The Glass Lake (67 page)

“What are you going to do?” Kit spoke in a whisper.

“I'm going away. To somewhere where people will look after me, where I can be safe and obey rules and not be allowed all the freedom to make wrong decisions.”

“Where will that be?”

“A convent. I know a place where they take in people like me. I could clean floors and help in the garden or the kitchen, and have my meals and a little cell.”

“But you said you hated being with people and living to rules.”

“That was then, this is now.”

“How will you make arrangements, will you ring them or write to them?”

“No, Kit. I'll just go on the bus.”

“You
can't
go away, Sister Madeleine. People love you here.”

“Not after this, they won't. The person who sheltered the villain who attacked Kathleen Sullivan and said not a word, then let him loose to attack Martin McMahon. Love turns to scorn very quickly.”

“Please don't go.”

“I have to go, Kit. I'm just so glad you came in to say good-bye.”

“But there'd be a procession of people coming to say good-bye if they really thought you were going. In fact, they wouldn't let you go.” Kit's eyes were blazing.

“If you want to be my friend, Kit, you won't tell them.”

“Have you any money, any cash to tide you over?”

“Yes, your mother sends me English five-pound notes from time to time.”

Kit looked at her openmouthed. Sister Madeleine had never acknowledged that she knew the identity of Lena Gray.

“My mother…” she began.

Sister Madeleine took no notice. “She doesn't say it's from her, but I know. It just says
For Emergencies
and this is an emergency.”

“People will be so hurt, Sister. They've come down here time after time, they've told you their life stories, and you leave without saying good-bye.”

“It's the best.”

“No it's not. What about Emmet, for example? You taught him to speak, to read, to love poetry. What about Rita, when she comes back to Lough Glass and comes to see you she'll find an empty cottage…I know Maura thinks the world of you, she wouldn't blame you for what happened to Father. And I heard awful Mrs. Dillon, who never said a nice word about anyone, saying you should be canonized…you can't walk out on everyone.”

But Kit knew that her words were in vain. “When are you going, Sister?” she asked.

“This evening, on the six o'clock bus. I have a lot to do, Kit. May God bless you, and guide you.” She paused and then spoke again. “May your mother find peace and fulfillment in the life she has. Is it a good life?”

“Only sort of,” Kit said.

“It must have been what she wanted.” Sister Madeleine's eyes were still misty.

“I could tell you all the story if you stayed…” Kit pleaded.

“No, I don't want to hear a story of someone else. People should tell their own story. God go with you always, Kit McMahon.” She turned away.

Kit dashed out of the cottage in tears. She ran by the lakeside until she came to the path that went up by the hotel. Looking into the neglected grounds and gardens of the Central Hotel, she saw Philip sitting in the old summerhouse. It was rotting and needed great repairs and a coat of paint. He wore his thick coat, but still it must have been a cold place to sit and read.

“Can I come and join you?” she asked.

He closed his book. She saw it was one of their textbooks. “Will you be warm enough?” He was kind, out for her good.

“Imagine you reading this. That bonehead Kevin O'Connor hasn't even opened it.”

“He doesn't need to with his hotels,” Philip said.

“No. Life's not fair, is it?”

“Were you down with Sister Madeleine?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Well, you came in the side way, where else would you have been walking on a Sunday afternoon?

“She's leaving,” Kit said. And she told him the whole story.

         

There was a wide bit of road outside Paddles' bar. The bus came in about ten to six. The small figure of Sister Madeleine came up the lane. She carried a bag, a torn bag held together with twine. Somebody must have brought it to her once. It was one of the few things she had not been able to pass on to anyone else.

A lot of people stood around, many more than would have been traveling on the bus. Or indeed going into Paddles' bar. Or knocking on the back door of Mrs. Dillon's to ask her to give them a tin of beans or a packet of Gold Flake on the quiet. They had come to see if it was true that the hermit was leaving.

