The Children's Hour (20 page)

Lyddie sighed. The point was that she'd enjoyed it. Going to The Place after a long day of isolated concentration, sitting joking with Joe in the snug, eating delicious food she hadn't had to buy, prepare or cook, was a wonderful change from that unhappy year in London after James had left for New York. How well she could remember coming back to the small flat, after a long day and a gruesome journey home, only to find that she was out of food and much too weary to go out again to shop, so that she'd eat some toast and mindlessly watch some television before falling into bed. It was her work as an editor and the relationships she'd had with her friends at the publishing house that had made life worthwhile. Now, she still had her work but it was difficult to make new friends when one either had to entertain them alone or take them to The Place, where Liam might – or might not – be available to sit and chat with them.

At this point, however, she shook her head. To be honest, it was not really a lack of friends that she was missing – she still kept closely in touch with those few special friends and occasionally went to London to see them – it was this inability to come close to Liam that was beginning to affect her. It was as if his inner self were kept inviolate, unknowable, and, even for her, he was not prepared to make
exceptions. His delightful charm, his wicked tongue and knowing eye disguised a secret personality, a depth that even Lyddie could not penetrate.

‘Are you sure,' her closest friend, Caroline, had asked, ‘that you really want to do this? Oh, I can see that he's drop-dead sexy, and he's terribly funny, and clearly an achiever . . . but he doesn't let you get too close, does he?' And Lyddie, foolishly flattered to think that only
she
had access to the private Liam, had assured her that she knew what she was doing.

Now, trying to be scrupulously fair, she reminded herself that the row over the letter had unnerved her, that these feelings of unreality – as if I'm on some kind of
holiday
, she thought – might simply be a result of the fact that this was an entirely different way of life. Thousands of people – hoteliers, restaurateurs, and those involved with tourism – lived in this oddly fragmented way and managed perfectly happily; yet this truth brought no comfort. The fact remained that Liam was content to go on exactly as he was, with no intention of allowing her more closely into his life. Her need to contribute was simply a desire to be included, to be involved; to break through his protective shell and force him to acknowledge her as an equal in this whole partnership. The row had pointed up her anxieties and it was difficult to return to that previous innocence; that belief that, soon, things would change: that a bar manager would be employed, she would be involved financially, and they would become truly partners, talking openly and freely, sharing their emotions and fears.

The affair of the letter was closed and Liam certainly bore no grudge, there was no lingering resentment or coolness – but no progress had been made either. They were back at square one. Yet things had subtly changed: the honeymoon
period was over but there seemed no clear way forward; all paths at present were marked ‘No Thoroughfare'. The difficulty was that Lyddie was beginning to be less able – less willing – to remain passive. Her instinctive reaction to consider Liam's point of view, to weigh up his reactions carefully, was beginning to crumble in the face of her own needs. This insecurity – a result of James's defection – was not a genetic part of her character and, beneath the fear that she might lose Liam too, her sense of fair play and her determination were re-emerging. More, a longing for his child was beginning to possess her, distracting her from her work, and, after all, might this not be the natural answer to their impasse? Perhaps Liam's indifference to children, his reluctance to discuss the possibility of a family, was simply due to his obsession with The Place? A new mind-set was needed but how to approach it . . .?

A ringing at the doorbell startled her and woke the Bosun, who staggered up and barked confusedly at Lyddie's long mackintosh, hanging from a peg in the hall, before realizing his mistake. After a moment he came in and stared at Lyddie reproachfully, unused to having his sleep so rudely disturbed, and she picked up the parcel and hurried out to open the door.

‘When is Helena coming?' asked Georgie, for the fourth or fifth time since the telephone call, and Mina answered patiently, ‘At the weekend, not long now.'

‘And don't forget Rupert,' murmured Nest wickedly. ‘Dear Rupert's coming too.'

In a corner of the sofa Georgie had already relapsed, as she so often did, toes restlessly tapping, shoulders shrugging, even her face twitching – now frowning, now pouting – as if she could hear a tune in her head, or, rather,
as if she were having a long conversation with an unseen adversary.

‘Why adversary?' asked Mina when Nest had propounded this idea.

