A Week in Winter: A Novel (36 page)

‘Perhaps Patricia didn’t want her.’

It had been a naughty and provocative thing to say but it had distracted Posy from her woes.

‘I never thought of that,’ she’d said, shocked. ‘Oh dear. You could be right. Poor old Mum …’

Maudie pushed Polonius’s heavy head off her knee and stood up. It might be tactless to take Posy down to Cornwall so as to see Rob and his partner happily settled into the house she’d always loved so much. On the other hand, they might all become friends. Either way it was too late now to worry about it. Maudie went into the kitchen to wash her hands. Her knees and back ached from weeding and stooping, and she longed for a cup of tea.

‘I’m an old, old woman,’ she told Polonius, who had followed her and was now staring hopefully at the biscuit tin. ‘And much you care. Oh, very well then. One biscuit and that’s all and now go away. I’m going to sit down with my cup of tea and read the paper.’

It was only much later that she’d realised that she hadn’t asked Rob why he’d telephoned.

Rob stood at the kitchen window, hands in pockets, gazing at nothing. He did a lot of this these days: walking from room to room, staring out of windows. Fortunately he had a great deal of work at the moment, and for most of the time he was occupied, but during those other empty hours he was apathetic, unfocused and lonely. The odd thing was that, before Melissa, he had never been lonely. He’d been self-sufficient, quite content with his own company if none other was forthcoming. It was as if she’d shown him how delightful life could be with the right companion and then departed, leaving him alone, dissatisfied and miserable. Only his friendship with Mike had kept him going. The shock of her death had momentarily unbalanced him but Mike’s need had steadied him, giving him something which enabled him to think his existence was worth preserving.

It seemed so utterly extraordinary that five short days could have changed his life, given it new, sweet meaning, whilst now the slowly passing hours were flat, empty, wearisome. Even the possession of Moorgate could not comfort him. It was ironic that Melissa should have supplanted Moorgate in his heart and then left both heart and house untenanted. Without her the house simply underlined all that he had lost. He saw her everywhere; expected to hear her voice. Missing her was a permanent physical ache. Yet he was not bitter; he utterly understood why she had allowed herself those five days of fun and love and he did not begrudge her a minute of them. So many things had become clear once he’d read her letter and talked to Mike, but he wished that she had not wanted him to have Moorgate. He knew quite well that this was her offering to him, the only thing she could leave to him, but she hadn’t foreseen that without her it kept his grief and loss at the forefront of his mind.

‘I don’t think I can go on here alone,’ he’d said to Mike, one evening on the telephone. ‘I keep expecting to find her, sitting by the fire or looking out at the moor or watching the rooks. I think I can hear her voice. It should be comforting, to be here where we were so happy, but it isn’t. It’s agonising.’

‘It’s early days.’ Mike had sounded almost as desperate as he was himself, and Rob had been struck by remorse.

‘I know it is,’ he’d answered quickly. ‘How are you managing? How’s Luke?’

‘He misses her. He looks for her and grizzles to himself. I don’t quite know how to deal with it.’

‘Why don’t you come down?’ Rob had suggested eagerly. ‘You and Luke. Just for a weekend or something. It would distract him.’ And me, he might have added. ‘Or would it disrupt your work?’

Mike had laughed rather mirthlessly. ‘I’m not getting much done. It sounds a great idea, Rob. Are you sure? Luke’s a bit of a handful.’

‘Just tell me what you need.’ Rob had sounded almost buoyant. ‘I can buy some secondhand bits and pieces. After all, I’m hoping you might consider this to be a second home.’

‘Well.’ Mike had hesitated. ‘He still needs to sleep in a cot. And a playpen is an absolute necessity if we want a few moments of peace and quiet. Honestly, Rob, I can’t put you to all that trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble.’ Rob had sounded almost happy. ‘I might have been his uncle if… if…’

‘You
are
his uncle,’ Mike had said quickly. ‘Definitely. His only uncle. OK, I accept your offer with gratitude. Maybe a few days in the peace and quiet of the Cornish countryside will unblock my thought processes.’