Clio was there, and Anna. Michael Sullivan, Patsy Hanley, Kevin Wall standing beside Emmet. Patsy Hanley eyed them speculatively as she sucked her finger, and tried to take in all that was going on. There were some older people too, Tommy Bennet the postman, and Jimmy the porter from the hotel. They stood silently shuffling as if waiting for someone to say something. Something that would stop the hermit from leaving town.

Sister Madeleine seemed to be unaware of the people standing around.

Tommy Bennet stepped forward. “Where are you going to, Sister? I'd be glad to pay the fare.”

“It's nine shillings, Tommy,” Sister Madeleine said in a low voice. She didn't want the name of the place she was heading for to be said aloud.

“But you'll be back, Sister,” he said, paying the fare and accepting the ticket for the hermit.

Shadowy forms in the background meant that other people were there too to see the departure.

“She can pay you with the money that came from Sullivan's garage,” someone called. And there was a half laugh. Kit looked around her in disbelief. These were the people who had loved Sister Madeleine. How could they have turned on her like this?

The driver, who was not from around this part of the world, shivered. There was something happening here that he didn't understand, but he didn't like it. He saw various youngsters come and shake the hand of the small woman who was most probably a nun. He saw a lot of others hang back, and look at the scene as if they were watching a play.

Just before they heard the Angelus begin to ring out at six o'clock the conductor was in the bus, and had the driver ready to move. He looked hastily up and down the long main street of Lough Glass. He didn't want to miss any stragglers by leaving too early, but he felt a wish to be gone. The bus went down the dark street.

And nobody at all waved good-bye.

Chapter Nine

J
AMES
Williams had been debating for a long time whether he should invite Mrs. Gray to lunch. If he telephoned to make an arrangement she would certainly say no. He could hardly run into her casually again.

He decided to call at the agency. To say that he had been passing. He would say that he had found himself in the area and wondered if he could tear her away from her work for an hour. If she said no, then he would find another opportunity. He wanted to talk to her very much indeed, and lunch seemed the right time to do it.

The place was much bigger and smarter than he had been led to believe. Why did Louis live in a run-down street in Earl's Court if his wife ran a place as prestigious as this? And run it she did, there was no doubt about it.

She was well guarded from the casual passerby. He was offered an appointment. If he could wait for half an hour, Mrs. Millar might be free. There wouldn't be a chance of seeing Mrs. Gray he was told. Several times.

“But it's only for a moment,” he begged, putting on a mock despairing face.

“In what connection?” the receptionist said.

“I am so anxious to take Mrs. Gray out to lunch,” he said with his practiced charm. “I wonder could I ask you to go in and intercede on my behalf.”

“Does she know you, Mr. Williams?”

“Ah yes, she does. But that alone might not make her say yes.” He looked suitably humble and hopeful, and sat in the blue and gold waiting room admiring the professionalism that had been brought to bear on this place. It was all a credit to Lena. Millar had made nothing of it for years, and there was no other explanation for its success since Lena's arrival.

Lena came through the door. “James, what a surprise,” she said, both hands out to meet him. He thought she looked thinner than when he had seen her last. And a little pale. Perhaps it was the dark red outfit that took the color from her face.

She was very smart in a red-check dress and jacket, her shoes were black and red…she was the role model for every young office worker. If they could look as good and confident as this at Mrs. Gray's age, then life would have been very satisfactory.

“It's twelve forty-five, I was passing the door…”

“You never pass doors,” Lena said, laughing at him.

“I'd never pass yours. Say yes, a little lunch, I'll have you back well before two.”

“I should think so too. We don't take huge long lunch breaks at Millar's, not like your world, James.”

She hadn't revealed what his world was, neither did he.

         

They made small talk, polite banter, each accusing the other of knowing much more about wines than they claimed. Then the fish had been ordered, and the chat was over. A little silence fell between them.

“Have you any idea why I wanted to see you?” James asked.

Lena was thoughtful. He had lost his air of mock gallantry now, he seemed more serious. She decided not to be flippant. “Something about Louis, I imagine.”

“Yes. It's not easy. Do you have any idea what it is?”

“No. Has he been unreliable? Not turning up?” Her eyes were troubled.

