The Forget-Me-Not Sonata

by Santa Montefiore

  Florien settled happily into married life but the shadow of Alicia lingered in the corners to remind him of his betrayal and his lust which had never completely died. Leonora had been hurt that Alicia hadn’t said goodbye and was saddened that for some reason she hadn’t come down to Dorset to see them. But she never said a word against her. She made excuses and laughed off her sister’s carelessness. Florien wondered how generous she’d be if she knew of Alicia’s betrayal. He didn’t have the heart or the will to tell her, even though confessing would have made him feel better.

  When Florien was on the point of despairing that his obsession with Alicia would never abate, Leonora fell pregnant. He relished her growing belly and the bounce in her step that conveyed her happiness. He grew protective. Worried that her work in the garden might damage their child he forbade her to carry anything that weighed more than a chicken. Audrey began to knit baby bootees from her mother’s own patterns that she sent her and Rose, after having vowed never to knit again after the war, made an exception for Leonora and started clicking those needles once more. Grace put her hand on her sister’s stomach and foretold the birth of a little boy. No one doubted her, so the bootees were knitted in blue.

  When Audrey told Alicia the news she fumed for a week before she could muster up the courage to drive down to Dorset to congratulate her sister. She arrived at her aunt’s house and made her way around the back to the field where Leonora’s immaculately kept caravan stood, a picture of pastoral simplicity. To her surprise she wasn’t met by Leonora but by Florien who was busy weaving a Moses basket for his baby. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice her until she was almost upon him, casting a cold shadow across the grass. He looked up and his face suddenly flushed crimson. ‘I came to see Leo,’ she said crisply. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘At your parents’ house,’ he replied, blinking up at her in bewilderment.

  ‘I suppose I should congratulate you too. How did you do it?’ She looked down at him loftily.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Were you thinking of me when you made love to her?’

  Florien put his tools down and stood up, astonished by her sudden outburst.

  ‘Go back to London and take your bitterness with you,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll go to Mummy’s house and tell them all about our secret rendezvous last summer. Or would that ruin your happy marriage?’

  ‘What do you want, Alicia?’ His question startled her, because she didn’t really know.

  ‘I thought you wanted to have your cake and eat it,’ she retorted defensively, her face softening into a sly smile. ‘You haven’t forgotten what it feels like to make love to me, have you?’ She was pleased to see a spark of desire glimmer in his eyes like the dormant embers of a fire.

  ‘I’m very happy with Leonora. You and I were over a long time ago.’

  ‘But you still dream about me.’ Florien was disarmed by the sudden change in her tone. She was right, he did still dream about her. He often awoke in the early hours of the morning drenched in sweat and self-loathing that he could allow this monstrous woman to possess him like she did.

  Florien shook his head and sat down again. Picking up his tools he began to work on the basket. ‘I think you should go,’ he said quietly, without looking up at her. ‘You’ve outstayed your welcome.’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ she said with a giggle and she walked back down the field aware that his eyes were on her and the glimmer in them was brighter than ever.

  In March Leonora and Florien moved into Aunt Cicely’s house for the caravan was too cold and cramped for the mother-to-be and there was no telephone in case she went into labour in the middle of the night. Aunt Cicely’s house wasn’t much warmer but at least it was larger and all their meals were cooked for them. Cecil had managed to persuade them to rent one of Aunt Cicely’s cottages once the baby arrived. ‘A caravan is no place to bring up a child,’ he had said. Leonora had been disappointed until her mother had suggested she put the caravan in the garden for the child to use as a playhouse. ‘Grace adores the little house Cecil made for her,’ she added.

  ‘I think I’m in labour,’ said Leonora to Florien. It was six in the evening and she was running a hot bath. She placed her hand on her naked belly and smiled up at him. ‘I’ve had mild pains all day, but now they’re coming more regularly. Every four to five minutes. I’ve been counting.’

  ‘Shall I call the midwife?’ Florien asked, panicking that the baby was due imminently and not having the courage to deliver it himself.

