Postcards from the Past (10 page)

‘What nonsense,’ her mother said, clearly taken aback. ‘You’ve been completely at home here.’

He laughed derisively. ‘How can you say that? Billa and Ed make no attempt to hide how much they dislike Tristan, and they treat me as if I’m an intruder…’

‘No,’ her mother said. ‘No, it isn’t true. I know it isn’t always easy in the holidays—’

‘Easy? That’s an understatement.’

He was standing now, his voice growing louder, shouting her mother down when she tried to speak, but a small part of Billa was puzzled: it was as if it wasn’t quite real. She felt that Andrew’s anger was being manufactured, pumped up, for a reason she couldn’t understand.

‘I’ve had enough, Elinor,’ he was saying now. ‘It just hasn’t worked out. We’ve simply got to face up to it.’

He strode out of the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, and the two women stood together in shocked silence. Billa looked at her mother. She felt that somehow this was all her fault but, as she began to speak, her mother dropped the egg-beater and ran out of the kitchen. Billa heard her racing up the stairs and then the raised voices from the landing and the bedroom. Crouching by the Aga, Billa listened to the footsteps, to her mother’s pleading voice and Andrew’s angry one. Presently they came downstairs and she heard the hall door open; her mother was weeping now, begging him to stay. From the window she saw Andrew putting suitcases into the boot of his car, her mother clinging to his arm, trying to prevent him. He pushed her away, got into the driver’s seat, and the car moved off down the drive. Her mother stood quite still, staring after him.

*   *   *

‘She was devastated,’ Billa says. ‘There had been a few rows but she clearly wasn’t expecting anything like that.’

‘And you felt that he was, how did you put it, manufacturing his anger?’

‘Yes.’ Billa frowns, remembering it. ‘It sounds odd, doesn’t it? But it was like he was picking a quarrel deliberately so that he could storm off. But why would he do that?’

Dom shakes his head. ‘I’d like to know what the telephone calls were about.’

Ed comes into the kitchen followed by the dogs. His jeans are tucked into thick socks and pieces of twig cling to his jersey. Bessie goes to Bear’s bowl and begins to lap at the water; Bear joins her and they drink amicably together.

‘You look serious,’ says Ed. His cheerful expression fades and alarm takes its place. ‘Oh, no. You haven’t had any more postcards?’

‘No, no,’ says Billa quickly. ‘No, we were just re-enacting the leaving of Andrew and Tris.’

‘Sounds like a rhythm and blues number,’ says Ed. ‘Dolly Parton. “The Leaving of Andrew and Tris”.’

‘I still wonder why Andrew went off so quickly,’ says Dom. ‘If, for instance, he knew that he was a beneficiary under Elinor’s will, why would he walk away like that?’

‘So you think Tris’s visit has nothing to do with any kind of inheritance?’ asks Billa hopefully.

‘No, I’m not necessarily saying that. I’m just trying to think of everything. To be one step ahead. I’d like to know why Andrew found it necessary to disappear so quickly and completely after some rather urgent telephone calls.’

‘Oh.’ Ed looks at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Do you think Andrew had a shady past and it was a case of “Flee at once – all is discovered”?’

‘Well, I do wonder a bit,’ admits Dom. ‘It was just so final, wasn’t it? And neither of you believed that things were that bad between them.’

‘The first rush of blood to the head had passed,’ Billa says, ‘but I wouldn’t have said that things had irretrievably broken down. There were a few rows in the holidays but there always had been, and that was usually to do with us children rather than Mother and Andrew. But I think Andrew was growing restless. Dashing off on his own. Looking back, I wonder if Mother suspected him of being unfaithful.’

‘Well, it might have been just that,’ says Dom. ‘Maybe he’d found a better prospect somewhere else and he was looking for the opportunity to make the break. Maybe she was phoning him and giving him an ultimatum.’

The telephone rings and Ed answers it. ‘Hang on,’ he says into the handset. He turns to Billa. ‘Tilly is asking if she can bring Alec Bancroft for coffee tomorrow. She says he can’t wait to see the tadpoles.’

Billa laughs. ‘She’s impossible. Yes, of course she can. Tell her, eleven o’clock.’

Ed repeats the message, looking puzzled, and puts the handset back on the stand.

‘But there aren’t any tadpoles yet,’ says Ed. ‘It’s much too early. It’s only frogspawn.’

‘It’s just Tilly’s joke,’ says Billa. ‘Don’t ask. Let’s eat this before it gets cold.’

