Memories of the Storm (10 page)

The next morning the wild showery weather had
cleared away and the sun shone from a tranquil sky.

'We shall go to Dulverton,' Hester decided, carrying
the breakfast things into the kitchen and
opening the dishwasher. 'We'll have coffee in
Woods or a glass of wine.'

Jonah followed her out, carrying their fruit juice
glasses. He looked around the kitchen, knowing
now that the breakfast-room was a fairly recent
addition and that, during those earlier years, all
the family's meals had been eaten in the room that
was now Hester's study. She had described the
original kitchen to him and he could imagine
exactly how it had looked with the ancient solidfuel
range and the butler's sink and Nanny's pots of
geraniums on the window-sill. Today there were
still several pots of geraniums, sitting in a row on
rather beautiful old hand-painted plates, and as he
glanced at them something else caught his eye: a
white plastic tub that had once contained ice cream.
A label was stuck on its lid and he bent closer
to read the printed words: 'DO NOT DISTURB.
SOMEONE IS SLEEPING HERE.'

'Hey, Hes,' he said, startled. 'Who's sleeping in
the ice-cream tub?'

She raised her eyebrows, as if puzzled at the
question, and then her brow cleared. 'It's a butterfly
pupa. Much safer there. Let me have those
glasses.'

He laughed, experiencing a moment of brief
uncomplicated happiness before a thought struck
him.

'I realized last night that there's simply not going
to be time for you to tell me everything, is there?'
He passed her the glasses, his face downcast. 'I
feel I've only just started and I have to go back
tomorrow.'

Hester looked at him, surprised. 'But you'll come
again, Jonah. Very soon, I hope. This is important,
isn't it?'

'Yes, it is important. Not only for me personally,
but because there's another side to it.' He hesitated
whilst she watched him with her bright intelligent
gaze. 'How would you feel if all this finished up
as a play, perhaps for the television or maybe
the theatre? Would you feel that it was being
trivialized?'

'Trivialized? No, I don't think so. I've been aware
that part of your mind is shaping it, if that's an
accurate expression. I feel quite strongly that both
Edward and Michael would have approved, provided
you are truthful.'

'That's wonderful. Fantastic!' He was almost
euphoric with relief. 'It's been so difficult to
separate the two things and it's beginning to haunt
me. Of
course
I'd want it to be truthful. Gosh, Hes!
We've got a long way to go yet.'

'I realize that.' Her own enthusiasm shone in her
eyes. 'But it can't be hurried. And the landscape in
which the events happened is just as important as
the story.'

'I'm sure you're right but I'm impatient to know
what comes next.'

'I know you are. I only hope it won't turn out to
be an anticlimax. It's a very familiar theme – just a
love story that went rather tragically wrong.'

'It was Eleanor and Michael, wasn't it? Don't
worry, I'm not trying to rush you with the story but
I wonder if that's why Mum won't talk about it.'

Hester frowned. 'The odd thing is,' she said, 'that
I can't really imagine that Lucy knew anything
about it. She was only a child.'

'Oh, but children pick up so much, don't they?
And adults often don't notice that they're around.
Perhaps she saw something that upset her?'

'Perhaps. An embrace? An argument? It's
possible. Will you tell her what you've discovered?'

'I'd like to, if that's OK with you?'

'Of course it is. I'd rather want you to, in fact. She
might be able to provide some other side of the
story for you now.'

'I'm hoping so.' He grinned at her with pure
pleasure. 'This is so exciting, Hester, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is exciting,' she agreed. 'And necessary, I
think.'

He liked Woods Bar, with its beamed partitions and
terracotta-coloured walls. The bistro atmosphere
was reinforced by the impressive array of bottles
reflected in the long mirror behind the bar and
a soundtrack of Mama Cass singing 'California
Dreamin''. Two large young men, perched on the
stools at the bar, were drinking beer whilst an
elderly lady sat at a corner table sipping coffee and
reading a newspaper. Although sunshine splashed
on the white-washed walls of the house opposite, a
fire burned in the stainless-steel beer cask that had
been made into a stove and stood in the inglenook
and, beyond the adze-cut wooden partitions, he
could see a young couple enjoying an early lunch in
the dining-room.

