The Orchid House (24 page)

‘From what I saw, you were hardly struggling to get away from him,’ corrected Olivia.

‘If you’d waited for just a few more seconds, you would have seen me trying to get out of his grasp – he was literally smothering me.’ There were tears in Harry’s eyes. ‘I
hated
it! It felt wrong and unnatural and, whether you believe me or not, I am a
man
!’

Olivia watched him as he sat next to her in genuine despair. She thought it best to stay quiet until she knew what she wanted to say.

Harry recovered his composure. He grabbed her hand and held it fast, twisting himself to look into her eyes. ‘And finally, darling, I just wanted to say this: not only has my admiration and respect for you grown apace in the past few months, but with it, my love. And, because I’m no longer confused about who I am, and I don’t have Archie whispering in my ear, my natural physical urges have surfaced. Olivia, I understand you may find me repulsive, but I must tell you now that I want you. Just as any normal man would want his beautiful wife.’

He reached out his other hand to stroke her cheek gently. And she didn’t flinch. ‘And you are so very beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘And I am so dreadfully sorry.’

‘Oh, Harry, I …’ she gave a huge sigh of confusion as he continued to stroke her cheek. She felt alarmingly comfortable and comforted by it. ‘It’s almost destroyed me,’ she whispered. Harry moved closer to her and put an arm round her shoulder.

‘I know, my darling, darling girl. I understand how much I’ve hurt you, and that I may never be able to mend it. But, Olivia, if you can forgive me, find it in your heart to give me one last chance, I’d really like to try,’ he begged her. ‘I swear to you on everything that’s precious, I will not let you down.’

Her tears fell then, unstoppable, and she buried her head in Harry’s chest. He put both arms round her and held her tight. ‘Olivia, you are strong and brave and beautiful. What more could a man ask for in a wife? I know how jolly lucky I am, and I’ll do anything not to lose you.’

‘Oh, Harry, I’ve loved you so much. The problem is, how can I ever believe you truly love me? That you’re not saying all this to save your own skin? How can I trust you?’

‘Because, my darling,’ he said as he stroked her hair, ‘you’ve already seen how I find it impossible to hide the truth.’

She managed a chuckle at that. ‘You’re right. It was so very obvious to me that something was terribly wrong, even before we were married.’

‘There then! I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I always will. Olivia, I don’t know how much time I have left before I’m shipped overseas. At best it may be a couple of months, at worst a few days. I didn’t want to pressurise you, but neither did I want to leave you like this. I couldn’t bear to think that I’d ruined your life, that, even if I don’t come back, you would find it hard ever to trust another man because of what I’d done to you.’

Olivia let his words sink in and she understood what they meant and what he was saying.

‘So, even if you tell me now, or in the next few days, that you can never forgive me, at least I’ll feel when I have to leave you that I did the right thing by telling you the truth. And, whatever you may have thought or still think, I love you, my darling. I really do.’

It was Harry’s turn to cry then, and Olivia laid his head on her knee as he wept and blurted out how he felt about his imminent transfer overseas.

‘Even though I have to buoy up my men with stories of the camaraderie and japes that we’ll have when we leave to fight, I know what war is really like. And it’s not the dying I’m frightened of, it’s the fear of knowing it might happen at any second. At best, you might be blown into oblivion. At worst, you might take days to die an agonising death. Either way, you’re snuffed out, just another name on a memorial stone. I’m frightened, Olivia. And I am so bloody tired of being brave for everyone else.’

When his tears had stopped, Olivia suggested they go back to the dunes and eat some of the picnic they’d brought with them. Mrs Jenks had also packed a bottle of wine from Adrienne’s French vineyards. Harry opened it and handed her a glass.

‘Please don’t drink to my health. At present, I’d give anything to have poor eyesight, flat feet or asthma,’ he smiled. ‘Perhaps I am a coward.’

‘Of course you’re not, Harry, you’re just voicing what every other man in your position feels, but never says.’

‘I love you, Olivia.’ The words felt natural on his tongue. ‘The question is – can you believe me?’

She took a long time before she answered, searching his eyes for the truth. And being amazed to find it there.

Finally, she said: ‘Yes, Harry, I do.’

