The Company of Saints (14 page)

‘He wouldn't want a chance like that,' Davina answered. ‘Can you see Father living like this? He'd never have forgiven you. I'll deal with the doctor when he comes.' She knew her mother had begun to cry. The sounds were pitiful, as if a child had started sobbing. She looked at her father once more. He was sleeping, his breathing loud and harsh. Her mother was in greater need at that moment. ‘Come along,' she whispered, and gathered her in her arms. ‘We'll both go down – and don't you worry, Mum darling. I'll ring Charlie and I'll run up and down and keep an eye on father. And you've got to believe me, you did absolutely the right thing for him. He's perfectly peaceful in his own bed. That's how it ought to be.'

The next two hours seemed to go very quickly. Davina made some sandwiches but didn't insist when her mother said she was sorry, but she just couldn't manage anything to eat. The doctor came, a brisk man in his forties, who hoped to persuade the elder daughter to be sensible and have her father taken to hospital.

‘There's no point.' She dismissed the suggestion. ‘He's only got a little time to live and it would just prolong the agony for my mother to see him strung up to drips and monitors. He certainly wouldn't want to be dragged back to live like a vegetable!'

‘Well, I'm glad it's not my responsibility,' the doctor retorted. ‘You seem quite calm about it, so perhaps you'll keep a watch and let me know if there's a change.' He left without saying goodbye. When she came back from the front door Davina found her mother dialling Charlie's number again.

‘It's no good,' she said gently. ‘It's nine o'clock – she's gone out for the evening. Stop worrying. I'll try her later.'

‘It'll be dreadful if he dies without seeing her,' Betty Graham said. ‘She'll be absolutely shattered. Davina, you've been such a help. I don't know how I'd have coped without you.'

Davina squeezed her hand. ‘You coped all right,' she answered, thinking of the forceful man who had just left. It was midnight when she got her mother to bed in the spare room. She looked like a wraith, as if all her stamina and energy had been dissipated in the course of that evening.

‘You promise you'll call me,' she whispered. ‘I want to be with him.'

‘I know you do,' Davina said. ‘And I'll call you if there's any change. I promise, Mum. Now go to sleep.'

She sat in a chair in her father's room. It was very warm, with only a light by his bedside so that she could see him. He lay huddled under the covers, a tall man grown suddenly small and anonymous, and the ugly breathing filled the room. Davina looked at her watch. It was 2 a.m. She didn't feel tired; she didn't feel anything, that was the awful part. She tried Charlie's number again. Her father seemed to have slipped down into a deeper unconsciousness. His face was very flushed. The number rang, and then Davina heard her sister's voice. There was noise in the background, and the throb of music. She must be having a party.

Davina didn't waste time. ‘Charlie,' she said, ‘it's me. I'm at Marchwood. We've been trying to get you since six o'clock.' She heard a gasp and then the cry – ‘Fergie? It's not Fergie?'

‘No, he's fine. Fast asleep. It's Father, I'm afraid. You'd better come straight down. He's had a stroke and I don't think he'll last till the morning.'

‘Oh my God? Are you sure it's that bad?' There was a brief aside, and the background noise stopped.

‘Look,' Davina heard her voice harshen, ‘if you want to see him alive, you'd better leave your party or whatever and get down here.'

There was a sound from the bed. She put the phone down without waiting to hear any more. Her father's eyes were open; his breathing had altered. She knew what that meant. She ran to the spare room and roused her mother. Together they came to the bed. ‘You hold his hand,' Davina said to her mother. ‘You're the one he wants now.' She stood back, leaving the two people to their final moment in privacy.

Suddenly his breathing stopped. The silence in the room was broken by the ticking of the bedside clock. An old clock with a loud tick. They had used it for years and never been kept awake. Mrs Graham bent down and kissed her husband. ‘Poor darling,' was all she said. ‘Davina, I'm not sure what to do now.'

Davina put her arm round her mother. ‘Open the window for him,' she said gently. ‘Just as they did for all the Grahams. I'll do it.' It was an old Celtic tradition to free the spirit by loosing it into the air. She took her mother out of the room and downstairs. They sat together and waited for Charlie.

