by Ruth Hay
How lovely! Valerie thought. It was her deep regret that she had not had either a daughter or a close daughter-in-law to share the intimate moments women seemed to need in order to thrive in life.
She turned away with a smile on her face. Soon she would have two close friends to talk with for an entire week. What could be more wonderful?
Fully refreshed, Valerie collected her purse and went out to reacquaint herself with Grasmere village. She knew the historical landmarks, like the ancient church where the Wordsworth family worshipped and in whose graveyard they were buried. Those would be same as ever. She wandered around the twisting narrow roads, dodging visitors who stopped to look in the shop windows of a variety of boutique stores and reminding herself to beware of stepping out into the roadway and into the path of passing cars.
She soon found the café at the riverside which David had loved and was pleased to see it was unchanged. She could picture David throwing crumbs from his scone to the mallard ducks clustering down below. This special place was already on her list of ‘must see’ sites for Sandra and Corinne.
The tiny Grasmere Gingerbread shop was still selling its wares and a variety of large hotels still took up a considerable amount of the town’s real estate.
Was there anything new in Grasmere since her last visit?
She stopped to check inside another tiny place sheltering in the corner by a wall. It was a National Trust Shop. Memories returned of Dove Cottage visits and an old house at Townend, up a scary steep lane, where a coal fire always burned and everything was kept as it was in the nineteenth century.
She had let her National Trust membership lapse many years before but it was in here she found a place that could be interesting for Corinne and Sandra as well as something new for herself. A poster informed Valerie that Allan Bank had been gifted to the Trust’s care in 1920 but had only recently returned to them after a long period of rental. The house and extensive grounds were a short walk from Valerie’s hotel and she decided it would be a definite attraction to be included in the week’s outings. Valerie added Allan Bank to the list on a small notebook she carried in her purse. Her boys had always groaned when she brought out the notebook whenever they travelled together but they were frequently glad to consult her notes when arguments arose about where and when something had happened. The notebook was an old habit. It was probably redundant nowadays but old habits die hard.
Dinner at The Gold Rill commenced with hot savouries and cold drinks, served in the lounge, while guests perused the menu and made their meal selection. Valerie had managed to snatch a nap before showering and changing clothes so she felt better than expected after the plane journey and all the other items to be attended to on her first day. She found a table near the fireplace and watched the other guests, mostly in groups of four, chat about their day’s adventures which seemed to consist of climbing peaks and hiking on obscure trails. She would not have guessed some of them were fit enough for such pursuits, but appearances can deceive.
She recognised the couple she had noticed earlier in the day. The two women were seated nearby and still involved in animated conversation.
Soon, a smartly dressed young girl approached Valerie and asked if she had chosen her dinner dishes. Valerie read out her selection for the four courses and had to raise her voice since the large group to her left were obviously enjoying a family reunion. She had just lifted her glass to sip the gin and tonic she had ordered when she was approached from the table to her right, by the younger of the two women who she had identified as the Canadian mother and daughter.
“Please excuse this interruption. Are you dining alone? My mother and I overheard your dinner order and we were wondering if you happen to be Canadian? You see my mother is here from Canada and I am Canadian originally. We would love it if you would join us. Eating on your own is such a boring thing, isn’t it? I am Jeanette McLennan from Oban and my mother is Jean from Vancouver.”
Valerie almost choked on her drink. Surprise was written all over her face but she was equally pleased at this offer to be saved from a lengthy, lonely meal.
“Why, I would be so pleased to join you. How very kind of you both!”
“Right then! I’ll go and sort out the tables in the dining room while you chat to my mother.”
With that, she was gone. Valerie looked over at the other occupant, now smiling in a welcoming manner and waving her hand to indicate her agreement.
“Don’t mind Jeanette,” she began, as soon as Valerie had seated herself. “She’s always been impulsive. Don’t feel obliged to do as she says if you would rather be alone. The truth is she’s an eternally curious creature and just wants to interrogate you about Canada in case I might be exaggerating about something.”
Valerie had to smile at this assessment. Jeanette certainly seemed to be unusually forward, but then she was Canadian and not as reserved as the typical English person. An evening with this interesting mother and daughter was something she would welcome.
In the next ten minutes, Valerie discovered that the mother and daughter were escaping from Oban for a few nights of luxury off on their own.
“Mom loves her grandchildren, of course, but she has not long lost my father and she needs a bit of peace and quiet. Liam is at school all day but the little one, Annette, is a chatty miss like her mother, I suppose, and with George coming and going at all hours, and my clients popping in, it’s a busy household, for sure.”
While Jeanette took a breath, Valerie looked into the hazel eyes of the older woman and said quietly,
“I am recently widowed also. It’s a very difficult time and good that you have family with you.”
