At last she said, ‘I recognize some things but it’s mainly quite different.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied truthfully to Christina’s anxious question seeking her approval. It wasn’t what she would choose for herself but it was nice. ‘It’s soothing.’
‘I’m so pleased you think so. That was what we had aimed for, Francis and I, Joe’s father. Shall we go into the sitting room? Would you like some tea, Beth, and cake?’
Beth suddenly became aware of how fast her heart was beating, how her blood was whooshing through the whole network of her veins at just being inside Owles House again. Her throat was as dry as ashes. ‘That would be nice.’ It would be interesting to discover how well her mother could bake. ‘But if you’d like, we could all go into the kitchen and sit round the table. It would save you trotting about on your bad leg.’ Beth wasn’t exactly being thoughtful. She just did not relish being alone temporarily with the boy, the snotty young thing. His eyes were on her relentlessly. He was waiting his chance to bait her, to give cause for her to be sent packing and for his mother to be glad of it. Beth wouldn’t allow that. She was Christina’s first child, and Christina owed Beth for what she had done to her – or rather for what she had not done, been a good, loving, nurturing mother.
‘Oh, yes, that’s very good of you, Beth.’ Christina beamed her a warm smile. This seemed to be going better than she’d imagined, beyond all that she had hoped for.
The company trailed on through the hall then forked off to the left-hand side of the staircase to the short passage that led into the spacious kitchen. Joe made a production of pulling out the nearest chair for Beth at the long linen-covered table. ‘Do take a seat. We’ll have the things ready in a jiffy.’
Beth couldn’t help being impressed by the boy’s aptitude about the kitchen. It was practically unheard of for a male of any age to lift a finger in the house, especially in the kitchen. Helping Christina wasn’t a ruse to give him an air of superiority for the occasion. Joe did it to make things easier for her and he actually seemed to enjoy it. They were a team, moving as one as the tea was made in a Royal Worcester teapot and placed on the table. Joe went to the refrigerator and poured himself a tumbler of milk. Devouring their every action and natural interaction from the table, Beth felt like a child again abandoned in the night, left out. Another passion surged through her, jealousy. Why hadn’t her young life been like Joe’s was? Why hadn’t her wretched mother done little everyday things like this with her? She had not been important to Christina. The only company she’d had in this kitchen, refurnished on crisp modern lines, was with Mrs Reseigh.
Beth felt the eyes of a guard on her. The German Shepherd had settled its big sleek body between her and the Vyvyans. Tears hung heavy behind Beth’s eyes. I’m not the bad one here, the uncaring monster. It was all so damned unfair. But she had to behave like an interested visitor or she would be sent away, rather than being the one choosing to leave again, this time for ever. ‘Does Mrs Reseigh still work here?’
‘Oh yes,’ Christina said, looking avidly at Beth while lifting the protective net covers off the sponge cake and plate of biscuits. ‘I couldn’t manage without her. She’s been a treasure. She kept in touch with me and even visited me throughout my drying-out treatment. She took Cleo in until I returned home and was well enough to cope with her. She even stayed here with me during my first week home.’ Christina gave a sort of grim smile and then glanced at Joe. They joined Beth at the table.
Christina went on, ‘I’ve kept nothing from Joe so you can speak freely, Beth. He knows all about how I left you alone that winter’s day. How I’d left the house in a drink-fuddled haze and ended up unconscious in the woods after wandering off the cliff path. It was Joe’s father Francis, helping in the search, who found me. Eventually, I wrote to thank him. When I was well, love grew between us and we got married.’ At the last word she looked down, a little bewildered, not sure what to say or do next.
‘Why don’t you pour the tea, Mum?’ Joe said softly.
His encouraging words were enough. Christina rallied. ‘Yes! Let’s have tea. How do you like yours, Beth? Please help yourself to a slice of cake or biscuits, whichever you prefer. Or both, of course.’ It was a jolly, nervy invitation.
‘I like my tea medium strong with milk, thank you. The cake looks delicious.’ It truly did, yellow and plump and oozing with raspberry preserve and cream, the top dusted with icing sugar. Beth wanted to regain the upper hand. ‘Shall I serve you first, Joe? I bet you’re looking forward to the cake, and a second helping.’
