Learning to Dance (20 page)

‘All right. I’m going to the kitchen for some food.’

She laughed, then went to him and pecked his cheek. ‘I love you too, Robert Hausmann,’ she said.

Judith went straight to her bed and began to strip it, folding the sheets and pillow cases and duvet cover into a neat pile. She had been in the Long Gallery for less than an hour, but it seemed much longer than that. She dared not think about it; the near-death events of last night made her feel weak and would have to be put to one side.

She fetched her grip and packed yesterday’s clothes – cleaned and dried by Irena – in the bottom, followed by underwear. The rinsed thermos and the contents of the dressing table went on the top and down the sides. She tucked her handbag inside the canvas bag holding sketchbook, pencils, charcoal, then slung it over her shoulder and looked at her watch again. She had kept Hausmann waiting for less than fifteen minutes.

She took another minute to think about what happened next: it was of course facing Sybil and then Irena. At this moment she discovered she no longer cared about their reactions. She thought ahead of them and let herself imagine Jack, perhaps in an oxygen tent, certainly in a hospital bed with other people all around him. What had happened to Jack? Why had he gone to Perth two months ago? Why had he come back home – probably only one
week ago from today? Was it to suggest divorce or reconciliation?

She said aloud, ‘He’s alive. That is what matters. And now – the present – is all I can manage. Stick to that.’

She picked up her holdall and opened the door; Hausmann was sitting on the top stair and looked around as she fiddled with the key in the lock, then hauled himself up by the banister and took the holdall from her. She noted how tired he looked and wondered fleetingly how they were going to manage to get back to the Taunton hospital on a bike. Mainly, though, she felt thankful that he was there.

They went up to the next floor in the lift and along a transverse landing to the west side of the castle; he tapped on the first door they came to, and after a long pause it was opened a few inches and Sybil’s face peered through.

She said immediately, ‘Listen, Jude. I don’t want to quarrel with you – especially as I am wearing your nightie.’ She opened the door wider and revealed herself in the enormous dressing gown. ‘But if you’ve come to heal the breach with Robert …’ She jerked her head in his direction as if he could not hear her. ‘Then you’re wasting your time. I would very much like not to see him again, ever.’

‘I’ve come to say goodbye, Sybil. Robert is taking me to see Jack, who is in hospital. I’m not a widow, and I have let you think I am. I apologize for that. Jack and I split up two months ago, and I haven’t heard from him since, but I do know he loves someone else.’ She paused. Sybil was staring at her, not taking anything in. Judith ploughed on. ‘I did wonder – when we did our sketching trip to the Lyn – I wondered then if he had died. It gave me an insight I – perhaps – lacked before. We seemed to draw closer. You and I. So even when I was certain he was still alive, I let the
misunderstanding continue.’ She paused again, and again Sybil was silent, hanging on to the door, staring.

Judith took a breath. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye, anyway. I’ll go straight home from Taunton. Probably won’t see you again. But … thank you. It was good to have a friend.’

She turned abruptly and walked back the way they had come. Sybil said something; Hausmann answered her. Judith went on walking until she came to the lift. She did not wait for him. The lift doors closed, she pressed the ground-floor button and stepped out almost into Irena’s arms.

‘Oh my goodness! Someone is in a hurry!’ Irena put a tray on the counter. ‘My dear, I am managing very well – no need for you to check up! And I promise I will let everyone know the moment Bart returns. Why don’t you sit with the others? Why on earth are you in your outdoor things?’

Judith began to blurt it out, just as she had done to Sybil. She was actually saying that she probably would not see Irena again when the lift doors opened and Hausmann stepped out with her holdall over one shoulder.

That convinced Irena more than anything Judith had said.

Her voice was high and accusing. ‘What have you done now, Robert? I know this is your doing – did you find Judith’s husband? – take him to that hovel on Lundy? I can quite see you doing it! Oh my God, what have you done?’

Judith said quickly, ‘Robert saved my husband’s life, Irena. And I have known he was alive all this time, and yet let you believe I was a widow because I could not admit, even to myself, that he had fallen in love with someone else and had left me. Forgive me.’

Hausmann said roughly, ‘We’re going, Sis. I need to get Mrs Freeman to Taunton. Her husband has been asking for
her continually since he arrived at the hospital.’ He suddenly put his free arm around Irena’s shoulders and held her to him for a moment. ‘Bart will be back with Nathaniel very soon now. Try to relax – once the storm is over everything will seem better.’

