The Forget-Me-Not Sonata

by Santa Montefiore

  When it came to her children, Audrey’s love was without limits. Sometimes she would collapse into tears beneath the sheer weight of her gratitude and silently thank God for giving her little girls who would love and support each other as she and Isla had. Cecil was a good father, albeit a detached one. He earned well in her father’s company and saw to it that his daughters had everything they needed. He wasn’t a demonstrative man like his brother for whom touch was as vital as oxygen. Cecil showed his affection with the occasional pat on the back, with a willingness to read bedtime stories and a keen interest in their education. He took great care to ensure that the girls’ future was secure while their mother lived only in the present.

  Leonora belonged to her mother. Alicia belonged to herself. After Emily Harris left Leonora had cleaved to Audrey, crying hysterically when she was parted from her. If it hadn’t been for Alicia’s cool independence Audrey would have gone mad with anxiety for she couldn’t have taken both girls to her bed at night. But Alicia could sleep anywhere, needing nothing but a nightdress and a mattress – provided the nightdress was smoothed out under her body, for creases made her uncomfortable and furious. This gave Audrey the opportunity to rock Leonora in her arms until the child fell into a contented slumber, her pale face nestled happily against her mother’s bosom. Cecil strongly opposed his wife bringing their daughter into their bed, but he was powerless to prevent it, for it seemed as if she was incapable of being on her own. Reluctantly Cecil moved into his dressing room leaving the marital bed free for mother and child, to return on weekends when he insisted that Leonora be put into her own bed, even if it meant that she cried herself into a restless sleep.

  Leonora adored her sister with the same fervour that Audrey had once adored Isla. She rarely took her eyes off her and admired everything she did, for Alicia was a quick learner and extremely gifted. Nothing was too much of a challenge for Alicia; with her beauty and ability she could conquer anything, anything, that is, except herself and it would take her a lifetime to learn that the most testing demon was the one within her.

  Leonora on the other hand was gentle and sensitive like her mother but without Audrey’s physical allure. She was plain with thin brown hair the colour of parsnips and ears that stuck out but it didn’t matter, for she was kind and good natured and loved by everyone except Alicia who despised weakness. The more she tormented her sister the more Leonora admired her and it was that doe-eyed devotion that brought out the worst in Alicia. Their Mexican maid, Mercedes, who herself was not blessed with great beauty, would shake her head made heavy with too many superstitions and claim that good looks were the work of the devil. ‘A face like that will be the ruin of many a good man,’ she predicted gravely, ‘but Leonora will find happiness because her features won’t deceive anyone.’

  Mercedes hid her stout legs beneath long skirts and her recipes under the parrot cage where Loro learnt to imitate her voice to perfection. So convincing was he that when Oscar, the chauffeur, appeared at the kitchen door claiming that she had summoned him for ‘café’ she would waggle her brown finger at him accusingly without realizing his innocent mistake was due to the parrot’s brilliant impersonation. Furiously she’d shuffle him back out into the yard while Loro sniggered quietly in his cage the way Oscar did when he spied on Mercedes taking a pee in the small lavatory behind the pantry.

  Mercedes loved children. She had many of her own fathered by the porters, gardeners and chauffeurs of Hurlingham so that they ran wild about the streets like mongrel dogs not really belonging to anyone. With great pride she would entertain the twins for hours, unlocking for them the mysteries of the kitchen but she learned very quickly that while Leonora enjoyed the whole culinary process from pastry to presentation, Alicia bored easily and only liked the icing and the decoration. Mercedes didn’t hesitate to shake her brown finger at Alicia when she attempted to spoil her sister’s creations while Loro squawked ‘mala niña ja ja ja mala niña!’ at the back of the room with glee, watching through ebony eyes as Alicia retaliated by turning on her astonishing charm and throwing her arms around the maid’s thick waist, feigning love; Alicia loved no one but herself.

