The Prodigal Wife (27 page)

‘The trouble is,' Cordelia said, ‘that I've kept putting off telling Henrietta that Simon is dead and now I simply don't know how to do it. Or where. I know I'm being tiresome, Angus. No. Don't do that gentlemanly thing and be polite about it. I
know
I am but you can see what I mean, can't you? To begin with:
where
do I tell her? Oh, I know that you think that it doesn't really matter where it is but I don't want her to be left alone afterwards and I can see difficulties either way. And
don't
say that I'm just making trouble for myself. I can hardly drag her all the way over here without telling her why, and I really don't think I ought to do it on the telephone. And even if she
were
to come here, then she's got to drive all the way back on her own, mulling it over in her head, unless she gets that girl in from the village again to look after the animals so she can stay here. But then I'd have to give her some reason as to why she'd need to stay. Of course, I could go over there – and I know you said I could stay there with her if necessary, and that's a possibility, but generally I don't go to the cottage. It's a long drive for me. We usually meet somewhere for lunch, like Pulhams Mill, and I can hardly tell her there, in public. So after lunch I'd have to say, “Let's go back to the cottage”, and I think she'd find it a bit odd and wonder why I hadn't simply told her straight out.

‘And that's the other thing.
How
do I actually tell her? The more I think about it the more I lose my nerve. Oh, I wish I'd done it straight away, but first of all Jilly was with her and then, as soon as Jilly left, she decided to phone Susan and tell her she was engaged and she was really wound up about that so I thought I'd wait, and then, of course, it was the great weekend at The Keep and I didn't want spoil it for her. So it's got quite out of proportion and OK, so you're saying, “In that case just get on and do it and get it over with,” but how? It's really not quite that easy. I simply can't see myself phoning her and saying, “I just want to tell you that your father is dead.” I know you think that I'm making a fuss, and at least she hasn't seen or heard from him for ten years so it could be much, much worse. I
know
that. But I still can't quite see how to do it and I simply don't want to spoil things. It's been so much better between us since she got engaged to Jo, I've been so happy, and I just know that this is going to rake up the past again and I shall feel the need to justify myself and all that stuff. And it's no good telling me that I don't have to tear myself apart and all that, I just simply can't
bear
it when it's all being so good and I just
know
I'm going to cock up in a really big way over this one…Oh damn, that's my mobile. Where the hell is it? Oh, here it is. Oh, my God, it's Henrietta.

‘Hello, darling. How are you?…Oh, is he? Oh, that's lovely…Oh, just until tomorrow morning but still, that's good. Give him my love…No. I mean yes. Yes, quite alone…Do I? Well, actually I
am
in a bit of a state, to be honest. I've got some rather sad news, darling. I've just heard that your father died earlier this year from cancer…Yes, I know. A terrible shock…A mutual friend told me, and I'm so sorry, darling…Well, that's true, of course. I can imagine that's how you'd feel. Shocked but rather detached. After all, we'd all been out of touch for so long…Yes, of
course
it's terribly sad and I'm so glad you've got Jo with you…No, no. I'm fine. Don't worry about me…It's sweet of you to think like that but I shall be quite OK, as long as you're all right…Yes, we'll talk again tomorrow. 'Bye, darling…

‘Golly. Wasn't that extraordinary, Angus? Fancy it happening just like that. After all the scenarios I've painted and it just happens out of the blue. And she's OK. She was fine about it. Worried about
me
, actually, being on my own. And
don't
look at me like that, Angus. You've got to admit that it wasn't just
quite
the moment to say that you of all people were here at nearly ten o'clock at night, was it? But she was OK. Oh, I can't get over it. Very calm. She said she felt detached about it. Shocked but detached. Thank God Jo was there. Well, I wouldn't have told her if he hadn't been, of course. Oh, the relief. Don't just sit there, darling,
say
something. No, on second thoughts, just pour me a drink. A very big one.'

 

‘Dad's dead,' Henrietta said. ‘I can't quite take it in. Poor old Mum just blurted it out. I think she was in shock, actually. Well, I suppose she would be, wouldn't she? After all, they
were
married, even if it was a long time ago and they haven't been in touch. It's still a shock, isn't it? Oh, yes, please, Jo, I think I will have another cup of tea. I know it's a bit late but I'm kind of, like, numb. It might warm me up a bit. I can't believe it, to tell you the truth. It was cancer. Oh God, how beastly. And he wasn't very old, either. Oh hell, I just wish he could have known about us and I could have asked him why he went away like that. And I
know
what you've said about him obviously being a very black and white, intense kind of guy, and that he simply couldn't cope with Mum being unfaithful, or with having a relationship with me as well as starting a new life for himself. I
know
all that, but I still wish we could have just made our peace, if you know what I mean. I mean it's one thing sending me a letter when I was too young to know how to handle it and another actually having closure – if that's the right word, sounds a bit formal – between two adults. I mean, I really think that you and Maria have got a bit of a chance to make that kind of peace now, and I feel I've been cheated out of it. I'd actually been wondering whether I might send a letter to him, I expect someone could have traced him, just to let him know about you and me. I mean, it's been so great these last few weeks and I've felt differently about a few things, and I just thought I could have sort of let him know that. No, no, it's fine. I'm not crying, really, I'm not, and I'm not really upset, honestly, because actually I didn't particularly want him back in my life. I'd have felt very nervous about it because, like you said, there was something so cold and calculating – and, OK, creepy – about the way he behaved to both me and Mum and I wouldn't have felt very happy about that, especially when we have babies, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't have been able to trust him and it could have been really embarrassing and difficult. Oh God, that sounds awful, doesn't it? You know what I mean, though, don't you? But, well, it
is
a shock. It's bound to be, isn't it? Because he was my father, after all, and he was part of my life, even if I don't remember much about when we were a proper family because even then he was at sea so much. And then, after he left, we had to fit meetings in between me being at boarding school and his leave so it was really difficult, and he didn't write much and when we did meet up we never had much to say to one another and it was difficult to know how to fill the time up. So, one way and another, it didn't really work. Oh, thanks, Jo. Lovely hot tea. Come and sit beside me and give me a cuddle while I drink it.'

