From The Moment I Saw Him .... (25 page)

After our progress review on Monday morning, I
walked down the corridor to Ian’s office, to tell him of my intention to
leave. 

I thought I would feel pleased about it, but in
fact, I was upset.  When I first joined the agency, I had some wonderful
months, my involvement with Ian had been a happy time until I had broken things
apart, and later on, there were good years indelibly associated with my joyful
life with Nick after our final reunion.  It was only the last period which left
a sour taste.

Ian was occupied at his desk, but his door was
open.  Seeing me, he raised an eyebrow, as if to say “You again....”

“I’d like to talk to you - is this a convenient
time?” I asked.

He put down his pen.

“As convenient as any, I suppose.”

I walked up to his desk, noticing the absence of
photographs of his wife and child amongst the agency paperwork, and I wondered
briefly what he was like as a husband and father.

“I saw Robin yesterday.  He intends to return to
work at the end of August,” I said.

“Yes, I know.  We’ve been keeping in touch,
obviously.”   He sounded almost bored.

“I would like to give in my notice.  I’ve agreed
with Robin I’ll stay until the third week in September, to facilitate the
handover.  We thought that would be okay with you.”

He looked surprised, but didn’t move a muscle.

“You’ll need to put it in writing,” he said coldly.

“Yes, of course.  That’s all,” I responded, turning
to go; if he was in a laconic mood so much the better.  But he got up, and
motioned to me to sit at the table.

“May I ask what’s precipitated this?” he enquired,
seating himself as well.

I smiled.

 “Well, Ian, you’ve made it plain that I don’t have
a future here.  I’m not happy working when I don’t have any kind of rapport
with my boss.  I think this is the best way out for both of us.”

For the first time since I had returned to work, he
looked at me as if I were a human being.  I saw pain and tension in his eyes,
and averted my own.  Whatever difficulties he had caused me, I didn’t want to
see him looking vulnerable.

“I have to say, Eithne, that I think you made a huge
mistake when you decided not to marry me,” he said, catching me off guard.  “I
think we would both have been happier, and you would have avoided a lot of
personal tragedy.  But we can’t go back now.  It is an awkward situation, and I
am relieved you are going.  Do you have another job lined up?”

“No.”

I debated how much to tell him, but could see no
reason to conceal anything.

 “I’m leaving London altogether, and getting married
to an old friend.  Nick and I both knew him since school.  It’s been too hard
on my own, and I want to spend time with my baby.  I’ll miss Mackerras Mackay,
but I know this is the right thing to do.”

There was silence between us.  I hoped we could part
better friends after this. 

“Well.”  He got up slowly.  “I wish you good luck. 
I hope your fiancé is aware of your previous form with engagements.”

He hadn’t been able to resist a parting shot, but I
think I forgave him for it.

Peter telephoned me later to ask me to come to
Cheshire for the weekend - he had found a house which he wanted us to see.  It
was an old rectory in a rambling village, and I was taken aback by the spacious
rooms and beautiful garden.

“It’s lovely, but can we afford it?  I wasn’t
thinking of getting another job for a while,” I said.  He laughed.

“I wouldn’t be looking at it if it was out of our
range.  I made a good profit on the house I had with Silvia, and my parents are
giving us a big contribution as a wedding present. There are one or two
structural issues, but I think we can use those to negotiate a deal.  Do you
like it?”

“I love it.”

I had happy visions of Nicholas playing in the
garden there, thriving in the good country air.  It was wonderful to feel that
we were going to enjoy such stability, and I realised that Peter would offer us
a different kind of life than we would have had if Nick had not died.

We stayed the Saturday night at Beresford.  It was
an opportunity to meet with both sets of parents and let them know our future
plans.  My parents practically worshipped Peter already, and they were very
excited to think we would be living so much closer to them after the wedding. 
On the Sunday, however, I had a difficult task - I had to tell Nick’s mother
and father about my marriage.

