Holding On (14 page)

‘She's got Sin and Jake,' Susanna had said thoughtfully.

‘Quite. Like calls to like. The thing is to find your own kind of people. Janie doesn't think you're an anachronism, does she?'

Susanna had felt a touch of comfort here. This was the secret then: to find like-minded people with whom to work and live. Later she'd mentioned it to Uncle Theo.

‘Being true to yourself is what matters,' he'd answered. ‘Otherwise you will become as unsteady as a weathercock, trying to be all things to all men.' She might have answered that she did not yet quite know herself but instinctively she understood what he was telling her. She could grow, adapt, develop, but she need not jettison the past which had moulded her, nor deny the teachings which informed her thoughts and reactions.

She'd met Gus when two years later, she'd answered an advertisement in the
Western Morning News
: a graphic artist in Totnes required an experienced assistant for the Easter holidays. She'd found him hidden away in a small court near the castle, living over the shop. Having let herself in through the gate in the wall, she'd stood for a moment, looking round the sunny little courtyard in delight, before approaching the open door. Inside, someone was whistling and humming and occasionally bursting into song: a setting of one of Housman's poems, ‘Bredon Hill.'

‘Hello,' she'd said, during a pause. ‘It's me, Susanna Chadwick. I've called about the job.'

He'd come towards her from amongst the clutter of drawing boards and long trestle tables, peering at her over the top of the reading spectacles which slid down his nose.

‘Thank goodness,' he'd said, removing them and holding out his hand. ‘I didn't quite believe my luck when you answered my ad. The truth is, I'm terribly behind and I'm getting in a muddle.' He'd smiled then, still holding her hand. ‘Hello, Susanna Chadwick. I'm Augustus Mallory, commonly called Gus.'

It was as simple as that. From that moment she'd known that Gus was her person and that she belonged to him; that the crowded office and the cosy flat above it were to become her world.

‘My father is a parson,' he'd told her, ‘and I'm the youngest of six children. By the time they got to me my parents had practically given up the battle. I was allowed to choose my own career and drawing is the only thing I can do reasonably well apart from singing. I have a passable baritone voice of which you will become extremely tired. Feel free to shut me up whenever you please.'

He talked endlessly, which delighted her. There was no subject in which she could not interest him and they chattered for hours; learning each other, she called it. He was fascinated by stories of The Keep and her family and, in return, he told her about his own upbringing in a Somersetshire parsonage on the edge of Exmoor.

‘My parents named us all after saints,' he said cheerfully. ‘Wishful thinking no doubt. My sisters came off best. Anne and Theresa. But with us boys they became more adventurous: Barnabas, George, Crispin and me. It should have been Augustine but my godmother intervened, bless her. You'd like my godmother.'

At the end of the holiday she could hardly bear to leave him. They'd both been rather quiet on her last day. He'd hummed beneath his breath, a sure sign that he was thinking something through, and she'd felt that she might burst with misery and the longing that he would say something to her which would show that he felt as she did. How could she go back to Bristol without some sign that he cared for her, that he would miss their growing companionship?

‘I've been thinking,' he'd said, as she'd brought them both mugs of coffee from the small kitchen, ‘that I might take on a full-time assistant. The work's pouring in at the moment. I've really captured the hotel trade and I've got hundreds of brochures to do . . . but it might not appeal. I imagine you have your sights fixed on London at the end of the term?'

For the first time he'd found it impossible to look at her and she'd known an unfamiliar surge of triumph: a strange mix of power and tenderness. His grey eyes had looked rather sad as he'd sat hunched on his stool, his shoulders uncharacteristically bowed, turning a pencil in his long fingers. She'd remained silent for a moment, deciding what to say, and he'd sighed, shrugging a little, anticipating her refusal.

‘It's only to be expected,' he'd said. ‘I wouldn't be able to pay very much and you wouldn't meet lots of exciting people. It's a terrific cheek to ask, really. Why on earth would a beautiful, talented girl like you want to bury herself in a little studio in Totnes?'

‘Because I love you.' She'd answered his question truthfully and accurately and he'd turned quickly, dropping his pencil, standing up.

