The Christmas Angel (31 page)

There is a little silence during which Father Pascal carefully refrains from meeting Sister Emily’s eye. He almost believes that he can hear the beat of angel’s wings, newly released from captivity.

‘Would you be prepared,’ Mother Magda is asking Sister Emily, ‘to approach her for us? It’s very sensitive, we all know that, but it seems that perhaps Janna has decided to throw in her lot with us and you have always had a special relationship with her.’

‘Of course I will speak to her.’ Sister Emily’s natural ebullience is slightly subdued. She gives Sister Ruth a little smiling nod of approval. ‘Nevertheless, you must have won her confidence since she was so ready to say even that much to you.’

‘Shall we say a prayer, then,’ suggests Father Pascal, ‘asking for the courage and wisdom for these new undertakings? Let us be silent for a moment.’

When Sister Emily arrives at the caravan, however, in the quiet hour after lunch, she receives a shock. Janna is sitting at her little table and in her hands is her old tote bag, which she is turning reflectively; shaking it out and smoothing it. She gets up quickly at Sister Emily’s knock, hurrying to let
her
in. The mist has become a heavy rain and it drums on the caravan roof and drips in rivulets down the windowpanes.

‘Come in,’ she says, pulling Sister Emily inside. ‘Quick. You’ll be soaked. Whatever are you doing wandering round in the rain?’

‘I’m not wandering,’ she protests. ‘I’m paying you a visit. Are you planning a holiday?’

Janna smiles and shakes her head. She folds the tote bag and puts it on the floor. ‘Just thinking about things,’ she says. ‘I haven’t got much to put in it now. All my treasures are gone.’

Sister Emily sits down at the table. ‘I hope not all,’ she says. ‘Sister Ruth has been telling us an extraordinary story about Sister Nichola going out at night and you finding her and bringing her back. She was very grateful that you haven’t spoken of it until she was ready to tell us.’

Janna shrugs. ‘It was a shock to both of us. And I knew that she’d feel she’d failed in her duty and needed time to tell you in her own way. It was very scary.’

‘She says she’s been very anxious ever since and, of course, so are we all now. We have decided that it’s time we moved into the Coach House so as to be able to keep a better watch on Sister Nichola. After all, we were going to do it quite soon anyway.’

Janna fills the kettle and turns on the gas. ‘Well, that sounds sensible,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t see how Sister Ruth was managing at night. She was really frightened. So was I. But there isn’t much I could do about it over here.’

‘She said,’ says Sister Emily carefully, ‘that she’d gained the impression that you might have made up your mind to stay with us. It would be helpful if we knew whether you’ve made the decision.’

Janna leans against the bulkhead, staring at the kettle. ‘It’s been odd,’ she says reflectively, ‘the last week or two. First, that night when Sister Nichola went walkabout and then when Sister Ruth came here to the caravan the next morning to talk things over. I kind of saw her differently. We talked. And I saw, just a bit, that it might work after all. And then, well, just other things have made me feel that I sort of belong here.’

Sister Emily watches her, almost too frightened to speak lest her great joy might put pressure on Janna. ‘You know that we all think so too,’ she says at last. ‘I, for one, firmly believe that you were guided here for a reason. Perhaps many reasons.’

The kettle boils and Janna makes tea – raspberry and blackcurrant – and spoons in honey. She puts the mugs down on the table and sits opposite Sister Emily. The rain beats down harder, tattooing on the roof, and the wind gusts through the orchard and shakes the caravan’s fragile sides.

‘Shall you come with us tomorrow, then? Into the Coach House? We shall make an early start. Perhaps do some packing this evening but, like you, we haven’t too many treasures to take with us. It will be hard for us to leave Chi-Meur, after all the years we’ve been there in the house, even though we’re only moving across the courtyard. We shall be glad to have you with us on our new adventure, Janna. You have become very dear to us.’

Janna looks at her, biting her lips, tears in her eyes. ‘’Course I’ll come,’ she says. ‘’Course I will. I really finally decided this morning out on the cliff.’

Sister Emily breathes a deep, grateful sigh. Having been at Silent Prayer the night before she has a very good idea why, finally, Janna has made her decision; she saw her exaltation
and
knows that some great gift has been vouchsafed her. Thankfully she takes up her mug and raises it to Janna in a toast to their future.

Janna smiles back at her and lifts her own mug. ‘Good job I got the old tote bag out then,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’d better start packing.’

