Country Wives (22 page)

“And so you should be. I’m very picky about who gets close to my horses. We’ve twelve all together with my brothers’ and Daddy’s, and Mummy breeds donkeys, so it would be a lucrative account. Leave Giles to me. He’ll do exactly as I say. You can deal with Mungo.” Leaning back in her chair, she said, “You are arrogant at bottom, aren’t you? Most men would jump at the chance to run back and forth when it was me they were running back and forth for.”

“Would they indeed?” Dan smiled sweetly as he added, “I’m not much impressed by titles.”

Lady Mary was startled by his frankness. “Mm. Well, that’s certainly refreshing. So, shall you finish the wine?”

“I’m driving and I have calls to make.”

“Of course. I’ll put the idea to Daddy and let you know.”

“I make no promises. Just glad Galaxy is doing well, but it’s early days. Don’t rush him, will you? He needs time. He’s a wonderful animal. It must be a privilege to work with him.”

“It is. Oh yes. He responds so well and he looks so good, doesn’t he?”

“He does. There’s a kind of elegance about him, powerful as he is. Wonderful find.”

“Daddy came back with him one day, and I knew as soon as I saw him that he’d chosen well.”

“Lucky girl.”

“I’ve worked hard with him.”

“Still a lucky girl. Doesn’t matter how hard you work; if the horse hasn’t got that something extra, you’re wasting your time.”

Lady Mary shrugged her shoulders.

“Thank you for the lunch. I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Your butler took my coat?”

Lady Mary reached across to the bell pull by the fireside and tugged it. The butler shot in through the door saying, “My lady?”

“Mr. Brown’s coat, Lister, please.”

She went out into the stable yard to see him leave. He wound down the window of the Land Rover and thanked her again for lunch.

“My pleasure, Dan. My pleasure. I’ll give you a buzz shortly. I mean it, I’m having you, so you’d better accept the fact.”

Dan waved goodbye, thinking
heaven preserve me from ruthless women
. Out of sight of her he punched the air in triumph.

M
ia and Kate had tried so very hard to join in with the Christmas activities at the hotel, hoping that the other guests wouldn’t guess how very low they were feeling. The first Christmas Day without Gerry was almost too much for Mia and keeping back the tears an impossibility; twice Kate was up in the night trying to comfort her. At least sharing a room on the basis of cost meant she was there for Mia when she needed her. But Kate felt extremes of pain herself, and try as she might to be bright and festive, she failed dismally. Deceit added to her burden, for she hadn’t told Mia that her mother had been to the practice the morning after arriving at their door so unexpectedly, full of plans for Christmas.

Completely ignoring the presence of Mungo and Stephie, she had addressed herself to Kate. “I was booked in a hotel for lunch on Christmas Day and they’ve squeezed you in too, and I thought we’d have a cozy girls’ evening together, catching up on our lives, and then for Boxing Day I’ve arranged …”

Kate had interrupted her more forcibly than she’d really intended, but somehow she’d had to put a stop to her plans. “I
never said I would come for Christmas. We said we were going away, and I’m not letting Mia down.”

Her mother’s face had collapsed with hurt. “But now we’ve met we can be together at long last, surely. Our first Christmas. I’ve such plans for the two of us.” Her enthusiasm gathered pace again. “I’m going to the States in May, and I’d love it if you would come, and …”

“I have my exams this summer. There’s no way I can go to the States, not even for a weekend.” Kate felt as though she were being mown down by a juggernaut, and hysteria began to rise in her throat.

“I just don’t understand you. Don’t you realize I’m your own mother?”

“Of course I do. But you can’t expect to come into my life at this late stage and have me fall in with your plans at the snap of your fingers. It’s not reasonable.”

Out had come the lace-edged handkerchief, and the eyes were carefully dabbed without smearing the mascara. “But I thought … I’m so disappointed.”

“That isn’t my fault. I never promised anything at all.”

“When shall I see you?”

“After Christmas I’ll give you a ring, I promise. I have your card, and we’ll meet up and have tea or something and talk. There’s a lot for us to talk about.”

“This is not at all what I expected.”

“Please. I am trying. I’ve sent you a Christmas card. I can’t do any more at the moment. At this minute I’m working and I’m needed. I’ll ring as soon as I get back. Thank you for coming.”

