Echoes of the Dance (42 page)

‘Could the heron carry me on his back?' he asks, kneeling up to see if there is a picture of Sir Herne.

‘Oh, no.' His mother shakes her head. ‘You're far too big. Gnomes are tiny people. Look at the picture on the front of the book. Baldmoney is hardly bigger than the owl, d'you see?'

‘Could he carry Mim?'

They both look at Mim, who is engrossed in removing the jacket from her doll and humming to herself: she likes the stories but is easily distracted. The thought of Mim riding on Sir Herne's back makes them both laugh. They can imagine how she would wriggle and scream with fear and pleasure, her small hands gripping his feathers.

‘I like Sir Herne,' says Roly. ‘Even if he does sometimes catch one of the fish.'

‘Clever old Mother Nature holds a balance between all the creatures. He has to feed his babies just as I have to feed you and Mim. Listen, is that Daddy coming home?'

They hear footsteps crossing the yard, stamping mud off at the door.

‘It's Giant Grum the gamekeeper with his big boots,' grins Roly – and he runs to open the door for his father. ‘We're reading about Sir Herne,' he tells him. ‘You're just in time to hear the end of the chapter.'

Roly moved, so as to see the heron better, and he rose at once, long legs trailing, the feathered edges of the great wings stretched, fingerlike, as he climbed steadily, turning downstream where his fledgelings waited, perched amongst the tallest branches of the heronry high above the river.

Kate put down the telephone and stood for a moment, trying to put her thoughts into some semblance of order. All through this last week, whilst she'd been trying to come to terms with Gemma's news which had been followed so closely by Nat's crisis, she'd been viewing cottages in the hope of finding one that she might love. She'd trailed round with Michael, longing for both their sakes to find the one special place, only to return home each day, dispirited and frightened.

She knew that this was foolish: so many people – Giles, Harriet, Roly – had offered her a temporary roof over her head, and she knew that Cass would insist that she must move into the Rectory until she found somewhere of her own to live, but so far she'd been able to believe that something would turn up. Kate loved her family and friends but she couldn't quite imagine herself living with them. And then there was Floss. Ever since Roly and Daisy had come to lunch, and they'd been to see the cottage, she'd wished that she'd kept Floss with her. She'd begun to see that Floss was a perfect answer to her need and there were moments when she longed to jump into the car and drive down to fetch her. Each time, however, some instinct had warned her against this hasty action, cautioning her to wait just a little longer.

Could this be the answer for which she'd been waiting: the cottage by the sea wall in St Meriadoc? She remembered The Row, their sturdy stone backs turned to the Atlantic storms, and the impression that the high cliffs curved protectively round the cove so as to hold it in their rocky embrace.

‘You'd be among friends,' Roly had said encouragingly, ‘but you'd be self-sufficient with plenty of privacy.'

Kate thought that he'd sounded the least bit wistful – she knew that he'd hoped she might accept his offer of the stable flat once Daisy moved to London – but she knew too that he genuinely thought that it was a very sensible plan.

‘And it isn't furnished,' he'd added, ‘so you could have quite a lot of your own things with you. Not so much to put into store, which is another bonus.'

Kate stared around her wondering how on earth she would decide which of these pieces of her life, and her children's lives, she would keep: how did one begin to make such heart-breaking decisions? There were so many things that she'd hoped that Guy and Giles would be able to have in due course – books, furniture and even toys that would give a sense of continuum to their families, passing on to their children. Well, at least the twins wouldn't be worrying about their playroom any more: they were much too excited about their great new adventure and all the wonderful things that they would see and do.

She turned her thoughts quickly away from the twins, ignoring the sickening stab of misery, and instead considered the cottage in The Row. If it was about the size of house she was looking for then, once it was furnished, a lot of her furniture could be sold. As she brooded over what she couldn't bear to part with, and what she might be prepared to let go, it occurred to her that for the first time she would be choosing a house simply for herself. It was an odd idea and one to which she needed to give some thought.

David and she had never bought a house together. This house had remained very much the family base that she and her brother Chris had chosen and shared when the twins were growing up: David's flat too had retained the impression of his first wife and their daughter. After their marriage, each place had adapted slightly to accommodate the changes but neither she nor David had been inclined to stamp their own personalities particularly strongly so as to mark the new territories as their own. David had always been sensitive to the fact that the Whitchurch house was Guy and Giles's home and had seemed perfectly happy to fit in to the existing scenario. Whenever David had been here on Dartmoor, there'd been an air of cheerful impermanence, of holiday: London for work, the West Country for holidays, he'd say. He'd loved the moor but he'd equally loved the north coast and he'd often woken early with a desire to go dashing off to the sea. She remembered that once, after a lunch with Bruno, he'd taken her to see the house his family had once owned at Polzeath where, as a child, he'd spent his summer holidays; St Meriadoc wasn't far from Polzeath.

‘How would you like to live by the sea?' Roly had asked her.

‘Oh, I'm no stranger to the sea,' she'd answered. ‘Apart from all those naval ports, my family moved to St Just when I was quite young and I was at school at St Audrey's, up on the north coast of Somerset. I love the sea. It's just so difficult to imagine leaving Dartmoor, especially just now. It's always been such a strength and comfort to me.'

‘I know.' His voice was gentle. ‘But it's not for ever, Kate. Just to give you a breathing space. Anyway, perhaps it will give you the opportunity to find another source of comfort and strength.'

She remembered that, all the while they'd been talking, she'd been fiddling with the book of
Showings
, turning it round and round, flipping through the pages. Now, some touch of grace, a new hope and confidence, unexpectedly sprang up in her heart. With a kind of wordless supplication, she opened the book, turning the pages as if seeking for guidance.

