The Christmas Angel (30 page)

Dossie takes a step back from the little group, and then another, and stands alone though ready to smile or nod if required. She looks around at the familiar scene. The sun is still hot and the sweet scent of new-cut grass lingers in the heavy, warm air. Scarlet fuchsia blossoms hang delicate and bell-like on their arched stems and the leaves of the sumac trees burn like fire against the faded blue October sky. Michaelmas daisies, smoky blue and pinky-purple, stand in tall clumps against the grey stone walls.

‘Isn’t the weather heavenly?’ Sister Emily is beside her. ‘St Luke’s little summer is lasting a long time this year.’ Her eyes twinkle at Dossie. ‘His Feast Day tomorrow. What fun!’

Despite her heavy heart, Dossie bursts out laughing. ‘And don’t I know it, what with Janna pestering me for something special for you all to eat.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ says Sister Emily contentedly. ‘I do enjoy a surprise.’

‘And how will poor Janna manage when the new retreat house opens for business?’ asks Dossie, still smiling.

‘Our dear Penny is coming back.’ Sister Emily rises onto her toes and falls back again, as if she is unable to contain her pleasure. ‘She is quite recovered from that debilitating shingles disease and she will be back in the kitchen, and her married daughter is going to help with the other work. We’re hoping to involve the village more fully as we progress – to find jobs, that kind of thing.’

‘I see.’ Dossie watches her affectionately, comforted simply by her presence. Even in her unfamiliar clothes she remains essentially Sister Emily. ‘But there must be quite a lot of
other
things to think about. I know that Clem will be fully involved once he’s trained but who actually runs the show and deals with the nuts and bolts?’

‘We shall all work together,’ Sister Emily answers. ‘That is Chi-Meur’s way, but we are fortunate to be supported by a wonderful group of oblates and alongsiders. One of our oblates, a widow who lives in Padstow, has offered to be our secretary and administrator. It will be organic, of course, and we shall make mistakes, but we have plenty of helpers to whom we can turn. We are very lucky.’

‘Yes,’ says Dossie. ‘Yes, but you have earned it.’

‘And you?’ asks Sister Emily.

‘Me?’ says Dossie. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘I hear that you are starting a new venture, too. Or, at least, taking up where Mo and Pa left off. That’s very exciting.’

‘Yes,’ she answers rather dully. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’

Sister Emily watches her for a moment, then touches her lightly on the arm. ‘Thank God for work,’ she says gently. ‘
Courage, ma brave
.’

She goes away, smiling first to one group and then another, and then Pa appears at Dossie’s shoulder and says: ‘I think it might be drinks time, Doss. What d’you say?’ and she goes with him into the house.

JANNA STANDS WATCHING
the thick golden mist drifting on the invisible surface of the sea, moving inland, obscuring the further headlands and the cliffs. The crying of the sea birds is muffled, indistinct. Yesterday there was a seal pup on the stony beach, far down beneath the steep cliff near Trevone, and she fears that the mother has gone and that the helpless pup will not survive. She sees in her mind’s eye the cruel, stabbing beaks of crow and gull, and shivers. There is no point in attempting to see whether the pup is still there. The soft mist is rolling in now, lapping at the cliff’s edge, drifting across the fields and enveloping her in its chill clamminess. She turns away and begins to walk back. No picnic today, no sitting in the sunshine; yet she is not depressed as she so often is when the clouds cover the sun. She sees someone on the path but is past before she recognizes him as the man who is researching a book. Through the grapevine she’s heard that the locals believe he’s behind the man who wants the convent for a hotel and that he isn’t writing a book at all. It doesn’t matter any more: Chi-Meur is safe.

She walks quickly with her hands in her pockets, trying to come to grips with an odd experience she had in the chapel before Compline last night. This is the time for Silent Prayer, the chapel lit only by candles, and Sister Emily was in her stall in her usual attitude of contemplation. A priest, at Chi-Meur on a few days’ retreat, sat on a chair near the altar gazing up at the big carved crucifix. Another guest kneeled in the visitors’ pew, head in hands. Janna noted them before slipping into her own corner. Closing her eyes, breathing deeply, she sat simply absorbing the silence, enfolded in the atmosphere of peace. And then, quite suddenly, she had been utterly ravished by a sense of joy. Her heart seemed to flame and burn with it and for a while – nearly ten minutes, she discovered afterwards – she was totally unaware of anything but this overpowering exaltation.

