Holding On (20 page)

The other room, which was their bedroom, held the big, sagging bed, a walk-in cupboard containing their clothes, two small rickety bamboo tables, one each side of the bed, and a pine chest of drawers. On the uneven walls, which were painted cream, Gus had hung some Victorian cartoon prints to which Susanna had added some of her brightly coloured posters advertising various strange and long outdated products.

Their wedding presents had done much to add character to the flat. Fliss and Miles had given them a big patchwork quilt, which lent the aged bed a touch of class, whilst Mole had found several big square Persian rugs to add warmth to the well-worn drugget which covered the top floor of the cottage. Susanna and Gus, used to draughty nursery quarters, large unheated houses and the privations of boarding school, felt themselves to be surrounded by luxury. Uncle Theo and Grandmother had given a joint present, a most sophisticated radio – they both still called it a wireless – which quite overwhelmed Gus with its range and quality of sound and which had pride of place in the sitting room on its own special little oak table, given by Caroline and Fox.

Hal, clubbing together with Kit, Sin and Jake, had given them a year's supply of wine, delivered monthly by the Wine Society, whilst Maria, disapproving of this reckless gesture, had presented them more formally with a Royal Doulton dinner service, white with gold-leaf edging. Gus's family had sensibly supplied bed linen and kitchen utensils, and Janie's present of six sturdy coffee mugs, hanging on hooks from a shelf in the kitchen, completed the picture of homely comfort.

Sitting on the step, Susanna stretched luxuriously. Presently the busy day would begin; there were the negs to be delivered to the printer and a new client was coming to see them to discuss ideas for his restaurant. She had some typesetting to do and after lunch some proofs had to be taken to a customer over at Broadhempston . . .

She loved the studio almost as much as she loved the upstairs flat. In the studio itself were two long trestle tables which held their drawing boards and at which they worked, opposite to one another. The light box stood in the corner, at one side of the door to the kitchen and store room, and the typesetter stood at the other. At the bottom of the stairs was the light trap at the entrance to the dark room, which contained the enlarger, process camera and processing trays. It was all very compact, with its flavour of bustle and efficiency, but there was a very friendly atmosphere, too. Gus's old transistor radio stood on the windowsill pouring out music and there was always a mug of coffee for any client who dropped in unexpectedly.

Friends had warned that working together might put a strain on their marriage but Susanna could not imagine this to be a problem. On the contrary, being together in the studio, discussing prospective work, alternatively cursing and joking about difficult clients, snatching a hurried sandwich at lunchtime, seemed to be strengthening the bond between them. Everything was shared. Of course, it might be different when the babies came along. It would be impossible to have small children in this working environment – although she could come back to it once they started school – and there was little room for them in the flat, but at the moment the question didn't arise. The business was doing well but not well enough yet to move to a bigger place so as to start a family; that must wait for a year or two. It was something to look forward to, to plan for, and meanwhile she and Gus were terribly happy.

Strains of ‘O ruddier than the cherry' grew louder as Gus emerged from the bathroom, towelling his hair vigorously, and passed into the bedroom. Presently the bedroom door slammed and he came into the living room behind her and, standing up, she went in to him.

The seas, lashed by the south-westerly gale, piled into the shore in mountainous heaps, thundering over the smooth sand, crashing against the craggy rocks, creaming in across the beach. Salty foaming spray, glittering diamond-like in the bright sunlight, was flung far up the cliffs almost obliterating Burgh Island, which looked perilously isolated, cut off from the mainland, as the waters raged about it.

‘
“They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in great waters; These men see the works of the Lord: and his wonders in the deep
.” That's the Bible, isn't it, sir?'

Theo stirred in his seat. The car was parked in the deserted car park above the beach at Bigbury and both men had been silent for some time, awed by the magnificent spectacle being enacted before them.

‘It's a psalm,' he answered. ‘Often used in services at sea. Wonderful imagery. You like the psalms?'