‘Absolutely.’ Joe smiled, his grin wider than necessary. Chaplin was edging into his side and he was automatically stroking the dog’s broad neck. ‘I helped to make it, you know.’
‘Really? How clever.’ Using the silver cake slice Beth lifted a pre-cut wedge of the feast on to a bone china plate and handed it to Joe. He took it with a polite ‘Thank you.’ A typically ravenous boy, however, he was already clutching his cake fork.
She turned to her mother. ‘Shall I do the same for you, Mrs Vyvyan?’
‘Oh, would you mind cutting off a half slice for me, please?’ Christina replied, looking pleased at Beth’s friendliness.
‘Mum’s got a rather delicate tummy,’ Joe interjected, adding pointedly, ‘She needs a bit of looking after.’
‘Don’t make me sound like an old lady, Joe.’ Christina pinked with embarrassment. ‘Would you like sugar in your tea, Beth?’ Using the tiny silver tongs – Beth remembered these with their ornate arms – she took one sugar lump from the matching bowl and dropped it into her tea. ‘Thank you.’
She had just taken her first bite of cake when Joe asked, ‘What do you think of what Mum told you just now?’ Brat! Beth thought. She couldn’t answer until she had chewed and swallowed the cake and she would seem rudely quiet.
She had barely consumed the mouthful when she gave a small shriek. Something had been thrown on to her lap. What had the wretched boy done to her? Her first reaction was to rail at him but she would have to laugh off his prank. It would work in her favour if Christina sent him from the room. She was getting nowhere with him here.
‘What is it?’ Christina clattered down her cake fork in alarm.
‘I don’t know.’ Beth gritted her teeth, trying to smile. She would have pushed out her chair but the thing on her lap was quite heavy and it was moving. She felt sharp needles digging through her dress and into her legs. She screamed. Chaplin was up on his feet and barking loudly. ‘What are you doing to me?’ Beth cried at Joe, who to her mind was feigning bewilderment.
Joe leapt up and lifted the linen tablecloth from Beth’s side of the table. His hands reached down for the source of the disturbance, his sturdy young face brimming with amusement. ‘It’s Charlie. It’s only my cat. Sorry, Beth.’ He was grinning and then he was laughing; it was outrageously funny to see this disdainful, vengeful woman red-faced and fit to burst and getting her ‘bloomers in a twist’, as he planned to tell Richard Opie later in the day, when he joined him from down in the cove. ‘Charlie’s a devil. He wants to sit there and it’s his way of telling you to get off the chair.’
‘Joe, take the cat off Beth at once,’ Christina ordered, horrified for Beth.
‘I’m about to,’ he said, ready to scoop up the slant-eyed culprit.
‘It’s all right.’ Beth pushed Joe’s hands away. ‘I love cats. Charlie can stay. I’ll just unhook his claws. I’ve had two of my own, a tabby called Tufty and a black one called Velvet.’
While Joe looked nonplussed, Christina said, ‘Are you sure, Beth?’
‘Absolutely.’ Beth smiled very sweetly at Joe. He shrugged his shoulders and Beth was sure he was re-evaluating her.
Joe flopped back down easily in his seat and attacked his cake. ‘Silly names for cats,’ he muttered.
Beth smiled. Got you.
Christina smiled. This is going well so far; thank God.
The company sipped
and ate. While Joe, forgetting his manners, gobbled down a butterscotch biscuit, he eyed the rest of the cake. ‘Oh no you don’t, young man,’ Christina said, ‘you can take some more cake to share with Richard this afternoon. Richard is his best chum, Beth.’
Beth was tickled as Joe’s dark complexion clouded over. He had just been embarrassed, a horror for a boy his age and particularly so for a boy trying to act with the sternness of a grown man.
‘Did you and Miss Copeland spend a comfortable night, Beth?’ Christina shone her full attention on her.
‘I didn’t sleep much,’ Beth said truthfully, making the point that she had inevitably had a lot on her mind. ‘Kitty slept like a log, as she always does. We’re staying at Mor Penty.’
