Parallel Life (37 page)

He squeezed her hand. ‘As I said, stand firm, lass. Your being here is already a shock for him. Be strong, Hat. Today's word is strong.'

‘Thanks, Will.'

‘For what?'

She blinked rapidly. ‘For being Will.'

Gus made a beeline for his daughter. ‘Harriet,' he said. ‘Thank you for coming. I didn't . . . I couldn't . . .' He inhaled deeply. ‘She was your sister. I wanted to spare you, but—'

‘It's all right, Father,' she whispered. ‘I went to visit her in the chapel of rest. I knew she was related to me. Finding out wasn't difficult – a few phone calls, a bit of impersonation. Here she comes now.' She clung tightly to her father's arm, while Sheila propped him up from the other side. ‘We're here for you, Father,' said Harrie.

Will stood back. These minutes and seconds belonged to a family of which he was almost, yet not quite, a member. Birds stopped singing. It felt as if the whole planet had ground to a sudden halt. As the sombre procession approached the grave, a cloud covered the sun's shame.

The coffin was carried by four men, a priest leading the way. Prayers were droned, the casket was lowered into the ground, then bearers and priest left the scene. Gus gazed down into the gaping hole. Mathilda's earthly remains were with her mother now, and, although he had no faith in a hereafter, he had needed to be here when mother and child were reunited. This was, for him, the last of Mathilda, and yet . . . He opened his mouth, and a whisper emerged. ‘
Istenhozzad
,' he breathed. ‘
Kedvenc
.'

Then he turned to his daughter. ‘She was beautiful like you. But she never woke properly, you see. I kept her, and it was cruel, because without sedation she fitted. Now, as I approach my own end, I have let her go. It was time to let her go.' There was a hysterical edge to his voice. ‘Katherina died the day Mathilda was born. Mathilda was Katherina's only child.'

A man approached. He was dressed in black, and he carried a single cream rose. ‘Gustav?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘I am John Barford.' They shook hands.

‘Yes, I remember you.' Gus's eyes filled with saline. ‘She bewitched us, didn't she? I hurt you. I am sorry I hurt you.'

This was not the father Harrie had known. Had she known him at all? He was crying in the arms of the man whose wife he had stolen. Gustav Compton-Milne had feelings. As if agreeing with her, the sun broke through in that moment.

The two men whispered to each other, spoke of a past they had shared, of a young woman they had loved to distraction. Knowing their weaknesses, they separated, yet still their hands clung together.

The widower finally drew away from his old adversary and threw the rose into the grave. He raised his hat, said his goodbye, then left the cemetery.

They had been so dignified, thought Harrie. And men, too, were capable of huge forgiveness – that was plain.

Katherina must have owned a power given to very few. Absolute beauty was extraordinarily dangerous because it swept before it all in its path. Would Katherina have stayed with Father, would she have returned to John Barford, would she have moved on? She noticed at the base of the headstone some smaller words. The inscription read ‘Daughter Of Hungary'
.
So that was the language Father had used when talking to those he had loved and lost.

Gus and Sheila climbed into a black car and left the cemetery.

‘She was of Hungarian origin,' Harrie told Will.

‘Yes, I noticed. Let's follow them, shall we?'

At Sheila's house, the small cortège stopped. ‘Look,' said Harrie. ‘She has to help him up the steps. So ill in so short a time. It's frightening.'

The four of them sat in Sheila's living room. It occurred to Harrie that, while Gus must come home, she needed to prepare her mother and to empty the house. She could not imagine her father coping with the twins, with Annie's enthusiasms, Sal's misery, Daisy's happiness, with a crazed man lurking in the shadows. ‘There are things happening at Weaver's Warp,' she told him. ‘They are beyond our control.'

Gus smiled weakly. ‘Another of the indiscretions for which my wife must never be blamed? Lisa is a good woman, Harriet. Remember that. She had a difficult husband.'

‘Yes. Are you very ill, Father?'

He shrugged. ‘I am ill, yes.'

‘How ill?'