There was an instant rapport between the two women and much unsaid, but deeply understood, passed from one to the other. Valerie knew they would soon find a space to compare notes in private about their respective bereavements.
Jeanette caught the glance and expressed her sympathy then changed the topic of conversation to allow Valerie to tell her story. “What brings you from Canada to the Lake District, Valerie?”
“Well, I guess I am revisiting places I once loved when my husband was alive. I have invited two old friends to join me here for a week in Ambleside. It’s time for me to renew friendships and start living again.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Jeanette, “and exactly what I am telling my mother to do now that she has choices. Where are you staying in Ambleside?”
“I am renting a large apartment with two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a wrap-around balcony. I haven’t seen it yet but I move in tomorrow afternoon.”
Jeanette seemed puzzled by this description. “Is this apartment on a steep hillside overlooking the town with spectacular mountain views, by any chance?”
“I believe so, but I am judging from the Lakeland’s website photos, of course. Why? Do you know the place?”
“You are not going to believe this, Valerie, but a very dear friend of mine owns an apartment exactly as you have described in the Lakelands complex in Ambleside.”
She turned to her mother and added, “You know about Anna Drake’s story, Mom. You’ve been to her farmhouse in Oban with me.”
A host of questions filled Valerie’s mind at this revelation but the announcement for the guests to take their seats for the evening meal was given and she had to wait to ask for an explanation.
Six.
It was several minutes before Valerie could again introduce the topic of the Ambleside apartment.
First, it was necessary to appreciate the beautiful Gold Rill Hotel’s dining room with windows on two adjacent sides revealing mountain views lit in the heights by the rays of the setting sun. The tables were clothed in white linen and the chairs were high-backed and upholstered for comfort to match the drapes framing the windows.
The serving staff was expert and unobtrusive but knew exactly what had been ordered for each table and produced appetizing, hot plates of food without fuss. The two delicious starter courses were consume
d amid exclamations of delight. It seemed to Valerie it would be impertinent to interrupt that pleasure by asking more questions and yet, her curiosity was growing by the minute.
When the main course was almost finished, Valerie tried to steer the conversation toward the answers she wanted.
“Jeanette, did I hear your mention the name Anna Drake before?”
“That’s right! She was married to the artist Lawren Drake who died unexpectedly a few years back. Is the name familiar to you?”
“Yes, it is. I live in Kilworth, a small township near London, Ontario, where both Anna and Lawren lived. I saw an exhibit of his paintings in Museum London recently and there were placards beside the works telling the story of his artist’s life before Anna, and showing some of the paintings he did after they met. I was struck by the contrasting styles. After Anna there was a marked difference in his work.”
“Well, for goodness sake! This is quite a coincidence, Valerie. If I am right and the apartment you have rented is the one Anna owns, you are going to see prints of some of those very paintings on the walls.”
“Would there be a copy of his most famous painting, the one he did for Anna Mason that brought them together?”
Jeanette chuckled as if this question was one she had heard many times before.
“To see that one you would have to get an invitation to Anna’s house near Oban. It is never removed from their bedroom and few people outside the family and close friends have ever seen it, but I can assure you it‘s a real work of art on so many levels. Lawren did a wonderful family portrait for George and I when the children were small and that one has many of the same qualities.”
Valerie sat back and tried to absorb this most unexpected information. The rented apartment suddenly became a place of relevance beyond her immediate needs and a link to her Ontario life. It was almost as if she had been meant to stay there at this important juncture in her new beginning.
She made a mental note to find out as much as she could about Anna and Lawren Drake.
“I am amazed at this, Jeanette! What a coincidence that we should meet here. But, tell me please, if your friend Anna Drake owns this apartment why are you and Jean not using it for your holiday together?”
“Oh, it’s much too big for us for these few days and I prefer to be waited on hand and foot rather than have to think of meals and clean-up. It won’t be a problem for you, of course. With three women together for a week you can do exactly what you want, eat in or out, and relax without any men around and, ….” Here she paused and glanced quickly at her mother before continuing. “……. this leads me to an important question of my own. How did you and your friends meet and what is this reunion all about?”
Jean looked over at her daughter with an expression of distaste on her face.
“Jeanette! Valerie’s reasons are none of your business.”
“Please, Jean, don’t be concerned. You have both been so open about your lives and I don’t mind telling you about mine.”
Valerie set the fork and knife side-by-side on her plate and sat back in her chair. She had never really explained the whole story to anyone else before and this opportunity would prepare her for a similar session with her friends.
“Well, it all started when I went to College in Glasgow to become a teacher.”
“I thought I could hear a Scottish accent! Where were you born, Valerie?”
This time Jeanette’s mother gave up with a sigh and allowed her daughter’s curiosity to have free rein.
