The Dust That Falls from Dreams (46 page)

‘Mon Dieu!
Die of a heart attack! How can you possibly know this?’

‘He feels dizzy when he stands up. He gets pains in his chest and his left arm. Sometimes he’s very tired. He spent all last Sunday in bed. He said he was “having a browse” but he was feeling weak.’

‘What about the doctor? Surely you called in the doctor?’

‘Dr Scott says his blood pressure is very variable, too high or too low, and he has a heart murmur. He told Daddy not to run for trains, and not to play thirty-six holes in one day any more.’ ‘But does this doctor think there is danger?’

‘He says that we don’t have the proper skills yet, to know what is really happening, or what we should do. But I was a nurse. I know what I think, and I think that Daddy is going to have a heart attack. Ottilie isn’t as sure as I am, but she’s worried too.’

‘And does your father know what you think,
chérie
?’

‘No
, Gran’mère.’

Mme Pitt said, ‘Well, now I understand a little bit more.
Comprendre c’est pardoner, n’est-ce pas?
But you know what your father would say, don’t you?’

‘He would tell me to go to Ceylon. He already has. Lots of times. He shouted at me, and he’s never done that before, even when we were little. It was horrible.’

‘Have you spoken to Daniel? What does he say?’

‘I’ve only told him I’m worried about Daddy.’

‘You said nothing about the heart?’

‘Only to Ottilie. I have a superstition.’

‘A superstition?’

‘If I talk about it, I’m afraid I’ll bring it about. It’s like worrying about falling in a ditch if you want to leap it. If you worry too much about it, you always fall in, don’t you?’

‘
Je ne sais pais,’
replied Mme Pitt. ‘I have never in my life jumped over a ditch. But I know what you mean. Talking will often make things happen. But I do not think it will make heart attacks. Shall we agree something? Shall we say that if your papa falls ill, we will send a telegram, and you will come home immediately? I shall speak to my son, and he will not resist,
je te jure.’

Rosie nodded. ‘Even so, it takes two weeks to get back from Ceylon.’

Mme Pitt reached down into her bag and brought out a book, wrapped in blue-grey tissue that matched her dress. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘for you.
Un petit cadeau
.’

Rosie took the book and clutched it to her chest. She stood up and faced the old lady, kissing her on each cheek. ‘I know I haven’t been the kind of wife that Daniel deserves.’

‘Hush, hush!’ said Mme Pitt, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I love you. It’s enough. One forgives if one loves. And now I know what has been going on in your heart,
ma chère
. And, Rosie, I know I am asking for what is not possible. It is my duty to my son to ask for what is not possible,
tu comprends? Il faut que tu m’excuses.’

Rosie stood up and began to go, but then she turned and confessed, ‘I just want to say that I’ve been telling myself the same
things as you have. For ages. All you’ve done is make me hear them out loud. I know you’re right. Daniel…how could I ever forget him vaulting over the wall?’ Rosie bit her lip, clutched her parcel to her chest, and looked at her mother-in-law. ‘The thing is, I’ve always loved him, without really knowing it. And now I have to make a new start. But leaving Daddy…it’ll be the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I just don’t know how I’ll manage to do it.’

‘Chérie
, I’m so happy to hear you say this. But there’s been so much damage. How will you mend it?’

‘I think he still loves me. It mightn’t be too late.’

Rosie went straight upstairs to her room and unwrapped her present. It was a book about Ceylon, and was mainly pictorial. Rosie looked at its religious monuments. There was a photograph of an elephant at the Temple of the Tooth, very smartly caparisoned. There were photographs of mountains curtained with mist, of water buffalo wallowing in paddy fields, of the elegant bungalows of the planters, of smiling tea-pickers who were plainly gleeful that anyone might want to take a picture of them. She read the opening lines, in which it said that Ceylon was originally known as Serendip, and that Muslims believed it was where Adam and Eve had reconvened after having been expelled from Paradise. She closed it and laid it on the bed, planning to read through all the text later.

She picked up the Bible by her bedside, intending to look for the passage about husbands and wives in the afterlife, but instead came across St Paul talking about celibacy and marriage. ‘Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband. The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife. Defraud ye not one the other, except it be with consent for a time, that ye may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; and come together again, that Satan tempt you not for your incontinency.’

Further down she found the solution to something that had troubled her for many months, which was the issue of Daniel’s frank unbelief. ‘If any brother hath a wife that believeth not, and she be pleased to dwell with him, let him not put her away.
And the woman which hath an husband that believeth not, and if he be pleased to dwell with her, let her not leave him. For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean; but now they are holy.’

Excitedly, she leafed through the pages until she found the passage for which she had originally been looking.

She knelt by the side of her bed and tried to talk to Ash, but had no sense of a response apart from a growing feeling of optimism and serenity. There had been catharsis in talking to Mme Pitt. Sometimes one discovers what one really thinks because of having to say it aloud. Now that she had talked openly about her father’s health, the problem seemed to have got smaller. She found herself looking forward to Daniel’s return, and went to the window, just in time to see him come into the driveway in a cloud of aromatic blue smoke, and park next to the AC.

