At last she slept a little, aided by the wine and a sleeping pill. She felt dizzy and disconnected. Thoughts swam about in her head like a chaotic shoal of fish with nowhere to go. What did her future hold? If she couldn’t have Jasper, would anybody else do? Was she destined always to be alone? She knew she should let him go. But she also knew she couldn’t.
• • •
The morning after touching down in New York, Trixie was on a plane bound for Boston. She would request leave on compassionate grounds and spend some time with her mother. Nothing else was as important as that. Right now, she needed her mother—and she sensed her mother needed her, too. She could do most of her work from home, anyhow. Her assistant would sail the ship while she was away. She was more than capable. The editor would understand. Her own mother had died of breast cancer, and Trixie had helped raise money for research by running in the New York Marathon.
Trixie flew into Tekanasset airport on a small aircraft that bounced about, buffeted by the slightest gust of wind. The landing made her feel nauseous, but she was crying again when the plane touched down, not because she felt sick, but because she was so relieved to be home. She inhaled the familiar sea air, infused with the sweet, damp scent of fall, and wondered why she had ever left.
In the cab on her way to her parents’ house, she gazed out of the window with new eyes. The island gleamed in the early afternoon sunshine. The pinky-red leaves of the maple trees seemed to catch fire in the golden light as the sun began to descend in the west, dragging the day with it. Trixie’s heart ached for the familiar. She longed to be in her mother’s arms. She wanted to curl up in the security of the past and lose the agony of knowing she could never have the man she loved.
The taxi dropped her off on Sunset Slip. She contemplated her home with a new understanding. This was the house her parents had fled to when their world back in England had fallen apart. Her mother had lost her lover, her father his eye, and this was compensation for their loss. She ran down the path, pulling her suitcase behind her. She pushed open the screen door, then the heavier door behind it. A gust of wind caught it and slammed it shut with a bang. Her mother’s dog began to bark. “Mom!” she shouted. Her throat constricted. The thought that her mother might have died sprang into her head like an unwanted demon. “Mom!” she shouted again. “I’m home!” She left her bag in the hall and hurried into her mother’s sitting room. The fire was lit. Papers were strewn about the surfaces as usual. The cushions on the sofa were reassuringly dented. She went into the kitchen. A draft swept through the room. She shivered. Then she noticed the door was open. She looked outside. She noticed the door to the shed was open, too.
She stepped onto the veranda. “Mom!”
Grace appeared, looking smaller, Trixie thought, than when she had last seen her. “Darling, how lovely, you’re here.”
“Oh, Mom!” Trixie wailed, striding down the garden to meet her. She threw her arms around her mother, who patted her back in bewilderment.
“Are you all right, darling? What’s the matter? Why are you upset?”
Trixie pulled away and gazed at her, knowing that she would now have to be honest about everything. “I couldn’t find you.”
Grace nodded in understanding. “You thought I had popped off.”
“Well—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said briskly. “Come on, let’s go inside. Do you want a drink? I can make a pot of tea.”
Trixie looked over her mother’s shoulder. “What were you doing in there?” she asked. But she knew now. Her mother’s hands were clean. She hadn’t been gardening. There was only one reason why she was in the garden shed.
They went into the kitchen. Grace began to make the tea. “So, how’s New York?” she asked.
Trixie took a deep breath. “I haven’t been in New York.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been in England.”
Her mother looked surprised. “England? What were you doing there?”
“I went to Walbridge.”
Grace blanched. “Walbridge?” Then she collected herself. “You went to find Jasper?”
Trixie shook her head slowly. “Not exactly. I went to find you.”
“Me?”
“Yes . . . I . . .” She paused, not knowing where to start. She didn’t want to admit she’d found the letters. She wasn’t sure how her mother would feel if she knew her daughter had snooped. “I have something for you,” she said. She hurried into the hall and withdrew the velvet bag from her suitcase.
She gave it to her mother, who looked at it in confusion. “What is it?”
“Lady Penselwood gave it to me to give to you. She said you’d know what it means.”
Grace’s face had now turned as white as clay. “You met Lady Penselwood?”
“Yes, and Lady Georgina.”
Grace’s eyes began to glisten. “Why?” When Trixie didn’t answer, Grace pulled open the drawstring bag and put her hand inside. She felt the squidgy texture of the lavender bag and knew instantly what it was.
When she saw the silk bag, embroidered with the bee, she didn’t know where to look or what to say. Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. She swallowed with effort. Then she pressed the bag to her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. “I think we need a glass of wine,” she said at last.
“I’ll get it,” Trixie offered.
“We should go and sit outside. It’s still sunny.”
“Okay, good idea,” said Trixie. There was an urgency to her mother’s voice. Her expression had changed. She had a look of intent. “Where’s Dad?” Trixie asked.
“Playing golf. He won’t be back until late, which is a very good thing.”
Trixie poured two glasses of wine from the fridge and followed her mother onto the veranda. “How much do you know?” Grace asked.
“Everything,” Trixie replied. “And more.”