  Much to the relief of many people in Hurlingham Phyllida Bates passed away in April 1960. Only a small number of people attended the funeral and only because they felt they should, or, as in Charlo Blythe’s case, because they sensed their own mortality lurking in the lengthening autumn shadows and believed that by proving themselves virtuous and pious they might hold it at bay for a little while longer. Phyllida’s decrepit body had finally succumbed to the corrosion of her venomous blood, collapsing into a heap of leathery skin and dry bones. There was so little of her left that the coffin carrying her was unusually small and light. Phyllida’s passing interested no one except the six-year-old Alicia who was fascinated by death and the dark allure it exuded. She hovered by the gate in her school pinafore, her eyes wide with curiosity as the sombre procession left the church. She sniffed the thick scent of lilies that mingled with the sweet smell of death and felt a cold thrill tingle her spine. ‘Come away, darling,’ hissed her mother, who held Leonora tightly by the hand, ‘let them mourn in peace.’

  ‘They’re not mourning,’ she said and grinned without taking her eyes off the solemn scene being played out before her.

  ‘Of course they are, Alicia,’ replied her mother indulgently.

  ‘Then why is the Colonel stroking Mrs Blythe’s bottom?’ Audrey raised her eyes into the churchyard and saw, to her horror, that her child was right. The Colonel’s withered hand was unmistakeably caressing the skinny behind of his wife.

  ‘He’s not stroking it, darling, he’s rubbing it better. She fell on it,’ said Audrey hastily, striding over and pulling her mischievous child away from the fence.

  ‘Well then, it’s working,’ she said and giggled. ‘Because Mrs Blythe’s smiling.’

  To Cecil’s dismay Alicia’s teachers were constantly complaining about her behaviour. They claimed she was too clever for her own good, that she disrupted the class and that she was unkind to the smaller children. In fact, they declared in exasperation, shrugging their shoulders, they weren’t able to cope with her at all. Consequently Cecil decided to involve himself more in the disciplining of his daughter and even resorted to smacking her once or twice when she answered him back with a defiance that astounded him. Such boldness in a child of six was inexcusable. But nothing seemed to work, she was spoilt beyond repair. Her charm might work on her mother and aunts, he thought, but it won’t work on me.

  Audrey refused to believe that a daughter of hers could be anything but perfect. Alicia would sob in her arms, whimpering pathetically that her father was a beast and that she didn’t love him at all, only her mother, whom she adored and with a trembling hand she’d wipe away those crocodile tears, that when needed, came as fast and easily as the garden sprinkler. Audrey would hold her little girl close and remember those nine months of carrying her and promise that she would talk to her father and the teachers and explain that she was just an exuberant, well-intentioned child who was simply too young to control such a formidable nature. Audrey maintained that with a bit of discipline Alicia would develop into an exceptional young woman. But the problem only worsened. They were forced to take her out of school and find a new one. Audrey blamed the teachers, Cecil blamed Alicia and Alicia blamed everyone but herself.

  Leonora suffered because of her sister’s rebelliousness. She too had to change schools. She cried genuine tears because she missed her friends and her favourite teacher, Miss Amy, who was deeply fond of the sweet little girl who never arrived at school empty-handed but came armed with a piece of fruit, a bunch of flowers or a slice of cake to place shyly on her teacher’s desk. She still climbed into her mother’s bed for comfort, shunting her father back into the dressing room where his own bed was still warm from those early years of exile. Finally Cecil realized that there was only one thing to be done, and he was going to be most unpopular for suggesting it.
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  ‘I want to discuss the girls’ education with you,’ he said to his wife one evening, pouring himself a glass of brandy. It was wintertime; the days were short, gobbled up into the nights that descended early and without warning. The twins were in bed wrapped in blankets and their mother’s unconditional love while outside it was cold and blustery and hostile. Audrey smiled at her husband and put down her book.

  ‘I think Alicia’s settling nicely into her new school and Leonora is accepting that nothing in life stays the same. A valuable lesson, I believe,’ she replied happily.

  ‘I disagree. There’s only one thing that will sort Alicia out and teach her to respect her elders.’

  ‘What might that be?’

  Cecil hesitated because he knew that what he was about to suggest would ignite a terrible row and he hated the thought of upsetting his wife. He braced himself then fixed her with his pale blue eyes and said quickly and decisively, ‘I want them to have a proper English education.’

