The Winter Folly (25 page)

‘I’ll come back before too long,’ she said, kissing Delilah goodbye at the front door. ‘I might come by train next time – it’s a hell of a drive. But
it’s been lovely to see you. I wouldn’t have missed that coronet for anything. Let me know if you find the robes.’

‘I will. Have a safe journey back.’ Delilah kissed her friend’s cheeks, hoping Susie did not realise how relieved she was to see her go.

Susie pulled back to look Delilah right in the eye. ‘Now, promise me,’ she said sternly, ‘that you’re not going to go burning that stuff. John will calm down, I guarantee
it, and he’ll see the sense of selling it off. It would be a crime to destroy those lovely things. Some of those gloves were real kid as well. I’d love to know what else is there. Do
say I can come back and have a rootle.’

‘Of course you can,’ Delilah said. ‘Whenever you want. Well – perhaps give it a few weeks at least to let things die down.’

‘All right. Bye, sweetie.’

As soon as Susie had closed the door of her car and started up the engine, Delilah raced to find John but he had not been in the estate office or watching the afternoon sport on the telly in the
small sitting room, or in their bedroom. She’d wandered all over the house calling for him, when, in a sudden moment of inspiration, she climbed the dusty attic stairs and found the hatch to
the roof open. Putting her head out, she saw him sitting on the gently sloping eaves a little way along, his feet on the broad lead ledge that edged the guttering. The Victorian faux battlements
that had been added to the east wing bordered the outside of the gutter and made it perfectly safe to sit there. She pulled herself up and scrambled out.

‘John?’

Stepping carefully to avoid dislodging any slates, she went towards him, walking at an angle. He turned to look at her and then gazed back out at the view.

‘Are you all right?’ she said a little breathlessly as she reached him.

There was a long silence. She could hear the summer breeze whistling around the chimney tops. It was windier up here than she’d expected and her fair hair was lifted up to flick around her
face and into her mouth. She pulled it away and tried to tuck it behind one ear but the wind wouldn’t leave it alone. She stared at her husband, at his thin angular face with the dusting of
dark stubble that showed he hadn’t shaved today. His grey eyes were stormy and distant as he stared out over the stretch of green parkland below, the dark mass of the woods and the edge of
the distant village just glimpsed behind the curve of the hill.

‘Those were your mother’s things, weren’t they?’ she said.

He nodded, still not looking at her.

‘I’m so sorry, darling. I wish that hadn’t happened. I wish you hadn’t seen those clothes.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said shortly. ‘They’re just things.’

‘They connect you to the past.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘The past that hurt you.’ She pulled her errant hair out of her mouth again, where the wind insisted on driving it. She felt that here was a moment when she could ask simply,
‘What happened?’ and he would answer her. She was desperate to know and yet something wouldn’t let her speak. It felt wrong to demand that he open his private grief to satisfy her
curiosity. He would offer it when he was ready. If he didn’t wish to tell her, was it really her right to pry and demand answers?

‘Will you come down?’ she asked.

After a minute he said, ‘Soon. Not just yet.’ He turned to look at her, and his gaze softened. He put his hand out to hers and said, ‘You go in. I’ll join you.’

She had left him there, climbing back down into the almost unbearable stuffiness of the attics, while he sat in the buffeting wind staring out over the great expanse beyond.

Much later, when he came to bed, he lay with his back to her, and she moved to hug him tightly and kiss the back of his neck.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, and rubbed her cheek against him.

He murmured something and she hugged him more tightly, wanting to let some of her loving energy flow into him through a kind of osmosis. She could almost feel his sadness and longed to make it
better if she could. Her hand caressed his skin, travelling over his hip and stomach.

‘Did you hear me?’ he asked, turning towards her.

‘No. What did you say?’

‘I said – you won’t forget that I want those things burnt, will you?’

Her hand stopped on his chest. Then she exhaled softly into the darkness, stroked her fingers over him again and said, ‘I won’t forget.’

