The Black Swan (40 page)

He was not a passionate man. There had been no intensity in his lovemaking. Ignorant as I was of such matters, that thought had only just occurred to me. He was a kind, gentle, sensitive person. His great purpose really did seem to be to comfort me. Sometimes I felt he understood more than anyone else what I had suffered through the loss of my father. I could not have had a more gentle, more kind husband. When we retired and I was alone with him he somehow made me understand that he would make no demands on me. I was upset, he implied. I was going through a bad time. I would get better soon, but in the meantime I needed to be quiet. I needed sleep.

I was grateful to him and at the same time I was grappling with myself as to whether or not I should tell him. The thought came to me that I could become free of him, dissolve my marriage as Belinda had done; and then marry Joel.

If Belinda had achieved it without too much trouble, why should not I?

I knew what Belinda’s reaction would be. She would say I was a fool not to try. But it was different in her case. She and Henry Farrell had parted; they had quarreled violently; whereas from Roland I had had nothing but love and understanding and I knew that he cared for me deeply.

How could I hurt him? And yet … what of Joel?

If I went to Joel I should never be able to forget Roland; and if I stayed with Roland I could not get Joel out of my thoughts; it seemed that I should be beset either by deep disturbing regrets or a perpetual longing for what I had missed.

Each day I woke to this uncertainty. Should I? Could I? How could I go on like this?

So … how grateful I was to Roland for leaving me in peace.

We had our horses now. It was a relief to be able to ride. The three of us went out together to explore; but mostly Roland and I were on our own. How many times, during those rides, was I on the verge of telling him everything; but I never managed it. I could not help being pleased that he had to spend a certain amount of time in Bradford on business. That left Phillida and me on our own.

Phillida was very kind and gentle. She was interested in maintaining good health and thought herself something of an authority on the subject. I remarked that she must miss her health shop in London.

“Oh, who knows?” she said blithely. “I may find one in Bradford. They are springing up all over the country. They are such a boon. I’ll guarantee I’ll cure you, Lucie. It’s taken a little time.”

“Cure me?”

“Well … all this nervousness.”

I was silent and she put her hand over mine. “You must take more exercise. I’m so glad Roland had the horses sent. You looked in such good health when you came in from your gallop. I thought, this is the way. A healthy body means a healthy mind. I believe some sage said that once, and how right he is! All the same, you need these little pick-me-ups from time to time.”

“You and Roland have been so good to me.”

“Of course we have. We have good reason to be.”

“Just that meeting on the ferry … and all this. … Life is strange, isn’t it?”

“Very strange … and wonderful. I believe it is what we make it.”

“Oh, you believe in giving fate a little jog, do you?”

She threw back her head and laughed. She had very hearty laughter. “Well, why not? Who’s going to help you if you don’t help yourself? Aren’t you thrilled because this afternoon we are going to see the house?”

“Oh yes … it will be interesting.”

“You don’t sound wildly enthusiastic.”

“Well, Phillida, I’m not sure. We seem to be so far away. …”

“Nonsense. Once we are settled you’ll be able to go and stay at Manorleigh … and go to London. Don’t forget Roland has business there, too.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So cheer up. I thought we’d have an early lunch. Then we’ll go and see this wonderful house. Roland should be back soon. Listen … I think I can hear him.”

It was Roland. He looked anxiously at me as soon as he came in.

“Looking forward to seeing the house, Lucie?” he asked almost pleadingly.

“Yes, of course,” I lied.

We set out after lunch and rode in the direction of the big town—through the little village of Bracken which seemed to consist of one long street and an inn and a church. I caught a glimpse of the shop which seemed to sell a variety of goods; it had a sign over it indicating that it was a post office. I remembered what Mrs. Hellman had told me about collecting letters.

There would be none to collect. I had not given anyone the address. I must write to Celeste and Rebecca and to Belinda perhaps. It would be comforting to hear from them and would make me feel less remote.

