So Long At the Fair (57 page)

‘Do I understand you?’ she said. ‘You’re trying to say that I imagined it, what I felt for you? As if I’m one of those crazy spinsters who spend their lives in fantasies.’

‘Abbie,’ he burst out imploringly, ‘for God’s sake, give up this obsession.’

‘Obsession?’ Louis had used almost the same words to her. ‘Is that what you think it is?’

‘Yes, I do. I don’t know what you’d do if you ever really got what you’re asking for.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Sometimes people should be careful of what they go hankering after – in case they get what they wish for.’

‘You’re not making sense,’ she said.

He looked at her steadily for a moment then said: ‘I wonder – what would you do if you had your wish? What would you do if I came to you and said, “I’m yours, Abbie – I love only you”? What would you do?’

‘I don’t know what you’re saying . . .’

‘I’ll tell you what you’d do. If I said such a thing you’d panic – and run. Because, so help me, I don’t think for a moment that it’s truly what you want.’

She glared at him and said with a toss of her head, ‘I can’t stand here listening to this.’ She took a step away, then turned back to face him. Her eyes were bright again with tears, tears of anger and disillusion. ‘How much does Jane know about us?’ she said.

‘What . . . ?’

‘Does she know we – were together in the barn that day? That you held me and kissed me.’

‘Of course not.’ He frowned. ‘Oh, Abbie, she must never know.’

‘Why? Why must she never know? Are you afraid it might put your perfect marriage to the test? Surely if your love for one another is so deep, so – so enduring it could withstand a little honesty.’

Turning away, she left him standing at the rail.

She wiped angrily at her tears as she made her way across the upper deck. Some of the passengers were dancing now to the music of the band. As she moved past them she avoided looking over towards the bandstand. She could not face Iris or anyone now; did not want to talk to anybody. She needed to find a place where she could get away from everyone and be alone for a while. But there was nowhere to escape to.

She came at last to the after end of the upper deck, where it looked out over the lower deck and the boat’s stern. Moving to the rail, she held on to it while the tears ran down her cheeks and dried in the wind. She was aware of subtle, curious glances coming from a couple on her right, but she did not allow herself to care about them.

She had been so caught up in her preoccupations that she had been unaware that they were drawing near to Gravesend. And now, feeling a slight shudder of the deck beneath her feet, she realized with surprise that the boat had pulled in to the pier. Turning towards it, she could see a long queue of people waiting to get on and add to the vast numbers already on board. Had she and Louis not taken the boat on its way downriver they would have been among those waiting.

On the periphery of her vision she was vaguely aware of the young couple moving away from the rail, and someone else taking their place.

What was she to do now with her life? she asked herself. She had nothing. Her child was gone and her marriage was as good as over; and now she had made the discovery that the one on whom she had once set her hopes had never truly loved her at all.

‘Abbie . . . ?’

The voice, a woman’s voice, came from the figure to her right; a voice that she would know anywhere on earth.

Turning, she found herself face to face with Jane.

Chapter Thirty-Five

They stood facing one another, so close that their skirts touched.

Abbie did not speak for some moments, then quietly she said, ‘Hello, Jane.’

It had been four and a half years since they had met, four and a half years since that day in London when they had walked together in St James’s Park – the day Jane had told her that she and Arthur were to marry.

‘How are you, Abbie?’ Jane said.

‘Oh – I’m well, I’m well.’ Abbie smiled, her voice falsely bright. ‘And you?’

‘Yes, very well, thank you.’

Silence between them and, turning slightly, Abbie became aware of a young woman and a child standing nearby.

As she registered their presence Jane said to her, smiling, ‘Abbie, this is our daughter Emma.’

Abbie looked down at the little girl. So this was the daughter of Jane and Arthur. She was a bright-looking little girl of almost four with a round, happy face, and a mass of honey-coloured curls falling to her shoulders from beneath the brim of her straw hat. She wore a blue cotton dress with an embroidered bodice. Looking shyly up at Abbie, she pressed back against the skirts of her nurse, a stocky girl of about twenty, with pink cheeks and reddish hair.

‘Say “How do you do” to Mrs Randolph,’ Jane said to the child.

Obediently Emma took a half-step forward and said carefully, ‘How do you do.’