'It used to be a bakery,' Hester had told him.
'Delicious home-made cakes. I have to say the
standard of the food is still just as good.'

She'd gone off to the library, leaving him to drink
his mocha alone, and once again he was grateful for
her ability to give him space to think his own
thoughts and absorb the atmosphere of the life
around him. In this need for solitude he and Hester
were alike and he wondered if it was the reason she
had remained alone. His own relationships had
foundered on this stone: this requirement for space
to allow for the creative life of his imagination.

Both of the girls with whom he'd shared his life
so far had accused him of detachment: of not
caring, not listening, not being able to put them
before his work. To begin with, each relationship
had followed the same pattern once the initial
physical attraction had drawn them together: a
declared fascination in the creative process, leading
to encouragement and real belief that one day he'd
write the 'big one', which slowly degenerated into
impatience, accusations of neglect and declarations
of feeling cut off.

'You're not listening to a word I'm saying. I know
that glazed expression. You're "writing", aren't you,
inside your head? I might as well be talking to
myself.'

It was a perfectly reasonable accusation and he'd
had no defence so, after a few stormy weeks of
trying to change and failing, he'd be alone again.
He was fascinated by women but realized that in his
attempt to understand how they thought and felt he
was actually doing himself no favours.

'And anyway,' one of his girlfriends had said
acidly, 'you're not really interested in me, you just
want to use me as copy for your next female
character.'

There was a grain of truth in this – someone had
once described this syndrome as the splinter of ice
in the heart of the creative person – and he was
unable to convince her otherwise, so it seemed
better to let it go at that. He saw that women were
very complicated people – unable to experience
simple happiness without guilt or anxiety coming
hard on its heels. In bed: 'Was it really good for
you?' a contented cuddle, then: 'You don't think
I'm too fat?' At the theatre: 'Isn't Richard Griffiths
brilliant?' a sip of wine, then: 'Did I remember to
take the chops out of the freezer?' And it seemed
difficult for them to accept that men could be truly
peaceful whilst simply staring at their shoes. 'What
are you thinking about?' 'Nothing.' 'But what are
you doing?' 'Staring at my shoes.' Those moments
of joy that were uncomplicated or unaffected by the
state of a relationship appeared to be unknown by
women. Even in the aftermath of a row – amidst
silent sulking and glares of recrimination – it
was possible to be amused by something on the
television or absorbed by a book, which caused
further resentment; as if it should be unthinkable,
even reprehensible, to experience any emotion that
was not related directly to her.

Jonah finished his mocha and ordered a pint
of beer: he'd decided that he simply wasn't
good partnership material and that it was best to
remain alone – until he'd met Clio. He'd been
rather taken with Clio. He'd mentally tried out
one or two opening remarks in the hope of finding
out a bit more about her from Hester. It hadn't
worked.

'Clio's an amazing girl, isn't she?' he'd ventured.
'I rather like her.'

'So do I,' she'd agreed amiably – and that had
been that.

He chuckled as he took his pint back to his table.
Hester was the perfect companion, no doubt about
it. Pity she wasn't forty years younger. And here she
was, standing before him.

'Oh, good, you've had your coffee. I shall have
a glass of wine and I recommend a Woodman's
Lunch. My treat.'

He raised his glass to her. 'I think I am in love
with you, Hester,' he said.

'Splendid,' she replied. 'Though there was no
need for the declaration; I would have bought the
lunch anyway. It's my turn, if you remember.'

When Clio telephoned, Jonah had gone back to
London and Hester was alone again.

'So how did it go?' Clio asked – but she sounded
remote, as if Jonah's visit had happened in another
sphere of time to which she no longer was connected.

'Very well. We didn't speed and we didn't drink,
at least not to excess, and it was a very productive
meeting.'

There was a little silence, as if Clio were puzzling
over the words, then she laughed. 'I'd forgotten for
a moment,' she said. 'Sorry, Hes. I'm glad it went
OK.'

'And you?' asked Hester lightly. 'The last time we
spoke you said that it all felt rather odd after such a
long break.'

'It did. Still does, actually.'

'Still?' Hester was surprised but she was reluctant
to press for information. 'I'd imagined you were
back into your routine by now.'