‘Oh, Sooz. Do you? Honestly? I love you too. Only I didn't think I'd have a hope. Oh, dearest, darling Sooz . . .' He'd stretched out his arms for her – and knocked over the coffee, spilling it all over his drawings . . .

Now, still sitting on the window seat, hugging her knees, Susanna chuckled. They'd had to do the drawings all over again and Gus had sung loudly the whole time, punctuating the work with quick hugs and rather longer kisses.

Beneath her a window opened and light streamed suddenly across the terrace.

The thrush which had been singing in the orchard had long since flown away and the garden lay deserted and silent below her. Susanna jumped up and went across to the cupboard, bending down to root about for her hair dryer. Fliss had promised to come up for a chat before supper and here she was with her hair still dripping. She rubbed her head furiously with the towel and reached for her brush. She hadn't wanted a hairdresser fiddling with her hair although she'd had a trim the week before. Now it was slightly longer than jaw length and she planned to sweep it back above her ears with two clips and place the simple veil with its circlet of flowers on the top. It was lovely to think that she would look beautiful for Gus but she needed to feel that she was truly herself, too. Marrying Gus wasn't a fairy tale sustained by promises of a happy ending. It was real: real as the busy office in the funny old cottage, real as the panics about clients paying their bills and the monthly anguish of finding the rent.

Susanna plugged in the hair dryer and perched on the end of her bed. She brushed the thick dark hair away from her face, lips curved in a tiny, unconscious smile. It was going to be such a lovely day with all her dearest people about her: dear old Mole giving her away and Fliss's darling twinnies following her up the aisle. Gus's ten-year-old niece was to be in charge of them and his two nephews were to be ushers, under the watchful eye of Hal. She'd been oddly relieved that Hal's children were far too young to take a leading role in the ceremony. There seemed to be a kind of strain when Maria was with her children at The Keep; a kind of contest as to which children were the most admired, most valued by their relatives. Everyone adored all the children equally and in their different ways: Grandmother affectionately; Uncle Theo cautiously; Fox lovingly: Caroline warmly but sensibly . . .

If only Ellen had been here to see her married. It was the single dark shadow cast across the brightness of her happiness. During Fliss's second year in Hong Kong, Ellen had slipped on a patch of ice and broken her hip. Pneumonia set in and she had died quickly and without regaining consciousness. The shock to the family had been numbing, their grieving long, relieved only by the arrival of news and photographs of Fliss's twinnies; and even this had carried the pain of knowing that Ellen would never see the children . . .

Susanna wiped away the tears, imagining she could hear Ellen's voice from the shadows. ‘Crying on your wedding eve. Whatever next, I wonder . . .' Surely Ellen was still here with them, knit into the very fabric of The Keep.

‘She'll be there,' Gus had said confidently. ‘No need to worry about that. The vital part of Ellen can't be contained by the earth.'

Now she thought of it, Gus was rather like Uncle Theo: a strange blend of toughness and compassion; of love and unyielding strength. Joy flooded back into her heart, driving out sorrow. Tomorrow they would be married, setting out on the rest of their life together. Wielding her brush in one hand and the hair dryer in the other, Susanna began to sing.

Freddy, flanked by Theo and Fliss, sat in the Chadwick pew and looked about her. Caroline had done wonders with the flowers despite the unrewarding material with which she'd had to work. Single-stemmed coral chrysanthemums, green hydrangeas and autumn berries glowed against the ancient grey stone. Kit had brought roses down from London; long red ones for the church and house, tiny buds for the posies. Autumn was not the best time for a wedding but it had been a question of getting Hal, Miles and Mole all together at the same time. ‘Anyway,' Susanna had said, ‘I don't want all those fancy hothouse flowers. I want it to be simple. A country wedding, not some grand London affair.'