‘God of your goodness, give me Yourself, for You are enough for me.'

To Kate the words were surprisingly apt. Julian's simple little prayer seemed like a starting place: a point from which she might begin a new and exciting journey.

EPILOGUE

It was December. Backstage at the Adelphi Theatre the atmosphere fizzed with an almost tangible sensation of overwhelming relief and excitement: The Starlight Express was a success. Performers and members of the audience mingled with the lighting crew and scene-shifters whilst the younger students carried round tall fluted glasses of champagne on trays and plates of delicious food for their guests. Mim and Daisy stood together, talking with a rising young choreo- grapher, their expansive gestures and beaming faces indicating their feelings of heartfelt satisfaction. Janna, Kate and Nat were laughing in a group that included Jane West and the Haystack Woman – a very promising young male dancer whose performance had the audience raising the roof with cheers and laughter, and who was still dressed in padded canvas skirts and immense black boots. Bruno was in conversation with the reviewers from
The Times
and the
Evening Standard.

Half hidden in the wings Roly studied the scene with contentment. He and Kate and Bruno had driven up together, staying with Mim in the flat, whilst Nat and Janna had travelled by train and were staying with Daisy. Kate was looking so relaxed as she talked to the pretty Gardener about her performance and watching with amused sympathy whilst the young male dancer showed them the extent of the padding under his Haystack Woman's skirts. Roly knew just how much Kate was already missing Guy and his small family, although the move to St Meriadoc, and the settling in of Floss, had done much to keep her thoughts occupied.

‘I'm just so lucky to have Giles and Tessa and the babes,' she'd said to him earlier. ‘They are such a comfort and they love coming over to the north coast. Tessa thinks that Henry's old enough to do his first sleepover on his own so you can imagine how excited I am about that. I'm getting his room ready. And Bruno and his family are unbelievably kind. I feel I've known them for ever. You know we were talking about whether I'd ever find anywhere to buy? Well, I've decided to renew the lease on the cottage for another six months. I haven't seen anything I really like and Floss and I are very happy at St Meriadoc for the time being. It's rather like being on an extended holiday. And I can't tell you what comfort it is to have you near at hand.'

Now Roly watched affectionately as Kate slipped an arm through Nat's and he smiled down at her. Nat too looked happier: less wary and more serene, he had the air of someone who was slowly coming to terms with himself. Janna, bright as a peacock in Indian silks, with her lion hair like a golden aureole about her small face, seemed in her element and utterly at home amongst these people of the stage. Nat and Kate had had great difficulty in persuading her to come – she'd feared that she might be out of her depth – but she looked more in keeping here than Roly had ever seen her in any other setting.

As for Daisy . . . as if she guessed his thoughts she turned and looked at him. With a word to Mim she began to thread her way through the crowds until she reached him. Her face was radiant with joy and Roly grinned at her.

‘Happy?' he asked.

She closed her eyes, as if in blissful contemplation of her exalted state, drawing a deep contented breath.

‘I don't think I can put it into words. Happy is inadequate for the way I feel. I was so nervous I was sick with it; somehow, it was even worse than performing. When you're dancing, on the night you can only give as much as you are, but when it's your own work on the line, and you're watching other dancers out there performing it, you feel much more vulnerable to criticism.' She looked at him, clenching both fists and punching the air. ‘It worked, Roly. I can't describe to you the feeling of seeing all my visions coming true.'

‘I can understand a bit of it,' he told her. ‘I am so proud of you.'

She hugged him, holding him tightly for a moment. ‘You were the great unwumbler. Right from the very first moment I saw you, it was you who began the process.'

Mim joined them before he could think of a suitable reply. Elegant in supple soft silky wool of charcoal grey she smiled with tenderness upon them both.

‘What a triumph,' she said, deftly taking a glass of champagne from a passing tray. ‘We've just been talking about it with the choreographer, Daniel Malpass, and he's been saying some very nice things about Daisy. It all went perfectly.' She took a little sip, her eyes regarding Roly thoughtfully above the rim of the glass. ‘Whom did it remind you of, Roly?'

He looked at her sharply and they exchanged a long, nostalgic glance of remembrance: a shared and distant past of fun and laughter and loss.

‘It reminded me of Mother,' he answered. ‘The music and the dancing and especially that last scene; I couldn't help thinking how much she would have loved it.'

‘I thought that, too,' agreed Mim. ‘And in an odd way I felt that it was a tribute to her. Don't you agree? It was the sum of all her parts, the culmination of everything that she bequeathed to us, the echoes of the dance. Daisy gathered it all up and breathed life into it.' She shook her head, smiling at her foolishness. ‘Take no notice, I'm being fanciful. Mad Madame Mim! Come, Daisy. There's someone I want you to meet.'

Roly watched them go, thinking about what Mim had said and knowing that she was right. In some strange way
The
Starlight Express
had embodied all the joy and love and faith that their young mother had spilled so generously into their lives. Standing quiet and at peace he remembered how scene had followed magical scene, just as Daisy and Mim had planned through all those long weeks of summer, building inevitably to the final brilliant conclusion: the glorious voices of the Organ-Grinder and the Laugher joining together in the last duet and then that quite unexpected, heart-jumping orchestral slide into the first bars of the carol. And finally, whilst the carillon of bells heralded the rising of the gauzy backdrop, fully revealing the night sky with its shining web of stars, the whole cast had turned to welcome the rising of the most mysterious and wonderful Star of all: the Star of Bethlehem.