Mrs De Winter (13 page)

It was I who gave them leave, I who beckoned them, who could not let them be. Things do not happen by chance, we make our own destiny, that was what I came to believe. If I had not spoken and not constantly been looking over my shoulder, perhaps the rest of our lives would have passed quietly, we would have been undisturbed. Yet I do not think I was to blame. I had been carrying a burden and it had seemed to grow heavier, as burdens do, until I needed to set it down or be given help to carry it. I was bewildered and troubled and afraid, yes, that above all, and it became harder to conceal.

‘It is so good to see Maxim like this,’ Frank Crawley said.

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We had driven over the track that led up from the house, and the loch shore, towards the highest hills of the estate, and now we had left the jeep and were walking — he had to check on some deer; the others had stayed behind, but I had come out with him because I was growing to love this place, love simply going about it, looking, learning its moods, the changes of light and weather, letting its space and breadth and forbidding beauty impress itself on me.

Now, standing for a few moments to get our breath, we looked down to where the gleaming loch lay, calm and quiet under the early afternoon sun.

‘It’s a still beast today,’ young Fergus had said at breakfast, ‘It won’t spring.’

I was learning that the loch was alive to them, a strange, unpredictable creature, whose moods affected every day of their lives.

‘He is better than I could have imagined — so relaxed, he looks so well. Younger too - don’t you think? You should stay longer, Mrs de Winter, there’s no earthly reason why you can’t is there? The weather is settled for a week or so yet, we shan’t feel the bite of winter until November.’

I did not answer, only looked at the beauty all around me, and longed, longed for what I could not have given name to — but I suppose it was simply ordinary, unremarkable happiness, such as Frank had found.

When you and I talked after Mrs Lacey’s funeral - you asked me if there was any reason why you could not come back now. I’ve thought a lot about that — asked myself. And I am sure that there is not. You belong here — or rather in England, I think - I’m not sure this sort of life would suit

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you and Maxim. You could never go back - back there, you would be happiest — find it easiest, somewhere else — but I don’t think life abroad will satisfy you forever - I couldn’t imagine it for myself, anyway, though I know Maxim often did go to those places — and, of course, that was where he met you.’

‘Yes.’

‘But seeing him these past few days has made me realise that he is a man who belongs at home - even his sadness at Mrs Lacey”s death has not spoiled it for him has it? He really has come out from the past - it is behind him behind both of you. If coming up here has helped, I feel content.’

Far below, some wild duck flew, skimming down on to the loch, the edges of the sky were grape coloured, the sun high, still with a touch of warmth. The midges rose in little clouds from the heather.

I had my hand deep in my pocket and my finger was rubbing along the edge of the card, to and fro, to and fro, like the edges of a sore tooth. I had carried it there, not taken it out, not looked at it again, I dared not leave it anywhere that Maxim might accidentally come upon it. I should have burned it, or torn it into tiny pieces and buried it in the ground. Why had I not?

Frank was looking at me. He had fallen silent.

I walked away from him, a few paces, turned my back and looked up, to where the deer stood, great, proud, burnished things, alert, on the high slope.

If I did not speak, it would not be true. If I did not tell Frank, it would be a fancy, another nightmare.

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We don’t have to burden others with our dreams; we wake and they dissolve.

If I did not speak.

I did not speak. I simply took the card out of my pocket, and handed it to Frank.

Then, because I could not bear to watch his face, I turned back to the deer again. That was the moment I saw the eagle. It is something I shall never forget, the blue sky and the silence, the astonishing silence, and then, out of nowhere, that magnificent, soaring bird, high over the crag, a sight the Crawleys had been promising us, Svith luck,’ ever since our arrival. But it was wrong, it was spoilt, even this very rare and yet very simple joy had been tainted. I think I did not feel anything, no anger or frustration, and certainly no surprise, for was I not used to it by now?

Still, I glanced back at Frank, and saw that he had seen the bird too, and for a few seconds we watched it together as it circled lazily, easily, huge wings wide outstretched and scarcely lifting, but we did not remark on it. There was nothing, now, to say.

