The Healing Stream (21 page)

‘And she didn’t say when she applied?’

Naomi started to laugh, although there was no humour in the sound. ‘I didn’t ask and she didn’t say. But she’s OK, she’ll learn, or rather she is keen to learn but I’m only learning as I go myself.’ This time there was no disguising her snort. ‘I’m behaving disgracefully. Richard would be so ashamed.’

‘I think not. I think he would be wretched to see the situation, but never ashamed. As soon as the wedding’s over Deirdre and I will come home. She may not be as useful as an able-bodied helper, but she has all the enthusiasm and she misses you.’

‘I love having her here and she is a huge help. But I have so little time for the dairy. She’ll be by herself a lot.’

‘Unless I engage someone to replace Tessa she’ll be by herself at home, too. And I don’t think she’d want to replace Tessa. Now she has her own transport of a sort, I’m sure she’d rather be working in the dairy. She needs to feel useful; we all do. To be honest I find retirement hard to take.’

‘Funny life, isn’t it? When things are going well we imagine it will stay that way forever.’

‘Perhaps it’s time for change. Why don’t you give Huntley’s suggestion consideration?’

‘I couldn’t.’ Her answer was positive and immediate. ‘Please don’t talk about it.’

‘Very well, it’s forgotten. But when I get back to Marlhampton would you think I was intruding if we talked about your way forward? Because for you, for me, for everyone, the future has to be lived and we have to make of it the best we can.’

A few minutes later, leaning against the sea wall, smoking and talking to Giles, no one could have guessed that Julian’s mind was miles away in a farmhouse kitchen in Devon. What was there about Naomi Pilbeam that made it so impossible to put her out of his mind? Was it because for the first time his days were empty? A wealthy man – and although he didn’t add his appearance to the equation, there was something very distinguished about him with his slim, upright build, his iron-grey hair and moustache, his rather courtly manner that was a natural part of his personality – who if he’d been looking for a wife would have had no trouble in finding one. But he wasn’t looking for a wife and what he gave to Naomi was undemanding friendship. Yet she was always there at the back of his mind. No one could see her as a beauty, with her thin face etched with lines, her hands hardened with work. She was painfully scrawny, yet there was an underlying strength about her. He hated to think she was there alone, alone and miserable.

That was when Tessa came out of the house and he went indoors to say goodnight to Deirdre.

At Chagleigh, Naomi scraped the remains of her scrambled egg into the scraps to be made into pigswill, rinsed her plate, banked up the fire and went to run a bath before bed, for there wasn’t time for such luxuries in the morning with a herd of cows to bring in for milking.

Lying in the warm water she longed to be soothed, comforted; but all it did was make her more aware of her loneliness and aching misery. Talking to Julian she had purposely given the impression that it was because she felt she was failing Richard in her care of their farm. And of course that was part of it. Not to anyone could she share the anguish that filled her. Everywhere she looked she could imagine Richard there. She’d close her eyes and feel that if she put out her hand she would touch him; she seemed to hear his step in the yard just as she heard an echo of his voice. Jealously she guarded her memories, frightened that they would dim with time. But how could they when he held her heart just as he had ever since she’d been a schoolgirl? Now look at her, ageing ahead of her years, tired to death, and yet . . . and yet . . . With her eyes closed she soaped her hands and moved them sensually on her body, pressing them against her groin as if to conjure up the weight of him. Richard, Richard, help me find you, want you . . . help me find you . . . As she arched and lowered her body the water swirled over her shoulders, her breathing quickened with excitement . . . make it be wonderful . . . always wonderful with you . . . stay with me . . . stay with me . . . now, yes now.

As she opened her eyes the cold light of the bathroom showed her just what she was – a lonely woman in a bath of cooling water. Climbing out, she dried herself without looking in the steamed mirror, then scrubbed her teeth and went to her lonely bedroom. She seemed to hear her voice echoing from hundreds and thousand of nights as it whispered ‘Glorious’; just as she remembered the feeling of contentment and thankfulness. But not tonight. Perhaps she had satisfied the physical need in her, but she didn’t want to think about it. There had been nothing glorious about that final moment, only confirmation – if confirmation were even needed – of just how alone she was.

Later, believing herself too tired to sleep, she lay staring out of the window into the dark night. Had she been awake some ten minutes later she would have realized that her day’s work wasn’t over; she would have been faced with yet something else beyond her ability.

By morning when she went out to climb the slope of Lower Meadow to drive in the milking herd, she glanced to her left to Brook Field where the cattle grazed who were not in milk. Something was wrong. She knew it from the sound of a feeble lowing. Milking must wait. As she climbed the stile into the field, that all-too-familiar sense of failure flooded her. Why couldn’t she have realized last night that the poor creature was going to calf?? And even if she had realized it, what could she have done? At what point do you wake the vet in the middle of the night?

The calf was dead; the weak and anguished cow standing over it with hardly the strength to lick the still form. This was the second calf she’d lost. If things went right it was just luck; if they went badly it was because she was incapable. And so another day started with the reminder of her inadequacy.

The wedding was timed for eleven thirty as Julian and Deirdre were starting their long drive home as soon as it was over. The ceremony was brief, the bride wearing her favourite dress, which was on its second summer, and Giles looking elegant and distinguished in a cream-coloured linen suit. There wasn’t a buttonhole in sight. But the agreement was just as binding and the promises the same as would have been made had the day had all the festivity it merited. Then, as soon as it was over and they were outside again saying their goodbyes, Julian opened the double doors of the hybrid and prepared to wheel Deirdre aboard.

