The Talisman (81 page)

Jinks watched her mother as she placed the boxes in line along the bed. This took considerable time as she peeked inside each one before she put it down, then switched them around until she was satisfied. She was totally preoccupied with what she was doing, so her daughter could sit back and watch. After a while Jinks inched around the mess of boxes to stand at the window. She looked down into the garden. ‘How’s your vegetarian gardener’s book coming along?’

‘Oh heavens, I’ve not had time to finish it, what with Allard and everything. Now then, I’m almost ready.’

‘It looks as if you’ll need me to do some weeding, how are your lettuces?’

‘It’s not the right time of year for them, now don’t interrupt.’

Jinks leaned against the windowsill and studied her nails. ‘Have you heard from you-know-who?’

‘Well I got all the divorce papers, and sent them back, but I’ve heard nothing. He won’t get around to it. Even Dewint doesn’t know where he is . . . There you see? I’m muddled now.’

‘I’ve got a place at Cambridge if I want, and Oxford . . . I had my interviews last month . . .’

‘Oh that’s nice, dear. I’m nearly ready.’

‘I got my usual birthday card. Miss Henderson’s even started signing it now she knows that I know, so the charade is rather a waste of time. Does he send you money?’

‘Good heavens yes, of course, more than I know what to do with. Not that I tell him downstairs, he’s such a tight-wad. Oh brill, I’m ready . . . now sit down, I’m going to tell you a story.’

Jinks sat on the edge of the bed, and Harriet, sitting cross-legged on the floor, picked up a red jewel case. For a moment she stared at the box in her hands, hands worn rough from all the gardening. She smiled, hunching her shoulders like a girl, a gleeful gesture. ‘Now then . . . take your glasses off, close your eyes, and I shall begin.’

Jinks did as she was instructed and instinctively rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had tied her long, dark auburn hair back from her face. She kept it long hoping in some way it would make her look shorter. Her height meant she even had to hunch her legs to sit down on the bed. She was, embarrassingly, almost six foot in her stockinged feet. The tweed skirt and twin set she wore were given to her by Harriet. The colour didn’t really suit her but she had no interest in clothes. She sighed, her thoughts drifting, and suddenly she realized her mother was silent, very silent . . . she was holding up a small gold bracelet. The cold winter sunlight caught it, it glittered magically, rainbow colours.

‘This was the first present he gave me, I was just fourteen. He was here with Allard for the vacation, from Cambridge. We travelled down from London by train, and by the time we reached the station I knew I loved him . . . Oh Jinks, he had such a look to him, such a wildness, like no boy I had ever met . . .’

Jinks listened in totally enraptured silence as Harriet told of her first meeting with Edward, the hunting, the dances, the chapel . . .

Four hours later the bed was covered with jewellery: diamond necklaces, pearls, bracelets, rings, earrings . . . and with each piece, each box, came a story. The date Jinks’ father had given it to her mother. Unfolding like a dream sequence in a film was a love story that their daughter had never known, nor understood anything of until that moment. At last Harriet finished, and swept all the jewellery into Jinks’ arms. ‘It’s all for you, my darling, all the memories, all the love, is for you . . . No, don’t say anything, because I know. I know I haven’t always been the best of mothers and you have had to put up with dreadful things. But here, here’s the proof of my love, and your father’s . . .’

Jinks couldn’t stop the tears, she shook her head. ‘Oh Mama, I can’t take it, it’s yours . . .’

‘Now it’s yours . . .’

Allard’s irate voice screamed up the stairs. ‘When are we going to eat? Harry?’

Harriet flung open the door and shouted, ‘Do you think you could refrain from shouting? I am not deaf, I am not in an open field . . . and we are going to eat now.’ She slammed the door and leaned against it, her face shining. And just as the tiny gold bracelet had been caught in the sun so her face was bathed in golden light. As if suspended in time, Jinks saw the face of a child, and once again had the desire to throw her arms around her mother.

This time she wasn’t pushed away, wasn’t told she was being soppy. She was hugged tight, and her mother’s voice whispered, ‘There was never, never anyone like him. I was his from the moment we met . . . Everything went wrong only because my baby boy died. I had promised him, you see, I made a promise – four boys, four wild sons. Freedom, I named him Freedom . . .’

Jinks wiped away the tear that ran down her mother’s cheek, cupped that sweet, innocent face in her slender hands.

