More Than You Know

by Penny Vincenzi

  Louise looked across at Toby. As far as she could see, he was merely drinking some lemonade, and chatting to Sarah and Anna Marchant, who had arrived halfway through the afternoon, lookng rather wonderful in what were clearly vintage jodhpurs, a white silk shirt, and a pair of tall leather boots.

  “I just had to come,” she said. “I’m so proud of you, Eliza. What a thing to organise.”

  “Well … I had lots of help.”

  “Of course you did. Is that Archie Northcott over there? Such a charming man. We had a wonderful flirtation once, during the war; God knows what might have happened if he hadn’t had to go back to Egypt, I think it was, but anyway, I think I was quite relieved; Christine would have been a frightful foe. She always found out, apparently, about all the mistresses and gave them hell.”

  “Were there lots?” said Eliza in awe. “You never told me that.”

  “Of course. He was as good-looking as Jeremy, and rather bored down there in Norfolk. He seems to be chatting up your mother; I feel quite jealous; I shall go and interrupt. Now, how is the lovely Toby?”

  “Lovely,” said Eliza, “yes. Just … lovely.”

  She looked at him now, chatting to Emmie, who rather wonderfully continued to like him, and to accept his initially infrequent forays into her life, increasing slowly and helped by his considerable horsiness; in spite of not infrequent bursts of “You’re not my daddy,” their relationship seemed set fair.

  Emmie had weathered it all very well, but there were inevitable upsets; she still shouted at both Eliza and Matt from time to time, and generally used the situation to the best of her ability. Indeed, it had been one of the things that had bound Eliza and Matt together in their new relationship, as important in its own way to Emmie as the old one: that they must acknowledge this and not be either deceived or distressed by her manipulations, her averral that Mummy—or, as it might be, Daddy—had said she could stay up late, eat sweets in bed, have a new pony, and take her whole class to the pantomime at Christmas.

  Eliza still quite often hated Matt; she knew she would never forgive him for what he had done to her, while struggling to understand it and to acknowledge her own part in it. She still—occasionally, very occasionally—almost loved him when some fierce memory hit, or he made her laugh, or they were together with Emmie. She resisted it, but it was not to be denied. She was learning to tolerate him, to get along with him; that was new and most difficult, but essential for their lives as Emmie’s parents, the two people she loved best in the world. As a bond, that remained unbreakable. But it was hard.

  “Dearest, are you all right?”

  “Yes. Think so. Bit … you know. Uncomfy. Probably just need to pee again. I’ll waddle off and see you back here in a little while. I might even … find a bed, lie down for a bit.”

  “I’ll come and find you. How’s the indigestion?”

  “Oh … completely gone. Yes.”

  It really was all very uncomfortable; she felt completely invaded by this creature that had made its home in her. Well, not for much longer.

  She felt very ambivalent towards it; she viewed its arrival with a certain anxiety, and not just the birth. She so hoped she was going to be a good mother. She certainly wanted the baby, quite desperately, but supposing she didn’t like it? That was Scarlett’s secret fear, one she couldn’t admit to anyone. That she would take one look at it and realise she had made a terrible mistake. She didn’t really like babies as a race very much: they weren’t even very pretty, not at first, scrumpled little things, with their unseeing eyes and flailing limbs. Scarlett liked things to be pretty.

  “Oh, my God.” She stared at the flood that had formed around her feet in the kitchen as she stood drinking a glass of water. “My God. Oh … my … God.”

  Panic roared through her; she felt completely terrified. What did she do; whom could she tell; where could she go?

  “Oh … hallo.” Scarlett looked round; it was Eliza’s friend Heather. “I’ve come for some water; my little girl’s terribly thirsty; do you know where the glasses are—”

  “Look,” Scarlett said, stupid in her fear, pointing down at the puddle. “Look what I’ve done.”

  “Oh,” said Heather. And they stood there together contemplating it, and then Heather said, “Look, you’d better sit down. Your waters have broken. Shall I get someone?”

  “Yes, yes, please. Probably … yes, my husband. Only you don’t know him. He’s quite easy to spot, though; he’s tall and dark and he’s out on the terrace—oh, no, find Eliza; she’ll know what to do.”

