Holding On (3 page)

These three, Fox, Ellen and Caroline, had formed the framework for the children's lives and Caroline knew how deeply Fliss's roots had sunk into the ground from which her family had sprung, sending out tender feelers which climbed and twined themselves about that framework. Of all the children she was most deeply knitted into the fabric of The Keep and the family. She had gone off bravely to school and to college, and later to her job in Gloucestershire, but it was here that she belonged, where she most loved to be.

Caroline thought: It would be easier for her to go to Hong Kong if she wasn't pregnant. Fliss will hate to have her baby so far away from us all.

Aloud, she said, ‘Come on down and talk about it. You can't stop people worrying. It's best to be open about it. Stiff upper lips are all very well but sometimes a good weep is just as beneficial. Don't bottle things up, Flissy dear.'

Fliss smiled at her gratefully. ‘I'm a bit wound up about it all,' she admitted. ‘Silly, isn't it? There's nothing to it, really. Miles says that it's what naval wives have to expect. They have a saying, you know: “If you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined.” You shouldn't marry a sailor and expect him to stay at home.'

‘That's quite true,' agreed Caroline, following Fliss out on to the landing. ‘But then Miles has no family to leave. And it isn't him having the baby.'

Fliss descended the stairs from the nursery quarters on the second floor thoughtfully. She couldn't argue with Caroline's observations but in the end it made no difference. The situation had to be faced and there was no use whining about it.

‘I've been very lucky,' she said as they reached the landing. ‘Starting as a naval wife with Miles in a shore job was a tremendous bonus. He's hardly been away at all. I can't tell you how thrilled he is to be given the command of HMS
Yarnton
. He's terribly excited about the whole thing.'

‘Yes,' said Caroline, remembering a time when she had imagined herself to be in love with Miles. ‘Yes, he would be. And about the baby, too, I expect.'

Fliss's answer was rather a long time in coming and slightly confused. ‘Well, he is but it's rather . . . You know. Perhaps the timing is a bit unfortunate . . . Of course, I'd rather have my baby here but I couldn't possibly leave Miles for that long. He'd be very hurt . . .'

Watching Fliss, noting the downcast face, the thick fair hair pulled back into a loose plait, the slender figure with a long Indian skirt wrapped about the still-narrow waist and a cheesecloth shirt knotted above it, Caroline was seized by a variety of sensations. She felt the old tenderness for the child she had known, a new respect for the woman Fliss was becoming, and an overwhelming relief that she herself had stood aside from the complex bonds which tied the wife and mother. As she watched Fliss struggling with her confused emotions, she was profoundly thankful that she would never know that particular division of loyalty. Who should come first: husband or child? She slipped an arm about the slim, square shoulders as they passed through the hall.

‘A glass of sherry,' she suggested. ‘Yes? You shall sit and have a drink while I peel the potatoes. Ellen is over with Fox, changing his sheets and sorting him out. We'll have a quiet half an hour.'

In the kitchen Mrs Pooter's descendent, Polly Perkins, lay in the enormous dog basket. Mrs Pooter and her son, Mugwump, were both dead, but Perks was just such another large, woolly Border collie, crossed with spaniel or retriever, with a rusty coloured coat, flopping ears and dark brown eyes. She was of a more passive disposition than the greedy, cunning and ungrateful Mrs Pooter but she had Mugwump's sense of fun, and she enjoyed her walks on the hill behind The Keep or in the deep, quiet lane where Caroline had exercised her earlier, after tea. She lay curled in a ball, nose on tail, sleeping peacefully, and the mere sight of her brought some measure of tranquillity to Fliss's anxious mind.

As usual she looked around the kitchen with pleasure. For as long as she could remember it seemed unchanged, her favourite place. Here, when they had returned from Kenya, she had felt safest, sharing the responsibility of her siblings with Ellen and Fox, playing dominoes at the kitchen table or kneeling on the window seat, staring out over the neat, multicoloured fields to the distant hills. The hill sloped away so steeply behind the house that the kitchen was poised high up in the air and the small Fliss had been enchanted to be able to look down upon the birds that circled below her.