She spoons scrambled egg on to plates, with slices of crispy bacon, and the three of them sit together at the big slate table as they have so many times before. The dogs clamber on to the old, sagging sofa and settle comfortably as if they were still puppies. The kitchen is warm and peaceful, Bear begins to snore and Billa teases Ed about yet another hole in his jersey.

Dom remembers how the two of them welcomed him as their brother, accepted him so joyfully into their lives, and how happy they were until Tris arrived. He remembers Ed saying, ‘I hate him,’ and Billa weeping over Bitser’s death. He hears Tris’s words: ‘So you’re the bastard’… ‘Your mother was a whore,’ and he thinks: I can’t allow Tris to spoil what we’ve got now. Not again. I’ll kill him first.

‘Don’t look so grim, Dom.’ Billa is smiling at him, guessing his thoughts. She looks cheerful and confident and happy. ‘I really cannot see how Tris can do us any harm after all this time. He’s probably hundreds of miles away, bored out of his mind and thinking up ways of being his old tiresome self.’

Dom nods, smiles as if in agreement, takes a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl; but he doesn’t believe it. Every instinct tells him that Tris is already here, waiting.

CHAPTER NINE

‘So that’s great,’ Tilly is saying to Sir Alec Bancroft. ‘Coffee tomorrow. Would you like me to pick you up?’

‘Oh.’ He seems surprised by her offer. ‘That’s very kind but I’m sure I’ll find it. You’ve given me good directions. But you’ll be there?’

‘Yes, of course. I want to see Hercules when he meets Bear. Well, I ought to dash off if that’s OK.’

Before he can answer there is a knock at the door and Sir Alec gives a little shrug of apology and goes out to answer it. Tilly hears him talking, a voice answering, and then he comes back.

‘It’s the curate,’ he says. ‘I think I told you about Clem, didn’t I?’ and he steps aside to allow Clem to come into the room.

Tilly isn’t prepared for a tall, lean young man with short gilt-fair hair and an attractive smile. She feels confused, almost indignant; he isn’t her stereotypical idea of a curate – though she isn’t sure what is – and he is casually dressed in jeans and an old Barbour jacket. Sir Alec introduces them and they shake hands. She suspects that Clem is amused by her confusion and she is relieved that Sir Alec has taken control of the conversation, talking about the retreat house, so that she can pull herself together.

‘I’m just going up to Chi-Meur,’ Clem is saying, ‘so I thought I’d drop in on the way to see how you’re getting on.’ He looks at Tilly and his eyes crinkle up teasingly. ‘How’s he doing with his database?’ he asks. ‘Has he got past the letter A yet?’

‘He is a complete technophobe, actually,’ Tilly answers, entering into the spirit of the thing, rather surprised at herself. ‘But you knew that already, didn’t you?’

Clem grins at Sir Alec. ‘He still uses a quill to write his letters,’ he says to Tilly. ‘Did he tell you? It was Rose who was the keyboard queen. She was terrific.’

Once again, Tilly is surprised. He talks about Rose with great affection and no sense of embarrassment. She glances at Sir Alec to see if the reference has in anyway upset him but he is grinning too.

‘Cheeky young devil,’ he says. ‘But it’s true. She’d got it all covered. Emails, Skyping, texting. But I’m coming on, aren’t I, Tilly?’

‘You know how to switch on and log in,’ she agrees.

‘And how many lessons has that taken?’ asks Clem. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’

Tilly laughs and then suddenly feels slightly shy. ‘I must dash,’ she says. ‘Sarah’s expecting me for lunch. Goodbye,’ she says to Clem. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she says to Sir Alec.

It is only after she’s in the car that she remembers that she will be going to the convent after lunch; to Chi-Meur. She wonders if Clem will still be there.

*   *   *

‘I’ve met the curate,’ she says casually to Sarah. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Clem Pardoe? Yes, he popped in to see me just after George was born and now he comes in for a cup of coffee from time to time. Dishy, isn’t he? He reminds me of Hathaway in
Lewis.
’

‘He seems nice. Not quite how I’d imagined a curate.’

Sarah laughs. ‘Were you thinking very pale and young and nervous? I don’t think curates are like that any more. Clem was in IT in London. He came down to Cornwall when his wife died.’

‘Wife?’ Tilly experiences an odd little shock. ‘He’s married?’

‘Was married. She died having their baby whilst Clem was at theological college. He gave it up so he could earn money to look after the baby and then when Jakey was about three Clem took a live-in job at the convent as a handyman, gardener, whatever. He was ordained quite recently and he helps at the retreat house while he does his curacy. It’s Clem who’s pushing for a really good website.’

Tilly rearranges her ideas about Clem. ‘How awful,’ she says. ‘About his wife, I mean.’

