Holding On (39 page)

‘I expect he can. So.' She put her elbows on the table. ‘How's the Senior Service then? It's great that you've got some leave, isn't it? We'll think of things to do.'

She sounded like the small Susanna then, making plans for the long summer holidays, and Mole felt a sudden pang of nostalgia; a piercing longing for those past days of the childhood which they had shared so happily together.

‘I shan't really mind anything,' murmured Freddy, ‘as long as I don't have Crimond.'

Kneeling beside her, swallowing back his tears, Theo made an effort to smile just as she intended that he should. Planning Freddy's funeral was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

‘It's no good pretending,' she'd said to him earlier. ‘It's the last thing I'm ever likely to organise and I want to get it right. What about hymns? I don't want “Abide with me”. Too dreary for words.'

She'd taken him by surprise and he'd found it difficult to respond. Her matter-of-fact approach helped him to keep control of his own emotions but it underlined that terrible finality of it all. He'd been reading to her – they'd moved on to
Emma
now, ‘much more entertaining than that boring Fanny,' she'd said – and he'd thought she'd fallen asleep. He'd quietly put the book aside and entered into his own thoughts, brooding on the days ahead, reflecting on the immediate past. It had been a busy week but Freddy had stood up to it well, especially well considering that it was clear that she knew that she was taking a final farewell, one by one, of the members of her family.

Kit had been the first to arrive with Prue, whom she had collected on her way from London, detouring through Bristol. It was plain that they'd had a good talk during the remainder of the drive together.

‘I don't know what to do, Theo,' Prue had said, as she'd done so many times across the years. ‘Can Freddy be serious? And even if she is, I'm not certain that I ought to just sell the house and move down, although the temptation is enormous, I must admit.'

‘Then why not?' he'd asked, amused as always by her intensity. ‘You know how much we'd love to have you here.'

‘Darling Theo.' She'd put her arms about him and hugged him tightly. ‘You've always been so good to me.'

‘I'm simply being selfish,' he'd told her, touching the short feathery hair which was now more ash than fair. ‘Caroline is lonely without Ellen or Fox and you get on so well together.'

‘Well we do,' Prue had said firmly. ‘That's quite true. But, oh, Theo,' the smoky blue eyes – Kit's eyes – had been round with anxiety, ‘it's such a big step, isn't it?'

‘My dear girl,' he'd said gently, ‘you don't have to commit yourself to anything. Stay for six months or so and see how you like it. What does Kit say?'

‘Kit thinks it's a great idea.' Prue had smiled, as if remembering some pleasing conversation. ‘She and Hal worry about me, bless them, and I think they'd be happy to know that I was here with you. As Kit said, instead of just visiting me she'd be visiting all of you as well.' She'd sighed. ‘It's certainly a very tempting thought.'

‘Then I don't see what the problem is,' Theo had answered.

‘I suppose,' Prue had said slowly, ‘it's that I can't quite believe that Freddy means it. It's such a . . . a volte-face, isn't it? I mean, let's face it, Theo, I've never been her favourite person, have I? I want to be certain that she means it and that it wasn't something she said when she was at a low ebb.'

‘I'm quite certain that she means it.'

Even as he'd spoken the words, Theo had experienced a shaft of doubt. Was it possible that, when Freddy saw Prue, she might undergo a change of mind? He had been deeply moved by the alteration in Freddy's attitude, not just over the question of Prue but also in a wider sense. There was a tranquillity which had brought him a sense of joy. He had feared the end might be clouded by the old railings against God and fate, or made painful by fear. Instead, she seemed to be uplifted by some inner contentment which he prayed would last. He'd had a momentary terror that Prue's actual presence might shake that peace. He'd waited long enough to see her draw the chair close up to the bed and reach out her hand for Freddy's and then he'd left them.

