Winter Solstice (50 page)

“… Lucy is the main reason for taking this London job. Somebody has to be there for her. Somebody has to winkle her out of that dull, enclosed, totally female life she’s forced to lead. Through no fault of her own. She doesn’t really stand a chance. I have to try to give her one.”

Sam considered this. He said tentatively, “She seems to me to be quite a well-adjusted child. Happy, even.”

“That’s because she is happy. Here. With Elfrida and Oscar and people coming and going. And, of course, Rory Kennedy. Going back to London is going to be a real letdown.”

Sam found himself resenting this maiden-aunt attitude. Carrie was too young, too beautiful, to start structuring her life simply for the sake of one small niece.

“She’ll probably be all right,” he said.

“She’s young enough to be resilient; in time, she’ll make her own escape.”

“No.” Carrie was adamant.

“You don’t know her selfish little mother. You can’t say that.”

“So, what will you do with Lucy?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just be around; on the end of the telephone. There. Perhaps at Easter I’ll take her away again. To Cornwall to stay with Jeffrey. He is, after all, her grandfather. Or maybe we could go skiing. His children are old enough. Jeffrey took me skiing for the first time when I was about ten, and I loved it so much, it started a whole new passion.”

“Will you go back to Oberbeuren… ?”

“No.” She had said the word almost before he had finished asking the question.

“Not Oberbeuren. Somewhere else. Arosa, or Grindelwald, or Val d’lsere.”

“You could go to the States. Colorado or Vermont. Sounds a long way to travel, but it would certainly be cheaper.”

“Vermont.” Carrie, with her hands in the pockets of her parka, strolled along beside him.

“Have you skied in Vermont?”

“Yes. A number of times. We used to drive up for weekends from the city.”

“We,” Carrie repeated.

“You and your wife, you mean?”

So this was it. The nub around which they had both been circling, the moment of truth, the point of no return. He said, “Yes. With my wife. We’re separated.”

“Elfrida told me that.”

“Deborah. I was working in New York. I went out to East Hampton, for a weekend with a friend; and we got asked to this party, and I met her then. Her grandfather had a great house down there; lands, beach, horses, paddocks, swimming pool. The lot. When we got married, we were married on the lawn at East Hampton in front of her grandfather’s house. There were seven hundred guests, ten bridesmaids, and ten ushers all dressed up like penguins. Deborah looked ravishing and I was happy to be swept along in a current that I couldn’t control or resist. Then we bought this apartment in the Upper Seventies, and it was all done up regardless of cost, and that kept her happy for some time; but when it was finished and the interior designer had finally departed, I think that’s when she started to get bored and restless. I had to travel all over the States, and sometimes she went back to East Hampton while I was away, and other times, she simply occupied herself having a good time.”

“Children?”

“No. She didn’t want babies. Not so soon. Someday, perhaps, she’d promise me, but not just now. Anyway, sometime last summer, she met this guy again. She’d known him when she was at college. Since those days he’d been married twice, but was on the loose again. In New York. Rich; smooth; pretty stupid. Randy as a tom-cat. They started what is politely known these days as ‘a relationship.’ I never guessed. I never knew until she told me she was leaving me because she wanted to be with him. And I was devastated. Not just because I was losing her. But because I knew she had fallen for a shit. And I knew, too, that he was the sort of guy who, marrying his mistress, was simply creating another job vacancy.”

“But you’re not divorced?”

“No. There’s hardly been time. Six weeks after she departed I got a call from David Swinfield, asking me to come back to London. And since then… well, I’ve just procrastinated. Let it slide. Had other business to occupy my mind. No doubt, sooner or later, I’ll be on the receiving end of a lawyer’s letter, and after that the ball will roll.”

“Will she be greedy and demand great wads of alimony?”

“I don’t know. It depends on the lawyer. I don’t think so. She was never that sort of a person. Anyway, Deborah has money of her own. Too much, maybe. Perhaps that was one of our problems. My problems.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“Oh, Carrie …”

“I know. But you feel responsible. You have anxieties about her future. You’re afraid she’s going to be hurt, to be dumped. You still feel protective.”

After a bit, “Yeah,” Sam admitted.

