Facing the Light (23 page)

*

The armchairs in Nanny Mouse's cottage seemed small even though they weren't really, Rilla decided. She wasn't at all keen on the sage-green Dralon pretending to be velvet and the button-backs, which looked very pretty but weren't a bit comfortable. The refreshments provided by Miss Lardner for Sean and herself were more suited to a dolls' tea-party or a teddy-bears' picnic or something: fondant fancies in pastel colours and Earl Grey tea, which should have been called Pale Grey, for that was its colour. The cups were pretty, but they, too, had something of the miniature about them, with their delicate handles and faded pattern of pale pink roses.

I don't care, Rilla thought, biting into an achingly sweet square of iced sponge. She was happy simply to sit here in Sean's company, happy that he'd asked her to join him, happy that what Chloë had whispered to her at lunchtime (
he really fancies you, Rilla. I can tell
 …)
might actually be true. She was reluctant at this stage to admit, even to herself, how attracted she was to him, but all the evidence was there and she considered it now, while Sean was gently speaking to Nanny Mouse.

When he stood within touching distance, she found herself short of breath. When he wasn't anywhere to be seen, she looked for him. When she was alone, she indulged in fantasies she'd thought were the exclusive province of the under-twenties. When she was with other people, her mind wandered. When she was near him, she felt as though parts of her were at melting point, and when she walked beside him she forgot all about her feet and could have walked for hours and hours and followed wherever he wanted her to go.

Oh, guilty as charged, m'lud, Rilla thought. I've got it bad. I've got it dreadful and what if nothing comes of it? Can I take the hurt? This was a sobering thought that made her put down the teacup she was holding. She helped herself to another fondant fancy, a mauve one, while she considered the ghastly possibility that Chloë was wrong and that the signals she'd been reading since last night were just … nothing. Only Sean being charming and nothing to do with liking her in particular. What if he was like that to every woman he met? The truth is, she told herself, you hardly know him and you're behaving like a teenager. And besides, she thought, what about Ivan? Thinking of him, trying to imagine him back in London, was like peering at something very far away. In her present state she could hardly remember what it was about him that she'd liked, and the moment he came into her mind, he slipped out again as though he was of no consequence whatsoever. I'll deal with all that stuff, she thought, when I have to, and I may never have to.

Rilla looked round at all Nanny Mouse's photographs. Christening ceremonies were well represented on her mantelpiece. There I am, she thought, in Leonora's arms,
and that must be Leonora herself with Maude and Ethan Walsh. One image, framed and hanging on the wall, caught her attention. It's Daddy, she thought, with Gwen in his arms at her christening. She was a vision cocooned in white lace. Daddy looked so handsome. Rilla had never seen her father, but from the photos that she'd been looking at for most of her life, he did have a certain foxlike charm. It was a black-and-white photograph, of course, so that you couldn't see his hair, but she knew it had been reddish because hers was, and everyone had told her from her earliest days that she resembled him. She'd always envied Gwen her dark hair and uncomplicated colouring. Most people she knew thought that being a redhead was something of a mixed blessing, and although Rilla was used to her own auburn curls by now, it had caused her some problems when she was younger. Everyone expected her to be short-tempered.

Sean smiled at her from across the room and something in her leapt and glowed. Oh, act your age, she told herself. She turned her attention to what Nanny Mouse was saying. The old lady seemed to be more like the person Rilla remembered, managing to stay in the present for most of the time at least. Maybe that was because Sean was such a good interviewer.

‘I remember the wedding. There weren't any relations on the bride's side. All empty the pews were in the church. They let me go. I was only a parlour maid then but Mr Walsh said I could be her lady's maid. Miss Maude's. I called her that before she was married and couldn't seem to get out of the habit. She was a pretty thing, but quiet. I'm as much of a mouse as you are, she said to me once. She was, too. Hardly opened her mouth.'

‘And Ethan Walsh loved her very much,' Sean said, his voice making the words a statement rather than a question. He hoped that his remark would change the
subject. Nanny Mouse was muddling her weddings. Ethan and Maude had eloped. She must have been thinking of Leonora's wedding to Peter, just after Ethan's death.

