The Winter Children (24 page)

As he talks, he takes a pencil out of his pocket and scrawls a red line over a small section of the plans.

‘Are you going to approve the changes that Francesca – Mrs Huxtable – wants?’ Olivia asks, observing him scribble. ‘It seems a bit contradictory to let a private family buy it and then refuse to allow her to turn it into a family home.’

‘I can’t say at the moment. Our decision will follow in due course, once we’ve considered all the impact the proposed changes will have on the historic fabric.’ He is
suddenly all professional, his language rehearsed, his phrases well worn.

Olivia feels a rush of annoyance and a hot flush rises to her cheeks. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, ‘Well, where were you all when this place was falling down? When only
William was here to stop the rot? What did you care for the fabric and impact then? Now someone has actually put some money into the place – millions probably, with millions more to come
– you’re all over the joint. Suddenly it’s more precious than anything in the world! And now you’re laying down the law, when not so long ago you were perfectly happy to
let the rain gush in and the ceilings fall down and the thieves break in!’

Tom stares at her, his expression solemn. When she has finished, she is immediately embarrassed by her outburst, wondering where it came from.

‘Of course we weren’t happy,’ he says. ‘But it belonged to someone. It was only the fact that we could force a purchase that saved the place at all. Before then, we had
no legal right to enter.’

‘And now it belongs to Francesca,’ Olivia replies, ‘and you seem to have retained all your legal rights.’

There is a pause, and then Tom laughs, a rich, merry sound. ‘Are you sure you don’t work for Mrs Huxtable?’ he asks. ‘Because you’re certainly putting her case
pretty well.’

Olivia laughs too. ‘I don’t want the building harmed any more than you do. But it seems to me that a few bathrooms and some proper heating and all the rest aren’t going to hurt it. It was a school, didn’t you say?’

‘That’s right. For girls. It opened after the war and closed down thirty years later, after it had sold off most of the land.’

‘Then I suppose it was messed around with pretty well then.’

‘There are some dreadful bits,’ Tom admits. He raises an eyebrow at her. ‘All the more reason to stop anything else being spoiled.’

Olivia gazes back. He smiles, and she feels her annoyance ebb away.
After all, what does this matter to me?
But her unwitting involvement in William’s eviction has made her feel
part of all of it and not in a good way. ‘Do you need to see anything else?’ she asks. ‘My husband and children will be back soon.’

‘That’s fine for now,’ he says, closing his folder. ‘I’ll have to come back, though. I’ll call you direct, if that’s all right. So that we don’t
disturb Mrs Huxtable unnecessarily.’

‘Of course. She’ll be here for a few days this week, if you want to see her. She’s arriving later today.’

‘Yes, she said on the telephone.’ He tucks his folder under one arm. ‘Perhaps I’ll call back then. I might as well take the opportunity, if she’s here.’

‘Of course.’ Olivia is disoriented, but Tom knows the way. She follows him out of the long gallery, already anticipating the return of the children. They haven’t been far from
her mind the whole time, and she’s yearning for them, the way she has since they were born.

Since before they were born. Since forever.

The car takes Francesca straight from the airport to Norfolk. Her cases are in the back and she wonders how she will explain the amount of luggage considering she is only supposed to be
staying a few days. One large bag is devoted to gifts for the family: some expensive cosmetics for Olivia, books and a leather-bound initialled notebook for Dan, toys and clothes for the children.
Perhaps it’s a clumsy attempt to buy their affection but she can’t help herself. She’s grown used to the role of generous provider, the good fairy who arrives with delightful
presents and whose arrival is therefore always welcome. She still gets a thrill from her buying power, just like the tingle of excitement she felt when Walt gave her that shiny silver credit card
and she realised she had money to spend. She’d always intended to have money because she understood that the basic division between those graceful girls in the pretty brick school and the
hordes of children in the big, grey comprehensive was wealth. It took money to enjoy the pleasant things in life, and if she were ever going to belong to that crowd, with their easy confidence and their certainty that they were entitled to the best, she was going to need money. That was partly what took her towards a legal career, where she would be certain of earning a
decent living and supporting herself. But she wanted more than just the money, which was why she chose to specialise in human rights. She wanted a notable career, to make her mark, to rise in her
profession and prove herself. She wanted to make a difference in the world.

