Under Gemini (38 page)

“Easy?”

“Life is so complicated that sometimes it's the only thing left to do. Now give me a kiss and run along. Forget everything that's happened. And when you come back to Fernrigg, we'll start all over again, with new beginnings.”

“I can never thank you properly.” They kissed. “I don't know the right sort of words.”

“The best way to thank me is to come back. That's all I want.”

They were disturbed by small sounds from the end of the bed. Sukey had decided to wake up. Her claws scratched the silk of the eiderdown as she made her way cautiously up the length of the bed, apparently with the sole intention of clambering onto Flora's knee and reaching up to lick her face.

“Sukey! That's the first time you've been nice to me.” Flora gathered the little dog up into her arms and pressed a kiss on the top of Sukey's head. “Why is she suddenly being so nice?”

“Sukey takes notions,” said Tuppy, as though that explained everything. “Perhaps she realizes that you're not Rose after all. Or perhaps she just wanted to say goodbye to you. Is that what you wanted, my darling?”

Sukey, thus addressed, forgot about Flora and went to curl up in the crook of Tuppy's arm.

Flora said, “I must go.”

“Yes. You mustn't keep Antony waiting.”

“Goodbye, Tuppy.”

“It's not goodbye. It's au revoir.”

For the last time, Flora got up off the bed, and went to the door. But as she opened it, Tuppy spoke again.

“Flora.”

Flora looked back. “Yes?”

“I never thought of pride as a sin. To me it's always seemed rather an admirable quality. But two proud people, misunderstanding, can make for a tragedy.”

“Yes,” said Flora. There did not seem to be anything else to say. She went out of the room and shut the door.

It took so little time to pack, so little time to clear her room of all traces of her presence. When she had finished it appeared impersonal, stripped—ready and waiting for the next person who should come to Fernrigg to stay. She left the white dress that she had worn the night before hanging on the outside of the wardrobe door. It was creased now, molded to Flora's shape, grubby around the hem, and stained where someone had spilled champagne down the front of the skirt. She opened the cupboard and took out her coat. With this over her arm, and carrying her suitcase, she went downstairs.

Everything was back to normal. The hall looked as it always did, furniture back in place, the fire smoldering, Plummer sitting beside its warmth, waiting for someone to take him for a walk. From the drawing room came the sound of voices. Flora set down her case and her coat, and went in and found Isobel and Antony standing by the fire deep in conversation. This ceased instantly as Flora appeared, and they stood there, with their faces turned towards her.

Antony said, “I've told Aunt Isobel.”

“I'm glad you know,” said Flora, and meant it.

Isobel appeared to be stunned by confusion. It had taken her some time to understand what Antony had spent the last fifteen minutes trying to explain to her. She was tired and suffering from lack of sleep, and in no condition to listen to, let alone comprehend, the long and involved story.

But one fact was sadly clear. Rose—no, Flora—was leaving. Going. Today. Now. Just like that. Antony was going to drive her to Tarbole to catch the London train. It was all so sudden and unexpected that Isobel felt quite faint. Now, seeing Flora so pale and composed, it began to be real.

“There's no need to go,” Isobel told her, knowing it was hopeless but still wanting to try to persuade her to stay. “It doesn't matter
who
you are. We don't want you to go.”

“That's very sweet of you. But I must.”

“The letter from your father. Antony told me.”

Flora said to Antony, “What about the others?”

“I've told them you're leaving, but I haven't told them you're not Rose. I thought that could wait till later. It might make things a little easier for you.” She smiled her thanks. “And Mrs. Watty's packing you a box lunch. She has no faith in restaurant cars.”

“I'm ready when you are.”

“I'll tell them,” said Antony. “They want to say goodbye.” He went out of the room.

Flora went over to Isobel's side. “You'll come back, won't you?” said Isobel.

“Tuppy's invited me.”

“I wish you were going to marry Antony.”

“I wish I was too, just to belong to such a marvelous family. But it can't work out that way.”