‘Funny way he had of showing it!' Nanny Mouse said this with such firmness that it seemed to tire her. She stopped talking and began to stare at a point in the middle distance and pick at the fabric of her skirt with one hand. When she next spoke, her voice was quite different, wavering and uncertain, and her memory had gone sliding through the years from one wedding to another. Rilla listened for clues.
Mr Peter
. That was her own father, so she must be thinking of Leonora. Sean gently reminded her of Maude, and her early days at Willow Court.

‘Maude? Yes, you'll find her in the garden most likely. She's planting a border. No yellow, she hates yellow flowers. I expect you're surprised because people like yellow flowers generally, don't they?'

Rilla felt tears pricking in her eyes. Poor old Nanny! God, I hope I don't live to be as confused as that! She's making polite conversation now. I wonder if she knows who Sean is?

‘Leonora was very ill, you know,' Nanny Mouse said confidingly, leaning towards him and lowering her voice. ‘She got soaked through, you see, and took a dreadful chill which turned into pneumonia, I think the doctor said. Such a high fever, for days and days I was washing her down with damp cloths. And when they had the funeral, I didn't know who to be with. I didn't know. It was so hard to choose, but I chose my baby, because she was still alive. Stood to reason that the living come before the dead. Oh, dear, but I didn't like to think of my Maude all closed up in that coffin.' Tears fell from Nanny Mouse's eyes and she blinked.

Sean handed her his clean handkerchief and muttered
something about not distressing herself. Then he changed the subject. ‘What did Maude do while Ethan was painting? Did she help him at all? Give him advice? She was an artist, too, wasn't she? Before they married?'

Nanny Mouse seemed frightened. She shrank back into her armchair and turned pale and began to mumble to herself under her breath, blinking and holding both hands up in front of her face as though Sean were about to hit her.

‘Don't distress yourself, Nanny,' he said quickly. He laid his hands soothingly on hers and stroked them. ‘It's all right. We won't talk about that if you don't want to. You can tell me whatever you like about Maude. You choose. Tell me about the garden again.'

Nanny Mouse looked at Sean as though she had no idea what he could possibly be referring to. She pulled her hands away from his and sat up straighter. ‘He has to have her with him. Don't you think that's odd? I think that's odd. What sort of a man needs his wife there every minute while he works? Cook says she hears him throwing things. I'm not one to gossip, you know. I never speak ill of anyone without good reason. Only the way he goes into those long silences and doesn't even pass the time of day with her … well, is it any wonder she's got so thin and pale? She'll hardly look at the child. Unnatural, I call it. Well, she does look of course, she's looking all the time in a manner of speaking. Sits there with that blessed book of hers and scribbles and scribbles and I know what goes on. I don't dare say, though. He's warned me. He took me aside in the scullery last night and I've got his fingermarks on my arm, see …' She pulled back the sleeve of her dress and showed Sean her wrinkled forearm, marked with nothing more sinister than age-spots.

This outburst tired Nanny Mouse and her head drooped on to her chest.

‘That's splendid, thank you very much,' Sean said. ‘Don't worry, I'll leave you to rest now. We'll come and see you tomorrow and bring a camera so that you can be on the television.'

Even the magic word television failed to rouse Nanny Mouse. Her eyes were closed and Miss Lardner, who'd been sitting quietly in a corner listening to the conversation, stood up and said, ‘Miss Mussington needs to rest now, I'm afraid. It's all been a little too much for her.'

‘I understand,' Sean said, and added, ‘Don't worry, we'll see ourselves out.'

Rilla said, ‘Thank you for the tea, Miss Lardner. Everything was quite delicious.' She went over to Nanny Mouse and bent down to kiss her.

‘Goodbye, Nanny,' she said. The old lady's eyes opened and for a second they were out of focus as she struggled to understand who was crouched in front of her. Then she smiled. ‘Rilla! How lovely to see you, dear! You're quite the lady now, aren't you? Not a little girl any more.'

‘No, not a girl any longer. I'll come and see you again soon.'