‘Awful.’ Sarah glances slyly at Tilly. ‘Apart from anything, it’s a terrible waste. He ought to get married again.’

‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Tilly says at once. ‘Can you see me as a vicar’s wife, let alone a stepmother?’

Sarah snorts. ‘To be honest I can’t see you as any kind of wife or mother.’

‘Thanks,’ says Tilly, secretly hurt but not showing it. ‘I must admit I have no ambition to be either.’

She is tempted to make an unkind remark about Sarah’s not being much of an advertisement for the domestic scene, but resists. And, to be fair, Sarah has a point. Domesticity, timetables, rules and regs have never been Tilly’s strong point.

‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘he’s probably got a girlfriend.’

Sarah shakes her head. ‘Not as far as I know. He doesn’t strike me as someone who gives his heart easily and he’s completely devoted to Jakey.’

‘And living in a convent isn’t actually particularly conducive to having a relationship.’

‘Oh, he and Jakey moved out of the Lodge when Clem was deaconed. They’re in the new vicarage down the lane. We’re part of a team here so we don’t have our own vicar and the vicarage was empty so they’ve let Clem have it.’

‘You know a lot about it,’ says Tilly, slightly irritated by Sarah’s almost proprietorial attitude.

‘Mmm.’ Sarah makes a smug little face. ‘I rather like Clem.’

Tilly laughs. ‘Well, don’t tell Dave.’

‘Oh, Dave likes him, too. Great sense of humour.’

‘Right,’ says Tilly, giving up. ‘Well, I’d better make a move or I’ll be late. And if I see Clem I’ll give him your love.’

‘You do that,’ says Sarah.

*   *   *

Clem is the first person Tilly sees as she drives past the house. He stands outside the open front door with a small group of people: an elderly cleric, two of the Sisters and a younger woman with a rather boho appearance and a mane of tawny hair. Tilly parks the car in the barn, picks up Dom’s camera and walks round to the front drive. Clem comes to meet her; his smile is friendly, almost intimate, rather as if they share some secret joke; some common aim.

Sister Emily greets her as an old friend. ‘This is Tilly,’ she says to the small group. She speaks with pride and delight, indicating that Tilly is someone special. ‘She’s helping us with the website. Putting us on the map. And this,’ she says to Tilly, ‘is Mother Magda. And Father Pascal, who is our chaplain. And Janna, who looks after us most wonderfully and imaginatively.’

They all smile at Sister Emily’s description, and Tilly experiences a great sense of family, of unity, amongst them all. For a brief second she has a huge longing for her parents, far away in Canada. She shrugs it off quickly, responding to the introductions, displaying the camera.

‘I’ve got permission to take photographs,’ she says, ‘for the new website. I’ve got some ideas already, but if anyone has any suggestions…?’

Mother Magda looks rather anxiously at Sister Emily and Father Pascal as if for inspiration. Janna smiles rather shyly, as if she’s not certain that she is qualified to give an opinion.

‘The orchard looks beautiful when the bluebells are flowering,’ she says hesitantly.

‘And when the trees are in blossom,’ agrees Sister Emily quickly. ‘Though that won’t be quite yet.’

‘We’ll need one of the chapel,’ suggests Father Pascal. ‘How many are we allowed?’

‘As many as you like,’ says Tilly. ‘The website needs to be updated regularly so there is always something new for people to see. We could post events and things like that. Perhaps even have a blog. And I was thinking about what Sister Emily called Holy Holidays rather than the actual retreats and quiet days. I had this idea of doing a little video.’

‘Oh?’ Clem looks at her quickly, eyebrows raised; interested. ‘Of what?’

‘Well, last time I was here I walked down to the beach. It’s so beautiful. I thought I could do a video clip showing people how they can simply walk out of the door and on to the cliffs or down to the sea.’

‘How exciting,’ exclaims Sister Emily. ‘Could you do all that with your camera?’

‘I think so,’ says Tilly cautiously. ‘We could show the walk in different seasons with a little voice-over.’

They gaze with respect at Tilly and her camera.

‘Sound as well as pictures,’ says Sister Emily thoughtfully. ‘Just like the television. You could describe the flowers…’

‘And the birds,’ says Janna suddenly. ‘’Tis wonderful out on the cliffs when the seagulls are raising their chicks. They sound like babies crying.’

‘Yes, well, I’m not quite up to David Attenborough,’ warns Tilly, ‘but I could have a go.’

‘And our little acer grove in the autumn. And the azalea walk.’ Pink with excitement at the thought of the possibilities, Sister Emily clasps her hand together in delight. Mother Magda sees Tilly’s apprehension and steps in.