Fliss sat down in the rocking chair by the Aga and watched Caroline's sturdy reassuring figure moving to and fro, fetching glasses, pouring sherry. The warmth from the Aga, the slow ticking of the clock, the geraniums on the deep windowsill and the soft gleam of the china on the dresser, all these things soothed the senses and Fliss felt, suddenly, pleasantly drowsy.

It had been almost a relief when Miles had gone off to Portsmouth on a course and she had been left alone to brood over the news of his posting to Hong Kong. It had come swiftly on the heels of the discovery that she was pregnant and she had barely had time to digest either piece of information.

‘Did we want a baby this soon?' Miles had asked. It had been a cheerful enough question but Fliss's stomach had lurched oddly. She had expected him to be as thrilled as she was and she did not know how to answer him. A childish disappointment had gripped her and she'd remained silent. He'd glanced round at her, puzzled, and then smiled at her expression. ‘Silly child,' he'd said, going to her and taking her into his arms. ‘I'm delighted, of course. That goes without saying, surely? It's just a bit of a shock. I thought we were going to wait for a while. Enjoy ourselves and so on. It's going to be rather a tie, you know.'

‘It must have been when we were on leave,' she'd said, almost apologetically, trying to hide her own feelings. ‘We were a bit careless . . .'

‘I
told
you to go on the Pill,' he'd said reprovingly. ‘Too late now . . . This'll bump the mess bill up a few quid, I can tell you . . .'

Now, as she sat sipping her sherry, listening to Caroline recounting Perks's latest exploits, Fliss realised that what she'd felt was a kind of resentment. Miles's attitude was that of an adult reproving a child for some thoughtless misdemeanour rather than husband and wife discussing their first child. When he'd returned from his visit to the Appointer, jubilant with the news of his posting to Hong Kong, it had been her turn to be shocked.

‘But how can we?' she'd asked anxiously. ‘With the baby and things. Of course, it's wonderful news, darling. Terribly exciting. But how will I manage with . . . you know, having the baby and so on?'

‘Good heavens, there's a British military hospital in Hong Kong,' he'd cried impatiently. ‘That's not a problem. Don't worry about that. God, it'll be fantastic to have my own command. Tell you what, I'll book a table at the Cherub. This calls for a bit of a celebration.'

It had hurt that he'd been so much more excited at the news of his posting than the discovery that she was expecting their child. She'd told herself to grow up and had made a determined effort to enjoy their evening out. Still, it was a relief to be on her own, to have the small, narrow house to herself for a while and to come over to see her family at The Keep. As she finished her sherry she decided that she was simply feeling tired – probably quite normal under the circumstances – and that she'd been suffering from a sense of humour failure.

‘Come on,' she said, getting up and joining Caroline at the sink, ‘I'll help you with the vegetables. Have you heard from Kit lately? She was thrilled about the baby. She wants to be a godmother . . .'

Later that day in London, in the roomy second-floor flat in Pembridge Square, Kit was thinking about her cousin Fliss, and musing happily over the news of the expected child.

‘Hannah,' said Kit thoughtfully. ‘Hannah's a nice name, isn't it? Or Humphrey, if it's a boy? We want something different. A name that will make him or her stick in the memory. What do you think?'

Her flatmate Cynthia Jane – nicknamed Sin by Kit in student days – poured some more wine into her glass and propped her chin in her hands.

‘Hannibal,' she suggested idly. ‘Got a bit of a ring to it, wouldn't you say? Imagine his first day at school and Fliss saying, “This is Hannibal Harrington.” That would stick in the memory all right.'

‘Oh, shut up,' said Kit good-humouredly. ‘But you could be right. Perhaps not an alliteration. Pity. I really like Hannah. OK then . . .' She riffled the pages of the little book which she was studying. ‘Georgina. Or George, of course.'

Sin rolled her eyes. ‘You really think that they're going to allow you to choose the name of their first-born?'

‘I always think up the names for the family,' protested Kit. ‘I'm known for it.'

‘For the dogs, yes,' admitted Sin. ‘And for cars. Nicknames, even. But for new babies? Do you honestly think that Miles is going to stand by while you christen his child?'