She watched him fiddling with the levers, and then ran downstairs and out into the drive to greet him, almost being beaten to it by Esther, who was desperate to introduce him to her new French bear.

‘Gracious me,’ said Daniel, ‘what a welcome! Shompi, what a lovely bear! Is
Gran’mère
here yet?’

Esther seemed to spring vertically in the air, landing neatly in the crook of his arm and puckering up her lips to kiss him on the mouth. Rosie put her arms around his neck and laid her face next to his. ‘My darling,’ said Daniel, astonished by her unwonted display of affection, ‘how nice it is to be back.’

O
ttilie was the quietest of the sisters, and on that account the most mysterious. She had the gift of serenity, and was capable of sitting quite still for an hour with her hands folded in her lap, which is to say that she had a rich interior life. She had survived her time as a VAD in Brighton without apparently having become too traumatised. It had instead given her an intense interest in the subcontinent. If she did not suffer nightmares, she did, however, retain very vivid memories of the heartbreaking suffering that she had witnessed, and of the utter exhaustion that had once been her normality. In the peaceful aftermath of such an implacable welter of death she had become someone who was surprised to be yet alive, her amazement constituting a kind of deep and placid pleasure.

Ottilie was fortunate in possessing a tranquil faith in her own destiny, knowing that something good and satisfying was going to happen, but without having any idea what it might be. It was simply a case of waiting, with patient curiosity. Her mission in this life was simply to make sure that those she loved were as happy as it was possible to be, and to go to as many lectures and talks as possible, in the hope that one day she would meet somebody at one of them who would sweep her off her feet and console her for the absence of Archie.

She had witnessed Christabel’s unconventional attachment to Gaskell mostly with anxiety on the former’s part. Like almost all her contemporaries, she had no clear idea of what such a relationship involved, either emotionally or physically, and so was protected from being shocked by it. She assumed quite naturally that Christabel would eventually meet the right man, marry him, and have children, and that Gaskell would be a dear friend to both. Fortunately, she liked Gaskell immensely, and found her inexhaustibly fascinating.

Sophie and Fairhead had so obviously and irrevocably created each other’s paradise that she had no worry for them at all, other than to be niggled by the thought that every paradise carries within it its own tragedy, when it inevitably comes to an end. What on earth would Sophie and Fairhead do if something happened to the other? She had recently written a letter to them, ostensibly to congratulate Fairhead upon being appointed chaplain in a hospital, but really for the sake of the envoi: ‘My dears, be extra sure to enjoy every single minute, won’t you?’

Of her mother, Ottilie thought very little. She was increasingly eccentric and difficult, but her father was adept at jollying her along, putting his foot down when neccessary, and repairing any damage behind the scenes. Of his mistresses, who were the principle reason why he was able to continue to live with his wife, she knew and suspected absolutely nothing. His dizziness and occasional chest pain she mainly ascribed to his cigar smoking, and so was not as troubled as Rosie about the state of his heart.

As for Daniel and Rosie, the case was altogether different. They had not dived into natural bliss like Sophie and Fairhead, and they had not glided down into the mutual tolerance and respect that occurs as a marriage transmogrifies passion into friendship. From early on it had been clear that Daniel had been angry and confused, and that Rosie had often closed herself up, finding her consolation and satisfaction in Esther. Daniel, too, had only been coming home to be with Esther, pointedly embracing the child rather than his wife whenever he returned.

Lately, however, things seemed to have changed very much for the better. Rosie had at last become openly affectionate with her husband, and had apparently changed her mind about never wanting to leave the parental home. Ottilie knew that Rosie was obstinate enough to resist the pressure that she had been receiving from everyone except her mother, and now she could clearly see that Rosie was not behaving like someone who has been browbeaten or defeated. She was behaving like someone who has had a small revelation perhaps, or someone who has at last made the right decision and is proud of herself on that account. Her step was light, and she sometimes laughed as she once did before Ash
was killed. A few days before Rosie’s departure, Ottilie knocked on the door of her room and came in.

‘It’s goodbye soon,’ said Ottilie. ‘I’m going to miss you most awfully.’

‘I expect we’ll be coming back once a year,’ said Rosie. ‘A lot of people do.’

‘Oh, but I might have absconded,’ replied Ottilie. ‘Who knows? I might meet an American millionaire and go to live in Guernsey.’ She sat on the bed. ‘Dearest, I want to say a few things to you.’

‘Do you? Should I be worried?’

‘Silly! Of course not.’

‘Well, what do you want to say?’

‘I just wanted to say that Daniel is a very fine man.’

‘I know he is. Of course I know he is.’

‘I want you to know it properly.’

‘Properly?’

