I want what’s right for you.’
‘Knowing who my father really was might have been right for me as you put it.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. Don’t let’s quarrel. It’s been a terrible few months. For both of us.’ When Grace didn’t respond Lydie added, ‘For Jonty too.’
‘Yeah. Poor Becca. I only met her a few times, but she looked sort of detached from life. She had the most beautiful clothes – all velvets and silks with beaded bits, gorgeous colours; anemone colours – but still she looked a bit sort of skeletal, as though there were no substance to her.’
‘She was always a bit like that. It describes how I remember Becca exactly.’ Lydie held her breath wondering if perhaps bringing up the past – all their pasts – might anger Grace again.
‘Why did you never want to go to Italy?’ Grace asked instead. ‘I mean, you and Dad came as close as ever you did to a row about that. He badly, badly wanted to go, you know? He would have loved Venice, all the noise and the theatre of it. And Rome. The colosseum. Dad was a sort of gladiator type, wasn’t he? He would have loved all that.’
‘Yes, he was. You’re right. Ralph would have loved it all, I know,’ Lydie said.
But how could she tell Grace she always said no to Ralph because Jonty had promised he would take her to Italy one day, and she’d wanted to hold on to the dream, go with him? How sad, and what a waste of time it all seemed now.
‘So?’ Grace was waiting for her answer. ‘No lies, Mum, I’m sick of lies.’
‘I …’ Lydie began, but couldn’t go on.
But Grace was quick to pick up on the reason.
‘It’s got something to do with Jonty, right?’
‘Yes,’ Lydie said quickly in case she lost her nerve again.
‘You’re pathetic, both of you. You deserve one another if you ask me. Why don’t you just go down to the Registry Office and get it over with? Hey? Why don’t you? Forget all about Dad, how you both bloody duped him, why don’t you? Or have you already forgotten?’
‘No. Never. Never that. I’ve decided to carry on with The Gallery.’
‘Very noble, Mum,’ Grace said.
But her words lacked sarcasm, where Lydie might have expected there to be sarcasm.
‘Do you think,’ Lydie asked, ‘Jonty might like to place some more of his pottery in The Gallery? I know you brought some over before … before your Dad died but that’s sold. I sent him his share of the sale.’
‘Ask him. I’m off to Italy, remember.’
‘Well, could you ask him before you go?’
‘No,’ Grace said. ‘One of you has to make the first call and that could be you once I’m out of the way. You’re acting like kids, teenagers. You’ve both stopped back there when your little liaison – which is me, I suppose – ended, haven’t you? No, don’t bother answering that. I’m going up to my room to trawl the net for travel options. A hotel to stop in for a while until I find my feet. And a flat. I want to make a go of this.’
‘Now?’
‘Why not now? We all have to move on. And I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll go to Becca’s funeral now. I’ll ring Jonty and tell him. And before you ask, I am not going to mention him bringing any pottery over. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Lydie said.
‘Jonty will understand about the funeral, won’t he? Even though Becca was, like, my aunt, I suppose.’
‘Yes. Yes, she was.’ And she could have been my sister-in-law – how strange that notion sounded now. ‘And I’m sure Jonty will understand, but I’ll miss you,’ Lydie said. ‘And that’s the truth. No lies there, Gracie.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Grace said. She came towards Lydie, pulled her mother towards her in a firm hug. ‘I’m going to miss you, too, but I have to go. You do understand? I can start sorting out clothes to take. Begin on the packing.’
‘Yes,’ Lydie said, through her tears, thrilled beyond measure that Grace hadn’t chided her for using Ralph’s pet-name for her. She disentangled herself from Grace’s arms very gently. ‘I understand. Now, shall I come and help you pack?’
‘Please,’ Grace said. ‘And then I’ll ring Jonty. About Becca. And then, when I’m on a plane to Rome or wherever it is I decide to go and you’re ready to do it, you can ring Jonty.’
‘I will. When I’m ready.’
‘Good. The last thing I want now is for you two to be at loggerheads for evermore.’
Grace held out a hand and Lydie took it. A truce. A wonderful, heart-melting, heart-mending truce.
Perhaps, Lydie thought as mother and daughter, squashed together on the narrow staircase that led to Grace’s room, hands still tightly clasped as though neither wanted to let go, Grace will be back before too long. And when Grace got back Lydie would, with hard work and discipline, have the best gallery that South Devon could possibly have. A challenge, but one Lydie was determined to conquer.
Epilogue
How quickly a year passes.