“No, no. On the contrary, he has been working almost too many hours. Surely you must have noticed that.”

“Well, he's away from home many hours, that's true certainly.” She spoke without bitterness, with a sort of resignation.

“And has he said anything at all to you about a new post?”

“No, nothing at all.” She looked up at him, bewildered. Louis always discussed work with her—his wilder ideas from which she had to turn him so gently and tactfully that he thought it was he who had made the decision; his disputes and indignations with fellow workers…they had talked them through, often late into the night. Lena would bring about a situation where Louis would see that confrontation would be a loser's game. Diplomacy meant playing at being careful.

But what new position could there be? He was manager of the Dryden. It must be somewhere else. There was no higher he could go where he was. God, had he entered into negotiations without telling her? Was there some plan afoot to go to Scotland? Had he decided not to consult her in case she threw obstacles in his path?

She looked at James Williams's face and tried to read it. He could read hers easily—ignorance and hurt.

But James Williams had a face that was hard to understand. A gently flirtatious smile seemed to be coming back to play about his lips. The admiring, distant stance that he always had with her had replaced what looked like being a serious discussion. “Well, I suppose he's absolutely right not to drag boring old hotel politics home with him…” His smile was broad.

But Lena thought he had deliberately decided to change the direction of the conversation. “What post exactly?”

“In hotels there are always debates, discussions, worryings about this post and that…it obsesses us, it's surprising we have any time to look after clients…”

Lena looked at him with respect. James Williams was very smooth. Look at how effortlessly he moved away from the topic once he realized that Lena knew nothing of any new position. She would play the same game and help him to change the subject.

“Tell me about Laura Evans, that friend of yours we met when we came to stay?” Lena said. She heard the question almost echoing in her ears, and could hardly believe she had asked it.

“Laura?” he said, in well-bred disbelief that she should have brought the name up.

She did not let her glance drop from his. “That's right.” She was bright, eager, interested.

“Oh, I think she's fine. I haven't seen her for some time,” he said.

“I see,” said Lena.

He laid his hand on hers. It was a long moment. “It's a funny old life,” he said.

“How do you mean?”

“You could have met someone like me, I could have met someone like you.”

Now Lena decided to be the one who changed the direction. “Ah but the world is very small. We did meet eventually. Now, let's pay great attention to this very decorated dish of plaice I see coming toward us.”

Her eyes were bright in her face, which he realized was indeed thinner and more drawn than before. James Williams wondered what it would be like to be loved so passionately and uncomplainingly by a woman like Lena Gray.

         

The afternoon seemed very long, which was rare. Normally the time flew by.

“I told you twice already we went to Julio's and I had plaice Florentine. Now, can you get on with your work and let me get on with mine.” She rarely snapped at people.

Jennifer, her secretary, looked up startled. “Was it bad news, Mrs. Gray?” she asked.

“Why on earth do you think it was bad news? Now, might I add that at Millar's we actually publish guidelines for our clients. We advise office workers not to interrogate their employers about their private lives, especially having been advised to get on with their work.”

She knew she had behaved badly. Why could she not have spent two minutes saying that Mr. Williams was a friend of hers and her husband's outside work, and said that they had a delicious lunch in a place where the waiters called you Signora? That way Jennifer, who was only being friendly, would have gone happily back to her desk. Why could Lena not have pretended to be calm as she did so often?

Because she didn't feel bloody calm, that was why.

         

“I won't be having lunch with you on Saturday, I'm a witness at Ivy's marriage,” Lena told Jim and Jessie Millar.

“That's nice, a wedding's great,” Jessie said, looking back affectionately at her own wedding day.

Lena shuddered, remembering.

“You're looking tired,” Jim Millar said. “Perhaps we're working you too hard. Take a few days off for your friends' wedding.”

“No, Jim. I'm better working,” Lena said.

“You are tired, I said only the other day you were, and Jessie was saying it too.”

