Holding On (28 page)

‘It's rather nice,' said Theo, ‘although I imagine that it might be irritating for outsiders. Do I see a letter from Fliss?'

‘You do indeed. She's coming down next weekend. Isn't that good news? It's the twinnies' birthday so it's extra nice.' She hesitated. ‘There's no reason why she shouldn't come, is there?'

‘None that I can see,' he answered at once. ‘It will do us all good to see them. How is she?'

‘Read it.' Caroline pushed the sheets towards him. ‘Apparently Miles won't be coming . . .'

She fell silent as Theo began to read, moving about the kitchen, preparing the supper which they would presently share. It was months since Theo abandoned the formal evening meal, sitting solitarily in the breakfast room, and now they dined lightly on soup or eggs in the kitchen. At bedtime she made them a hot drink which they had with biscuits or a piece of cake each. Now that Freddy no longer played the piano after dinner the drawing-room fire was rarely lit, and Caroline had got into the habit of keeping the hall fire made up. It was cosier to sit there during the evening than to move into a chilly room simply because of habit and, though she might have felt a little out of place in the drawing room, she was quite comfortable sitting in the hall with Theo.

‘I see she writes about a foreign posting.' Theo folded the sheets and put them back into the envelope. ‘She doesn't seem to be looking forward to the idea.'

‘The last time we spoke she told me that Miles was suggesting that the twinnies should be sent off to boarding school if the posting comes off.' Caroline pushed the pan of soup on to the hotplate and gave the contents a stir. ‘Fliss isn't at all happy about that. They are only seven next weekend and she feels that it's far too young to send them off, especially if she and Miles are going to be out of the country. I must say that I agree with her but I think she may have a bit of a battle on her hands.'

‘Is there any real reason why the twinnies shouldn't accompany them abroad?'

Caroline shrugged. ‘I don't think so. Schooling might prove a bit of a problem but Fliss says there are usually English-speaking schools, and she feels that it would be quite an education for them. She's also worried about Mrs Chadwick, of course.'

Theo was silent. Caroline put some rolls to warm in the oven and went to fetch the cheese. Neither of them was prepared to discuss this subject although they both knew that the end could be only a matter of a few months away.

‘What a blessing music is to her.' Theo suppressed a sigh, watching Caroline as she set out plates and knives and spoons. The knowledge that he would never hear Freddy play again filled him with a terrible sense of loss. ‘What a miracle it is. To hear such wonderful quality of playing merely by pressing a button or two. We take so much for granted in this modern age.'

Caroline's mind was running on ahead, planning for the weekend. They would give a little party for the twinnies and she would ask Gus and Susanna to come over. It might distract them all from their present anxiety – yet it seemed so heartless to be thinking of birthday parties when Mrs Chadwick was so ill. She frowned, feeling guilty and confused . . . Theo was smiling at her.

‘
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens:”
' he quoted. ‘ “
A time to be born and a time to die; . . . A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;”
. The twinnies' birthday should be a time for laughter.'

Caroline smiled back at him gratefully. ‘I'll make a list,' she said. ‘And we'll have to think about presents. Perhaps I'll have a word with Fliss first. After supper I'll get down to it . . .'

Fliss, setting out from Corsham, was struggling with mixed emotions. She was trying to decide why, when on the few occasions she was the victor of a battle of wills, she rarely felt a sense of triumph. Instead she was a prey to doubt and guilt, and knew an overwhelming and pathetic urge to back down and apologise. It really was irritating that Miles was generally right on a moral front – but that still left many grey areas which, though open to debate, were fraught with danger.

Although he had been perfectly happy for Fliss to take the twinnies down to Devon for the weekend, he was absolutely against the suggestion that they should be allowed to take the Friday off school.

‘It makes travelling so much easier,' she'd explained – almost pleaded. ‘Saturday is such a busy day for local traffic.'

‘If you would only drive across to Bristol and join the M5,' he'd said impatiently, ‘you'd have no problem. It will be practically empty. You will insist on going on the old roads.'

‘I like the old roads,' she'd answered stubbornly. ‘Much nicer than those horrid motorways, and we can go to the little cafés we know, like the one in Honiton.'

He'd shaken his head, as if unable to accept or understand such foolishness. ‘I don't like the children missing school. You know that. There's no good reason for it and it sets precedents. They will grow up believing that they can do as they please. It's bad for discipline, surely you can see that? You were teacher yourself, for goodness' sake.'

‘They're not even seven years old yet,' she'd protested. ‘And Miss Andrews is quite happy about it.'

‘You're missing the point,' Miles had said dismissively. ‘I'm not interested in what Miss Andrews is prepared to allow. You know very well that you can twist her round your little finger just because you go in to help out whenever there's a problem. The children are preparing for boarding school and they'll find it a very different proposition to a small village school. They will be expected to be part of a team, to develop a sense of responsibility. If you allow them to think that they can be granted privileges for something as unimportant as a birthday they'll find it that much more difficult when they go to prep school. You went away to school so you should know that they'll be exposed to a stringent discipline.'

It was when he became so didactic that she found it difficult to see the familiar Miles; found it impossible to appeal to the human, kindly side of his character.

‘It's just this once,' she'd said, trying not to sound as if she were wheedling. ‘I discussed it with Miss Andrews who agreed that they would be missing nothing important. And, after all, it's not just the travelling. I want them to spend some time with grandmother before she becomes—'

She had bit her lip, frowning, but Miles had given a short laugh and shrugged helplessly.

‘My dear Fliss, that's no sort of argument, is it? Taken to its logical conclusion it means that the children would be off school until your grandmother dies.'

