Mariana (34 page)

Thirty-four

The weather held fair the following day, and I went to lunch in London. It was an impulsive, unnecessary trip, a hastily arranged meeting with my editor to discuss a nonexistent problem with the book. Had I been truthful with myself, I might have admitted that I was only trying to avoid my own house, in a somewhat childish attempt to postpone the inevitable. If I was away from home, and had no recollections of Mariana's life, that was no tragedy. Or so my reasoning ran. But if I was at Greywethers, and no living memories came, I was not sure that I could bear it.

I had already borne the loss of Richard, and in a different sense, of Rachel; it seemed unfair to me that I should also lose the life in which I'd known them. And yet I knew that I would lose it. Indeed, if Mrs. Hutherson was to be believed, then I
must
lose it. Such was the fate to which I'd been born; the fate which had called me home, across the years, to Exbury, and Greywethers, and Geoff ...

The soul sees what truly matters, Richard had promised me, and I sought comfort in that promise. No doubt, in time, the sharpness of my pain would fade. In time I would not mind so much that Geoff could not remember, as I remembered. I would find happiness within the present tense, be glad that I had found him twice in separate lifetimes, and let it rest at that.

He had kept his part of the bargain, after all. He had said he would return to me, and seek me out, and that I would know him. He had not promised more.

It did me good to be in London, among the bustling shops and businesses, to sit with my editor in the expensively sleek restaurant and watch the flood of humanity pour past the windows, shoulder to shoulder in vivacious and colorful variety. I could not have lived in London, anymore. It was no longer part of me, nor I of it, but being there for those few hours brought order to my life, and charged me with a new and vital energy.

As I drove my car bumping over the little bridge on my homeward journey, I felt alive again and almost peaceful. My house rose proudly from the fields to greet me, solid and unchanging beneath the wide September sky. I drew along the drive, past balding trees that dropped their leaves upon my windshield, and parked the car in the old stables.

I had company, waiting for me. Vivien called to me and waved, swinging her legs as she sat upon the dovecote wall. The evening air was crisp and chill, and she wore a bright-red jumper over her jeans, her fair hair gathered back in a disheveled plait.

'We helped ourselves to coffee,' she explained with a welcoming smile. 'I didn't think you'd mind. The kitchen door was open.'

Beside her, Iain stopped working and leaned on his rake, pushing the russet hair from his forehead with a gloved hand. 'I would've made a sandwich,' he said, good-naturedly, 'but she wouldn't let me.'

'Small wonder,' Vivien said dryly. 'I've seen you make a sandwich. You'd think no one had ever fed you.'

He gave her a look. 'I've been hard at work, my love. I need my sustenance."

He had been hard at work, indeed. The garden lay in
tatters at his feet, the brown and withered flowers cast in piles upon the faded grass. The only thing he'd left was the single, climbing rose, its dead and twisted fingers clinging to the crumbling stone, just hips and thorns remaining. It had been such a lovely garden, this past summer. I looked away from it, and smiled at Vivien.

'I think I'll make a cup of coffee for myself,' I said. 'Anyone want seconds?'

'A foolish question.' Iain grinned, and handed me his cup. Vivien came with me into the house, but when I would have rinsed her cup as well, she shook her head.

'I can't stop long,' she apologized. 'I have to work tonight. But I've a question to ask you, if you've got a minute.'

I set the kettle on the stove, curious. 'All right.'

'I wanted you to be the first to know,' she began, twisting her fingers awkwardly. 'Well, not
exactly
the first ... Iain knows, of course, and my aunt Freda, but no one else.' She took a deep breath, smiled, and plunged ahead. 'I'm getting married.'

'Vivien!' I nearly dropped a coffee mug, delighted. 'That's wonderful!'

'And I'd like you to be my maid of honour.'

'Of course,' I said instantly. 'I'd love to. And Geoff will be best man, I suppose.'

She crinkled her forehead. 'Why Geoff?'

