The Prodigal Wife (6 page)

That was when she'd made her first visit for years to The Keep. Hal had written to her – oh, how thankful she'd been to receive his letter – saying that Ed and Rebecca had been down to The Keep to say goodbye and that she, Maria, must be feeling the draught. They'd all miss them, he'd written, but it seemed a fantastic opportunity and it wasn't that far to New York. She'd enjoy visiting them and seeing the wonders of Manhattan…

It had been light-hearted, an encouraging letter, and it had been balm to her aching heart. She'd telephoned – her heart pounding with anxiety lest Fliss should pick up the receiver – but, by extraordinary good luck, Hal had answered. It had been surprisingly easy to talk to him; he'd been sympathetic, kind, and he'd said those magic words: ‘If you ever want to come down to The Keep…'

Well, to be truthful, she guessed he hadn't really expected her to take him up on it so quickly – of course, she knew that – but she'd been unable to resist the possibility of his offer of warmth, of friendliness. She had her own friends, but Hal was Ed's father and knew how she felt; and there was a connection there, a very special one. You couldn't be married to a man for twenty years and bear his children, and be completely indifferent to him: even Fliss must see that. And she'd even wondered if she should tell him about Ed's disastrous business gamble. After all, it would certainly have increased Hal's sympathy for her situation, yet something had prevented her; some instinct had warned her against it. A big part of it was loyalty to Ed. She knew very well the sort of comments Hal would make about darling Ed's shortcomings. Like Adam, Hal had no illusions when it came to his younger son – and was much more outspoken about his weaknesses. He was extremely fond of Ed but he blamed her and her parents for spoiling him and she simply couldn't bear to hear him spoken badly of – or for Fliss to know that poor old Ed had cocked up so badly. No – she shivered at the thought of such humiliation – she simply couldn't cope with that. But there was more than simple loyalty to Ed. If she told them about the disaster it was possible that they might believe her need to renew the links between them was a financial one. And it wasn't; it really wasn't.

So she'd merely said to Hal that she'd love to see them all and she'd travelled down to the West Country – and, amazingly, it had been wonderful to be back at The Keep. Hal was comfortingly unchanged and Prue was as warm and sympathetic as ever; even Fliss had been sweet, though it had been quite a shock to see how much she had come to resemble her grandmother, that formidable old matriarch Freddy Chadwick. Fliss had that same trick of squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin when she looked at you, which could be a bit disconcerting. And, if she were to be absolutely honest, Jolyon had been slightly awkward, rather uncomfortable when she told him how proud of him she was, but he'd been busy off filming something or other and he hadn't been around for much of the time. Anyway, she'd written again suggesting that she should go down for Jolyon's birthday; that it was time to mend some bridges. And now she was waiting anxiously for Hal's reply. After all, she couldn't stay in Pen's annexe for ever…

There was a knock at the door – Pen was very tactful and never just walked in – and Maria glanced at her watch: too early for a drink. It might be an invitation to join them for coffee, or a shopping trip in Salisbury. There were times when she believed that Penelope was very grateful for this instant distraction from dear old Philip's company now that he was retired.

‘Come in,' she called, adopting her new expression – cheerfulness with just a hint of brave determination. ‘Morning, Pen. I've just been looking at your wonderful garden. Honestly, I still don't know how you do it. I could spend hours at that window.'

Alone again, Cordelia returned to her battle with the soke. The structure of the piece eluded her; her words refused to form into an acceptable, cohesive piece of writing and, frustrated, she went out on to the stone balcony. Leaning on the sun-warmed stone she gazed down into the clear green water where thick, dark forests of weed floated, rooted in the rock wall. She knew why she couldn't concentrate: guilt and curiosity strove together in her mind, distracting her utterly from her work. Presently she took her mobile from her pocket and pressed the buttons.

‘Hi, Mum.' Was that a hint of impatience in Henrietta's voice?

‘Darling,' Cordelia said quickly. ‘Listen, I'm sorry about last night. Our timing was awful, wasn't it? First you with Jolyon and then me with…the chums. It was so silly of me not to think of Jolyon in the first place. I was thinking Joe with an “e” and…' She could hear herself rattling on. ‘Anyway, I'm glad it was sorted out at last.'

‘Yes.' A hesitation. ‘Actually, he's coming back today. Well, any minute now.'

‘Oh.' Cordelia tried not to sound too surprised or inquisitive. ‘Well, that's nice.'

‘He's got to go to Watchet.' A defensive note here; a warning not to read too much into it. ‘Something to do with his new TV series. And we're going out to the pub for lunch.'

‘Great. Well, then.' She wondered whether to say, ‘Give him my love,' but decided against it. She didn't want to muscle in here. ‘I'd better get back to work. 'Bye, darling.'

So that was that. Cordelia rested her elbows on the wall, reassured and hopeful – yet anxiety persisted. Below her the sea heaved restlessly, slapping the cliff's face contemptuously with cold handfuls of water, growling in the deep subterranean caverns. A cool little breeze polished her cheeks and tweaked at her hair and she shivered, glad of the sunshine.

