A home from home, p.29
A Home From Home, page 29
How could he forget? He didn’t want to think about it now, because it made him even more aware of her proximity.
‘Of course I remember,’ he whispered back.
All he meant to do was kiss her. Just to give her reassurance, because it seemed to be what she needed. He didn’t mean for it to go any further. He really didn’t.
The next day, Matthew could hear the church bells begin an hour before the ceremony. The Rushbrook bell ringers loved a chance to show off their skills. The sound taunted him across the fields. He had hardly slept the night before, and now he couldn’t study.
He was worried about Diana. He should have taken her more seriously. He should have offered to rescue her. She had fallen asleep in his arms, then peeled herself away from him in alarm when she realised the time.
‘I must be back for tea. They’ll be wondering where I am.’
She dressed and fled before they’d had time to discuss her plight any further. He needed to know she was all right. He looked at the clock. He raced up to his bedroom and found the little velvet box he had hidden in his dressing-table drawer. He ran back down the stairs, out of the door, across the yard, down the field, over the river and up the field on the other side.
He walked along the terrace at the back of Rushbrook House. There were people everywhere preparing for the wedding breakfast afterwards. If anyone stopped him he would say he was delivering something. No one would recognise him, except Diana’s mother. He would just have to hope he didn’t cross her path.
He slipped in through the French windows. Through the drawing room. Into the hall. He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, then ran up them. He walked along the corridor looking into each bedroom until he found her.
She was in a silk dress the colour of clotted cream. It was cut off the shoulder with a tight waist and a very full skirt that trailed behind her. She had diamonds hanging from her ears. She looked at him, startled.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to make sure you’re all right.’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
It was the same thing she had said to him the first time. With the same bright smile. As if nothing had happened between them. He realised he was not her rescuer. She wasn’t going to plead with him to take her with him. He wasn’t going to lift her up in his arms and carry her away.
‘You need to go,’ she said, sotto voce. ‘Everyone’s at the church already. I’m to leave in five minutes. My mother—’
He put his hand in his pocket and drew something out.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is for you.’
It was a tiny brooch: a dragonfly. It wasn’t precious – not diamonds, just marcasite – but it was pretty. He had bought it in Nettleford just after Christmas, when in a fleeting moment of foolishness he had thought …
‘I can’t take this,’ she said.
‘It will look after you,’ he said, pinning it to her dress, turning the clasp so it stayed fast. ‘I’ll always be there, if you need me. Always.’
There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him.
‘My mother will be here in a moment,’ she whispered. ‘Please go. You’ve got to go.’
He heard the bells ringing out, even more insistent this time. As he left the room, he imagined the church, the pews filling up with guests, the scent of pollen from the flowers heavy in the air.
And Max Culbone at the altar, waiting for his bride.
40
When he went back up to Cambridge for the Michaelmas term, the first person he bumped into was Joy, standing in the queue for a bun at Fitzbillies, the bakery. She was with two other trainee nurses, and greeted him with glee.
‘This is my knight in shining armour,’ she told her companions. ‘Old Bootface would have given me the heave-ho if it wasn’t for him.’
‘Thank you for the bacon,’ he said to her, and her friends looked at the two of them knowingly as they smiled at each other. He loved the way her whole face lit up with mischief when she smiled; the way she seemed genuinely delighted to see him.
The queue was getting shorter. They were nearly at the counter. This was one of those moments, he knew, when what he said and did would affect his future.
‘Would you like to come to the cinema one night?’ he asked.
He didn’t think her face could light up more, but it did.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Oh yes, I’d love that.’
‘Thursday?’ he said on impulse, not having any idea what else he might be doing but knowing that whatever it was he would cancel if necessary.
‘Joy! What do you want?’ Her friends were at the counter.
‘A sausage roll!’ she called, then turned back to him. ‘Thursday. I’ll meet you outside the cinema at half past six.’
They went to see The Bridge on the River Kwai. But neither of them really took in what was happening on the big screen. They were both too aware that this was the first day of the rest of their lives together. There was no dramatic moment, no crashing music, no passionate screen kiss. It was an unspoken agreement. They felt like two slippers that belonged together, comfortable, content, cosy. As their hands joined as the credits rolled up, they looked at each other.
‘Drink?’ asked Matthew.
‘Lovely,’ said Joy.
Yet again, he had to let her climb on his shoulders to get back in and avoid the wrath of matron.
Life unfolded itself in front of them. Matthew graduated, Joy passed her nursing exams, and they got married in the chapel at his college and moved back to Nettleford. Matthew was to work at Melchior and Sons, for his father, and Joy joined the hospital in Honisham as a nurse. They rented a dear little cottage at the end of the high street and settled very quickly into small-town life.
There was only one sorrow. Month after month, there was no sign of a baby on the way. It was what they both wanted. They had everything planned. Matthew’s mother had promised that she would help with childcare if and when Joy wanted to go back to work at the hospital, though Matthew assured her that he would be earning enough if she wanted to stay at home. But it never came to that.
