Voices in Summer (31 page)

'Will she be all right?'

'There's an ambulance on the way. Like I said, it's out of your hands now.'

Walking slowly back up the road to Tremenheere, Alec found himself recalling, not the shattering confrontation that had just taken place, but that long-ago time when he and Brian had been boys, staying with their dashing young uncle Gerald, and tasting the first heady sip of adulthood. Perhaps this was what happened to very old people. This was why May could remember in minute detail the Sunday School picnics and snowy Christmases of her childhood, and yet had no recollection of what she had done the day before. Hardening of the arteries, the medical profession called it, but perhaps the causes lay deeper than the physical disintegration of the extremely elderly. Perhaps it was simply a withdrawal, a rejection of the reality of failing sight, failing hearing, unsteady legs, and hands that fumbled, crippled with arthritis.

So now, Silvia was, in his memory, fourteen again. A child, but, for the first time, patently aware of the potential heady excitement of the opposite sex. Her legs and arms were long and skinny and brown, but her tiny breasts belied this childishness, and her red-gold mop of hair framed a face filled with a promise of great beauty. The three of them had played cricket and climbed cliffs, with the innocence of all youngsters of their age, but swimming together, as though the cold salt sea washed away the timid inhibitions of puberty, was a different matter altogether. Tumbling in the surf, their bodies touched. Diving, they came together underwater, hand met hand, cheek brushed against cheek. When, finally, Alec plucked up the courage to kiss her, a boy's first fumbling kiss, she had moved her face so that her open mouth touched his lips, and after that, the kiss wasn't such a fumbling affair after all. So much she had taught him. She had so much to give.

In all his life he could not remember feeling so tired. Never a man to yearn for the comfort of alcohol, he found himself, now, deeply in need of an enormous drink. But that would have to wait. Reaching Tremenheere, he went indoors through the open front door and stood for a moment in the empty hall, listening. There were no voices, no sound. He climbed the great, polished oak staircase, went along the passage to their bedroom, gently opened the door. The curtains were still drawn against the sunlight, and in the great double bed, Laura slept. For a moment he watched her, her dark hair spread on the white pillow, and was overwhelmed by tenderness and love. His marriage to her was the most important thing in his life, and the thought of losing her, for any reason, filled him with anguish. Perhaps they had both made mistakes, been too reserved, too respectful of the other's privacy, but he promised himself that from now on they would share everything fate flung their way, good or bad.

Her face, in sleep, was untroubled and innocent, so that she looked much younger than her years. And it occurred to him then, with a sort of amazed gratitude, that she
was
innocent.

She, of all of them, knew nothing of the malevolent letters. She did not know that Lucy had died because she had been poisoned. It was important that she should never know, but this was the last secret that Alec would keep from her. She stirred, but did not wake. Quietly, he went from the room, closing the door behind him.

Eve and Gerald were nowhere in the house. Searching for them, Alec made his way through the deserted kitchen and out into the courtyard. Here, he saw that Drusilla and her friend had returned from their outing. His car, resembling nothing so much as a very old sewing machine on wheels, stood parked, apparently held together with knots of string and bits of wire. He and Drusilla and Joshua were outside her cottage. A rocking chair had been carried out, and in this the friend sat, looking like some ancient prophet, with Joshua squatting at his feet. Drusilla sat on the doorstep and was playing her flute.

Alec, diverted from his intent by the charming .scene they presented, stopped to look and listen. Drusilla's music pierced the air with all the clarity and precision of water dropping into a fountain. He recognized 'The Lark in the Clear Air,' an old North Country song, which she probably carried with her from her childhood. It was the perfect accompaniment for a summer evening. Her friend, rocking gently in his chair, sat and watched her. Joshua, bored with playing on the ground, all at once struggled to his feet, hauling himself upright against the man's knees. He leaned forward and lifted the child into his lap, bare bottom and all, and held him, cradled in the curve of his massive arm.

So maybe Ivan had been wrong. Maybe Drusilla and her friend were going to make more than beautiful music together. He looked a nice sort of fellow, and Alec, silently, wished them well.

The last note died away. Drusilla lowered her flute and looked up and saw him standing there. He said, 'Well done. That was beautiful.' 'Are you looking for Eve?'

