A Time of Hope (Part Five of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  This apart, it was a perfect holiday stretching over several weeks and towards the end of October they arrived at the villa Alexander had bought in Como as a wedding present for Mary, but which he had hardly ever visited since.

  “I’m awfully glad to see you,” Alexander said as, after greeting them and taking them into the villa, he stood with them on the balcony gazing over the lake. “It’s rather spooky here without Mary. She so loved it. In fact, I think I’m going to sell it again.”

  “Oh, you can’t!” Sally exclaimed. “It’s perfect, it’s heaven.”

  “It is lovely,” Carson agreed. He gazed earnestly at his son. “Think about it a little more before you decide what to do.”

  “You must be tired.” Alexander looked across at Sally. “Had a long day?”

  “Exhausted!” Sally exclaimed. “I think I’ll go to my room and have a long bath or shower.

  “Of course. Let me take you.” Alexander moved away from the balcony but Carson remained where he was. “Coming?” Alexander asked adding, hesitantly, “Dad.”

  Carson’s heart turned over and he put an arm round Alexander’s shoulder, rather as he had on the day of Mary’s funeral. But he said nothing as, picking up Sally’s suitcase on the way, Alexander led them through the cool tiled hall up the stairs and into a large bedroom facing the lake with a double bed right in the centre.

  “The bathroom’s off here,” he said opening a door. “I think you’ll find everything ...” He walked back into the bedroom and saw Carson and Sally looking awkwardly at each other.

  “Anything wrong?” Alexander enquired.

  “I think Sally would like this room.” Carson cleared his throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought ...” Alexander put his hand on his mouth in confusion.

  “It’s perfectly all right.” Sally smiled. “We haven’t quite got round to that yet.”

  “You do have another spare bedroom I suppose?” Carson asked him.

  “Of course. I’ll take you.” Alexander turned to Sally. “Would you like to see it too?”

  Sally shook her head.

  “This is just fine. I’ll relax and unwind in the bath and see you downstairs in about” – she looked at her watch – “an hour.”

  “Drinks on the terrace in an hour,” Alexander agreed, and led the way out of the room. Sally came with them to the door and smiled as she shut it.

  Alexander walked along the corridor and opened another door.

  “This has no bath but the bathroom is just next door.”

  Carson inspected a smaller room with two single beds.

  “This is fine.”

  “It hasn’t got the same view either.” Alexander pointed to the window.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Care for a drink? I’ll bring your bags up later.”

  “Wonderful.” Carson followed his son back the way they had come and onto the terrace where Alexander drew up chairs.

  “What will you have? Whisky?”

  “A glass of wine would be very nice. I’m fond of the stuff.”

  “Great. I’ll go and get a bottle of Orvieto.” Alexander disappeared, returning in a short time with a bottle of wine and three glasses. “It’s not very cold, I’m afraid,” he said feeling the bottle before opening it.

  “Never mind,” Carson said. “Don’t you have any servants here, Alexander?”

  “I would if I lived here but I only arrived yesterday to open the place up. I’ve arranged for someone to come in and clean, make beds, and get any meals. I thought we’d eat out mostly. How long are you staying?”

  “A few days? Is that all right? This is the end of our trip. We’re catching the train back from Milan.”

  Alexander poured two glasses of white wine, handed one to Carson and sat down beside him.

  “I’m sorry about the bedroom. I thought ...”

  Carson grimaced. “I thought, too. I hoped. You know I’m half in love with her.”

  “Only half?”

  “I feel I need some response from her before I fall completely.”

  “And nothing ...?”

  “Not really. I mean, we get on awfully well. I know she likes me, but I don’t know quite how much. As for me, I’m nervous, you see, after Connie.”

  “I think you ought to take the plunge, Dad,” Alexander said. “She can only say ‘no’. If it’s what you want, that is?”

  “Oh, it is. It is what I want without question. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old for her? There’s fifteen years’ difference.”

  “Nonsense, you’re very youthful and a fine figure of a man. I like her too.” Alexander stared across the water. “I’d like very much to have her as a stepmother.”

  Carson started to say something and then hesitated.

  “It’s ‘Dad’ then, is it, Alexander?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “I’m delighted. You know that.”

  “I’m surprised it comes so naturally to me after years of ‘Uncle Carson’, but it does.”

  “It seems right to me too.” Carson held out his hand towards Alexander who took it. “I’m glad.”

  “I’m very sorry for everything, Dad.”

  “No need to say a word.” Carson, feeling very emotional, pressed his hand. “I’m sorry, too, and the fault is more mine than yours. I thought, when you were very young, that you might be my son.”

  “Why was that?”

  “You looked so like Nelly and we always wondered who the woman was who left the baby on the doorstep. Nelly, you see, knew about Lally though she didn’t know her. She’d been to the house in Montagu Square with me. It wasn’t until I met Nelly again that she told me the truth.”

  “It’s an amazing story.”

  “It is.”

  “I’m awfully glad it had a happy ending, Dad.”

  “So am I.”

  “I do hope I’m not interrupting.” Sally had glided into the room and both Carson and Alexander turned and rose to greet her.

