A Week in Winter: A Novel (26 page)

‘That’s Rough Tor,’ he told her as they stepped out briskly, ‘and beyond that is Brown Willy, but we can’t see it from here. There’s lots to show you before we go … home.’

‘Home.’ She looked up at him, unable to conceal a wave of longing. ‘Oh, if only it were.’

‘Perhaps it could be,’ he said tentatively. ‘Perhaps there might be a way.’

She swallowed down her emotion, clutching his arm tightly. ‘For today it is, anyway,’ she said. ‘And for tonight.’

She unlocked the car and climbed in whilst Rob lifted the hatch and opened the hamper. By the time he brought her the mug of steaming coffee she’d managed to control her despair, to will back the hope with which she dispelled her unexpected descents into terror. She smiled at him, taking comfort from his strong presence, accepting his love, knowing that she must try to live for the moment.

Selina stood in the hall, listening. Supper was finished and Patrick had disappeared up to his study, but the situation was not resolved. All day she’d been gradually building up the courage to confront him; to talk properly about this
impasse.
It was impossible to carry on in this miserable way, as if they were polite strangers who merely happened to share the same house. He was impervious to all the tactics she’d used so successfully in the past and she felt helpless and frustrated. She’d planned to discuss it immediately after supper—and had drunk several glasses of wine so as to bolster up her resolve—but Paul had telephoned at exactly the wrong moment. He’d been promoted and wanted to share the glad tidings with his parents but, by the time he’d finished telling her all the details, Patrick had cleared the table and vanished. He’d been particularly preoccupied, with a kind of suppressed excitement about him, and she was beginning to suspect that he’d revived his affair with Mary. Now, as she cautiously climbed the stairs, she could hear his voice: he was talking to someone on the telephone.

‘That sounds fantastic,’ he was saying. Then. ‘If you could, I’d be terribly
grateful.’ Another pause. ‘No, no. I quite understand. Yes, Brecon sounds wonderful.’

She thought:
Brecon?
Whatever is he talking about?

She heard the receiver go down and hesitated for a moment. The house seemed oppressively empty; silence flowed around her and she felt unbearably lonely. The thought of another sleepless night, alone in their bedroom, galvanised her into action. Reaching the landing, she tapped at the door and opened it. He was sitting hunched at the desk, staring down at it, deep in thought.

‘Patrick,’ she said, almost pleadingly, ‘I need to talk to you.’

He raised his eyebrows in a friendly question but didn’t speak.

‘We can’t go on like this, can we? I mean, hardly communicating, talking about the weather and you going off to the spare room every night. It’s silly.’

‘It’s difficult to know how to handle it, isn’t it?’ he agreed, almost cheerfully. ‘But it won’t be for much longer, I hope.’

She was staring at him, frowning. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

He looked surprised. ‘Well, I’ve been trying to decide where I should go. What I might do. That sort of thing. But now I think I’ve found just what I’ve been looking for.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Anxiety made her angry. ‘If you think I’m impressed by this silly pretence you couldn’t be more wrong. It’s simply not interesting.’

‘I don’t think you’ve ever thought me interesting,’ he answered. ‘But at least I’m not pretending. I thought we’d agreed that whatever we had together has outlived itself. It was bound to happen once the children were gone. Looking back, I can see that there wasn’t much to begin with. You used me to get away from Maudie and Hector, and the children were the glue which held us together. It’s dried up now, peeled off, and we’re back where we started. If your father hadn’t injected slugs of cash from time to time we probably wouldn’t have lasted this long. You’ve always wanted more than I could give you, Selina.’

‘This is all utter nonsense. Just because I stood up for myself over the Mary thing—’

‘Precisely.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You stood up for yourself. You didn’t fight for
me
.’

She frowned again, puzzled. ‘What d’you mean? Of course it was for you.’

‘No.’ He shook his head firmly. ‘No, it wasn’t. You didn’t fight to get me back because you love me. You did it because I am one of your possessions. Love was not involved, Selina.’