She arrived just on the hour. Mrs Graham's old labrador Toby roused himself and trundled out to bark at the sound of the car. Davina went out into the hall. Charlie stood there, wearing a long dress and accompanied by an unfamiliar man. ‘I'm afraid he's dead, Charlie,' Davina said. ‘I'm terribly sorry. He's upstairs if you want to see him.'

Charlie's face drained of all colour. She put her hands to her mouth as if she was a child and broke into a flood of tears. The man came and put his arm round her. Mrs Graham joined them, and the man stood back, looking both concerned and embarrassed. Mrs Graham just held on to her daughter and said something too softly to be heard.

Davina didn't move. She longed for a cigarette – and a drink, a stiff drink. Nobody was going to comfort her. The penalty for being strong, Ivan Sasanov had told her once when she complained. It was strange that she should remember his words at that moment, when the sense of being alone was so acute. Perhaps he had come on the same wind that took her father's spirit to eternity. It was a superstitious thought, so unlike her – the practical cool-headed Davina Graham. She turned away and went back to the drawing room. She found the cigarettes and poured herself a brandy. Charlie had gone upstairs. She knew every creak of every board in the house. Toby waddled back and came to sniff at her hand. He rested his muzzle on her knee, and the soft brown eyes were worried. She patted his head. The dog made it intolerable. There was a noise and she looked up. Charlie's escort was hovering in the doorway. A nice-looking man, obviously upset. ‘Are you all right?' he asked. ‘Can I do anything?'

‘No thanks, I'm all right.' She held up the glass of brandy. ‘This will put me right. Why don't you have one with me – it's on the table over there.'

‘Thanks, I will,' he said. ‘I drove Charlie down – she was far too upset to come alone. I hope you and your mother don't mind.'

‘Of course not, it was very sweet of you. It all happened so quickly. Father wouldn't have known Charlie anyway, so she mustn't worry about not being here.'

‘She was saying how close they were,' he said, ‘on the way down. She adored him, didn't she?'

Davina wasn't aware that she smiled. ‘Oh yes, she did. It was mutual – he worshipped her.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said quickly, ‘I haven't even said who I am. I'm Peter Vereker. Charlie works for me. We'd been to the theatre tonight and it turned into a bit of a party afterwards. What an awful thing for you, having to manage on your own. I'm sure she'll feel dreadful about not getting here in time, but honestly, it wasn't anybody's fault.'

You remind me of old Toby, Davina said to herself. You've got the same loyal, anxious look, like tonight, when he knows something's wrong and he doesn't know whether he did right by barking. She's got her hooks into you, Peter whoever you said you are, and you don't even know it. Aloud, Davina answered, ‘It was just as well. It wouldn't have done Charlie any good to see him like that. Have another drink?'

‘No, no, thanks. I'll be driving back. Just as soon as she comes down. Can I get another one for you?'

‘I don't think so.' Davina stood up. Her body ached with tiredness. ‘I'll need a clear head for the morning. My mother's been marvellous but she'll have a reaction to what's happened. And Charlie will be too upset to cope. So I can't drown my sorrows, can I?' She saw the puzzled look on his face. Surely she couldn't be sarcastic at such a time?

‘Look,' he said, ‘maybe I shouldn't wait to see Charlie. I'll slip back to London. I brought her car down, so the best thing is to phone tomorrow and see what she wants done about it.' He came over to Davina. A good-looking man. Not late thirties – forties, she decided. And with money. Funny how you can tell when people are rich. Ivan used to say it was a smell. A smell of expensive soap and clothes that weren't worn twice running. Ivan again. He must have come in on the wind, she thought, and put the glass of brandy down. Peter Vereker shook hands. ‘Well, good night. And I'm terribly sorry. Do please tell your mother …'

‘I will,' she heard herself say, ‘and thank you for being so kind to my sister.'

That Saturday the Soviet Foreign Minister Nikolaev made his journey to East Berlin airport for the flight to Warsaw. He had a busy schedule to get through in his brief visit to the Eastern trouble spot. A private meeting with Poland's head of government at his home thirty miles outside the capital. It would be cordial on the surface, but the undertones of threat had to be maintained. Poland's internal counter-revolution was not completely under control. The existence of its leader Lech Walesa was a constant reminder of the self-determination Poland had lost. What to do about him? Nikolaev knew that a Russian solution wouldn't solve the Polish problem. Confinement in a KGB mental hospital worked very well with troublemakers at home. The Polish military weren't so lucky.