‘Tommy. It’s me, Phil … No, I know. Listen. Really bad news. Jim’s dead … Listen, just listen. He drowned. Fell off the cliff, well, sort of. Same thing, anyway … That’s just it. Thick fog, lost his way. That’s the dit but I’m not sure. Did he tell you how it was down there? … Yeah, he had a really bad vibe about the place, poor old Jim. Look, the thing is, the police were crawling around and I just wondered if they’ve found his mobile and got the SIM card. See what I’m saying? … Quite. That’s why I’ve got a new phone and you didn’t recognize the number. I don’t want the Old Bill asking me what my connection is with Jim Caine, and neither do you … No, I’m right out of it. I just hope there wasn’t anything on his laptop. We did everything by mobile. Thank God, we did Pay as You Go! You were right about that … Yeah, we’ll be in touch when you’ve changed your phone. Make a note of this number. See you.’

Mummy dies quite suddenly, quite quietly; it is pleurisy that defeats her at the last and quenches the long struggle for life. Rupert comes up for the funeral, all Kitty’s friends surround her, but now she is alone again in the flat with Mummy’s ashes in a container that looks like a sweet jar.

‘Honestly,’ she says to Rupert, ‘you’d think they could do better than that,’ and he hugs her sympathetically and comforts her but he has to go away again, back to Cornwall.

Kitty stands at the sitting-room window staring out at the rain. It’s odd to be here alone, without Mummy somewhere in the background. The structure of her day has gone and she feels odd and lonely and sad.

‘Of course you do, lovey,’ Sally says. ‘It’s only to be expected. You should think of the future now. But for goodness’ sake don’t give in and go back to Cornwall. Stand firm, for once in your life.’

Kitty turns away from the window. She is beginning to form a plan, a plan that Sally suggested once before: a visit to the cottage. It might be fun to go down to see how it has come on; to take Rupert by surprise. He’s been so sweet since poor Mummy died that she’s almost forgotten that she was getting suspicious about his not getting home. He told her that he’d been thinking it best to let out the cottage after all and he’s been really working at it to get it absolutely right. She really wants to believe him. In her state of sadness and grieving for Mummy she’s coming to the decision that they need to be together, but not in Cornwall. She’s definitely made up her mind about that. She can understand if he doesn’t want to stay in the flat – he’s always found it claustrophobic, and Rupert is a man who needs to feel free – but there are some very nice properties around here or just across the Suspension Bridge in Leigh Woods, and she’s still holding on to her idea about buying and renovating houses for student lets. He needs a project, she can see that: he hates to be idle and confined. That’s why he was always so sweet with Mummy.

‘Poor old Mummy,’ he said once. ‘If I had to be so restricted I’d top myself.’

Tears overwhelm her at the thought of poor Mummy. She always loved Rupert and he made her laugh with his terrible
teasing
. Weeping bitterly now, Kitty texts him:
Hope ur ok. Looking fwd 2 w/e xx
. She puts the phone on the table and dries her eyes, wondering where he is.

Rupert is driving through the narrow lanes, cursing the rain, one eye on his watch. It is just his luck that the weather should change so drastically when he’s arranged for someone to come and see the cottage with a view to taking it on a long let. Heading down the hill, windscreen wipers slicing the rain away, he tells himself that it is foolish to worry about the weather; this couple have been coming to Cornwall on holiday for many years and they know the score where the weather is concerned. Even so, it is a stroke of luck that they should have phoned to ask for his advice about renting.

‘I suppose,’ the wife asked jokingly, ‘that it would be too much to expect that one of your lovely holiday cottages might be available but we thought you might know of something.’

He explained the location of the cottage at the edge of the moor, and they were rather excited at the prospect, so the meeting was arranged, and now it is pouring with rain and he’s been held up and is going to be late if he doesn’t step on it a bit. He hears the mobile beep in the glove compartment but decides to ignore it for the moment. He’ll check when he gets to the cottage. After all, if Kitty has a serious problem she’ll ring rather than text.

And there is another source of anxiety. Ever since he had to chuck Pa’s party, he’s been trying to make it up to Dossie and she’s going to be upset when she knows that he’s decided to let the cottage after all and they’ll have nowhere at hand to be together. At the same time he knows that if he stays at the cottage then he’ll have to commit in some way to Dossie. This is a perfect let-out for him. He’ll spin some story about
another
property not too far away that’s too good to miss … something like that. The trouble is he’s been confused about his feelings for both women, wanting to have his cake and eat it.

