From Cradle to Grave (29 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

‘
S
he once wrote, “I am the happiest single woman in England”,’ said Morgan.

‘She never wanted to get married?’

‘Her father wanted to force her into an arranged marriage, but Harriet wouldn’t have any part of it. She wanted to read and write, and think.’

‘That took a lot of courage in those days.’

‘And,’ Morgan went on, ‘we’re talking about a woman who had no sense of taste, or smell, and was deaf to boot. And Charles Darwin said of her, “I was astonished to find how ugly she is”.’

‘Ouch.’

‘I know.’

‘You talk about her as if you know her,’ said Claire.

Morgan stopped and looked out across the surface of Lake Windermere to softly wooded banks, and the treeless slopes of the mountains beyond. ‘Being here, seeing the house where she lived, and this countryside that she loved so much, I really feel as if I do know her. It’s like the last piece of the puzzle. She lived in a lot of places. Traveled quite a bit in her life. But this place was the home that was closest to her heart.’

Claire walked up beside her. ‘Well, after two weeks in Cumbria, I feel like she’s an old friend of mine, too. And I can certainly see why she loved this place. Who wouldn’t? It’s so beautiful. I don’t know why you agreed to let me come with you. After all, it’s my fault it took you an extra six months to get here. But I’m grateful.’

Morgan smiled. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to leave. It’s been like our traveling days of old. And it was worth the wait.’

‘Well, all the same, I’m sorry,’ said Claire.

The two friends continued on their way, crossing under a canopy of trees to see a small waterfall spilling over a rocky promontory and into a placid pool. As they walked, Morgan’s eyes felt soothed and delighted by the sights around her, but her thoughts teemed with harsh images from the last six months. Her own recovery from hypothermia and barbiturate poisoning. Claire’s eventual return to health. The day in court when Astrid admitted her crimes, including the murder of Kimba Summers, in front of her stoic husband and, in the row behind him, her weeping stepdaughter and her husband, Julio. Astrid was sentenced to life in prison. Noreen Quick, newly svelte and now the mother of three, was eloquent at the hearing in which all charges against Claire were dropped.

‘This is such a lovely part of the world,’ said Claire.

Morgan was startled out of her reverie. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said.

‘What were you thinking about?’ Claire asked.

Morgan sighed. ‘These last six months.’ She glanced at her friend.

Claire nodded. ‘Never far from my mind.’

‘Do you ever . . .’ Morgan hesitated.

‘Ever what?’ Claire asked.

‘Do you ever wonder why you confessed when you weren’t guilty? I don’t mean to remind you of something so painful, but I have such trouble, even now, imagining you doing that,’ Morgan said.

‘
You
have such trouble?’ Claire said, with a short, bitter laugh. She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve thought about it so often. All I can think is that after I found Drew . . .’ She pressed her lips together until she was able to speak again. ‘I think a part of my mind wanted me to be punished . . . Wanted to die even. I don’t think I’m stating that too strongly.’

‘Probably not,’ said Morgan.

‘I can remember feeling so ashamed, so . . . horrified at how I had failed my baby.’

‘That and the lies that the police told you about Guy accusing you . . .’

‘I don’t know,’ said Claire. ‘I’ll never know. If I wanted to be punished, I certainly was. I have nothing left. Of that life.’

‘I know,’ said Morgan. They walked along in silence for a while, their dark thoughts compatible, while the heady scent of spring flowers tickled their noses.

‘Look at that little church up there,’ said Morgan, pointing across the road to a small stone chapel standing alone. ‘That’s from the Victorian period.’

‘Let’s go look,’ said Claire.

They left the lake’s shore and crossed the narrow street to the church which was set, like a jewel, among clipped box and yew hedges, rhododendrons and shrub roses, all starting to bloom in the April sunshine. They wandered up to the church and looked inside. It was perfectly kept, but empty at the moment. Beside the church was a fenced graveyard.

‘Was Harriet Martineau buried here?’ Claire asked.

‘No, in the end she was buried with her family, in their plot in Birmingham.’

Claire opened the gate in the fence and walked inside, looking from one stone to another. Morgan felt her heart begin to thud a warning as she watched her friend moving slowly among the graves. She stopped at one stone, and crouched down beside it, reaching out to touch it.

‘Claire,’ Morgan said anxiously.

‘These are so worn you can’t even read them,’ Claire said.

‘Hey, I could use some lunch. Are you ready to head back to Ambleside?’

Claire looked up at her, and her eyes seemed to be swimming. She nodded quickly and stood up, brushing her hands off against one another.

This time, they walked along the road, the tall hedgerows of wildflowers giving the road the air of a secret garden. They walked side by side, but when they heard a car coming, they flattened themselves against the hedgerows, single file.

The road opened out on to the center of a hilly village with its stone façades unchanged by time, and bright flowers in every doorway and window. At one point, Morgan looked up and saw the back of a tall, curly-headed man ducking into a building in the next block and he reminded her of Fitz. Wishful thinking, she thought. She missed everything about him, as she knew she would, and yet, when he had asked her if he could come over to England with her, she had made excuses. She had told him, truthfully, that Claire was coming with her, even though Claire was only staying for two of the six weeks. She didn’t really know why she had done that. For some reason, part of her wanted to keep him at bay.