His personal bodyguard, Alexei, was in the seat immediately behind him. Nikolaev preferred his usual escort, but Borisov had been insistent that he needed the protection of his best officer.

The trip to East Germany had been very successful. He had made a speech about disarmament which would embarrass the West and put the West German Chancellor in difficulties. Nikolaev didn't enjoy going to East Germany, though he wouldn't have admitted it. He found the people dour and grim, and the atmosphere oppressive. Poland was a political nightmare, but it had certain lighter aspects: good food and vodka, and women with pleasing faces.… He settled down for the short trip across the border and slept. Behind him, Alexei sat vigilant.

Davina put her mother to bed. Charlie was locked in her room. Mrs Graham said anxiously, ‘She's crying and crying, poor girl. She won't let me in, Davina. Do you think she'll be all right?'

‘I'm sure she will,' Davina said. ‘It's the people who can't let it out who suffer afterwards. And that means you, Mum. Never mind the stiff upper lip, you've been brave enough already. Try to go to sleep and don't worry about anything. I'm here and I'll look after everything.' She bent and kissed her, and Betty Graham reached out and held her elder daughter in her arms.

‘You're a wonderful girl,' she murmured. ‘Don't think I don't know it. Good night, darling.'

The next day Davina made the funeral arrangements, and called the doctor on her mother's insistence. Charlie was prostrate in bed. He gave her a sedative and came down to find Davina.

‘How is she?'

He made a slight grimace. ‘She's had a bad shock – rather surprising for a woman of her age to go to pieces like that.'

‘They were very close,' Davina said.

He gave her a cool look. ‘So I gathered. She'll pick up now. She's rather a hysterical type, I should say. She'll sleep for a few hours and you'll find she's a lot better. Ring me, but only if you have to. I'm not on duty after five. It's supposed to be my weekend off.'

When Davina closed the door behind him, she felt he had left his irritation with them all like an aura. But there was Fergie to be looked after; Davina hadn't seen him since he was a baby. She found him a lovable toddler, who couldn't be left alone for a minute before getting into mischief. He had her sister's grey eyes, but little that reminded her of his father. He would be brown-haired, that was the only resemblance. She phoned the girl who looked after him and asked her to come back and take over. When she appeared in the doorway, he held onto his Aunt Davina and didn't want to go. It affected her so much that she spent an extra twenty minutes with the little boy. Her own child had never lived. She had miscarried only a few days after the car had blown up and Ivan Sasanov had died in her arms. She would never have a child now. She had a lover who'd betrayed her and no personal life that was worth a damn any more. She buried her face in Fergie's little body and held him tight for a moment. Then she took him to find his nanny.

‘Needs must when the devil drives.' She'd quoted that to James White, and the old tag kept coming back to her during that day. The devil of being the strong one. Nobody expected her to have hysterics or collapse. She'd lost a father, but it was Charlie's grief that dominated the household. Mrs Graham was frail and incompetent, at a loss in the house where she had been the mainstay of the family for all their lives. Without her husband, she had lost her bearings. She didn't say so, but she dreaded being left to cope with Charlie.

Davina got through to her office. Humphrey rang back and was glumly sympathetic. A call from Sir James followed; his offer to come over was brisk and genuine. It surprised her, knowing his incapacity to feel for others. And his majestic selfishness. Undoubtedly his wife was urging him on. Davina hesitated. The Whites were old friends – it might help Betty Graham if they came. She said, yes, that would be very kind and rang off before he could change his mind.

The Whites arrived in the afternoon. The captain's body had been taken away, and there was a stillness about the house that even Fergie's muffled shouts could not dispel. Davina kept busy. She cleaned and dusted and made cups of tea and coffee. Marchwood had been her only childhood home. She loved the old house because it had always been a friend when human friendships were not in evidence. And she had brought Ivan Sasanov there for the weekend that changed both their lives. That was another link with Marchwood, and one of the strongest. She took her mother out into the garden that afternoon. It was overcast but very warm. They sat together on the terrace where there had been so many family gatherings.