Looking down at the little girl, so close in age to Oliver, Abbie was for the briefest moment almost overwhelmed by a sudden, almost new, feeling of loss. Then, summoning a smile, she nodded and said, ‘How do you do, Emma. Are you enjoying your boat trip?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’

‘And this is Emma’s nurse, Flora,’ said Jane.

Abbie smiled at the girl. ‘Hello, Flora.’ The girl gave a little bob and muttered, ‘Mum . . .’

‘Do you like my horsey?’ Emma said, moving a step closer to Abbie. In her hands she held up a little painted wooden horse, set on a wheeled platform.

‘Oh, yes, he’s a fine little animal,’ Abbie said. ‘Is he new?’

‘Yes. Papa bought him for me in Sheerness.’

‘That’s where you’ve been today, is it?’

‘Yes. We had a picnic.’

‘We went down yesterday,’ Jane said. ‘Arthur had business there.’ She turned, scanning the decks of the boat. ‘He’s about here somewhere. He went off to get some lemonade.’

‘I know,’ Abbie said. ‘We already . . . ran into one another.’

‘Oh, really? He’s been so long, I thought we might go in search of him – but there are so many people on board I think we’d surely miss one another. I was just looking around for him when I glanced across and saw you standing here.’ Jane paused for a moment then turned to the young nursemaid. ‘Flora, Mrs Randolph and I would like to have a little talk. Will you take Emma for a stroll for ten minutes or so?’

‘Of course, mum,’ Flora nodded and took Emma by the hand. ‘Come along, young lady.’

Hand in hand, the toy horse tucked securely under Emma’s arm, the child and her nurse moved away towards the centre of the saloon deck. As they did so the boat shuddered and Abbie realized that it was moving away from the Gravesend pier.

‘Here we go again.’ Jane smiled. ‘Next stop Woolwich.’

‘Yes.’

Jane briefly watched her small daughter’s progress, then turned back to Abbie. ‘Well,’ she said, a trifle awkwardly, ‘what a surprise that we should meet like this. What are you doing on the steamboat?’

‘We’ve been to Gravesend,’ Abbie said,’– Louis and I – to see his father.’ How stilted their conversation was. No one would ever believe that they had once been so close.

‘Is your husband here now?’ Jane said, glancing around her.

‘Yes – though I don’t know exactly where at this moment.’ A pause. ‘Iris is here on board as well.’

‘Iris? She’s here?’

Abbie looked across the deck. She could see Alfred, raised up on the bandstand, but with so many people moving across her field of vision it was impossible to catch a glimpse of her sister. ‘She’s sitting over there by the bandstand.’ She briefly pointed to the group of musicians, adding, ‘Alfred, her husband, is in the band – he’s the one playing the cornet.’

Jane followed Abbie’s direction, then smiled and shook her head in a little gesture of wonder. ‘Iris – married.’

‘Yesterday. She got married just yesterday. They’re so happy.’

‘She always was such a sweet girl,’ Jane said. ‘Though it’s so many years since I saw her I wonder whether I’d recognize her now.’

‘Oh, yes, you would. She doesn’t change much.’

‘I must go and see her later,’ Jane said. ‘And give her my congratulations. Obviously she’s married a young man with taste.’ Another brief silence and she added in a little burst, ‘Oh, Abbie, you can’t imagine how I’ve wanted to see you. Just now, when I saw you I – I couldn’t believe it. There’s so much I’ve wanted to say to you.’

Abbie could read the vulnerability in Jane’s face and seeing it she became aware of the power she had – the knowledge that she held Jane’s happiness in her hands, to protect or destroy as she wished; the choice was hers. She thought of Arthur’s words to her in the barn that day of the snowstorm:
‘Oh, Abbie, Jane must never know.’
And she realized that in the back of her mind she had held on to that knowledge, keeping it like a weapon, ready to use it should the time ever come. All she had to do was tell Jane about Arthur and herself, and Jane’s peace of mind would be gone for ever. Into her mind came a sudden picture of Arthur and herself alone in the barn, while outside the snowstorm raged, and looking into Jane’s eyes, she thought,
How fragile happiness is. And how easy it would be to shatter yours
.

