All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (36 page)

She poured a glass of Malvern water and added a slice of lemon. By the time she reached Sid’s bedroom, she found her calm. ‘The pain is going,’ she said. ‘I can feel it go, further and further away, and soon it won’t be there at all. Such bliss!’ She drank the water and when it was finished, she said, ‘This is our last night together, isn’t it? Before the nurse, I mean.’

‘Yes. She’ll be here tomorrow evening.’

‘Do you know what I would like most?’

She didn’t.

‘I would like to go to sleep in your arms, my darling. More than anything, I would like that.’

‘I won’t be a moment.’ Minutes later Rachel climbed into the bed and took Sid in her arms. She seemed so fragile that she was afraid of hurting her. But Sid snuggled up to her, with her head on Rachel’s shoulder and gave a sigh of contentment.

‘Do you remember that rather tiresome sentimental song the children used to sing round the piano when Villy’s father stayed?’ Rachel said.

‘I do. He hated it. “My True Love Has My Heart”,’ Sid said. ‘You are my true love, and you have all my heart.’ And later, when she was nearly asleep, she said, ‘Hold my hand, keep me. Don’t turn off the light.’

Rachel took the proffered hand and kissed it, before wrapping her fingers round the frail, hot bones. Another small sigh and her eyes were shut. She had thought that she would never sleep with Sid in her arms (how odd: always before it had been the other way round, her in Sid’s arms), but her own exhaustion, and the tremendous relief that she was at last relaxed and free of pain induced a kind of serenity and peace, and almost at once she joined Sid in a deep sleep . . .

She woke suddenly because she was cold. They were both cold. She shifted to pull the blankets round them, and Sid’s head fell on her breast. She was still holding Sid’s hand, and when she gently released it, it, too, fell with an awful involuntary ease to her side. Rachel propped herself up on one elbow and, with the other hand, stroked Sid’s head, her shoulders, her body. It was all cold and still. She was dead.

The shock was so great that for minutes she did nothing but stare at Sid’s face, which was calm, smoothed of fear and pain. She looked suddenly far younger, more as she had been when they had first known each other.

It was ten past six: the doctor would not come until half past eight. They had two and a half hours alone together. Rachel lay down and once more took Sid’s body in her arms. It was all for the best, she told herself; there had long ceased to be any chance of recovery. She must have died in her sleep; there had been no more pain; they had been together, had had one last evening. Sid had died without having to go into a hospital; she had escaped being nursed by a stranger. In many, many ways it could not have been better.

Although she made no sound, Rachel discovered that tears were pouring down her face, and she was rocking Sid’s cold, unresponsive body, for a desperate moment trying to ward off her grief and panic at being left alone.

This would not do. She wiped Sid’s face where her tears had fallen and then lay quietly beside her. As though by some magic, she was filled with love for this friend and lover who had given her so much. The feeling was intense and it came as a balm that soothed her heart.

HUGH, JEMIMA AND FAMILY

‘Mummy, I’ve been awake nearly all night and I really
need
to open my stocking.’

Jemima turned towards the door where Laura stood shivering in her red flannel nightdress.

‘I told you, you have to wait until seven o’clock.’ This was the old Home Place rule designed to give the grownups the chance of a decent night’s sleep. It had been all very well, Jemima thought, as she yawned, and began sitting up, fine when the bedrooms were full of children who could complain to one another, but hard if you were the only child. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But you’re to stay in bed until I come to fetch you. And don’t wake Daddy. He’s very tired and so am I.’

‘You often say you’re tired. I suppose it’s your age, and you can’t help it. All right, I promise to stay in bed until seven. There!’

When she had gone, Jemima glanced quickly at Hugh, who had not been woken, thank goodness. Poor darling, he seemed permanently tired these days, but asleep, all his worry lines were smoothed out. He had helped make up the stockings for Tom and Henry as well as Laura, had decanted the port, wrapped presents, wired the lights to go on the Christmas tree and prepared the turkey, while she had made brandy butter and cranberry sauce. Might as well turn the oven on now, she thought. She always cooked the bird for four or five hours at a very low temperature. She got out of bed very carefully, tucked the blankets up to her husband’s neck, and put on her towelling peignoir – not very warm, but better than nothing.

There was complete silence from Laura’s room, and also from the spare room in which Simon was sleeping. He had arrived last night – late, because the train from Norfolk had been held up due to the snow. Tom and Henry were very much awake in their large room on the top floor; they were playing some game that involved a number of challenging shouts followed by fits of laughter. Their voices were in the process of breaking and veered uneasily between a squeak and a baritone. They were always engaged upon vast projects: this holiday they were writing a book, which they called
A Thousand and One Things to Do When It Rains
, but so far they did not seem to have got much beyond designing and painting the cover, which was surprisingly beautiful. When Hugh had asked which of them had done it, they looked surprised and said they had done it together. They were good boys and she was deeply proud of them. Hugh had had a lot to do with their upbringing, and this made her especially glad that Simon had agreed to come for Christmas, too.

Once the turkey was in, she made some tea for herself and Hugh. It was going to be a long, ceremony-fraught day: breakfast followed by present-giving, then lunch, and a drive to Richmond Park where they were to meet Zoë and Rupert for a walk, then everyone back for tea until it was time to get Laura to bed.

