The Christmas Angel (13 page)

‘You looked very serious,’ he observes. ‘Problems?’

‘Yes,’ she answers promptly, surprising herself. ‘Yes, my wretched brother is being a problem and I don’t know how to deal with him.’

He looks interested, sympathetic – and suddenly she begins to talk: to explain Adam and how he was born after several miscarriages and was a miracle baby: the longed-for son. As she talks, memories come rushing in: the places they lived in – South Africa, Western Australia – the long-haul flights back to school after the holidays.

‘Granny was still alive then at The Court,’ she says, ‘and I went to school in Truro so that she could take me out for exeats and come to athletics day and plays and things. Adam was such a funny little boy, very self-contained, very poised. I wasn’t jealous that he was still at home while I went off to school because I was six when he was born so I already had
my
own life going, if you see what I mean. I was old enough to be Mummy’s little helper and all that stuff. But I always looked forward to a time when we’d connect. I imagined it would be fun, this special sibling relationship.’ She shakes her head. ‘It never happened. I suppose the timing was all wrong. Six years is a big gap. When he was twelve and I was eighteen, Pa retired. They were still quite young but I think they’d got fed up with the travelling. He was with Rio Tinto Zinc. Granny died and he and Mo decided not to sell The Court but to live in it and do bed and breakfast to supplement his pension. For some reason, Adam hated it. He simply hated other people around and Pa cooking breakfast when he’d been a top mining engineer, with people like De Beers consulting him, and he and Mo travelling all over the world. It was as if it were all below Adam’s dignity. It got worse as he got older and he would never bring his friends home.’

She sits in silence for a moment, feeling slightly embarrassed at her outburst, wondering how Rupert will react or if he will tactfully change the subject.

‘I suppose,’ he says thoughtfully, ‘that it was difficult to admit to his friends that his father was no longer living, by the sounds of it, a rather dangerous and glamorous life but simply running a bed and breakfast establishment. You can imagine how he’d describe it, can’t you? Diamond mining; gold mining. For boys of that age status is everything, isn’t it? Rather sad for Pa and Mo, though.’

‘Well, it was,’ Dossie agrees, grateful for his understanding. ‘We all felt it, of course. It was as if he held us all at arm’s length, judging us, and he was ashamed of us …’ She says suddenly, and rather defiantly: ‘He’s a prig.’

Rupert begins to laugh. ‘Fair enough. But what is he doing
just
at this minute that is making him so particularly tiresome?’

She makes a face. ‘He thinks that Pa and Mo should move out. Downsize while they’re still young enough to cope with it.’

‘And then what? How does this affect him?’

She shrugs, hesitates. She feels she is being disloyal, telling him all these family things, and she wonders if, by becoming more intimate about her life, he might feel that she is trying to involve him more deeply.

‘Adam would feel safer if The Court was sold before Mo and Pa die. He’s terrified of me still being there and having some kind of right to stay there. You know, squatter’s rights or something. He’d rather they bought a much smaller place and tucked the money away somewhere.’

‘And where would you go?’

This is the question she dreads. She fears that he might think she is trying to see how the land lies with him or whether they have a future together.

‘Oh, I could always go to Clem while I got something sorted,’ she says casually. ‘That’s not a problem. No, the problem is that Pa and Mo don’t
want
to leave The Court. Pa grew up there; they both love it and it’s been in the family for generations. We used to come back to The Court for holidays when we were posted abroad, and Clem grew up there too, when my husband was killed. I told you about that. It’s a real family home. I want them to stay there but Adam suspects my motives and he unsettles Pa and Mo and makes them feel frightened. He’s been down this weekend questioning them about their wills and making them miserable.’

‘That’s horrid. But surely he’s crazy to suggest selling
anyway
in this market. Didn’t you tell me that he and his partner are estate agents? They must know that.’

‘Well, he’s cross they didn’t do it a couple of years back when Pa had the stroke. The truth is that they’re both so wound up about it now that it’s become a matter of principle. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Sorry.’ She smiles at him. ‘It’s just nice to talk to someone who isn’t involved. I seem to spend my time with you telling you my life history.’

‘But it’s a very interesting history,’ he says. ‘And I spend my time with you showing you my houses. At least I’m hoping you’ll come and see the cottage I’m working on sometime. I’ve put an offer in on the other one I showed you, by the way, so I’ll have to get a move on in case it’s accepted. Let me buy you another coffee and then we’ll make a plan.’