  Audrey froze. For a moment she lost her mind. She just stared at him in disbelief, crushed by her husband’s insensitivity and unable to find the words to object.

  ‘A proper English education?’ she mumbled finally after a long and awkward pause.

  ‘An English education, in England,’ he said and watched her features contort. ‘The education is simply not good enough here,’ he continued, unable to meet her eyes that blinked back at him in terror. ‘I think they should board at Colehurst House where my sister Cicely went. There’s nothing in the world like an English education.’

  ‘They’re children,’ she replied slowly in a strangled voice. ‘They’re six years old.’

  ‘Oh, good God, I’m not suggesting we send them away now. No, no, my dear, they won’t go until they’re ten. I wouldn’t spring something like this on you out of the blue.’

  ‘Ten?’ She pulled her cardigan about her shoulders. Gathering together her wits she added slowly and carefully, ‘You can’t do this to me, Cecil. I won’t let you.’ She knew of a few families who sent their children away to be educated in England and when they came back they were strangers with new mannerisms, new accents, new expressions. She wouldn’t allow it.

  ‘I feared you would take it badly. I’ve been meaning to discuss this with you for some time.’

  ‘I see,’ she replied with forced calmness while trying desperately to keep her balance. ‘Cecil, how could you conceive of wrenching away the two people I love more than anyone else in the world?’

  Cecil turned his face away. He looked bleakly out of the window. Women are so emotional, he thought, perhaps I’ve approached this the wrong way. Then he sighed heavily, and decided on a different tack.

  ‘It is my duty as a father to do what’s best, Audrey. I don’t want to send them away any more than you do, but one has to think of their future.’ His voice was firmer now. She imagined that was the tone he had once used in the army.

  ‘The English schools here are perfectly adequate. Am I ill educated?’ She glared at him now with fury.

  Cecil lit a cigar and stood in front of the fire. ‘Your education was adequate, yes, for your day. But times are different now. The war has changed everything, not least women’s place in society. Alicia is headstrong and wilful. They simply can’t cope with her over here. She runs riot and if we don’t instil in her some sense of discipline she’ll turn into an exceedingly unattractive young woman. I’m afraid it affects Leonora too because we can’t separate them, and besides, an English education will do them both good. Leonora will benefit, gain a bit of independence and confidence. She’s far too attached to you.’ He looked directly at his wife and added, ‘It is the greatest gift that we can bestow on them. An English education is priceless.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Cecil,’ she protested. ‘I would pay whatever it cost not to send them overseas.’

  ‘The future lies in England. I didn’t plan on staying here all my life, you knew that.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we move to England?’

  ‘Not now, no, but perhaps one day. I don’t rule it out.’

  ‘But I want to be here, Cecil. I want my children to be here. We belong in the Argentine. I will not be separated from them. I will not.’ Her voice rose until she was aware that she was shouting.

  ‘Calm down, Audrey, and try to think rationally. Look at it from their point of view. You do want what’s best for them, don’t you? Or do you just want what’s best for you?’

  ‘I’m their mother. I’m what’s best for them,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘Oh, Cecil, I can’t believe you would make such a heartless suggestion. What’s come over you? Why do you want to tear our family apart?’

  ‘My dear . . .’ he began, but Audrey was too frantic to listen.

  ‘I will not let you. Do you understand? You will have to kill me first!’ she declared then added before she ran out of the room, ‘I will never forgive you.’

  Cecil was left alone in front of the fire contemplating his wife’s reaction. He hadn’t expected her to take it that badly, after all, it wasn’t unusual for Anglo-Argentines to send their children to be educated abroad. School in England, finishing school in Switzerland, it taught them self-reliance, shaped them into independent, fearless young people. It prepared them for the real world. As much as he would have liked to appease his wife he was slightly irritated at her blinkered view of her children. Alicia was a problem but Audrey wouldn’t see it that way. To her the twins were little angels whose wings were left at the marble gates of Heaven for them to pick up on their return. She didn’t doubt that they were special and different and anyone who had a bad word to say about Alicia was plainly jealous. No, Cecil was determined to stand by his decision.