‘Because she seems so fractious,' answered Nest, after a moment. ‘You don't feel that she's enjoying herself but that it's some kind of contest.'

Mina had considered this. ‘That sounds about right,' she'd said at last.

Meanwhile, Georgie sat wrapped in her private world whilst Nest knitted the toys and small garments that she sent to the local Women's Institute for their charity stall, and Mina did the crossword. The logs had burned into silky, ashy embers and the wind, howling up in the cleave, rattled at the windows and echoed eerily in the chimney.

‘Yes, Rupert's coming too,' agreed Mina absently. ‘Who wrote
Of Mice and Men
? Nine letters with a B in it.'

‘Steinbeck,' said Nest. ‘The thing is that it's rather easy to forget dear old Rupert, though, isn't it?'

‘Terribly easy,' said Mina, still absently, busy writing in the word – and then, realizing what she'd said, glancing up, first guiltily at Georgie and then reproachfully at Nest, who grinned back at her.

‘Just testing,' said Nest. ‘Away with the fairies.'

‘But not always,' warned Mina.

‘No, not always.' Nest put her knitting aside and yawned. ‘Bedtime. Would you like a hot drink, Mina?'

‘Yes, please.' Mina took off her spectacles and folded up
The Times
. ‘Goodness, is that the time? I'll let the dogs out.' She raised her voice a little. ‘Hot chocolate for you, Georgie?'

Recalled from her inner world, Georgie looked up at her intelligently enough but Nest could see that, even now, it
was still second nature for her to frame her answer carefully. There was seldom, with Georgie, a warm, uncalculated response.

‘As long as it's not as milky as last night,' she said. Her face took on the slightly fretful, faintly frowning expression that indicated that one had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

‘Oh dear.' Mina sounded cheerfully apologetic. ‘Wasn't it quite right? Would you like to do it yourself?'

This was something of a challenge for all three of them. The last time Georgie had made herself a hot drink, Nest had wheeled herself into the kitchen to find milk boiling over the Esse, no sign of Georgie, and Mina's favourite milk pan ruined.

‘Well, if you can't manage to make a cup of hot chocolate . . .' Georgie was struggling to get out of her deep, comfortable corner, mumbling complainingly to herself, whilst Nest had already gone ahead to begin the night-time preparations. Mina put the guard across the fire, collected her spectacles and her book, checked that Georgie had taken her belongings with her and shut the door behind them all. The dogs followed her across the hall, looking forward to their last potter in the garden, and, by the time she reached the kitchen, Nest was already managing the hot drinks, observed closely by Georgie.

Mina went past them, out into the windy night, watching the dogs disappear into the wild garden. Between the flying wracks of cloud, torn apart by sharp gusts, she could see the bright stars, whilst the music of the tumbling waterfall, cascading into the stream, joined with the roaring of the gale in the trees up on the steep-sided cleave, and, beneath it all, the insistent, groaning groundswell of the sea.

Invigorated, refreshed, she called to the dogs, who
appeared one by one, and they went back into the sudden hush of the kitchen. Georgie had already gone, carrying her mug of chocolate, and Nest was putting the pan to soak, Mina's mug waiting on the Esse to keep it warm.

‘That was naughty of you,' she said, bending to kiss her goodnight. ‘Saying that about Rupert. Very risky.'

‘I know,' said Nest unrepentantly, ‘but, you know, Mina, there are times when I
want
to do something outrageous. To break out of this damned prison; to dance and run . . .'

She looked away, the passion dying from her flushed face, biting her lips, whilst Mina watched her helplessly, knowing from past experience that nothing she could say would ease the pain.

‘On the other hand,' said Nest, wheeling towards the door, ‘I think I'd rather be physically crippled than mentally crippled. I'm not really making fun of Georgie, you know, it's just a kind of letting off steam. Oh God, the frustration! And now, the fear on top of it. Sometimes, I think I might explode with it all. Anyway, none of it's your fault. Sorry, Mina. Goodnight.'

Distressed, Mina climbed the stairs, the dogs at her heels, clutching her mug in one hand, spectacles and book in the other, but, once the bedroom door was closed behind her, the tension slipped away and she entered into her little sanctuary with hopeful cheerfulness. The hot drink, a talk with Elyot, a chapter of her book; these were all pleasures to be savoured, along with the warm welcome that the dear and familiar objects offered and, later, the comfort of the bed, made luxuriously cosy with the electric blanket; a present from Hannah and Jack.