‘Really?’ Christina was thrilled at Beth offering the information. She seemed to be unravelling some of her animosity. ‘When I could walk that far I often used to walk the cliff path and cut off for the lane and go down on the beach. The cottage has been beautifully brought up to date. Will you be staying there for a while?’ she asked, hope forming in her heart. It had been her dream since her recovery to be reunited with her daughter.
Beth gazed down, deep in thought, then lifted her head and faced Christina directly. ‘I’ve come down here to learn all about my childhood, to find out all the whys and wherefores concerning you during that time. My father too, I know little about him. My grandmother said he was a good man, she always seemed fond of him, but I remember him as always being remote. I spent my earliest years mainly without love. It was pretty dreadful. Then I went through that terrible time of fleeing in fear from here in the dark. Now that I’m here and I’ve met you again, now I’ve learned that you have a son, and have met Joe, I don’t think I can leave and go forward with my life unless I learn the whole truth.’
‘I understand, Beth. Your mind must be in even bigger turmoil,’ Christina said quietly.
‘Don’t speak like that, Mum, like you’re ashamed,’ Joe blurted out, jumping up and going to her, wrapping his arms round her shoulders. Chaplin went with him. ‘None of it was really your fault. And you can’t tell her everything anyway. Your illness blocked out a lot of your memory. The doctor says you may never remember it all and it might be detrimental if you do.’
Christina went rigid and pale.
‘See?’ Joe turned on Beth, who had blinked and gasped at the suddenness of his tirade. ‘See what your coming here has done to her? My mother is fragile. There’s many things she is nervous about, so many things that she’s not up to any more, like facing people. She hardly ever leaves these grounds unless it’s for my sake. This house is her refuge from life’s ills and cruelty She’s suffered enough. She doesn’t need you raking up old scores. She’s genuinely sorry that you went through a rotten time but she can’t take it back. I’m sorry about it too. You’ve seen for yourself what a wonderful mother she is to me. Don’t you think if she could have been different when you lived here she would have been? What good will it do anyone raking up the past? You might learn things that will make your life even harder. Have you thought of that, Elizabeth Tresaile?’
‘Beth…’ Christina raised a hand helplessly, her chest rising and falling with the rapid beating of her heart.
Beth had clenched her hands together. She hadn’t known what to prepare herself for when first deciding at home in Wiltshire to come here, but she could never have envisaged being thrown into emotional turmoil by a feisty young half-brother. A boy who had succeeded in making her, of all things, feel some guilt about her quest. Easing the cat off her lap she got up and looked at her pale, teary-eyed, quivering mother and her angry, indignant brother. ‘I concede that you have a point, Joe. I – I need to go away and think about it. Perhaps I should leave Portcowl.’
Heavy tears of despair funnelled down Christina’s face, making streams in her make-up. She shook her head desolately and mouthed soundlessly, ‘Please don’t go, Beth.’
Beth had to get away or the echoes of the past – of angry voices, shattering ornaments and slamming doors – might break in. She pictured her young self putting her hands over her ears to shut out the terrifying sounds. There was no Cleo to run to now, no Mrs Reseigh or old Mr Jewell to shrink to for comfort. She had never felt so alone and she needed to be with Kitty. And the echoes of Joe’s rant were spinning round inside her head.
Beth looked at Joe. He was serious now and seemed so sad. He had taken a lot on his young shoulders, for years it seemed, another child whose formative years were affected by Christina’s weaknesses. He was wise beyond his years, wiser than she was, and at that moment he had the courage she lacked. She had leaned on self-righteousness and gone about this wrongly from the start. It was such a profound realization she felt all her energy seep out of her. If she left here now she knew she would never come back and that would be the worst thing she could do. And, she had to admit, it would not be fair to Christina and Joe. They all needed to talk.
‘I’m sorry for upsetting you both,’ she said quite breathlessly. ‘Would you mind if I sat back down?’