Lena knew that tired meant old. People didn't know that's what they were saying but that was it all the same. Well, she was in her forties, well into her forties. What could she expect to look but old? This wedding was probably the last time she would dress up and put on the style. After this she would wear sedate clothes, dove grays, navy with a little touch of white. Mother-of-the-bride outfits.

With a lurch she realized she would not be there at Kit's wedding, no matter what kind of outfit she wore. Plump, generous, spirited Maura Hayes would go to Dublin with her sister Lilian and buy something suitable, something that would see her through other social events during the years that followed. Unexpected tears came to her eyes.

“Are you all right, Lena?” Jessie was concerned.

“I'm fine, never better,” Lena said with a smile that was much too bright.

         

“What'll we give Ivy and Ernest?” Louis asked. He was home just for an hour. It was all go at the Dryden these days. They had a function again tonight, he needed to be there to oversee it.

“You shouldn't have come all the way back,” Lena said, solicitous that he was rushing too much.

“I wanted to see you, say hallo anyway.”

“Well, will it be a late do?”

“Makes no sense my coming back, darling. I won't be out of it until four, and then start again at eight. No, better that I sleep there.”

The old familiar dull thud came in her heart. “Sure,” she said brightly.

Louis stood there smiling at her. He had taken his shirt off and he patted his stomach. “Terrible middle-aged spread…I'm pathetic,” he said.

“Come on, flat as a board…you'd think you were playing tennis all day, you're so fit.” She loved to praise him, and see the light dance back into his eyes.

“Oh, I don't know, I don't think I'd cut much of a figure on the beach…”

“Let's go to a beach somewhere for our holidays next year,” she said suddenly.

He looked caught unawares. “Who knows where we'll be next year?” he said.

“Exactly, we could go somewhere smashing. I'll start looking up brochures.”

“Yeah, well, we'll talk about that later. Now, let's think what we'll give love's young dream downstairs.”

She wished he didn't make such fun of their ages. When she and Louis got married someday they too would be old. When they got married.

He was fastening his clean shirt and looking critically at his face in the mirror. She knew with a certainty that they would never marry. Why had she kept this foolish notion, like a child's toy, in her mind? She also knew that he was about to start an adventure tonight. Or perhaps he was in the middle of one. She knew the signs by then.

“I thought we'd get them a mirror, a nice antique mirror,” she said. She heard her voice as if it were coming down a tunnel.

Louis smiled at her. “Would there be room for it on the wall, with all Ivy's rubbish?”

“Oh yes. They're doing the place up, haven't you noticed?”

“No, I didn't see any difference.” He hadn't been into Ivy's since the night he had taken over her little celebration for them.

“I think they'd like it.”

“Sure, get it, then, as long as it's not too dear.”

He wouldn't pay a penny toward it, nor would he ever know that her real present to Ivy had been an outfit, a maroon velvet suit, and a hat to match. She had arranged a facial and a hairdo at Grace's salon. She had spent maybe ten times the cost of the mirror already.

Was Louis mean? He had always seemed the very spirit of generosity. When he had hardly sixpence left he would spend the coins he had on a bunch of violets. She couldn't bear to think of Louis as mean. Anything else but that.

“And you're all clear to come to the wedding on Saturday?” she said.

“Yes, I wouldn't miss a good feed and booze-up. Funny he's not having it in his own pub.”

“No, that wouldn't be good for the people who remembered Charlotte, or for his sons…more tactful to have it elsewhere.”

“But a bloody railway station! Really, Lena.” He was so scornful, so full of ridicule. And yet she knew he wouldn't say anything of the sort. He would tell Ivy and Ernest that it had been an inspired thing to have a party in a pub by one of the big railway stations and then leave for a honeymoon. His pity and ridicule wouldn't be seen publicly. The public Louis was a man you couldn't fault.

“We have to be at the registry office at twelve,” she said.

“I know, I know. I'll be there. I've arranged a split shift.”

“You mean you have to go back to work after it?”

“Some of us have to work,” he said, hurt.

She remembered James Williams saying that he worked almost too hard. She felt very uneasy. “I met James Williams today,” she said suddenly.

Was it her imagination or did he look wary. “And what did he have to report?”