In due course we found the house. It stood back from the road in pleasant grounds. We rode up the drive and when we arrived at the house a groom came out to take our horses.

A man and woman came out; they were obviously expecting us.

“You are of course Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Fitzgerald,” said the man. “Do come in. We are delighted that you have come to see the house.”

“It is very charming,” said Phillida. “What lovely gardens! I do like this type of architecture.”

“I always think it is one of the most interesting periods,” said the man. “By the way, I am George Glenning and this is my wife.”

We shook hands and then went up the stone steps to the front door with its spiderweb fanlight and highly polished brass knocker. Then we were in the hall which was lofty and spacious. There was a staircase at the end of the hall; it curved gracefully upward.

“The main rooms are on the first floor,” said Mrs. Glenning. “There is a rather fine drawing room. In fact, it can make a ballroom, can’t it, George?”

He replied, “Well, at times we have put it to that use. But let our visitors decide for themselves. Shall we start on the ground floor?”

We went through several rooms. I was thinking, I can’t live here. I have to get away. Of course, it is a charming house, and of course Roland wants his own home. But I shall have to explain.

We went into the drawing room. It was quite magnificent, but I could not concentrate.

Mrs. Glenning was looking at me expectantly. Phillida was so enthusiastic, declaring her delight in the house.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald,” began Mrs. Glenning. “Are you feeling …?”

I tried to pull myself together, to feign an interest in the house.

Phillida said in a soothing voice, “My sister-in-law has not been very well lately.”

She was looking at Mrs. Glenning as though trying to convey something to her.

Phillida went on. “She is really loving it all, aren’t you, Lucie?” She spoke to me almost chidingly, yet indulgently, as one might speak to a child.

“Yes, yes,” I said quickly. “It’s very charming.”

“Do you like this window?” asked Mrs. Glenning. “It’s typical of the period, isn’t it, George? George looked up a few details when we came here. He was very taken with everything.”

“I can imagine most people would be,” said Roland.

Phillida had put her arm round me protectively. “It’s lovely, isn’t it, Lucie?”

And so on … through the house. It certainly was delightful and I thought that if Joel were with me and it was for us how thrilled I should be.

We reached the nursery—two light, airy rooms at the top of the house. There were bars across the windows.

“They were put up for the safety of the children,” Mrs. Glenning explained. “But they could easily be removed.”

Phillida said quickly. “Oh no. They might become very useful.”

“You mean when the children come?” said Mrs. Glenning almost archly.

“Well … I was thinking of that,” said Phillida with a faint air of embarrassment.

When we had seen everything we were invited to take tea in the drawing room.

“How kind!” said Phillida. “Oh, I do like this house. I hope it is going to be ours.”

Roland was looking at me anxiously. “I … I think we shall have to talk it over together,” he said.

The Glennings were looking at me rather curiously.

“But of course,” said Mr. Glenning. “You cannot make a hasty decision. We have some more people coming to see it tomorrow though … so remember, if you should decide you want it, you should get into touch with us immediately.”

“It’s the sort of house that won’t stay long on the market,” said Phillida. She looked at me almost pleadingly. “You
do
like it, Lucie?”

“I think it is a very beautiful house,” I said.

“That’s wonderful.” She was now looking expectantly at Roland.

“Lucie and I will want to consider a few things,” he said.

Phillida sighed and looked faintly … but indulgently … exasperated. It was typical of her that she would have liked Roland to have come to a decision right away.

“If you would like to look over it again …” said Mrs. Glenning.

“That wouldn’t be necessary for me,” said Phillida. “Roland, you too. You love it, don’t you? I can see you do. It’s just what we had in mind. And it’s in the right spot. It’s even near the town, and of course there’s the station nearby so that we could easily get the train to London.”

“It certainly seems to fulfill our requirements.” Roland was looking at me, too, but I said nothing.

We had had tea and were preparing to leave. I was in the hall with Roland, and Phillida had gone back into the kitchen. There was something she wanted to look at again.