‘Po-po-po' – each breath dispelled some tiny anxiety as the drink was placed carefully beside her computer and the dogs settled and curled themselves on their beds. She
undressed, remembering other nights with candlelight and icy sheets, and hurried herself into the fleecy robe, murmuring a grateful prayer for the comfort she presently enjoyed. Tonight, she decided, returning to the alcove, switching on the computer, sipping the hot, sweet chocolate, tonight Elyot would not be reserved as a treat. No, tonight he would be first: she needed him. Her thin shoulders sagged with relief when she saw that there was a message from him, and she opened it eagerly.

From:
  Elyot
To:
      Mina

My dear friend
How are you? Not blown away, I hope? We've had a better day, today . . .

Nest, however, could not sleep. The demons, against which she struggled with reasonable success during the day, returned at night to torment her. Frustration, resentment, guilt and despair: these were her night-time companions. As she sat in bed, propped about with pillows, she wondered if Georgie's presence was good for any of them, even for Georgie herself. It seemed to Nest that, back here at Ottercombe, in the home of her youth, Georgie's confusion was increased. Last weekend, she'd watched Jack's children, and Jack himself, with a kind of painful intensity that had been quite upsetting to witness. It was clear – or so Nest thought – that she was travelling between the past and the present, trying to make sense of it, and failing. Sometimes she confused Mina with Mama, although for much of the time she was quite bright and alert. Nevertheless, she was dangerous. She'd already disinterred Mina's love for Tony Luttrell; what else might she decide to uncover? It was clear that Mina was nervous, although she still denied
that Georgie knew as much as she pretended.

‘She always enjoyed that sense of power,' she'd said comfortingly. ‘Hinting at things and putting us all on edge. But when it came down to it, it was only things she'd imagined or half heard.'

‘The trouble is,' Nest had answered, ‘if you have a guilty secret then that kind of thing makes you distinctly nervous. People have been murdered for behaving like Georgie.'

The blurting out of Mina's secret had seriously upset Nest. Not only was she furious for Mina's sake – it might have been very embarrassing and distressing for her – it had made her frightened on her own behalf. In Nest's opinion Georgie could not be trusted, and there was an end to it.

‘But what can we do?' Mina had said despairingly. ‘I shall ask Helena to take her away if you're really frightened.'

‘The trouble is, she might say something to Helena or Rupert. Or to anyone!' Nest had looked quite wretched. ‘I don't think I shall ever feel safe again.'

‘If you feel like that, then I shall talk to Helena at the weekend,' Mina had answered firmly. ‘After all, at my age there are limits to how much I can do. She and Rupert must understand that. My first responsibility is to you and I can see that this is beginning to stress you.'

Nest had shaken her head, torn between her own fear and pity for Georgie.

‘Let's wait and see,' she'd said.

As she sat in bed she fretted at her inconsistency yet, each time she saw Georgie's vacant, lost expression, her heart contracted with compassion and she knew that she must cope with her own anxiety for a little longer. Knowing that a bad night lay ahead, Nest gave up any attempt at stoicism and took a sleeping tablet. Settling herself as comfortably as
she could, she allowed her thoughts to drift, giving way at last to the memories she'd buried for so long.

There are so many changes after the war. Georgie is married, now, to a young man at the Treasury, whilst Henrietta and Josie, still quarrelling, go to London and find jobs: Josie as a secretary in a department of London University and Henrietta in a small antique shop owned by a very wealthy, titled woman. To begin with, the first floor of the London house is turned into a flat for them but, when Ambrose dies of lung cancer just after his fifty-fourth birthday, the house is divided formally and the rest of it is let. Georgie promises to keep an eye on her two younger sisters and, when Mina returns to Ottercombe after Richard's death, it is clear that Lydia is very happy to sink into a semi-invalidism. Her world has changed: Ambrose dead, Timothy dead, one daughter is married and another a widow. It seems that she no longer has the will or the energy to control the lives of her two strong-minded, single daughters and she lets them go to make their own way in this new, strange world.