'Well,' I faltered, 'I just thought ... with he and Iain being so close, I thought that
naturally...”

Vivien's expression relaxed, but she sent me a queer look before replying. 'I'm not marrying Iain, Julia. You've got it all wrong, somehow. I'm marrying Tom.'

'Tom?'

'Your brother." She nodded. 'He asked me yesterday. He was going to tell you himself, I think, but he said you weren't feeling well.'

'I had a headache,' I said vaguely. I was beginning to get one, now. 'You're marrying Tom?' I checked again, unable to believe it.
'Yes.' Vivien's flushed smile had given way now to a puzzled, hurt expression. 'We thought you'd be pleased.'

'I am.' I forced a smile. 'Really, I am. I'm just surprised, that's all.'

She relaxed. 'We were rather cloak-and-dagger about the whole thing, weren't we? I'm not sure why. It was part of the fun of it, I think, sneaking off with no one knowing. We both have to be so respectable most of the time.'

'Well, you fooled me,' I said honestly. 'I can't believe my mother didn't say something, either. She's terrible at keeping secrets.'

'She doesn't know,' Vivien told me, hesitating. 'I haven't met your parents, yet.'

Tom must be head over heels, I thought in amazement, to propose marriage without first vetting the girl through the family. It seemed there were some corners of my brother that I barely knew, for all our intimacy. Vivien bit her lip, watching my face.

'Do you think they'll like me?' she asked.

'My parents?' I smiled at the thought. 'They'll be over the moon. They've been pestering Tom to marry since he came down from Oxford, and you're very much their type. You'll like them, too, I think,' I added. 'They're rather odd, but lovable.'

'Like Tom.'

I grinned. 'Not quite as odd as that.'

'And you're not upset? About us getting married, I mean.'

'Of course not. Why should I be upset?' Why, indeed, I asked myself, my gaze straying out the window to the man bent working in the garden by the crumbled dovecote wall. Why should I think that destiny was perfect? After all, Rachel and Evan had gone off together, loved each other, presumably grown old together. Maybe fate had reserved a different twist for them, this time around.

Richard and I, once separated, had been brought together. Perhaps Rachel and Evan, in this second life, must live apart....

The kettle screamed upon the stove, and I looked away from the window with a start, reaching to switch off the burner and fill the coffee cups. Vivien was watching me, silently, wearing again that look of puzzled concern.

'Oh,' she said suddenly. I nearly forgot. Geoff rang you.'

I lifted my head. 'Here?'

'While I was getting the coffee.' She nodded. 'About an hour ago. It was a rotten connection, I could barely hear him, but I promised I'd give you the message.'

'He's still in France?"

'I think so. Somewhere in the Pyrenees, I think he said. Anyhow, he said to tell you he'd ring again this evening.'

I stirred the coffee, thoughtfully. 'Did you tell him you were getting married?'

'No.' She laughed. 'It must have slipped my mind. But then, he was on a bit of a high, himself, so I let him do most of the talking. There's no outtalking Geoff, once he gets going.'

I smiled. 'So I've learned. Did he say when he was likely to ring back?'

'No. Only that I wasn't to drag you off to the pub this evening, until after he'd called.' She checked her watch, and grimaced. 'Lord, I must be going. Ned will have my hide. Look, I'm sorry to have sprung this on you out of nowhere. ...'

'I'm thrilled,' I told her firmly. 'Honestly.'

'And you will stand up for me? I promise I won't make you wear some ghastly dress, or anything.'

'I'll be there with bells on,' I said, and sealed the promise with a hug. 'I hope my brother appreciates his good fortune.'

Vivien smiled, and shook her head. 'I'm the one who's lucky,' she told me. 'And I'll be getting a sister, on top of it all. I always wanted a sister.'

A shadow flitted by the door, and I fancied for a moment that it was Rachel who stood before me, and not
Vivien. Rachel, with her soft, quick smile and laughing eyes, and the fair hair tumbled anyhow about her shoulders. But as I blinked, she vanished.