Isobel sighed. “Things never seem to work out the way you want them to. You think they're all beautifully arranged, and then in front of your eyes, they all fall to pieces.”

Like my flower arrangements, thought Flora. She heard the voices of the others, coming down the passage from the kitchen. “Goodbye, Isobel.” They kissed with great affection, Isobel still not quite clear how this unsatisfactory situation had come about.

“You will come back?'

“Of course I will”

Somehow, the last of the farewells were accomplished. They all stood in the hall with sad faces and said what a shame it was she had to leave, but of course, she would be back. Nobody seemed to notice that she was no longer wearing Antony's engagement ring, and if they did, they made no comment. Flora found herself kissing Nurse, and then Mrs. Watty, who pressed a bag containing plum cake and apples into the pocket of Flora's coat. Finally Jason. She knelt to his height and they hugged, his arms so tight around her neck that she thought he would never let her go.

“I want to come to the station with you.”

“No,” said Antony.

“But I want…”

“I don't want you to come,” Flora told him quickly. “I hate saying goodbye at stations, and I always cry and that would be dreadful for both of us. And thank you for teaching me how to do ‘Strip the Willow.' It was the best dance of the whole evening.”

“You won't forget how to do it?”

“I shall remember for the rest of my life.”

Behind her, Antony opened the front door, and the cold wind flowed in like a sluice of icy water. Carrying her case he went down the steps to the car, and she ran down after him, her head bent against the rain. He flung her suitcase into the back of the car, and helped her in and slammed the door behind her.

Braving the weather, they had all come out into the open to see her off in style, with Plummer standing at the front of the little group, looking as though he expected to have his photograph taken. The wind tore at Nurse's apron, blew Isobel's hair into confusion, but still they stayed there, waving as the car came around in a circle and sped away from the house down the spine-jolting, potholed drive. Flora twisted around in her seat and waved through the back window until the car turned into the road and the house and its occupants were lost from sight.

It was over. Flora turned and slumped in her seat, her hands deep in her pockets. Her fingers closed over Mrs. Watty's “box lunch.” She felt the shape of the slice of cake, the round firmness of an apple. She stared ahead, through the streaming windscreen.

But there was nothing to be seen. The rain closed in on them. Antony drove with the side lights on, and every now and then a large wet sheep materialized out of the gloom, or they passed the side lights of another small car, going in the opposite direction. The wind was as strong as ever.

“What a horrible day to be leaving,” said Antony.

She thought of the day they had climbed the hill; of the islands, looking magical, floating on the summer sea; of the crystal air and the snow-capped peaks of the Cuillins. She said, “I'd rather it was like this. It makes it easier to go.”

They came down the hill into Tarbole and saw the harbor full of boats, stormbound by the weather.

“What time is it, Antony?”

“A quarter past twelve. We're far too early, but perhaps it doesn't matter. We can go and drink coffee with Sandy, just the way we did that first morning when we arrived from Edinburgh.”

“It seems so long ago. A lifetime.”

“Tuppy meant it when she asked you to come back.”

“You'll take care of her, won't you, Antony? You won't let anything happen to her?”

“I'll keep her safe for you,” he promised. “She can't forgive me, poor Tuppy, for not cutting my losses and marrying you, and bearing you back to Fernrigg as my bride.”

“She knows it could never happen.”

“Yes.” He sighed. “She knows.”

They were into the town now, running alongside the harbor. Waves broke over the low stone wall and the road was awash with salt water, the gutters choked with dirty foam. There was the familiar smell of fish and diesel oil, and the scream of air brakes tore the air as a huge lorry came grinding down the hill from Fort William.

They came to the crossroads, and then by the bank where Flora had once illicitly parked the van. The little station, gray stone, soot-stained, waited for them. The lines of the railway curved away beyond the platform, out of sight. Antony switched off the engine. They got out of the car and went into the ticket office, Antony carrying Flora's suitcase. Despite her protestations, he bought her a ticket back to Cornwall.

“But it's so expensive, and I can pay for it myself.”