Whenever I saw them now, I wondered how I had ever
thought Mrs DeLisle was a cool and dispassionate person.  Nick’s death had hit
her very hard. Tragedy touching our lives had revealed inner strengths and
weaknesses which had changed us all.

I called on them, with Nicholas, after lunch, and
was pleased to find Rosine and her children staying there.  Mrs DeLisle was
upset because Nicholas was now too active to be cuddled all the time, but she
liked seeing him crawling everywhere at top speed.  It was just like his father
all over again, she said.

My announcement brought tears, but Rosine and Mr
DeLisle proved themselves to be allies.

“Mummy, you must see that it will be far better for
Nicholas to grow up in a stable household, with a father figure, and a mum who
isn’t away at work,” Rosine said gently. “And you can’t expect Eithne to stay
on her own for ever, she’s still a young woman.”

“And we’ll see a lot more of Nicholas as well,” Mr
DeLisle pointed out.

By now I was crying too.

“You must know how much I wish it could have been
Nick,” I said between sobs.  “It doesn’t mean that I’m forgetting him, or how
much he meant to me.  No-one could ever replace him.”  

I told them what Peter had said about ensuring
Nicholas got to know his absent father, and I think that went a long way to
helping her accept the situation.  As I was leaving, Rosine said to me,

“I know that mummy won’t want to be there, but I
would love it if you would invite Andrew and me to the wedding.  I sometimes
feel guilty for bringing all this upon you, Eithne.  If I hadn’t called and
asked you to go to the hospital when Nick was ill, you might be married to Ian
Inglis now, and leading a totally different life.”

“Well, I’m not sure that would have been a good
thing,” I replied.  “In any case, Nick told me in hospital that he had begun to
look for me, so I think we would have come together sooner or later.   But I
would love you to come to the wedding.  I know Peter will like that too.”

Time went by very quickly, there was such a lot to
do.  The anniversary of Nick’s death came.  I thought I would be in a bad way,
but I had mourned him so much during the year, the day was no harder than any
other had been.  I was thankful that I did not have to relive those first
terrible moments of sorrow over again.  My grief was still there, but
contained, bearable, something which I would always carry, but which now
allowed me to find consolation elsewhere.

Robin returned to work, and I wound down my
involvement at the agency.  Ian and I had no further confrontations, and I no
longer feared anything he might do.  I was sorry to say goodbye to old friends,
but very relieved when my last day came.

Peter kept his word, and Nick’s effects were packed
and taken away.  I went into the bedroom later on.  There was the ghost of a
smell of cigarette smoke lingering, very faint now, and I knew I would not be
able to find Nick there any longer.

Then it was time for me to pack my own possessions. 
My parents were renting out the flat, and I wondered who the tenants would be,
whether they would experience the extremes of happiness and misery which had
been my lot when living there.  Pauline was upset to be saying goodbye to
Nicholas, but I promised we would visit her and keep in touch.

On my last evening, I stood on the balcony, cuddling
my son, and watching the water drifting out towards the far off sea.  I
remembered the angry red sky on the morning of Nick’s last departure; tonight,
the clouds were low and tinged with gold as the sun set over the distant
bridges.  I hoped my future life would have some of the peace which they seemed
to promise.

I had one very bad moment on my wedding day.

I was waiting in the reception area of Beresford
Register Office with my father, and Jo, my matron of honour.  Nicholas, who
would also accompany me up the aisle, toddled about in his sailor suit, looking
sweet and serious.  His floppy dark hair and deep brown eyes were exactly like
his father’s, but to my sorrow, he did not greatly resemble Nick, and there was
no sign of the brilliant smile I remembered so vividly.  He was himself, and
perhaps that was the way it should be.

I had a sudden vision of Nick’s enchanting grin, and
for a moment, I felt faint.  I allowed myself to visualise him waiting for me
with the Registrar, and felt the overwhelming happiness I would know if he was
the person about to exchange the marriage vows with me. 

Jo glanced at my face.

“Eithne?  Are you all right?”