‘Yes, really and truly properly with brass knobs on, and pink ribbons and silver bells.’ Rosie laughed and Ottilie continued. ‘I know…we all know…that…there are things…I mean, we all know that you can’t get over Ash. I think…even all your religiousness is to do with Ash.’

Rosie bridled. ‘No, it isn’t. Without my faith I’d die of loneliness. And despair. And fright.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Ottilie quickly. ‘What matters is that Daniel is a very fine man, and that now you’ve got the chance to make a new start.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m going. To make a new start.’

‘You’ve got to throw yourself into it,’ said Ottilie, ‘you really have. No half-measures.’

‘It isn’t so easy,’ said Rosie. ‘I have…you know…because of Ash…How shall I put it? I’ve been suffering from a disengaged heart. I’ve often thought that I shouldn’t have married poor Daniel.’

‘Am I right in thinking that, when you married Daniel, you were only…how shall I put it?…
demi-vierge
?’

‘Ottilie! Why do you say that?’

‘I’m not condemning you or criticising. I know you were
promised to each other absolutely. In your minds, in everybody’s minds, you were married already, weren’t you?’

‘We didn’t…you know we didn’t…’

‘Go all the way? Well, I’m sure you were sensible.’

‘And obedient. It was obedience, that’s all.’

‘Obedient?’

‘God’s law.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Ottilie paused. ‘But that didn’t stop you knowing…many pleasures, did it? You did manage to be alone together an awful lot.’

‘What’s this got to do with anything, Ottie? Why are you questioning me?’

‘Well, I’ve heard it said, and I expect it’s true, that a woman gets terribly attached to the first man who, well, you know…and I’m sure that must have made it most awfully difficult with Daniel. Does he know about you…being a
demi-vierge
?’

‘He hasn’t said anything.’

‘Let me tell you something,’ said Ottilie, putting her hand on her sister’s arm. ‘When I was at Brighton, at the Pavilion, with all those Mahommedans and Hindus and Sikhs, well, just about all of them have arranged marriages. You know, Mummy and daddy arrange for someone suitable. None of them marries for love, Rosie, but do you know what? You know how wounded men talk, late at night, when they are in too much pain to sleep, and someone is having a nightmare and yelling? And all you can do is hold a man’s hand and listen?’

Rosie nodded. She knew it as if it were engraved upon her psyche.

‘Well,’ said Ottilie, ‘those men, who didn’t marry for love, it’s obvious that when they talk about their wives, they do love them, they really do. Rosie dearest, you don’t have to love the man you marry. You can marry and the love comes later. It truly can. It does. I know it. I learned it from those poor wounded Indians.’

‘I know what you’re saying,’ said Rosie, ‘but it’s not as bad as you think.’

‘I know it’s specially difficult for you,’ said Ottilie, ‘I really do know that it is. We all do. Even Daniel knows. All I’m asking is, do try properly.’

‘Properly with brass knobs on, and pink ribbons?’

‘And silver bells.’

The sisters laughed, and Ottilie said, ‘I wouldn’t ask, but Daniel really is a good catch. I wouldn’t ask you if he was a bounder. And I think he probably still loves you.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ replied Rosie, ‘and things have already begun to get better. They really have. You didn’t have to talk to me about this at all. What about you, Ottie? What’s going to happen with you?’

‘
Moi?
I shall be deliriously happy, you wait and see.’

‘What about Archie?’

‘Not to be, I don’t think. He’s not here any more, is he? And when he is here, he’s just desperate to get back to the North-West Frontier. And it’s you he loves, not me. That’s why he’s such a sad man who can’t wait to go. Not a hope for me, I’m afraid. I’ve just got to bear up and see what’s round the corner. I did take a little fancy to Fluke, between you and me, but he’s already spoken for. Two children, I believe. And gone to South America. And let’s face it, he’s an aviator. They don’t last much longer than a meteorite, do they? That’s what they are, meteorites waiting to hit the ground. Aviators are born to become a beautiful memory, like a poppy whose petals are ripped away in a storm.’

‘Daniel’s an aviator,’ said Rosie. She looked at Ottilie, taking her in now that it was almost time to part. Ottilie was quite short, and even dumpy if one were to be uncharitable. She wore her black shiny hair in a simple bob, and her large oval face seemed little more than a neutral setting for her enormous dark brown eyes. Rosie thought, ‘How many ways there are of being beautiful!’

Ottilie said, ‘I want to give you a hug, like when we were little.’

After a while, Rosie said, ‘Ottie, I’m so sad. I feel I hardly know you.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ murmured Ottilie. ‘I’m the quiet one. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I know you right down to the last drop.’

‘Dear Ottie,’ said Rosie. ‘Please look after Daddy, won’t you? If anything happens send me a telegram and I’ll come straight back. I know you don’t entirely agree with me, but I really do think there’s something wrong with his heart.’

‘I’ll keep Daddy wrapped up in cotton wool,’ said Ottilie.