Holding On (35 page)

Elaine underlined Maria's beliefs. She'd gently pointed out that Mrs Chadwick was only the boys'
great
-grandmother, a very old lady whom they hardly knew. They had two quite young and lively grandmothers, she'd reminded him archly, with whom they had very happy relationships, so it was surely unnecessary to worry them with morbid thoughts? Hal pointed out that Fliss's twinnies had formed a very strong attachment to their great-grandmother but she'd hastened to draw his attention to the fact that Mrs Chadwick had brought Fliss up, taking the place of her mother, so in her case this was quite reasonable, especially as, since Miles's parents were also dead, the twins had no other grandparents at all. She'd added that the twins, being two years older than Jolyon, were able to remember Mrs Chadwick when she'd still been fit. Poor little Edward, she'd said reproachfully, had no memory of her other than as an invalid.

Hal had backed off at this point although, later, he'd suggested to Maria that the two of them might go down together leaving the boys with her mother. She'd behaved more like the old Maria then, pouting and hunching as a child might, and saying that she couldn't bear sick people, that illness gave her the creeps . . . It was odd, Hal had reflected, that what could be appealing in a twenty-one-year-old was simply irritating ten years on.

In an effort to subdue this irritation he'd deliberately brought to mind his grandmother's words spoken during their last talk on that snowy Sunday morning. She'd talked about her hopes for the future of The Keep, putting the responsibility into his hands, advising him, warning him, extracting promises. She'd been weak but alert and he'd made no attempt to dissemble – though he was rather surprised – when finally she asked him if he were happy with Maria.

‘As happy as most couples are,' he'd answered rather shortly.

Her next remark had thrown him. ‘I often think that I was wrong about you and Fliss,' she'd said reflectively. ‘I was afraid that it was a silly infatuation on her part and a protective instinct on yours but I think I misjudged both of you. Am I right?'

His long silence had answered her question and she'd smiled so sadly that he'd felt compelled to comfort her.

‘It was impossible for any of us to be certain at the time,' he'd said quickly. ‘Fliss was so young and we'd got used to each other. I could have stood firm, you know.'

She'd shaken her head. ‘There was too much pressure from your mother and me,' she'd said, ‘and there was also the question of your fathers being twins and the effect on any babies you might have. You were too young to stand up against it all. Now, I wonder if it mattered, after all.'

He'd laughed a little bitterly. ‘Rather too late to be wondering.'

She'd watched him, lightly touching his clasped hands, thinking things through. ‘Maria is the mother of your children,' she'd said finally. ‘Promise me you'll do your best to make a happy home for the three of them.'

‘I have no intention of leaving her,' he'd answered drily.

‘Perhaps not,' she said with some of her old sharpness, ‘but there is a difference between merely doing your duty and investing your actions with a positive attempt at love.'

‘Is that what you believe?' he'd asked curiously. ‘That I am merely doing my duty?'

‘I know how much you love your boys,' she'd assured him, ‘but children are very sensitive to atmosphere. You must be wholehearted. You chose Maria, it was your decision, and you should always try to see things through.'

‘And supposing,' he'd said, after another silence, ‘that despite my best – my wholehearted – effects she decides that
she's
made a mistake and leaves
me
?'

‘In that case you are absolved,' his grandmother had replied, ‘and you have the freedom to make your own happiness, assuming that it is not at the expense of
any
—' she'd stressed that word – ‘of the children.'

‘Thank you,' he'd said with his former dryness. ‘I'll bear that in mind.'

‘Oh, Hal,' she'd reached for his hand, ‘I only ever wanted what was best for you. The problem is that the old always think that they know what that is. Forgive me if I have done you harm.'

He'd put his arms about her then, holding her frail body close. ‘There is nothing to forgive,' he told her. ‘Don't worry. All will be well, you have my word.'

‘I entrust it all to you, my dear boy,' she'd said, ‘with my blessing. Dear Hal, your father would have been proud of you . . .'