  ‘Tell her labour has started, but it’ll be hours yet,’ she replied calmly. ‘All first babies are slow in coming, so I’m told.’

  ‘Should you have a bath?’

  ‘Of course,’ Leonora grinned at him lovingly and touched his anxious face. ‘I’m fine. I’m excited. Our baby is announcing himself.’

  ‘Well, I hope he doesn’t come before the midwife!’

  ‘He won’t,’ she said, patting her stomach. ‘He’s a long way off coming yet.’

  ‘I’ll tell Aunt Cicely and call your mother, too.’

  Leonora climbed into the bath and let the warm water ease the pain of the contractions. By the time Audrey arrived they were coming every three minutes. Leonora had been taught how to breathe with the pain and panted away on the bed, holding her mother’s hand, while Florien paced about the bedroom in a state of nervousness until the midwife arrived. Mary was a soft-spoken, spongy-bodied Irish woman with a wide-open face and reassuring smile. ‘There now, nothing to worry about, I’m here and it’s all going to be all right,’ she said in dulcet tones. When the waters finally broke Aunt Cicely and Audrey left the room at Leonora’s request. They patted her on her hand and wished her luck, both looking as worried as she. Florien was about to leave too when Leonora’s frightened voice called him back. ‘Don’t leave me, Florien. We’re going to go through this together.’ So Florien stayed. At first he felt powerless. The contractions intensified and each time he watched his wife’s body seized by agonizing spasms he held onto her, desperate to alleviate her suffering but knowing there was nothing he could do but give passive support. However, as labour progressed he soon felt needed as she gripped him around his middle and cried out into his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her head and stroked her hair, feeling as never before such intensity of love and despair. ‘You’re so brave,’ he said, kissing her temple. ‘You’re so brave.’ The hours passed rapidly as they lurched from contraction to contraction until she was barely able to breathe as the tail end of the last merged with the beginning of the next.

  If the contractions had been bad, nothing could have prepared them for the hour and a half of pushing, for as eager as the child was to break out into the world, he was too busy chewing on his fingers to notice that they were holding him up. Leonora pushed and prayed and cried out in desperation while Florien wept, visualizing out of fear the death of them both. When the little boy finally appeared, all red and blue and shivering, they both wept again, overwhelmed with awe and reverence for the miracle of life.

  Mary wrapped him up in a towel and placed him in the arms of his mother. Florien was still trembling from what had most certainly been the most harrowing experience of his life. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his finger in the grip of his son’s tiny hand. ‘Look, my love, he’s holding onto me.’ Leonora’s face flushed with surprise and joy for Florien had never called her by anything other than her name before.

  ‘You called me “my love”,’ she said, leaning her head against him.

  He nuzzled his face into her hair and kissed her. ‘That is because you are my love,’ he replied in a hoarse voice. ‘I have never loved you as much as I love you now. But more than that I admire you. You were so brave and strong. You’ve brought my son into the world and we shall love him and care for him and give him the best that we can give. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.’

  ‘Nor me,’ she whispered, bending to kiss the baby’s da
mp face. ‘Nothing will ever be as important to me as my child.’

  ‘What shall we call him?’

  ‘What would you like to call him?’

  ‘Panazel, after my father.’

  Leonora smiled. ‘Little Panazel.’ She sighed and kissed him again. ‘You shall be blessed with your grandfather’s name. You’re a very special little boy.’

  The next time Alicia wrenched herself out of her frenetic social scheming to drive down to Dorset, Leonora and Florien had settled into their new cottage. Little Panazel was asleep in his Moses basket in a bedroom that smelt of lavender and talc and Leonora was bustling about the house transforming it into a warm home. Florien met her at the door which he was painting white. To her dismay her brother-in-law smiled at her with the coolness of a distant friend. The glimmer of desire was now extinguished, never to be rekindled, and Alicia knew that Leonora had somehow managed to conquer his rebellious heart. ‘Go on up and see him,’ he said with a smile. ‘He’s the sweetest of all God’s creatures.’

