The Forget-Me-Not Sonata

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said slowly. ‘You really are going to bury a fourth.’

  ‘No, no, I think I’ll have more fun with a living Colonel than a dead one,’ she mused, then added with unexpected gloom, ‘I don’t think the dead are much fun any more.’

  But in the wake of Isla’s death no one could care less about Charlotte Osborne’s relationship with the Colonel. Hurlingham became a suburb of shadows as everyone shuffled about not knowing what to do with themselves, remembering with disbelief the sunny child whose cheeky grin and bouncy gait had dominated their world. How could someone so alive suddenly be so dead? They all thought of their own fragile lives and felt more transitory than ever. Their time would come and then what?

  Louis and Isla’s imagined love affair became the stuff of legend – a modern day Romeo and Juliet, which the community feasted on with curiosity grown hungry from so much mourning. Men admired Louis for his heroism and women envied Isla’s fearlessness. Suddenly everyone seemed to know so much about their affair, how it had started, where they would meet, their dreams for the future and how, the very night Isla fell ill, they were planning to elope. The more the stories circulated the more outlandish they became, but no one was prepared to stop. In death Isla now belonged to everyone.

  ‘Nelly has been crying now for a month,’ Hilda complained. ‘Louis has gone and taken her heart with him. Really, I’ve never known so many tears shed over a man.’

  Rose spent most afternoons beside the fire in her sitting room, shivering with a constant chill that resisted the warmth however boisterous the flames were, deriving comfort from her sisters’ regular visits which served to prevent her from sinking into a bottomless pit of self-pity.

  ‘Nelly’s got nothing to cry about,’ Edna snapped impatiently, tired of having to listen to her sister’s complaints about her daughter’s imaginary heartache. ‘How’s Audrey, Rose?’ she asked in a gentle voice. Rose shook her head while Hilda pursed her thin lips. She resented the fact that everyone was talking about Rose’s daughters with the sort of reverence reserved for the Saints. If Isla were alive she’d have caused the very foundations of their community to shake with disapproval, but she was now beyond disapproval and Audrey had been sprinkled with the same holy water. She stared furiously into her cup of tea.

  ‘She’s taken the whole thing very badly,’ said Rose bleakly. ‘She just sits in her bedroom gazing out of the window miserably or pacing the room in fury. Why she’s so furious, I have no idea. God,’ she added piously, ‘it must be directed at God. After all, it is God’s doing.’

  ‘And Cecil? Can’t he do something to revive her?’

  ‘She needs time to mourn,’ Rose replied, lowering her eyes for she was ashamed that all her hopes for her future happiness rested with them. ‘He’s a tower of strength. He comes around most evenings to see her, but she refuses to leave her room.’

  ‘Oh dear, that doesn’t augur well, does it?’ Hilda commented with a brittleness of tone that betrayed her jealousy.

  ‘I don’t think so, Hilda,’ said Rose. ‘He’s a sensitive young man and understands that she needs time to come to terms with Isla’s death before she can possibly focus her heart on him.’

  ‘But surely at a time like this Audrey should welcome his comfort.’

  ‘Everyone deals with grief in their own way, Hilda,’ interjected Edna. ‘Audrey’s always been a bit different from other girls. She’s a private person, introverted. Remember she’s not only lost her sister, God bless her, but her best friend.’ Then turning to Rose she added with a heavy sigh, ‘Isn’t there something we can do to raise her spirits? Mourning too much is very bad for one’s health.’

  ‘Well,’ Rose began in a small voice, ‘Cecil did make a suggestion.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘It sounds a bit outlandish, but . . .’

  ‘I’d try anything once,’ said Edna.

  ‘He suggested we buy a piano, just a small one, you know, an upright.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Hilda asked. ‘She hasn’t played the piano for years.’

  ‘Cecil says that Louis plays to soothe his spirits. He once saw Audrey play with him and she seemed to take great pleasure from it.’

  ‘What a tremendous idea, Rose. What does Henry say?’ Edna asked with enthusiasm. What this house needs, she thought, is a bit of gaiety.