‘Where did this come from?’

‘I don’t know. I went by myself to visit the grave and the wreath was lying there on the grass. It was very beautiful — just white flowers set in dark green leaves. It was — exactly right?

‘But it had not arrived in time for the funeral — we would all have seen it.’

‘Oh no. It came later. It was sent quite separately — sent or put. Yes — put - someone had placed it there — apart from all the rest. With that card. Frank - who? Who> Why?

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The questions that had danced in my head like gnats ever since.

Frank’s face was drawn and solemn. He turned the card over between his fingers once or twice. I shivered.

‘Someone wants to frighten us — or harm us.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t have thought the latter -‘ he said at once, the old Frank, anxious to reassure. What reason would there be?’

‘Hatred.’

‘But no one hates you, you or Maxim — it was all such a long time ago. And —’ He looked at the card again.

‘And Rebecca is dead.’

Tes.’

‘Frank - we have to talk. You have to tell me - things I have not been told.’

I saw a change in his expression — that it had somehow closed up, become wary.

‘I need to know. I must protect Maxim, above all — but I must find out about this.’

There is really nothing to tell — no secrets. I agree with you, Maxim is happy, happier than for years. The burden has lifted — he must never find out about what is obviously just a nasty little joke.’

‘A joke?

Trick, then.’

‘Mean - spiteful - hurtful - malevolent.’

tcs, I agree. All the same, I wouldn’t read too much into it. Would you like me to keep this and destroy it for you? It will be safer surely.’

I looked down at the white card in his hand. He was

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right, of course, I should simply leave him to deal with it. Kind, competent, sensible Frank. But the card drew me, I stared at the black letter and it seemed like a spell, attracting me.

‘Listen, I’m sure it will be that rotten apple, Jack Favell — he’s around somewhere still, I came upon him once during the war, saw his name in the paper to do with some nasty piece of blackmail and so forth. Exactly typical — he had a twisted, warped mind, and a black sense of humour. I wouldn’t put this past him.’

Jack Favell — I turned back to look at the crag, to steady myself, bring myself back to what was real, what was good and beautiful and true … but while we had been talking so intently, the eagle had gone. I would not see it again, I thought, I had lost it, and I would never be able to remember how fine it had looked without also remembering all this — the card, Frank’s effort at glossing over it, and now, the other name.

Jack Favell. Rebecca’s cousin, one of her men, those she had despised and amused herself with, leering, drunken Jack Favell. I remembered being alone in the morning room at Manderley with him, and the feeling he had given me when he had looked me up and down so insolently. ‘I wish I’d got a bride of three months waiting for me at home!’

‘Frank,’ I said, carefully, ‘please tell me the truth.’

‘I hope I have always done that.’

‘Are you keeping anything about — about Rebecca from me? Anything that I don’t already know from long ago?’

‘No. I can give you my word about that.’

Will - will this-‘ I indicated the card, ‘make any difference

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to what we ought to do? Will it mean we can’t come home?’

I was desperate for him to make it all right, to settle our future for us, desperate to believe what he had said about the wreath being some horrible, stupid joke. Jack Favell. Yes, of course, that would be just like him. He would have laughed, spittle coming out of his mouth as he did so, at the plan, he would have got such pleasure from carrying it out. I tried to picture him writing the card, tying it on to the green circlet, getting someone to deliver it — giving them instructions, for I did not somehow think that he would have brought it to the churchyard himself.

Jack Favell. Yes, of course.

‘So long as there’s nothing for us to fear,’ I said to Frank. The sun had gone in and a bitter little wind began to cut across the heather. We were walking back towards the jeep.

‘Nothing at all. Give Maxim a little more time — stay here as long as you like and then — why don’t you hire a car and drive around England a bit, get used to it all again, see places you have never visited before?’

‘Oh, yes, Frank, what a marvellous idea! There’s no reason why we should not, is there?’