Are we the first generation to need to be friends with our children?

‘Wouldn't it be wonderful,' she'd said last night, ‘if Henrietta and Jolyon should fall in love?'

‘Possibly,' Angus had answered cautiously. ‘Possibly not.'

‘Why not?' She'd raised herself on one elbow, looking down at him almost indignantly.

‘It depends on what follows,' he'd answered reasonably. ‘Falling in love isn't an end in itself. You, of all people, must know that.'

She'd subsided back on to the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. ‘I do know. But even so…'

‘What you really hope is that Henrietta would be changed by the experience, enough at least to understand and to forgive you.'

Well, he was quite right about that.

There was the sound of a vehicle on the track; McGregor barked and Cordelia turned her head, listening. It stopped, engine idling, a door opened and there was a burst of noise – the urgent quacking of a radio – and the clang of the letterbox. The regular postie was on holiday and Cordelia waited for the van to turn and disappear down the track before she moved. She liked to have a yarn with old Jimmie but his monosyllabic stand-in was a rather dull youth with no gift for conversation: this morning she simply wasn't in the mood to make the effort.

She turned about, leaning back on her elbows in the sunshine, brooding on her article; she simply must find the discipline to go back into her study and make a start. McGregor barked again, then growled deep in his throat, and a dazzle of light up on the cliff path attracted her attention. A figure moved and there was a glint of sun on glass as the binoculars made a sweep of the coastline before becoming fixed in her direction. For an uneasy moment Cordelia felt that she was being watched. She straightened, staring up at the motionless figure which, after a few moments, turned and disappeared from view. Fighting back her irritation, she wondered whether a walk might start the creative juices flowing, or whether it was simply an excuse to postpone work. The telephone began to ring and with relief she went to answer it.

‘Fliss,' she said with pleasure. ‘How nice…Yes, so I hear. About time, isn't it? It's crazy that they've never met. Isn't it ghastly about Susan and Iain? Poor old Maggie and Roger…Well, why not come over and have some lunch?…OK, tea, then. I'd love it…Great. See you this afternoon.'

Immediately she felt refreshed; this was something to look forward to, and it would be good to talk to Fliss about Jo and Henrietta. Meanwhile she must do some work. Humming, she went into her study:
Charteris Soke in Frampton Parva is the only house of its kind…

Up in her bedroom, Fliss stood for some moments, surprised by her sudden decision to speak to Cordelia. It was unlike her to be so on edge simply because Maria had written to Hal, asking if she might come to stay again. Perhaps it was the very fact that Maria had written
to Hal
– not to them both, only to Hal. There was a possessive, secretive streak in Maria's character that refused to accept Fliss and Hal as an entity. Until Adam's death, this hadn't mattered. After all, letters from Maria had been few and far between. Now things had changed. In the last six months there had been several communications from Salisbury, and Fliss realized that she disliked the fact that Hal was beginning to get letters from his ex-wife that excluded her entirely.

Of course, it was foolish to mind, Fliss told herself. After all, she only had to ask to see the letters and Hal would show them to her, though he had never done so of his own free will. She wondered whether Hal had answered them all – and how he had answered them.

‘I might give her a call,' he'd say casually, putting the letter or card to one side, but she'd never quizzed him about it, and later the envelope and its contents would be missing. Once, she remembered, he'd laughed aloud whilst he was reading one of them and she'd experienced a pang of annoyance: jealousy would be going too far, she assured herself now, but definitely a sharp twinge of irritation had shaken her. It would be crazy to suspect Hal of encouraging his ex-wife – and why should she feel anxious at this late date? They'd been married for eight happy years, though she still felt frustrated and resentful if she allowed herself to dwell on all those wasted years they'd spent apart.

At the time she'd never known exactly what Hal's mother and grandmother had said to him that had convinced him that he mustn't marry her, but they'd frightened him.

‘They practically accused me of incest,' he'd told her years later, after Maria had left him and Miles had died. ‘They said that being brought up like brother and sister, and our fathers being identical twins and all that stuff, made any other relationship between us out of the question. They pointed out how young you were and how I was taking advantage of you. It made me feel like some sort of depraved libertine.'

He was twenty-two, thought Fliss, and I was nineteen, and it never occurred to either of us to rebel. How young and raw we were. And so he married Maria and I married Miles.

The knock at the door startled her. ‘Come in,' she called, turning from the window.

Prue smiled at her from the doorway; dressed ready for her outing, and bright with the expectancy of it, she looked young and pretty.

‘I didn't want to keep you waiting,' she said happily. ‘I wondered if there might be time to stop at Dartington on the way home for a walk in the gardens.' She came a little further into the room. ‘What were you thinking about, darling? You look very serious and rather sad.'

‘I was thinking about Miles,' Fliss answered, ‘and all of us. Me and Maria and Hal. You and Grandmother. And all the wasted time and the mistakes we made.'

