A Summer in the Country Read online

  “It’s down in Cornwall.” Frummie sounded peeved. “Quite ridiculous, in my opinion. Just when he could be here at last, spending some time with Brigid, he has to go rushing off to Cornwall. I think it’s rather selfish of him. They’ll hardly see each other at all. It would have been such fun to have Humphrey around.”

  He watched her compassionately. “And what does Brigid say about it?” he asked.

  Frummie shrugged. “Oh, the usual thing. That they’re used to being apart and he’s too young to retire completely. He’s buying the school, it seems. He hasn’t discussed it with you, then? You didn’t know about it?”

  He shook his head. “Humphrey doesn’t discuss his plans with me,” he answered carefully. “Perhaps it’s a good idea. After all, if it’s only in Cornwall, they’ll see much more of each other than they do now. It will give them time to adjust”

  “I suppose so.” She grimaced. “I was rather looking forward to Humphrey being about.”

  “Yes,” he said gently. “Yes, I can imagine you were.”

  “You’re alike, you know,” she said unexpectedly. “Physically and in other ways. You’re the kind of people that one can become very easily attached to.” She looked at him, her chin up, eyes defiant, hiding her fear of humiliation. “So you don’t want any company in the north? No helpmeet to support you through the new job? I have very good references and a great deal of experience.”

  “It would be impossible,” he answered, “but thank you. I feel deeply privileged.”

  She shrugged again, smiling her own particular self-deprecating smile. “Worth a try,” she said, almost cheekily—although her eyes were bright with self-mortification.

  Had he guessed how much it had cost to make such an offer? Did he pity her? “You’ll stay in touch, though?”

  “Of course. But I’m not going for a few weeks yet.”

  “No, I realise that, but I might hitch a lift with Margot. I’ll see how I feel. Once the clock goes back I start getting low. In the depths of winter the sun doesn’t climb over the hill until after nine o’clock and it’s gone again by three.” She shivered. “Have you any idea how much it rains up here?”

  “I had the feeling that you and Brigid were getting on much better,” he said, answering her obliquely. “You seem less prickly and she seems more confident.”

  “I think that’s true,” she agreed, “but it doesn’t make the winter any shorter. I was rather counting on Humphrey.” She paused and smiled rather bitterly. “Or you.”

  “It would be impossible,” he repeated.

  She looked at him curiously, suddenly suspicious. “Is there someone else?”

  He hesitated, his eyes softening, sliding past her and fixing on something she could not see. “You could say that,” he said at last.

  “You’re in love.” She was unbelievably hurt, shocked by the strength of her jealousy.

  “Yes,” he said—and his voice held a deep note of joy. “I am in love.”

  “Well.” She tried to laugh, to hide her pain. “I can see that now. I’ve been rather a fool, I’m afraid.”

  He saw that it was essential to restore her pride. “I think you’ve been extraordinarily generous,” he said sincerely. “It means a great deal.”

  “I’m sure it does,” she said sharply, getting up. “Always nice to have an extra scalp. Well, I must be getting back. Don’t stand up. We’ll see you at supper time.”

  She went out swiftly, before Alexander could make a move, and he continued to sit staring into the fire. After a while he picked up his book again and began to read.

  DRIVING BACK from Foxhole a few days later, on a wild autumn afternoon, Louise could feel her confidence growing and expanding, forcing out the last vestiges of fear. She’d been so nervous of this lunch with Brigid and Frummie that she’d been unable to eat breakfast, trying to convince herself that she had nothing to dread, yet feeling the need to prepare herself by mentally writing various scripts which the meeting might require. It was going to be difficult to explain how Martin had approached the situation; how he had attempted to protect her from herself whilst holding on to Rory. She’d realised that Thea might grasp this compassionate but unusual attitude very readily—it was exactly how Thea herself might act—but Louise could foresee problems with Brigid and Frummie. It was odd too that she and Rory were still married. For herself, she’d switched off so completely from her former existence that she’d never thought of it but she could see now that Martin had never intended theirs to be a long-term relationship: it was not the way he worked. It might be seen as strange, however, that Rory had never wanted to free himself.