1965

Alexandra set out for the village but was only halfway there before she wished she’d brought one of the old bicycles she’d seen propped against the wall in the
garage. The walk from the house to the gate was at least a mile and then there was the hill to climb and the descent into the village. As she approached its outskirts, she felt a flutter of nerves.
She was bound to meet someone she knew and what was her story? How did Miss Crewe – or rather, Mrs Sykes now – come to be walking down the street alone when she was last seen being
whisked away on honeymoon by her new husband?

But she saw almost no one, just a boy in long shorts loping along on an errand of some kind. As she reached the Old Grange, she was glad that no one had spoiled her quiet approach. She would
once have gone to let herself in the back, where Emily would have been bustling about in the kitchen, but now she walked up to the white front door where dark red roses were still blooming against
the mellow stone, and rapped the brass knocker smartly.

She waited but there was no answer so she knocked again more loudly. Just as she was considering whether to take the side path to the back, the door opened. Emily stood there, her expression
agonised.

‘Oh, miss!’ she exclaimed in a whisper. ‘Miss Alexandra, it’s lovely to see you—’

‘Hello, Emily, how are you?’ she said merrily. Emily had worked at the house for as long as she could remember and was like a friend to her. ‘Is my father ready for me? Shall I
go to the study? Can you bring us some tea?’

‘Oh . . .’ Emily’s brown eyes looked even more pained and she glanced over her shoulder in consternation before turning back to Alexandra. ‘He
can’t—’

‘Is he busy? I’ll come in and wait.’ She stepped forward to make her way inside but Emily kept the door half closed and barred her way.

‘You don’t understand, miss. I can’t let you in . . . He’s forbidden it.’ A pleading look crossed her face and she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, miss, he
won’t have it any other way and I daren’t disobey.’

There was a horrible pause, then Alexandra said brightly, ‘Of course not.’ She was surprised she sounded so calm considering the torrent of horrible emotions she was battling
inside.

‘He said you would call and I wasn’t to let you in under any circumstances.’ Tears filled the maid’s eyes. ‘It’s a terrible thing, miss, terrible . .
.’

‘Don’t be silly, Emily, I’m sure he has his reasons and of course you must obey your instructions.’ She smiled bravely even though tears were pricking her own eyes. She
blinked hard. ‘It’s so nice to see you, though. Are you well?’

‘Yes, miss,’ whispered Emily, her mouth turning down at the corners and one hand clutching her apron.

‘Good. I’ll come back soon and we’ll be able to have a good gossip, won’t we? I want to hear all the news. I’m sure there’s been lots going on while
I’ve been away.’

Emily’s gaze slid away from hers. ‘Oh, miss,’ she said sadly, ‘
you’re
all the news at the moment. What you’ve done. Where you are.’

Alexandra stared at her, a clammy sickness crawling over her. ‘I see. Well . . . you know how people talk, Emily. But I wouldn’t want you to think badly of me.’

Emily stared at the stone doorstep and whispered, ‘No, miss, I couldn’t do that, no matter what they all say.’ She jerked up, evidently hearing something from inside that
Alexandra could not. ‘I must go.’

‘Yes. Goodbye, Emily. Goodbye.’ Alexandra turned and hurried down the path, not wanting to see the front door of her old home closed in her face.

The walk home was very different: difficult and drenched with misery. She knew, when Mrs Hobson the post mistress saw her and crossed the road to avoid her, keeping her eyes
firmly in front, that Emily had not been mistaken. The news of her scandalous return must have been keeping them all occupied for days. No doubt it had begun to spread as soon as she had arrived
back and the servants had carried the delicious gossip into the village. She had been a fool to think otherwise. They must be saying horrible things, dreadful, unkind things . . . But she could
live with that if she had to – being with Nicky was worth the price of being discussed over cups of tea in houses all over the county. It was the rejection by her father that was making her
heart ache and she couldn’t stop herself sobbing as she walked blindly back along the lane.