  “Eliza’s disappeared; I was looking for her too. Are you having any contractions yet?”

  “No, not at all. It doesn’t seem to hurt. It will, though, I suppose.”

  “Just a bit,” said Heather, and smiled again, “but don’t worry; it isn’t nearly as bad as people say. As long as you relax, that is.”

  “I don’t feel very relaxed. And I’ve got to get back to London, to my doctor. Well … maybe you could get Sarah, Eliza’s mum. I’ll just … just wait here.”

  Heather went out of the back door onto the terrace. Sarah was chatting to a man, a neighbor, she supposed.

  “Mrs. Fullerton-Clark. Could you … could you come into the kitchen, please. Bit of a, a … problem.”

  “What sort of a problem, Heather, dear? Not the freezer finally packed up, I hope—”

  “No, it isn’t the freezer,” said Heather. “It’s a … well, it’s a baby.”

  “A baby!” said Sarah, in tones that would not have disgraced Lady Bracknell. “What on earth is a baby doing in the kitchen?”

  “Well, it’s not there yet,” said Heather, feeling increasingly stupid. “It’s … well, it’s Matt’s sister, Scarlett; I think she’s in labour.”

  “Oh, heavens,” said Sarah. “Larry, excuse me; I must go. Heather, that’s her husband, Mark, just over there, look; tell him to come … and … yes, see if you can find Eliza, dear, as well.”

  Scarlett was remarkably composed by now; she was sitting by the open door on a chair, smiling, when Mark came in.

  “Darling, we must leave at once. Back to London—”

  “Scarlett, we can’t drive back to London with you in labour. And don’t tell me you’re not; I’ve read the books.”

  “Of course we can. We’ll have loads of time, and I want to be—Oh!” She stopped, looked at him, her dark eyes suddenly wide with fear. “That … might have been something. Oh, it’s gone now. Phew. Well, look, go on; find the car; bring it to the front door—”

  “Scarlett, my dear, you can’t embark on a three-hour journey when your waters have broken,” said Sarah firmly. “I’m going to call Dr. Watkins—he’s our GP—and get some advice. He’ll probably tell you to go to the nearest hospital; our cottage hospital in the next village is very good—”

  “I am not going to a cottage hospital,” said Scarlett. “I want my own gynaecologist looking after me—”

  “Dear love, I agree with Sarah,” said Mark. “You can’t do that drive in labour.”

  “Mark,” said Scarlett, “first babies take at least twelve hours to arrive. I want to get back to Mr. Webb; I am going to get back to Mr. Webb, and none of you can stop me. It’s—Ooh. That was … well, a bit more of something.”

  At that moment, one of the St. John Ambulance men came into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, Mrs. F-C, but a little boy’s passed out—the heat, I think—can I get some more water?”

  “Yes, you can, of course. But first, could we have a bit of advice? This lady’s waters have just broken, and her baby is due … when, Scarlett?”

  “Tomorrow. So … look.” Scarlett looked at the man imploringly. “Tell them it’ll be fine to go back to London, will you?”

  “I can’t do that, my love. Once your waters have broken you’re liable to infection. And that drive, with the baby not cushioned by the waters, very dangerous, it could be. We can get an ambulance, course; I’ll call one right away—where’s the p
hone, Mrs. F-C?”

  “But … I want—”

  “Scarlett,” said Mark, “no.”

  Sarah helped Scarlett up to her room, pulled the eiderdown off the bed, pulled the curtains.

  “There you are, my dear; lie down. Do you know, Eliza was born in this room …”

  “Yes, well, I don’t want to have my baby in this room,” said Scarlett. Her teeth were chattering slightly now with fear. “I don’t mean to be rude, but—”

  “Of course not, and you didn’t sound rude at all.”

  “I’m just so … frightened.”

  “Yes, it is frightening at first,” said Sarah, smoothing back Scarlett’s hair. “Then you’ll find you settle down and it’s amazing how you cope. Now, the ambulance should be here pretty soon, and Dr. Watkins is coming over to see you, just as a precaution. He’s a darling man, and very gentle. Don’t worry; you’ll be absolutely fine. Would you like some tea?”