24

Southwold

I stare at the snowflakes dancing down like fat, falling angels on the other side of the window. The snow is setting off Elsie’s security lights and every now and then they switch on, illuminating the thick, white flakes and presenting a surreal backdrop to the story Elsie has just related.

Even though the story so far seems to have little to do with me and, at present, I cannot see the significance, it has somehow comforted me. Hearing how others – including my grandmother – dealt with the fear of losing their loved ones, and the complexity of their lives inside the walls of Wharton Park, shows me I am not the only one to have suffered.

Perhaps the difference is that I had no forewarning, no moment on a windswept beach where I could right any wrongs, make my peace, tell them of my love and say goodbye …

There was no expectation and no preparation. And, unlike all the women who watched their husbands leave for war, and took solace from each other in their mutual understanding, I feel I have had no one to turn to.

I have felt alone.

The world has continued around me as if nothing has changed. Two lives, snuffed out, with no ‘Remembrance Day’ for them. Just a wife and mother in solitary mourning.

And yet … I did not live through the hardships of war, and at least, for my boys, there was no gut-wrenching fear of walking into death, unlike poor Harry Crawford or Grandfather Bill. And if my precious boys suffered at the end, I can only pray it would have been mercifully quick.

Someone once told me that death is as natural as birth, all part of the endless cycle of human joy and pain. It will come to all of us, and our inability to accept our own mortality and that of those we love is part of the human condition too.

Whichever way death comes, the loss is unacceptable to those left behind.

Julia roused herself from her maudlin thoughts. ‘So what happened next, Granny?’

‘Well, Olivia came back from Holkham beach a changed girl. She began to laugh again, smile … it was like the sun had come out,’ Elsie remembered. ‘You could see the happiness shining from both of them. When he was home, Harry no longer slept in his dressing room. And I used to watch them, walking through the park, hand-in-hand. They looked like any other young couple in love. Of course, it didn’t last long for either of them, but at least they had a few weeks together. And by the time Harry left with Bill for overseas, Olivia was in the family way.’

Julia raised an eyebrow. ‘She was pregnant. So, he wasn’t gay?’

Elsie sighed and shook her head sadly. ‘No, he wasn’t, Julia, I can vouch for that, given what happened afterwards. In some ways, for Olivia’s sake, it might have been better if he had been, and the whole tragic business could’ve been stopped then and there.’

‘What do you mean, Granny?’ Julia asked in confusion. ‘Surely they got their happy ending?’

‘Oh, Julia,’ Elsie looked at her fondly, ‘not everyone in life gets that, as you know so well. The best we can hope for is moments of happiness, and learn to enjoy them whilst we can. At least Olivia and Harry had theirs, albeit short.’ Elsie yawned. ‘Excuse me. I’m that tired now, after all that talking, I need to go and put my head down.’

‘Of course, can I make you a drink?’ Julia suggested, as Elsie heaved herself off the sofa and turned off the gas fire.

‘That’d be lovely. There’s some cocoa in the cupboard.’ Elsie indicated the kitchen as she walked along the small corridor and into her bedroom.

‘I’ll bring it in to you,’ said Julia, following her out of the sitting room. She made the cocoa and took it through to the bedroom, where Elsie lay, resplendent under a pink satin coverlet.

‘Thank you, my love,’ said Elsie, as Julia put the cocoa down on the bedside table. ‘It’s not often these days that someone brings me a hot drink before bed.’

Julia leant down to kiss Elsie’s forehead. ‘Night, Granny, and thank you for sharing your story with me.’

‘Well, sad to say, that’s really only the start of it. But we can talk more tomorrow. The bed’s all ready for you next door. Sleep tight, my love, and don’t let them bed bugs bite.’

Julia left Elsie’s bedroom and wandered next door. She undressed and climbed beneath the flower-sprigged duvet, leaving the curtains open so she could watch the snow continue to fall. She loved watching it, loved the silence and calm it engendered.

Xavier had grown up in Moscow and snow for him had been like rain in Norfolk; ordinary and an irritation. He’d taken her there once … Julia shifted positions and forced her mind on to other thoughts.

She wasn’t ready to go back yet.