 

As they turned in through the gate, Hal found that he was subconsciously bracing himself and, as he removed the boys' gumboots and unwound their scarves, he knew with a strange certainty that some kind of confrontation was imminent. They went into the kitchen where the table was already laid for tea and Maria and Elaine were waiting for them. Elaine remained sitting by the table but Maria hurried the protesting boys away to the small cloakroom to wash their hands. Hal smiled quickly at his mother-in-law as he washed his own hands at the sink.

‘The boys have been talking about that cake all the way home,' he said cheerfully. ‘I'm looking forward to a piece myself.'

Her answering smile was distracted, a gesture at good manners, and his heart sank even further.

‘If I could have a quick word, Hal . . .'

He noticed that Maria had closed the kitchen door behind her and he knew with absolute certainty that she and her mother had set this up between them.

‘No need to make it a quick one, Elaine.' He tried not to make too much of a point of it. ‘I have a feeling that Maria won't be back for a minute or two.'

Her glance was sharp, suspecting him, but he raised his eyebrows as if surprised by her suspicion and she nodded, as though accepting an invitation.

‘It's simply that Maria's father and I have been wondering about the future.' Elaine moved one or two knives. ‘You know, we both believed that The Keep would be yours when your grandmother died but Maria tells me that this isn't so.'

Hal dried his hands on the roller towel behind the door and leaned against the sink, folding his arms across his chest. His silence unnerved Elaine and she looked away from his steady gaze for a moment as she marshalled her argument. He looked at her dispassionately, noticing that the short, well-cut hair was still a determined brown, her face carefully made up.

‘The thing is, Hal, and this is what concerns Frank and myself, Maria says that you are reluctant to explain exactly what the situation is. Now, I don't want you to think that Maria is telling tales out of school.' She laughed lightly at such a foolish idea. ‘No, indeed. We have asked her what the situation is, it's only natural that we are concerned for her welfare, and she is so muddled that Frank and I discussed it and decided to ask you outright.'

His gaze did not waver. ‘Ask me what, Elaine?'

She bit her lip. ‘I think it is only right that we know your plans for the future,' she said sharply. ‘Maria is our daughter, after all.'

‘I thought that you already knew our plans for the future,' he answered mildly. ‘In so far as I know them myself. I shall finish the staff course, get my promotion to Commander – I don't think there's too much doubt about that – and either be given a sea-going command or perhaps get a desk job at the Ministry of Defence before I go back to sea. Maria seems to be reluctant to move from this house, although I've suggested that we should buy one, so we must hope that we can continue to rent it. The owner lives in Hong Kong so I think we're safe for a while. I don't think you and Frank need to worry about us.'

Elaine was sitting very still, her eyes narrowed, lips compressed, as she watched him and he saw quite clearly exactly how Maria would look when she was in her fifties. The thought depressed him.

‘I think you are deliberately misunderstanding me,' she said icily. ‘I'm talking about the future of The Keep.'

‘The Keep is my grandmother's home, Elaine.' He spoke gently. ‘Maria and I don't discuss what we might do with your house. Why should we discuss The Keep?'

Her cheeks brightened but her eyes were cold. ‘You gave us to understand that you were your grandmother's heir.'

‘I might have said that she was leaving The Keep in my care,' he replied quickly. ‘She thinks that I would be the one of her grandchildren most likely to live in it but I have always told Maria that she also intended it to be used for the benefit of the entire family.'

‘It is a ridiculous plan,' she snapped. ‘Once she is gone that kind of setup simply won't work. It needs a matriarch at the head of a large family to keep the other members in their place. You are not old enough for such a role and Maria would hate it. It is the end of an era and one must face up to it.'

‘What do you suggest?' he asked with deceptive meekness, as one seeking advice.

She was too angry to notice the set of his jaw. ‘You should explain to your grandmother that it is unfair for her to burden the next generation with her obsolete ideas. You must have permission to move in on your own terms, even sell it if you should wish to do so.'