  “But I never stopped loving you,” he’d explained, “and Martin always implied that there was a very real chance that you would recover. He always insisted that you were not in love with him. He said that what you felt for him was the sort of thing that some women feel for their gynaecologist who sees them through a very emotional and dangerous time. A kind of trust and affection—and a dependency. Rather special but not real love.”

  He’d looked at her anxiously, fearful lest she should misunderstand him, wondering if she’d thought he was patronising her, but she was thinking about what he’d said, rather struck with the analogy.

  “That was rather clever of him,” she’d answered, “and very true. Looking back, there was that doctor-patient feeling about it all. He was always so kind and… and sort of watchful. I felt safe with him.”

  “In a way, I felt it too,” admitted Rory. “It probably sounds bizarre but that’s how I saw it and why it was bearable. But I’m so glad that you’re out of it now.”

  His warm, loving look had made her feel oddly shy and she’d wished that she could throw off all her inhibitions and tell him she loved him. Telling Brigid and Frummie was a hurdle, something still in the way, which needed to be got over, rather as if she were clearing the ground in preparation for her new life. She needed their approval, their good wishes; to feel their support. They’d been a family to her and Foxhole had been her home at a time of great need; a stony sanctuary.

  Where does one go from a world of insanity?

  Somewhere on the other side of despair…

  A stony sanctuary …

  The heat of the sun and the icy vigil.

  They were knitted into the fabric of her life and their love was important to her. Rory had understood it.

  “They’ll all want to meet you,” she’d teased him. “Can you face it?”

  “I think I might have met Humphrey,” he’d said, “a few years back. I expect I’ll survive.”

  As it happened, Louise need not have been frightened. Brigid had been utterly delighted, charmed by the idea of Rory waiting for her and then turning up so suddenly, and Frummie had seemed oddly muted, not her usual biting, witty self. She’d been very positive, however, and rather sweet.

  “Go for it,” she’d said with a strange intensity. “Don’t let him go because you’re frightened you might not be really over your grief. We can get glued to the past, staring back at it when we should be looking ahead. Pass through your pain together. Look beyond it and hold on to each other.”

  “I will,” she’d promised, deeply touched. “I really want to. It’s just… you know.”

  “Yes. I know.” The older woman had smiled her distinctive down-turned smile. “You’ll be fine. I know you will. But don’t forget your promise.”

  “Promise?” She’d been momentarily confused.

  “Nina Simone,” Frummie had answered succinctly. “And the bottle. Several bottles. Rory can come too if he likes. The more the merrier.”

  Louise had laughed. “I promise,” she’d said. “Say the word and I’ll be there. I mean it.”

  “I’m counting on you,” the older woman had said. “By then you might be the only friend I have left.”

  Before she could answer Brigid had come back into the kitchen with a bottle of champagne and the party had become steadily noisier. When Louise had prepared to
leave, Brigid had hugged her tightly.

  “Bring him over,” she’d said. “He’s part of the family now. I hope he can cope with us all.”

  “Bless you,” Louise had said, holding on to her, surprised by the strength of her love for her. “Thank you for everything. We’ll come and spend our holidays every spring and autumn just as I always did.”

  “So I should hope,” Brigid had answered. “And don’t forget that we want to meet him as soon as you’re strong enough ”

  Now, driving back to her cottage, Louise was filled with a wild joy that matched the roaring, boisterous wind which streamed across the open, airy spaces of the moor; the dying bracken bowed before its lusty breath and the black branches of the thorn shivered and trembled. The waters of the reservoir flung themselves against the stony walls of the bridge and raced in, to dissolve into flying spume upon the sandy beaches. The memories of the last few months crowded in upon her and, as she descended into the shelter of the deep, quiet lanes, her only real anxiety was for Jemima. It was difficult to be wholeheartedly happy when Jemima was suffering so much, yet, typically, Jemima was genuinely happy for her friend, truly pleased at such a healing outcome to the terrible tragedy. She was looking for somewhere to live, trying to be positive, and quietly pleased that she and Brigid had become much closer.