The organ was competing with the murmur and quiet bustle in the church behind her: ‘
Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring
'. Freddy listened carefully, approving the organist's abilities, although the piece was not a favourite. She was aware of Gus and his best man in the pew across the aisle, of Theo's reassuring presence and of Fliss's anxiety. Freddy knew very well that Fliss was living in terror that the twinnies might be overwhelmed by the occasion and so ruin Susanna's day. She put her gloved hand lightly on Fliss's clenched ones and watched the thin fingers relax. Glancing sideways she saw Fliss smile, roll her eyes comically, nod gratefully. Removing her hand, Freddy straightened her shoulders, wondering, as she so often did now, how much Fliss was suffering. She had returned from Hong Kong with two enchanting blonde moppets, Elizabeth and Jamie, and several new lines etched about her eyes and mouth. More than ever now she looked like her mother: the tiny frown perpetually clouding her brow, her face stern in repose.

Freddy thought: She is coping with the knowledge that Miles is not interested in his children. Oh, he puts on a bit of a show for us all, pretends he adores them, but you can see from their attitude to him that it is not the way he usually behaves to them. Poor darling Fliss. For her, of all people, it is such a tragedy. Poor Miles, too. He should have remained a widower or probably never married in the first place. He's a good man – strong, determined, dependable, successful – but he's not a family man. I should have seen that all those years ago but he was so in love it was almost painful to see him. He'd been so faithful, so patient . . .

 

Fliss glanced quickly over her shoulder and Hal, catching her sudden movement, smiled reassuringly and put up his thumbs, jerking his head towards the door. So the bride's attendants had arrived and were safely in the porch. She sighed with relief, caught Gus's eye and nodded encouragingly. He grinned, pretending faintness, and she grinned too, her anxiety evaporating in the face of his happiness. She was aware of his family filling the pews directly behind him. His father was assisting at the service but his mother, sitting amongst Gus's assorted siblings and their offspring, smiled placidly at her youngest son as he turned once more to glance hopefully down the aisle.

Fliss thought: What a lovely family they are. How lucky Susanna is. I really don't think Grandmother need worry about her.

She knew that her grandmother was concerned by Gus's lack of material substance and she hid another grin as she recalled Gus's description of the interview.

‘It only needed a raised lorgnette to complete the scene,' he'd told her. ‘She terrifies me. I explained about the business and so on and she listened very patiently and then said, “But on what do you intend to
live
?” clearly dismissing my work as an adequate means of support. I said, “Well, actually, not that much, to be honest.” She looked at me, very
grande dame
, obviously contemplating some utterly devastating remark, but your Uncle Theo leaned forward and said, “Shall you mind if Susanna talks to strangers on trains?” I was a bit thrown, I have to say. I thought it was a kind of test question and that my future happiness depended on getting the answer right. I was so nervous I said what came into my head first. “Why on earth should I?” I said. “I've met some terrific people on trains.” He looked at your grandmother and said, “It is clear to me that Gus and Susanna were meant for each other.” Well, she snorted in a disdainful kind of way but let the financial aspect drop. I was jolly relieved, I can tell you. I don't know where the train bit came in but I think your Uncle Theo's a great guy.'

Someone from the back of the church had given a sign and the organist was moving smoothly from the voluntary to the introit, playing loudly now. The congregation rose to its feet and turned expectantly, Gus included. Catching sight of his face, Theo experienced a stab of pure envy. How glorious to have the right to express your joy and love quite openly like that! Unconscious of anyone else, Gus was watching Susanna come up the aisle on her brother's arm. Tall, dark, elegant in his naval uniform, Mole made a perfect foil to Susanna's pale cloudy beauty. Traditionally, her face was covered with a single floating layer of her veil and her posy of tiny yellow rosebuds matched the circlet on her head.

Watching her, Freddy found herself remembering the little group waiting on Staverton station nineteen years before: Mole clinging to Fliss, the small Susanna gazing up at her unknown grandmother with round brown eyes, her rag dolly clutched to her smocked dress. Freddy had bent down to pick her up, her heart full of fear, wondering how on earth she would manage with these three small orphans . . . Now, as she drew level, Susanna leaned forward to smile at them, at her grandmother and Uncle Theo and her sister, and Mole, aware of the pressure on his arm, paused, so that the two of them were held motionless for one moment in time and space before they passed on. Tears slid down Freddy's cheeks, though she stared straight ahead, chin lifted, daring either of her supporters to notice. Theo, head bent, was silently concentrating on willing her his love as he had done so many times in the past.