Matthew found his heart breaking over and over again. He couldn’t bear Joy’s distress every time it was evident she wasn’t pregnant.
‘What’s the matter with me?’ she asked him, bewildered. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Perhaps it’s not you,’ he reassured her. ‘I expect it’s me. I’m so sorry.’
How long did you go on torturing yourself? After five years, they accepted the fact they would be childless. Joy plunged herself into her work and took up a role as a district nurse. Matthew took on more responsibility at Melchior and Sons. They were familiar and popular figures in the town, integrating themselves into the community. They played tennis, went to concerts, supported the local amateur dramatics and spent a lot of time with his parents at Dragonfly Farm.
It was a bleak November afternoon when Matthew’s secretary led his next client into his office. He looked up to see Diana standing in front of him, buttoned into a black coat with a fur collar. She looked painfully thin and drawn, her hair teased into a beehive. Beautiful, but her eyes were dead.
‘Oh,’ he said, as she sank into the seat in front of him.
‘I have nowhere else to turn,’ she said. ‘Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other option.’
He swallowed. His mouth was dry. He felt unsettled – he could sense danger. He was immediately on his guard. He could smell her perfume, so familiar, but it was stale.
‘You said you would always be there. If I needed you.’
She was not going to spoil what he had, he told himself. She was not going to walk back into his life and cause trouble. But he had made a promise. He couldn’t deny that.
‘Of course. What can I do for you?’ He stayed polite but formal.
She put her gloved hands in her lap and looked down. He was shocked by her demeanour. She looked beaten. Downtrodden. There was none of the spirit or vivacity he had been drawn to.
‘I’ve struggled for as long as I can, but I need help. For me. And my daughter, Lydia.’ She put a hand up to smooth her already perfect hair. ‘I had to leave Max before she was born. He’s a drunk.’
‘I’m very sorry.’ Before the baby was born? What kind of a man was he, to drive her to such lengths?
‘He’s a drunk and a coward and a bully.’ Tears came into her eyes. ‘I tried to make the best of it. I am a good mother, believe it or not.’ She looked a little defiant at this. ‘But I’ve run out of ideas and I’m terribly tired and I’m terribly frightened. Sometimes I have people coming to the door to ask for their money – I’ve no idea what the debts are, but it seems that as his wife I’m accountable even though he is nowhere to be seen.’ She grimaced. ‘These aren’t the sort of people who are worried about small details. They just want their money back.’
‘This is very unfortunate,’ Matthew agreed. ‘But how can I help?’
‘I need money.’ Diana drew herself up and suddenly he saw some of that old energy. She looked him in the eye. ‘And I’ve come to you because …’ She faltered for a moment. Even she had a modicum of shame. ‘Max is not Lydia’s father. Max is unable to father. Perhaps it’s the drink, or perhaps that’s why he drinks, who knows? Everyone called her a honeymoon baby and congratulated him. But if it was up to Max, I’d still be a virgin.’
Matthew had never felt fear like it. Perhaps only once, when he had overtaken a car on his Indian motorcycle without noticing another car coming towards him. That same spike of adrenaline coursed through him now. Panic and terror, made worse by the knowledge that the danger he had put himself in was entirely his own fault.
‘Lydia is your daughter.’ Diana’s voice was soft now. ‘She is six years old, and she deserves better. She deserves a good school, because she’s a bright little thing. I’m guessing she has your brains, not mine.’ She gave the ghost of a smile. ‘As I said, if I could think of another way out I’d take it.’ She leaned forward. ‘My mother brought me up to believe I could have a fairy-tale life – the life she’d always wanted. That I could charm a handsome prince into marrying me and live happily ever after. I made a mistake,’ she said, echoing the words he remembered from the day before her wedding day. ‘I made a terrible mistake.’
Matthew put his hand over his mouth. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He tried to think it through logically. He thought she was telling the truth. In a way, he hoped she was, because if she was lying, that made her even more calculating. And if he was the baby’s father, he had a duty to her. Of course he did. He could not stand by and let his own child suffer because of some other man’s cowardice. Matthew might be a fool, but he was not a coward. And he was certainly a better man than Max Culbone.
But there was one thing more important than the well-being of Diana and the child he hadn’t known about. He was going to protect Joy for as long as he lived. After all, he wasn’t foolish enough to think that Diana had come to his office for him.
‘I’m so sorry for what has happened,’ he said. ‘And of course I’ll help you. But there must be conditions.’
Diana just nodded. She was, he could tell, used to conditions. Everything in her life had been conditional upon something.
‘My wife and I have been unable to have children. If your daughter is mine—’
Diana looked up sharply. ‘She is. I promise.’
Matthew put a hand up. ‘I’m not disputing that. I just mean that if she is my daughter, it means our misfortune is … not of my making.’
Diana thought through the implications of his words. ‘Oh.’ There was a flicker of sympathy in her face for the childless Joy.
‘I will never, ever let my wife know that. I will never, ever let her think it’s her fault that we can’t have children. It would break her heart.’
To his surprise, there was a tear trickling down Diana’s cheek.
