The Forgotten Letters of Esther Durrant

by Kayte Nunn

  “I look so old.” Her grandmother uttered a rare complaint, making a face at herself in the mirror.

  “Nonsense. You’re in better shape than a woman half your age . . . well, at least you were before the accident and you will be again, I have no doubt at all. And you’re still beautiful. You always will be.” Eve hugged her as tightly as she dared, feeling the knobby bones of her spine beneath the cardigan. She was relieved that her grandmother appeared to have rallied in recent days and that she was now up and about again, moving the few meters from her bedroom to the sitting room with slow but steady determination, refusing the walker that Eve had been advised to acquire. It stood, unused, in the hallway, gathering dust. The GP had visited the day before and given her the go-ahead to venture outside, into the fresh spring air. Their outing that morning, to the café just a few meters away on the corner, had gone well and brought a new touch of pink to her cheeks.

  Eve had no idea what she would do once her grandmother no longer needed her. It was too late for her to join David in Africa, and in any case his emails had dried up. She was fairly certain there was little left to salvage of that relationship. She supposed she should have been upset, but strangely it didn’t bother her much. What was of more concern, however, was that she had no idea what to do with her life once her nursemaid and transcription skills were no longer required.

  They’d made good progress on the autobiography in the last few weeks and Grams had handed over a stack of notes she’d been guarding for Eve to type up. Eve reckoned they’d have a first draft for the publisher by the early summer. However, there was still something her grandmother was keeping from her, she felt sure of it. Perhaps today’s visitor would loosen the strings of her grandmother’s memory.

  “You remember that Rachel is coming again today. You know, the woman who found the letters,” she reminded her.

  “Yes of course, Eve. I’ve not lost my memory yet thank you.”

  As Grams’s health improved, her irascible nature had also reasserted itself.

  “Perhaps she’s found some more things of yours?”

  “Possibly. I did leave a suitcase there—I always wondered what happened to a coat I had when I was at Embers. Astrakhan if I remember correctly. It was very expensive at the time.”

  “What’s astrakhan?”

  “The fleece of fetal or newborn lambs.”

  Eve shuddered.

  “I know. Sounds barbaric now, doesn’t it?” she said with a glint in her eye.

  “Just a bit, Grams,” Eve snorted.

  “Things were different then. In all sorts of ways that you’ll probably never understand.”

  “Maybe she’s found Richard?” Eve said, trying to sound nonchalant. She had thought only to plant the idea in her grandmother’s head, but she had reckoned without her grams’s sharp intelligence.

  “Eve,” she said, eyeing her in the mirror. “Come on. Out with it. What do you know? What’s going on?”

  There was no fooling her.

  * * *

  “This is a friend of mine—Jonah,” said Rachel when Eve opened the door to them later that day. “Jonah, this is Eve, Esther’s granddaughter.”

  The younger of the two men held out his hand and Eve took it.

  “And this, this is Dr. Richard Creswell.”

  Eve looked closely at the old man in front of her. He had a bright, expectant look in his eyes and clutched a bouquet of bright yellow flowers. Narcissi. Her grandmother’s favorites. “Oh my goodness. How lovely to meet you, Dr. Creswell.”

  “You look like someone I once knew,” Richard said. “You have her smile.”

  “I think I know exactly who you mean,” said Eve, her mouth widening further. “Do please come in.” She led them into the house and showed the way to the sitting room where Esther was waiting.

  “She’s just in here,” she said, indicating the room along the hallway. “I’ll organize some tea. You must be thirsty after your long drive.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Right you are then.”

  Eve watched as he steadied himself against the wall for a moment and then grasped the door handle.

  “I’d like to hear all about this crazy plan of yours and just how you made it happen,” Eve whispered to Rachel as they stood in the hallway, “but first I want to see how Grams reacts. She’s been as skittish as a bride on her wedding night ever since she found out he was coming today.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Little Embers, Spring 1952

  Esther opened the suitcase containing her summer wardrobe. All winter it had remained untouched, but she remembered its contents and there was one item that she wished to retrieve. Shivering slightly, for it was still cool in the mornings, she shimmied into the tight boned bodice, easing the costume up over her legs and waist. She then pulled on her favorite trousers over the top, wrapped a cardigan around herself, and plucked a towel from a hook on the door. Before she left the island, she had a promise to keep.

  * * *

  One afternoon, in the week before he died, she sat down at the beach with Robbie. He was still patiently teaching her to skip flat stones.

  “Can you swim, old girl?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she replied. “My father taught me in the ponds on the Heath.”

  “Fancy a race?”

  She looked at him as if he were mad.

  “Not right now,” he laughed. “When it warms up, you ninny.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that. Far too bloody cold right now,” she replied with an exaggerated shudder.

  “First of April.”

  “First of April what?”

  “That’s when I reckon it’ll be bearable.”

  “April Fool’s Day you mean?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Well, that’s appropriate. You’re on.” She’d never been able to resist a challenge.

  * * *

  Esther was leaving the island the following day, and Robbie was gone, but she was determined to swim, no matter the temperature. She stood for a moment on the beach, gazing at the vanishing point between sea and sky. The water was calm, barely a wrinkle on its smooth surface. She kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the sand. She looked at her feet, a pair of half-buried pale fish.

