Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (11 page)

After the pies were finished and baked, I regarded them with pleasure. I’d made enough for two and it gave me satisfaction to think that I would give one of them to the children who would really enjoy it (it was Thea’s favorite). I felt a moment of pity for Jo who had no one now to make some special treat for, and for Esther, who would probably never even think of doing such a thing.

Chapter Nine

When I called to leave the lemon meringue pie for Thea, she greeted me eagerly. “Oh good, I was just going to ring you. Could you do me a favor? My washing machine’s finally given up the ghost. Well, I say ‘finally,’ but we seem to have had it only a couple of years. I bought a new one, but they can only deliver it on Friday afternoon—and of course they can’t give me an exact time—and Alice has a riding lesson then. So would you mind collecting her from school and taking her to the stables?”

“Yes, of course. And how maddening about your washing machine. Things simply don’t last nowadays. What is it they call it—built-in obsolescence? I was just saying to Rosemary the other day, when my fridge packed up, that the one Peter and I had when we were first married lasted more than thirty years! No, it’ll be lovely to see her. What time’s the lesson?”

“Four thirty. Is that all right?”

“Splendid. I can take her back with me and give her a sandwich to keep her going, and if you give me her jodhpurs and things, she can change then. Are you all right for washing until Friday? Would you like me to take anything back and put it in my machine?”

“No, it’s fine. Actually, it’s quite a relief
not
to be able to do any washing for a bit. I’m always putting stuff into the machine, forgetting that it’s simply piling up the ironing!”

Fortunately, Alice is still at the age when being fetched from school is perfectly acceptable (unlike Delia who, Rosemary tells me, regards being collected by any adult as a brutal attempt to embarrass her in front of her friends), and she greeted me with enthusiasm.

“Hello, Gran. Are you going to come and see me ride? Cracker really knows me now—he’s so sweet—and Liz says I can go on a proper long ride soon. Have you got my things?
And
my crop—not that I need a crop with Cracker; he’s so good.”

 

When we arrived at the stables, although it was early, there was another car there. It was a Mitsubishi Shogun, like the one I’d seen out beyond Withypool parked beside Jo’s Land Rover. Alice gathered her things together and, as we went into the stable yard, Dan Webster came out of the office. He turned in the doorway and I heard him say, “I’ll stay in touch—you never know!” He greeted me with a wave of the hand, got into the Shogun and drove away.

Alice saw Peggy in one of the stables and ran off to join her. I sat on one of the mounting blocks, waiting for her to emerge. After a short while Jo came out of the office. She looked tired and not very well.

“Hallo,” I said. “Are you all right?”

She smiled. “I’m fine. It’s just been a tiring day, one thing after another; you know how it is.”

“I saw Dan Webster leaving,” I said. “Was he one of the tiring things?”

“In a way. I’m buying Tarquin off him, but there’s some difficulty about the horse passport, silly bureaucratic nonsense, so it’s all a bit complicated and, as I said, just one more thing!”

“I don’t expect Dan Webster is the easiest person to do business with anyway,” I said.

“Oh, he’s quite keen to make the sale. I don’t think he’d find many buyers; poor Tarquin has a reputation now, of course. Unfair, really, there’s no vice in him; it’s just that he was badly handled before he came here. Liz is doing a marvelous job on him. Anyway, I know that’s what Charlie would have wanted.”

“You’re probably right,” I said doubtfully.

“I’m sure I am.” She smiled and, as several children in jodhpurs arrived, she looked at her watch. “I must be off. I’ve got a lesson. Nice to see you.”

I dutifully watched Alice going round and round the ring under Peggy’s careful eye, but my mind kept wandering to Dan Webster and what the meeting up on the moor had been about and what he had meant by “You never know.”

 

We seemed to be having an Indian summer and, although I’d meant to put away all my summer clothes, it was still warm enough to keep on wearing them. This year at least, as Rosemary said, we’re getting some
use
out of our summer things. In spite of being in the southwest, Taviscombe can be quite chilly. I can distinctly remember, when Michael was small, wearing a sheepskin coat one August day when I was watching him build sand castles on the beach. Still, I suppose if all they say about global warming is true, then we’ll have no more use for our heavy sweaters and winter coats.