Driving home, Dossie is in a complete turmoil of emotions. Partly she is cross with herself for making him a present of her past just as she did at the farm shop. Yet he is so amazingly kind, and – much more important – he is so
interested
. It is years since anyone responded with such immediacy and warmth to her feelings and thoughts. And this time, when they part, he drops his arm very lightly round her shoulders and touches his warm lips to her cheek. It is all so quick, over in a second, but her cheek seems to burn and now, once or twice, she touches it with her fingers, laughing at herself for being such an idiot.

She can’t wait to see him again although she quite deliberately delayed the next meeting: she’s got a lot of work over Easter; she’s got Jakey to keep an eye on during the holidays; Mo and Pa … But they made a date and she is just so happy; she puts on her Joni Mitchell CD
Both Sides Now
and begins to sing along to ‘You’re My Thrill’.

Oh, God, she thinks. I’m falling in love with him.

* * *

Rupert gets into his car and checks his mobile: he’s missed a call but there’s a voicemail.

‘How are you?’ says Kitty’s voice. ‘It was a good weekend, wasn’t it? I’ll try again later.’

He phones back at once, waits for her to pick up. ‘Hi,’ he says warmly. ‘Yes, it was a very good weekend. Are you OK?’

‘Mmm. Just had coffee with Sally. She agrees with me that it’s time we took a break from the development business. She says it’s time we had some fun.’

Sally should mind her own business, but he doesn’t say so. He knows the rules about criticizing his wife’s closest friend and he knows too how much Sally and the tiresome Bill would love to make up a permanent four for golf and bridge and visits to the theatre. He shudders at the prospect.

‘I’m sure,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Did you book the theatre tickets?’

‘Yes.’ She’s distracted from the scent, as he hoped she would be. ‘Yes, she and Bill are free that evening and we’ll have supper together afterwards. I’ve organized the carer for Mummy.’

‘Great. Look, I must get on …’

‘Where are you?’

‘Bodmin. Just picking up some stuff. Those lovely Italian tiles I ordered have just come in.’

A sigh. ‘OK.’

He knows she wants to chat but he doesn’t feel guilty. He’s making real efforts just now to stay in touch, to dash up to Bristol midweek and at weekends, to keep her happy. Funny how he feels more energized when he’s got a flirtation on the go. It was very early on, once the bars of marriage had closed down around him, that he realized that there were
still
plenty of women out there who were quite happy to go along with a little bit of fun with no strings attached. They didn’t want to break up his marriage or have his babies, they just wanted some excitement – and he was ready to provide it.

He could tell straight away who were the ones who understood the rules, and only once has he misjudged the situation. He had to do some very fast talking on that occasion. As he puts away the mobile in the glove compartment he makes a little face, remembering. The girl turned up at the cottage he and Kitty were renovating and made a scene. He wormed his way out of it somehow but it put Kitty on her guard and since then he’s been careful, very careful. He loves Kitty and he doesn’t want to lose her. She is his wife and everything else is nothing but a bit of fun. It has nothing to do with his marriage. The simple fact is that he likes women; he enjoys their company and likes to go to bed with them. Some men need to buy a new flashy car every year or wear designer clothes or a Rolex watch that’s cost thousands. Rupert doesn’t care about any of those things. He simply likes the thrill of the chase; the sheer fun of move and countermove, and the final capitulation – as long as both parties understand the rules.

As for Dossie … he smiles at the thought of her. She’s a sweetie but not his usual kind of woman. The important thing is not to rush her; play it carefully. Usually he doesn’t bother with women like Dossie. He leaves them well alone and goes for the easier option. The trouble is he can’t quite get her out of his mind: she’s under his skin. He starts up the engine, pulls out of the car park, humming the Cole Porter number, feeling happy.

‘WHAT’S HAPPENING?’ JANNA
asks Clem. ‘Why have we both been invited to the Chapter meeting this morning? Are we going to get the sack?’

‘It doesn’t seem likely that we’d get the sack when there’s so much to be done and nobody else to do it.’

They stand together, near the caravan door; both of them puzzled and anxious. The orchard is full of bluebells, the ancient trees standing ankle-deep in a lagoon of shining blue. Somewhere above their heads swifts race, screaming.

‘What would you do?’ she asks. ‘If we had to go, I mean.’

