Holding On (11 page)

‘That assumption might be going too far,' he murmured.

Sin and Mole had now joined the group around the gramophone and Miles chuckled.

‘Unable to choose between them?' he suggested, his eyes on Sin, who had begun to gyrate, encouraging Mole to join her. ‘Lucky man.'

Jake smiled to himself. ‘If you say so,' he said courteously.

Maria stepped between them. ‘Any offers?' she asked. Her voice was brittle and, glancing at her, Jake thought that she looked near to tears. He bowed to her and swept her out into the dancers.

Unaware that they had been seen, Hal and Fliss still stood, confronting each other at the back of the hall. They'd bumped into each other, Fliss coming from the kitchen with fresh supplies, Hal going to fetch some more ice. He'd jumped back, opening the door for her and then stopped. Her fair hair was coiled high on her small head, corn-coloured wisps escaping about her face. She wore a long dress in soft sprigged cotton, gathered high under her breasts, and she looked delicate and frail and very sweet. He stared at her, frowning, holding the door but blocking her way. She stood quite still, grasping the tray tightly, gazing up at him.

‘Oh, Flissy,' he said at last. ‘Darling Flissy, you look so lovely.'

‘Thanks,' she said quickly. ‘You're looking pretty good yourself. And Maria, of course. I love her dress . . .'

‘Don't,' he said. ‘Don't do that.'

‘Do what?'

‘Be . . . well, kind of distant, as if we're strangers.'

He moved towards her and she clutched the tray more firmly, so that it pressed into his chest. He covered her hands with his own.

‘You'll be all right, won't you?' he murmured. ‘Going so far away. I shall miss you . . .'

He made it sound as if he'd just discovered the fact and her eyes filled with tears. His hands clasped hers more tightly.

‘Don't,' she whispered. ‘Please, Hal. It's not fair.'

He released her then, and stepped back a little. ‘But I shall,' he said quietly. ‘Take care of yourself, Fliss.'

Caroline came into the hall from the drawing room and they moved apart, he onwards to the back of the house, Fliss towards the long table which had been set up to hold the drinks and sustaining snacks.

‘There you are,' said Kit, appearing from the courtyard. ‘Come on out and dance. Actually, we need more men – but then is there ever a moment when one doesn't need more men? Are you OK, little coz? You need another drink by the look of it. Here we are. Let me fill up this glass for you. Now. Come on, honey, we might have to dance together just like we did when we were small . . .'

Kit woke early the next morning. She lay quite still for a few moments, her eyes shut, listening to the birds and the rustling of leaves. Presently she would go down to the kitchen and talk to Ellen whilst she made Fox's early morning tea. Kit knew that Fox's aching joints kept him awake for most of the night and that he greeted dawn with relief. She also knew that however early he arrived in the kitchen Ellen would be there before him, raking out the Aga, the kettle boiling on the hotplate. They were like an old married couple together and she could hardly imagine one without the other. How odd – and terrible – it would be if one of them were to die . . .

She stirred restlessly, unwilling to think about The Keep without its full complement of present inhabitants. Indeed, it was quite impossible to think of it at all without her grandmother in control, without Uncle Theo pottering about his quarters in the east wing on the first floor, or without Fox and Ellen – and Caroline, of course – keeping the place running smoothly. Fond though she was of her brother, the thought of him and Maria established at The Keep was too awful to contemplate. Now, if it had been Hal and Fliss . . .

Kit pushed back the bedclothes and swung her feet to the floor. Did she dislike Maria because she had displaced Fliss or was it simply a natural antipathy? There might be some other Freudian explanation, Hal being her brother, but Kit shrugged that off. After all, she would have been more than content to see Hal and Fliss married, to have Fliss as chatelaine of The Keep. That would have been right, somehow. Hal and Fliss belonged together – and to The Keep – in some indefinable way; like Ellen and Fox, for instance, or Grandmother and Uncle Theo. She suddenly realised that she had mentally named two couples who were not married . . .

Kit thought: How odd. Yet they are so
right
together. Or is it because they're
not
married that they are so content?

