The postcard, p.37
The Postcard, page 37
It was then she noticed the letter waiting for her from Melissa, and she rootled for her glasses.
I thought you might like to read the enclosed. It was given to me after my father died. It was Desmond Louis who insisted on me finding out who sent this postcard. I thought you’d like to see it again . . .
She picked up the old postcard of Dalradnor village, the one she’d written to her son all those years ago. How on earth had this survived? She stared at the sepia image with amazement, memories flooding back of the excitement of crossing the world to find her son. She laid it down gently, reaching for Desmond’s letter, holding it up to the light.
‘Dear Mel . . .’ She lingered over every sentence, trying to imagine his voice ‘. . . it’s as if I am peering through a hole in a huge wall at a garden full of flowers . . .’ His words brought tears to her eyes. Did he remember the garden at Dalradnor? Oh, why had they never met again? She clutched his words close to her chest.
The house fell silent. She was glad to be alone with her thoughts. So much had happened in the past weeks, events that were turning her life upside down.
She read her son’s last words to his daughter and felt the sadness within. He had lost all memory of her and yet the smell of roses had reminded him of something and someone. She wept, recalling the bench in the rose garden where she’d sang the old ‘Skye Boat Song’ to him and he’d said, ‘Sing it again.’
He suffered the same weakness for drink as she did, trying to fight his demons with hard work and success, but the loss of his beloved wife, Sandra, set him back, which she understood only too well. How alike they were. How she would’ve loved to have known him. Had he sent his daughter to find her, sent her blind into another country in the hope of making his peace with her?
If only she could turn back the clock and not have enlisted, if only she’d pursued her claim on him, if only, if only . . . Callie stared into the fire shaking her head. That was then, this was now. Be grateful for a second chance to make amends, she sighed. Perhaps there was a purpose in this wonderful reunion. She couldn’t wait to see Melissa again.
52
‘What’s got into you?’ Mel was chuntering to herself in the car. ‘Ever since we left London you’ve got such a cob on you . . .’ I’m just tired, she snapped back at herself, in no mood for argument.
‘So you’ve chucked over Mark like you chucked all the others. He lasted longer than most so what did he do wrong?’ Nothing, that’s the trouble. He kept wanting to be involved and I just needed to do things my way. ‘Now you wish you hadn’t.’
‘Ring him,’ said her heart, ‘apologize before some other beaut grabs him.’ Oh, shut up! she screamed in her head. Mark was free to make his own way and I’m free to go mine.
She glanced into the back, hoping she’d not forgotten all the bumf from the lawyers. Mel had emailed Bensons with Caroline’s address. Their reply had given her food for thought but she didn’t want to upset her grandmother just yet.
The special recital in the New Year was taking some last-minute organizing. It was going to be a gala night in the Abbey with wine and supper. A packed church would help the Trust funds along. The artists, all friends, were coming for expenses only and she’d arranged a brilliant quartet. Angie would do flute solos and be her accompanist for her own medley of items.
Mel was still getting used to finding Caroline by chance – or had some guiding hand been there all the time? How could her grandparents, Jess and Jim, deliberately have kept Lew in the dark about his birth mother? They’d left him to choose. No one forced him to go back with this stranger and it had broken his mother’s heart, causing a rift with Phoebe Faye that had lasted for the rest of their lives. How sad, she thought.
Had her father known deep down what he’d done? Surely he was too young to understand such powerful feelings. She’d always felt there was a sadness at the heart of him even before he lost Sandra. Perhaps that’s what turned him to drink, and when Mum died it was the last straw. Meanwhile, Callie kept hoping and drinking. Did he remember more than he was letting on when he wrote that last letter? He had spoken about the lady who came to visit and never came back. Maybe he guessed who she really was.
Mel fixed her eyes on the road ahead with a sigh. She would never know. There was so much she wanted to know about Father Karel’s brother, Louis-Ferrand. She must write to Father Karel with all her news. It felt like having a whole new family to discover, thanks to Mark’s efforts . . .
Mel found she was smiling. Perhaps it was time to concentrate less on the past and more on the future. She’d done her father’s work. Perhaps it was her turn to learn from the mistakes of the past, but was Mark Penrose history or part of her future? Did he deserve a second chance too?
She drove in silence through the gathering gloom of December darkness with eyes glued to the signposts to Little Brierley.
53
It was the strangest of Christmases for Callie having a guest in the house, a guest who waited on her hand, foot and finger, bringing her tea in bed, mucking out and grooming, taking telephone calls, shopping as if she was a helpless invalid. Callie was not used to all this attention, but when she tried to do her old chores, she was out of breath.
She loved watching Melissa bustling about her kitchen, practising her scales in the stables when the horses were out. She had high notes that could shatter glass, a gift of a voice that must surely come from her own mother, Phoebe. How Phee would have loved to see this girl, this mirror image of herself in her prime, so like her old postcard pictures, fair and feisty, graceful and yet boyish. Callie was dying to see her dressed up. The girls these days lived in jeans and boots.
Once, in her cups, Melissa whispered that she’d just dumped her recent beau, the one who had gone out of his way to help trace her family history and how she was having second thoughts but was too proud to tell him so. Now who did that remind her of, Callie mused.