Sitting in the adjoining room, he'd waited, wrapped in prayer. He could hear their voices murmuring together, rising and falling, heard the chair shift suddenly and the sound of weeping. He'd risen then, going quietly to the door, lest he should be needed. Prue was on her knees beside the bed and the two women were holding tightly, each to the other, Freddy's thin hands clasped across Prue's back. Deeply moved, he'd turned away quickly, going back to his seat, his own cheeks wet with tears. Some time later, Prue had come in to him, shutting the door behind her whilst Caroline assisted with Freddy's supper.

‘I'm going to sell the house in Bristol and move down,' Prue had said, her eyes like stars. ‘Oh, Theo, she really wants me to. I can't believe it. I always felt she resented me for marrying Johnny and she said that in a way she did. She said that she's been a very jealous woman . . .' She'd broken off and shaken her head. ‘There's a change in her, isn't there? She's still the same old Freddy but there's a . . . a softness. No, that's not quite right. I can't quite put my finger on it . . .'

They'd talked quietly, happily, together and then Prue had slipped away, leaving Theo to send up a prayer of thanksgiving.

Hal had arrived even later that evening, driving down from London alone. He looked tense, preoccupied, but he'd been pleased to see his mother and sister and they'd spent several hours together in the drawing room whilst Theo had gone back upstairs to continue his vigil by Freddy's bedside. Kit had crept in later, kneeling beside the bed, slipping an arm about her grandmother's neck. ‘Hello, honey,' he'd heard her whisper, and seen Freddy's answering smile.

It was when Kit had gone that she'd talked about the funeral.

‘What is your favourite hymn?' he'd asked, after hearing her scathing opinion of ‘Abide with me'.

There was a long silence. When she'd spoken, her voice had been tired and he'd had to bend close to hear the words.

‘Which hymn is that, Theo?'

‘It's “Dear Lord and Father of mankind”,' he'd said after a moment. ‘So that is your favourite?'

‘One of them,' she'd amended. ‘I'd like that one. You'll read the lesson for me, won't you, Theo? You know the one? “
For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive . . . The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
” You've read it for so many of my family. For Bertie and for John. And for Ellen and Fox. You'll read it for me, won't you, darling Theo?'

He'd wept silently, his head bowed, the tears soaking the sheet. Her hand had gently stroked his hair, just as if he had been one of the children, as he'd wept out his own pain; the cruel weight of the love he had never shown her; the sense of failure at his inability to give her spiritual comfort; his future loneliness. Yet, even now, when it would have been such an emotional release to pour out his feelings, something had held him back; some strength which had saved him – and her – from such a confession.

Presently, she'd found his hand and held it tightly.

‘Let's not talk about it any more,' she'd murmured. ‘I didn't mean to upset you. Anyway, I shan't really mind anything as long as I don't have Crimond.'

He'd smiled then, as she'd intended he should, but they'd clung together for some while afterwards, until she'd drifted into sleep.

 

With Hal and Kit's departure Mole had arrived for a few days leave. The boat was alongside for some minor repairs and he was able to share the long vigils with his great-uncle and with Prue and Caroline.

 

Freddy grew weaker. Susanna came to her room, kneeling beside her, talking to her, explaining and describing, as if she were giving her grandmother a potted overview of the future. She'd already seen drawings of the barn and now Susanna was telling her the names of her putative family.

‘It doesn't matter if this one's a boy or a girl, you see,' she whispered breathlessly, ‘because Freddy will do for both and I shall see that they all know everything about you. Everything you did for us when we came back from Kenya and how we all were together, you and Ellen and Fox and Caroline and just how wonderful everything was . . .' and Susanna put her head down and sobbed as if her heart would break.

‘Don't cry, my darling. Don't cry.' Freddy pushed back Susanna's dark hair, smiling at her, wiping away her tears. ‘We had such fun, didn't we? I shan't be far away, you know. I shall see all your babies . . .'

‘It won't be the same,' sobbed Susanna. ‘I won't be able to see you doing it.'