“I suppose I do.”

“If she wanted … if she beckoned, demanded … would you go back to her?”

He thought about this. He said, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my life has changed direction. Because Deborah is part of the past and I’ve left that behind. I’m here now. And this is where I’m staying, because I have a job to do.”

“She’s still your wife.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That if you’ve been married to a person, they’re part of you. You can never be free. You belong to them.”

She spoke with such bitterness that Sam all at once knew that he only had to push a bit further and the closed door which had stood between them would finally, creakily, open.

He turned to her.

“Carrie …”

But she strode on, and he had to catch her up and take her by the arm and jerk her around to face him. The black orbs of her sunglasses stared up at him, and he put up a hand and took them off, and saw, to his horror, that her dark eyes were shining with tears.

“Carrie. Tell me.”

“Why?” She was angry, blinking the tears away.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’ve been honest with you.”

“I never made a deal. It’s none of your business and I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not worth talking about. And you wouldn’t understand.”

“I could try. And I think I would understand. I’ve been through bad times myself. The worst was knowing that everybody was aware of what was going on except thick-headed me. Taking one day at a time, and each day like being on a treadmill and getting nowhere. Trying to come to terms with a total rejection.”

“I wasn’t rejected,” Carrie shouted at him, and all at once her face creased up like a child’s and she was in floods of tears. Furious with herself, she pushed at him, trying to escape from his grip, but he held her shoulders between his hands and would not let go, because if he did, he felt she might fall to pieces, and his strength was the only thing that kept her whole.

“I wasn’t rejected. I was loved. We were in love, and all we wanted was to be together. But the odds were too great. Stacked against us. Too many demands, responsibilities, traditions. His job, his family, his wife, his children, his religion, his money. I was simply his mistress. Living in the back streets of his life. I didn’t stand a chance. Never did. And what I really hate is that I always knew. I hate myself for shutting my eyes, burying my head in the sand like a stupid ostrich. Pretending everything would work out. I’m thirty, for God’s sake. I thought I could handle it. And finally, when Andreas walked away from me, I went to bits. So now you know, Sam, and now you can stop trying to find out. And perhaps you can accept the fact that I’m really not very interested in married men. And if you start being sympathetic or sorry for me, I shall scream.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment, with a wrench of her body, she slid out of his hold and set off, at a run, away from him, stumbling in the snow, righting herself, carrying on. He went after her, and caught her once more.

“Oh, Carrie …” and this time she did not fight him. Perhaps she was too tired, too breathless with sobs. He took her into his arms and she leaned against him, her shoulders heaving, weeping into the front of his Barbour.

Holding her, having her in his arms, was something he had been wanting to do all day. She felt slender, weightless, and he told himself that he could feel the beating of her heart through all their combined layers of winter clothing. The fur of her hat tickled his cheek, and her skin smelt sweet and cool.

“Oh, Carrie.” It was shameful to feel so elated when she suffered from such desolation and wretchedness. Trying to comfort, he said, “It will be all right.”

“It won’t be all right.”

So cold, so adamant was her voice, that he was suddenly wise, realizing that it was hopeless to continue mouthing pointless platitudes. Standing there, with his arms about her, Sam found himself uncharacteristically confused and disoriented. Normally, his instincts did not let him down; instead they told him how to deal with any situation, emotional or otherwise. But right now he knew all at once that he was totally at a loss. Carrie was beautiful, intelligent, and desirable, but also complicated. And perhaps because of this, she remained an enigma. To truly understand her was going to take much patience and a lot of time.

He accepted this. He said again, “It will be all right.”

“You don’t know.”

Now he had the confidence and the good sense not to argue. After a bit, her furious weeping calmed down. She made motions as though to pull herself together. Gently, Sam put her away from him, and watched as she wiped at tear-stained cheeks with her padded glove.

He said, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Sorry, because this wasn’t what I had planned or anticipated. I didn’t mean to upset you so. This was simply an outing, to pick up a Christmas tree and go for a walk. No ulterior motives. It just went wrong.”

“Not your fault. So stupid …”

“I talked about Deborah because sometimes I need to. I didn’t mean to wind you up.”