Mungo watched Kate and realized what a tight hold she was keeping on her feelings.

Her mother tried being hurt all over again. “I’m so disappointed.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve met at last. I’ve always wondered what you were like, but Dad dying like he did … it’s all too … much.”

The whole emotionally charged scene was abruptly shattered by a further crisis as a client rushed in carrying in his arms a big mongrel dog with blood running from its two front paws. “He’s been wading in a pond and he’s cut his feet; it’s terrible. They’re in ribbons. There must have been broken glass. Do something. Quick!”

Spurred into action, Mungo dashed to open a consulting room door while Kate grabbed a wad of tissues to catch at least some of the blood and fled with the client into the consulting room. By the time the crisis was over and the dog safe in Graham’s hands, and she’d wiped up the trail of blood on the floor of reception, Kate’s mother had gone. “I’m going for my break. Is that all right?”

Stephie, who’d witnessed Kate’s distress, nodded. “Of course, take as long as you like. I didn’t know…”

“Neither did I till last night.”

Kate had made herself a cup of tea and gone to take refuge in the accounts office to drink it. Rage had boiled up inside her. Now she knew that the loving, smiley person she’d always imagined her mother to be simply didn’t exist. But when she reasoned it out, if her mother had been kind and motherly, she would never have dumped her. In truth, she was as hard as nails; that was why she’d done what she’d done. With her clenched fist Kate wiped away the tear escaping down her cheek. It felt cold, so she put her hands on the radiator to warm herself, but that did nothing to stop her trembling.

Insensitive was another word which sprang to mind. How could she imagine for one moment that she, Kate, would let Mia spend Christmas on her own? Did her mother have no understanding of feelings? Did she, in fact, have any genuine feelings?
That was the question, because the dabbing of the handkerchief to her eyes was a total sham. It was simply her method of trying to get her own way. Well, if that was how the cookie crumbled, then Kate Howard wasn’t fool enough to fall for it.

The trembling had almost stopped, so Kate picked up her cup and drank her tea. The hotness of it spread through her, and gradually she began to get herself together. OK, she wanted to get to know her, see her sometimes, but
live with her?
No chance.

What really hurt was the heart-searing realization that the mother standing at the desk this morning no way matched up to the mother of her imagination. Kate remembered how as a child she’d spent hours dreaming about her own mother, imagining eating hot buttered toast by the fire on winter evenings, seeing her proud, smiling face in the audience at school concerts, being met by her at the school gate—all those simple things which illuminated a small child’s life. Instead it was Mia who’d done all those things for her. As her dad had said, it was Mia who cherished her. How right he was.

There was a knock at the door and Miriam had come in. She’d paused in the doorway for a moment and then she’d put her arms around Kate. “Mungo said, so I’ve come, if it helps. What a quandary, my dear.”

“Do you know the worst thing? What must hurt Mia so much is that she’s been my mother all these years, and I’ve never, ever, called her Mum. Not once. How could I have been so thoughtless? I’m so ashamed.”

Miriam, with no answer to that, had squeezed her shoulders and remained silent.

K
ATE
had rung her mother as soon as she’d got back from holiday with Mia, but there’d been no reply to the messages she’d
left on her answer machine. Now, Kate felt dumped all over again. Why had she sought her out if she was to forget her immediately?

Then, out of the blue, the phone rang at home one evening and it was Tessa, begging forgiveness. “I was so upset, Kate, about not seeing you at Christmas, and I just couldn’t…” There was a break in her voice, and then she continued more decisively, “I felt so low. I’m sorry, Kate, I really am. When I heard your voice on the answer machine, I could have cried. But I’ve got over it now, and I’m asking you to come to see me. Will you, please?”

Kate didn’t answer immediately.

“Please, Kate.”

“Of course, I’ll come to your house and see it as you suggested. When shall I come?”

“Saturday? I’ll be free that day.”

“Right. About three?”

“Lovely. I’ll pop a map in the post.”

The rest of the week Kate spent in a whirl of anticipation. She tried her best to hide her excitement from Mia. But Mia saw through her. “I don’t mind you being excited, you know. You don’t need to be secretive about your mother. I’d like to know.”