Confused and faintly depressed, she wandered over to the window and stared out at the familiar scene. Her bedroom was in the west wing, directly beneath Susanna's, looking out over the lawn with its long herbaceous border beneath the high wall. Behind the fuchsia hedge at the end of the lawn was the orchard with its bent and twisted fruit trees whose twiggy branches were covered with a silvery, crumbly lichen. Tall rhododendron bushes, whose scarlet and mauve glory was over now, hid the kitchen garden away to the right, and at the furthest point of the boundary stood Susanna's three tall fir trees. Kit had looked upon this scene in spring, when the fruit trees were washed over in a huge wave of blossom and drifts of daffodils grew in the grass beneath the rhododendrons, and in winter when the exposed bones of the garden lay still and silent, sealed beneath frost. Now, the summer was beginning to fade; fruit was setting on the ancient trees and Michaelmas daisies and tall Japanese anemones bloomed in the border, which was edged with a brilliant riot of nasturtiums.

Kit was hardly aware of them; she was thinking of Fliss and the conversation she'd had with her the night before. Both of them had had quite a lot to drink and they'd sat together on the wooden seat in the courtyard, watching the dancers and talking.

‘I
do
love him,' Kit had said of Jake. ‘I
do
. But is it the real thing, little coz? How am I to know? How awful if I married him and then fell madly in love with someone else.'

‘Oh, Kit,' Fliss had said, ‘it's a terrible decision to take. If you have any doubts at all then don't do it.'

Her voice had been grave and, looking at her profile in the dim light, Kit had seen the delicate features set in severe lines. For a moment she'd seen the resemblance to their grandmother and felt strangely frightened.

‘Don't look so serious,' she'd said, almost childishly, shaking Fliss's arm. ‘Don't, Fliss. What's the matter?'

‘But it
is
serious, Kit,' Fliss had answered. ‘Marrying the wrong person is . . . Well, it's a life sentence.'

She'd been staring straight before her, at the group around the gramophone, and Kit followed her gaze. Mole was dancing now with Janie, Miles with Sin. Jake was partnering Susanna but Hal and Maria stood apart, clearly outlined in the light which poured out from the hall. It was clear from their posture and gestures that they were arguing: Maria's arms were crossed tightly over her breast in utter rejection but, as they watched, Hal extended both his hands to her and then thrust them angrily through his hair when she shook her head.

‘Aah,' Kit had murmured thoughtfully – and glancing again at Fliss was shocked by her expression. ‘Oh, Flissy. Is it as bad as all that?'

For one brief moment Fliss stared back at her, jaw clenched in misery, a tiny frown between the fair feathery brows, her eyes clouded and distant. It had taken a moment or two for Kit's question to penetrate her thoughts and, as it did so, her face changed and lightened. She'd raised her eyebrows questioningly, swallowed some more wine and taken a deep breath.

‘As bad as what?' she'd asked lightly. ‘Oh, good heavens. I'm not talking about me, you twit. It's Hal and Maria I'm worried about. I've seen some of these problems in the Navy now, that's all. There's so much pressure, with all the separation and moving about, and Maria's not cut out to be a naval wife. She misses Hal so much.' She'd smiled then, dismissing Hal and Maria. ‘And as for
you
, well, I think Jake is simply lovely, I adore him, but marriage is something else again. Just don't do anything unless you're absolutely certain, Kit, it's not worth it.'

Jake and Susanna had jigged over to them then and there had been no more private talk. The four of them had danced in a little group until Hal had joined them, saying that Maria had a bit of a headache and had decided to go to bed. ‘
I'll
dance with you,' Susanna had said cheerfully. ‘Come on, Hal . . .'

Now, as she turned back into the room, Kit felt unsettled, anxious about Fliss, still undecided about Jake. There was only one place to go: down to the kitchen to Ellen and Fox. She would curl up in the huge dog basket with Perks and pretend that she was a child again, with no cares and no worries. She would put her cheek against Perks's warm hair and snuff up the lovely smell of warm, happy dog. Ellen and Fox would bicker, as they had done all down the years, and their voices would form a background of familiar sounds with the clinking of china, running water, scraping of chair legs on slate, and she would be able to sink into a kind of timelessness of peace and safety – until Ellen noticed her and there would be the usual exclamations . . .