'The point is . . .' Clio hesitated. 'Well, the thing
is, Peter isn't in the office at the moment. His
wife is ill and I've only seen him once or twice
very briefly when I first got back, so the routine
bit hasn't happened. Obviously there's a flap on
but I feel rather disorientated, to tell you the
truth.'

'But you enjoy a flap,' Hester pointed out. 'It's
what you're best at.'

'I know it is, but this is different.'

'Is it different because Peter isn't there?'

'Something like that. Do you remember asking
me whether I'd stay if Peter left the agency? Well,
I'm beginning to think that the answer is no. And
I'm not terribly certain that I want to stay even
when he gets back.'

'Is this to do with your being away for so long?'

'In a way. I began to view things a bit differently
when he didn't want to come down to Bridge
House. It made me take a few steps back and I saw
our relationship more clearly.' Clio hesitated and
when she spoke again her voice was brittle. 'His
wife's had an ectopic pregnancy. She's been very ill
and naturally he's terribly worried about her.' A
longer pause. 'Stupid of me to believe him when he
said there wasn't anything like that between them
any more, wasn't it?' she asked bitterly.

Hester reacted involuntarily: 'Not a bit stupid!
We need to believe it. I am so sorry, Clio . . .'

'It was a shock. He's always seemed so detached,
you see. Oh God, I feel such a fool and I feel angry
too. I feel cross with myself for being taken in, and
guilty. But that doesn't make me stop missing him.
It's hell, Hes.'

'I know it is and it's no consolation to tell you that
it will pass. Try to be glad you found out before you
were any deeper in.'

'Well, it might sound rather selfish with his wife
so ill but at least it's made me see that I've been
living a totally ostrich-like existence. Let's face it,
the relationship was never going anywhere, was it?
I'm coming to the conclusion that I don't want this
any more, Hes.'

'Will you look for another job?'

'That's the idea, except that I'm rather tired of
being a PA. I'd like something different.'

'In what way different?'

'Oh, I don't know. I'm probably being irrational
but I just feel rather stale. I see now that it wasn't
my work that was giving me a buzz but having
Peter around. I have to get over that. Anyway, Hes,
I just wanted you to know. After all, you might have
some kind of inspiration about what I should do
next.'

'I'll give my mind to it. I imagine you want to stay
in London?'

'I'm not even sure about that at the moment. I
was going to ask you a favour, actually. If I decide to
give in my notice at work and at my house, would it
be possible to stay with you for a bit if I needed to?
Just until I sort myself out? I've got savings, of
course, but I just thought – a kind of sabbatical?'

'Is it wise to give up your little house? You are so
fond of it and it's not easy to find accommodation
in London, is it?'

'The point is, Hes, the house is so tied up with
the whole Peter thing. I moved in just after I met
him, if you remember. I needed to have a place on
my own, so that he could come and go, and now I
just don't see myself separating him from it. I know
that sounds muddled but I'm sure you know what
I mean. I feel that for the last year I've been
obsessed and I want some space to step right out of
it and get a clear vision of what I want to do and
where I want to be. I've got a few friends I could go
to but they wouldn't be capable of giving me that
kind of space. It's not only physical space but the
other kind too. They fuss and advise, and if I'm
sharing their homes I'd feel a kind of obligation to
listen to them. It would be such a comfort if I could
think I could come to you for a very short time.'

'Of course you can come, Clio, and I promise not
to fuss or advise. You can stay for as long as you
need; that is, as long as I'm still here. I wasn't going
to worry you with this just at the moment but Robin
wants his share of the house in cash and I have to
decide whether I want to buy something smaller or
take the equity release route.'

'
What?
Are you kidding?'

'Sadly, no. And Amy is of the same mind so I
don't have too much choice.'

'I can't believe that Robin and Amy would turn
you out.'

'That's rather melodramatic. I hoped it wouldn't
arise, of course, and that the house would remain a
kind of insurance for them for a while yet. Knowing
Robin's tendencies there was always the chance that
it would happen sooner rather than later, and they
both have a perfect right to ask for their share, but
I don't quite know what to do, which route to take.
He rightly pointed out that since my operation I
might feel happier in a smaller place. I admit that
I feel rather more vulnerable but not quite enough
to move into a sunset home.'