“Dad said I wasn’t to hurt you and I don’t want to, but I can’t help but be excited.”

“It’s only natural. I shan’t be able to wait until you get back to hear all about it. The house and that, you know.”

“Thanks, she’s been so upset about me not going for Christmas. That’s why she hasn’t rung me back.”

“Understandable. Yes, understandable.”

Kate recognized from the tone of her voice that Mia was striving hard to be reasonable and finding it very difficult, so
she changed the subject. “You know the man who’s bought Dad’s train set? When is he coming to collect it? Because we need to clear up some of the rubbish he’s got up there and make sure Mr. Whatever-he’s-called gets what he’s bought and nothing personal of Dad’s.”

“You’re right. I’d better get on with it.”

“If you like, I’ll do it,” Kate said gently.

Relieved, Mia replied, “Do you mind? I can’t face it.”

“I’ll start right now. I’ve done all my work for Miss Beaumont for tomorrow night, so why not?”

Gratefully, Mia answered, “Wonderful. If there’s anything we should keep, put it in a box all together and when I feel better…” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I’ll … you know.”

“Right. Here goes.”

Kate switched on the light at the top of the attic stairs and for a mad, mad moment thought her dad was sitting in his chair waiting for her. It must have been the way the shadows fell as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. Her heart missed a beat and her throat tightened. It was time this train set went, because it was so strongly associated in her mind with her father that she could feel him here as though he’d left his soul behind in the attic when his heart stopped beating.

It felt intrusive handling all his boxes of train paraphernalia. Shoeboxes filled with signals, and rails, and tiny sandwich boards with old slogans half rubbed away, damaged bushes, sheets of imitation brick for the outsides of station buildings, bogies with wheels missing, rusting wheels, the odd window taken from a discarded signal box. Oh, look! She remembered him replacing his old signal box. Of course! Here it was, useless, but loved too much to be thrown away. An invoice for old carriages he’d pounced on in triumph at a sale. She’d been with him that day;
clear as crystal came the memory of his excitement at finding them and of her hand in his, and being half afraid of the crowds looming above her four-year-old head.

Shoeboxes had been his favorites for storing precious things: one full of notices and handbills about exhibitions. Oh! Here was the one for the time he went to London and had upset Mia by buying an early engine which had cost the earth, when in truth they’d needed a new boiler more.

Another held a motley collection of tiny people and animals for use on platforms and the like. Some badly made, others, as he got more skillful, she supposed, admirable in their minuteness, and wasn’t that tiny skirt on that tiny girl a bit cut from that favorite old summer dress of hers? And that red coat the woman was wearing? Surely she’d worn that coat to infant school? Searching the box was like seeing her life revealed year by year. How odd that she’d never noticed before.

Kate blew the dust off another box, sealed with sticky tape. She peeled away the dusty stickiness, took off the lid and there, staring at her, was a photograph of herself in the garden by the trellis in a dress she didn’t recognize. Oh, God! It wasn’t her, it was her mother! Startled, she swiftly put the lid back on again. When her heart had slowed its pounding, she cautiously opened the box again and reverently began looking at a past she shared with her dad. But it wasn’t just the past, it was her mother’s too. He’d saved birthday cards and Christmas cards she’d sent him. Notes she’d left for him when she’d had to go out before he got home, even a note she’d left for the milkman one day long ago. Curiously Kate studied her mother’s handwriting and saw it was very like her own.

Separately, all together in an envelope, she found photographs obviously taken by her dad because he was renowned for his lopsided photos. Some were blurred as though his hands were trembling as he held the camera, but there was no doubt
of their subject matter: they were of her mother first and last. Her mother, slim and dark; her mother dressed up for something special; in a swimsuit by the sea; several of her mother obviously pregnant; her mother at the door of what appeared to be a hospital holding … yes, holding a baby. So, that must be me. Her and me. Me with her. My mother. Kate drank in this picture in all its aspects, unable to stop looking at it, thrilled to the core. Eventually she put them all back into the envelope, her feelings totally confused. There were letters too, in another envelope in the box, mostly ones from Dad to Mum. He’d had a way with words in those days, had Dad. They were love letters she wouldn’t have minded receiving. She wondered what her mother had thought of them.