It was hard to believe the difference a year could make. Christmas last year was a pork chop, TV and a stroll around the fields. She’d always refused all offers of hospitality. She was going to miss all this company when it was over. She never tired of listening to Melissa’s stories about Sandra and Lew when times were good. It cheered her heart. He had tried to be a good father but his struggles with the demon drink got the better of him at times and brought about his final illness.
He had found love and fulfilment in his wife, but it was snatched away from him as it had been from her. It was good to know the truth, both black and white. Yet between them, Sandra and her son had brought this golden girl into the world and brought her back to her own family.
There was the promise of the concert in the Abbey to look forward to. The acoustics there were wonderful but Callie was still worrying about the Trust’s future. The anxiety had made her ill. She knew she was on borrowed time but determined now to make the most of what time was left, set her house in order, just as Madge had done all those years ago. How could she forget the kindness of those two strangers in taking her in, wreck that she was, bringing her back to life as Melissa had done by appearing by her bedside only a month ago, and yet it was as if she known this child in her heart all her life.
It was the day after Boxing Day, when she had the evening alone with Melissa by the fire, that the girl brought out a large typed email.
‘I’ve been saving up some news for you, Gran. It’s been burning a hole in my bag for days so please read it.’ She shoved the sheet into Callie’s hand and gave her the spectacles that were stuffed down the chair.
‘You know I told you I went to the lawyer in London to find out who you were? Well, he sent me this.’
Callie read the letterhead. ‘Goodness, are they still going?’
‘Read on.’
With regards to our recent discussion about the estate of the late Phoebe Annie Boardman.
We received notification some time ago from Pettigrew and Copeland, Solicitors in Glasgow that the present tenants of Dalradnor Lodge in the county of Stirlingshire desire to purchase the property and adjoining lands subject to current valuations, etc. if the Estate is willing to sell the aforesaid property.
Now that we have the current address of Caroline Rosslyn Jones, née Boardman, we enclose a copy of this offer for her consideration.
‘Do you realize that if you sell Dalradnor,’ Melissa added, ‘maybe then you can dispose of the assets and help secure the CottesloeTrust and make this place more comfortable for yourself: a downstairs loo and shower . . . extra insulation, roof repairs. You could afford permanent help. What do you think?’ Melissa was excited at the thought of all these options, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
Callie felt her heart clutch her chest for a second. She breathed deeply to release the pain. ‘But Dalradnor has belonged in the family . . . It would be yours one day. I don’t need anything at my time of life.’
‘It doesn’t belong to me. I have no connection to the place. I never even went inside it. What matters is what you want now.’ Melissa smiled, poking the fire. ‘My father left me quite comfortable so don’t worry about me.’
It was wonderful news about the possibility of selling the Lodge, Callie thought, hard to take in, and the timing couldn’t have been better. ‘I suppose the Madge Cottesloe Sanctuary would then have a secure future. We could take in more horses, better housing, train up local staff. I know I’m not going to be up to much.’
‘I gather that Phoebe’s estate is more than just the house. You’re going to be a wealthy woman.’ Melissa seemed excited by this but Callie just shrugged.
‘I would give it all back to make my peace with her. Money never buys us happiness, just security and comfort, but not what really matters in life. I can’t take anything more from her.’
‘Why not? If you don’t claim her estate it could all go to the government.’
‘Don’t push me, young lady. This is too much to absorb – and now it’s about time you and I had a little chat on another matter.’ It was Callie’s turn for some straight talking.
‘About what?’ There was a defensive look in Melissa’s eyes.
‘About a certain young man, who played a big part in your detective work. I’d very much like to meet him.’
‘There’s no point now. It’s over between us. You have to understand when you’re a musician, there’s no time for romance.’
‘Rubbish, that’s poppycock. Lots of artists have wonderful partners. Learn from my life: don’t let what really matters slip through your fingers in a search for what will come to you anyway with luck and hard work. You’ve got a lifetime ahead for success. I guess searching for me has been distracting but I won’t be around for ever. I’d like to thank this Mark for all he’s done to help us find each other. It sounds as if he’s in love with you or he wouldn’t put up with all your song and games for so long.’
‘Oh, don’t say that. He’s not what I planned,’ Melissa argued, refusing to catch her grandmother’s eye.
‘I think he was exactly your destiny the minute my postcard fell into your hands. It brought you both together. It brought us all together. Believe me, I know what it’s like to find the special one in your life in the wrong time and the wrong place. It’s never convenient, but follow your heart, not just your ambition, Melissa. Look and learn from one who knows what it’s like to lose everything. Promise me you’ll think about this?’
Callie’s wise words were hitting hard by the look on Melissa’s face. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance, even you, young lady,’ Callie added. ‘You young have choices we never had. It’s all ahead of you. Don’t feel guilty about enjoying your musical gift and a lover too. I had a love life but it was shattered by war. How different would all our lives have been if Ferrand and I could have lived together?’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘You, of course, might never have been born. There isn’t a day when I don’t regret some of my decisions. My losing Desmond Louis created a sort of madness, a grief that never went away. All those years we might have shared, and my mother waiting for a reconciliation that never came. I broke her heart too. Why do we not understand our parents until it is too late? We all find ways to ease our pain. I was lucky because Madge and Alfie gave me a second chance here.