So it was that Mike and Luke had made their first visit to Moorgate together. Once they’d settled in, joking at the makeshift arrangements, jollying each other along, Rob, and Mike—with Luke slung papoose-like across his chest—had walked across the moor as far as Rough Tor. It had been a calm, mild day and Mike had visibly relaxed in the soft air and warm sunshine.

‘I can see why Melissa loved it here,’ he’d said. ‘It’s a different world. It meant so much to her, Rob. That glorious week of freedom coming out of nowhere when there was nothing left to look forward to.’

Out there on the moor they’d talked naturally, easing their pain, sharing their grief. Even Luke had been soothed by the peace and had slept soundly in the old, white-painted cot.

‘Melissa wanted this to be the nursery,’ Rob had said. ‘She’d have guessed that Luke would probably be the first to use it.’

A few weeks later Mike and Luke had made another visit. It was clear that Mike was puzzled by the continuing scarcity of furniture although he said nothing.

‘I can’t bring myself to get on with it.’ Rob had answered his quick glance around the kitchen, still furnished only with the gate-leg table and two chairs. ‘I had very little down in the caravan so it means a special shopping trip and I simply can’t bring myself to make it. Melissa was so
sure about what the house needed. She had such positive ideas … and so did I. It’s just not the same without her.’

For a brief moment he’d feared that Mike might offer to go with him, to jolly him along, but Mike had remained silent. Luke’s playpen sat proudly in the middle of the huge floor space and it was almost a relief when the usual detritus that gathers about small children began to spread around the house. When they’d gone Rob left the playpen where it was; it was company for him.

Now, as he stared out of the kitchen window, he realised that he hadn’t given Lady Todhunter a reason for telephoning. It was just as well that she’d jumped into the breach. He had no idea why he’d needed to speak to her; a sudden requirement to hear her crisp old voice had possessed him. He’d remembered those conversations with her, and cheerful pub lunches, her sharp humour and charming smile, and he’d simply picked up his mobile and dialled her number. He’d had no opportunity to explain about Melissa and he could foresee difficulties there but—Rob shrugged—he had to get it over sometime. Maybe it would be easier with a granddaughter about but, anyway, he’d had little choice. Mike and Luke were coming down again the following weekend and he preferred to see Lady Todhunter without that added complication.

Rob frowned. He had the oddest sensation that Melissa was sitting at the table behind him, her ruana clutched about her, eating chocolate, smiling at him. He wouldn’t turn round. He’d done it before and had always been disappointed. Yet, today, he’d felt her presence keenly. Whilst he’d been thinking about Lady Todhunter she’d been there, in the shadows of his mind. He clenched his teeth, tears starting in his eyes, his body aching for her.

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and allowed the tears to fall.

Mike sat at the kitchen table looking through his post. He still occasionally received letters of condolence, as the sad news filtered outward through close friends to acquaintances, but this morning he was studying the latest details sent from estate agents. There were photographs of beautiful cottages, in idyllic Oxfordshire villages, and larger rectories and vicarages in Wiltshire and Gloucestershire. Mike studied them thoughtfully whilst Luke chuntered cheerfully in his highchair. He had no plans for taking out a large mortgage—as a writer he felt that his income was too uncertain to justify such a risk—but he had a very respectable sum at his disposal. The proceeds from the life assurance policy that Melissa had taken out against the mortgage of her London flat were now his. The flat had been a modest little affair and, comforting though it was to know that the money was there, it seemed a small sum compared with the prices of these houses. Mike and Melissa had both used the twenty thousand pounds, given to each of them by their father, as deposits to buy flats but Mike still had a mortgage to pay. His real hope, now, was to buy outright, to take this opportunity to free himself from debt and begin to build a stable future for himself and Luke. It seemed that, if he wished to realise this hope, he might have to move further afield than these expensive counties of middle England. The buzz of the doorbell disturbed his reflections and he piled the house details aside and went out into the hall.

