The Healing Stream (17 page)

‘There’s plenty of soup, Gerry. Pass your bowl and let me give you some more.’ Tessa reached her hand to him and he gladly passed his bowl for a refill. It brought home to her just what a change there was in Naomi. This was
her
farm kitchen, they were eating
her
food, yet there she sat, crumbling her bread, making a pretence of eating her soup, making sure she kept her face set in what was almost a smile, and all the while her world was falling around her. Was she finding comfort in the belief that Richard was watching over her? Let it be like that for her, Tessa begged silently.

‘You two workers get back to the top field,’ Tessa said as she collected the dirty plates. ‘Deirdre and I will see to these things and then, after we’ve finished weighing out and wrapping the butter – the wrapping is Deirdre’s job, she does it so well, the words “Chagleigh Farm” always come right in the middle just like they should – well, when we’ve done that we ought to do some shopping. There must be other things I can do, Auntie?’ Surely she didn’t need to spell it out. She remembered exactly what she had had to do when her grandmother died, but it was as if Naomi wouldn’t let herself think of any of it.

‘No. There’s nothing today. You know where my purse is for the shopping.’ Then to Gerry, ‘I’ll see you in the top field in about ten minutes. If I’m there first I’ll see if I can get started on my own. Have a cigarette or whatever you want; you needn’t hurry.’ It was all said in a friendly manner as she pushed her chair back under the table and turned to go upstairs. Tessa and Deirdre looked at each other, knowing that they both recognized the charade she was playing. Only Gerry, who had met her for the first time that morning, accepted her tone as normal, although he did think it was odd that a woman who had lost her husband less than twenty-four hours before could carry on so calmly.

An hour or so later Deirdre was concentrating on getting her half pound of butter placed on the wrapper in exactly the right position when she stopped, sitting very still, and listening. ‘Sounds like Daddy’s step in the yard. Have a peep, Tessa. What could he want me for?’

The high window of the dairy looked towards the gate to the lower field and, as Tessa strained to make herself as tall as she could, she saw Naomi coming towards it down the slope. Then, approaching her from the yard, she saw Julian Masters.

‘Yes, it’s your father,’ she reported, ‘but he’s not coming this way, he’s going to speak to Aunt Naomi. That’s kind of him but, Deirdre, it must be so hard for her to have to bear people’s sympathy.’

‘Dad’s never a mushy sort of man,’ Deirdre answered defensively. ‘See how he helped yesterday, taking you to the hospital.’

‘I was so grateful. She was in no state to drive herself home.’

So the dairy work went on while both girls were secretly wondering what was being said outside. However, they were to be left in ignorance as Julian didn’t come in to speak. They heard his car drive off – and how were they to guess that he had seen his passenger seated and closed the door firmly before getting in himself and slamming his own?

Driving towards Deremouth Julian glanced fleetingly at Naomi, who sat at his side gazing straight ahead and, he was sure, seeing nothing of the passing landscape. To say she was pale told only half the story; her complexion was an unearthly grey hue except for the dark shadows under her eyes. The lines had been there on the day he had first met her, but now they seemed to pull her mouth down, adding years to her. She was probably younger than he was himself, but on that summer afternoon she looked old – old and tired of living. Her voice cut through his thoughts, taking him by surprise.

‘I ought to have done this myself this morning. Why should you bother? I ought to have done it for him myself. You didn’t even know him.’

‘You ask why? No, I never met your Richard, but you and he have shared the dinner table with Deirdre and me for many weeks and I shall never cease to be grateful for what you two have done for her. She wakes up looking forward to the day ahead. You are her adopted Aunt Naomi and Uncle Richard, and each night she chatters about you both.’ Both? Purposely he said it, just as purposely he used the present tense, as if that way he could help keep her memories alive. ‘And if you were happy to be her aunt and uncle, doesn’t that give me the right to be something more than a stranger who lives a mile along the lane?’

‘You’re very kind.’ She answered like a child determined to be on her best behaviour.