  ‘He’s willing to try,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, get a piano as soon as possible, before that child ruins any hope for her future. Cecil will only wait so long.’

  Rose hastily bought a piano which was delivered the following week. Audrey still refused to leave her room, so stricken with grief was she. Albert and his two younger brothers delighted in tinkling the keys until Rose told them sternly that it was for Audrey and until she felt like playing it, no one else would. Then just when she was on the point of despairing she awoke one night in early spring to the haunting music of Audrey’s tormented soul. She crept out of bed, slipped into her dressing gown and tiptoed down the stairs. As she neared the study the melody got louder until she peered around the door to see Audrey’s straight back and trembling shoulders as she wept to the tune that Louis had composed especially for her. Her pale fingers glided over the keys as if she had played all her life and her eyes were closed to allow the music to take her to all the exotic places she had dreamed of visiting with Louis. Rose felt the emotion rise in her throat and placed her fingers over her mouth to prevent herself from gasping. She stood in the shadows watching and listening as her daughter expressed her grief. Then she left as quietly as she had come. Audrey would never know that her mother had shared in this intensely private moment.

  Audrey realized now that Louis wasn’t ever coming back. She had allowed her regret to eat away at her spirit until she had very little of it left. She had mourned for her sister until thoughts of Louis had begun to dominate every present moment and she had waited and waited and waited until hope had given way to despair and finally resignation. The piano and their music was all she had left of him and once she began to play she was unable to stop.

  She bashed out her fury in clashing chords that hurt her ears and sent the furniture vibrating with the very force of her anger. Louis hadn’t allowed her a moment to grieve, he had demanded she settle their future at the one time she was unable to. The very day Isla had been taken from her. Then in a fit of impatience and petulance he had deserted her. What sort of a man could behave with such irrationality? What had come over him? Then she played out her sadness in harmonious chords that she stroked with loving fingers until even Aunt Hilda’s stony eyes seeped tears. The one man she had ever loved was gone and the notes sung out her pain and her hopelessness. Then when she was alone in the darkness of the midnight hours she would feel him close by, so close she could almost smell him, and her fingers would dance across the keys as if by a will of their own and their sonata would resonate through the room and through the months that ensued. It was their tune, the only expression of their unbreakable bond and she played it to remember him as she willed herself to remember him, before that evening in the church when her dreams had been shattered. And she called it ‘The Forget-Me-Not Sonata’ for as long as she played it she would not forget him.

  But the most surprising thing was that with every tune she began to feel better. Her spirits began to rise and her wounds began to heal.

  Then without her even noticing, Cecil earned her friendship and her trust and finally her affection.

  Audrey sat on the sand and gazed out across the sea that was surprisingly tempestuous for midsummer. The sun was on the brink of melting into the water and she waited as she had always done as a child for the hiss and the steam. But none came. So much had changed since her coming of age. The world looked different somehow. With Isla’s death and Louis’ disappearance now over two years ago a part of her had gone to sleep. A sure way of dealing with the pain.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Cecil asked, taking her hand in his
. He often wondered what was on her mind, especially when he listened to her playing the piano. Recently, though, the tunes had become less tormented and more harmonious and so had she.

  ‘Isla and I used to sit on this Uruguayan beach and watch the sunset,’ she replied. Nowadays she didn’t flinch when Cecil took her hand. Ever since he had embraced her in the garden at Isla’s funeral she had grown accustomed to his touch, even welcomed it. He had been a constant support, an attentive friend. With Cecil there was no pressure, no demand, just his gentle companionship. She held his hand firmly and took pleasure from the familiar warmth of his skin. ‘Isla was never very interested in nature, but she always waited for the hiss and the steam of the sun hitting the water. She used to swear that she heard it. I always felt cheated because I never did.’

  ‘She was a little mischief,’ he chuckled affectionately.

  ‘Not a day goes by when I don’t think about her. We did everything together, everything. I really miss her.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘But I’ve come to rely on you, Cecil,’ she said earnestly.

