The Prodigal Wife (28 page)

‘That was very tactful of Lizzie,' Prue said approvingly, after she'd gone. ‘She knows that you find it difficult to be really outspoken about Maria in front of her.'

Fliss began to laugh. ‘I didn't realize that I wanted to be outspoken,' she protested, though she knew deep down that her relief was very great. ‘I did have a slight fear that Maria might hint strongly about Christmas and that Hal would feel sorry for her and then I'd feel guilty if I vetoed it. But to be honest, there really is no point in her coming if Jolyon's away in Scotland. If they are going to put things right between them then it's better if she comes down in the New Year when he's back again. It was good of her not to try it on, though. I shall tell her that he's going off to Scotland with Henrietta and then she'll feel that her nobleness has been worth while.'

Prue was eating her porridge contentedly. ‘I think that it will all work out splendidly,' she said. ‘Though it will be odd to have Christmas without Jolyon.'

‘Yes,' said Fliss, rather shortly. She experienced the now familiar little pain of desolation in her heart when she thought about Bess and Matt and the children, and her darling Jamie, so far away at Christmas. And this year there would be no Jo to joke and mess around with Sam, and to make them all laugh. At least Susanna and Gus would be with them.

‘Soon we shall have Henrietta with us too,' Prue was saying gently, ‘and then she and Jolyon will be having babies. Won't that be fun? And Bess is talking about them coming over at Easter for the wedding. Perhaps little Paula could be a bridesmaid. Goodness! There's so much to plan and to look forward to, isn't there?'

Fliss bit her lip, willing herself not to cry, furious with herself: these days she was so emotional. She tried to smile at Prue, wondering how the older woman managed to remain so positive, remembering how brave she'd been after Caroline died; her real friend and confidante and the last person of her own generation at The Keep. Suddenly Fliss thought how terrible it would be if anything were to happen to Prue: she'd been there since those very first days after their return from Kenya, her warm motherliness embracing the three small orphans.

Prue had finished her porridge and her warm hand was holding Fliss's cold one, and then Hal was coming in saying, ‘Goodness, it's quite chilly out there. Is there any coffee? Morning, Ma,' and Fliss was able to squeeze Prue's hand, and give her a little nod to say that she was fine, and the moment passed.

 

‘I must say,' Hal said later, when he and Fliss were alone, ‘that I'm very glad that Maria hasn't suggested coming for Christmas. And I think she's very wise to stay with her friends since they're happy to have her there.'

Ever since he'd come into the kitchen he'd seen that there was a change in Fliss. Her reaction was nothing like it had been when that other letter had come and all hell had broken loose. There was no antagonism about this letter; he didn't feel the usual requirement to play it down, or defend Maria in any way, and this was a great relief. Fliss had referred to it quite casually, almost indifferently, and simply gone on to say how strange it would be with Jo going away for Christmas and that it was a pity that none of Susanna's family would be down until the New Year. But there was more to it than that. Looking at her, he could see the stress and strain had been smoothed away from her small face and he guessed that whatever threat she'd imagined a widowed Maria might be to them all had finally been neutralized.

Hal stood up and began to collect the breakfast things together. Actually, he'd noticed the change in other small ways, starting when Maria had come down and stayed with Cordelia, and again after the birthday weekend. Of course, Fliss had been emotional about missing her twins at such a big family occasion – and he could understand that – yet that terrible bitterness that he'd begun to fear might seriously damage their relationship had gradually disappeared. There was absolutely no question that part of it was to do with the fact that Jo had faced up to his mother, put his cards on the table, so that it seemed very unlikely now that she could hurt him. But part of it, too, was that he and Fliss had been able to talk about their own feelings together and that's what had made the real difference; he'd told her he felt guilty about the things that had happened in the past and he'd accepted his share of the blame, and somehow this had brought a kind of shared healing. It had been odd, the way those little scenes from the past had haunted him the last few weeks. Not like him at all to do that introspective stuff. He couldn't explain it, didn't want to – no point in dwelling on it – he was just glad that the air had been cleared and they could all move forward.

Of course, the wedding would be a vital thing for focusing minds away from the past – the women were all beginning to get excited about it – though it was a pity that Christmas was likely to be an unusually quiet affair.

‘I've had an idea about Christmas,' he said now, to Fliss, as he loaded the dishwasher and she sat at the table finishing her coffee. ‘Why don't we invite Cordelia over for Christmas Day? She gets on really well with Susanna and Gus and I imagine she'll be on her own, won't she?'

Fliss looked at him rather oddly, as though he were missing some point, and he raised his brows. ‘What?'

‘Well, you remember I told you about Angus?'

‘Yes. But…Oh, I see. You mean they're back together again, officially?'

Fliss bit her lip, shook her head. ‘Well, probably not. Not officially. I think Cordelia won't do much about that until Henrietta is married, and even then…She's been alone a long time.'