‘You must be very brave,' said Freddy. ‘Think about your baby now and when he arrives you must pass on to him all the love and security that we gave to you. Nothing can truly separate us, my darling, Gus will tell you that.' She nodded to Gus, who was hovering anxiously at the door and he came over, bending to kiss her sunken cheek and then raising Susanna who hugged Freddy tightly before allowing herself to be led away.

So the hours passed. People came and went but Freddy remained sunk in a hazy stupor. Once she opened her eyes to see Fliss sitting beside her. For a moment she was reminded of Alison at about the same age, with the tiny frown between her brows and the firm set of the lips, and then Fliss smiled and she saw herself when young. Her mind wandered, trying to remember what it was that she'd done to Fliss, something wrong . . . As she frowned, her fingers plucking restlessly at the sheets, Hal came quietly in to stand beside Fliss, and she saw him put a hand upon her shoulder, saw her smile up at him, and she realised that it must have been in some dream that she had separated them and made them unhappy.

‘Be happy, my darlings,' she mumbled. ‘Be happy together,' and drifted away again into her half-world.

 

When she next woke the sun was shining into the room. She lay for some time trying to remember the events of the last few days. Had she been ill? She felt light and free, young and happy. Something had been weighing her down, something heavy and exacting. She frowned, raising her head a little – and then she saw him, sitting near the window reading. Theo. She remembered now. In her dream she had been forbidden to tell him that she loved him, forbidden to explain that she'd made a mistake about Bertie. There was something that made it wrong. Was it the boys? But Peter and John would learn to love him, too, and anyway, what did anything matter but this great passion? It must be seized with both hands; nothing should be allowed to impede it . . .

Her slight movement had attracted his attention. He was closing his book, smiling at her. For a brief second she wondered what he was doing in her room and then she guessed. Of course! He had dared to come into her bedroom because he could no longer deny his passion for her. He loved her, too. Why ever had she doubted it? She lifted her arms to him and he came to her at once, falling to his knees beside her.

‘Darling,' she cried – but oddly her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘Oh darling, I love you so. I've never told you but I love you more than anyone ever . . .' She paused to catch her breath, wondering why she felt so weak. She must have been ill but she could remember nothing. He was smiling down at her and, as she raised her hands to smooth back his dark hair, she saw the wrinkles, the liver-spotted skin. In a flash of horrifying clarity she realised that she had betrayed herself. At this final moment, as she had feared she might, she had thrown away a lifetime of discipline, all her sacrifice had gone for nothing and now it was too late . . .

‘I love you, too, Grandmother,' said Mole, gently laying her back on her pillows. ‘I've never told you, either. Silly, isn't it? I'm so glad we've done it now. Thank you for saying it first. I've wanted to so much but I suppose I just couldn't quite do it without a bit of encouragement.'

‘Mole?' She gazed up at him wonderingly, aware now of her mistake. ‘Dear Mole.'

He beamed at her almost shyly and she smiled back at him, her heart so full of thanksgiving that she felt that it was about to burst. Her last most vital prayer was answered; in her moment of weakness she had been protected. Her heart was too full to bear any more joy and, still smiling at Mole, she murmured the words which she believed now at the end of her life to be true.

He was still holding her hand when Theo came swiftly from behind him. Her eyes, though open, no longer saw him and Theo's sudden stillness alerted Mole.

‘Is she . . .?'

Theo put an arm about his shoulders whilst Mole stood rigidly, gazing down at the calm face whose eyes gazed as if at someone who was particularly beloved though as yet still some distance away.

‘Did she speak?' asked Theo gently.

Mole frowned a little. ‘She was very weak but she said that she loved me and I told her that I loved her, too.' Theo's hold tightened a little, guessing that the exchange would have meant a very great deal to Mole. He heard him swallow. ‘She looked quite happy,' he said slowly, ‘and then she said something like, “You won't delay if I do not fail to hope.” Something like that.' He shook his head. ‘I didn't understand it. And then she looked past me as you came in. I didn't realise at once that . . .'