He opened the front door and hid his dismay behind a smile.

‘Rebecca. How nice …’

‘No, honestly, I shan’t stay a minute. I’m sure you’re much too busy to be disturbed.’ Her expression—rueful, flirtatious, intimate—was a masterpiece. ‘Just to say—what about supper on Saturday evening? We’ve got a little party going …’

‘Come in,’ he said, trying to keep the despair from his voice. ‘Don’t stand on the pavement.’

‘Only for a tiny second, then. Promise. I know you writers.’ She preceded him into the kitchen. ‘Oh, the little darling. Good morning, Luke. Do you know, I think he recognises me.’

Mike thought: I’m not surprised. We see enough of you. Aloud he said: ‘It’s possible. Coffee?’

‘Oh,
well
…’ She clasped her hands together, a girlish gesture which sat uncomfortably with her years. ‘Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. Can I, Lukey?’

Mike grimaced horribly at the percolator: Lukey!
Lukey!
‘How are the girls?’ he asked politely.

‘Don’t ask. Just don’t ask!’ She rolled her eyes humorously. ‘Thank God, for a wealthy ex and boarding school. Now! Don’t go putting that in your book, will you? My friends are just so impressed that I know you. “He’ll be putting you in one of his books,” they say to me. Honestly!’

Resisting the urge to observe that he never wrote about the commonplace or banal, Mike smiled noncommittally. ‘Black?’

‘Fancy you remembering. No sugar. I’m desperately trying to lose weight.’ Another of her expressions—an agonised grin of bravery. ‘How do you manage to stay so lean?’

Mike refused to be drawn into the weight debate. Perhaps she was hoping he might tell her that she had no need to diet; if so she was destined for disappointment.

‘It’s Luke who keeps me in training,’ he answered lightly.

‘Well, I must say,’ leaning towards him, suddenly serious, voice pitched low with emotion, ‘I have to say I think you are
so
brave. Not only about your sister. No’—a hand raised—‘I know you don’t want to talk about it, don’t worry. No, I mean managing all on your own. Honestly. Me and my chums are all just
so
impressed.’

‘I can’t imagine why.’ Mike put the mugs on the table and sat down, swallowing down a huge yawn. Rebecca’s company invariably induced a frightful apathy and excruciating boredom. ‘I expect you looked after your children, didn’t you?’

‘Well, yes. I did. But it’s different somehow, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’

He had a sudden vision of Melissa, appearing in the study doorway, grinning, finger to her lips. ‘It’s that frightful woman from round the corner. I told her that it was more than my life is worth to disturb you but I’m going to have to give her coffee. I’ll tell you when she’s gone.’ The sudden wave of loss made it impossible to make another effort. He drank some coffee and remained silent.

‘I think it is. Quite different. I hope you’ll forgive me saying that you look tired.’

Mike looked at her. He thought that her impertinence was breathtaking but he managed to smile. ‘So what was this about a party?’

She had no idea that she’d been snubbed. Excitement kindled in her again. ‘Just a little group of chums coming in for some supper on Saturday evening. They’d be
so
thrilled to meet you. We’ve all seen
Changing Places,
of course. Brilliant production! And we can’t wait for the next book. Now
do
say you’ll come.’

‘This Saturday?’ He pretended disappointment. ‘Oh, I can’t, I’m afraid.’

Her face fell ludicrously. ‘But why not? It’s not darling Lukey, is it? We can easily put him to bed upstairs.’

‘No, no,’ Mike said quickly. ‘Nothing to do with Luke. The truth is,’ his eye fell on the calendar pinned to the notice board behind her head, saw the thick green circle drawn around the date of the following weekend, ‘we’re going down to Cornwall for the weekend.’

‘Oh, that’s too bad.’ She actually looked quite put out but managed to pull herself together, smiling quickly. ‘We shall all be so disappointed.’