I swallowed hard, the vision faded.  For Peter’s
sake, I suppressed a tear, and grasped my little posy of orchids and roses more
firmly in my hands.

“Yes - just a few nerves,” I murmured.

It was time to go in.  I stood up, adjusting my
outfit.  An ornate white dress had seemed inappropriate to me, and I was
wearing a pale cream silk suit with a belted jacket and a pencil skirt, a cream
coloured rose nestled in one side of my hair. 

Nicholas took Jo’s hand, and my father and I
followed them into the brightly lit room.

Peter turned to smile at me.  He looked serious and
smart in a new dark suit, brightened by the rose at his lapel, and within a few
minutes, I became Mrs Leigh.

It was a small wedding, family and a few close
friends, and there was a wedding breakfast at the Golf Club to follow - my
parents had finally got something they wanted.

Peter and I were taking a long weekend in the Lake
District by way of honeymoon.  I did not wish to be parted from Nicholas for
long, and he was going to stay at the DeLisles’ with Rosine, her children and
their nanny, with my mother threatening to check up on him at frequent
intervals.  A tentative suggestion of a trip to Paris by Peter had been quickly
rejected, although I could not fully explain my resistance to the idea.

Once at the hotel, we unpacked, and changed out of
our wedding clothes.  Before we went down for dinner, we became man and wife in
the accepted sense, and I wondered if I should let Sofia know that I was not in
the least appalled by being in bed with my husband.  Both Nick and Ian had been
libidinous lovers, greedy with my body, but Peter’s gentle, considerate
caresses felt exactly right to me, and I could see that we would be happy in
the physical side of our marriage.  Otherwise, honeymoons are only of interest
to the main participants, and ours was no exception.

Life settled down very quickly at the Old Rectory. 
My parents came to stay early on, and my father, who was an accomplished
handyman, set about with paint brushes and wallpaper, so the major rooms were
decorated to our own taste.  The previous occupants had been very fond of
bright floral walls, but we preferred a more muted colour scheme, in keeping
with the age of the house, which soon began to feel like home.

  Despite my conviction that I was doing the right
thing, I had been apprehensive about living with Peter, after having
experienced such a passionate existence with Nick.  However, Peter’s calm
character and sensitivity meant that he was an easy and supportive partner, and
before long, we were relaxed and appreciative of one another.  It was a very
different relationship to the one I had enjoyed with Nick, but I hoped it would
grow into one equally special. 

I never stopped mourning Nick, and thought of him
continually, but the memories gradually became less painful as the months
passed.  What was really wonderful for me was to be able to devote myself to
Nicholas, and become a full time mum at last.

Nicholas and I travelled in to visit Peter’s company
one day before Christmas, because I was anxious to see the office for myself,
and the staff were keen to meet us.  It was a minor ordeal, as I felt I was
being critically inspected by the ladies in the main department, but they were
delighted with Nicholas, and made a big fuss of him.

“We none of us cared much for Silvia,” confided
Joan, Peter’s secretary, a lady of mature years who had also worked for his
father.  Joan was comfortably padded in fluffy mohair, and reminded me of a
mother hen - I almost expected her to start clucking.

  “She was a very flighty piece.  We were ever so
sorry to hear about your tragedy, but we’re all pleased that Peter has married
again.  I can see that you’re well suited, and he’ll be a great dad for little
Nicholas.”

“I hope I passed muster,” I murmured to Peter, as we
drank our coffee in his office.  He sent me a brief, amused grin.  It was
interesting to see him at work, confident and authoritative, and I was
impressed that his employees took a personal interest in his welfare.  Although
it was a very different working environment to the one I had been used to, it
seemed to be happy and productive.  It was clear that the office staff thought
I had done very well for myself in marrying the boss, and I felt increasingly
conscious of my good fortune in having Peter for my husband.

I knew that Peter wanted children of his own, and I
felt a baby would quickly cement our relationship.  In the early part of the
following year, I became pregnant again, and in October, our daughter was born,
a little blonde, curly headed baby for two year old Nicholas to tyrannise.  Two
years later, we had another little girl, as fair as her sister, and there were
three children to tumble about on the lawns of the Old Rectory.