  “Oh … yes, please. That’d be nice. With some sugar …”

  “My dear Mrs. Frost, we can’t move you now.” Dr. Watkins looked at her sternly. “You’re well on your way. Ah, here we go; here comes another one. Deep breaths, that’s right. Here, you … What’s your name …?”

  “Mark,” said Mark slightly desperately. He had never been more frightened in his life.

  “Go and see what’s keeping that ruddy midwife. She should have been here half an hour ago. And then bring some more cold water; sponge your wife down; it’s bloody hot. Make yourself useful, man; don’t just sit there like a frightened rabbit … Well done, Scarlett, well done. You’re doing beautifully. Not so bad, is it? Sarah—cup of tea for me, my dear, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “She’s what! My God. I’ll be in in one minute. How … how exciting. A baby, here at Summercourt—first one since … since me. Gosh. Where’s Matt? Louise, Louise …”

  “Ah, there you are at last. What have you been doing, woman? Come along; here’s Mrs. Frost; she’s doing wonderfully well, but she could do with a bit of gas and air now, and then you can examine her, see how she’s getting on. Got all the gear, have you? Contractions every four minutes, getting nice and strong; I’d say a couple more hours and the baby’ll be here.”

  “Matt, Matt, there you are; Scarlett’s having her baby.”

  “Scarlett’s what?”

  “She’s having her baby.”

  “What, here?”

  “Yes. It all happened very fast, and she’s up in Mummy’s room—I was born there, you know, so rather lovely—and no, I don’t think you should go and see her; she’s quite far on, apparently, and the doctor’s there and the midwife, and—”

  “Louise, there you are. Look … we can’t go yet. Apparently my sister’s having her baby. Here, in the house. The doctor’s here and a midwife, so she’s all right. I hope. What on earth would Mum say … Christ, I need a drink.”

  “Right, one more push, that’s right, good girl, good girl. Well done. Here we are—and it’s a … it’s a girl, a lovely little girl. Oh, you have done well. There you are, my lovely; there she is—whoops, and there goes the daddy; head between your knees, sir; that’s right. Your wife’s done so well; now, you look at your daughter; isn’t she lovely?”

  “She’s beautiful,” said Mark, looking at his beloved wife holding her baby, their baby, so safely and sweetly delivered, after all his fears. “Simply beautiful, yes.”

  And, “Yes,” said Scarlett, smiling tenderly down at the baby’s squashed, grimacing, little old man’s face, “yes, she is absolutely beautiful.”

  “And … any ideas what you’re going to call her?”

  “Oh,” said Mark, “that’s easy. She’s called Larissa.”

  “That’s unusual.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s Greek. It’s the name of a very beautiful Grecian lady. Without whom our Larissa would not be here.”

  “Matt, come in, come in; come and say hallo to your niece. Isn’t she lovely?”

  “She is beautiful,” said Matt, smiling down at the tiny Larissa. “Yes. Well done, Scarlett. We’re all so proud of you.”

  “Oh … it was fine. Not nearly as bad as I feared. I think … I really think being here, in this lovely house of yours, helped. It’s so peaceful, such a special place, Matt, and somehow, being with the family … Sarah’s so lovely, so calm; she made me feel safe.”

  “Yes,” said Matt, “yes, she is very … nice.”

  “I’m going to stay a few days, until I’m strong enough to go home. She’s so excited, me having the baby where she had Eliza. And, of course, Emmie is just over the moon. She says Mouse is Larissa’s uncle.”

  “Indeed?” said Matt. “That’s a first. Oh … Mark. Congratulations. Well done. I hear you were magnificent.”

  “Well, I managed not to faint until it was all right to,” said Mark modestly. “And Scarlett was so brave. I feel I should thank you for hosting the baby’s birth …”

  “Oh … don’t mention it,” said Matt. And grinned.

  They were all eating Sarah’s famous cottage pie round the huge kitchen table.

  “Lovely to have the house so full,” she said happily.

  “This is splendid pie, my dear,” said Archie Northcott. “Christine was never much of a cook. How’s your cooking, Mariella?”