It would be up to Valerie to call a halt from now on.
“I was born in an Ayrshire village and it was easier to live in residence at the college than to travel back and forth for three years. It was in my room at Douglas House that I first met Sandra. She was from Mull and had never been in the big city before. We made an alliance for mutual support on the very first day as room mates and that has lasted all these years despite changes in our lives and circumstances.”
“A true friendship!” interjected Jean, before Jeanette could interrupt with another intrusive question.
Valerie nodded, smiled and continued.
“College was also the place where we both met a woman who would influence our lives profoundly.
Grace Morton taught child psychology and early childhood philosophy. Sandra was drawn to teaching very young children and she introduced me to Professor Morton, who she said was ‘the smartest, most empathetic person she had ever had the pleasure to meet.’ I never found a reason to contradict Sandra’s opinion.
Perhaps because we were both in residence, we had extra time to spend after classes. Grace was generous with her time and advice and we three grew close, sharing cups of tea in her office while we debated methodologies and sought help with assignments.
We two students had heard about Dr. Michael Morton who worked long hours at Glasgow University but he was a shadowy figure to us and we jealously guarded our stolen hours without much thought for the needs of Grace’s husband. That is, until the day it all changed.”
Valerie stopped to sip her glass of water and sample the slice of lemon cake drizzled with raspberry coulis that had been placed in front of her while she was talking. She saw Jean elbow her daughter surreptitiously and suggest she do the same. A few moments of silence, interspersed with oohs and aahs of dessert delight, occupied a minute or two until Valerie continued. She could tell Jeanette was longing for the next installment.
“You see, we had been under the illusion that Professor Morton was an older woman of our mothers’ generation. She seemed so wise that she had to have had the benefit of decades of experience but on that one day we found out how wrong we were. Grace Morton revealed a secret to us after first swearing us to secrecy. She had discovered she was pregnant after years of failing to conceive. From that moment we saw her quite differently. She was not that much older than we were and she was overjoyed to finally become a mother.
Sandra and I were thrilled to be part of the secret. We took on the role of unofficial teaching assistants and helped Professor Morton with her heavy workload wherever possible.
Grace was determined to teach as long as she could so as to retain her position. It was a three year limited assignment, as were all the college teaching positions in those days. Professors would return to the classroom after their time was up so as to be current with school conditions and methods. Grace was only one year away from the end of her term and not likely to ever get the opportunity again. It was important to her to complete her assignment.
Her flowing black gown concealed the pregnancy but Sandra and I knew how taxing her teaching became with her almost constant nausea preventing her from eating properly.
At the end of the day, we would bring soups and omelettes from the college cafeteria and try to tempt her with milkshakes and any appetising delicacies that appeared on the menu. Later on, she swore she would never have been able to persuade her husband she was coping so well had it not been for our constant support.”
Jeanette could not wait to hear what happened. “Tell about the baby,” she urged.
“Zoe was born in the spring of our first year at the college and Grace Morton retired to look after her daughter but our association with the family continued for several years after that. Grace was always willing to help us through our training and we babysat for the Mortons whenever they had events to attend. Zoe was my goddaughter, a role which I shared with Sandra for some years.”
“So, what took you to Canada and did your friendship continue even then?”
Jean stopped Valerie from replying to Jeanette’s questions by pointing out that the dining room was almost empty and guests were assembling for coffee in the adjacent sitting room.
“Oh, I do apologise for being so curious. My mother is always warning me about that but I am so interested in your story. Would you mind continuing over coffee or tea? Maybe you are too tired?”
“No, I don’t mind at all but I think Jean may be ready for bed.”
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bsp; Jean, who had been trying to conceal her yawning, was happy to be excused. She bent to kiss her daughter, murmuring something in her ear which Valerie did not hear.
Coffee cups in hand, they settled into the soft cushions of a sofa in a quiet nook. A plate of foil-wrapped chocolates glinted on a low table in front of them and they sampled several between sips of an excellent coffee.
“Now, where were we?”
“You were about to say how you got from Scotland to Canada.”
Valerie cleared her mouth of orange-flavoured chocolate and resumed her story.
“It was inevitable, I suppose. Once a woman finds a man she wants to marry, she adopts his family and his needs and gives them as much importance as her own. My husband David was the youngest of a family of three children, two of which had already made the move to Canada. We took a holiday to Ontario so I could meet his brother and sister and we just fell in love with the country, the weather, and the space everywhere around us. It seemed a good place to live.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Valerie. I met and married George and left my life in British Columbia behind me. I find I am separated from the friends I grew up with. The distance between us is just too far.
Did it happen to you and Sandra?”
“At first we wrote furiously and talked on the phone to bridge that distance. Sandra gave me updates on Grace and Zoe and I sent photos of our boys as they arrived.