  Cecil stared out across the sea, afraid of looking at her in case the desperation in his eyes gave away the longing in his heart. ‘Good,’ he mumbled.

  ‘One good thing has come out of all this tragedy and that is you.’ She smiled at him but the smile he returned was fleeting. He kept his focus on the horizon but his hand clutched hers ever more tightly. ‘I felt lost without Isla, but little by little I turned to you when I would have turned to her. Your friendship means a great deal to me.’

  ‘I’m pleased.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to think about a future without Isla. I didn’t want to live. Everything was so bleak, but you’ve made it sunny again. I know it’s been over two years since you proposed and as you promised, you haven’t mentioned it again. I hope I’m not being too bold or presumptuous, but I would like to be your wife, if you’ll have me.’

  Cecil wanted to cry with relief. Every day of waiting for Audrey had increased the burden of hope on his shoulders so that now he almost stooped beneath the weight. He had begun to wonder whether she would ever grow to love him even half as much as he loved her. His feelings had only intensified with time so that now he couldn’t imagine living without her and if he did, he felt the blood in his veins turn to stone. A cold and empty future indeed. Now all the waiting seemed to have passed in a moment. She had agreed to be his and his heart felt as if it were filled with bubbles. He turned to her with eyes that glistened with emotion and smiled with so much enthusiasm it was impossible not to smile with him. ‘I never thought I’d be capable of loving as much as I love you, Audrey. You’re a unique woman and I’m honoured that you have chosen to share your life with me. Honoured, truly.’

  Audrey laughed lightly. He always sounded so formal. ‘No, I’m honoured that you will still have me. I’ve kept you waiting so long.’

  ‘I would have waited for you for ever,’ he said, looking at her steadily. She lowered her eyes anxiously anticipating his kiss, trying not to think of Louis. Every morning she awoke with his face emblazoned on her mind, and every morning she willed it away where it hovered awaiting its chance to rise again in her thoughts. She felt sick in the stomach with wearisome regularity so that now she didn’t know whether it was because of Isla or Louis – whichever it was, the sharp sense of loss never left her. Her only hope of respite was in a secure future and in time Cecil could give her the former and patience would give her the latter. Then one day she might wake up without that sensation of falling into an abyss, without the bitter dawning of reality and what it lacked.

  When Cecil kissed her it was surprisingly pleasant. It didn’t burn like Louis’ always had but it didn’t feel awkward either. It was warm and tender and protective. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt a reassuring sense of security loosen the knots that misery and regret had tied with determined fingers. With Cecil she had a future, perhaps not the future she had dreamed of, but she was weary of dreaming.

  Chapter 11

  Charlotte Osborne insisted on a church wedding. Not that she was a virgin bride, she was the first to admit that she was no virgin, having buried three husbands already. But she felt, being a widow, it was correct and proper to have a small, intimate religious service followed by a large tea at the Club. She wanted flowers, champagne, pomp and adulation. The Colonel would have married her on the moon had she asked, for, overwhelmed with gratitude, he could deny her nothing. His dogged persistence had won the final battle and Charlotte had surrendered, waving her white flag with the enthusiasm of a woman who’s wanted to be conquered all along. ‘Now come here, old girl, and let me kiss you,’ he had said, pulling her into his arms and tickling her face with his whiskers.

  ‘How does this old girl taste?’ She had giggled like a young girl in the first throes of love.

  ‘Like a vintage champagne, m’dear, once the cork’s out it’s all bubbles and fizz. There’s life in the old girl yet!’ Then he had looked at her with tenderness and said bashfully, ‘But once the bubbles and fizz die down the wine is full bodied and fruity. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint, Charlotte Osborne. You’re still a challenge and always will be, but by God you were worth the wait.’ And in his ears still echoed the tune he had heard long ago but never forgotten, filling him once again with an exquisite melancholy; the melancholy that is the weight of love on one’s soul.