  “Not at all. We’re just talking about the past.”

  Sally looked quite stunning in a short dress with straps that showed off her brown skin which, in turn, enhanced the colour of her deep blue eyes. Her hair, also bleached by the sun, was corn coloured.

  Carson swallowed. He felt then that he was completely in love with her, not just half. What would he not have given to have got into the large double bed with her that night?

  “Drink?” Alexander asked feeling the bottle again. “It’s not very cold but it’s drinkable.”

  “Lovely.” Sally took the glass and also the cigarette Alexander offered from his silver cigarette case.

  “We thought we’d go out to dinner. I have no staff and no provisions, but tomorrow it will all be different. Tomorrow, by the way, I have to go to Milan to see the lawyers about the house, all sorts of formalities which will take all day. I don’t suppose you want to see Milan again?”

  “Don’t mind about us,” Carson said, “I want to explore the mountains about here. They say the countryside is fabulous.”

  The jagged mountains behind Como, the foothills of the Alps, rose to a great height. This was not, strictly speaking, the pretty tourist part –that was in the Dolomites further on – but it had a majestic grandeur that was all the more sensational for being little known and almost inaccessible. Above its main town, Sondrio, through which they drove, there rose a very narrow, dangerously winding road to the top. Below them were deep valleys, and the sides of the cliffs through which they passed were sheer.

  Finally they arrived at the place where the road ended in a cluster of houses, some of them quite large and used by prosperous Milanese as holiday homes. Dominated by the great craggy Monte Disgrazia, meaning bad luck, it had an eerily claustrophobic air about it which made Carson and Sally disinclined to linger.

  “I wouldn’t like to live here,” she said, feeling goose pimples on her arms. “Let’s go back.”

  “I agree. On the way home let�
��s find somewhere to eat. I’m starving.”

  Carson began the perilous journey downhill which seemed, in many ways, more dangerous than the way up. Fortunately they encountered little traffic except for peasants, on foot carrying huge bundles of twigs on their backs, and standing aside to gaze at them as they passed by.

  Halfway down they came to a trattoria from which emerged a wonderful smell. It was with same relief that they inspected the terrace at the back which, perched on the edge of a cliff, had a truly spectacular view of the mountains for miles around.

  They ordered pasta and a bottle of red wine, and as they waited for their meal sat for a long time gazing at the view.

  Carson was aware that somehow the mood between them had changed. He couldn’t say why or how. Maybe it was relief at being away from the shadow of the bad-luck mountain.

  Sally, in a shirt and slacks, with a sweater which they’d needed further up tied round her neck and sunglasses disguising her expression, seemed meditative. He thought how lovely her profile was as, hands round her knees, she sat gazing up the way they had come. It was as though there was electricity in the air. Carson was suddenly overcome by a feeling of sadness that the holiday of which, perhaps, he’d had too much hope, was coming to an end.

  He sighed deeply and Sally, roused from her reverie, turned to him.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It was a big sigh.”

  Carson, emboldened by her expression, by the subtle change in mood, put a hand over hers.

  “I’m just sorry.”

  “Sorry, for what?”

  “Sorry it’s coming to an end.”

  “Me too.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes of course. It’s been wonderful.”

  Carson swallowed. “When will you go abroad again? To the Far East?”

  Sally ran her finger round the edge of the table.

  “I haven’t decided. Some time in the spring perhaps.”

  “I suppose you have to go?” Carson, who had never really been physically afraid of anything in his life, was suddenly frightened. Now he would know.

  “No, I don’t have to.” She looked at him and he could see her expression changing.

  “I mean, we could go together, if you wanted. Sally, what I want to know is,” he paused and took a deep breath, “will you marry me?”

  ***

  “I thought you’d never ask.” she said.

  “I wanted to but ... I was afraid.”

  “What for?” She looked at him with surprise. They were lying side by side in the big double bed in her room, the evening sun casting its gentle rays on the lake, all the inhibitions gone. It was so much easier to talk, to let the words flow.

  “I was afraid you didn’t love me.”

  “And I was afraid that you still loved Connie.”

  “I told you I didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t sure and you seemed ... a little shy. I didn’t want to throw myself at you, you know.”

  “Throw yourself at me?” Carson scoffed. “I wish to God you had. I mean, we’ve spent all these weeks misunderstanding each other. What a waste.”

  “A waste of what?”

  “Precious time,” he said bending to kiss her. She looked so eminently desirable, her face shiny from the vigour of their lovemaking, that, at that moment, she seemed to him the most beautiful, most precious thing on this earth. He felt ten times more in love with her than with any woman he’d ever known, certainly Constance, even, he had to admit, poor Nelly.

  When Alexander got back that evening from Milan he found them sitting on the balcony, hands joined, gazing out across the beautiful lake whose shimmering waters were dappled, now that the sun had gone in, by moonlight. Sally had on the white dress she’d worn the evening before, and Carson a crisp white shirt and grey slacks. It was not just the joined hands that gave them away, they seemed to have an aura, an air of apartness, as though they’d been translated onto another planet.

  Alexander, who also had known great love, saw them then for what they were, had been from the beginning: a pair. The signs were unmistakable. He looked at them and they looked at him, smiling mysteriously. There was absolutely no need for words.