It was half past six – just time for half an hour in bed with Hugh. They always gave their presents to each other then, when they were on their own. She had knitted him a black alpaca jersey and bought him a very pretty Russian snuffbox for his headache pills. He gave her a beautiful cashmere dressing gown and a cameo ring set in gold with a shell backing. ‘You can have breakfast in your dressing gown, and if you’re feeling really extravagant, you may wear the ring as well. I’m going to wear my jersey and use my pretty box all day.’

‘Isn’t it wonderful how we give each other things we really want? Think of all the poor wives opening boxes of black chiffon nightdresses that are too tight for them, while their husbands receive ties they wouldn’t be seen dead in.’

‘It’s a hard life for some,’ he agreed. Then, raising his voice, ‘Here comes Miss Ghastly.’

Laura was wearing a Father Christmas costume, with a large white beard, not so securely hooked behind each ear.

‘Oh, no, it’s Father Christmas. Silly me. Merry Christmas, Father Christmas.’

Laura burst out laughing and her beard fell off. She sprang onto the bed. ‘A clockwork mouse,’ she said, ‘and a pack of weeny little cards, and chocolate money and a tangerine – I had to eat the money because I was starving to death. I wouldn’t have otherwise. How ghastly am I, Dad?’ She stroked his face with sticky fingers. ‘How ghastly am I?’

‘Probably the ghastliest person I’ve met in my life.’ He gave her a kiss. Her face was hot with excitement. She sighed contentedly. ‘And you never know what ghastly thing I’ll do next, do you?’

‘Haven’t the faintest idea. Now, sweetheart, I’ve got to get up.’

Jemima, who had been watching them with great affection, said it was time for breakfast.

‘I want to have it wearing my beard.’

When she had finished undoing Laura’s pigtails and combing out her silky honey-coloured hair, she said, ‘You can go upstairs and tell the boys to come down for breakfast, too. But don’t wake Simon. He’s tired and said he would save up for lunch.’

JULIET AND NEVILLE

‘I don’t mind in the least. I can’t think why you’re bothering to talk to me at all.’

Everything she said was not what she meant, he thought. It made conversation very exhausting.

He had a bit of a hangover. It was true that he hadn’t done anything about her for weeks – probably months – but he hadn’t expected her to be so icy and dramatic about it. He tried again. ‘My darling Juliet, you have to understand that most of my time is not my own. I work in a very competitive field—’

‘And you’re in love with someone else.’

‘What on earth makes you say that?’

‘I’ve heard people talking about you. Your new girl. You take her everywhere with you, even have her back to your flat.’

There was a longish silence, while they trudged through the snow in Richmond Park. ‘You might like to know – you might care to know – that I’m not in the least in love with Serena.’

This much was true: he did not need to say that Serena was in love with him, that they had had the odd tumble in the sack because she had been so importunate. ‘I am working with her a lot this season because the new magazine wants to feature her as their top model so of course we’ve gone about together.’ He took her shoulders and pulled her round to face him. ‘You know perfectly well that you are the person I love. And it’s not my fault that you’re seventeen.’ Beneath her absurd make-up, her eyes were full of tears and her lower lip was trembling. ‘Even if you look like a cross between a panda and a clown, I still adore you.’ He gave her a shower of hurried little kisses, ending with a kiss on her mouth. It was like watering a garden after a drought: her face lit up, positively sparkled with excitement and joy.

She flung her arms round his neck. It had come right.

‘He’s called a Belgian hare, but really he’s a rabbit.’

Laura gazed at him, entranced. ‘Can I stroke him?’

‘He might not like it. He’s awfully new, you see. Mummy gave him to me for Christmas. I wanted a parrot, but they were too expensive. Dad gave me a python. I’ll show you him in a minute.’

‘I’m not sure if I like snakes.’

Georgie gave her a severe look. ‘But I’m sure I’d get to like one,’ she said hurriedly.

Georgie opened the rabbit’s cage. The rabbit remained still; his ears were flat on his back and he crouched, poised for nothing very much. Only his nose was quivering. Georgie stroked his thick chestnut fur.

‘Couldn’t we give him some food?’

Georgie put his hand into one of his deep pockets. ‘Ow! I forgot Rivers was there. He’s in a bad temper because I’ve had a lot to do settling the python, as well as Morris, of course.’

‘Who’s Morris?’

‘This rabbit. His name is Morris – it’s just come to me. Rivers will have eaten all the best food.’ Georgie pulled the rat out of his pocket, its jaws firmly clenched round a carrot. Laura admired the way he calmly detached the carrot and gave it to her. ‘You can feed him if you’d like.’

‘Oh, thank you, Georgie.’

But when she pushed the carrot up Morris’s nose, he remained motionless, was not interested either in carrots, or anything very much. The Zoo Room, as Georgie called it, was really one of the icy cold ex-sculleries that were stuck onto the house like limpets. They were mostly unused, and Georgie had taken the largest to keep most of his animals and all their clobber. Tortoises were hibernating in an old wine crate. Rivers had a cage where he lived when Georgie was at school. Morris and the python had new cages hastily built yesterday after Georgie had been warned of the zoo’s two new inmates.

At that moment the twins burst into the room, shouting about tea being ready.

Rivers, meanwhile, had climbed onto Georgie’s neck, and remained there, nibbling his ear very delicately.

‘He’s apologising,’ Georgie said.

‘It was all most agreeable,’ Miss Milliment said, once she had been levered into Villy’s car. ‘There was only one thing that mystified me, that I didn’t quite understand.’ She was sitting in front beside Villy, with Roland silent in the back.

‘What was that?’