When she opened her eyes, shocked into consciousness by the clicking on of the chapel lights by Mother Magda for Compline, she was dazed, bewildered. She could feel that her mouth was smiling of its own accord and she was still filled with a fading awareness of the joy. Sister Ruth, coming in and seeing her, raised her eyebrows hopefully and Janna gave a little nod and hurried out to keep vigil over Sister Nichola until Compline was over. This is the arrangement just for now.

This morning, as she walks swiftly in the ever-thickening mist, Janna remembers the joy and her heart beats a little quicker; it is as if she is in love. She shakes her head, mocking herself, but still pondering on what has happened.

‘What’s all this praying about then?’ she once asked Sister Emily.

‘Prayer unites the soul with God,’ she answered. ‘That’s what Mother Julian tells us.’

Janna didn’t know this Mother Julian but she remembered what Sister Emily said, and now she broods on it. She does indeed feel as if she’s been united with something or someone; bound in delight and sharing and love. When Mother Magda switched on the chapel lights she’d felt as if she were dropping from space – as if she’d briefly transcended the earth’s gravity – and she really understood the phrase ‘coming back to earth with a bump’. Maybe she’ll speak to Clem about it, or Father Pascal.

She wonders how Sister Ruth is managing at night to keep an eye on Sister Nichola. The elderly nun has forged a link between them, and Sister Ruth is appearing more often in the kitchen with her and leaving her in Janna’s care.

It is odd, Janna thinks, how much she enjoys the almost silent companionship of Sister Nichola. Sometimes she might speak but her words are strange to Janna, and she guesses that they are texts or quotations. She thinks about them afterwards and tries to read some meaning into them. She makes her coffee or a cup of tea, which is drunk with great relish. In this way she is like Dossie and Sister Emily: everything is a celebration.

And now it seems that at some deep level she’s taken the decision about staying at Chi-Meur and had more or less committed herself with those words to Sister Ruth, of all people. Afterwards she panicked: the old terrors returned. Then, last night in the chapel, she’d known that extraordinary sense of peace and belonging.

The mist is swirling about her now and she keeps close to the thorn hedge that borders the cliff-top fields. How easy it would be to miss her step; to plunge over the edge of the cliff onto the rocks below. It is with relief that she turns onto the path that leads across the field to Chi-Meur.

* * *

It’s crazy to come up here in this weather, though the sun was shining when he set out. Trouble is, he’s getting paranoid: seeing things that aren’t there; hearing noises. Still, it’s nearly over for him; another twenty-four hours and he’ll be out of it. He and Phil will have done their stuff and it’ll be up to the legal team. Just one more call, out here where there’s nobody about, and he’ll be packing his bag. He passes the good-looking bird from the convent and nods a greeting. The mist is creeping in now but he’ll be quick. He gets out his mobile, scrolls down, presses the button.

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘just want you to know that the nuns know about that old will … Yeah, according to the gossip, I gather they’ve been told it’s OK because they’ll still be within the messuage. Something like that. The wording is very important, apparently, but they’ve obviously got someone who knows his onions … No, that’s all I know. It’s all Chinese whispers round here, but that’s the gist … Look, I’m outa here first thing tomorrow. Then it’s up to you and your solicitor friend. Just hope he’s got the balls for it, that’s all … I’ve told you what it’s like round here. You’ll have a fight on your hands with the locals if you win, but that’s your problem … Yeah, OK. I’ll call in later on.’

The mist drifts over the cliff-top and he turns to go back, but suddenly the mist thickens, rolling in thick moisture-heavy clouds so that he can no longer see clearly. He can hear feet on the path below him; footsteps that grow faster, break into a run. They are purposeful, heavy, and strange cries accompany them, echoing and eerie. It sounds like a group of savages hunting a wild animal and suddenly he is filled with an atavistic terror. They are all around him now,
corralling
him, guiding him, and instinctively he turns and runs, away from the village, into the thickening mist towards Trevone.

‘I know that I should have told you at once,’ Sister Ruth is saying. ‘It was my pride that held me back. I thought that I’d failed in my duty as carer. I can see now that this was wrong and that Sister Nichola’s safety is far more important than my pride.’

She looks round at the shocked faces: Father Pascal, Mother Magda, Sister Emily. Sister Nichola is watching her too but with great affection and a warm smile. Sister Ruth takes courage from the smile.