But she knew that she could never do such a thing. And how, how in her wildest imaginings, could she ever have contemplated such an action? As she looked into Jane’s concerned face a myriad thoughts and emotions were churning over.

‘The last time we met,’ Jane said, ‘was in London when we walked together in the park near Buckingham Palace.’

‘I remember.’

‘And I told you that Arthur and I were to marry.’

‘Oh – Jane, do we have to go into this?’ Abbie wanted it all behind her now.

‘Please,’ Jane said. ‘We must talk. I so want us to be friends again. Real friends. Ever since that day I’ve lived with doubts and uncertainties. I’ve never been able to forget the way you looked when I told you of Arthur and me. You looked at me with – dislike. That coldness in your eyes – I never thought to see such a look. I thought you would hate me for ever.’ She took in Abbie’s silence for a second then went on, ‘I never wanted to hurt you, Abbie. Good God, I wouldn’t set out to do that for all the world. But when Arthur and I met again I believed that you no longer loved him, nor had any further plans or hopes where he was concerned. And we – well – we fell in love.’

She paused, took a deep breath then continued, ‘I know what you thought, Abbie. I’m sure I do. You believed that Arthur married me because he had got himself trapped in a situation and was too honourable a man to withdraw from it – isn’t that so?’

‘Jane,’ Abbie said, ‘let’s not speak of all that.’

‘Please,’ Jane countered, ‘I need to say this. I’m quite sure you thought that not with standing his commitment to me, he would nevertheless always love you. And, furthermore that if he had his freedom he would – would choose you. And you know, once I had that thought – that belief in my head – I couldn’t completely dispel it, no matter how often I told myself that it was not so. After all, you were such a beautiful girl, and you and he had been engaged to be married. So you see, there had to be the chance that it was the truth. Not that Arthur would ever have let me know, of course. Being the man he is, he would have kept it from me, never letting me guess by the slightest word or breath that he had any regrets.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘It wasn’t till I heard you’d married Louis that at last I began to feel secure.’

As Abbie tried to find words in reply she involuntarily blinked a couple of times. She could feel once more the sharp, stinging discomfort in her eye. ‘What’s wrong?’ Jane said. ‘Have you got something in your eye?’

‘I think I must have. A bit of cinder or something. I thought it had gone, but it’s still smarting.’ From her bag she took a small glass and turning to the light of the sinking sun, examined her eye. Now she could see the tiny dark speck in the corner. ‘I can see it,’ she said.

Jane stepped towards her. ‘Let me see.’ She peered closely into Abbie’s eye. ‘The dratted light is going. Here – turn this way.’ Under Jane’s touch Abbie turned towards the fading light. ‘Ah, yes,’ Jane breathed, ‘I can just see it.’ She took her handkerchief, folded the linen to a point and gently, carefully removed a tiny speck of grit from the inner corner of Abbie’s eye. ‘There – it’s done.’

Abbie blinked tentatively; the discomfort was gone. ‘Yes!’ she said with relief. ‘Thank you.’

Jane smiled. ‘It’s what friends are for.’

‘Oh, that feels so much better.’ Abbie raised the small glass once more, held it up and examined her eye. It was slightly inflamed but the inflammation would soon go. Satisfied, she moved the glass further away, taking in the reflection of her whole face. She was just about to return the glass to her bag when in the dying light she caught a glimpse of herself at a certain angle – and for one brief, startling moment she saw her mother’s face looking out at her.

Arrested by the sight, she stood staring at her reflection. And into her mind came her mother’s voice:
Oh, my girl, you’re more like me than you know
.

No, it is not so
, a voice inside her head cried out. She was not like her mother. She could not be. Her mother had been everything that she, Abbie, abhorred. She had been mean-spirited, unloving, ungrateful and selfish. For the satisfaction of her own passing pleasures and needs she had turned her back on those who needed her – her husband and her children. She had been ready to disregard the happiness of anyone who stood in the way of her own capricious desires.

And then she heard other words in her head, another voice, that of her father:
Reality was never enough for your mother. Her desires were always for the unattainable, her dreams always for what was unreal. And they blinded her to everything that could have made her happy
.

Abbie dropped the glass back into her bag, held the rail and stood looking out unseeingly over the dark waters of the river.