‘Kindness has nothing to do with it. I wish I’d known Richard, but from what I have heard of him he wasn’t a man who would want
you
, the woman who shared every aspect of his life, to have to deal with the administrative necessities at a time like this. Talk to the vicar yourself but leave the rest to me. Please, Naomi. I feel certain Richard would want you spared. Do it for him. Humph?’

‘Don’t!’ He’d been looking at the road ahead and her stifled gulp caught him off guard. ‘Mustn’t start crying.’ She clamped her teeth firmly together but she couldn’t control the spasms in her thin face.

‘Cry, my dear. You will find him more surely in tears than in the pretence of winning the battle you have to face.’

She felt that for the first time she was seeing behind the aloof but courteous front he put up. ‘Was it like that for you when you lost Deirdre’s mother?’

The question took him by surprise. ‘Certainly not. I believed I was head over heels in love with Chloe. Until then my life had been filled by the business I was building. I was forty-two, she eighteen. Her parents willingly gave consent to the wedding and, fool that I was, I thought heaven had fallen in my lap. Deirdre must have been conceived on our honeymoon, for that’s all it took for me to realize I had been married for my money. The country was arming ready; anyone with any sense could see what was ahead. So, like many more in that field, I was accruing the sort of wealth a peaceful England would never have made for me. We’d been married just nine months when Deirdre was born and by the time she was taking her first steps Chloe had gone.’

‘How awful for you.’ He knew from her tone that his story had momentarily cut through her own misery.

‘No. All I felt was relief. And that, I suppose, is the sadness. We had no marriage, no common ground, no friendship. A broken marriage gives one such a sense of failure. I soon realized that my feeling for her was no more love than hers for me. Yet, you know, the feeling of failure is always there; the slate can never be wiped clean.’

‘Such sadness – and for Deirdre, too, to be deprived of a mother. Richard and I were so blessed.’

He nodded. ‘I know. I could tell that from what you both did for Deirdre. And be sure of one thing: just as I can never wipe the slate clean, neither will you. What you and Richard built into your marriage will always be with you.’

‘Will it? If I couldn’t find him I don’t know what I’d do. But today when I was learning to do the sheep’s feet – I’d never done it before, you see; all that was Richard’s work – I could feel he was there for me. Gerry was wonderful, he showed me what to do, but it was Richard who gave me confidence. I couldn’t have done it without him.’

‘You must hang on to Gerry. At heart he’s a farmer.’

‘If I can keep him a few more days.’ Her voice was strong again; Julian knew she had conquered that wave of misery which had nearly brought her down. ‘Richard and I never had any help,’ she was saying, ‘no outsiders working there. When Tessa came she helped in the dairy, but we never employed anyone. It was our pride that we did it ourselves. And he will be there for me; he will help me. He
must
.’

‘Daddy, why didn’t you come and speak to Tessa and me this afternoon?’ Deirdre said at dinner that evening.

‘Because it was Mrs Pilbeam I came to see. There were things she needed to get done; I drove her.’

‘I’m glad. She’s much more upset than she wants us to know. If you catch her when she forgets you’re there she looks . . . different . . . sort of despairing. But I saw her later and she was still wearing her overalls. She didn’t go to town in her working clothes, did she?’

Julian remembered his own surprise when she had got into the car still in her workman’s overalls and wellingtons. Now, though, a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he answered, ‘Not entirely. She took off her hat. But Deirdre, we should never judge people by their clothes. Mrs Pilbeam is a lady in the real sense of the word, be she in working togs or a model gown.’

Deirdre laughed, partly at the image of Naomi in a model gown and partly out of sheer happiness that her father should speak as he had about her beloved Aunt Naomi.

But what Julian hadn’t told her was how his ill-clad passenger had acquiesced when he had offered to leave her in the car while he registered Richard’s death and then called on the undertaker.

Only as he opened the door for her to get out when they got back to the farm did she meet and hold his gaze. ‘Thank you – can’t tell you how grateful I am. The things you did for me – for Richard – I dreaded doing them. Silly, I know. I ought to have gone to town this morning – kept putting it off. The last thing I could do for him – and I couldn’t do it.’