‘Assuming that my grandmother is no longer with us, what do you suggest happens to the other people who live there and whose home it has been for more than twenty years?'

Her eyes slid away from his then, but she was not prepared to back down.

‘If The Keep was sold, no doubt there would be money to house them elsewhere,' she muttered. ‘Or, even if you felt strongly enough to let them stay, at least this plan that it should be some kind of hotel for the rest of the family should certainly be discounted. In all fairness The Keep should be left solely to the eldest son and his descendants and I think that you should try to carry this point with your grandmother before it is too late.'

‘Well, I can try.' Hal shrugged. ‘But even if I were to succeed in overturning the Trust nothing would change. Fliss would certainly continue to run The Keep along the lines my grandmother has laid down.'

‘Fliss . . .?' She goggled at him. ‘What . . .?'

‘My father and hers were twins,' he told her, ‘but her father, Peter, was older than mine by some twenty minutes. Fliss is his oldest surviving child and, given your reasoning, would inherit The Keep. She holds the same views as our grandmother and would want to see The Keep kept as a refuge for the family.'

They stared at each other. ‘I think you have deliberately misled us,' she said angrily.

He frowned a little. ‘Are you saying that you would have refused to allow Maria to marry me if you hadn't believed that I was my grandmother's sole heir?' he asked.

She swallowed, sensing the trap, and he smiled.

‘Let's forget it, shall we?' he asked. ‘My grandmother will leave plenty enough funds for the upkeep of the house and grounds. Maria won't be out of pocket, I promise you. Is that what's worrying you and Frank? No need. We can go on exactly as we are now or we can buy our own house. She need not live at The Keep at all. Susanna and Gus would probably be perfectly happy to live there. Or even Fliss and Miles. If Maria finds the idea so awful—'

‘Nonsense,' she said quickly. ‘Don't be so foolish. I was merely trying to clarify matters. We thought, Frank and I, that it was best to clear up this muddle—'

‘I'm sorry that you thought it was a muddle,' he said cheerfully. ‘It was always quite clear to me and I thought that Maria understood when I explained it to her. To be honest I don't think it's anyone else's business, certainly not while my grandmother is still alive. I've been led to believe that Maria is your heir but I wouldn't dream of discussing how your house should be utilised whilst you and Frank are alive. The Keep is a family home and I'm sure that there will always be someone ready to live in it if we don't choose to. Maria should have said she didn't understand – or, rather, that you didn't. There was no need for all this. Still, it's always better to clear the air, isn't it? The boys must be dying for that cake. I'll go and tell her that the coast is clear, shall I?'

He went out, swallowing down an odd desire to burst out laughing, and she was left alone, glaring after him.

‘I'd never have believed it,' said Kit gloomily as she peered into cupboards, banging doors upon their paucity of interesting culinary content, and deciding finally that it must be eggs again for supper, ‘that in your declining years you should become an opera buff.' She shook her head in a kind of reproachful despair.

‘Hardly a buff,' protested Sin, leaning against the wall of the arch which separated the kitchen itself from the eating area. She smoothed her claret-coloured, crushed velvet dress with a touch that hinted at voluptuousness. ‘To be honest, I don't really know my
Tosca
from my
Turandot
but I'm working on it.'

‘This is clear,' said Kit severely. ‘I've had no sense out of you for weeks. And don't think I haven't seen you boning up on it.
Puccini for Beginners. Wagner in Six Easy Lessons.
'

‘Seriously though,' said Sin, sitting down suddenly on the nearest chair at the square oak table. ‘I had no idea it was all so wonderful. I cry buckets and Andrew pretends not to notice, just keeps passing me enormous handkerchiefs and ignores my sniffs. The front of my dress gets soaked every time we go—' ‘And I thought you'd been spilling your beer,' mused Kit remorsefully – ‘and afterwards I have to go to the cloakroom and do my make-up. When I heard Pinkerton shouting, “Butterfly, Butterfly,” and she was lying there dead I thought I'd never stop crying.'