“I know. Let’s forget it. Pretend it never happened. Walk on, the way we’d planned.”

“We did talk. To talk is always good. I thought we never would.”

“Is talking so good? I’m not so sure.”

“Clears the air. Makes things easier to understand.”

“I don’t know that I want to be understood. Just left alone. Perhaps right now I’m better off that way. Independent. Not belonging to any person.”

Sam said, “Don’t be too sure about that.” But he did not say it aloud.

Thursday, December 21st

This morning Carrie and Sam went and got the Christmas tree. And Mrs. Snead and I spring-cleaned the dining room. It was dreadfully dusty and deserted. We put a notice on the door saying do not disturb, so that nobody came in. Mrs. Snead lit a bit of paper in the fireplace to be sure that the chimney wasn‘t full of jackdaw nests, but the smoke all went up and she said it was quite clean, so we shall be able to have a huge fire, which will make all the difference.

And there were a couple of big cardboard crates which seemed to be filled with crumpled newspaper, but we explored and found some silver candlesticks, four of them, dreadfully tarnished but very handsome. We took all the rubbish across the hall and added them to the collection in the old office. There are very thick, sort of tapestry, curtains, which were a bit dusty, so we found a step-ladder in the scullery, took them down, and took them into the garden to shake them, and then hung them up again. I cleaned the window, while Mrs. Snead washed all the fireplace tiles. We moved the table, and Mrs. Snead Hoovered. Then we polished all the furniture, and then we spread newspaper and cleaned the candlesticks, which took ages, because they are very ornate and patterned. Finally, while I went out and bought some candles (tall and cream, a bit like church candles), Mrs. Snead went upstairs to look for table-cloths in her linen cupboard. There weren‘t any, but she found an old linen sheet, which is just as good, and we put a thick blanket underneath to protect the table. That’s as far as we got, because she had to go home and give Arthur Snead his dinner, but with the candlesticks and everything, and the fire all laid, it really looks wonderfully festive.

I didn‘t want anybody to know about it, so that it would be a surprise, but just before lunch Carrie and Sam got back with the Christmas tree, and there was a great discussion as to where we should put it. We thought the sitting-worn, but Elfrida‘s having this party on Saturday and as there will be quite a lot of people, she thought it might take up too much space. Then Oscar suggested the landing, but there’s going to be a table there for drinks, and it would get in the way of people going up and down the stairs. So then I had to admit about the dining-worn, and they all trooped downstairs, to inspect what we had been doing. It was lovely because everybody was thrilled, and it all smelt polishy, and Elfrida said she had no idea the dining-room could ever look so festive. And of course, that was exactly the right place for the tree. So Sam went out and brought it in and he’d bought a sort of stand for it as well, so that made everything much easier. And Elfrida fetched her red silk shawl from her bed and draped it around the stand to hide the raw wood and the nails. It looked beautiful and is a lovely shape and size. I love the smell of trees coming indoors; it’s like pine essence for the bath.

In the afternoon, Oscar collected all the decorations we‘d bought and we tied them on the tree. Sam fixed the lights and the star on the top branch. And Elfrida produced a whole roll of lovely tartan ribbon she‘d bought for tying up her presents, but she said sticky tape would be just as good. So we cut it and made lovely bows and put them all over the tree, and with the tinsel and the lights turned on, it is the prettiest I think I’ve ever seen.

Carrie told me that Corrydale is lovely and that sometime I have to go to see it all. She said there was snow everywhere and blue shadows and sunlight, and that there are gardens stretching right from the house down to the water, and lots of big old trees. In a way, I wish I had gone with them to get the tree, but had to do the dining-room while Mrs. Snead was here because I promised to help.

Tomorrow we have to get started on the party. Elfrida has rung Tabitha Kennedy and is going to borrow some glasses because we haven’t got enough. And Carrie is in charge of the food. This afternoon, after we‘d dealt with the Christmas tree, we went to the baker’s together and ordered sausage rolls and little quiches and pizzas. And then we ordered smoked salmon to put on brown bread. The party is to start at six and Mrs. Snead and Arthur are going to come and help. She hadn’t realized that throwing a party was quite so much hard work. Perhaps that’s why Mummy and Gran never throw parties in London.