Lizzie finished her porridge and sat for a moment, enjoying the unusual silence in the kitchen. Jo had already driven away to Bristol, and Hal was over in the office checking any overnight emails and faxes. It was a bonus for all of them that Hal's long years in the Navy resulted in this habit of being up early in the morning; he'd be back for coffee once he'd made certain that everything was under control but on the days when Jo was away, Hal's self-discipline let Lizzie off the hook a bit and she was grateful for it.

She reached for some toast and, using her butter knife, she slit open the first of her two letters. It was from her mother, and she laid the sheets on the table beside her plate whilst she spread butter and marmalade on her toast. It was a cheerful letter, full of news about the family and the dogs, telling her about their inability to make a decision about getting a puppy; asking if Lizzie would be coming home for Christmas…

Lizzie folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. It had been her intention, this year, to spend Christmas with her parents at Pin Mill but that was before she'd known that Jolyon would become engaged and that he and Henrietta would decide to go to Scotland for Christmas and the New Year. It would be strange enough without him but she wondered how young Sam and the others would manage without either of them if she decided to go away too. Fliss had been right when she'd said that she, Lizzie, was the bridge between the older members of the family and Sam – but Jo, too, had proved to be a very strong and necessary part of that bridge. They'd cope without them, of course they would, but she had a good idea of how very different it would be and she felt the stirrings of guilt.

She got up to make some coffee. Part of her guilt was wrapped up in the knowledge that Bess and her little family wouldn't be home this year either, and Jamie had already made it clear that his plans were very uncertain, so it was beginning to look as if it would be a very quiet Christmas at The Keep. Putting the cafetiere on the table, fetching a mug from the dresser, Lizzie looked thoughtfully at the letter addressed to Admiral Sir Henry and Lady Chadwick. She recognized Maria's handwriting and wondered what news it might contain. Fliss came in whilst she was pouring her coffee and she felt a twinge of apprehension, remembering that other morning two months before when a letter from Maria had caused so much disturbance. Fliss said, ‘Wasn't it cold last night? There's quite a frost this morning,' glanced at the letter – and glanced quickly again and more closely – but hesitated for a moment and then left it where it was and went to collect a mug instead.

Lizzie poured some coffee for her, wondering whether to mention her plans for Christmas. She decided she'd wait to see what Maria's letter contained; it might not be just the moment to break her own news to Fliss. Instead, she continued to eat her toast and watched out of the corner of her eye whilst Fliss opened a bill, put it to one side, and unwrapped a catalogue. Prue came in and Lizzie smiled a welcome and accepted Prue's kiss with real affection; she was very attached to Prue.

‘Ah,' said Prue at once – no hesitation here, Lizzie noted with amusement – ‘is that a letter from Maria?'

Fliss affected a slight show of surprise. She picked up the envelope as if to study the writing more closely and said yes, she thought it was.

‘And addressed to you both,' observed Prue, as if this were something rather special, and Fliss nodded.

Prue was now waiting, watching Fliss with unfeigned anticipation, as if she expected Fliss to be as pleased as she was to have the letter, addressed to both Fliss and Hal. And it occurred to Lizzie that, previously, letters from Maria had indeed been addressed only to Hal. She discovered that she was just as keen as Prue was to see if this were to be a special communication. Still, Fliss hesitated.

‘Perhaps she wants to come for Christmas,' Prue said brightly – and Lizzie felt a little shock, as if Prue might have guessed at her own dilemma – and Fliss snatched up the envelope rather hastily and slit it open. Prue beamed at Lizzie and asked if there might be any porridge left and Lizzie got up, smiling back at her and trying to analyse exactly what it was about Prue that was so very endearing. She was very sweet-tempered, which was part of it, although she could be surprisingly firm with Sam if he overstepped the mark, but also – and perhaps this was the really good thing about Prue's character – she was non-judgemental; she wasn't sentimental or vapid, but she looked at people and situations from her own balanced, compassionate and rather eccentric standpoint.

Lizzie spooned porridge into a bowl and put it down in front of Prue, who thanked her but did not take her unwavering gaze from Fliss's face. When Fliss let out a little ‘Oh!' both of them sat expectantly, watching her.

‘Maria's decided to stay in Salisbury for Christmas.' Fliss put down the letter and picked up her mug of coffee. ‘She says that Christmas will be very odd without Adam but she's been invited next door for Christmas Day and she's planning to do her own drinks party on Boxing Day. She's also decided to stay in the annexe for a while. Her friends want her to and she's decided to rent it officially for six months and see what happens then.'

‘Well, that's a relief,' said Prue candidly, and Lizzie wanted to burst out laughing at the slight look of surprise on Fliss's face.

She finished her own coffee and got up. ‘I'll send Hal over for some coffee,' she said. ‘See you later.'