The Prodigal Wife (12 page)

Jolyon began to herd the dogs towards a green wooden door set in the high wall while Henrietta followed more slowly with Tacker. Passing through the door, out on to the hill, she caught her breath in delight; warm gusts of wind sent cloud shadows racing over the green-and-gold-chequered land that lay beyond the river. A tractor moved slowly, the plough turning the rich crimson earth, a glittering cloud of silvery-white seagulls in pursuit. The hills to the west sloped gently, patched lilac and amber, climbing towards the high moor that sketched its black uneven outline sharply against the pale sky.

On the path below, Jo was watching her; sharing her delight. Suddenly she began to run; jumping and sliding down the narrow sheep tracks, with Tacker scrabbling wildly at her heels, until she reached Jo, who caught her in his arms and held her tightly.

This evening the sea was capricious; whipped to peaks and crests by the increasing wind, stained a fiery gold by the drowning sun, the rising tide dashed itself against the cliffs below the cottage. Cordelia stared down at yellow-eyed gulls contemptuously riding the waves, bobbing fearlessly, drenched by spume and spray.

‘Just phoning to tell you,' Fliss had said earlier, ‘that the day went well. Just in case you were wondering. Henrietta is an absolute sweetie and we're all holding our respective breaths and praying that Jolyon doesn't mess it up.'

‘Poor Jo. Why should he? Henrietta's just as likely to have an attack of cold feet. That's what generally happens.'

‘All I can say is that she seemed to like us and nobody said anything embarrassing – though I could see Prue biting her tongue on a couple of occasions. Luckily Henrietta didn't seem to notice. She behaved very well. Prue, I mean. Hal threatened her beforehand that she mustn't put Jo on the spot by unconsidered or tactless remarks. We had a lovely time and I think it was a pity that you couldn't have been here too.'

‘I'm just so glad that you liked her. And they looked happy together?'

‘They looked utterly right together. What a pretty girl she is! And I think she and Lizzie are going to be good friends. Let's just pray that Maria doesn't put her oar in.'

‘Could she? Could she spoil things?'

‘I don't know. Jo's been a bit quiet the last few days, and I'm praying that the prospect of Maria's visit isn't stirring up the past too much, that's all. Memory's a funny thing, isn't it?'

‘Yes. Yes, it is. But surely Maria has no real power, does she? You said that she's hardly seen Jo or any of you for the last fifteen years.'

‘That's true. I know it sounds idiotic but I just don't want her around. Not now when things are going well for Jo.'

‘Of course, it might be exactly the right time. The fact that he's in a strong position and feeling confident means that she'll have no power over him.'

‘I hope you're right. Come and see us soon.'

‘I'd like that.'

She'd gone back outside to watch the sea; the highest tides of the year and gales forecast. Fliss's call had comforted her; Fliss was worrying too, anxious that Jolyon should be happy. How wonderful it would be if Henrietta were to phone now and tell her all about the day and really talk to her, as she might talk to Susan or one of her other friends…

Cordelia caught herself up quickly. There it was again: that need to be friends with our children. She wondered if her own mother – that quiet, reserved woman – deep down had seethed with a desire to share in her, Cordelia's, life. Perhaps she too had longed to know what her daughter was thinking and feeling, had been hurt by being shut out from confidences, not allowed to share in the most personal, private joys.

Cordelia thought: But how could I have told her how I really felt about Angus? Or Simon?

And, anyhow, her mother had kept her distance, ready to advise Cordelia on matters like cooking or babies but implying that she was an adult now and should be able to manage. There had been a gentle but firm withdrawal, a kind of dignity that was quite missing in her own relationship with Henrietta. On the other hand, her mother hadn't been riddled with guilt; tormented by the knowledge that with a single act she'd destroyed her marriage and her daughter's confidence. It was difficult to be dignified when you felt guilty all the time.

Perhaps Angus was right: she longed for Henrietta to fall madly in love so that she, Cordelia, might at last be let off the hook. Henrietta would be happy, her confidence in love restored and – but this would be a bonus – she might be able to understand why her mother had behaved as she had.