  Chapter Eleven

  June 1935

  Carson put his arm round his bride as they stood in the great hall of Pelham’s Oak welcoming their guests. Because Carson was divorced they had married quietly in a register office in Bournemouth in January attended only by Eliza, Lally and Alexander, and Sally’s mother Judith. After a luncheon in a hotel they had gone up to London, embarking a few days later on a liner in Tilbury which took them to Calcutta.

  There had followed a tour of the Far East so that Sally got her wish to travel far afield only accompanied, as he had suggested when he proposed, by her husband. It had been a dream time, the stuff of which all good honeymoons are made. They had found on their tour of Italy how compatible their interests were and, as lovers now as well as companions, their expectations had not been disappointed.

  In April they had returned to Wenham and had a private service of blessing in Wenham Church. Since then they had been settling down and planning this first of many receptions to introduce the new Lady Woodville to the community. They had avoided having it in May as England was en fête with celebrations for the Jubilee of King George the Fifth.

  “How do you do?”

  “How do you do?”

  “May I present my wife?”

  Smiles all round.

  “How do you do?”

  The line of family and local notables passed slowly by, each pausing for a few minutes’ chat so that the time taken seemed interminable. It was past one o’clock when Carson and Sally came into the main reception room where the buffet had been prepared in case it rained, a wise precaution because the day was overcast and cold.

  Not quite like Hong Kong. Sally shivered.

  “Are you all right my love?” Carson looked at her with concern.

  “A little nervous. A bit cold.” She rubbed her arms. “I think mainly it’s all these people.”

  “You know so many of them.” Carson reassured her, taking her hand and drawing her forward. “You will get to know the others in time. It’s part of being a Woodville.”

  That was it, Sally thought, ‘Part of being a Woodville’. Wenham might as well be called Woodvilleland. Everything revolved round the family and also, in her Uncle Ryder’s day, the Yetmans, who had lived at Riversmead, almost in the centre of the town. But then she’d known that when she had lived here the previous summer and had realised at first hand what it was to be part of the family, however peripheral. Now she was at its epicentre. Lady Woodville, mistress of Pelham’s Oak. Heiress to a great tradition.

  Overcoming her nerves Sally moved away from Carson to greet Dora and Jean who had come over for the occasion.

  “So sorry we missed the wedding.” Dora sounded a little insincere. They had given no reason for declining the invitation. As it had taken place in January it was a bit early to be concerned about the vines.

  “We were sorry you weren’t there, although it was only very small. Carson didn’t want a fuss.”

  “Couldn’t have a fuss,” Carson said, grimacing as he joined them. “Marriage of a divorced person in church is not permitted. However Hubert blessed us, so all’s well.” He tucked his arm in Sally’s and smiled at Dora. “And I’m very happy.”

  Dora had abandoned her customary casual attire for a dress and coatee of crêpe de Chine with matching pipings. A wide straw hat was decorated with a broad band made of the same material. She looked very poised and soignée, almost aloof. She had an air of disapproval as though something about the occasion displeased her. It was a little unsettling: Dora not quite her usual self.

  Sally, hatless and, of course, much younger, wore a pretty, very flattering afternoon frock in blue and white organdie with three-quarter length sleeves and a pleated skirt that fell to a few inches above the
ankle. The full bodice, which emphasised her pretty bust, had a deep, square décolletage.

  Dora and Sally seemed to appraise each other for a few moments, almost as though they were rivals. They were the most fashionable women in the room. Sally had bought her outfit in Bond Street, Dora in the Rue de Rivoli. They rather put to shade the other ladies, few of whom had ventured further afield than Yeovil or Blandford for their afternoon attire. Lally, as always the acme of elegance, favoured a style of another age: a long dress of floating chiffon, the bodice decorated with a large diamond clasp.

  “The honeymoon was sensational, I hear. Ten countries in – how many weeks?”

  “We were away twelve weeks altogether.” Sally decided to take no notice of the nuance in Dora’s tone which seemed to suggest that no one could possibly take in so many countries in so few weeks. “It was the holiday of a lifetime. India was magnificent. And Siam – I never saw such a beautiful place. The war between China and Japan, and the upheaval there, meant we couldn’t go to those countries, but we had so much to see elsewhere. I don’t suppose we shall ever have another holiday like it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I might get a taste for travelling,” Carson said, draping his arm around her. “Sally has convinced me that there is more to life than working on my land, keeping books and accounts.”

  “You have always had to work very hard,” Dora said reprovingly, “to repair the damage done to Pelham’s Oak by previous generations.”

  “So doesn’t he deserve a reward?” Sally said smiling sweetly. “And he shall have it.”

  “I have my reward,” Carson kissed her cheek. “I have all I could ever ask for.”

  Lunch was eaten at small tables placed round the room, guests helped themselves from a long buffet that ran the length of one wall. Servants circulated with drinks, and Carson and Sally moved among the tables stopping to chat to the guests. Many eyes followed Sally as she drifted elegantly from one table to another, clearly now more at ease, though Carson, with a watchful eye on her, was not far behind.