I’d just decided, as a compromise, to put away my summer dresses and keep out the skirts and tops, when the phone rang. It was Rosemary.

“Simon’s just rung to say that Gordon died last night.”

“Good heavens! I had heard that he wasn’t well, but I’d no idea. . . . What was it, heart?”

“Yes. It was quite sudden. Of course, he should have been having those tests, or at least seeing Dr. Macdonald, but he kept putting things off.”

“What happened?”

“He went off to a council meeting; apparently he seemed quite all right then. He was late back—they’re used to that, but after a while Esther started to fret about keeping his supper hot, so Simon went out to see if he was coming and saw that his car was parked in the drive. He went out and found Gordon collapsed over the wheel. Simon phoned an ambulance, of course, but he was dead when they arrived.”

“How awful—poor Esther!”

“I know. Simon says she’s still in shock; doesn’t seem to have taken it in.”

“No, I’m sure one doesn’t. Sudden death may be the most merciful way to go, but it’s wretched for those left behind.”

“Fortunately Simon’s there to see to everything and Vicky’s coming home from London.”

“Has Simon told Jo?” I asked.

“Yes—he said it was difficult—you know, with Charlie just gone.”

“Of course. They’re both widows now, though I don’t really think of Jo as a widow, do you? I feel as if Charlie’s still there with her somehow.”

“In a nice sort of way—yes, I know what you mean. A loving presence. Not like poor Gordon. Though,” Rosemary added, “I don’t know why I say poor Gordon. I disliked him when he was alive and the fact that he’s dead hasn’t changed my opinion of him.”

“Poor Esther, though,” I said. “She’ll be lost without him. I don’t think she ever made a real decision in her life—everything was referred to him.”

“Poor Simon, if you really get down to it,” Rosemary said. “He’ll never be able to escape now—I mean, Vicky will be going back to London after the funeral, and then there’ll be just him and Esther.”

“I don’t suppose you know when the funeral will be?”

“No, I don’t think Simon’s fixed it yet; it’s still early days.”

I rang Esther later that day, just to see if there was anything I could do—though, goodness knows, there’s little enough that anyone
can
do, or say, for that matter.

“That’s very kind of you, Sheila,” she said. She sounded somehow muted and uncertain. “I don’t think there is. Simon’s been very good and Vicky will be here tomorrow. I thought I ought to go to Taunton to get a hat. Well, I’ve got quite a nice one, but it’s navy and that’s not quite the same as black, is it? Though, of course I do have a navy coat. . . . but Gordon was very definite about things like that. He always wore black for funerals—not just a black tie, but a black overcoat, even in summer, over a dark suit. He said it was paying proper respect and he wouldn’t like me not to. I’ve got a black coat. It’s a lightweight summer coat, but it
is
black, and I’ve got a black-and-white silk dress—or do you think black and white wouldn’t be suitable?”

“I think it would be fine,” I said, “and I have a black hat if you’d like to borrow it. It would save you going all the way to Taunton. Actually, come to think of it, I’ve two black hats—one straw and one felt. I suppose the straw one would be better if you’re wearing a summer coat. Anyway, I could bring them for you to try.”

“Oh, would you, Sheila; that’s very kind. But what about you?”

I didn’t admit that I hadn’t intended to wear a hat at all. “Oh, I’ve got a navy one—a very
dark
navy, so that would be all right for me.”

I took the hats round the next afternoon and found Esther less subdued, but still not really her old self. When we went up to her bedroom to try on the hats, I was touched to see that Gordon’s pajamas were lying folded on one of the pillows and his hair brushes were still on the dressing table.

“What do you think, Sheila, will this coat do? It’s quite full—what we used to call a duster coat, isn’t it?” She went over to one of the wardrobes and took out the black-and-white dress for me to see. “Do you think this is all right? The coat will cover up the dress completely in the church, though I suppose I’ll have to take it off afterwards at the—what do you call it? Not reception?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The Irish say ‘wake’ of course, but it doesn’t seem suitable in this case. People just say ‘afterwards at’ wherever it is.”