Harriet’s lips trembled as she continued, fighting back the tears, ‘You couldn’t make up for him, you see, my little boy . . . You were not enough – but he does love you, and I love you . . . And now you have all my past, you can hold me in your hands whenever you want . . .’

Jinks couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in her cold attic room. If she closed her eyes, she could see her father’s face, hear her mother’s voice telling her the story. Harriet had never said a single bad word about him, and yet he had left her, pregnant with his child, made no contact with her for years. She felt the anger rising inside her body as she repeated over and over to herself, ‘You couldn’t make up for him, you see, you were not enough.’ She threw her blankets aside and sat up. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born a girl – and what a girl.

She looked at herself in the mirror – so tall and skinny she had to bend at the knee to see herself. She said aloud to her reflection, ‘Why wasn’t I born small and beautiful so he would at least love me . . . ? Why wasn’t I born a man . . . ?’

She lay on her bed and wept, holding the pillow over her face so no one would hear. She would have changed places with any dumb pretty woman, given the opportunity. She hated herself, hated her body – she even hated her own intelligence.

Still red-eyed from weeping, Jinks went down to breakfast. Allard was banging the water pipes with a hammer because they had frozen during the night.

‘Where’s your mother? It’s her job to stoke up the fire at night,’ he complained. ‘There’s no hot water and we have someone coming to view the place this morning. They’ll be frozen before they reach the first bloody landing, it’s colder in than out, ridiculous. One of the first things about selling a place is to make sure it’s boiling hot, potential buyers are always interested in the central heating.’

He continued around the house, hammering, more than likely causing more damage than repair by his total ignorance of the archaic heating system. Harriet still did not appear, so Jinks laid a breakfast tray and took it up to her room. She found the bed made, so she carried it down again to the kitchen.

‘Allard, where’s Mother?’

‘Well, don’t ruddy well ask me, we’ve got a leak on the top floor. Do I have to do everything? They’re the first people we’ve had even remotely interested in the place. Isn’t she in her room?’

‘No, and her bed is made. What about the garden?’

‘Well, she won’t be doing any gardening, it’s a skating rink out there because of the broken drainpipe.’

‘Is the car in the garage?’

‘For goodness’ sake, why don’t you go and look? I can’t be expected to look after Harry and run the place – ever since she arrived that’s what I’ve been doing, and it’s not fair, it really isn’t.’

The MG was still in the garage with blankets over its engine. Harriet had still not appeared by twelve o’clock, and Jinks began to feel really worried. She had to shout over the racket Allard was making. ‘Has she done this before? Only, she knows I have to be back in London on the afternoon train . . . Allard! Do you think she’s gone into the village?’

In a dire mood, Allard drove her into the village. They waited until the bus appeared, and asked the driver if he had seen her. They stopped everyone they knew, but to no avail – she had disappeared. When they returned to the Hall, Jinks telephoned Miss Henderson and asked her to relay a message to her friends that she had been delayed. Harriet had not been in touch with the office. Miss Henderson offered to put Jinks on to her father – he had returned the week before and Jinks sounded so distressed. Without bothering to reply, Jinks hung up.

Putting on a heavy coat, Jinks walked across the fields, calling for her mother. She returned, unsuccessful, and found Allard in a fury. He was swearing about the estate agent, who had brought round a couple he wouldn’t dream of selling to. ‘They were Jewish. Really, I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

Jinks snapped that he should be ashamed of himself, and should help her search for Harriet instead of worrying about the Hall. He retorted angrily that of course he was worried, but his sister was not the easiest person to care about.

‘She has thrown out, thrown out, a jug I particularly liked, Art Deco, and it was on the manure heap . . . All right, all right, I’ll help you, no need to look at me like that. You look just like your grandmother – the Judge always said she had the ability to freeze the pond over with one of her looks – it’s your nose, very snipey, dear . . .’

By five o’clock Allard was as worried as his niece, and he called in the local police.

Jinks sat on the stairs, still wrapped in her coat, listening to the hushed conversation with Sergeant Titherington.

‘You see, my sister has a history of mental disorder, nothing violent, nothing like that . . . but, well . . .’

‘Has she done this kind of thing before?’

Allard looked into the hall. He whispered, ‘Has she ever done this before? You know, just walked off without a word?’

Jinks shook her head.

Eventually, the sergeant came out, putting his notebook into his top pocket. ‘We’ll put her on the missing persons’ list if there’s no sign of her by morning.’