‘Oh, darling,' said Prue remorsefully. ‘How you must have hated us, me and Freddy, when we separated you and Hal. It's impossible now to imagine how strongly we felt about you being first cousins. Later we knew that we'd been wrong, but we couldn't have guessed how deeply you felt about each other. You were both so young. Your uncle Theo was very angry with us, you know.'

‘Uncle Theo?' Fliss's expression softened with affection and grief for that diffident priest who had always been on her side. ‘Was he?'

‘Oh, yes. He and Freddy very nearly fell out over it. He thought the family treated you very badly by deciding that you were too young to be truly affected by it. But, Fliss, many good things have come out of it all. Your lovely children, darling Bess and Jamie. And dear old Miles. We all loved him in the end, didn't we? How brave he was after that ghastly stroke.'

‘I know. I'm being silly. I told you earlier, I feel unsettled. I miss the children. Bess and Matt and the children seem such a long way away in America. And now Jamie's been posted to Cairo. I miss having them all around. Come on, let's go to Totnes and get the shopping done and then we'll have coffee at Dartington on the way home.' Fliss paused to pick up her jacket from a chair. ‘By the way, I'm going to have tea with Cordelia this afternoon.'

‘Oh!' Prue looked at Fliss sharply, approvingly. ‘Now that's a very good idea.'

‘I hope so,' said Fliss as they went down the stairs together. ‘I can't decide if I'm being devious. It's at times like these that I miss Uncle Theo most. He could always cut through the muddle and see straight to the heart of things.'

‘Uncle Theo was my dearest friend. He saved me from disaster so many times I've quite lost count.' As they passed through the hall Prue glanced at her watch. ‘I wonder where Jolyon is now.'

Fliss chuckled; her anxiety had receded a little and she was looking forward to seeing Cordelia. ‘Wherever he is, I bet he's not studying the harbour in Watchet.'

 

Jolyon was sitting in the sunshine, his elbows on the rough planking of the table outside the pub, watching Henrietta with an expression of amused sympathy.

‘As a family we take a bit of getting used to. I think it's why the television crew made so much of it all in the first place. Three generations living in a house that's a cross between a castle and a fort. We're an anachronism, that's the trouble.'

‘I can't take it all in.' Henrietta shook her head, drank some beer. She was so happy, sitting in the sun across the table from him, waiting for their ploughman's lunches to arrive. ‘It's far too complicated.'

‘Not really. I'll go through it again.' He leaned forward, ticking off the names on his fingers. ‘There's Granny, Dad, Fliss, me—'

‘Hang on, though,' she interrupted. ‘You said that Fliss is your step-mum
and
your cousin.'

‘Second cousin. That's right. Dad and Fliss are first cousins, childhood sweethearts, though the family wouldn't let them marry, so Dad married my mother and Fliss married Miles. Dad had me and Ed, and Fliss had twins, Jamie and Bess. Then Mum and Dad divorced when I was fifteen and after that I spent all my holidays at The Keep and Dad was there when he was on leave. Dad and Fliss married eight years ago after Miles died.'

She watched him, aware of the turbulent undercurrents beneath the smooth surface of this narrative but seeing that he wasn't ready yet to talk about them.

Keep it light, she told herself. Keep it jokey.

‘OK,' she said. ‘I've got that. So your granny is your dad's mother
and
Fliss's aunt, and then there's Sam, who's another cousin. His parents died and he's been brought up at The Keep. And that's where Lizzie comes in.'

She could see that Jolyon was steering clear of the tragedy of Sam's parents but she wanted to know about Lizzie: it was clear from his expression when he'd mentioned her that Jolyon had a soft spot for Lizzie.

‘Lizzie was Sam's nanny,' he said. ‘You'll have that in common with her. Dad and Fliss were rather daunted by taking on a three-year-old, so Lizzie was welcomed with open arms. She'd known Sam all his life, his mother was her best friend, and she was quite happy to become part of the family. It was great for me, too, to have someone of my own age around. When Sam went away to school two years ago there was a question about whether she should move on but she'd already been helping me in the office and knew a lot about Keep Organics so it seemed sensible for her to stay, especially as I was doing more and more work for the television. Anyway, we'd have all missed her terribly if she'd gone. She's part of the family now.'

Henrietta studied him. His face was open, his expression guileless: he might have been talking about a sister, or a cousin.

‘Is that it? No more cousins or aunts?'

‘Well, not living at The Keep…' He hesitated, sitting back to allow the girl to put their plates on the table. Everyone in the bar had recognized Jolyon, and there had been an excited little stir, a sudden murmuring whisper, but Jolyon had remained unruffled, friendly. Now, Henrietta was amused to see that though the girl smiled warmly at Jolyon, he was barely aware of her apart from acknowledging his food with a word of thanks. Henrietta thanked her too, refused the offer of anything else at present, and mimed despair at Jolyon's hesitation.