Kit thought: I'm pathetic, really. Does everyone – even when they're grown up – need a place to go where they feel secure?

She thought about Jake. There was a similar aura about Jake; she tended to gravitate towards him when she felt blue – but was that enough to make her want to marry him? She remembered Fliss's words, ‘
it's a life sentence
' and shivered a little. She'd looked so . . . Kit cast about for an appropriate word. She hadn't just looked miserable or unhappy or as if she might be about to burst into tears, as she had earlier when Kit had found her in the hall holding the tray. No, it was something more than that. Kit frowned, trying to make her tired, hung-over brain work properly. Yes, that was it: Fliss had looked stern, grim, determined. As if she were coming to terms with something terribly difficult; overcoming something . . .

Kit thought: But it can't still be Hal. Surely she went through all that two years ago? It must be the thought of going out to Hong Kong and the baby. Poor old Flissy. Oh God, I shall miss her terribly.

She pulled on a shirt and her jeans, still brooding on Fliss and their conversation about marriage and remembering what Sin had said some weeks earlier. Fliss and Miles
did
look perfectly happy together but that special ingredient was missing: did it matter? Could one be just as happy without that exciting spark of chemistry? After all, one only had to look about to see that most couples managed without it, but did she, Kit, simply want to ‘manage'? Was Sin right and was Fliss simply ‘managing' with Miles? Certainly she'd never heard Fliss speak out so vehemently before. Of course, they'd both had rather a lot to drink . . .

The thought of hot black coffee carried Kit out of her room and down to the kitchen. Just outside the half-open door she paused, listening.

‘. . . and you know perfectly well that Caroline walks Perks in the morning. There was no call for you to get up early and go hobbling about. The idea! Never mind you taking it slowly. I know all about that. Get those wet boots off.'

‘She was up late last night, poor maid. Thought it would be a bit of a help.'

‘Of course,
you
weren't kept awake with all that music, I suppose? Dancing in the courtyard till all hours. Whatever next, I wonder.'

‘Oh, it weren't so late, maid. Very nice 'twas, too. Gave me a bit of company, like. Dancing, they call it. You and me could've shown them a thing or two, Ellen. Funny kind of dancing, if you ask me.'

‘Well, I doubt anyone will be asking your opinion. Dancing at my age! Just you sit down and get this hot tea inside you.'

Kit sighed with pleasure, pushed open the door and went in.

 

By Monday all the guests had gone and only the family remained at The Keep. Kit had driven away on Sunday afternoon after lunch, with her mother beside her to be deposited in Bristol, and Sin and Jake in the back. Julia had left after tea, following Hal's Sprite down the lane, and Fliss and Miles drove off an hour or so later. Janie went home by train next morning.

‘She really likes you,' said Susanna, as she and Mole stood on the platform of Totnes station, waving goodbye to Janie.

‘Yes,' said Mole thoughtfully. ‘I like her, too. She's very nice.'

‘I could invite her again, later on in the holidays,' suggested Susanna casually. ‘Might be fun.'

‘Yes,' said Mole again, thinking not of Janie but of Sin's staggering invitation.

‘Kit's going to France with Jake,' Sin had said, watching him, eyes bright, lips curved in a lazy smile. ‘The first week in September. Will you still be around? Or will you have gone back to Dartmouth?'

‘No,' he'd answered quickly – too quickly. ‘Well, not till the eleventh, I think.'

‘So,' she'd said, still smiling. ‘How about a few days in London? I'm sure there are some things you need. Or some old chums you'd like to look up. Would it be a problem?'

He'd known quite well what it was she was asking. Would his conscience be a problem? After this weekend he suspected that his grandmother was far too astute to view his staying with Sin, unless Kit was around, without a certain wariness. Of course, he had one or two friends who might be prepared to give him an alibi. Either way, it seemed, he would have to lie about it. He needed time to think.

‘I'll deal with that,' he'd said shortly, and she'd cast a surprised and delighted look at him.