  Removing her outer clothes before she could change her mind, she took a deep breath and waded in. The temperature was as frigid as she had feared, but she went deeper until she was up to her waist. Then, before her body went completely numb with the cold, she kicked off the bottom and began to stroke straight out to sea. It had been a long time since she’d been in the water, and to begin with her body felt awkward, uncoordinated, and she flailed about. Until that moment, her experience of swimming had been limited to a few laps of the Kenwood Ladies’ Pond, sharing it with families of ducks and waterweed. The open sea was a new challenge. Her strokes were choppy and her breathing labored; Robbie would have had no trouble beating her in a race, of that she was sure. Eventually, however, she found a rhythm and began to move with ease, enjoying the effort of slicing through the briny water. As her arms turned over and over, she lost herself, could have kept on swimming indefinitely. An urge to keep going until she could go no farther danced in her mind. She remembered Robbie, his solid form swinging from the tree and as she did so a dark shape loomed beneath her and she faltered, coming up choking for air and kicking her legs beneath her as she struggled to see what it was. A huge fish? A shark? Were there sharks in these waters? She had no idea.

  Esther prayed it was only a dolphin, though it looked far larger than any of the dolphins she’d seen on her walks about the island. Her breath came in sharp gasps now and she turned back to face the shore. She was farther out than she’d intended and she could just make out a small figure, waving frantically, on the beach. Trying to put the unidentifiable darkness beneath her out of her mind, she began swimming as fast as she could back to shore, her strokes sharp and frantic. All thoughts of Robbie were forgotten in her rush to the safety of dr
y land.

  “You look like a mermaid,” said Richard as she stood up in the shallow water, her hair streaming. “But you had me worried. I thought you were aiming to swim all the way to the mainland.”

  Esther shivered and gasped, struggling to get her breath back and feeling the soreness in her shoulders and arms from her panicked sprint. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said between breaths. Her earlier terror erased itself as soon as she found land and saw him.

  “You put on quite a turn of speed there,” he said.

  “Might have had something to do with thinking I’d swum over an enormous shark actually,” she said.

  “If it was . . . it was probably only a seal, or perhaps a basking shark—and you’re not exactly likely to be on their menu.”

  Esther felt only a slight relief that he was still speaking to her, even if his tone was now distant. He handed her a towel and she dried the water from her face, feeling exhilaration, not the cold breeze.

  “Oh? How’s that?” she asked.

  “Well, they feed on plankton.”

  “That’s good then.” Esther wrung the water out of her hair. “I was a tiny bit scared,” she admitted.

  “I don’t think there’s much that scares you anymore.”

  * * *

  The following morning she woke early, her stomach churning at the realization that the day of her departure had arrived. High tide was due at around 10 a.m., so she wouldn’t be forced to wait around all day for the boat to arrive, which was some small mercy at least. Now that it would be less than twenty-four hours before she would see Teddy again, she was more confused than ever. Desperate to hold him, she nevertheless wondered how he would be with her after so long away. Perhaps he would have forgotten her, transferred his affections to someone else? Perhaps he no longer needed her. And how would she manage the dull, mundane, day to day of her old life when she was back in London?

  She rose and dressed before making her way to the kitchen where the housekeeper was preparing breakfast. Her stomach roiled again at the smell of frying eggs and she poured herself a cup of tea from the large pot on the table. “Nothing for me, thank you, Mrs. Biggs.”

  “Are you sure, love?”

  Esther nodded. “I rather think the crossing might be a rough one and I am not a good sailor at the best of times.”

  “Probably sensible then,” she agreed.

  Esther drained her cup and rose to leave. She had no desire to run into Jean before she left.

  She remembered again the minute she had felt the imprint of Richard’s lips on hers, the way he looked at her when he thought she didn’t notice and committed them to memory, sliding them into the box where she intended to keep all the good moments, the ones that would keep her going when she was far away from this place, adrift from him.

  “You’re up bright and early.”

  Drat. Jean stood silhouetted in the doorway of the kitchen. Esther was unable to make out her expression, but the tone of her voice was falsely jolly, presumably for Mrs. Biggs’s benefit.

  “I suppose I am,” replied Esther.

  “Hardly surprising on such a day. I expect you’re far too excited to sleep. I’ll wager you can’t wait to be home.”

  “Of course,” said Esther carefully. “And I consider myself most fortunate to have a home to go to.” She was determined not to let Jean see her distress, not to let her calm facade slip in front of the woman. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should like to make sure I have everything in order.” She made to leave the kitchen.

  Jean turned sideways so that Esther could move past her and as she did so, she whispered so that only Esther could hear. “It’s for the best, believe me. You’ll come to realize that one day.” For once she was not sour-faced, her voice softer and more generous than Esther had ever heard it.