‘You have to forgive your father for taking flight from his sorrows in his binges. Alcohol is such a comfort for the lonely and bereaved, a slow suicide for some in their despair. Not all of us can be strong-minded, Melissa. I know he hurt you deeply by his absence. What parents forget sometimes is the most important gift we can give to our children is time together, listening time. I let my son down so badly in so many ways.
‘I owe the Cottesloe Sanctuary for giving me a reason to get out of bed. The love and loyalty of a bunch of wounded dumb animals was my reward, and now to be given a sight of you, in whom Desmond and Ferrand had a part, is more than I dared hope for. Don’t be afraid of giving your heart in love. It’s what makes us the best we can be.’
Mel hadn’t slept much after that warning. It was hard to admit her fears. She cared more for Mark, too, than she wanted to admit. These past months had been lonely and empty because of his absence. Still, she decided, mistakes are great signposts and the next time she’d be more thoughtful to a partner. She found she was humming to herself the old folk song ‘I Know Where I’m Going’. I only wish I knew where I’m going after all this, she sighed.
She heard the van arriving in the church car park. It was time to check her new dress in the makeshift dressing-room mirror among the cassocks of the vestry. It was a deep magenta velvet, strapless, with a tight bodice and a long-sleeved bolero edged with ribbon. Round her neck was a collar of pearls that Callie had lent her from Phoebe’s estate, in a box with matching drop earrings. She felt as glamorous as if she were Maria Callas at La Scala, and nervous in that special way. Time to wish each player ‘toi toi’, the musicians’ secret good-luck wish, each to each other. This may not be Covent Garden but it felt like the most important recital of her life so far.
It was a relief to see the church so full. Callie smiled with satisfaction. The great and the good of the county were assembled in their finery. She’d enjoyed choosing a long black skirt and velvet jacket, having her wispy hair dressed into what Melissa called was an ‘up do’ and she had squeezed into some heeled shoes. Now her eye kept glancing to the door just in case.
The concert started on time with the string quartet’s music soaring up to the rafters. There was beautiful piece for flute, and then Melissa walked onto the chancel steps, magnificent and majestic-looking, so poised and beautiful.
When Melissa’s voice soared to the rafters, Callie was stunned by its rich quality. The audience turned to each other, surprised by such power and control. Callie was no expert, but even she could see this girl was a star in the making. And to think she came from me and mine.
Melissa was staring across to her, smiling. ‘In honour of my Scottish ancestry, I have chosen to sing something from Robert Burns: “O My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose”.’How could all this talent come from such love and loss, from Phoebe, Arthur, Ferrand, Desmond and all the messiness of their separations? Here was truly a new beginning. This girl brought such pleasure, pride and meaning back into her life. Callie hoped she could return the favour in some small way. After thunderous applause, Melissa began the haunting ‘Shepherds’ Song’ from Songs of the Auvergne. Callie reached in her pocket for her hanky as her teary eyes roamed over the audience, young and old, all joined by a love of music.
She had hardly slept since she read the email with the offer to sell Dalradnor Lodge She had sworn never to return there without Desmond. It made such sense to secure the shelter here, but the Trust knew their lease was now up. It was only a matter of time before things must change. The sale would solve all their problems and yet . . . This was not the time to be worrying about the future.
Only one thing was missing. She glanced over the faces, searching around until she spied a tall young man covered in snowflakes edging slowly through the door, his eyes fixed only on Melissa. That looks promising, she smiled to herself. Vera’s last-minute invitation had worked . . . Everyone deserved a second chance in life. If only she could be sure she was doing the right thing for the future of the Trust in what she might do next . . .
Finally
Callie sat among the roses in the walled garden of Dalradnor Lodge. The scents were fainter now to her older nostrils but the blossoms still filled her heart with pride: ‘Boule de neige’, the ‘Albertine’ climbing over the wall, the edging of lavender, ‘Madame Alfred Carrière’ arching over the gate. All her ladies were doing fine.
Here she felt close to Phoebe, Arthur and Desmond; all those childhood memories were waiting for her here. Never go back, they say, but sometimes you have to return with older wiser eyes to round the circle of life. Desmond had not forgotten the scent of roses and how she sang to him. Arthur had taken comfort from this in his dugout. She couldn’t bring her son back to life but she’d been granted the next best thing, his daughter.
They’d flown up from London after Mel’s latest concert. Callie had taken some persuading to join her and Mark for a summer holiday, but she owed it to everyone to make this visit, to thank the villagers who had helped her granddaughter. Besides, she had another motive in returning.
How could she have ever thought of selling off Dalradnor to strangers? It wasn’t hers to give away. It must be held in trust for others. She had inspected the old stables with interest, the surrounding fields so perfect for her guests. The Cottesloe would continue but in another place. There were rooms for students, plenty of outbuildings and no landlord breathing down their neck. Everything could be planned for the future. Mark Penrose would organize that for her.