  “It’s marvellous,” said Jeremy, “especially her tiramisu. We always enjoy that.”

  “You should come down with the young people one weekend, Sarah,” said Archie. “Not sure you’ve ever seen the house. Very fine, Jacobean, you know.”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you. Mr. Connell—Alan,” said Sarah, “another helping of pie?”

  “I won’t say no. Thank you. Really excellent. Compliments to the chef. And may I say again, it’s extremely good of you to put us up. So nice to be part of such a delightful gathering, isn’t it, Heather?”

  “Yes, Alan, it is.”

  “And I won’t say no to another beer,” he said to Matt, “since you offered.”

  “Of course. Then we must go. I’ll just go and say good-bye to Scarlett. You coming, Louise?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Eliza, “make sure she’s got everything she needs.”

  They went up; Scarlett was drifting in and out of sleep, the baby lying on her breast, Mark sitting rather gingerly on the edge of the bed, gazing at them both. It was a completely charming picture.

  “Well … bye, sis. Well done again. Let me give you a kiss. Take care of her, Mark.”

  “I will. See you back in London.”

  Matt bent over the bed to kiss Scarlett; Eliza suddenly looked at Louise; she was staring at Matt with a look of naked yearning on her face, her eyes bright with tears. She saw Eliza looking at her and flushed.

  “I’ll just … just go to the bathroom,” she said.

  Eliza followed her out.

  “Are you OK?” she said.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

  A tear rolled slowly down one cheek; she brushed it impatiently away.

  “Louise—”

  “No, don’t say it. He doesn’t know; he’ll never know; he’s so … so impossibly emotionally stunted … and so … wrapped up in himself. Oh, sorry, Eliza; I sometimes forget—”

  “Louise, you’re right. I should know. But he needs someone. And if anyone could put up with him, you could. You know him better than any of us. How you stuck by him all those years, I’ll never know.”

  “Well … you did pretty well.”

  “No, I didn’t. I was crap. He’s much better off without me.” There was a silence; then she said, “Louise, you should tell him. Because he’ll never see it for himself, never. Go on; what have you got to lose?”

  “Him,” said Louise. “At least at the moment I have him as a friend. Not that I’m sure that’s exactly a good thing. He’s so bloody bad tempered, always furious about things—”

  “Yes, but you’re so good for him; you deal with him without getting cross back.
We—Oh, hell, that was the phone. Who on earth can that be? I’d better get it. Matt,” she called, “don’t go without saying good-bye. It’s been such a lovely day; thank you so, so much for all you’ve done. I’m … I’m sorry about the orangery. And the beer tent.”

  He shrugged. “It’s OK.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t.”

  She came back into the kitchen, having taken the call. Matt was waiting there impatiently.

  “Matt … that was a man who said he was ready to make an offer to buy … buy Summercourt. He was told you were here by your mum; she was at the … your house, apparently. He said he’d like to speak to you. Would you … would you like to take it in the study?”

  “Could you tell him I’ll call him back?” Matt looked round the room; everyone was pretending not to be remotely interested. Sarah was suddenly very busy with the coffee; Mariella slipped her hand into Jeremy’s; Charles and Pattie started piling up plates; Jeremy poured himself a very large glass of wine and another for his father; Anna pushed her glass forward imperiously. Only Emmie was concentrating on him, her small face dark suddenly, her blue eyes alarmed.

  “Daddy?” she said. “That’s not right, is it? You’re not selling Summercourt?”

  “I … Emmie, let’s go and have a talk. Just you and me.”

  She slithered off her chair very slowly, walked towards him as if she was sleepwalking. He held out his hand to her, but she shook her head; he turned and walked out of the room and she followed him into the hall.

  “Emmie, sweetheart, listen: I’m sorry, but I have to sell Summercourt.”

  “Why? You can’t. You can’t.” The blue eyes had filled with tears.

  “Sweetheart, I have to. Listen—”

  “You can’t. It’s mine and yours and Mummy’s; you promised the judge—”

  “I know, Emmie, but … listen. It’s very, very expensive.”

  “You’ve got lots of money. Anyway, what would the judge say?”

  “I … asked another judge. And he said I could.”