But I didn’t. I gave it all up. I turned my back on it.

She knows that it started at Cambridge, from the time she met Dan. She can recall with absolute clarity the day she walked into her supervisor’s room and saw him, lolling in an armchair,
idly glancing over the essay he had written. He was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen, with his tousled black hair, the chiselled features and romantically hollow cheeks, the strong brows
and the deep blue eyes. She almost gasped with the impact of him. Then he looked up at her, gave her the full force of his most charming smile and said, ‘You must be Francesca. Hello. You
must excuse my essay, the ink’s barely dry. You’ll have to do the brain work, I’m afraid. I soused myself in beer last night, and I’m fit for nothing. I’m sure
you’re much more respectable.’

But when the supervisor came in and asked Dan to read his essay, it was, of course, brilliant. Afterwards they went for a coffee together and when the waitress brought it over, she said with a
smile, ‘Oh, aren’t you a pretty couple!’

Dan laughed and said, ‘Nice of you, but we’re not a couple.’ Then he winked at Francesca. ‘Yet.’

That was that. She was head over heels from that moment.

He must have known from the start that she adored him. He flirted with her sometimes, making her tremble with pleasure, or acted like a protective older brother. Occasionally, there’d be
a touch of scorn in the way he acted, or he’d make her the butt of a joke, sending a rush of scarlet to her cheeks, but he’d always see her mortification and later make up for it with a
whispered compliment or an affectionate hug. She never really knew how he felt about her, though he went through strings of other girlfriends, mostly gorgeous. She would have given up if he
hadn’t kept that conspiratorial attitude towards her, that cheeky warmth that hinted she knew him best of all. Maybe he cultivated her so that when he really hadn’t done an essay, she
would lend him notes, find him books in the library, make his excuses for him. Once, knowing he had stayed out two entire nights before a supervision, she even wrote a whole essay for him just in
case he needed it, getting up at dawn to make sure it was ready in time. She imitated his style as best she could. But he pulled a sickie and didn’t show up anyway. When she gave it to him,
he laughed, thanked her and took it. She never knew if he handed it in or not. But she didn’t mind. She’d do anything for him, even at the expense of her own work. Instead of being able
to settle and concentrate, she would trot around the faculty, college and university libraries looking for him, under the pretence of talking about their work, but really so she could spend time
with him.

When her results began to suffer, her tutor asked her if anything was wrong. Was something interfering with her work? She said no, of course not. She could hardly admit even to herself that she was prepared to put her passion for Dan ahead of her studies. But the truth was, he took precedence over everything. He became more important than her friends, her
degree, and eventually, even her career.

I would have sacrificed everything if he’d asked. Everything.

And in a way, she had.

Francesca stares out of the window at the English countryside. She’s lived away from the land for so long, it feels almost as foreign as Swiss mountains once did to her, but something in
her responds to the rolling patchwork of green and yellow fields, the white dots of distant sheep, the ancient hedgerows cutting across hills and bordering roads. Once she wanted to leave all this
behind; now she is starting to envisage a future here. But what is it? There are misty pictures in her mind, little snapshots of a life that might await her.

The car races up the motorway, the engine a smooth hum, the driver silent and concentrating on the road. Francesca lets her mind wander over the dreamlike images that are assembling in her
mind.

She sees the house: it’s been transformed into a splendid and comfortable home. Fred and Olympia are there, healthy, happy, positive and behaving like perfect, civilised teenagers. But
Walt . . . where is he? He’s a benign presence still – he’ll always be that, she can’t imagine him any other way – but he’s not exactly there. He’s away
somewhere else. But Dan is there, smiling, happy, realising, at last, that all along they were meant to be together. Olivia is somewhere else too. That’s not specified. She doesn’t want to think about that. And what’s this? Two beautiful little children, the wonderful creations that unite her and Dan. They have made him understand why he and Francesca are destined for each other. Life will be wonderful. At last, she’ll begin to live the way she was
supposed to. It will be like coming home.

Francesca blinks, realising her eyes are full of tears. She sniffs.
Don’t be so silly. It can’t happen like that. It’s impossible.