‘They are thinking of removing something from my abdomen next. It will supposedly improve the quality of my life for a while. But the tumour in my brain will be the worst. Perhaps the chemo and radiotherapies may help. I am at the mercy of doctors and am therefore not safe. They are killing us, have been killing us for years with unnecessary antibiotics. Now, we pay the price. Filth in theatres doesn't help, either. My own ailment does not arise from overprescription, but it is one whose grip on the world is tightening. It's man-made. Of that I have little doubt.'

Father had cancer. Sheila was heartbroken. Harrie was suddenly terrified. ‘Father?'

‘What?'

‘Try to stay alive until my baby comes.' That was vitally important. He had to see hope before he left the world. If she had a daughter, she would name her Hope – as long as Will agreed, of course.

Gus smiled. The lines in his face were deep, the skin grey. ‘All our tomorrows,' he said. ‘I wish I had—'

‘It doesn't matter now, Father. I don't believe in blame.' Although she had to admit to blaming Jimmy Nuttall for a lot of things. But this man had provided for his family, had worked hard, had hidden a heart as unsteady as the San Andreas Fault. ‘Stay here for a few days longer. Is that all right with you, Sheila?'

The woman nodded. She had plodded her way through the morning like someone on automatic pilot: no words, no tears, just going through the motions. Would the Compton-Milnes allow her to visit him after he had gone home? Judging by the attitude of Harriet, the answer was probably positive. ‘I'll make some tea.' These were the first words she had spoken.

When Sheila had left the room, Harrie asked the big question. ‘Does Mother know about Katherina or Mathilda?'

‘No. There was no need. But there is need now because I wish to be buried with them. Lisa must be told, and I have not the energy.'

Harrie agreed. ‘I'll do it. My mother has a generous soul. She's acted selfishly, and she's aware of that, but I think she's a sensitive spirit deep down.'

‘And needy,' said Gus. ‘She must remarry. I have been an unfit husband.' He stared hard at his daughter. ‘You are so like Mathilda. May I give you some advice? Not that it will work . . .'

‘Of course.'

He turned to Will. ‘You, too. Never let the love take over. Never let the love become a burden you can't carry.'

Harrie swallowed hard. ‘So you loved Katherina too much?'

Gus shrugged. ‘She took everything in that department, yes. But I allowed that. Perhaps I am weak, or perhaps there was only one woman in the world for me. I stopped feeling, started working. You must love and work. The two are not mutually exclusive.'

They drank tea and talked about nothing in particular. It was clear that Sheila felt excluded in her own house, so Will and Harrie left.

Only then did Sheila speak. ‘Are you definitely dying?'

‘We are all dying. But yes. It will not take very long. The surgery may buy some time during which I may work, but it all depends on Humphrey.' He tapped his skull. ‘That's the name of my chief tormentor.'

Sheila excused herself and went to the bathroom. The world was losing a brilliant man; the world had not deserved him.

The Warburton brothers arrived at one o'clock. Smartly dressed in dark-grey suits, they climbed out of a black, shiny car and walked towards the house while Lisa operated the gates. Weaver's Warp was now battened down. Annie, standing next to Lisa, dug her in the ribs. ‘Well,' she whispered, ‘mine's all right, but I don't think much to yours.'

‘Behave yourself.'

‘You're no fun.'

The men introduced themselves and were sent up to meet their true employer in the attic. Annie was blushing. As soon as the guards disappeared, Lisa rounded on her. ‘Listen, birdbrain. They're here to look after us – all of us.'

Annie sighed. ‘Matthew can look after me any time he likes. I'm going to put my face on. And the other wig. Don't you think the other wig suits me better? Oh, you can have Luke Warburton. He's the older one.'

Lisa clipped her friend lightly across the ear. ‘If they were the bread Warburtons, I'd understand you. The bread lot are millionaires, at least. You've no idea, have you? Brain damage. Definitely. Not even a birdbrain. And,' she looked over her shoulder, ‘Luke has the bigger feet. Do you know about bigger feet?'

‘Aye, but I'm daintier than you are. So there.'

Lunch that day was in shifts. Although the kitchen was the size of the whole ground floor of one of the original weavers' cottages, it was still a push to feed so many. Harrie and Will were forced to eat with Daisy and the twins. Their agenda for the day had been mapped out – they were to eat with the children, then play with them until bedtime. ‘My cup runneth over,' commented Will as he sat down with Annie's children.