“Oh, don't talk balls,” he said rudely, because he was feeling emotional and didn't want to show it.

Making out the ticket took some time. They stood and waited. A small fire burned, but the office smelt musty. Peeling posters exhorted them to go to Scottish resorts for their holidays; to take boat trips down the Clyde; to spend weeks at Glorious Rothsay. Neither of them spoke for the simple reason that there didn't seem to be anything left to say.

The ticket was at last ready. Antony took it and gave it to Flora. “To do the thing properly I should have bought a return, and then we'd be sure of your coming back.”

“I'll come back.” She put the ticket into her bag. “Antony, I don't want you to wait.”

“But I must put you onto the train.”

“I don't want to wait. I hate goodbyes and I hate railway stations. Like I said to Jason, I always make a fool of myself and cry. I'd hate to do that.”

“But you've got forty minutes to wait till it leaves.”

“I'll be all right. Please go now.”

“All right.” But he sounded unconvinced. “If that's what you want.”

Leaving her case in the ticket office, they went out into the station yard. By his car, he said, “This is it, then?”

“Tuppy said au revoir.”

“You'll write? You'll keep in touch?”

“Of course.”

They kissed. “You know something?” said Antony.

She smiled. “Yes, I know. I'm a super woman.”

He got into his car and drove away, very fast, and almost instantly seemed to have disappeared around the corner by the bank. Flora was alone. The rain was thin, but steady and very wetting. Above her, the wind banged about at chimney pots and television aerials.

There came a moment of hesitation.

Two proud people, misunderstanding, can make for tragedy.

She began to walk.

*   *   *

The hill, black with rain, seemed steep as the side of a roof. The gutters ran like waterfalls. As she climbed up out of the shelter of the town the force of the wind struck like a solid thing, causing Flora to lose her breath and her balance. The air was filled with blown spume and she could feel its salt on her cheeks and taste it on her mouth. When she finally reached the house at the top of the hill, she stopped at the gate to get her breath. Looking back, she saw the gray and turbulent sea, empty of boats. She saw the tall columns of spray rearing up beyond the far harbor wall.

She opened the gate and closed it behind her and went up the sloping path to the front door. Inside the porch, she rang the bell and waited. Her shoes were sodden and the hem of her coat dripped onto the tiled floor. She rang the bell again.

She heard someone call, “I'm just on my way…” and the next instant the door was flung open and she was faced by a woman of indeterminate age, spectacled and flustered. She wore a flowered pinafore and bedroom slippers that looked like dead rabbits, and with the certainty of someone who has just been formally introduced, Flora knew that this was Jessie McKenzie.

“Yes?”

“Is Dr. Kyle in?”

“He's still in surgery.”

“Oh. When will he be finished?”

“I couldn't say for sure. We're all at sixes and sevens this morning. Surgery's usually at ten o'clock, but this morning, because of the accident, the doctor wasn't able to get started ‘till half past eleven…”

“Accident?” said Flora faintly.

“Did you not hear?” Jessie was agog with the horrific news. “Dr. Kyle had not even started on his breakfast when the telephone rang, and it was the harbormaster, and seemingly, there'd been an accident on one of the fishing boats; a derrick cable snapped and a muckle load of fish boxes fell to the deck, right on top of one of the young laddies working there. It crushed his leg. Seemingly, it was a mangled mess…”

She was unstoppable, settled down to a good gossip, with her arms folded across her pinafored breasts. Jessie was not fat, but her unsupported body appeared to be slipping in all directions. She was obviously a woman who put comfort before beauty and yet, Flora knew instinctively, should there be a whist drive or a church soiree in the offing, Jessie would be the first to lace herself into a formidable all-in-one, in the same way that some people only wear their teeth when company is expected.

“… Dr. Kyle was there first thing, but they had to get the ambulance to take the poor laddie to Lochgarry … and Dr. Kyle went too … an operation, of course. He wasn't home till the back of eleven.”

It became necessary to interrupt.