And, as for Kitty, well, since Mummy died they’ve drawn closer again. Poor old Kitty is really devastated and he hasn’t the heart to be anything but loving towards her. During the weekend things were better and set them back into a happier relationship again. Not that they got quite so far as discussing the future but much of the tension was gone. Even so, sooner or later, some decisions are going to have to be made. Whistling under his breath he drives down the hill, making a plan. He’ll go to Bristol at the weekend and see if he can’t persuade Kitty into some new ideas for the future.

He glances at his watch again: he’ll just about make it. He swings the car into the low, long, lean-to and scrambles out. As he lets himself into the cottage he glances around, checking that the room is tidy. He hears a car engine approaching, slowing to a halt, and he hurries out to meet his prospective tenants.

‘So what’s happened to this Rupert fellow, then?’ asks Pa.

Mo, perched on a chair with Wolfie on her lap, vigorously drying him with a towel, shakes her head.

‘I have no idea,’ she says impatiently. ‘I’ve told you a dozen times that I simply don’t understand what’s happening. When I mentioned him to Dossie she nearly bit my head off.’

John the Baptist stands, his own towel draped over his back, waiting for Pa, who is kicking off his boots. His wet paws make little puddles on the slate floor and he gives a half-hearted shake, which is hampered by the towel. That youthful passion he had for water is rapidly diminishing and
his
ears droop disconsolately as he waits for his turn for a rubbing. Then he will be allowed into the kitchen, as close to the Aga as he can get, with a consolatory biscuit for staying out of the puddles.

Mo puts Wolfie on the floor, hangs the towel to dry and pulls off her hat.

‘Come on, Jonno,’ she says. ‘Let’s get you dry.’

‘Leave him,’ says Pa. ‘I’ll do him. God, I hate rain.’ He rubs Jonno’s undercarriage briskly. ‘There was simply no redeeming feature about that walk. The weather was utterly vile. And if it weren’t for you,’ he adds to John the Baptist, ‘I wouldn’t have had to be out there in it this morning.’

‘And you wouldn’t be as fit as you are now,’ retorts Mo sharply, opening the door into the kitchen.

Pa breathes in heavily and self-pityingly, and Jonno flattens his ears in sympathy though his attention is focused on the kitchen now, and the sound of the biscuit container being opened. Pa gives him a pat, hangs up the towel and Jonno hurries eagerly into the warm room where Mo has put his biscuit on his rug by the Aga. Wolfie sits in his basket, crunching appreciatively, with one covetous eye on Jonno’s biscuit.

‘The trouble is,’ Pa says, following him in and closing the door, ‘we shall never know unless we ask. About Dossie, I mean.’

‘I
did
ask,’ says Mo. ‘I said, “Oh, what a pity Rupert couldn’t make it. Why don’t you invite him over for lunch? Or tea. Or whatever.” And Dossie suddenly went all prickly and muttered something or other, and that was that.’

‘Well, I just don’t like all this secrecy and silence,’ he grumbles. ‘It makes for a tricky atmosphere just when we’re getting the business up and running again.’

‘You know what I think about it.’ Mo starts to root about in the fridge. ‘I’ve said all along that my instincts tell me that he’s a married man. When Dossie said he was coming to the party I thought that perhaps things were sorted out and he was free. Now I’m doubtful again. Shall we have some soup? Or cheese on toast?’

Pa watches her glumly. He is out of sorts: grumpy and anxious and irritated. He feels that they should all be happy now that the B and B-ing is starting up again and bookings are coming in for next season. And instead there is all this anxiety about Dossie and this tiresome fellow. Poor old Dossie. He wants her to be happy – of course he does – but he knows that this is all wrong and he simply longs to tell her so; to have it out with her. Mo is looking at him, frowning, waiting for his decision about lunch.

‘Let’s go to the pub,’ he says. ‘Why not? It’ll take our minds off things and the dogs will be quite happy for an hour or two. Come on, Mo.’

She smiles in spite of her own irritation and anxiety. ‘Why not? Wait while I get my bag. Have you got the car keys?’

They go out together, shutting the kitchen door. John the Baptist lies down, head still raised, ears cocked. He listens to the sound of Mo coming back downstairs and the car engine starting up while Wolfie nips out of his basket and does a quick hoover round for crumbs, and then settles down close beside him. The front door closes, a car door slams, and the sound of the engine fades away down the lane. At last he puts his head down on his paws and sleeps.