But that picture of bliss is so very hard to resist.

It would make everything right. It would show that all along, it’s been worth it.

It’s teatime when the car draws up at Renniston. As they pass the gates, she glimpses the stunning frontage of the building and has a sudden rush of excitement that this is hers now.

What a long way I’ve come, from that tiny, noisy house in Gloucestershire, to this.

Then the car turns to the side, and pulls up in the space next to a muddy vehicle that must be Dan and Olivia’s. It has certainly seen better days, and next to the Daimler, it looks
positively decrepit. She hopes it’s roadworthy enough for the twins to be driven in; two large seats in the back seem to indicate that their safety is taken seriously, at least. Giving Dan
and Olivia a new car might be a more tricky proposition.

‘Can you bring the bags in, please?’ Francesca asks the driver as he holds the door open for her to emerge. ‘Just one case to start with. Then wait five minutes, and bring in the other bags. Thanks.’

She picks up the bag loaded with gifts and carefully makes her way over the muddy drive to the gate in the wall that leads into the cottage garden. Her cream ballet slippers are not exactly
suitable for this so it’s a good thing she brought a pair of walking boots with her, along with a warm waterproof jacket. Her anticipation builds as she opens the garden gate and steps
through. Her heart is pounding and she’s filled with a kind of delightful nervousness, knowing she’s about to see what she most longs for. The first thing she notices is great patches
of white hanging in the air, and then realises that they are sheets hanging out, drying in the spring wind. Olivia is there, pegging out the last one. Now she can see, emerging from behind one of
the flapping white squares, a child sitting aside a riding toy, pushing it along with their feet. The caramel-coloured hair is tied up in bunches –
it’s grown! And she’s got
curls at the ends –
and the little body is wrapped up warmly in a bright spotted coat.
Bea.
Her heart swells with love for the tiny girl.
Where’s Stan?
She spots him
at once, crouching over one of the borders, digging in the soil with his fingers. For a moment more, she enjoys the scene of their innocent play, and then she calls out.

‘Hello! I’m here!’

Olivia turns from the washing line she’s strung up over the old paving stones in front of the cottage, and waves, a big smile on her face. ‘Hi! You made it!’

‘Is it okay if Richard here takes the bags up?’ Francesca says, as the driver comes into the garden carrying her case.

‘Of course. Go upstairs, turn right, and it’s at the end of the corridor.’ Olivia walks towards them, homely in jeans and a flowery shirt with a cardigan over the top.
She’s completely natural, her hair pulled back and her face bare.

And still not yet lost the baby weight.

‘Hello, darling,’ Francesca says, and kisses Olivia on each cheek. ‘You look lovely.’

Olivia laughs. ‘I know I don’t but it’s nice of you to say. Come on in. How was the journey?’

‘Oh, fine, I barely notice it now, I’m so used to it.’ She holds out the bag. ‘I come bearing gifts and you shall have them in return for a proper cup of English
tea.’ She is studiously keeping her distance from the children but she is aware of them at every moment. Bea has stopped riding and is observing the new arrival with no sign of recognition.
Stan is still absorbed in his earth works.

‘You shouldn’t have, Cheska!’ Olivia exclaims, a little abashed at the sight of the loot. ‘You really do spoil us far too much. But how kind of you. Come on, let’s
go in and I’ll get you that tea.’

Richard has made his journey up to deliver the case. He catches Francesca’s eye as he heads back towards the car and she gives a small nod. It won’t be too much trouble for him to
slip past with the rest of the luggage.

‘Here are the children!’ she cries, sensing this is the moment to notice them. ‘Hello, sweeties, are you having fun? Do you like playing in the garden?’

‘Come and say hello,’ Olivia urges Bea, who is closest. Bea climbs off her yellow plastic ride-on and trots over obediently.

‘’lo,’ she says and smiles at Francesca. A wave of fierce love surges through her for the child. She drops to her knees, releasing the bag of gifts and hardly noticing the cold
grass underneath her, and holds out her arms to her. Bea approaches, understanding that she is to be hugged, and submits to Francesca wrapping her in a tight embrace and kissing her cheek.