‘I simply can’t manage to watch all night,’ she says rather desperately. ‘So I have to ask for your help.’

Mother Magda is the first to speak. ‘But it was never part of your duties to have to do so,’ she cries. ‘How frightening for you it must have been. None of us would ever have imagined that Sister would go out at night. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘How lucky that Janna saw her,’ says Father Pascal.

‘Very lucky.’ Sister Ruth raises her chin almost defiantly and looks at them all in turn. ‘She brought her back to me, as I told you, and between us we’ve been more watchful. But the nights are too much for me.’

‘It will be easier in the Coach House,’ Sister Emily says thoughtfully. ‘Or … will it?’

‘Janna has suggested that Sister Nichola occupies a room between hers and mine.’ She ignores the surprised reaction, the uplifted brows. ‘And that at night we put a gate across the top of the stairs to prevent accidents.’

‘That sounds a splendid idea,’ Mother Magda says
warmly
. ‘So, does this mean that Janna has decided to stay with us? She hasn’t mentioned it to me.’

She glances around enquiringly but Father Pascal and Sister Emily remain silent, with little shakes of their heads, merely looking surprised and pleased. Sister Ruth’s cheeks are bright with colour.

‘We simply talked of it in passing,’ she says quickly, ‘when we were trying to think of a solution. I wouldn’t want to preempt Janna’s final decision. The idea of the gate was hers, not mine. Clem used one for Jakey.’ Her blush deepens. ‘I have no wish to denigrate Sister Nichola by implying that …’ She hesitates, flustered. ‘I know that she is not a child but …’

‘But it sounds a very practical idea.’ Father Pascal helps her out of her confusion. ‘We need to make her feel safe and I agree that locking doors is not an option if we can avoid it. And I think you need feel no shame for something that was quite beyond your remit.’

‘Indeed not,’ agrees Mother Magda. ‘This rests with all of us. And I quite see what you mean about removing the key. If there were to be an emergency it could be disastrous. Whatever can we do?’

‘Move into the Coach House straightaway,’ suggests Father Pascal. ‘There’s nothing to prevent you now that the kitchen is done and the new door into the chapel is in place. The rest of the work is simply making the orchard secure for you and laying a proper walkway around the house so that you can get into it easily from the back. If you are happy to move in then your quarters here can be made ready for guests.’

They all exchange glances. Sister Ruth, it is clear, is only too ready now to make the move and share the load of her responsibility; Sister Emily has her usual positive enthusiasm for a new project. Even Mother Magda, less confident
and
more anxious, recognizes that the moment has come. Yet between the three of them passes a tremor of regret, of sadness, and of a backward glance to other times. Only Sister Nichola remains impassive, her lips curved in a half-smile, as she waits placidly.

Father Pascal watches them: this is not the time for platitudes and reassurances. They are drawn together, these three survivors, in a shared moment that belongs only to themselves. It is Mother Magda who makes the first move.

‘This has happened in so many other communities,’ she says quietly, ‘but for us it is much more than moving to another house. We are beginning a whole new project of our own in which we are deeply involved. We have already supplied the foundation stones and now we must build on them with Christ as our cornerstone. This is the very first step. We should make it wholeheartedly.’

She reaches out and takes Sister Emily’s hand, eagerly stretched to her, and Sister Ruth’s, who responds with a slight embarrassment. Just for a moment they remain, united, and then she releases them and turns back to Father Pascal.

‘We are ready,’ she says.

‘I’m sure Clem will be at your disposal,’ he says, ‘and it needn’t be done all in a moment. It will take time to decide what you need in your own library, for instance, and the kitchen.’

‘And Janna?’ asks Sister Emily. ‘Will Janna be prepared to move too?’

‘She certainly shouldn’t be in that caravan for another winter,’ Father Pascal answers firmly. ‘But whether she is ready fully to commit …’ He shrugs and looks at Sister Ruth. ‘Shall you speak to her? She has implied to you that she will stay. Could you, d’you think, ask her what she intends?’

Sister Ruth looks uncomfortable. ‘She
did
speak of staying, but she was anxious about it. And about retaining some kind of privacy but, more importantly, not disturbing us. I tried to reassure her but I was probably clumsy. Janna and I have not always been … easy together. I have to tell you that she very kindly agreed to keep Sister Nichola’s visits to the Lodge to herself until I was ready to speak to you all. Nevertheless, I think Sister Emily would have a more open and truthful response from her.’