‘You’re wrong,’ she said quickly. ‘Look. This has just got completely out of hand—’

‘That’s quite true,’ he agreed. ‘It has got completely out of your hands, Selina. For once my life is in my own hands and I intend to live it my way. You’re no longer calling the tune. You’ve dominated and controlled us all—well, except for Posy—for nearly thirty years and I’ve had enough.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She folded her arms under her breasts, her lip curling. ‘And so just because I refuse to condone your sordid affair with some little tart you’re running out on me. You’re reneging on your marriage vows, betraying your children and abandoning your wife.’

‘Yes.’ He looked rather struck by this catalogue of misdeeds; almost proud. ‘I suppose you could say exactly that. I hadn’t quite seen it in those terms—’

‘May I ask how you
had
seen it?’

He ignored the tone of heavy irony. ‘I saw it as a relationship which was worn out, dried out and tasteless. The boys have never been too bothered about me and I’ve nearly managed to alienate Posy, who will soon be too busy with her own life to care either way. As for you, well, I’ve annoyed and irritated you for more than a quarter of a century. You’ve decided where we live, who our friends are, where we have our holidays and how our money is spent, and you’re still not happy. You’ve humiliated me, hurt me and ignored me.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Have you noticed, Selina, how you never use the words “we” or “ours”? Only “I” and “mine”? Just a small point but a significant one. I accept that to leave a wife to fend for herself is a disgraceful thing to do but I intend to do it. This house is worth at least three hundred thousand pounds. You can downsize and have enough to invest for a reasonable living when you put it with the other pensions we have. You won’t starve.’

‘I’m beginning to wonder if you’re ill. I think you’ve lost your senses.’

He shrugged. ‘You would. But I’m fairly sane, I think. Just heady with the sensation of freedom.’

‘And you think it will be that easy? That I’ll let you stroll off into the sunset? I don’t want to sell this house and downsize. I like it here. I’m not moving into some grotty little flat.’

‘Suit yourself. Thanks to your father we don’t have a mortgage and
you’ve got some savings. Stay here and work. I know you never have but it’s never too late to try something new.’

‘You’re mad.’ She was quite serious. ‘You’re having some kind of breakdown.’

He laughed. ‘It’s funny you should say that. I had the same thought myself He looked at her sympathetically. ‘Poor Selina. It’s come as a shock, hasn’t it? The worm turning and so forth. Don’t worry, I shan’t take anything that’s yours.’

‘Don’t be so bloody offensive,’ she shouted. ‘You’re crazy. Off your head. I shall speak to my lawyer in the morning.’

‘
Our
lawyer,’ he corrected her gently. ‘Steve is my lawyer too, remember.’

She glared at him, furious but impotent. ‘And have you told him that you’re leaving me to go to Brecon? Got another little tart there, have you?’

She went out, slamming the door behind her, running down the stairs. Patrick sat quite still, staring reflectively at the door. Presently he picked up a piece of paper, studying it carefully.

Once again she was alone in the house. They’d returned as dusk was beginning to fall, after a day of exploration, and when Melissa was beginning to feel very tired.

‘It feels warmer,’ she’d said, as they unloaded the car. ‘Or am I imagining it? I’ll still be glad to get indoors, though.’

Rob had paused, his arms full of parcels, looking away to the north. Pillowy, downy clouds lay piled, layer upon layer, advancing slowly, and he’d begun to whistle thoughtfully under his breath as he followed her into the house. The kitchen was warm and, leaving Melissa to deal with the putting away of their supplies, he’d gone through to the sitting room. Earlier that morning he’d built up the fire with the biggest logs he could find and it was still burning, though very low. He’d dragged the remaining logs together, piled more dry ones on top and begun to ply the bellows. Soon the flames were leaping, the wood crackling, and he’d left it so as to check the wood-burning stove. Back in the kitchen he’d washed his hands at the sink, drying them on the towel he kept on the rail of the Esse.

‘I’ve had a thought,’ he’d said, quite casually. ‘I might bring a few things up from my place. Just to make us more comfortable.’

She’d glanced at him, surprised, still feeling that he didn’t particularly want her to step out of this charmed circle.

‘I suppose you could take the car?’ she’d suggested uncertainly. ‘You’re probably insured to drive other vehicles.’

‘Oh, I shan’t bother,’ he’d answered quickly. ‘I’ll walk down and bring back the pick-up. Not a problem. See you later.’