  “She’s told me that I can stay at Foxhole if I need to,” Jemima had said. “She really means it too. She was so sweet about it all. But I need to find my own pad. I can’t decide whether it would be too painful to stay in Salcombe, assuming that I can afford a little place somewhere, or whether to go somewhere different” She’d sighed. “I expect it will be a case of going wherever something turns up.”

  Louise had longed to be of use, keeping her own private joy under control yet looking forward to the weekend.

  “Come and meet Rory,” she’d said, surprising herself. “I’d really like it if you would. It would make it more well, real, if you know what I mean. There are times when I feel I might be on some kind of film set or something.”

  “Come and have supper with me,” Jemima had said at once. “Or lunch. Whichever you prefer. Let’s have one last fling with my dear old view. We’ll go out with a bang not with a whimper.”

  It had been a tremendous success. Jemima had clearly pulled out all the stops and MagnifiCat conceived an instant passion for Rory, who reciprocated fully. There had been a great deal of laughter and she and Rory, once the first awkwardness had been smoothed away by some wine, had behaved like the happy couple they had once been.

  “Drop-dead gorgeous,” Jemima had pronounced on the telephone the next day, “and MagnifiCat agrees. He’s the first man he’s ever taken to, which must say something about my taste in men.”

  Louise had glowed with this praise, overwhelmed with her good fortune, yet, even with all this new confidence, she was unable to make that final leap. Rory continued to book into his hotel and she stayed at the cottage, both of them searching for the last action which would carry them over the last barrier into the future.

  She drove on, wondering how it might be achieved, her thoughts rushing ahead to the weekend when they would be together again.

  CHAPTER 43

  On a chill Sunday morning at the beginning of November a small party gathered to see Frummie and Margot off to Salisbury. The grey uniformity of sullen cloud loured down upon the proceedings, leaking a few spots of icy rain from time to time to drip upon the heads of the well-wishers as they gathered on the track. Frummie was in a gay, almost brittle mood now that the actual moment had arrived, although she’d been somewhat subdued during the last few days.

  “You’ll be all right, won’t you, darling?” she’d asked Brigid in a moment of uncharacteristic maternal anxiety on her last evening. “Thank goodness, they caught that awful man. At least we can all feel safe again. But do take care of yourself.”

  “Of course I shall.” Brigid had been touched by this rare display of affection. “I’ve still got Alexander for a few weeks yet, don’t forget.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Her mother’s face had drooped into a kind of bitterness, a disappointed expression, which worried Brigid. “And Humphrey will be back soon.”

  “At the end of November.” Brigid had been unable to hide her grin of delight. “Apparently he’d hoped that it might be earlier than he told me at first but he didn’t want to disappoint me. It’s great!”

  “And you’re not upset about this sailing school thing? I know you’ve always needed your own space and you were anxious about his being here full time after so many years apart, but I’m surprised that he’s hurried into something so quickly.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine. I think it’ll be a very good balance.” Brigid, who had promised Humphrey that no one should know the exact details, hurried away from the subject. “And it’ll be lovely to be all together for Christmas, won’t it? Julian and Emma with little Josh. And you and Jemima. It’ll be a houseful.”

  “I’m glad,” Frummie had said hesitantly, with a certain difficulty, “so glad that you and Jemima are … friends.”

  “So am I. If only we can find somewhere nice for her to live. You wouldn’t mind her sharing with you over Christmas if nothing turns up quickly?”

  Frummie had shaken her head almost impatiently. “Of course not. If you don’t mind her being here.”

  “I think it would be rather fun.” Brigid had been surprised to realise that this was true. “Anyway, we’ll see how it turns out. How long do you think you’ll be with Margot?”

  “Not too sure.” Frummie wrinkled her nose. ‘To be honest with you I can’t stand that wretched daughter-in-law of hers, although Harry is a darling. Barbara likes her to know who’s boss. I’ve been spoiled, living here, doing my own thing.”