  ‘I hear you’re calling him Panazel,’ she said.

  ‘After my father and grandfather. Although he no longer lives in a caravan he’s got gypsy blood running through his veins.’

  Leonora was delighted to see her sister and embraced her heartily, throwing her arms around her and squeezing her. ‘Where have you been?’ she cried. ‘You must come up and see Panazel.’ Alicia followed her sister up the stairs, noticing at once that she was far from getting her figure back. She still looked as if she were pregnant. This gave Alicia a small feeling of satisfaction, but it was short lived. The moment she laid eyes on her nephew she felt as if a hand had suddenly gripped her about the heart. Crouching down she looked into the basket. Sleeping with the contentment of a well-loved baby, Panazel was more beautiful than any other baby she had ever seen. His skin was pale and translucent, glowing with a delicate sheen. His eyes were closed but she could see the rich brown eyelashes that were sweeping and long and his lips were generous and pink, breaking every now and again into a subconscious smile.

  ‘He’s adorable,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You’re so lucky.’ For the first time in her life she realized that Leonora had everything that she wished she had for herself. Mercedes had been right and her words came back over the decades to remind her of her own delusions. ‘Leonora will find happiness because her features won’t deceive anyone.’ Alicia’s features had deceived many, but no one more than herself.

  Chapter 32

  The following eight years were a joy for Leonora, a blur for Alicia and a continuous adventure for Grace, who was enchanted and curious about everything her small world had to offer. When she announced that she had won a place at Trinity College Dublin no one was more surprised than her mother, who had always believed her to be more interested in fairies than academia. ‘Philosophy has a lot to do with fairies,’ replied Grace, smiling at her mother in amusement.

  ‘But it’s so far away,’ she lamented.

  ‘A short plane ride, Mummy. I can even fly home for the weekend.’

  But Audrey’s concerns weren’t only for the distance. Louis lived in Dublin.

  ‘Trinity College Dublin,’ enthused Aunt Cicely, who was now Mrs Anthony Fitzherbert after marrying the neighbouring landowner who had bought her farm the year after the gypsies left. Anthony, a jovial, kind-hearted man who always wore tweed and cashmere, had given her back her youth, her belief in love and her much beloved farm. She now smiled with the resignation of a woman who has walked through the flames of love and emerged with her heart singed but still beating, grateful for the affection of a less passionate but truer man. ‘How utterly wonderful. Dublin’s a beautiful city. You’ll love it.’ She paused from brushing one of the dogs to pick the hair out of the bristles, which she then tossed onto the grass. ‘Makes good nesting material for birds. Shame the nest-building moment has passed. They’re all flying about now.’

  ‘Have you been there?’ Grace asked, stretching out on the lawn to sun herself.

  ‘Yes, twice in fact. To see your Uncle Louis.’

  ‘Uncle Louis?’

  ‘You know, that odd uncle of yours that no one talks about.’

  ‘The one who taught Leonora to play the piano?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. The mad one.’

  ‘What’s he doing in Dublin?’ Grace had always been aware that her father had a brother, but his name was rarely mentioned and there were no photographs of him anywhere, except the black and white print on Aunt Cicely’s piano.

  ‘He was Director of Music for many years. He’s retired now. Lives in the College. Grace and favour and all that.’

  ‘What does he do all day?’

  ‘Shout at people, I suspect.’ Aunt Cicely laughed, recalling his rudeness and began to brush the dog again. ‘He’s a cantankerous old thing. But if you’re interested, you can pay him a visit. Surprise the life out of him.’

  ‘Why doesn’t anyone see him? He’s family after all.’

  Cicely sat back and stared into the half-distance, trying to find the right words. ‘He fell out with your father. Many years ago. Before you were born. I don’t know what it was about. He was living with your parents in the Argentine at one time. He loved your mother’s sister, Isla, who died rather tragically of meningitis at a very young age. I don’t think your mother’s ever got over that. Come to think of it, I don’t think Louis has either.’