Roland was talking to Mr. Glenning about the Adam doorway and I had moved a little apart. I heard Phillida’s voice. “I think it is almost certain. We love it … my brother and I. My sister-in-law … she has been rather unwell. We feel we have to be careful.” There was a pause. A whisper.

Then Mrs. Glenning said, “Poor lady. I do hope she will soon be well.”

“We are going to make sure that she is,” said Phillida. “It is just a matter of a little care, I am sure.”

They came out and joined us, smiling brightly.

I thought Mrs. Glenning looked at me oddly, almost pityingly. We said good-bye and Roland promised them that he would be in touch very soon.

When we reached Gray Stone House, it looked even more grim than ever in comparison with the house we had just seen.

“What a difference!” said Phillida. “I do hope we don’t have to stay here much longer. I thought the house was lovely. Just what we wanted. What didn’t you like about it, Lucie?”

“I … I thought it was a fine house, too,” I said. “It’s just that I am uncertain about being here.”

“Still hankering after London and Manorleigh? Oh well, that’s understandable, isn’t it, Roland? You’ve always been there. Naturally you feel a little strange at first. But it will pass. When you are feeling better, you’ll see what a wonderful place it is.”

“Phillida,” I said firmly. “I am not ill.”

“Oh no, of course not. You’re just a little upset. You’re going to be perfectly well. You’re going to love it here. Roland and I are going to look after you.”

I smiled faintly at her. It was ungrateful of me but I felt irritated.

That night I did talk to Roland.

We were alone in our room. Phillida had brought our nightcap and said good night.

I burst out suddenly, “Roland, I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve got to explain.”

“Yes?” he said. “Tell me what it is. I know something is on your mind. It’s not only the …”He hesitated. He knew I hated it to be referred to as the vision or the ghost.

“It’s Joel Greenham.”

He looked at me in astonishment and I went on quickly, “Joel and I were engaged to be married. It was not official but it was understood between us. Then he went away and was reported dead. You see, that was why. … Everything seemed hopeless. My father dead … Joel, too. I shouldn’t have done it, Roland. I should never have married you.”

“Lucie!”

“Wait,” I went on. “Listen to what I have to say. You see, Roland, I love Joel. I always have, ever since I was a little girl. It was only because I was so young that we were not already married. But we were going to announce our engagement on his return.”

“And now he has come back,” Roland said sadly. “I think I understand. You were convinced that you would never see him again and you were very unhappy. And you liked us … you liked Phillida … and me. We got on so well together. We were happy together, weren’t we?”

I nodded.

“And,” he went on, “you would have been happier—if he had not come back.”

It was true, I supposed. I had begun to be reconciled. I could picture quite a happy life ahead with Roland. I thought we should have children and they would have made up for a good deal. Phillida was my good friend.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But he has come back.”

“You have seen him?”

“Yes. When I was in London.”

“And he has talked to you … about us?”

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

I did not answer and Roland went on. “I know what he wants. He wants you to leave me and go to him.”

There was silence. I looked at him miserably and felt I could never be happy, whatever happened.

“And you?” he went on.

“I … I …”I stammered.

He smiled rather wanly. “What do you want, Lucie? Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

I could not bear to answer.

“I love you very much,” he said.

“Yes. I know.”

“I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“You have always been so good to me. I can never forget that.”

“But you love him.”

“I am fond of you, Roland … and I should hate to hurt you.”

“The time we have been together has been wonderful for me. I don’t know whether I could let you go. But it is what you want. It is what you are asking me.”

For a few seconds there was silence.

Then he went on, “I knew there was something. Ever since you have been back from London … before that even … I thought everything was not well.”

He stood up and went to the window and looked out. It was as though he could not bear to look at me.

I went and stood beside, him. I looked down, half-expecting to see that dreaded figure. There was nothing … only the empty moorland. The wind had risen and it moaned like someone in pain as it ruffled the grass.

He turned to me and gripped my hand. “Lucie, don’t do anything rash, please.”