*

Julia woke to the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan. She reached across to the bedside table for her mobile and looked at the time. It was almost ten o’clock. She lay back on her pillows with a sigh, hardly believing she’d slept in so late.
And
slept through the night.

There was a knock on her door.

‘Come in.’

Elsie peered round it. ‘Morning, my love. There’s a full English on its way for you, ready in ten minutes. Come and get it when you’ve had a shower and got dressed.’

Julia duly did so, still feeling inexplicably tired, then went into the kitchen to sit down and tuck into the kind of breakfast that, these days, she wouldn’t normally contemplate. Yet, five minutes later, her plate was empty, and Elsie was giving her a second helping of bacon.

‘You always did like your cooked breakfasts, my love, didn’t you?’ she smiled.

‘It must have been the fresh air at Wharton Park. I remember I never stopped eating when I was there,’ Julia agreed.

‘Looks to me as though you could try doing that again.’ Elsie indicated Julia’s thin arms.

‘Really, Granny, I am getting much better, I promise you.’ Julia looked beyond Elsie to the outside, and saw the snow had already started to melt.

‘Perhaps I should make a move whilst the going’s good,’ suggested Julia.

‘Yes.’ Elsie was busy with the washing-up.

‘Are you too tired to tell me any more?’

The hands in the soapsuds paused for a second, as Elsie thought. ‘Well, it drained me a bit, that’s for sure. Perhaps you could come back another time and I can tell you the rest of the story?’

‘Of course I can. Just one question, Granny – what happened to the baby you said Olivia was having after Harry left for the war?’

The hands in the soapsuds stopped moving altogether. ‘She had a miscarriage at five months, bless her. Just enough time to feel the baby starting to kick. It broke her heart, it did. I was always nagging at her to take it slowly, not to run around working them long hours like she did. Adrienne, her Ladyship, went to pieces once Harry had left, and Olivia took on the lion’s share of the running of the estate. I knows there’s some women who can pick turnips right up to the moment the baby lands between their legs, but Olivia, for all she liked to appear strong, was born a Lady. That baby meant everything to her, it did. It was the heir to Wharton Park they needed.’

‘But, surely, when Harry returned from the war, Olivia could only have been in her mid-twenties still, which gave her plenty of time to have another baby?’

Elsie turned away from the washing-up to face her granddaughter. She shook her head. ‘Sorry, my love, these are all questions for another time.’

‘Of course,’ Julia agreed, guilty for wanting to know more.

‘I’d like to keep the diary if I may. I never did read it,’ murmured Elsie.

‘It’s yours more than anyone else’s, so you must keep it.’

‘That’s not quite true, my love …’ Elsie’s voice tailed off, then Julia watched as she visibly pulled herself together. ‘Anyways, let’s save it for next time, shall we? Right, my girl, you’d better be on your way. I’ll get your coat for you.’

Elsie stood on the doorstep and watched Julia reverse the car out of the drive. She waved gaily as the car began to pick up speed and eventually disappeared. Elsie closed the door and went into the sitting room. She picked up the diary from the coffee table. She held it between both hands and looked up, as if in prayer.

‘Oh, Bill,’ she whispered. ‘I wish you was here to tell me what to do. I don’t know what’s right to tell her, I really don’t.’

She sat down heavily, the diary on her lap. Then turned back the cover and started reading.

On the journey back, Julia began to feel decidedly unwell. As she neared home, she started to ache all over and developed a thumping headache. Having parked the car and walked wearily up to her front door, she let herself in and collapsed on to the sofa. She was aware the cottage was bitterly cold, and that she should switch the storage heaters on to full power and make a fire. She had the energy to do neither. Eventually, garnering the strength to climb the stairs, thinking that perhaps a short rest might restore her, she found some paracetamol in the bathroom cupboard. She washed them down with a glass of stale water on her bedside table and fell into bed.

That night, Julia suffered the disturbed hallucinatory dreams that accompanied a severe fever. When she woke, she could hardly remember where she was – in France, Moscow, at Wharton Park, in the hothouses with Grandfather Bill …

She was too weak to do more than stagger to the bathroom and gulp back some water to quench her raging thirst, the expedition rendering her so faint that she had to crawl back along the floor to reach the bed.