Judith was already by the door, tugging at it hopelessly. Hausmann caught up with her and swung it inwards, and they were through and battling down the steps to the causeway. The road was channelling the rain towards the sea.

‘Not unlike the water slide!’ Hausmann shouted past the hood of his oilskin.

She looked at him. ‘Not unlike,’ she agreed. He looked almost exhilarated, and quite suddenly she smiled. ‘Thank you, Robert,’ she said.

He grinned back and took her arm and they trudged up the hill towards the inn.

The journey to Taunton was a strange interlude. Judith had never ridden pillion on a motorcycle before, and was bewildered by Hausmann’s directions. ‘You have to put your arms right round me so that you know which way to throw your body weight … bit like the Markhams dancing the other night … last night, in fact! That means your head as well – put it against my back as if you are listening to my body. Sorry if that sounds practically perverted, but in this weather it will be necessary to bond. Do you understand?’

‘I think so.’

He made a big thing about her clothing – it could not flap – the helmet had to be properly secured, her hands had to go beneath his oilskin and hang on to his sweater, her feet be on the rests at all times. And her bags had to be carefully stowed.

For the first few miles, until they were past Minehead,
she had to concentrate; after that the roar of the bike, the warmth of her hands beneath his oilskin, the outline of his body, became part of the strangeness. She remembered sleeping in her mother’s bed after her father died, and her mother saying, ‘Will you sit in my lap or shall I sit in yours?’ Hausmann was well and truly in her lap.

The speed eased as they joined the motorway and then accelerated again. Just a few miles later they were peeling off on to the slip road for Taunton and edging slowly into the rush-hour traffic. Judith was able to sit fair and square behind Hausmann, head raised, looking around to get her bearings. The rain made for a murky early evening, but she realized Hausmann was keeping to the outskirts of the town as he manoeuvred past stationary cars towards the hospital. They came to the wide avenue leading down to the hospital, turned in at the gates and coasted unerringly into a designated parking space.

Hausmann held the machine steady with his legs while he removed his helmet, and Judith scrambled off and stood in the rain, unclipping hers and holding it in front of her. She said, ‘Robert. Thank you. Are you all right?’

He pulled the bike on to its stand and took her helmet. ‘I didn’t go to sleep, did I?’ In the tall overhead lights she saw he was smiling.

‘I didn’t notice. I felt totally safe.’

‘Good.’ He unstrapped her bags, took her arm and piloted her towards the entrance. ‘Listen. I’m going to show you the waiting area. That’s where I’ll be when you’re ready to go – probably firmly asleep by that time! Does that sound all right?’

‘I think so. But … I don’t know how long I’ll be.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I can sleep anywhere. Matthew can stay
with me or go to this room I’ve rented for him. We’ll work something out between us.’

Suddenly she was nervous. Everything – Jack and all the problems – was here and now. They walked up a ramp and through into a reception area. Visitors were coming and going. She looked at her watch; it was almost seven o’clock. Hausmann walked to a desk and began to talk to someone; he turned and guided Judith gently to a chair. ‘Take off your waterproofs. Pile them here – they’ll be OK.’ They both stripped off what they could; Judith looked down at her dry jeans and sweater and shouldered her grip and her canvas bag again. She was going to see Jack. Jack Freeman. At least he would recognize her; she had practically lived in jeans for the past year.

Hausmann took her to a lift. He was talking. ‘Second floor, Jude.’ The lift was enormous, a small room. ‘Here are the buttons, OK? Now … turn left and follow the signs. He’s in a single room. I’m going to leave you at the door. When you come out, turn right and follow the exit signs.’

She glanced up to thank him; his dark face looked cadaverous.

She said, ‘Oh, Robert … you must sleep … seriously—’

‘I’ll shove two chairs together and sleep – don’t worry, I’m good at it.’ He tried for a grin. ‘Here we are. Go on. He needs you.’

He turned and shambled off. For a moment she almost ran after him. Then she put her hand on the door, rested her forehead on it and took a deep breath.

The bed was facing the door, and with its drip stands and the oxygen equipment looked small and cluttered. A chair fitted in on one side, and she had a glimpse of Matthew sitting in it and leaning over a newspaper spread across the quilt
before he turned and saw her. His face – his dear familiar face – registered delight and relief in equal measure, then he put a finger to his lips.