‘Fliss said, “You must come up with a really good name,”,' said Kit. ‘I
am
the child's cousin and godmother.'

‘Can you be a cousin and a godmother to the same child?' mused Sin.

‘Why not?' demanded Kit. ‘I've always longed to be somebody's godmother. It sounds such fun. You take them out from school and buy them tea and leave them all your money when you die.'

‘Well, that'll be a treat for the poor thing,' murmured Sin. ‘I can't imagine why, but I always thought that there was some religious connection . . .'

‘Well, of course there is,' answered Kit impatiently, seizing the bottle and eyeing the inch or two left in the bottom meaningly. ‘I shall get Uncle Theo to help me out with that bit.'

Sin sat up straight. ‘Gosh,' she said softly. ‘I never thought of that. Hours closeted with darling Theo discussing the state of my soul.'

‘What d'you mean?' asked Kit suspiciously. ‘What has
your
soul got to do with this?'

‘Listen,' said Sin earnestly, pushing her plate aside and leaning forward. ‘How about if
I
become the kid's godmother and you just stick with being good old Cousin Kit? You can still have terrific fun—'

‘Forget it,' said Kit firmly. ‘I know your game. This has nothing to do with the baby; it's simply a ruse to spend time with Uncle Theo. Everyone knows of your passion for him. It's shocking. And him a man of the cloth and in his seventies to boot!'

‘He has ruined my life,' sighed Sin. ‘Are you sure I couldn't be godmother? It might be the making of me.'

‘I can just see Miles agreeing to it,' scoffed Kit. ‘Especially when you flirt outrageously with him at every opportunity, even at his own wedding. What with him and Uncle Theo . . .'

‘I have a thing about older men.' Sin sipped sadly at her wine.

‘True. And every other sort of man.' Kit closed the book. ‘Maria is going to do for you one of these days if you're not careful. She's terribly jealous.'

‘Maria's so
easy
,' admitted Sin. ‘I hardly have to work at it at all. Just one glance at dear Hal, a meaningful little smile, and her hackles are up and she's practically snarling. Dear old Flissy doesn't mind a bit when I do the same with Miles, but then . . .' She paused.

‘But then what?' asked Kit curiously, when the silence lengthened.

Sin shrugged, frowning a little, and shook her head.

‘Come on,' persisted Kit, surprised. ‘What were you going to say?'

‘Look,' said Sin at last, ‘I haven't really thought this through. It just came into my mind. I'm not sure . . .'

‘Oh, for goodness' sake,' cried Kit impatiently. ‘Spit it out. Who do you think you are? Wittgenstein, or what? It's not going to be cast in tablets of stone. Just say it.'

‘I was going to say that Fliss isn't in love with Miles. Not like Maria is with Hal. That's all. Except that I hadn't really thought about it before but now I
have
thought about it, it still seems that it's true.'

London sounds drifted through the open windows: the rumble of distant traffic, children playing cricket in the little square, snatches of music from someone's radio . . .

Kit thought: She's right. There isn't that passion between Fliss and Miles. Of course, he's so much older, and Fliss is much more serious than Maria, but it
was
there, that kind of battened-down excitement, between Hal and Fliss before the family found out and put the mockers on it. Oh hell . . .

‘Of course it means nothing,' Sin was saying rapidly, ‘they're such completely different types. Fliss and Maria, I mean. Well, come to that, so are Miles and Hal but—'

‘It's OK,' said Kit. ‘I can cope with this. Don't go on about it.'

‘And they're having a baby,' added Sin, unable to prevent herself attempting to cover the fact that she'd put her foot in it. ‘So you see I'm probably quite wrong.'

‘Oh, shut up,' said Kit crossly. ‘It's too late now. You've made me think about it. And you're right. There's something missing. But what is it? It could be that they're simply a staid, happily married couple, not given to flights of fancy and so on, but it's not quite like that, is it?'

Sin sighed again. ‘It's like he's her father. He's kind and considerate and just the tiniest bit condescending. You know? The pat on the head, run along, darling, kind of thing. He loves her, no question about that, but now that he's won her he's settled back into his previous middle-aged routines, except that now he's got a wife in tow.'