  When she reached her room she gathered her belongings, including Richard’s gift of the walking boots. She had no idea when she might wear them again, but she could not bear to leave them behind. Somehow they symbolized the freedom she’d found since being at Embers. Even though she had effectively been forcibly detained on the island, she had been afforded a liberty that was in stark contrast to the strings that bound her as a wife and mother. But this wasn’t real. Real was Hampstead. Teddy. John. The life of a housewife. She hoped it would be enough.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Little Embers, Spring 1952

  Esther pushed up the sash on the bedroom window and leaned out, straining to see if there was a boat on the horizon. From down below came the sound of strings, the high notes like a soul ascending to heaven, a bird proclaiming the joy of a new day. She smiled sadly to herself. “The Lark Ascending.” Again. She stood, lost in the familiar music for several minutes, fixing the moment in her mind. Then, a shout, and she looked out to sea. The shape of a boat plowing through the water, white wake streaming behind it. “Esther!” came the shout again.

  When she’d packed her belongings earlier that morning, she had come across the letter that John had written and tucked inside her suitcase. “I am at my wits’ end to know how to help you,” she read once more. She was more inclined to believe him now, but that didn’t change how she felt about Richard. Duty, promises, motherhood: these were the things that mattered, would always matter, she reminded herself.

  She gathered her handbag and her gloves.

  It was time.

  She lifted her suitcase with ease—she had grown strong in her months on the island—and made her way down the stairs to meet him. The second case was to be sent on later, for it contained clothes she didn’t immediately need and she did not want the bother of it on her journey home.

  Jean was standing in the hallway, Richard next to her. Esther kept her gaze firmly fixed on the front door. Once she walked through it, everything would change.

  “Ah, there you are. Here, you shouldn’t be carrying that, let me help.” She let him take the suitcase from her.

  Mrs. Biggs appeared from the kitchen and drew Esther into her ample arms. “We shall miss you,” she said, pressing a small bag into Esther’s hands. “It’ll keep you going on your journey. Travel safe now.”

  Esther smelled something sweet and yeasty. “I will,” she promised as they parted.

  Jean gave her a thin smile. “God speed, Mrs. Durrant.”

  Esther inclined her head ever so slightly.

  “Come on then,” said Richard. “The boat won’t wait for long.”

  As they all stepped outside, she was enveloped by the fragrant, intoxicating perfume of narcissus, which bloomed toward the horizon in fields of gold. She breathed in deeply, steadying herself. Butterflies—speckled and spotted—fluttered ahead of them, a farewell salutation.

  “Ready,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from cracking.

  * * *

  The boat puttered away from the jetty and Esther stood at the stern, shielding her eyes against the sun, watching until the figures were mere specks in the distance. She wished there was a way to hold on to the final moments, the last glimpse of him, but they slipped through her fingers like seawater.

  She felt in her handbag for a handkerchief and retrieved it to find it had been wrapped around several small papery, brown bulbs that could almost have been onions, though she knew exactly what they were.

  As she replaced it, her fingers grazed a small, unfamiliar-shaped box. She brought it out and stared at it. It didn’t belong to her, of that she was certain. Carefully, she eased off the lid to find, nestled inside, an oval brooch in silver, decorated with a ring of delicate yellow enamel flowers, their centers dotted with tiny rubies. “Narcissi,” she whispered. She turned the brooch over in her hands and saw an engraving. “Ex tenebris lux,” she read, running her fingers over the words. From the darkness into the light.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  London, December 1952

  It was a midwinter baby, due at the closing of the year, when the days were shortest and the sun low on the horizon, when the memory of spri
ng was merely a faint, scented breath of another lifetime.

  Esther struggled to catch her breath as she walked up the path that led to Kenwood House, her boots crunching through the frost. She had been to the Heath almost every day since her return from Embers, rising at dawn, before John even. It was a habit that she was anxious to hang on to, despite her present condition. It seemed the only way she might remain sane, the effort of walking clearing a blank space in her thoughts, a fresh start every morning. It anchored her, gave a purpose to her days. If it were not for the hours of tramping through the bracken and long grasses that covered the island, she feared her mind would have floated away from her body, thistledown on the wind.

  She sat for a while on a bench, legs spread to accommodate the swell of her stomach. Oof. A kick. A footballer in there, or perhaps a ballerina.

  Teddy was hoping for a brother. John seemed pleased. She didn’t know if he had guessed the truth, gambled that he wouldn’t.

  She rubbed the great mound of her belly, the skin stretched like a drum, feeling it tighten.

  She hadn’t wanted to get pregnant again, had meant what she’d said to Richard all those months ago, but by the time she realized, it was too late to do anything about it. It was only the walking that kept the fears at bay. The time was close. Any day now, the midwife had said on her last visit.

  * * *

  She had the baby three days later. A tiny, solemn-faced little girl with her father’s eyes, as clear and bright a blue as the waters that encircled Little Embers. Dark winged eyebrows gave her a startled look, as if the world was a delightful surprise. “Hannah,” Esther whispered.

  Now, she would always have something of him.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  London, Spring 2018

  Esther had taken the memory of Richard up the steep slopes of Mont Blanc and into the Himalayas, when her feet burned with frostbite and she believed her legs could carry her not a step farther. And as she closed her eyes at night she said a silent prayer for him, that he would be safe and happy and, perhaps, occasionally think of her.