‘Do you imagine he doesn’t know that?’ Then his tone changed as he spoke more forcefully, trying to lift her spirit before her insecure grip on control was lost. ‘And my actions weren’t entirely altruistic. Everyone needs to serve, whether it’s the community, the family, someone you love. I have Deirdre, thank God, but I do so little that’s useful these days. Promise me that if there is anything, anything at all I can do for you, you will tell me.’ Then, with a sudden smile, ‘Retiring too young can be tricky.’

She promised, shook his outstretched hand, then watched him drive away. She was thankful and grateful that he had relieved her of the things she had been too cowardly to face; but there all thought of him ended, for she was hardly likely to ask help from a retired industrialist to whom the mysteries of farming were a closed book.

Routine had to be Naomi’s medicine. She got through each day determined not to be beaten and, each night, went to bed almost too weary to climb the stairs. And yet once alone in the dark bedroom sleep always eluded her. There were nights when she would reach her hand to his side of the bed, almost making herself believe that she would feel the warm, familiar body. Night after night she fought her tears, but misery and exhaustion always won. She mustn’t let Tessa guess she was crying, better to pull the covers over her head, to bury her face in the already damp pillow.
Richard, Richard, how can I go on without you? I’m
nothing
, not even a whole person. Just want to die
. . . And so her days ended until at last sleep carried her away. By morning her determination was back again. Through the working hours of the day it took all her energy and concentration to carry out the tasks Gerry had taught her during the week or so they had worked together. Now she was on her own and it didn’t enter her head to worry about Tessa or the fact that there had been no mention of Giles coming back.

But for Tessa the passage of time couldn’t be ignored. It was the beginning of August, more than eight weeks since she and Giles had driven north to that paradise in Shropshire. From her collection of books about the people of Burghton she found that his work had been published by the same firm for many years. If she were to write a letter to Giles and send it to the publisher in a sealed envelope explaining that she had typed for him when he’d been in Devon and asking that it could be forwarded to his address in Spain, that must surely get her a reply in about a fortnight. She couldn’t hide her secret much longer; in fact, she was amazed that Naomi hadn’t noticed a change in her already.

Three days later she had a reply, not from Giles but from the publisher, regretting that he had been unable to forward her letter as all that was known of Giles Lampton’s whereabouts in Spain was that his nearest town was Llaibir. Any contact during his periods in Spain was always made by Giles himself, and if he should happen to ring, he would be advised that there was a letter waiting for him from her.

By the end of the day Tessa had read it so many times she almost knew it by heart. Her imagination was working overtime as she stripped off the last of her clothes and, naked on this warm night, started to get into bed. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the long mirror on the wardrobe door. Forgetting bed, she stood gazing at it, turning sideways first one way and then the other; it wasn’t that she had a ‘bump’ yet, but her figure was different. Her breasts felt heavier as she cupped them in the palms of her hands, and did she imagine it or had she lost her youthful appearance of agility? She shivered – certainly not because she was cold. She had faced most things without fear, but there had never been anything like
this.

Despite her worries, once in bed she soon fell asleep. What time it was when a sound woke her she didn’t know, but she was sure she heard movements downstairs. In an instant she was pulling on her dressing gown. Creeping on to the landing she saw that Naomi’s door was pulled to and her room in darkness. If there was an intruder she couldn’t have heard. In the dark Tessa crept barefoot down the stairs, relieved to see a streak of light shining under the kitchen door. Surely a burglar wouldn’t have switched on the electric light. Even so, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before throwing open the door to face whatever was before her.

Naomi turned at the sound. ‘Do you want some tea?’ she asked, as if middle of the night refreshment was the normal thing.

Tessa nodded. In that moment she made her decision: she must tell Naomi the whole truth. Yet as she took a cup from the hook on the dresser, at the front of her consciousness was what had happened to her aunt in these last weeks. Always thin, but usually fully clothed, it had never been as apparent; tonight, wearing just a thin, cotton, sleeveless nightdress, there seemed to be no flesh on her bones. Her figure had always been saved because she had retained the firm breasts of her youth, which now seemed just to emphasize her bony frame. Her face was gaunt, the only colour the dark shadows beneath her eyes.