When the first shift was over, Sal had to take her place with Lisa and Annie. The latter was making eyes at the younger of the security men, who had both been invited to partake. The men did not sit down, choosing instead to walk about the house and get their bearings while eating sandwiches. Lisa kicked Annie under the table several times, but Annie took no notice. Matthew Warburton reminded her of Brad Pitt; Lisa nominated him Bottomless Pitt, because his trousers were not quite as well filled when observed from the rear. ‘Luke has the better bum,' she whispered.

Annie was ready, as ever. ‘Trust you to go for the biggest arse,' she whispered.

Sal simply smiled. Surely, he would be arrested today? She was safer here in company. It was better not to think about how wild Jimmy had become; she was among decent folk, and that should be enough.

Will popped his head round the door when the second sitting was almost finished. ‘Mrs Compton-Milne?'

‘Yes, dear? Oh, and call me Lisa.'

‘I'll mind the kids. Harrie needs a word with you.'

‘Are you sure about the twins?' asked Annie. ‘You've my permission to tie them up if necessary. And I'll help you entertain them in a minute.'

Lisa made her excuses and prepared to leave the room. For someone expecting a happy event, Harrie had been quiet since her return from that funeral. Yes, it was sad when someone young died, but Harrie had never met Will's cousin, had she? She would have said so.

‘Excuse me,' she begged again as she stood up. ‘Annie, make sure you do help Will. Those boys of yours are ready for straitjackets.'

Annie scarcely heard. She was too busy keeping an eye on Matthew-Brad Pitt-Warburton. Could he tell she was wearing a wig? Did these jeans do her justice? Should she have worn a frock and her best gold sandals?

‘I'll be back,' Lisa threatened.

‘See you later, then,' Annie answered absently.

Lisa followed her daughter into Gus's office. This was the one place in which they were unlikely to be disturbed.

‘Mother,' Harrie began, hands twisting nervously in her lap. ‘It's not easy, but he isn't fit to tell you himself.'

‘Who isn't?'

‘My father.'

Harrie allowed the whole truth to make contact with the air. She said her piece slowly, trying hard to keep the emotion from her voice. ‘So,' she concluded. ‘There you have it, Mother. No New Zealand, treatment for cancer, and now you know the rest of it.'

Lisa sat in silence for at least ten seconds. Emotion moved across her face, but she did not open her mouth until she had risen and gone to stand at the window. ‘I'm glad,' she said.

‘Mother?!?'

Without turning to look at Harrie, she carried on. ‘There was something – always something. I don't mean I'm glad about cancer – you must believe that. But – what did you say her name was? The mother, I mean.'

‘Katherina. The family came from Hungary when the trouble started with communists. He fell absolutely head over heels. She left her husband for him. Then she died giving birth to their daughter.'

‘And he kept Mathilda alive.'

‘Yes. She was a piece of Katherina.'

Lisa's back began to shake. ‘Thank God,' she wept. ‘He loved somebody, Harrie. He really, really loved somebody. He married me because I was there – I married him because he showed promise as an earner. Though, I have to admit, I was fascinated by him. A clever man, you see. I had a rough upbringing, and Hermione and Gus carried me out of the gutter.'

‘You carried yourself, Mother. You are a master jeweller.'

‘Yes, I am.' She faced her daughter. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. ‘He loved. Don't you see? He is capable of that all-consuming passion. That means he is human after all.'

‘Yes. My father is a human being. Sheila Barton – there's nothing going on. She just has a vast attic full of trains, and he uses it.'

‘We must bring him home, Harrie.'

‘Not yet. Not until the house is back to normal.'

Lisa smiled grimly. ‘Normal? When were we that?'

Harrie nodded pensively. ‘I was thinking, at the beginning of summer, that mine was a life lived in parallel with everyone here. But hers was the real parallel life, wasn't it? Just lying there, not truly with us. We're all alone, I suppose, because we're locked in our own heads. Things get shared, but we're little islands, since a person can never absolutely know anyone apart from him or her self. Mathilda was denied even communication. Life without communication? Doesn't bear thinking of.'

‘Poor girl,' said Lisa.

‘I wonder if she heard? I wonder if she listened, Mother?'