  ‘Is he older than you and Daddy?’

  ‘No, eight years younger than your father. If Cecil’s sixty-five now, Louis must be fifty-seven or thereabouts. But he seems much older. He’s had a rather unhappy life. He’s not like other people. But perhaps you’ll soften him up. It’ll do him good.’

  ‘Didn’t he marry?’

  ‘I never believed it was possible to love just one person for your entire life. I never subscribed to that kind of romance. But,’ she sighed heavily and a little wistfully. ‘Louis has loved one woman all his life. He’s never got over her. He never looked at another.’

  ‘That’s so sad. Everyone deserves to love and be loved back. Without that the world wouldn’t turn.’

  Aunt Cicely laughed. She never quite understood Grace. ‘You can go and cheer him up. You two will get on like a house on fire, you’re both up there in the clouds somewhere. Funny you haven’t already met.’

  ‘Mummy doesn’t want me to go.’

  ‘That’s because your sisters were sent away to school over here. Your mother suffered terribly over that, but your father believed he was giving them the best education money could buy. He was right too. If Leonora hadn’t come here she would never have met Florien and look how happy they are. That little Panazel is a dream. I could put him between two slices of bread and eat him up. Utterly charming little fellow. Mischievous too. I love him to pieces. His brother and sister are adorable as well, but I’ll always have a soft spot for Panazel. He was born in my house, you see. So I feel I have claim to him.’

  ‘You know Alicia’s never going to be happy,’ Grace said darkly.

  Aunt Cicely paused her brush again. ‘Darling, you mustn’t say such things.’

  ‘Oh, I would never tell Alicia, or Mummy. I made that mistake once when I was very little with my cousin Nelly. She never spoke to me again. But I just know that she won’t. She’s chasing the impossible. Reaching for a cloud that she can never hold on to. Not even Alicia can pin down a cloud.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll settle down one day.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll have many lovers. But no one will be good enough. She’ll always be discontent. It’s beginning to show on her face.’

  Once again Grace was right. Alicia’s personality was beginning to seep into her features like a canker, pulling them down and drawing in her mouth so that she looked constantly pinched. Still beautiful but cold. Whereas Leonora grew more lovely as each day passed. She wasn’t slim or glamorous but earthy and radiant like a ripe peach. She brought up her three children with love and enthusiasm, teaching them about
God’s great garden that was so close to her heart. They helped her gather the apples and plums, blackberries and sloes to sell in the market in town and in the summertime they’d picnic by the side of the cornfields so their father could jump down from his tractor and join them before racing off to unload the combines. Their life was simple, but they had everything that they needed and the most valuable possession of all they had in abundance: love. By comparison, Alicia had nothing.

  Audrey worried the moment Grace was out of her sight. ‘She’s not like other children, Cecil, she’s a child in the body of a young woman,’ she said the night after Grace had left for Dublin. Cecil put his book down on the bed beside him and turned to face his wife.

  ‘She’s much more resilient than you think. She isn’t all fairies and angels, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I know she’s not completely in the clouds, but she’s childlike. I don’t believe she’s ready for the real world.’ She reached for her pot of hand cream from the bedside table.

  ‘She has to give it a try, for how else will she know,’ he replied, taking off his glasses.

  ‘I just want to protect her from everything.’ She pulled an apologetic smile to show that she was aware of her weakness.

  ‘And you wanted to protect Alicia and Leonora from everything too. She’s our youngest, it’s natural that you want to hold on to her.’

  ‘Do you think it’s that I don’t want her to grow up?’

  ‘You missed the twins growing up. That was my fault,’ he added in a quiet voice.

  ‘Oh, Cecil. I’m not blaming you for anything. That’s all water under the bridge.’ She patted him on the hand. ‘No, there’s something so ethereal about Grace. I feel she needs me more than the other two ever did.’

  ‘You know, Audrey,’ he said, shaking his head at her fondly. ‘You and Grace have a very touching relationship, but to tell you the truth, she’s stronger than Alicia and Leonora put together.’