'Yes.'

They're up in the garden picking raspberries.'

He found himself comforted by this little encounter. Tremenheere had not lost its magic, its gift of soothing the spirit. But even so, as he went through the door in the wall and up the path between the box hedges, his heart was heavy as that of a man about to break the news of a tragic family bereavement. As he approached, they stopped their picking, their faces turned towards him.' It seemed an eternity since Alec had last seen them, and yet it took only moments to relate the sombre details of the afternoon. They stood there, in the sunshine, in the scented, tranquil walled garden, and it was all told in a few bare, painful sentences. It was finished. Over. They were still together. Relationships had survived, undamaged. It seemed to Alec nothing short of a miracle.

But Eve, being Eve, had thoughts only for Silvia.

'. . . an ambulance? A nurse? Oh, dear heaven, Alec, what are they going to do to her?'

‘I think they'll take her to hospital. She needs caring for, Eve.'

'But I must go and see her ... I must.'

'My darling,' Gerald laid a hand on her arm. 'Let it be. For the moment, let it be. There's nothing you can do.'

'But we can't abandon her. Whatever she's done, she had nobody but us to turn to. We can't abandon her.'

'We won't abandon her.'

She turned to Alec, appealing to him. He said, 'She's sick, Eve.' Still she did not understand. 'She's had a nervous breakdown.'

'But . . .’

Gerald abandoned euphemisms. 'My darling, she has gone off her head.'

'But that's ghastly . . .tragic . . .'

'You must accept it. It's better for you to accept it. If you don't, then you have only one alternative, and that is infinitely worse. We suspected both Drusilla and May; two totally innocent women might have been blamed for something they knew nothing about. And that is what Silvia wanted. To destroy not only Alec and Laura's marriage but May as well. . . .'

'Oh, Gerald – ' Her hand went over her mouth, shutting off the rest of the sentence. Her blue eyes filled with tears. 'May . . . my darling May . . .'

She dropped her basket of fruit and turned away from them, running down the path in the direction of the house. Her going was so sudden that Alec, instinctively, started after her, but Gerald put out a hand to stop him.

'Leave her. She'll be all right.'

May was sitting at her table, pasting pictures into her scrapbook. Lovely, it had been, hearing Drusilla play that nice tune. Funny girl she was. Got a new admirer by the looks of things, though May had never been much of a one for beards. She'd found some nice photos in the Sunday papers. One of the Queen Mother in a blue chiffon hat. She'd always had a pretty smile. And a comic one of a kitten in a jug with a bow round its neck. Pity about Mrs Alec's little dog. Nice little creature, even if it had been sick on her rug.

Because she was so deaf, she did not hear Eve coming down the passage, and the first thing she knew was her door bursting open and Eve there in the room. Such a start it gave her that she was quite annoyed and looked up crossly over her spectacles, but before she had time to say a word, Eve was across the room and on her knees at May's side.

'Oh, May

She was in floods of tears. Her arms were around May's waist, her face buried in May's meagre bosom. 'Oh, darling May . . .'

'Well, whatever's all this about?' asked May in the rallying tones she had used when Eve was a very small child and had cut her knee or broken her doll. 'My word, what's upset you? All those tears. And all about nothing, I shouldn't wonder. There now.' Her gnarled arthritic hand stroked the back of Eve's head. Such a pretty blond she'd been, and now she was quite white. 'There now.' Oh well, thought May, we're none of us getting any younger. 'There. Nothing to cry about. May's here.'

She had no idea what all the fuss was about. She was never to know. She never asked, and she was never told.

HOMES

Laura was alone in her bedroom, doing the last of the packing: emptying drawers, checking on the contents of the wardrobe, trying to remember where she had put a red leather belt or whether it was already in her suitcase. She had left Alec and Gabriel at the breakfast table, eating the last of the toast and drinking a second cup of coffee. As soon as they had finished, and Alec had assembled their various bits of luggage, they would be leaving. The car waited at the front door. Tremenheere was almost over.

She was in the bathroom, collecting her sponge and toothbrush and Alec's shaving things, when there came a knock on the bedroom door.