He’d smiled at her across the spaces of the kitchen, uncertain how to take his leave of her, and then had gone out quickly. Standing at the window she’d watched him climb the rail fence and stride off across the moor, keeping in the shadow of the thorn.

After a while, she turned, leaning back against the sink, looking about her, alone again. It was at about this time yesterday that she’d watched him climbing up the same way, pausing occasionally to look up at the house. She’d moved back, lest he should see her, and then she’d heard him enter. Standing in the shadow of the stairs, peering from the landing, she’d watched him moving about, heard him preparing the house. She smiled as she remembered his shocked gasp when he saw her standing by the fire; could it really be only twenty-four hours ago? It was unusual to feel so at ease with someone so quickly; to be so comfortable. Yet underneath the camaraderie was an exciting undercurrent.

Melissa shivered a little, hugging her warm soft pashmina around her. She felt terribly tired. Passing through the hall into the sitting room, subsiding on to the beanbags which Rob had brought out again, Melissa felt a twinge of guilt. She knew that Mike would have thoroughly disapproved of such a long and active day, and she also knew that she should telephone him so as to reassure him that all was well. This weariness, however, the weighty, weary limbs and a faint nagging pain, kept her pinned to her soft bed.

‘I’ll do it in a minute,’ she murmured, watching the flames, conscious of the pain. I’m having such fun. Mike won’t begrudge me it.’

She lay, listening to the rooks settling for the night, as the light receded and the room grew dimmer. Her exhaustion and the pain were grim reminders of reality and, against her will, she felt the tears sliding down her cheeks. Never had she wanted so much to live, to be fit and normal, happy and uncaring and healthy. As she lay, huddled in the firelight, she imagined she could hear the life of the house going on around her.

‘Huge comfortable sofas …’ A man’s voice, oddly familiar.

‘Oh, yes, but not too smart. No fussing if the dogs climb on them.’

‘Or the children?’ He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice.

‘Of course not.’ The voice was indignant. ‘It’s their home, isn’t it?’

‘So what about this as my study, then?’

The voices faded a little and Melissa stirred. They’d crossed the hall and were standing inside the other room.

‘It would make a wonderful playroom.’ The voice was wistful, now. ‘A really terrific living room for everyone. And it’s so sunny.’

‘Perhaps you’d like me to work in the loosebox?’

‘The pony wouldn’t like that.’

They laughed together, softly, intimately, and Melissa strained towards them, trying to see them, following them up the stairs.

‘It’s such a lovely room.’ They were standing together at the window of the big bedroom. ‘We’ll have the bed facing the window so that we can see the trees.’

‘This is the nursery.’ How confident she sounded. ‘Isn’t it perfect? With the room next door, and the small bathroom, it makes it the children’s quarters.’

‘I must put up a swing on the lawn.’

‘Under the escallonia hedge.’

They’d stopped to look out of the landing window and she heard the sound of a child’s voice calling to them.

She tried to struggle up, to go to the child, but she was too tired, her limbs were too heavy. They were coming down, though, calling to the child, the man was swinging him up into his arms, murmuring endearments. Melissa relaxed, drifting, dreaming, until she could see them again. They were in the garden. The sun was hot and the girl, standing with her back to Melissa, wore a cotton sun hat.

‘Be careful,’ she called to the small boy on the swing. ‘Be careful. Not too high.’

He was singing to himself, laughing as he swung, and the girl went to look into a pram which was standing in the shade of the escallonia hedge, rocking it with a proprietorial air which was absurdly touching. She turned suddenly, smiling at Melissa, who smiled back, recognising her, holding out her arms in welcome.

‘It’s you,’ she murmured—and felt herself lifted, held tightly.

‘You were dreaming,’ Rob said. ‘I was afraid of startling you.’

She clung to him, wrenched with a terrible sense of loss, quite unable to speak. He continued to kneel beside her on the floor, cradling her.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered at last. ‘Really silly. Just a very vivid dream. I’m OK now.’

He released her, going to close the shutters against the dark, piling more wood on the fire.

‘Do you feel up to coming to see what I’ve brought back with me?’ he asked.