He'd seen her face, then, and immediately tried to make amends; taking her in his arms, attempting comfort. She hadn't rejected him, although part of her longed to push him away. She hated – no, it was not too strong a word – she
hated
the insensitivity which sometimes clouded his whole personality. As he grew older it was a trait which seemed to be growing and she felt afraid. She knew that he was impatient for Bess and Jamie – he never referred to them as the twinnies – to go off to school; knew that he thought that he and Fliss would be able to re-enter the private world they'd shared before the children were born. Her fear was that it already might be too late. It was as if he had put their own life together on hold whilst the twinnies grew up and she sometimes felt that she was living with a stranger.

‘But they're barely seven years old,' she'd said persuasively, taking advantage of his gentler mood, returning his embrace, ‘and they won't be going away for a few years yet. Eleven is a good age for Herongate. It's not the usual run of prep school, as you know. All that sailing on the lake and the drama and music. Eleven will be quite soon enough. Taking a day off school won't ruin their characters, I'm sure.'

She'd known that she was risking another confrontation. Miles had hinted very strongly that, should he be offered a foreign posting, it would be sensible to send the twinnies off to school. At present he had not come right out into the open but she had already made her position clear: she was not prepared to go abroad without them whilst they were still so young. Fliss knew that Miles was biding his time, waiting for confirmation of the post.

‘It's your decision,' he'd said heavily, releasing her and turning away. ‘You know my views.'

She'd gone on with her preparations cheerfully, as though she were unaware of his weighty disapproval, packing clothes, putting the presents into the back of the estate car and covering them with old blankets. Having learned to ride Fliss's old bicycle at The Keep, the twinnies were being given their own new ones.

‘They could have them early,' Fliss had suggested, hoping to thaw the frost a little. ‘Wouldn't you like to see their faces when they realise what we've bought them?'

Miles had smiled at her. ‘I think they're having quite enough rules bent for them as it is,' he'd said, ‘without getting their presents early. I expect I'll manage to live without the excitement of it.'

He'd seen the disappointment in her eyes and had patted her shoulder.

‘Come on, darling,' he'd said gently. ‘Can't have it both ways. I don't mind you going down to Devon for the children's birthday, you know I don't, so you mustn't get upset if I'm not bothered about seeing them open their presents.'

‘Surely it wouldn't hurt,' she'd begun – but seeing the irritation rise she'd backed off. No doubt the idea of the twinnies having two birthday celebrations would be another dereliction of discipline.

Now, as she drove towards Honiton, her spirits began to rise a little. She'd made the decision and stuck to it; no point in souring the occasion with guilt. To begin with it had seemed such a good plan; an attempt to alleviate the desolation of her grandmother's dying with the acknowledgement that there was the promise of the future in the shape of Bess and Jamie. Celebrating their birthday at The Keep with their grandmother had, at the time, seemed an important, positive thing to do. Briefly, Miles had shaken her belief but as she drew closer to her old home her confidence began to re-assert itself.

She looked in the driving mirror, seeing the two blond heads close together, smiling as she listened to them singing through their repertoire. Their small voices rose together and she began to sing with them.

Rather later on the same day, Susanna was riding her old, sit-upand-beg bicycle out of Totnes. Once through Dartington she turned off the road and bumped along a cart track which led to the partially converted barn that stood at the end of it. It was quite a big L-shaped building, although only one storey high, standing end-on to the road and looking across the fields to the hills beyond. The roof was newly slated but the window frames and doors, reclaimed from dumps and second-hand shops, gave the old stone building a mellow look. Susanna leaned her bike against the wall and, taking a key from her pocket, opened one of the two big central doors which led into the long part of the L.

She stood quite still for a moment, looking about her. The hollow shell was full of light. The original high-vaulted roof beams were exposed and the huge opening at the west end had made the perfect opportunity for a picture window. The shorter leg of the L contained the bedrooms, a bathroom and a lavatory, and a utility room with an outside door. The rest of the building was one enormous living space. Gus had nicknamed it the atrium and they had ignored the gloomy warnings of those who said that it was too large to heat, that they would regret not having separate rooms, that cooking smells would fill the whole area. Gus and Susanna listened politely, agreed with everything and continued with their own plans.

The kitchen was situated at the bedroom end and already contained an oil-fired Esse range, some built-in cupboards, the Welsh dresser, which had been such a bargain, and other essentials, including a long quarry-tiled working surface whose high carved wooden back – an abandoned rood screen from a derelict church – would divide the kitchen from the atrium.

The central area was to be the busy, active living space. An enormous refectory table flanked by various sizes and shapes of chairs, unearthed gradually during the last two years, would stand between the two big, partially glazed doors and the long back windows which looked north. A deep, comfortable four-seater sofa would be set beneath these windows on a raised step so that it was possible to see through the long panes of the upper part of the front doors whilst actually sitting down. At the west end the floor level was already raised and three long, shallow steps led up to the snug. A fireplace with a brass hood had been built into the wall and a fire basket already stood on the big slate square beneath it. Armchairs would be placed here, alongside shelves for books and music, and clever lighting would make it cosy and intimate.

As she stared into the huge light shell, Susanna could visualise it quite clearly. She knew exactly where each lovingly restored piece, at present carefully stored in the gatehouse at The Keep, would stand. She imagined the long, rich blue, heavy velvet curtains, made with Caroline's help on the old Singer sewing machine in the nursery along with the striped ticking cover for the sofa, and could almost feel the warmth of the log fire. Leaving the door open behind her, she wandered around the atrium. Bars of sunlight lay across the wooden floor which would presently be covered with warm, thick rugs, and she paused at the west window to look out to the moors, indigo and purple and gold, as the cloud shadows raced across the craggy slopes.