“Simon thought the Westfield would be suitable. Gordon always says it’s the best hotel in Taviscombe.”

“Yes, that would be splendid. It’s quite near the church, so everyone can walk there.”

Esther sat down at the dressing table and tried on the hats.

“I think the straw one,” she said, “or what do you think? The felt one is more off the face. I never did have the face for a hat. Jo did. She had a big Garbo hat in pink felt. It had a big brim that came down all one side of her face. I remember she said it made her look mysterious, whatever that might have meant. She had it all those years ago when she went off to London.”

“I think the straw one will be better,” I said.

“Yes, you’re right; I’ll wear that one.”

I mentally noted that this was the first time in all our acquaintance that Esther had asked for my opinion and had actually taken it. “That’s fine,” I said, “but I’ll leave both of them in case you change your mind.”

She put the hats down and looked at them doubtfully; then she got up and said, “Shall we have a cup of tea?”

“That would be nice.”

I followed her into the kitchen while she put the kettle on, and when the tea was made she said, “Shall we have it out here? Gordon doesn’t like us to eat or drink in the kitchen. He says, ‘What do we have a dining room for?’”

“I don’t think a cup of tea counts,” I said.

“Oh”—she moved over to one of the cupboards—“would you like some biscuits, or there’s a cake I got from Stenners the other day, before . . . but it’s been in a cake tin, so I’m sure it’s quite fresh.”

“No, really, just a cup of tea will be fine.”

She sat down and poured the tea while I tried to think of something to say.

“Vicky’s coming home tomorrow,” she said.

“That’s nice.”

“She said she should be able to stay for a full week because she wants to see Jo about some program or other—but I’d have thought her father’s funeral would be quite enough reason for staying.”

“I expect she just wants to get her program sorted out. I imagine she’s under quite a bit of pressure in her job.”

“I suppose so,” Esther said absently. She was silent for a while and then she said quite suddenly, “I miss him so. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. How am I going to bear it, Sheila? How am I going to go on?” She was crying now, not sobbing, but quietly crying, tears pouring down her face.

I put my hand on hers. “You get used to it. No, that’s not true; you never get used to it, but you learn to accept it. When Peter died, I was lucky to have Michael. You have Simon and Vicky; they’ll get you through.”

“If only he’d seen Dr. Macdonald, if
only
he’d listened to me—he might have been here now. He wasn’t old; he had years ahead of him. It need never have happened; he could have had a bypass, a new heart, even. . . .” She fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sheila, giving way like that.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s good for you to give way. Here, drink your tea; it will make you feel better. Shall I stay with you until Simon comes home?”

“No, I’m all right. Anyway, I’ve got to get on with supper. I’ve got some nice lamb chops, Simon’s favorite—and I thought I’d make an apple pie for tomorrow when Vicky comes. I don’t suppose she does much cooking in that flat of hers.”

Seeing Esther more or less restored to her proper self, I left and on the way home I thought about how the two sisters had each reacted to their sudden loss. I suppose it was inevitable that someone as erratic as Esther should have become vague and disorientated while Jo, the strong one, had collected herself quickly and, to all intents and purposes, got on with her life. I mentioned this to Rosemary when I met her in the library the next day.

“Well, considering how wonderful Charlie was, I think it’s fantastic that Jo is coping so well,” she said. “Of course, it helps to have to keep busy—the stables are a lot of hard work—and I expect she feels she’s keeping things going for Charlie’s sake. I suppose what I mean is that Jo and Charlie were partners in everything, whereas poor old Esther was completely under horrible Gordon’s thumb. She had no sort of life of her own, did she? So she’s got nothing to fill the gap.”

“There’s Simon and Vicky,” I said. “Though, of course, they’ve always been sort of peripheral to her life and her devotion to Gordon. She’ll be quite well off, I should think. Perhaps she could travel.”

“Can you imagine it?”

“Well, no, not really, not unless she took Simon with her, and that would defeat the whole object of the exercise, which is somehow to arrange things so that Simon gets a life of his own.”

“It’s a pity Vicky lives in London.”