Chapter 27
Grace and Trixie settled onto the swing chair as they had done so often in the past. Grace took a large swig of wine. “Okay, darling. Start from the beginning. Why did you go to Walbridge?”
Trixie lifted her handbag onto her lap. “Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked.
“Of course not, though you should really try to quit. It’s a horrible habit, not to mention bad for your health.”
“I know. I will. I promise.” She delved into the bag for her packet and lighter. She lit one and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth, away from her mother. Grace noticed her hand was trembling. “I found your box of letters in the shed,” Trixie confessed.
Grace inhaled slowly. “I see.”
“I wasn’t looking for them. The door was open, and I went to close it.” She couldn’t tell her mother about the strange presence she had felt. She was certain her mother would think her crazy. “They’re beautiful, Mom. Really romantic.” Grace drew her lips into a thin line and turned her eyes to the sea. Trixie continued. “I wondered why Rufus returned your letters.”
“It was his way of ending the affair, I suppose.”
“But why did he end it?”
Grace shrugged. “I don’t know why. He gave no explanation. He simply returned my letters. I was devastated. Perhaps his wife found out. I don’t know. It was a long time ago . . .”
Trixie looked at her mother with such compassion, Grace’s eyes overflowed. “Mom, he returned your letters because he had to end the affair. He had to end the affair because Dad saved his life in the war. The bullet that took Dad’s eye was meant for Rufus, but Dad leapt in front of him. He was heroic. Didn’t he ever tell you?”
Grace frowned and shook her head. “No! He never told me. How do you know?”
“Lady Georgina told me. She thanked me. She said Dad was a hero and they were eternally grateful to him.”
“Why wouldn’t he have told me?”
“I don’t know. But then I had tea with old Lady Penselwood.”
“Is she still alive?”
“She certainly is, Mom. She told me that Dad didn’t want any fuss. They wanted to thank him and offered him anything he desired as a reward. He asked for a new life in America. Do you know who found this house and set him up on the farm?” Grace shook her head. By her contorted features Trixie knew this was all coming as a terrible shock. “Randall Wilson Jr.”
“I don’t understand . . . How?”
“Because Aldrich Penselwood was a good friend of Randall Wilson.”
“I knew that,” said Grace in a quiet voice, remembering her conversation with Big. “Go on.”
“Aldrich Penselwood bought this house for you to thank Dad for saving his son’s life.”
“Freddie never told me. He just said we were moving to America. He was so strange. So distant. Not the Freddie I knew. The war had changed him so much, I barely recognized him. He was hostile and cold.” Her shoulders began to shake. “It was awful. I not only lost Rufus but I lost Freddie, too. I lost both of them, and I lost my home. The only things I had left were my letters and my memories.”
Trixie put her arms around her mother and pulled her close. She felt small and fragile. “It was a callous way to end the relationship with the woman he loved,” said Trixie. “He could have told you why. Did you ever read them?”
“My own letters? No, I couldn’t bear to. I put them in the bottom of the box. Why? Did you?”
“Yes, I did . . .” Trixie was about to tell her that she’d also found a letter that was meant for Freddie, but something held her back. She didn’t want to compound her mother’s distress. “They were beautiful,” she said instead.
“Rufus must have been furious that it was Freddie who leapt in front of him. Because due to that act of courage Rufus had to give me up. How ironic that fate should throw them both together in that way.”
“Returning your letters seems like an act of defeat.”
“I suppose it was. There were many obvious obstacles in the way of our happiness together, but Rufus would never have foreseen that one.”
“And none would have been as decisive,” Trixie added. She squeezed her mother gently. “I never thought I’d say ‘poor Rufus.’ But I mean it. Poor, poor man.”
Grace chuckled softly. “That’s because you have been hurt by love.”
“Perhaps. I love Jasper with all my heart, but I had to leave him.”
“Darling, I’m so sorry.”
“I always thought you couldn’t understand, but I now realize you’re the only person who really does understand, because you have loved and lost, too.”
“When you lost Jasper all those years ago, I wanted to confess that I had loved his father. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to betray your father. I love him, too, Trixie. It might sound strange, but I love your father. I love the man beneath the coldness. He wasn’t always like that. He’s not like that really. I love him in spite of it.”
Trixie rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I know I can get through it with your help. If I can talk to you about it, I know I will eventually move on.”
“A problem shared is a problem halved.” Grace gently pushed her daughter away. She looked into her eyes and recognized the sorrow there. “I never wanted you to suffer like I have.”
“It’s worth it, though, isn’t it? You’d do it all again, wouldn’t you?”
Grace smiled. “I think I would.”
“Well, so would I.”
“Tell me. How did Rufus die? I’ve often wondered.”
“He went into the garden in the middle of the night, sat on a bench, gazed at the stars, and died.”
Grace’s eyes spilled over again. “Listening to the sounds of the garden at night.” She nodded and laughed through her tears. “He told me that if I listened carefully enough, I’d hear the very breath of the garden, going in and out, in and out.”
