So Long At the Fair (54 page)

After dining at the hotel they went for a walk, strolling side by side in the cool evening air. When they returned to the hotel they got undressed, wished one another goodnight and climbed into their separate beds.

It had been a long day and Abbie was tired, yet it was some time before she was able to get to sleep. When she did eventually sleep the dream came back and there she was again, faced with the slowly moving shadow and having to support the weight in her arms.

The next morning they set off by train for Gravesend.

Louis had written to his father of their coming and when they got to the house just before noon they found him waiting eagerly for their arrival. They had a leisurely lunch and when it was over sat in the quiet drawing room where, against the solemn ticking of the clock, Abbie and Louis read newspapers and Louis’s father dozed in his chair.

Tea was served just after four, after which Abbie, in order to leave Louis and his father some little time of privacy, excused herself, saying she wished to walk out in the air for a while.

The day had remained warm and pleasant. She walked the length of the garden and onto the lawn, where she sat on the bench as she had done on that first visit with Louis over four years before. Sitting there while the birds sang in the apple trees her thoughts went back over the previous day and Iris’s wedding. How good it had been to see her so happy. Iris seemed to demand so little of life. She had Alfred and it was enough. If only it could be that simple for herself, she thought. But where she and Louis were concerned the situation had gone beyond saving. And now, to add to her predicament, there was the likelihood of another child . . .

On the periphery of her vision she saw movement, and turning saw her father-in-law coming along the path towards her.

Coming to a stop before her, he said, ‘Have you got to go back to London today, Abbie? Can’t I persuade you to stay over for the night? Why not go back tomorrow? I’ve asked Louis; he says it’s up to you.’

‘No, we have to get back,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. Besides, I told my sister and her husband that we’d try to see them on board one of the steamers this afternoon. Alfred is one of the bandsmen.’

He gave a little shrug of disappointment. ‘Oh, well, that’s a pity, but if you can’t, you can’t.’

He came and sat beside her on the bench. Without looking at her he said, ‘Abbie, I know how you’ve suffered over Oliver. And how you must be suffering still. I know too that it can’t help you if I say that I’ve known the same suffering. As have millions of others. It can make no difference; nothing can really ease your own pain, I know that much. I just want you to know that I understand.’

Abbie was silent, and his hand lifted and gently touched her shoulder. If he said much more she would weep. She could already feel the pricking of tears behind her eyelids, a tightening of her throat.

After a moment the old man withdrew his arm and said, ‘But I can also tell you that the pain will ease in time. You think it won’t, but it will. We think we shall never survive it but we do. We have to, for what is the alternative?’

She turned and looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears.

He gave a little shake of his head. ‘We have no option but to get through it, to get through that time – and it seems never-ending, I know, when there is pain in everything. We have to live, Abbie. We have to. It’s in the way of nature. If we did not – if we could not survive such blows – then man could not survive. We have to carry on and we do. We get on with our lives. Our lives are different, of course, but that’s to be expected. After such loss life can never be the same again. We can only make the best of things and hope that – that somehow it makes us better, stronger people.’ He sighed. ‘It would be comforting to think that something good came out of it.’

Never, Abbie said to herself, she would never recover. And all the wise words in the world would not help her to.

‘But there is one thing,’ the man said after a little while, ‘– you don’t have to face it alone. At least you have that knowledge.’

‘Oh,’ she said quickly, ‘I do have to face it alone. I
am
alone.’

‘Oh – Abbie – don’t say that.’

‘It’s true. I’m sorry to say it. You’re the last person I should be saying it to, but it’s the truth. And Louis – he is alone too.’

‘No – I can’t accept that.’

‘It’s the truth. Hasn’t he told you? We have nothing, the two of us. Nothing at all.’ She sighed. ‘All we had was Oliver and now we have nothing.’

‘Abbie, you say this because – because of what’s happened. Your feelings of loss, of grief.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m stating facts. Louis and me – I don’t know what’s to become of us now.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe that.’ He paused. ‘Don’t turn away from him.’