‘Surely,' Angus had said, ‘the fact that we're back together after all this time must say something about constancy, if nothing else.'

‘It's not that simple,' she'd said. ‘She'd want to know how you'd felt about Anne all those years. She couldn't understand why I married Simon when I was in love with you and she used to ask me why you married Anne if you were in love with me. Oh, I
know
you were never unfaithful to her, but it complicates
our
relationship in Henrietta's eyes, you must see that.'

‘If it were a Shakespeare play or a Jane Austen novel she'd think it was wonderfully romantic,' he'd said.

‘It's different when it's your parents,' she'd answered.

And that was the point, she decided; perhaps it was impossible to be real friends with your children. There were too many taboos.

It was getting dark, the sunset glow was fading, and her earlier despondency returned. She'd wakened with a sense of isolation. The prospect of the gathering at The Keep had made her feel very much an outsider and, when Henrietta had telephoned to ask about which clothes she should wear, she'd longed to be one of the party. She'd reminded herself that it was neither Fliss nor Hal but Jo who had invited Henrietta to lunch and that there was no reason why he should include her mother in the invitation. Nevertheless, she'd been unable to fight the childish sense of exclusion – and the knowledge that Angus was happily engaged with his son and his family had only pointed up her own loneliness.

She'd wondered if there was someone she could invite to lunch but all of her chums would have been with their husbands or families. It reminded her of those early days as a naval wife, with Simon at sea and Henrietta a small child. How she'd hated weekends. They'd been the most deadly times, normal family life taking place all around and Henrietta enviously watching the other children whose fathers were with them in the park or on the beach.

‘Why can't Daddy be here?' she'd ask, and Cordelia would explain, again, the peculiarities of service life.

She still hated weekends and usually made certain she had things, apart from work, to which she could look forward. Today she'd failed in that respect and, in the end, she'd walked for hours on the cliffs with McGregor, enjoying the glory of the early autumn day and arriving back exhausted. Yet while they'd walked she'd had an odd impression that someone was watching her, that same ‘eyes on the back of the neck' sensation she'd had in Mangetout. There were other walkers out on the cliffs, and it was foolish to imagine that she was being followed, yet she'd been unable to free herself of the feeling.

It was very cold now. The wind was strong, scouring along the cliff-top, whirling around her stone balcony. She went inside and lit the candles, pulling the curtains against the darkness.

Later, Fliss lay awake, staring into the darkness listening to the wind. Hal was deeply asleep, turned away from her, and she was comforted by his bulk, conscious of his warmth. She simply couldn't sleep. The day unreeled before her mind's eye: that first sight of Henrietta, the expression on Jolyon's face each time he looked at her, the way they'd driven off together after tea.

Hal had slipped an arm around her as they'd waved them off. ‘Lucky old Jo,' he'd said happily. ‘What a gorgeous girl.'

She'd agreed with him, happy for Jo too – and even more anxious now she'd met Henrietta and liked her so much. But why should she feel so anxious? Cordelia was right to point out that now was exactly the right time for Jolyon to show how strong he'd become. All day he'd been calm and confident, despite the presence of his family and Henrietta's nervousness. She'd been careful not to show her feelings for Jo but once or twice Fliss had seen a little glance flash between them, and her heart had gone out to both of them.

‘Don't waste time,' she'd wanted to say to them. ‘Be happy.'

Perhaps this anxiety sprang out of her own experience. She and Hal had not seized their chance of happiness together but had allowed the family to separate them. Of course, they had been so much younger; too young and inexperienced to stand out against the united disapproval of Prue and Grandmother. Fliss smiled sadly in the darkness. How innocent and foolish they'd been, yet she could barely remember a time when she hadn't loved Hal. All those years ago, she'd waited for some sign from him; for something more than the quick private demonstrations of love that were much more than brotherly or even cousinly; some proof that he was just as serious as she was. She'd allowed her imagination to wander into the future, inventing an endless variety of scenes in which Hal declared himself at last. Oh, the agony of young love…Fliss closed her eyes, tucked herself more closely against Hal's back, and slept at last.