“I think he died of a broken heart, Mom. I bet he never stopped loving you. His mother said the end of the war changed him. I think she meant the end of his affair.”
“Lady Penselwood,” said Grace slowly. “The war changed her, too. She had a wild affair with the gamekeeper.”
“Really? Like Lady Chatterley’s Lover?” Trixie exclaimed gleefully. “Who’d have thought she had it in her?”
“She was very beautiful in her day. She came alive during the war. Rufus and I were in the woods and we saw her and Mr. Swift, up against a tree. It was frightfully shocking.”
“What did Rufus say?”
“He thought nothing of it. I think he rather admired her for her zest!”
They both laughed. Grace gazed at her daughter with affection. She took her hand. “I’m glad you know, Trixie. I’m glad we can share it.”
“You look better now you know the truth.”
“I feel better. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel light.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Thank you, darling. But what of you?”
“That’s what Jasper asked.”
“And how did you respond?”
Trixie took another drag. “I told him I’d be fine. He has a wife, children, duties, and responsibilities that come with his position.” She laughed at herself. “To think it never occurred to me that he was a lord. I never worked it out. No wonder it amused him when I called him Mr. Duncliffe.”
“Darling, how could you have known?”
“I don’t know. It seems so obvious now. Anyway, he asked me to stay, but he knew it was impossible. He never suggested he leave Lottie. I don’t think I’d hold him in such high esteem if he was capable of turning his back on his family like that. So I’m the loser. But I’ll bounce back.”
“You will, darling. I did. We had you. We found happiness of sorts. I threw myself into the gardens I created. I discovered that the human spirit has a great capacity to heal and adapt. I haven’t been unhappy, Trixie. Yes, I have my memories, and even though they make me a little sad, they bring me joy, too. I remember the good times with Freddie, before the war. He was adorable and very romantic. You can’t imagine, but he was playful and sweet. I hold on to those.”
“So what’s with the lavender bag?” Trixie asked.
“I made it for Rufus, to help him sleep.”
“It looks like he slept with it for years. It’s totally worn out.”
Grace smiled softly. “I think he did.”
“And how are you, Mom? I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I need to know. I can’t bear to lose you, too.”
Grace pulled her daughter close and ran a hand down her hair. “I’m a fighter, Trixie.” She kissed her forehead. “After all, I have so much to fight for.”
• • •
As the day finally surrendered to the darkness, Grace and Trixie filled their glasses with more wine, and Grace listened, transfixed, as Trixie told her about her brief vacation. She wanted to hear every detail. She wanted to know what Walbridge was like now. She wanted to hear about the Beekeeper’s Cottage, the Hall, the Fox and Goose, Lady Georgina, and Lady Penselwood. And when she had heard all the stories, she wanted to hear them all over again.
By the time Freddie returned home, Grace was in bed. The excitement had exhausted her. “Hello, Trixie,” he said, surprised to find his daughter in Grace’s sitting room. “How are things in the Big Apple?”
“Great, Dad, thanks. I thought I’d spend some time with Mom.”
“I bet she was happy to see you.”
She grinned. “Very.”
Freddie hovered in the doorway, looking awkward. “Well, I’ll help myself to something from the fridge.”
“Dad,” said Trixie, getting up and walking across the room towards him.
“Yes?”
“I love you.” She laughed at t
he astonished look on his face. “I know I sound like I’m going crazy. But I just wanted to tell you. I love you and appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the years. I often thought you too controlling, but now I know you had my best interests at heart. I wish I had known that then.” She put her arms around him and felt him stiffen. Undeterred, she held him firmly. Slowly and barely perceptibly, he softened and patted her hard on the back. Harder than he had ever patted her before, and her throat contracted and her heart seemed to fold in on itself. She remained there for a long moment, her tears staining a dark patch on his shirt.
Trixie made her father pasta while he disappeared into his office to help himself to a drink. He returned with a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He asked her about New York, so she told him about her interview with Rifat Ozbek, omitting the fact that it had taken place in London. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her trip. She wasn’t sure he’d be as understanding as her mother. She remembered Lady Penselwood telling her that Freddie resented Rufus for having come out of the battle unscathed. He probably regretted having saved him. Bringing up his heroism now might undermine their moment in the sitting room. She hadn’t felt this close to him, ever. She wasn’t about to go and ruin it by bringing up his past.
• • •
Freddie felt a little light-headed when he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He had drunk two whiskies and a glass of wine. Trixie had joined him at the dining room table and they had both eaten the pasta she had made. She had asked him about his golf and questioned him about his first days on the farm just after the war. She had looked at him intensely and listened without interrupting. He was surprised she was interested. She had never been interested before.
He crept into the darkened room. He could see his wife in bed, peacefully sleeping. She had left the light on in the bathroom, and he went in there to undress so as not to wake her. He showered and changed into his pajamas. Then he switched off the light and climbed into bed, doing his best to slip in quietly, disturbing the mattress as little as possible. He lay there a moment, staring at the ceiling.
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