Her fingers worked agitatedly in her lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I – I don’t feel comfortable with this conversation . . .’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I should mind my own business. Forgive me. I only want the two of you to find some happiness together.’

She nodded. ‘I know you mean well. But it’s too late for us now. It’s just – too late.’

As he withdrew his hand there came the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. Turning, Abbie saw Louis coming towards them from the house. Mr Randolph got to his feet. As Louis drew near, his father said to him, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t persuade Abbie to stay.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Abbie said. Turning to Louis she added, ‘Louis, the time’s getting on. We should think about getting down to the pier soon, don’t you think? Alfred’s steamboat is due there at six o’clock.’

He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve plenty of time. The boat probably hasn’t even reached Sheerness yet.’

‘Even so . . .’

‘Anyway, do we have to go back on the steamer? We could stay on here a little longer and catch the train – and be in London no later.’

‘But Iris and Alfred are on board the boat, and you know I said we’d try to see them.’

‘Try is the word,’ said Louis. ‘Among all those hundreds of other people well be lucky to find them.’

Sensitive to the friction, Louis’s father started away. ‘If you’re going on the steamer you might like to take some refreshment with you,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Mrs Willett to make you some sandwiches.’

Abbie thanked him but said it was not necessary. He would have nothing of her protests, however, and went away to talk to the housekeeper. When he had gone Abbie got to her feet. ‘I think we should get going.’

‘Why are you so restless?’ Louis said.

‘Look – if you want to stay then do so. You must do as– you please.’

‘I would like to stay a little longer. After all, it’s rarely I get to see my father.’ He gave a weary shrug. ‘Though perhaps it’s as well we leave. It can’t be that much fun for him having us here when we’re barely on speaking terms with one another.’ He eyed her, studying her. ‘You’re so restless – and even more uncommunicative than usual. God knows it’s been hard enough to get three words together out of you since Oliver’s death, but over the last few days you’ve been even more distant.’

She did not answer.

‘What is it?’ he said. ‘What is it you want?’

‘Oh, Louis, what does it matter?’

‘Is that the way you feel – that nothing matters now?’

‘Please.’ She frowned, her lips set. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. This is neither the time nor the place.’ She started to move past him, but he reached out and took her wrist.

‘You can’t always avoid the issue,’ he said. ‘Tell me what it is.’ He let fall her hand. ‘You still blame me, don’t you? For Oliver’s death.’

She turned away. ‘Oh – Louis . . .’

‘Tell me. I’m sure you do. You think that if I hadn’t bought him the toy soldier he’d be alive today.’ He nodded. ‘Yes. And do you think I haven’t told myself that same thing over and over?’

She did not speak. He went on, ‘And shall we go on like this for the rest of our lives? It isn’t something I look forward to.’

Still she was silent.

‘Abbie,’ he said, ‘there is no harsh thought or word you can think up that I haven’t already used about myself a thousand times. Do you think there’s been a day when I haven’t relived the events of that evening? When I haven’t wished that I had done things differently? When I haven’t reproached myself for my part in what happened?’

‘Oh, Louis.’ Briefly she closed her eyes in despair. ‘What are we doing? We shall end up destroying one another.’

He was silent for a few seconds, then he said sadly, ‘I’ve come to realize that you’re probably right: we should never have married. I suppose I just have to face up to it, finally, that our marriage was a colossal mistake. I must have closed my eyes to the truth. Thinking that in time I could make you love me, I didn’t allow it to matter that you were marrying me for the wrong reasons. Perhaps if I’d given it all a little more thought I wouldn’t have been so eager to wed.’ He shook his head. ‘Though I was so besotted with you I doubt that anything would have stopped me.’

Abbie avoided his gaze and said nothing.

‘It’s a great pity you didn’t marry your Mr Gilmore,’ he said. ‘I used to think I was the lucky one. After all, I was the one who got you. But I’ve come to realize I was not. Yes, you should have had Gilmore, Abbie, because I know now – at long last – that you’ll never be happy with me. You’ve made that abundantly clear.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Which means in a way that you’re doomed to a life of unhappiness, doesn’t it? Because you’re never going to get him. He’s got a wife already, so even if you were free it wouldn’t do you any good.’ He paused. ‘God – I wish you could have loved me with just half the feeling you have for him.’