Seven
It was such a big empty bed. Lying in the middle of it Christina felt all the debilitating loneliness and abandonment of being cast adrift miles and miles out at sea, a dot of meaningless humanity, just a scrap of flotsam. She moved swiftly to what had been Francis’s side of the bed. She felt safe here, where his tall stocky body had lain beside her. Francis had slept the sleep of angels, calm, never restless, and every night she had moved in against his warm strong back or into his arms. Any fears or worries she’d had would instantly disappear, and although sleep never willingly claimed her, she rested in his might and devoted protection.
‘Do what you can easily manage each day, darling, and leave the rest to me,’ Francis would say, holding her, lovingly caressing her. ‘And no worrying ahead, do you hear me? That’s my job. You just look after yourself and our precious little boy. Whatever happens, I’ll always be here taking care of you both.’
But fate had cruelly stolen his vow. Francis had been the manager of a prestige boat-building yard a little further down the coast. Also a working craftsman, he had been proud of all the finished boats, from punts and fishing luggers to gigs and sailing yachts. Every so often he had liked to take to the waters alone in his own small engine-powered boat, Firefly. ‘To clear the wood shavings out of my brain,’ he had laughed.
Three years ago, in the spring of 1924, Francis had set out on a calm early morning and never returned. The crew of the Portcowl fishing boat Our Lily were the last to see him and he had waved happily to them; the lugger had been heading out to long-line for ray down towards the Lizard. Just after midday his boat was found abandoned and drifting, the engine still alive and puttering gently. A week later Francis’s body was washed up on shore in between inaccessible rocks near Gorran Haven. With the spot too dangerous to approach by sea, Francis’s body had been retrieved and brought up by the coastguard. What was left of Francis’s clothes, his wedding ring and St Christopher medal, a present from Christina to keep him safe, had been the means to identify him. It had ended Christina and Joe’s desperate hopes that he had been washed up somewhere alive, perhaps not knowing who he was.
The hammering reverberations of her heart-torn howl at the news, brought to her by a gentle committee of a senior coastguard officer, Dr Powell, the Reverend Oakley and Mrs Reseigh, still echoed inside Christina’s head almost every day and her grief would be renewed. Strangely the grief didn’t thrust her under and threaten to take her back towards the mental institution. Francis had left her with the purpose and the strength to carry on. Joe. Although with many a struggle, she had done so, as Francis would have wanted. Francis was very much part of the woman Christina now was. ‘I’ll never leave you, Christina,’ Francis had promised her. ‘If anything ever happens to me I’ll always be here for you, my darling, watching over you, loving you. If you look out to sea, I’ll be there. If you look up at the sky any time, day or night, I’ll be there. I’ll be out in
the gardens, on the cliffs, and inside this house. You can trust me.’
Christina believed his vow, believed it so strongly she talked to Francis all the time. Right now, she had clasped to her chest the bedside photograph of him, a handsome shot of his head and shoulders. His St Christopher medal was wound round her hand. She lifted the plainly framed photograph above the bedcovers and kissed Francis’s smiling image.
She repeated the words she had spoken hours earlier to the image, soon after Beth had left the house. ‘She came back, darling. You were right in your belief that Beth would one day seek me out again. She’s so lovely but so sad. She has a lot on her mind, much more than wanting to know all she can about her childhood, and me, that’s for sure. A mother knows these things. She’s not well. I thought she was going to faint. Dear Joe, he’s really suspicious of her because he’s worried about me, but he was quite understanding when Beth asked if she could sit down again after he had spoken harshly to her.’
Christina gave a little chuckle. ‘At least he was impressed that Beth likes Charlie, and Chaplin too. When Joe came down off his high horse with Beth he plied her with more tea, cake and biscuits. “To build yourself up, you are a little thin,” he said, bless him. Chaplin nuzzled Beth cautiously and she made a lot of fuss of him. I think Chaplin made her think wistfully about Cleo. Joe said he’d take her to see Cleo’s grave, if she liked. That will happen tomorrow. Beth is coming here to spend the whole day, to give her and me plenty of time to talk. I’ll tell Beth about the other grave, of course. I hope it won’t be too much of a shock for her.
Leaving Shades Page 7