The two women strolled along the street, looking in windows until finally they came to the local pub, where they entered by mutual consent and sat at a table by the window. The landlord came by and took their order, and then they both looked out at the shoppers with their wicker baskets, and men passing on bicycles.

‘Life unchanging through time,’ said Morgan with a sigh. ‘I know it isn’t true, but it looks that way, doesn’t it?’

‘Deceiving,’ said Claire.

Morgan nodded.

‘You know, in the churchyard I could tell that you were worrying about me again.’

‘Force of habit,’ said Morgan.

‘I don’t want you to worry about me,’ said Claire. ‘I’m recovering, Morgan. I really am. I get down a lot, but I’m going to be all right. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Oh sure,’ said Morgan too quickly.

‘I’m not just saying that,’ said Claire, ‘I found out that if one person will stand by you, no matter what, it makes you realize that your life is worth living.’

‘I agree,’ said Morgan.

‘You’re that one person,’ said Claire.

Morgan understood her friend’s gratitude. Appreciated it. But didn’t really want to dwell on it. She felt that she had done it for herself, because Claire was both friend and family to her. ‘And don’t forget Sandy,’ said Morgan.

Claire smiled, and looked out the window again.

‘What’s gonna happen with you two?’ Morgan asked slyly.

Claire shrugged. ‘It’s good to have my old job back,’ she said evasively.

‘That loyalty of his is worth something,’ Morgan observed.

‘It’s worth a lot,’ Claire agreed.

‘And he threw over a really pretty girl for you,’ Morgan reminded her. ‘It cost him a Mercedes convertible.’

‘I know,’ said Claire, with a smile. ‘Although I don’t really understand him. I was so heartless to him.’

‘He and I have talked about it,’ said Morgan. She and Sandy Raymond had grown close in the last six months. At first, she too had been skeptical of his motives, but in time she had come to realize that Sandy, despite his sloppy appearance and his lack of tact, was one of the most quietly confident and tenacious people she had ever met. Once she had told him that she saw him hiding in the choir loft during Drew’s christening. He did not deny it. ‘I thought maybe if I saw her there, with her baby, that it would force me to admit that I had lost her for good. Didn’t work.’ He was sure that, in time, Claire would love him again. Sometimes Morgan thought that he might be right. ‘He doesn’t see it that way,’ Morgan said.

‘I know,’ said Claire. ‘It’s just too soon to say.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Morgan.

‘What about you?’ Claire asked.

Morgan shrugged uneasily. ‘You know me,’ she said. ‘First I think yes, and then . . . I don’t know. I start to wonder.’

‘Fitz is head over heels for you, Morgan.’

‘I thought a break might do us good. Give us both time to think.’

‘Think about what? You love each other.’

Morgan shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s been . . . great. But love isn’t any guarantee of anything.’

Claire peered at her. ‘Are you thinking about me and Guy?’ she asked.

Morgan sighed. ‘You have to admit. It makes you wonder.’

Claire shook her head. ‘I’m actually not sorry that I married him.’

‘You’re not?’ said Morgan. ‘After all you went through . . .’

‘It was terrible,’ Claire admitted.

‘You almost didn’t survive it,’ Morgan reminded her.

Claire nodded. ‘Yes, I know. But no matter what Harriet Martineau might have thought about marriage, I just hope I’ll have the courage to risk it again one day. And the opportunity.’

‘Really?’ said Morgan.

Claire nodded. ‘Someday.’

The landlord came to the table and set down their glasses of ale.

Claire lifted hers to Morgan and Morgan held her glass up and tapped on Claire’s. ‘To risk, then,’ said Morgan. They smiled at one another and drank.

‘And ladies, when you’re finished with that, the gentleman in the corner over there would like to buy you another round.’

Morgan turned in her chair, expecting to see some dusty workman hunched over a ploughman’s lunch. There, in the dark corner of the bar, sat Fitz, his elbows on the bar, and a smile on his face. When she met his gaze, he lifted his glass to her, and his eyes were merry.

‘It’s Fitz,’ Claire exclaimed.

Morgan turned back and looked at her with narrowed eyes. Her heart was hammering. ‘You knew about this,’ she accused her friend.

Claire smiled. ‘I may have known something about it.’

Morgan shook her head. ‘How could you?’

‘He was so determined. And I owed him one,’ said Claire.

No, Morgan thought. This isn’t right. I didn’t invite him here. I have work to do. My thesis research. This isn’t a good idea.

‘He said something about wanting a proper English wedding,’ said Claire.

Morgan looked up at her friend, aghast. ‘He must have said “breakfast”. A proper English breakfast.’

‘I’m pretty sure he said “wedding”. I’d consider it, if I were you,’ said Claire.

Morgan looked back at Fitz, and found that she could not stop herself from smiling. What are you doing here, she wanted to ask? He met her gaze boldly and the answer in his eyes would have made Harriet Martineau blush. Morgan tried to glare at him, but it was no use. As he got up from his bar stool and started to walk toward her, she thought, for a moment, that if she didn’t put her foot down, and send him home on the next plane, there would be no stopping him. He’d be arranging for the vicar, and calling her his wife, and she’d never be in complete control of her life again. They would be setting out together, into the unknown. Her heart was reacting unreasonably, somersaulting with happiness. Morgan knew what it meant. She made up her mind, and stood up to meet him.