Nanny Mouse plucked at Rilla's sleeve. ‘She'd never have agreed to it if she hadn't been frightened to death. D'you understand? She lived in fear. All the time. Fear of him. Yes.'

Outside Lodge Cottage, Sean exhaled as though he'd been holding his breath for a long time.

‘Well …' he said. ‘Who do you think she meant? Maude? Or Leonora?'

‘Maude. It has to be. Leonora makes a point of not being frightened of anything. And besides, my father died very young and she's been a widow for most of her life. What Nanny Mouse was describing sounded like a really brutal man.'

‘I'm sure you're probably right. Ethan Walsh is
beginning to emerge as something of a domestic tyrant.' Sean shook his head. ‘Of course you can't learn very much about a person's character from the art they produce.'

They began walking together up the drive to the house, and the works of Ethan Walsh and his relationship with his wife were the last thing on her mind. She wished the avenue of scarlet oaks could stretch and extend itself and go on for miles and miles. She wondered what she could say next. If this silence goes on, she thought, it will become a proper silence and not just two people walking along quietly together. ‘I want …' Sean began, just as she said, ‘I think …' They laughed and Rilla said, ‘You start.'

‘Right. I wanted to say thank you for being there while I was filming this morning. I realized too late that some of those pictures in the drawing room probably wouldn't be your favourite Walshes. All those lakeside scenes. I'm sorry if it was hard for you.'

‘No, not at all. I can look at pictures all right.' Rilla stared at the tips of her shoes as she walked through the gravel, listened to the sounds that their footsteps were making. She looked up at Sean. ‘It's only the real thing I can't take.'

‘Still …' Sean stopped and took her hand. Rilla turned to face him, suddenly aware that her heart was beating very fast.

‘I won't be at supper tonight,' he said. ‘I've promised the crew I'd go and eat down at the pub with them. I wish I didn't have to.'

‘No, that's all right. I understand.' Rilla smiled. ‘It'll be another family circus I'm sure. I don't think you'll be missing much. Most of the time, we're all just talking either about arrangements for the party or else Efe's plan and what should be done about that.' She was aware that
she was filling the air with sound to cover up how foolish she felt at being so disappointed.

Sean said, ‘I expect you'll need to have another cigarette, though, won't you? Like last night?' Rilla felt his hand tighten on hers, and she found it hard to speak in a level voice.

‘Oh, yes, I always do. This time, though, I might have my cigarette in the gazebo. Do you know where that is?'

‘I do.' He grinned at her. ‘I'll be there. At about midnight, say? Can you bear to wait up till then? It's awfully late.'

Rilla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She could scarcely believe her own daring. How was she going to keep her excitement under control for another six hours? Where was Beth? She'd understand how thrilling this was, this assignation. Yes, Rilla decided, that was the proper old-fashioned word for it: assignation. They'd begun walking up to the house again, but he hadn't let go of her hand. He kept hold of it until they were almost at the front steps.

*

‘Are you listening, Mum? And Dad too, I suppose, but mainly Mum.'

Gwen looked up from the large, hard-backed notebook open in front of her on the kitchen table and nodded absently at Chloë. James was sitting next to her, reading the newspaper. Where did he find the time to read when there was so much to do? She was too preoccupied with the current list (checking to see that arrangements were in hand for parking on the day of the party and had she let everyone know who needed to know) to take in the detail of what her daughter was wearing, but got a general impression of black hung about with metal and wished that Chloë would put on something more like what Beth was wearing. She felt that it was somehow unfair that
Rilla's child looked elegant even in a T-shirt and jeans while hers would have done a good job stuck in a cornfield to scare the crows. She was instantly ashamed of this thought, and made an effort to smile at Chloë and not sound as though she were dissatisfied with her in any way.

‘I'm just going over my lists,' she said. ‘There are so many of them. I suppose after the party I'll reach the stage where everything is crossed off every one of them, and by then it'll be too late to do anything about disasters.'

‘Won't be any disasters, Mum, don't worry.' Chloë stretched her arms out above her head. Philip had come into the kitchen with her and was now leaning against the wall. James put his newspaper aside.