Sometimes, when I am with the children, I feel
Peter’s eyes upon us, and I know that he has everything he ever wanted.  I am
content, too, I could not ask for a better husband, nor my children a more
adoring father.

“Do you ever think about Nick?” Jo asked me, some
years later.  She was visiting with her family, and we watched from deck chairs
as our children ran and shouted in the sunlit garden.

“Yes, always, every day,” I said.

“Even after all this time?”

“Time has nothing to do with it.  Much as I cherish
Peter and the children, Nick was the love of my life.  When I was young and
silly, I wished for a great, all-consuming love - well, I had one, but I didn’t
get to keep it.  Even though he’s no longer here, Nick is the person I will
always adore more than anyone, I can’t change that.  I didn’t get to spend my
life with him, perhaps I’ll get to be with him in eternity.  I’m not very
religious, so I don’t know if that’s possible.”

I glanced at the disengagement ring as I spoke.  I
wore it on my right hand now, because I still felt an unbreakable connection
with my absent Nick.

There was a long silence between us.  I could sense
her disapproval, but I had simply spoken the truth.

Eventually Jo said, frowning,

 “It was hardly a good thing, this great love seems
to have brought you more pain than happiness.  Most people do very well with a
more everyday kind of emotion.  You surely wouldn’t wish a similar fate for
your children?”

I looked across the lawn at my two little daughters
and their dark haired half-brother, the cuckoo in the nest, already possessed
of the same outrageous charm as his father, and wondered what life held for
them.

“I know what I do wish - the freedom to love, to
make their own mistakes, to go forward whatever life throws at them,” I replied
slowly.  “There aren’t any lessons to be learned from my love for Nick, Jo - it’s
just a fact, something which happened to me at the very beginning of my adult
life, from which I could never free myself.”

I knew she would not understand, I hardly understood
it either.

“Perhaps it’s as well Nick died.  Imagine how you
would have felt if he’d left you again in the way he’d done before.” Jo said.

“That’s a cruel thing to suggest.”  I was upset and
irked by her words.

“Maybe - but I hope you aren’t seduced by some
fantasy about Nick into not giving Peter the credit he’s due for being here for
you and Nicholas and the girls.”

“Peter and I are very happy, I don’t think you need
to worry on his behalf.”

I felt as though my early life rushed past me like a
movie on fast forward.  I saw Nick send me his dazzling smile across the table
at St Peter’s, the icy lake without ducks, the double bed where a shy
schoolgirl surrendered her virginity, smoke filled parties at Oxford, the calm
of evening on the balcony at Wapping, the flower filled church and the birth of
a fatherless little boy.

“We didn’t have very long.  Peter and I have been
married for more years than Nick and I spent together,” I said, after a pause. 
“But I’ll always remember every moment.  I’m so grateful that I had Nick,
despite all the pain.”

The children came panting to our chairs, demanding
drinks, and the present intervened once more. 

I thought about Jo’s words later that day.  I
remembered what I had felt after our first break up, when Sandy had told me I
would soon forget Nick, how I had known I could never do so, he was part of the
person I had become.  That was still true, more so than ever.  Nick had a short
life, but he survived in me, his friends and family, above all in Nicholas, the
son he never knew.  None of us wanted to forget him, none of us ever could.

That evening, I went upstairs to check on the
children, fast asleep in their beds after their active, sunshine filled day.  I
paused to straighten Nicholas’ duvet, and Peter came quietly in, and put his
arm round me.

“Sometimes I feel disappointed that Nicholas looks
so little like Nick - that he didn’t inherit that wonderful smile,” I said,
regret stealing over my heart as I spoke.  Peter kissed me gently on the cheek.

“I’m afraid that was a one-off - something special,
that lived and died with Nick,” he said quietly.

He was wrong.  We would both see that smile again in
years to come.  But that is in another time, and another story.