 

On Monday, just after lunch, Cordelia telephoned Henrietta. She'd dithered all morning, arguing with herself and postponing the call, half wondering if Jolyon might still be with Henrietta and dreading that she might interrupt something.

‘But what?' she asked herself crossly, nerves on edge. ‘If they're in bed they won't be answering the telephone and if not…'

The answer was clear: she simply didn't want to give the impression of being an inquisitive mother, asking carefully worded questions. Instead, she prowled: sorting papers, closing reference books and putting them away, finishing the crossword, whilst McGregor rolled a sympathetic eye from time to time in her direction. And all the while her resolution grew stronger: today she would phone Henrietta and tell her about Angus's party.

She decided that she would be quite light-hearted: ‘You'll never guess who's just moved back to Dartmouth?'

No, no, said the voice in her head, that's a bit too disingenuous; almost as if you expect Henrietta to be pleased about it.

Something more casual, perhaps: ‘By the way, I've been invited to a party on Wednesday. Angus Radcliff. Remember him?'

No, no, that wouldn't do at all: much too tactless. How could Henrietta possibly have forgotten him? No, she needed to be firm, direct and almost indifferent.

‘By the way, I'm going to a party on Wednesday evening. Angus Radcliff's moved down to Dartmouth and he's giving a housewarming party. Lots of old friends are going. It should be fun.'

The inner voice was silent and Cordelia rehearsed this once or twice. It seemed to strike the right note. After all, she wasn't asking Henrietta's permission or approval; she was simply telling her
en passant
, as it were. It needed to be dropped into the conversation – which posed its own problem. She could think of nothing to say just at the moment that didn't relate to Jo. And that brought her back to the question of when it would be tactful to telephone. For her reaction to the invitation to be convincing then it needed to be today: not too soon after the invitation had been received, in case it gave it too much importance, but neither too much at the last minute lest she should give the impression that she'd been afraid to mention it.

The voice in her head said that it couldn't matter less, since Henrietta wouldn't know when she'd received the invitation.

She might ask, Cordelia answered silently, and then I shall be able to be truthful.

The voice laughed hollowly.

I
do
tell the truth, Cordelia told it indignantly, even if I don't always tell all of it.

Irritated by the knowledge that she was talking to herself she went back to her desk. She would phone at two o'clock; now she must work. Her mobile began to play its silly tune and she seized it.

Angus said, ‘Hello, Dilly.'

‘Hi,' she said. ‘How wonderful to hear a human voice.'

‘Is there any other kind?' he enquired.

‘There's the one in my head,' she answered grimly. ‘And I promise you that there's nothing human about it. I think I'm going mad.'

He chuckled. ‘Poor darling. What's it saying this morning?'

‘It's mocking and deriding me. It tells me that I'm a lying, specious woman.'

‘Oh dear. That sounds bad.'

‘Uncomfortable, anyway. It's too near the truth for my liking. I've decided to telephone Henrietta and tell her that I'm going to your party.'

There was a short surprised silence. ‘But that's fantastic, Dilly.'

‘Yes, it is. I feel very brave and virtuous, except that I'm trying to decide how soon I can phone her.'

‘How soon?'

‘Well, in case Jo's still there, you see. I can't bear looking as if I'm a nosy, prurient mother trying to find out if they spent the night together.'

He roared with laughter. ‘Even if you are?'

‘Well, obviously I want to know, simply because I long for them to be getting along together and I want them to be happy. And I'd like to feel sure that Henrietta isn't going to throw one of her wobblies. She said to me once, “Well, you and Dad must have thought you were in love and look how that finished up.” She's afraid to trust her emotions.'

‘I think you're being a bit oversensitive about phoning.'

‘I
know
I am,' she cried irritably, ‘but this is the morning after a big day. She's been to The Keep to meet the rellies and it's a bit difficult to ignore it.' She took a deep, calming breath. ‘Fliss phoned last night. She said it went really well.'