'You will stop by the Lion, later?' Vivien paused on the doorstep, turning back. 'After Geoff rings? I'll treat you to a bottle of my best Bordeaux, in honour of the occasion. And I'm sure the lads will want to celebrate.'

I promised her I'd be there, and she went off happily, calling a farewell to Iain as she headed off across the field toward the village. Perhaps in sympathy for the stoic Scotsman, I fixed a plate of sandwiches and pickles, and gathering up the coffee mugs in my free hand I went out again to the dovecote, crossing the grass slowly so as not to spill anything.

He stopped work when he saw me coming, straightening his bent back and stretching. He pulled the gloves from his hands and set them neatly on the rough wall beside him, then reached to take his plate and mug from my careful grasp.

'You're an angel,' he thanked me, tucking in. 'She told you about the wedding, then?'

I nodded. 'Yes.'

'She's got good taste. I like your brother.'

I glanced at him, looking for some sign of emotion behind that impassive facade. 'I suppose you'll miss her, though, when she's gone.'

He shrugged. 'Hampshire's not so very far away, and I fancy we'll see plenty of them.' He set his plate upon the wall. 'She'd hoped you'd be excited.'

'I am,' I said, but my voice was flat.

He pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shook one loose, and lit it. Over the brief flare of the match, the gray eyes flicked toward me, unconvinced. 'Then d'you mind telling me why you look as though you've just lost your best friend?'

'I don't know.' I sighed, and leaned my back against the wall, gazing out at the line of distant hills. The sun was fading in the west, setting off a glowing burst of dying colors that spread across the rolling grass, bowed low beneath the breeze. I looked down, at the ruined garden. 'I really don't know,' I said again. 'It's just been a wretched couple of days, what with the rain, and everything dying, and ...' My voice trailed off. It was impossible to explain. 'This was such a beautiful garden,' I said.

He seemed to understand. 'It will be again,' he told me. 'Next year. That's the wonderful thing about gardens, they always grow back.'

'I suppose so.' I sighed again. 'But I wish they wouldn't die.'

He was silent a moment, gazing down at his feet with a contemplative air, and then he kicked gently at a loose clod of earth, turning it over with the toe of his boot
to
expose its underbelly of tangled white roots.

'It's still there, you see,' he pointed out. 'Bulbs and roots, just waiting to grow. You have to learn to look with more than just your eyes, Julia.' He took a deep pull on the cigarette and exhaled, slowly. 'Try looking with your soul, instead. The soul sees what truly matters.'

For a long minute, nothing moved. Then he lifted his head and his eyes met mine across the stillness of the dead garden. Across the centuries. Behind us, in the house, the telephone began to ring, but I made no move to answer it. I went on staring at him, wordlessly, my heart rising in my throat.

'Could you not see it?' he asked me, gently. 'Christ, I'd have thought it was that obvious. Freda had to threaten violence, once or twice, to make me hold my tongue.'

My own voice came with difficulty. 'She knew?'

'Oh, aye. She knew the moment Geoff first brought me home from Cambridge. Hell of a time I had, that summer. I thought I must be going mad.... Well'—he smiled faintly, blowing smoke—'you know what it's like.'

'Yes.'

We might have been discussing the weather. He hadn't
moved to touch me—he looked the same old Iain, leaning square against the dovecote wall, his hair turned copper by the setting sun that caught the stubborn angle of his jaw. Unhurried, he lifted the cigarette. 'Afterward, I went to Paris, worked for Morland. I was curious, about what Richard did in Paris, in his exile. I had some small adventures, over there, but all I really felt was loneliness, and of course, there was no you.'

'So you came back.' I almost whispered the words.

'Aye. I bought the cottage, settled in, and waited for you to turn up. I knew you would.'

His gaze slid sideways to mine, a glancing touch, then passed on to where the oak tree stood in shadows in the hollow. The telephone, forgotten, gave a final dying ring that faded softly into silence. I scarcely noticed.

'Why didn't you say anything?' I asked him.