‘So what are you saying?' He felt impatient with all this pussy-footing about. ‘Ask them
both
to Christmas lunch. After all, he's on his own now, isn't he? Good grief, we're all adults. Surely there's no need to play games?'

‘No,' she said, ‘but it's up to them, isn't it? I'd rather sound Cordelia out first and see what she's got in mind. After all, Angus might be going to one of his boys, or they might be coming down to Dartmouth. It's a nice idea, though.'

‘Well, then. I'm just going to check emails and see if there's anything from Ed. He's really enjoying his new job. Let's hope it lasts.' He felt pleased, happy again. He couldn't really be doing with all this emotional stuff and he was relieved that things were getting back to normal. He went into the study and switched on the computer.

She recognized the voice at once.

‘
Hi, Henrietta, just to say we've just got back to Tregunter Road. We're all fine but pretty exhausted after the long flight. We're going to stay here for a couple of days to get Susan and the kids sorted but we'll be with you some time on Thursday. Everyone sends their love.
'

Henrietta switched off the answerphone. Roger and Maggie would be back on Thursday, which meant that in three days' time she'd be travelling back to London. It seemed impossible that it was only eight weeks ago that she'd first met Jo; so much had happened since then. And how strange it would be to be back in London with Susan and the children, picking up the old routine – and much further away from Jo.

She went into the kitchen and sat at the table; it was too cold this morning to sit out in the small court, though the sun shone in at the window and lit the berries on the little spray of hawthorn to a bright, rich crimson. Juno came to sit beside her, her head on Henrietta's knee, and Tacker scrabbled at her feet with his rubber bone on a frayed rope. He shook it fiercely and tossed it up and pounced on it again, inviting her to throw it for him. She kicked it across the floor and he bounded after it, scrabbling over Pan's recumbent form. Henrietta was pierced with sadness: she'd miss it all terribly, the little cottage and the dogs and the two old ponies; the walks on the Quantocks hills, Jo coming in on his way back from Bristol and lighting the wood-burning stove, and then sitting with him late into the night, talking and planning, and making love. Just for these two months they'd been able to step out of the world and be private and alone together, with only the dogs for company.

How would it be in London, with Susan not really approving of their engagement and nowhere to go to be with Jo to have a quiet talk? It wouldn't be very easy to find the right moments to have time together away from Tregunter Road – and Susan would need her even more without Iain there, especially at weekends when the children weren't at nursery.

‘We'll manage somehow,' Jo had said comfortingly. ‘After all, it's not your fault that Susan's marriage has broken up, and you simply can't be expected to become a surrogate father. I know it will be difficult, and we shall miss the wonderful freedom we've had here, but we'll set the date for the wedding and that will make Susan see that she must find another nanny as soon as she can. We can't dither around; that would be fatal for everyone, especially the children. They need to settle down as quickly as possible with the new routine.'

‘But I've promised her I'll stay until she finds a new nanny,' Henrietta had said anxiously, feeling trapped between Jo's determination and Susan's needs. ‘It just makes it so much more difficult now I know that she disapproves.'

‘Susan isn't so stupid as to believe that because it hasn't worked for her it won't work for you. She's just upset at the timing – and, I agree, it isn't ideal. But we can't put our lives on hold indefinitely, and it's the sort of thing that could drift if a date isn't set. Anyway, we want an Easter wedding…don't we?'

There had been a sudden anxiety in his voice, as if he were wondering if she'd changed her mind, and her heart had brimmed with love for him.

‘Of
course
we do,' she'd answered vehemently. ‘Mum and Fliss and I are beginning to work it out together. Oh, it's going to be fantastic. It's just…oh, poor old Susan. I feel guilty being so happy when she's so miserable, that's all.'

He'd held her tightly. ‘I know how you feel but we'll just have to do what we can for her until Easter. Thank God we got Christmas booked and she's not making a fuss about that.'

It was Maggie who'd helped out there. She'd said that she and Roger would be spending Christmas with Susan and the children in London, and this information had given Henrietta the courage to go ahead and book the hotel in Scotland. Quite suddenly she remembered how she'd wondered whose voice it had been on the answerphone all those weeks ago, and how she'd dashed over to the stores in Bicknoller to buy a cake. And then a few hours later Jo had arrived and her whole life had been changed. Even her father was dead…

Henrietta bent down to stroke Tacker and subsided on to the floor beside him, hugging him. It was so difficult to come to terms with this knowledge. Yes, she knew that it had been her father's decision to go, to cut her out of his life – and she'd been too shocked, too hurt, and, at fifteen, too inexperienced to fight it – but, later on, she might have been able to track him down and make him explain why
she
must be made to suffer for her parents' faults and inadequacies. Instead it had been easier, less painful, to blame her mother; she'd punished her in a thousand tiny ways, subconsciously some of the time, but now she felt differently: more compassionate and very sad. She wished she'd had her photograph album with her so that she could look at the photos of them all together as a family, just to prove that she had some happy memories.