‘No one must ever know I am Lydia’s father. That is my condition. I’m sorry, because in any other circumstance …’ He trailed off, not wanting to think about the position he was in too closely. ‘But my wife comes first and always, always will.’
Diana was trying to wipe away her tears. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And I’m so sorry.’ She put her face in her hands. ‘I am so sorry. I know what a wonderful father you would be.’
Matthew flinched at her words. They were sincere, which made it worse. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Doing his duty, while protecting the woman he loved. He wasn’t going to sacrifice Joy to protect Diana. He felt a pang of regret for the child he would never meet, but he knew he could never be a proper father to Lydia. That wasn’t what Diana wanted.
Again, he remembered his uncle’s words: We’re not for women like that. They like men like us, though, because we are always there to pick up the pieces.
He opened his drawer, pulled out his chequebook and took the lid off his pen.
‘I’ll give you a monthly allowance for Lydia. I’ll pay for her to attend a private day school – I’ll pay the fees directly to them.’
He started to write Diana’s name, then hesitated. ‘Is it still Culbone?’
She nodded and gave a wintry smile. ‘The name is always useful for opening doors.’
‘If you need anything else for her, just write to me care of this office and mark it confidential. And perhaps let me know of her progress every now and then.’
Diana sat still, her head bowed. He could feel her shame, and he was sad that she felt that. He understood she was here out of desperation, not calculation. The clock on the wall ticked solemnly. Matthew’s pen hovered over the blank space on his chequebook and he filled out a generous sum.
His pen moved smoothly over the cheque as he signed it. He tore out the cheque and pushed it across the desk. She took it without looking at the amount, folded it and put it into her bag.
‘Thank you,’ said Diana softly. ‘Thank you …’
She stood up and walked over to him, taking his hands in hers.
‘You are a good man,’ she said. ‘Your wife is the luckiest woman in the world to have you.’
And she turned and left the office.
Many years later, Matthew sat in the same office, on the same side of the desk as Diana had, and gave his final instructions to Thomas Bickleigh. The file sat on the desk between them. It was filled with bills that Matthew had paid, copies of letters sent to Diana from Melchior and Sons, and letters from Diana to Matthew telling him of their daughter’s progress. There was the occasional photograph, mostly of Lydia, but including one of Lydia’s son, Gabriel.
‘You’re quite sure this is what you want to do?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you don’t want to leave an explanation in your will?’
‘No. It’s not my story to tell. It’s up to Diana to explain it to her grandson if she wants to. I don’t want to break her confidentiality. She kept mine for many years. I’ve written to her explaining that.’
He pushed the letter across the desk. Mr Bickleigh picked it up to read it.
Dear Diana,
I hope this letter finds you well. I am sad to say that my beloved wife, Joy, passed away recently and I am now putting my affairs in order. I inherited Dragonfly Farm from my parents, and I intend to leave it to my two great-nieces, for as you know, Joy and I had no children. It was our greatest sorrow.
I feel strongly that it is the next generation who should benefit from my bequest. At the moment I am in full health, but I’m writing to let you know that on my death our grandson Gabriel will receive an equal share in Dragonfly Farm together with my great-nieces, Tabitha Melchior and Georgia Melchior-Hawkins. I have seen what he is doing with interest. He seems a fine young man. I will leave it to you to explain our connection if and when you see fit. I think it’s probably far too late for an introduction, but if you think he would welcome it, please get in touch, and I also include a letter for you to pass on to him if you wish.
With my warmest wishes,
Matthew Melchior
Dear Gabriel,
We have never met, but I am very proud to be your grandfather. I am also proud to be the owner of one of your knives, and I am in great admiration of your craftsmanship. I am leaving you a share in Dragonfly Farm – one third, to be shared with my great-nieces, Tabitha and Georgia. I hope this news will be welcome and that Dragonfly Farm will bring you great joy, as it did my wife and me. I wish you every happiness.
Your grandfather,
Matthew Melchior
PART SIX
41
Gabriel closed the box gently. He leaned back in the chair, absorbing all the information in the hushed quiet of Mr Bickleigh’s office, surrounded by files containing the last wills and testaments of most of Nettleford: legacies that might spark surprise or outrage or disappointment. Wills were a complex layering of duty and whim, nuanced by long-hidden secrets and moral obligations.
He felt his heart break for his grandmother. Now everything that had happened in their last conversation made sense. Her tears for Matthew, her declaration that she had made a terrible mistake, the dragonfly brooch. He didn’t know quite how she had come by it, but she must have clung to it as a talisman of what she had lost over the years. And the letters that had arrived too late, just as all her memories began trickling away? Had she meant to act on them, and then forgotten? Or perhaps they had been swept up and thrown away with all the other unwanted post that arrived on her doormat, demands for charitable donations and adverts for hearing aids and reading lamps.
He felt sad for his mother, too, for perhaps more than anyone she had been the victim in all of this without a father figure, but he thought she had come out of it all right in the end. Lydia had always been very determined and independent, and Gabriel felt sure that she was happy.