  Audrey hadn’t played the piano for a long long time. But now she lifted the lid and sat with a straight back on the worn tapestry stool, placing her feet lightly on the pedals. The tears fought their way through her knitted eyelashes and trembled on her chin before falling onto the ivory keys, which now translated into music the pain in her soul. With the releasing of her emotions came the long repressed memories of Louis, dragged up out of the shadowy corners of her mind, dusted off so that his face was as vivid to her now as if she had seen him yesterday beneath the umbrella of the cherry tree in the orchard in Canning Street. She pictured his sandy hair, always unbrushed and tousled, his intense blue eyes with their distant and wandering gaze, his full lips and crooked smile that she had kissed so many times and his long, pale fingers that twitched nervously by his side as if constantly touching the keys of an imaginary piano. Her heart yearned for him now with such intensity that the piano began to shudder beneath the weight of her tormented spirit. She had lost Isla and she had lost Louis, now she was on the verge of losing her children. She felt powerless. But the music had a soothing effect. She swayed on her stool, slowly moved her head from side to side, breathed deeply from the pit of her abdomen and let the anchor that attached her mind to reality lose its grip and release her into the limitless world of dreams.

  Chapter 13

  Audrey now faced the toughest challenge of her life. Outwardly she had to support her husband when inwardly her resentment grew like a tumour on her heart. She clung to her daughters with the determination of a drowning woman, living every moment of every week, month and year as if each day were her last. England loomed on the horizon growing bigger and blacker like the dark spray of a waterfall as the inevitable force of time carried her and her children towards it and their certain doom. Yet, she knew the only way to lessen the shock of their imminent future was to talk about England and boarding school as if it were the quaint land of rolling green hills and old-fashioned villages, of Angela Brazil’s novels about schoolgirls and teams, midnight feasts and adventure. She was so brilliant at weaving a colourful tapestry that even Leonora was gripped with excitement and longed to be ten.

  ‘We’re going to school in England next year,’ said Alicia to Mercedes as she scooped a large dollop of dulce de leche from
the pot on the stove with her finger. Mercedes fed the parrot sunflower seeds through the bars of his cage. ‘Gracias,’ he squawked after each offering because he knew such politeness guaranteed him more.

  ‘That’s a long way to go to get an education, niña,’ she said in her slow, flat drawl, thinking the whole idea preposterous. ‘Besides, too much knowledge is a bad thing.’ Mercedes always saw the negative side of everything.

  ‘Daddy says that an English education is the best in the world,’ she explained.

  ‘Look at me,’ said Mercedes, opening the cage door to allow Loro to hop about the kitchen. ‘My mother taught me how to cook and my grandmother taught me how to pray. Cooking has won me many a good man, praying has earned me forgiveness for such transgressions. What more does a woman need to know? You’ll marry and have children whether you know the earth is round and rotating or not. Either way it won’t stop turning.’

  ‘We’ll stay with Aunt Cicely in the holidays. She has an enormous house. It’s a castle, I think. Probably haunted, you wouldn’t like it, Merchi, you don’t like ghosts.’

  ‘I don’t mind ghosts as long as they keep themselves to themselves. My late husband is the only ghost I object to because he still considers it his right to share my bed forty years after he died in it.’ Loro scratched his depleted green feather coat then used his claws to climb up the stool where Alicia sat licking her toffee fingers.

  ‘Why is Loro losing his feathers?’ she asked, watching him move across to pick at the buttons on her dress.

  ‘Because he’s lonely,’ replied Mercedes. She pouted her thick lips and added, ‘That’s no reason to let himself go. I’ve been lonely all my life and I take good care of myself. You never know . . .’

  ‘Why don’t you marry Oscar?’

  Mercedes wasn’t surprised by the child’s question. It had crossed her mind many times. Not because she liked the look of him but because it would be nice to have a permanent relationship. She was getting too old to take lovers and besides, sex wasn’t as good as it used to be when she had had the energy to enjoy it and a slimmer, firmer body to be proud of. It was companionship she craved nowadays.