'Hello?'

She heard the door open. 'Laura.' It was Gabriel. Carrying all the various bits and pieces, Laura emerged from the bathroom.

'Oh, darling, I won't be a moment. Is Alec making impatient noises? I've just got to get these things sorted, and then I'll be ready. Is your suitcase in the car? And I've got a bottle of Elizabeth Arden somewhere . . . or have I put it in?'

'Laura.'

Laura looked at her.

Gabriel smiled. 'Listen to me.'

'Darling, I'm listening.' She put the things down on the bed. 'What is it?'

'It's just that . . . would you mind most frightfully if I didn't come back with you? If I stayed here . . .?'

Laura was taken aback, but did her best not to show it. 'But of course. I mean, there's no rush. If you want to stay on for a bit, why shouldn't you? It's a good idea. I should have thought of it myself. You can join us later.'

'It's not like that, Laura. What I'm trying to say is that ... I don't think I'll be coming to London at all. After all,' she added unnecessarily.

'You won't . . .?' Thoughts flew, undisciplined, in all directions.'. . . but what about the baby?'

'I'll probably have the baby here.'

'You mean, you're going to stay here with Eve?'

'No.' Gabriel laughed ruefully. 'Laura, you're being dreadfully thick. You're not making it the least bit easy for me. I'm going to stay with Ivan.'

'With I-' Laura felt, quite suddenly, all weak at the knees and found it necessary to sit down on the edge of the bed. She saw to her surprise that Gabriel, rather endearingly, was blushing.

'Gabriel!'

'Does that horrify you?'

'No, of course it doesn't horrify me. But it is a little surprising. . . . You've only just met him. You scarcely know him.'

'That's why I'm going to stay with him. So that we really can get to know each other.'

'Are you sure this is what you want to do?'

'Yes, I'm sure. And he's sure too.' When Laura did not reply, Gabriel came to curl up on the bed beside her. 'We've fallen in love, Laura. At least, I think that's what happened to us. I don't know for certain, because it's never happened to me before. I never really believed in it. And as for falling in love at first sight, I always told myself that was just a lot of sentimental twaddle.'

‘It isn't,' Laura told her. ‘I know, because I fell in love with your father at first sight. Before I even knew who he was.'

'Then you understand. You don't think I'm behaving like an idiot. You don't think it's all a wild figment of my imagination, or something to do with hormones or being pregnant.'

'No. I don't think that.'

'I'm so happy, Laura.'

'Do you think you'll marry him?'

‘I expect so. One day. We'll probably walk down to the church in the village, just the two of us, and come back man and wife. You wouldn't mind if we did that, would you? You wouldn't mind losing out on all the hassle of a family wedding?'

‘I don't think you should ask me that. I think you should ask Alec'

'Ivan's downstairs now, telling him what I'm telling you. We thought it would be easier that way. For everybody.'

'Does he know about the baby?'

'Of course.'

‘And he doesn't mind?'

'No. He says, in a funny way, it just makes him more certain that this is what he wants.'

'Oh, Gabriel.' She put her arms around her stepdaughter, and for the first time they embraced, hugging enormously, kissing with a true and tender affection. 'He's such a special person. Almost as special as you are. You both deserve all the happiness in the world.'

Gabriel drew away. 'When the baby comes, will you come back to Tremenheere? I'd like you to be around when it's born.'

'Wild horses wouldn't keep me away.'

'And you're not upset about me not coming back to London with you after all?'

'It's your life. You must live it your way. Just know that your father's always there if you need him. You didn't realize it before, but that's the way it's always been.'

Gabriel grinned. 'I guess so,' she said.

She was still there, still endeavouring, in a bemused fashion, to finish the packing, when Alec came to find her. As he opened the door, she straightened from her suitcase, a hairbrush in one hand and the elusive bottle of Elizabeth Arden in the other. For a long moment they looked at each other across the room, in silence, not because they had nothing to say, but because words were unnecessary. He shut the door, with some force, behind him. His expression was serious, his features set grimly, the corners of his mouth turned down, but his eyes, bright with amusement, gave him away. And Laura knew that he was laughing, not at Ivan and Gabriel, but at themselves.