‘None that I can think of.’ He smiled with friendliness and open relief, as he handed me up into the car.

Thank you,’ I said, and in a sudden rush of happiness and relief, bent forwards and kissed him on the cheek, for he had given me back my peace of mind, and the anxiety and fear had receded and grown tiny, the future was secure for us again too.

He blushed scarlet and closed the door of the jeep

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hastily, making me smile. It was something I wished that I could tell Maxim, we could have laughed about it together; but of course, I could not. I was so relieved, Frank made me so sure everything would be all right, after all — Frank was always so good at taking worries off my mind — Frank made me see that it was all nothing — just a nasty practical joke.

Those things were never to be said, worries, trouble, fear, and the reason for them, had to be concealed.

‘I’m so glad we saw the eagle — Maxim will be jealous.’

‘Indeed ‘

‘I just wish it had been — at some other moment —’

Tes.’

‘And that he had been there and ‘

‘I understand.’

‘Frank — do you think anything else will happen — ?’

‘Goodness knows. Well, he won’t have occasion for it will he?’

‘If it was Jack Favell.’

‘I’d bet money on it.’

Tes, yes, I expect you’re right.’

Tut it out of your mind. I really think you must. It’s despicable but don’t let it eat into you — that would suit him only too well.’

‘No, no, I will try. Thank you, Frank.’

‘Do you feel easier about things now?’

Tes,’ I said. Tes, of course.’ The lie came easily because I believed it myself.

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We drove down the steep road towards the loch and the long, low white house, and the clouds rolled down with us, gathering in fast, so that by the time we reached the front door it was pouring with rain and we could scarcely see across to the water. Maxim was reading The Moonstone, sitting beside a bright fire, the little boys were constructing a pirate hideaway in one of the old outhouses. Later, Frank would drive into Dunaig with Janet to shop. It was so quiet, so unremarkable, such a happy, secure, self-contained world. I felt safe in it, no one could reach us or touch us, I wanted to be here always.

But we could not, and besides, Frank’s idea filled my head, I had pushed away all thought of the wreath and the card, as he had told me to, and done it by elaborating on the idea of spending some time after this, in exploring, driving together down through an England we did not know. Looking, yes, I knew that was what I wanted to do — wander, and look, until we found a place. I had no notion about where or what it might be, only a certainty that when we had found it I should know.

I wanted to choose the right moment to broach it to Maxim. Not yet, I thought, sitting opposite him as he read, hearing a shout from outside, footsteps, another shout, the little boys happily at play. It will be like this, we shall have this too. Maxim glanced up, smiled, but abstractedly, deep in his book. I would not be able to reach him yet. Besides, I needed to be sure - I was so afraid of the trap snapping shut on my small, frail hopes and plans, of his refusing curdy, his mood tense and troubled once more, the past creeping up to remind him of why we should not stay, why we must flee away all over again.

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Nine

But it did not. Not at first. We were allowed our time in the sun, the fates drew back and let us be, we had a reprieve, so that I was able to cherish my hopes and my dreams, curl them in my hands and warm them so that the flame from them stayed bright.

I was as happy that following week as I think I had ever been in my life. I made a tremendous effort of will, consciously, each morning I woke and each night before I slept, to suppress all thought of the wreath, and I found that with a little practice it was quite simple after all to turn my mind away and not allow it to be troubled by any thoughts of the past and what had happened — this, I said, is now, this is too precious to waste, this is our present happiness.

And so it was. The days drifted very slowly, lazily down towards the coming winter, like the leaves from the trees, the golden sunlight lingered, gentle over the countryside, filtering through the bare branches, softening the hard lines and edges of every building. There were mists curling up from the rivers and marshes and from the earth itself, at dawn, and sometimes

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fine frosts at night; there was a new moon over a holly tree and Venus glittering bright beside it; there were sunsets and quiet, still nights when we lay awake and heard owls.

Maxim was a young man again, he had a gaiety and restfulness I had rarely known in him and I was young and fearless and light hearted, with him.