‘I don't be a great one for reading,' admitted Fox cautiously. ‘I be too slow, if you take my meaning, but I like the . . . the imagery, if that's what you call it. Makes me feel things inside and then I think that there's much more to it all if only I could go beyond.'

‘Beyond what?' asked Theo, when it seemed that Fox had finished speaking.

‘Beyond me,' answered Fox promptly. ‘If I could just let go of something, all the things that tie me down, then I could enter in.'

‘In?'

‘Into what's beyond,' explained Fox patiently. ‘That's what it's all about, isn't it, sir?'

‘Yes,' said Theo at last. ‘Yes it is. It's forgetting ourselves and opening up to God. Waiting in silence upon him.'

His natural diffidence and conviction of his inadequacies made him dread any conversation regarding religious beliefs, especially with the members of his own family. It had been so much simpler within the framework of the Navy; facing a chapel full of sailors held no fears for him. They accepted him for what he was and expected certain patterns of behaviour. He'd been very happy as a navel padre but he suspected, looking back, that he should have chosen the contemplative life . . .

‘It was the collects that Ellen loved,' Fox was saying. ‘Knew 'em by heart, she did. She had her favourites. One about casting away the works of darkness and putting on the armour of light. And another one about evil thoughts assaulting the soul.' He sighed and shook his head. ‘How I do miss her,' he murmured. ‘She's read 'em to me of an evening and I went off to bed the better for it.'

‘
“Almighty God, Who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves; Keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls; that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
.” Is that the one?'

‘It is indeed.' Fox looked pleased. ‘Fancy you knowing it off pat like that. I've got her Prayer Book, you know. Caroline gave it to me, said that Ellen would like me to have it and I felt that she was right. Keeping me on the straight and narrow, she'd've said, but I can't never find what I'm looking for.'

‘I could mark them for you,' offered Theo tentatively. ‘That collect is for the second Sunday in Lent and the first one you spoke of is the collect for Advent.'

‘What a memory you've got,' said Fox admiringly. ‘Now if only I had something useful in my head . . .'

‘Nonsense, my dear fellow,' said Theo impatiently. ‘It is my
work
. I know nothing of runner beans or marrows or when to plant seed potatoes' – (‘Best to get 'em in before Good Friday' murmured Fox, deprecatingly) – ‘but it's a poor priest who doesn't know his Bible or the Prayer Book. I suspect that you've been far more useful during your life than I have.'

There was a silence. Fox was rather shocked at such a suggestion but could think of no suitable rejoinder and Theo was lost once again in the contemplation of the seascape before him. Seagulls rode the billowing waves and wheeled, screaming, in the turbulent air, their wings a dazzling white against the azure sky. Cliffs stretched away on either side, the trees, continually tormented and shaped by the prevailing winds, bending low beneath the force of the gale.

‘I think that it would be unwise to venture out for the hamper,' said Theo thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps we should drive on to a quieter, more sheltered spot.'

Fox beamed at him. ‘Don't want to go calling out the coastguard,' he agreed. ‘Be blown straight over the edge, I reckon.'

‘On we go then,' said Theo cheerfully, switching on the engine and grinding the gears about. ‘And don't forget what I said about Ellen's Prayer Book. Let me have it and I'll put some markers in it. There are one or two passages I think you might enjoy.'

‘I'll do that, sir,' promised Fox, sending up a prayer of grateful thanks that Theo had chosen the correct gear and was backing away from the edge of the cliff. He'd had a vision of them both sailing straight out into the teeth of the storm. He bit back a chuckle that was part hysteria; put your life in his hands sometimes and that was a fact . . .

Fox thought: But there's no one's hands I'd rather be in than Mr Theo's. Hope he sees me out . . .

The car jolted out of the car park and down into the deep narrow lane where the wind swirled through gateways, roaring tumultuously above the hedgerows where the briony berries burned like ruby fire amongst the dry brown leaves and faded grasses.