Clem takes a deep breath; he stares upwards between the leaves, wondering how to answer.

‘It sounds crazy but it’s not something I’ve ever thought about. Not in that way. I’ve wondered whether I should start my training again and hope to be put forward for ordination but I’ve been so busy thinking about that – apart from the work here – that it’s never occurred to me that I might simply have to pack up and leave. I believed … that I was led here.’ He hesitates but he knows that Janna will
understand
; she won’t mock or deride his feeling. ‘It seemed so right; everything fell so perfectly into place. It seems … well, impossible that we, Jakey and I, should be suddenly set adrift. Again.’

His jaw clenches and she sees the muscle moving in his cheek. He looks angry and confused, and she feels even more frightened.

‘You could go to Dossie, couldn’t you?’ She speaks timidly. ‘Just for a bit. And, anyway, it might be nothing. Just a kind of check-up on things. Like how we’re coping and how we see things going forward.’

‘It didn’t sound like that, though, did it? I felt that Mother Magda waited until she’d got us both together at a busy moment so that there wasn’t an opportunity for us to question her. She looked a bit fraught.’

Janna nods. ‘And ’tis short notice, too.’

Clem looks down at her; suddenly his narrow blue-brown eyes crease in amusement and he seems to throw off his fear. ‘She didn’t want us to be doing this, that’s why. Huddling together trying to guess what it’s all about.’

Janna feels better at once. ‘It’ll be all right. ’Course it will. Father Pascal hasn’t said anything, has he?’

Clem shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure that means much, though.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Shall we go, then? It’s nearly time.’ He laughed. ‘It’s like having to go and see the Head, isn’t it?’

She nods, biting her lips, taking courage from his cheerfulness. ‘Come on, then. Let’s hope ’tis only detention.’

In the library, chairs have been set in a semi-circle around a little table. Mother Magda puts some papers on the table and glances doubtfully at Father Pascal.

‘It’s quite right that they should be included,’ he says, interpreting her look. ‘It is the right decision. Sister Ruth isn’t seeing it quite clearly. It’s only fair that Clem and Janna know the score. You depend upon them – and they might have something valuable to add to the discussion. Maybe not immediately, of course, but Sister Emily has the root of it in her. We are all joined on this journey and each of us has a contribution to make towards it.’

She nods, reassured. ‘It’s just that Ruth says that Janna hasn’t been here long enough to be consulted about such an important matter.’ She hesitates, seeking for some tactful phrase. ‘She has never been quite
comfortable
with Janna.’

Father Pascal snorts with amusement. ‘Nor with Jakey.’

‘No,’ Magda agrees, smiling. ‘She’s not easy with children and yet she is so wonderful with Nichola. Caring for Nichola has brought out all her best instincts. It was the right decision yet we feared that she’d never manage. Ruth’s always been so spiky; so sharp and so fearful of being undervalued. Do you remember how anxious we were?’

‘God works with our brokenness, whether it’s Nichola’s physical and mental deterioration or Ruth’s insecurities—’ he begins – and stops as the door opens and Nichola and Ruth come in together.

It is clear from Ruth’s face that she thoroughly disapproves of what is about to happen; but Nichola beams vaguely upon them all and is helped to her chair where she sits, looking about her. Sister Emily comes quickly in: she wears an eager, expectant look, as if great decisions might be made or wonderful truths uncovered. Father Pascal instinctively smiles, despite Magda’s anxiety and Ruth’s disapproval. Sister Emily’s positive, almost childlike, approach always fills him with delight.

‘Sister Emily is a “yes” person,’ he said once to Clem. ‘Everything is a possibility until proved otherwise.’

Even as he remembers saying it, there is a tap at the door, and Clem and Janna come in together. He sees at once their fear, their uncertainty, and his spirits sink again. As Magda hurries forward to welcome them and asks them to sit down he makes a little prayer for guidance. As yet he can see no way forward. Even if Mr Brewster’s offer were not accepted it will not be long before the frailty of the community makes it necessary for a decision to be taken for its future. Surely it is better to jump than to be pushed – or is it? He tries to imagine Chi-Meur as a hotel: it would be themed, of course. The Tudor Experience, perhaps, or the Elizabethan Manor House Weekend. He tries to visualize the house with a bar and a gym and wonders what Mr Brewster would do with the small, perfect chapel. House yoga sessions?