  Spring spilled into the church in the pale light of morning, in the flamboyant displays of lilacs and lilies and in the buoyant step of the old Colonel who, in spite of his limp, strode proudly up the aisle, his whiskers twitching with the satisfaction of a military leader reflecting on his greatest victory, an icily beautiful Charlotte Osborne resting haughtily on his arm.

  Diana Lewis cast her eyes over the perfectly tailored lilac suit, the wide-brimmed hat coyly lowered over one eye, the silver white hair pulled back into an elegant chignon and couldn’t help but admire her friend, who in the autumn years of her life had acquired a handsome beauty. If it wasn’t for her thin lips, she thought, one would be led into thinking her beauty extended beneath her skin. Phyllida Bates sat hunched and shrivelled for her lack of spine had caused her body to sag. She hated weddings because she had never married, but she smiled all the same and no one would have guessed that there was venom in her saliva. Cynthia Klein, who was too lazy to dissemble, gazed upon the old couple who now stood before the altar to make their vows to love and cherish one another and wondered whether Charlo was capable of doing either. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a certain tenderness towards them as they stood, aged and grey beneath their fine feathers, vulnerable somehow in the face of God, making the most of the few years they had left.

  ‘Till death us do part,’ said Charlo in a quivering voice and Diana caught Phyllida’s eye, then glanced warily across at Cynthia. They were all thinking the same thing. How long would the Colonel last before he met his Maker? But since Isla’s death Charlo had looked at life through different eyes. The final act was now opening to great applause. This leading man would take the bow with her, not before her.

  Audrey sat next to her husband and cast her thoughts to her sister as she always did every time she attended church. She remembered the funeral as if it were yesterday and she missed her just as much now. Although the pain was less acute it was still very much there in the form of a constant, dull ache. She missed Louis too, but had resigned herself to the choice she had made and Cecil was a loving husband. She couldn’t complain.

  Since Audrey’s marriage the previous April her mother had come out of mourning and laughter once more reverberated about the walls of the house in Canning Street, though the little spark that was Isla was noticeably lacking. The wedding had been large and extravagant and her mother had thrown herself into its organization with all her energy and enthusiasm. Aunt Edna had almost moved in and acted as secretary, making lists and amending them, holding meetings with the florist, the caterers, the dressmaker and Au
drey had sailed along on automatic pilot not caring that all the decisions were being made for her. She relinquished control as willingly as she had relinquished her heart, but her soul would always belong to Louis.

  Cecil had bought a little house a few streets away from the Garnets’ and Audrey had done her utmost to make it into a warm home. It was of vital importance to her that she create a small fortress where she could hide away and live off her memories, so she busied herself decorating it, throwing all her love into the rooms until they vibrated with the force of her yearning spirit. She placed her piano in the sitting room and covered it with candles so that when she played at night, the soft, flickering light of the flames served to calm her nerves as well as transport her to a place far away where she still kept her dreams all shiny and new. Rose said it had a magic feel about it and Cecil praised his wife for she had endowed the house with charm and made it beautiful. Only Aunt Edna sensed that her niece had compromised in some way, for she went about the fine tuning of her home with the devotion she should have been dedicating to her marriage. She had done the same thing after Harry had died in order to comfort herself and nurture his memory, but Cecil was very much alive.

  As Charlotte and the Colonel walked back up the aisle as man and wife, their faces aglow with happiness, Audrey pulled away from the past and cast her eyes across to where the light tumbled in through the large glass window. She followed its stream until her gaze rested upon the face of Emma Letton who silently withdrew from beneath the sycamore tree to focus her eyes on the dreamy young woman who now stared back at her. They both remained in silent appraisal, wordlessly sensing an invisible bond that drew them to one another. Audrey smiled shyly and was pleased when Emma smiled back with enthusiasm. There had always been something in the young girl’s expression that Emma had found curious. She had been slightly afraid of the sensitive child who seemed to understand her in a way that no one else could, as if her penetrating stare would expose her inner unhappiness and the compromise she had made.