 

In the drawing room, Freddy was playing Schumann's
Davidsbündlertänze
, shutting out the sounds of the wind keening round the house, rattling at the windows, howling in the chimney. Once she had loved the noise that the elements made: rain beating on the roof, thunder rolling in the distance, the south-westerly gales roaring in the trees. It pleased her that these forces of nature defeated man's puny attempts to restrain them; she delighted in their mighty power and lofty indifference. Lately she was less hardy; she was increasingly aware of her mortality and of her own impotence in the face of old age.

It was Ellen who had really shown up this weakness. Her passing had been the first breach in the bulwarks and now they all faced the implacable advance of the rising tide. Theo, as usual, laughed at her fears but then he had his faith to sustain him whilst she fought against his comfort, refusing to accept his beliefs. Sometimes she wondered if it were sheer childish petulance on her part; a kind of foolish pride; a refusal to acknowledge a God who would allow such terrible cruelties as the loss of loved ones. Theo might talk about freedom of choice, about love, but was it possible to love that much?

‘You must find God first,' he'd replied. ‘The love follows afterwards. But you must really want Him, more than anything else in the world.'

He'd told her the story of the novice who felt that he was well on the path to sainthood. His teacher had taken him down to the lake and held his head under the water until he'd nearly drowned. When he finally released him he told him, ‘My son, when you want God as much as a moment ago you wanted air, then you will be ready to begin your journey.'

Freddy shook her head. How could you want something you didn't understand? Yet it was Theo himself who made it impossible quite to reject it all. There was something about him, some serenity, a detachment; yet he had a compassion which encompassed anyone who crossed his path. Sometimes this had roused all her worst instincts. Why should he waste his time and money and care upon strangers? She'd raged pointlessly whilst he smiled, turning away her wrath, gently showing her the baseness of her jealousy, whilst holding her firmly in his love. How empty her life would have been without him . . . and now he risked himself, driving Fox about the countryside, tootling about like a couple of adolescents . . .

Freddy took her hands from the keys and glanced at her wristwatch. Today they had taken a picnic lunch but Theo had promised to be home in time for tea.

‘Do you think it's wise?' she'd pleaded with him. ‘The weather forecast is terrible. A tree might come down on top of you, anything might happen in this wind. Gales are forecast.'

His eyes had smiled at her fear, making light of her terrors.

‘Are you certain the word hurricane wasn't mentioned?' he'd asked. ‘Or even a tornado?'

She'd glared at him, hating him because she needed him so much, because he risked himself.

‘Must you go?' She'd sunk her pride. ‘Can't it wait for another day?'

‘Are you sure there will be another day?' His words had struck terror into her heart and, seeing this, he'd tried to soften the blow. ‘Do you know that the dear fellow has never been to Bigbury? Yet the children have gone there so often that he longs to see it. I think we must seize this opportunity. The sun is still warm and the sea should be magnificent today.'

‘Wait until the spring,' she'd pleaded – and he'd looked at her strangely, as if he wasn't seeing her.

‘Fox might not be able to wait that long,' he'd said gently.

Her hand had fallen from his arm and he'd bent to kiss her, promising to be back for tea – and now it was nearly half-past three. She turned round on the stool, her heart weighty with a formless dread, her hands icy cold.

There was a light tap at the door and Caroline's rumpled grey head appeared. Freddy stared at her. Had Caroline received some message? Surely she would have heard the telephone?

‘Sorry to interrupt. It's such a horrid day that I decided to light the hall fire. It's rather a solemn thought, isn't it? First fire of the winter and all that, but I thought we needed it. It's turned cold and I thought it might cheer us all up.'

Freddy stood up and walked towards her, assisted by the chair backs. She felt weak and old. Caroline watched her, holding the door open so that she might pass through into the hall.

‘Thank you,' she said, pausing beside her. ‘It was exactly what was needed. I suppose I must wait a little longer for my tea. Theo said that they would be home by four o'clock.'