‘Probably it's just as well you haven't,' Jo had said. ‘Not while you're on your own so much. That sort of thing can get out of proportion and you can lose control and never stop crying. It's so difficult to remember the past exactly how it was and sometimes you find you're overwhelmed with guilt and remorse. You have to be very balanced and contented to remember happy times in a positive way. It can so easily segue into sheer sentiment, followed by regret and all sorts of other emotions. It's best to do it with other people around.'

It had sounded odd when he'd said that, but she knew what he was trying to tell her. It was because he'd been through it all himself that he understood the way she was feeling; his own experience had given him a strength and stability that sustained her. She kissed Tacker's soft head, stood up, reached for her mobile and texted a message to Jo: ‘C u l8er. Luv u x'.

She looked around her sadly: this was the last night they'd spend together at the cottage. Suddenly she picked up the phone again and dialled.

 

Two telephone calls before she even got to her desk, she'd mis-laid a crucial telephone number from a magazine editor, and her coffee was cold – but she was too happy to care.

Cordelia sighed contentedly and sat down to stare at her computer screen; even now she couldn't concentrate. The first call, not long after breakfast, had been from Henrietta.

‘Jo's just gone,' she'd said rather wistfully, ‘and this is my last whole day here alone. Maggie and Roger will be back sometime tomorrow, and I feel so, well, so disorientated. It's just really weird. To be honest, I feel a bit panicky about going back to London and seeing Susan and the children again after all this time, and I'm really going to miss the dogs, especially Tacker, and the cottage. It seems like I've been here for ever. The point is, Mum, I suppose you couldn't manage to get over for some lunch, could you? I expect you're working but we could meet at Pulhams Mill and have a walk at Wimbleball Lake afterwards.'

‘Of course I can come,' she'd said at once. ‘Not a problem. Let's say one o'clock. What fun! You can choose your Christmas present in the craft shop…I promise, it's not a problem. See you later. 'Bye darling.'

Cordelia smiled.
Are we the first generation to need to be friends with our children?
That article, along with the one about the soke, had been accepted and she was now working on the idea she'd talked about with Maria, when they'd stood on the balcony and discussed the difference between self-blame and true humility. It was complicated and probably out of her league but she really wanted to have a try at it.

The second phone call, from her agent, had filled her with a different kind of delight. She'd emailed Dinah with a synopsis of an idea for a novel and then waited in terror for her to tell her that it was rubbish. To her amazement Dinah had been very excited and told her that she couldn't wait to see the first three chapters.

‘Terror with a humorous twist!' she'd said. ‘Difficult to bring off but I like the idea. It'll be interesting to see how you handle it. Have you had much experience of being stalked?' She'd chuckled at the absurdity of such a possibility.

Cordelia had laughed too. ‘You'd be surprised,' she'd said lightly.

The ideas were seething in her head: characters, fragments of conversation, bits of plot, the crucial decision about where to set it. She'd already begun to block it out, knowing exactly how it must end, and now she needed to make some notes before she went off to see Henrietta. When her mobile rang she had to leap up and search about for it; she'd left it in the kitchen.

‘Angus,' she said, out of breath. ‘Sorry, darling. I couldn't find the damned phone. Are you OK?'

‘I'm fine,' he said. ‘Still OK for this evening, Dilly?'

‘Absolutely OK. Listen, Henrietta just phoned and asked me to meet her for lunch. Isn't it great?
She
invited
me
. Without prompting. I didn't have to hint. I'll be back late afternoon, though, so come over at about six.'

‘Sounds good,' he said, ‘and so do you. Is it just Henrietta's invitation that's put that note in your voice? What else has happened?'

‘Oh, darling,' she said, ‘something
is
rather good but I don't want to tell you over the phone. And it's very early days…Look, I'll tell you tonight. Promise. But it must be a secret.'

‘I can't wait. As long as it's nothing to do with that wretched woman.'

‘No, no. That's all over. I told you there was nothing else to worry about there.'

‘Mm,' he said non-committally. ‘OK. Well, see you later, Dilly.'

Cordelia went back into her study and stood for a moment, thinking about the last few weeks. She picked up a postcard that was propped against the clock. She studied the picture of a dramatic north country scene and then turned it over and reread the message on the back: ‘I'd forgotten how beautiful this country is. I've decided to put the past right behind me and settle near my family here. It was good to meet you. Good luck and goodbye.'

It was signed ‘Elinor Rochdale'. Cordelia stood the card back on the shelf: she too was learning how to allow the past to settle into its proper place. No doubt the black clouds of guilt and sadness would continue to roll by but that didn't mean that she must put her head in them: she could choose not to. She went back to her desk and with a sigh of pleasurable anticipation she settled down to work.