Judith had already seen that Jack’s eyes were closed. She came in, closed the door gently behind her, and, still in complete silence, let Matthew envelop her in a bear hug. They rocked for several moments. Every time she saw the boys she swore that they had grown taller, which at twenty-eight was ridiculous. But this time there was a difference, and she knew that she must be shrinking. She pulled away, holding his upper arms, smiling up at him, mouthing reassurances. He nodded, then indicated the door. She looked at Jack; he was undeniably asleep, but she could see how ill he was. He had always boasted about looking ‘lean and hungry’. Now his face was gaunt.

Matthew opened the door and ushered her back into the wide corridor. He whispered, ‘He looked worse than that this morning – you can almost watch him recovering.’

‘Oh, Matt … I dreamt that you were chasing him and Toby … oh my God, why are we whispering?’

‘Mum, stop crying. I’m trying to tell you he’s going to be all right. He had a cup of tea an hour ago, and said that he was going to have a nap, and why didn’t I look at the football results? I haven’t told him that Robert was going to fetch you. He will be so pleased. This is what it’s all been about. Finding you.’

She controlled her ridiculous tears with difficulty. There were so many questions, and she had no idea how much Matt knew. She held her side and straightened. ‘We must talk. Of course. But not now, Matt. Mr Hausmann is in the waiting room. I want you to take him to his room, digs, whatever it is – he says he has rented something – and make him lie down
and sleep. Same applies to you. I will stay with Dad tonight and see you in the morning.’

‘Mum, I don’t think you will be allowed to stay overnight like that.’

She actually smiled. ‘I think it will be all right.’ She rummaged in her canvas bag, found pen and paper and scribbled her mobile phone number. ‘You’ve probably lost this, otherwise you would have phoned me the other evening when you were at home.’

‘Oh, Mum. I’d forgotten you were … like this.’ He took the paper. ‘Thank God you’re here. Dad hid his symptoms so well – we had no idea—’

‘I know how he can be. Thank you for chasing after him, Matt.’

‘He was like this when he arrived in July – that’s why he got on so well with Robert – they were both … sort of … haunted. I think Robert kind of unloaded on Dad, and when he went back to England Dad sort of crumbled. Day by day, he crumbled. It was horrible, Mum. Dad couldn’t make phone calls and he told us that neither could you. Security reasons.’

‘What on earth does that mean? Surely you could have let me know somehow or other how ill he was?’

‘Mum, he made us promise not to. He said it was nothing to do with you, and that was the way he wanted to keep it. We thought – Len thought – it was something to do with work. A libel suit – all this phone-hacking business.’

‘For goodness’ sake – that doesn’t sound like Dad! Much too melodramatic!’ She forced a smile.

‘We’re still a family then, Mum?’

‘Yes, of course we are.’

‘Uncle Len kept saying that to Dad.’ He dropped his voice again. ‘Was it since Gran died? We wondered whether Dad
was having a breakdown of some kind – we could not think what else it could be, unless he really is in trouble with the law, of course.’

‘Dad is not in any trouble with the law!’

‘Well, it happened before in our family, didn’t it.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Anyway, so Dad came to Australia and met that crazy artist chap—’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Matt. We’ve never had trouble with the law in our family. And Robert Hausmann saved Dad’s life. Let’s stop talking like this. We’re together. Everything is going to be all right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Let’s get Dad through this.’

‘Yes. All right.’

‘Go! Sleep well. Tomorrow we’ll see what we can do about moving Dad back home.’

He smiled properly at last. ‘Good old Mum!’ And she watched him go slowly towards the lifts and realized that Jack had said nothing about another woman to his brother or to his sons. Whatever was haunting him was still there.

He slept for another two hours, during which time Judith sat in the chair Matt had vacated and even found herself looking at the newspaper spread across Jack’s bed. At eight thirty a nurse came in and checked the drips. She raised her brows at Judith and smiled professionally. ‘Mrs Freeman? I think you are exactly what the doctor ordered!’ She indicated the array of technology. ‘This is first aid. What your husband needs is complete rest and home cooking. We make allowances for his friend’s anxiety, of course, but even private beds are at a premium.’ Her smile softened. ‘Your son explained the mix-up about your whereabouts, and obviously we would never have turned your husband away – but it is good that they have found you and you are here!’