In the house, all was quiet, but as she went in her eye was drawn at once to a letter that sat in the silver tray on the console table. She recognised her father’s handwriting. He had
addressed his letter to Mrs Laurence Sykes, care of Fort Stirling. She plucked it up, her hands trembling as she opened it and took out the letter inside.

She read it over several times, the paper shaking in her unsteady fingers, her heart pounding in her chest. A horrible whirring in her head made her think suddenly that she was going to faint
and she reached out to the marble-topped console for support. She gasped for air to loosen her constricted chest.

So that’s it
, she thought.
He hates me. I’ve lost my father forever.

Everything seemed to be pressing down on her and darkness descended. She fell to her knees.

‘Miss, are you all right?’ One of the maids had come running and now put a hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s wrong? I’ll fetch his lordship.’

Alexandra was dimly aware through her panic of the girl rushing away and returning with Nicky, and then she was being carried into the drawing room and laid down on the sofa there, as hands
undid her coat and took it from her. A glass of water was brought and they tried to make her drink it but she was in the grip of something she didn’t understand: a breathless agonised
darkness from which she could not escape.

She heard Nicky tell Thomas to help him, and they carried her upstairs to bed. Nicky sent them all away and sat beside her, holding her hand and soothing her until gradually the panic began to
lessen and she could breathe again. The tears began to fall then but after a while the crying passed, leaving her strangely calm.

‘I read that beastly letter,’ Nicky said, stroking the back of her hand. His voice was grim with suppressed fury. ‘What kind of a man is your father?’

‘He doesn’t mean to be cruel,’ she said weakly. ‘He only wants what’s best for me, I suppose.’

‘How can you say that, Alex? Look at the way he’s written to you! He’s a monster of selfishness – he forced you into that marriage and now he’s going to punish you
because you couldn’t stand it!’ Nicky’s eyes flashed with anger on her behalf.

‘He wasn’t always like this,’ Alexandra protested. ‘It was only after my mother died. I think the grief of losing her made him that way. He didn’t seem to be happy
after that. I never understood why, though.’

Nicky hunched over her hand, holding it harder in the gloom of the bedroom, avoiding her gaze.

‘What?’ she asked, suddenly alert to his mood. ‘What is it?’

He looked up, his eyes sorrowful. ‘What did they tell you about your mother?’

‘Well . . .’ She was puzzled. She made an effort to remember. It was so long since she’d thought about it. Most of the time, she’d tried to forget. ‘There was a
terrible atmosphere in the house for weeks beforehand, and I knew that she wasn’t herself. Then my father woke me early one morning and told me that Mother had died in the night. He said
she’d fallen ill very suddenly and died before the doctor could come. He told me to stay in my room while everything was dealt with.’

‘Did you see her?’ Nicky asked softly. His thumb stroked the back of her hand.

Alexandra shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied in a small voice. ‘I wanted to, but I didn’t dare ask.’

‘Did you go to the funeral?’

‘Father said I was too young and that it would upset me. My aunt came and took me away to the seaside for a long time. Perhaps it was only a week or two but it seemed a very long time to
me then. When I got home, everything was difficult and horrible. It wasn’t long after that Father stopped me seeing my old friends. That was when we were forbidden from seeing each other,
don’t you remember?’

Nicky carried on rubbing his thumb over her hand and said nothing.

‘Do you know something?’ she asked apprehensively. When he glanced up, the expression in his eyes frightened her. ‘Tell me, Nicky!’

‘Darling, what did they say she died of?’

‘Aunt Felicity said it was a brain fever that came on very suddenly in the night.’ She blinked at him, fear growing inside her.

‘Well . . . ’ Pity crossed his face. ‘Alex, I’m so sorry . . . I must tell you what I heard. Perhaps it was only rumour but they said she killed herself. They said she
threw herself from the folly in the woods. That was why we weren’t allowed to play there anymore. I always thought our families kept apart afterwards because my parents thought it was all
very shameful. Perhaps your father felt the same.’