'Surely he didn't suggest that?'

'Not quite but nearly. Anyway, like you I am
thinking about my future. However, you are more
than welcome here, Clio. I don't imagine I shall be
flung out into the snow quite yet. However, please,
don't do anything in a rush. Give yourself time,
talk to your friends and don't be pressurized by
your emotions, especially negative emotions. If you
decide to leave London it should be because
you feel you are going towards something better,
not because you are trying to leave Peter or the
agency behind.'

'I realize that. Thanks, Hes.'

And to be fair,
she wrote later to Blaise
, I don't
really feel anxious about Clio taking a sabbatical.
To be honest I am just so deeply relieved that
she's free of her obsession with Peter at last that I
can't worry too much about her having a short
holiday. Poor Clio! How painful these things
are. But she's not at all the sort of person to
become idle or unmotivated and she's worked
very hard ever since she left university. Do you
agree with me?

Regarding the other problem, I should be glad
to know your thoughts. Bridge House is a big
place to keep in good repair and with Amy and
Robin out of the financial equation it might
rapidly deteriorate. If it is to be passed over to
the mortgage company when I die you might well
say, 'Does it matter if it does?' I simply cannot
decide. Meanwhile, I have arranged to have it
valued, and Amy and I have agreed to sign some
kind of document so that Robin can then raise a
loan against his share of the property. I hope
this is the right thing to do. He sounds rather
desperate and I don't want Bridge House sold in
a tremendous hurry simply so that he can meet
his debts. Apparently his bank is happy with that
arrangement.

As for Jonah's visit – I enjoyed it very much,
Blaise. He is so like Michael, and not just
physically, that it made it easier to recapture the
past. Do you ever wonder what happened to
Eleanor after she followed Michael to London?
After he was killed we had that brief message
saying that she was going to the States, if you
remember, but I wonder how she survived. Lucy,
apparently, remained with that aunt of Michael's
who lived in Chichester and she has continued to
live in her house. I am slightly puzzled by her
refusal to talk to Jonah about her childhood. It
was a terrible thing to lose both her parents in
such a violent way but it seems odd that she has
tried to wipe us all from her memory. She was so
fond of us all. I'm now beginning to wonder what
might have happened with Eleanor and Michael
in London in those few months before he was
killed and whether Lucy was affected in some
way. At least she has given her permission for me
to talk to Jonah: a big step on her part. Jonah
thinks that she's facing some sort of crossroads in
her life since his father has become ill and is
trying to come to terms with various aspects
of her own character. Jonah senses that she is
fearful of the future and is attempting to cast off
this fear. He is clearly deeply attached to her – to
them both.

Jonah wants to take our story and make a play
of it. Naturally he would change names, places,
etc. Can you see any harm in it? After all, it wasn't
a particularly unusual little drama, was it? War
touches us all, whether we are away fighting or at
home: lives are battered or destroyed, and loves
and loyalties are put to the test. Anyway, he will
be coming back again as soon as he can. He
script-edits for one of the television soaps and
has two or three weeks' work ahead but I am
looking forward to seeing him again and also, I
will admit, to the prospect of having Clio back.
I miss her. When we are old the presence of
youth has an invigorating effect: their confidence
and fun and vitality rub off on us a little and
bring warmth. As I've had young students about
me for most of my life, I've been used to the
privilege of connecting with their minds and
enthusiasms.

I'm sure that something will come along for
Clio and I am so thankful that her liaison with
Peter is over. Pray for us all, Blaise, with all these
changes happening in our lives.

How is Jeoffrey? Is he like his namesake, '. . . a
mixture of gravity and waggery. For he knows
that God is his Saviour'?

Give the sisters my love. An idea! If Clio is here
at Christmas she might well offer to drive me up
to Hexham. She's going out to Greece to see her
parents for the New Year but I'm sure she'll
agree providing you can manage both of us in
your little flat. What fun it would be. Let me
know. I simply cannot get Lucy out of my mind.
What will Jonah tell her of his visit, I wonder. Will
she be able to accept it?

St Francis sends his felicitations to Jeoffrey.

And mine of course to you,

Hester