One year to the day after Ralph had d
ied, Lydie went to the flower shop on the corner of Bayard’s Cove and bought agapanthus – white ones this time, and not the blue she’d placed on Ralph’s coffin. Agapanthus, and one yellow rose – for love.
It was still early morning, not yet eight-thirty, as Lydie climbed the steps between the rows of cottages up to the chapel on the hill. She cradled the spray of flowers in her arms like a baby; the scent from the single rose, musky – almost bohemian.
There was someone else in the small graveyard now as Lydie pushed open the gate. No, not someone, but a little family group. A woman with a small girl clinging to her skirt, and the woman was cradling a baby, much as Lydie was cradling her flowers. Maybe they would go in a minute – Lydie held back, leaned against the metal kissing gate that was the entrance to this part of the graveyard.
She was hot from the climb and used her spare hand to push back some tendrils of hair which had escaped from behind her ears. And she was sure now that the woman and her children were standing in front of Ralph’s grave. The woman was urging her daughter to step forward, cajoling her to place the straggly posy of wild flowers she was holding in a fat, little toddler hand, and Lydie was filled with a longing for Grace – to see her, hear her voice next to her and not on the end of a telephone.
‘Rome, Mum, is amazing. I’m working in the Roman Holiday Shop. You know, that film with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Imagine a whole shop devoted to one film! Being English helps although I’m fast learning Italian, too. Well, Giacomo is teaching me.’ And then a giggle and, ‘Caio, Mamma.’
Lydie remembered Grace’s last phone call, word for word.
Slowly Lydie approached the tableau, walking on the grass and not the gravel path because she was reluctant to break the silence, the reverence. But who were they?
‘Oh!’ the woman said. ‘Oh. I didn’t think, I …’
‘I know who you are,’ Lydie said, her voice low, quiet, controlled – as though she had expected this, even though she had not. ‘From your paintings. The hair, the colouring.’
‘But with clothes. Marianne Knight-Taylor. And you’re Lydie Marshall. I came to your gallery opening although we didn’t get to speak that night.’ Marianne turned to her small daughter and said, ‘Darcy, darling, go and play over there for a minute. I’ll be right here.’ And dutifully the child skipped off, dropping her flowers onto the grass, obviously happy to be escaping.
Marianne seemed to have regained her composure with lightning speed and was smiling warmly at Lydie now, but Lydie’s gaze slid from Marianne’s radiant, beautiful face and rested on the baby. A boy – a boy child with fair curly hair in tangles. She simply could not take her eyes off him. He was exquisite.
And a miniature version of Ralph?
‘Yes, I’m Lydie.’ She knelt then to lay her flowers on Ralph’s grave – she would put them in water later, but right at this second she wanted to hold this child – surely Ralph’s child.
When she stood up again, Darcy was over in a corner playing with some twiggy branches she’d found on the ground, and Marianne stood, Madonna like, waiting to have Lydie’s attention.
‘Ralph’s,’ Lydie said. It wasn’t a question.
‘So you’ve guessed. Don’t blame him,’ Marianne said. ‘Don’t think less of him. I seduced him something terrible. Loneliness, I suppose. And I wanted a sibling for Darcy. Scandalous of me, I know. I was quite ruthless really. I’m lucky to have him – baby Angus I mean. It was only the one time – the one afternoon.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘How could you? Ralph died that same night, didn’t he? I’d like to say I’m sorry, and I am about Ralph – your Ralph – but I’m not sorry about little Angus, here. Angus is a Celtic name. It means “outstanding and exceptional man”. I’m a fairly good judge of character and for me, that summed up Ralph.’
‘For me, too,’ Lydie whispered.
‘Fitting, don’t you think – for Ralph’s son?’ Marianne shifted Angus from one arm to the other. ‘Sorry if this is all far more than you want or need to know.’
‘Can I hold him?’ Lydie asked. She held out her arms towards Marianne and the baby.
‘Sure?’
‘Sure,’ Lydie said.
She lifted Angus from his mother’s arms and pulled him close towards her. She buried her face in soft, tangled hair; it smelled of lemons. Then she held him out in front of her, drinking all of him in.
‘He’s going to be like his daddy, I think,’ Marianne said.
‘He’s exactly like his daddy,’ Lydie said. ‘He was a good man.’
‘Apart from his one fall from grace when you were absent?’
‘Don’t we all have a fall from grace at least once in our lives?’ Lydie said. ‘I’m rather glad now that Ralph had his.’