  Brigid had been taken aback, and rather moved by this admission. “Well, you can come back whenever you want to,” she said. “If it’s embarrassing to tell Margot why you’re leaving, I’ll send you a letter demanding your immediate return. We’ll dream up a crisis which only your presence here can solve.”

  “You’ll be my Bunbury, will you, darling?” Frummie had smiled with a genuine affection. “I’m sure it will be fun. We’re going to London for a few days to see Gregory, hoping to coincide with Alexander’s stay.” A pause. “We still don’t know where he’s going, I suppose?” she’d asked, almost irritably. “I have to say that I find all this secrecy and silence thing a shade boring.”

  Brigid, surprised by her vehemence, had shrugged. “He says that it’s something rather important to him and he’s afraid to speak about it in case it goes wrong.” She’d laughed. “I suppose it sounds a bit silly, put like that, but I know what he means, don’t you? It’s almost a superstitious thing, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so.” It was the old Frummie again, cool, dismissive, faintly amused. “Anyway, Gregory’s promised us a few treats: the theatre and the exhibition at the Courtauld, and he’s taking us to his favourite restaurant. Sounds rather fun. Margot’s planning a shopping-fest.”

  “Which reminds me.” Brigid had suddenly flushed painfully, standing up from the table and going to her bag on the dresser. “Your birthday happens when you’re away so I thought I’d give you your present now. I thought with all that jollity it might just be simpler to … to … well, give you this.”

  Frummie had stared at the cheque, a very generous one, in silence whilst Brigid had watched her in an agony of anxiety, praying that she wouldn’t feel patronised, knowing that with no income Frummie would find her forthcoming visit expensive.

  She thought: Please don’t let her mind or be humiliated. Please let her just take it. Don’t let her be sarcastic because her pride is hurt.

  Frummie had folded the piece of paper very carefully and slipped it into her pocket whilst Brigid closed her eyes on a silent sigh of gratitude and relief.

  “Thank you,” her mother had said. “That will be very … welcome.” She’d looked up, and Brigid had seen tears in he
r eyes. “You are a very dear girl. Forgive me if… if…”

  “Nothing to forgive,” she’d answered quickly. “Absolutely nothing. Just enjoy yourself.”

  “Yes.” Frummie had smiled her familiar smile, clearly relieved to move on from this emotional moment. “I intend to. So tell me some more about this sailing school.”

  It was the last time they’d been private together. A flurry of packing had ensued and now, on this last morning, Jemima had arrived to say goodbye. The unfriendly weather kept the farewells short and to the point. The sisters hugged their mother and watched her climb into the car, which bumped away up the track. Presendy, Alexander’s car had followed it and Brigid and Jemima were alone. They were glad to be back inside, in the warm kitchen. There was a pan of soup simmering on the Aga, rolls heating in the oven, and Brigid poured them both a drink.

  “Well,” she said, feeling partly relieved that it was over, partly flat and oddly lethargic. “Let’s hope they get there safely. Thank goodness Mummie isn’t driving.”

  Jemima smiled sympathetically. “She’s somewhat erratic of late,” she admitted. “But I can’t blame her for clinging to her car. I imagine that it must be hell to give up the independence of driving.”

  “I know. It’s just the worry that she might hurt someone else and be consumed with guilt. Anyway, Margot is a great deal more steady so I’m sure they’ll be OK. How’s the house-hunting?”

  “Oh, not too good.” Jemima stood her glass on the dresser and leaned against the Aga, warming her chilled hands on the rail. “There’s a little cottage in Kingsbridge. It’s tiny but big enough for me and MagnifiCat. And a flat with a bit of a glimpse over the estuary. That’s if you stand on your toes and crane your neck. You know the kind of thing? It’s a question of making up my mind to it, that’s all. Rory said that it was best not to attempt to recreate my flat but to go for something utterly different. He said that it was always a temptation to try to replace something you’ve really loved with a lookalike. I think he may have a point. He’s a really nice guy. Louise’s very lucky.”