‘Louis –’

Disregarding her interruption he went on, ‘When I came to join you and Oliver at Weston-super-Mare I – I found a closeness with you that I had not thought possible. It didn’t last, of course, but for that brief time it –’

‘Please,’ she protested. ‘Please don’t go on.’

He gave a bitter little smile. ‘Does it embarrass you now? Nevertheless, that time in Weston – it somehow reminded me of when we first met – what you were like then. You were –’

‘I don’t want to talk about that time,’ she said quickly. ‘That’s all in the past.’

‘Indeed it is. And I soon discovered that I didn’t marry the girl I met at the fair that day.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘What are you talking about?’

He eyed her critically. ‘You were different.’

‘Different? I was younger, if that’s what you mean.’

‘No, there was a difference about you that had nothing to do with your age.’

‘That – that’s nonsense.’

‘It’s the truth. You’ve changed. I don’t know how or when exactly, but you have, nevertheless. After our marriage I got to thinking that perhaps it was something in you – in your head, in your heart – that was stopping you from loving me. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt there was something there. Something from your past perhaps, some unknown thing that just – just got in the way. And I thought that if I could find out what it was – that barrier – then I would tear it down.’ He raised hands clenched into fists, then let them uncurl and fall back to his sides. ‘No . . . I see now that it was Gilmore all the time. And I can’t fight that. I could fight him, but not what he means to you.’

He fell silent, then spreading his hands before her he gave a sigh and said, ‘Which leaves us just where we were, doesn’t it?’

She turned, gazing out beyond the end of the walled garden.

‘I’d like to know what you want, Abbie,’ he said, ‘out of this – this charade we call a marriage. If there is something, tell me. It would be good if something could be salvaged from it.’ He paused, then added, his voice sounding weary, ‘Because I tell you now that I am sick to death of it all.’

She remained facing away from him, silent.

‘If you like,’ he went on after a few moments, ‘we can live apart. If you would like a divorce you can have that too. I’ll even give you legal reason for it if you want – to save your reputation.’

She turned to him now and said, ‘It might not be quite as simple as that.’

‘Simple? Oh, you think such a procedure is simple?’

‘No, I don’t. I mean –’ she took a breath ‘– well – I think I’m going to have a baby.’

He took a step towards her, his face lighting up. ‘A baby. Oh, God, Abbie – then it’s true.’

‘True?’

‘I suspected it. I am a doctor, for God’s sake. I am familiar with some of the signs.’ He paused. ‘No matter the lengths you might go to in order to hide them from me.’

‘Yes – well . . . So – you asked me what’s been on my mind over the past days. And now you know.’

The brief joy that had shone in his face had gone. He stared at her for a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts, then said, ‘Forgive me. For a second I was pleased – mistakenly took it as good news. Quite obviously, though, that’s not the way you feel about it.’

Stung, she retorted, ‘They’re your words, Louis, not mine.’

‘Indeed they are. And close to the truth, I dare say.’ He paused, then added, ‘Why are you giving me this news now? Is it your way of offering me congratulations?’ His lip curled. ‘Or are you saving them for Gilmore?’

She gasped, taking a step back, as if he had struck her. ‘God almighty,’ she said, ‘how can you be so cruel?’

‘Cruel?’ he said. ‘Cruel? This is you talking of being cruel?’ His smile was like ice. ‘If I can be cruel it’s because I’ve been well taught.’

They stood facing one another for a second, then she stepped past him in the direction of the house. ‘I’m going to say goodbye to your father,’ she said, ‘and then I’m going down to the pier. You do whatever you want. I don’t care any more.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

Louis left the house and caught up with Abbie as she walked towards the pier.

‘Abbie, why did you leave?’ he said as he drew level with her. ‘My father doesn’t know what the hell’s going on. Neither do I, come to that.’