And she found that it didn’t hurt to speak of Ralph in the past tense. Neither did she have – or indeed want – some sort of exoneration for her sins, now that it was obvious Ralph hadn’t been as perfect as she’d held him up to be. All she felt was a sort of peace up here on the top of the hill; the world below not yet fully woken from its night slumbers.
When she got back to The Gallery she would ring Jonty and ask if he would like to join her for dinner. And she knew in her heart that he would.
The End
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Read about the author and her novels next …
About the Author
Linda Mitchelmore
Linda has lived in Devon all her life, where the wonderful scenery and history give her endless ideas for novels and short stories. Linda has 300 short stories published worldwide and has also won, or been short-listed,
in many short-story writing competitions.
In 2004 she was awarded The Katie Fforde Bursary by the Romantic Novelists’ Association. In 2011 she won the Short Story Radio Romance Prize.
Married to Roger for over 40 years, they have two grown-up children and two grandchildren. As well as her writing, Linda loves gardening, walking, cycling and riding pillion on her husband’s vintage motorbikes.
Read more about Linda’s novels next …
More from Linda Mitchelmore
To Turn Full Circle
Book 1 – Emma series
Life in Devon in 1909 is hard and unforgiving, especially for young Emma Le Goff, whose mother and brother die in curious circumstances, leaving her totally alone in the world. While she grieves, her callous landlord Reuben Jago claims her home and belongings.
His son Seth is deeply attracted to Emma and sympathises with her desperate need to find out what really happened, but all his attempts to help only incur his father’s wrath.
When mysterious fisherman Matthew Caunter comes to Emma’s rescue, Seth is jealous at what he sees and seeks solace in another woman. However, he finds that forgetting Emma is not as easy as he hoped.
Matthew is kind and charismatic, but handsome Seth is never far from Emma’s mind. Whatever twists and turns her life takes, it seems there is always something – or someone – missing.
Find out more and purchase from your favourite eBook store.
Emma – There’s No Turning Back
Book 2 – Emma series
It isn’t easy to look forward when the past is so close behind you
Life hasn’t always been kind to Emma Le Goff. She has had her fair share of hardship and now finally, her life appears to be looking up. She and her childhood sweetheart, Seth Jago, are set to marry and both believe that an idyllic existence, free from heartache, awaits them.
However, when they discover that the past is more difficult to forget than they could have ever imagined, Emma continues to be haunted by the mysterious circumstances surrounding her family, and Seth is hounded by a jealous ex-lover set on revenge.
Seth plans for their escape to Canada, but when the charismatic Ma
tthew Caunter returns to Devon, Emma finds herself uncertain of whether a move to Canada is really what she wants …
Find out more and purchase from your favourite eBook store.
Emma and her Daughter
Book 3 – Emma series
Can ‘second love’ be true love?
It’s 1927 and Emma has returned to England from Canada with her teenage daughter, Fleur. After the tragedies of the past, Emma is ready to start again in Devon, the place she used to call home – despite the bittersweet memories it brings back.
But memories are not the only thing that she has to contend with. There’s also the secret she’s been keeping from her daughter; the secret that’s revealed when an unwelcome visitor comes back and threatens to turn their lives upside down.
Throughout it all Matthew Caunter is rarely far from Emma’s thoughts and, as it happens, much closer than she thinks. Could he be the key to her finally finding happiness, or will Emma discover the hard way that some people are just destined for heartache?
Find out more and purchase from your favourite eBook store.
Hope for Hannah
How can two brothers be so different?
Hannah French has always wanted more from life than her sleepy Dartmoor village can offer. On the wild Devonshire moors, she loses herself in poetry and dreams of escape.
And there are two men who are willing to give her that escape: William and Ralph Lawlor. They are brothers but their bloodline is all that they have in common.
William is gentle, kind and sensitive; a painter who yearns for a creative life in France or Italy. Ralph is rugged, dangerous and extravagant. He is equally keen to show Hannah the world outside Dartmoor – but at what cost?
When events in Hannah’s life take a devastating turn, she is no longer certain who she can trust. Will somebody come to her rescue or will she have to accept that Hope is all she has left?
Set in Devon in 1903.
Find out more and purchase from your favourite eBook store.
Grand Designs
You can change the house but can you change the man?
Carrie Fraser is an interior decorator and cannot believe her luck when she is invited to work at Oakenbury Hall – a beautiful manor house in the heart of the English countryside. Nor can she quite get over the owner of Oakenbury – the gorgeous (not to mention, completely loaded!) Morgan Harrington.
Red is for Rubies Page 26