‘And in the meantime, Sergeant, what do you suggest we do?’

‘Contact any of her friends, anyone she may have visited and we’ll do what we can . . .’

‘Do you want a photograph?’

‘Oh, we all know Miss Harry, no need for that. Have you been down to the Feathers at all?’

Jinks snapped, her nerves in shreds. ‘My mother is not in the pub, Sergeant . . .’

Allard ushered the policeman to the door giving Jinks a frown. ‘My niece is obviously a little upset . . . thank you for coming.’

Before the door had closed, Jinks said in a fury, ‘Too damned right I am more than a “little upset”. Now think, think of anyone she could have gone to see . . . Allard, I’m talking to you.’

‘I’m just going to make us a cup of tea. Really. This is typical of her, absolutely typical, you have no idea how dreadful she was when she was little.’

Jinks was close to tears as she followed him into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and there was her mother’s handbag. ‘Allard, is this Mother’s?’

He filled the kettle. ‘Well, it’s not mine, so that proves she can’t have gone far. When she comes back in, I am going to have it out with her. Total wanton disregard for our feelings.’

Jinks had a strange foreboding, she felt icy cold. ‘Allard, will you see if any of her coats are missing . . . ?’

Allard inspected the row of old coats on the hooks by the kitchen door. Mud-stained wellington boots were all jumbled, left where they had been kicked off. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. ‘The chapel, she was always skiving off there. We can give it a shot, but we’ll have to walk, no through road – and it’s quite a way. Perhaps we should wait until morning, what do you think?’

‘No, we go right now . . . better get a torch.’

They were out of breath by the time they reached the woods. Allard was cursing the cold, the mud, and the branches that scratched at his face as he pushed through the dead bracken. Their breath steamed in front of them, whirling in the torchlight, and Jinks grew quieter and quieter. Her mother would have been here all night, and it was freezing. More than twenty-four hours had gone by. Allard kept stopping to get his bearings, still swearing. He shouted to Jinks to keep up, she’d get lost.

At last they arrived at the derelict chapel in the overgrown clearing. Ivy crawled over the roof and walls, and weeds burst through the stones. It had a ghostly air in the feeble beam of the torch.

Putting his shoulder against the door, Allard heaved. The door creaked open on its rotten hinges. Jinks held the torch, stepping into the chapel first. She knew they would find her mother.

Caught in the beam of light, Jinks saw her. She dropped the torch, sobbing. ‘Oh, Allard, she’s there . . . she’s there . . .’

Harriet was huddled in a corner, a bunch of dried flowers in her rigid hands. Beside her was a tiny grave, obviously newer than the others, on which she had scratched the name ‘Freedom’ with the penknife that lay at her feet.

D
wint heard the door open. He looked out from his top-floor window as a black taxi came down the drive. He wrapped his dressing gown round him and pulled on his slippers. The lights had been turned on in the hall, the drawing room and the study. Dewint leaned over the banisters. ‘Miss Jinks, is that you?’ Edward’s voice boomed out. ‘No, it’s me, you old faggot.’ Dewint gasped as Edward strode out of the drawing room.

‘How are you doing, old fella?’

‘Oh, I’m doing fine, sah. Welcome home.’

They stared at each other. Dewint had not changed at all, but Edward had put on a lot of weight, although he was still a handsome, awesome man. He had no luggage apart from an old worn leather case. Tossing his coat to Dewint, he rubbed his hands, saying he was hungry. Then, as if he had been gone no more than a few days, he marched into the kitchen.

Dewint bustled after him and began frying up bacon and eggs as Edward sat at the scrubbed kitchen table. He never mentioned where he had been or what he had been doing, and he didn’t even ask after Jinks. He seemed preoccupied with scratching at one of the cracks in the table with his knife . . . Suddenly, just as Dewint was about to crack an egg into the pan, Edward got up, opened the kitchen door and walked into the garden. The light from the kitchen enabled Dewint to see him touching the big old oak tree, and then he watched as Edward slowly placed his arms around the tree and pressed his face into the bark. As he put the bacon and eggs on the table, he saw that Edward had scratched the letter ‘H’ . . . The loud ring of the telephone almost made him drop the plate. The phone call was from Allard, enquiring if Dewint had any idea where Edward was. When Dewint replied that he had just come home, there was a pause, and then Allard said that Harriet was dead. Dewint continued to hold on to the phone long after Allard had rung off. Eventually Edward came in and took the receiver from him and replaced it.