‘Let me do it, Mr Masters,’ Tessa said. Then including Deirdre she added, ‘We’ve had such good times in this.’

‘That’s why I told Daddy that I don’t want another – what was it you were? – a carer-oblique-friend. I can manage most things for myself – much more than I used to before you came. It’s really good that Aunt Naomi is so overworked; it means she will give me more responsibility. I bet I could manage to do the cream if she wrote down exactly how – and cut and weigh up the mushrooms. Eggs and butter, they’re no problem.’

Julian looked down at her with pride. Then he remembered Geoffrey Huntley’s offer which, surely, Naomi would be a fool not to accept. If she clung on to Chagleigh she would wear herself out. And probably come to hate it into the bargain. But if she sold, there would be a tremendous void in Deirdre’s life – and what of his own? He turned away from the question before it had a chance to take root.

For Tessa everything was just as she’d dreamed. And the first few weeks held all the wonder of their Shropshire holiday, all that and more. For now there was no end in view, no need to count the days knowing parting was looming ever closer. During his time there alone, Giles had been dictating another book of the people in Burghton, intending to have it typed in its entirety when he returned to London. Instead, Tessa typed it for him, working for hours and loving every minute as she listened to the doings of her friends. It was something else they shared; she felt ever more involved in his life. The smooth running of the house didn’t require help from her. Maria, a middle-aged Spanish woman, arrived early each morning on her bicycle and kept the house immaculate. She ordered the shopping, cooked the meals and didn’t pedal home until after the evening meal was cleared away. So Tessa had no worries on that score and was always ready and willing when Giles suggested they could go out. All that and the joy in knowing that pregnancy did nothing to lessen her sexual appetite – indeed it enhanced it – and in those early months she believed nothing could change the wonder of where life had brought her.

But time doesn’t stand still and with each month she grew larger and heavier.

‘What’s happened to that lithe, petite child I took to the Shropshire hills? You must be exhausted. Why don’t you have an early night?’ He spoke kindly enough, but there was something in his manner that made her feel ashamed of her burg-eoning body. Still, his suggestion of an early night excited her; she must have imagined his increasing aloofness. By daylight they were good companions, but their last two attempts at love-making had been unsuccessful and for more than a month he had drawn away from her touch.

‘An early night? That sounds the perfect end to the day. Let’s, shall we?’

‘I said “you”, not “we”. I want to go through the final chapter of my book. When you’ve got it typed I was thinking of taking it rather than trusting the post.’ Then, after pausing as if uncertain whether to continue, ‘Don’t you ever feel you
must
get away from here for a change of scene?’

‘Yes, but I can’t go to England now. The baby isn’t due for a month, but supposing it came early and started while we were travelling? Maria was telling me this morning that her second son arrived at eight months. My Spanish is really coming on, you know. We talked for ages and I managed really well. She spoke extra slowly but I understood most of it and could answer – well, it must have been understandable. You’d have been proud.’

‘Good girl.’

She walked to where he sat, then bent to move her cheek against his.

‘Let’s creep off to bed, Giles.’

‘I can’t. I’m sorry, Tessa, I can’t. It’s not right with you like you are. Your body’s not your own and its most certainly not mine.’

‘I’ve been pregnant for months and it didn’t use to stop you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She felt rejected – and worse. When had he ever shown any interest in the coming child? Maria had talked of men’s pride in seeing their wives blossom into pregnancy. But Giles had never been like other men. He’d avoided touching her as her body changed. She hated feeling clumsy and heavy; she longed for them to find each other in loving as they always had. Didn’t he love her any more? In every other respect they were as close as ever they had been. Yet he avoided any physical contact as if she had some unclean disease.

She spent the next day typing and the following one he left for London, promising to be back before the end of the following week. Tessa wasn’t a bit nervous to be alone in the house but he insisted someone should be there with her and Maria was happy to leave her husband in charge of their family. Afterwards Tessa wondered whether Giles had had a premonition of what was ahead and that was why he had escaped to London. Whether or not that was the case she couldn’t tell, but she was thankful to have Maria with her when in the middle of the following week, after a busy and interesting morning in the almond grove helping Timus Rodriguez spraying the trees, she went into labour. The first violent pain just as she reached the house after climbing the steep driveway to the first cry of the child was less than four hours.

With five children of her own, Maria made an efficient midwife. Secretly she thought that men were superfluous on such occasions and they could have managed very nicely without the doctor, but Timus had insisted on calling him. Once he had gone and mother and baby had been spruced up, she laid the tiny bundle in Tessa’s arms.

‘Have you ever seen a babe more beautiful?’ she cooed in her native tongue.

Tessa was shaken by an emotion unlike anything she had anticipated. Even to speak in English was difficult; to hunt for the right words in Spanish quite beyond her.

‘Little Amelia,’ she whispered. ‘Rejoice.’ She seemed to hear her grandmother’s voice.

Later, when she looked back at Amelia’s first year it seemed as if her own life ran on two parallel lines. For Amelia, so tiny and dependent, she felt tenderness she had never previously known; but Giles was her reason for living and marriage to him had done nothing to dim her near worship of him. Physically she loved his appearance, his speaking voice, his well-cared-for hands, his slightly dandy way of dressing. All that and physically, too, she melted at his touch just as she had from the start. She held him on a pedestal above everyone; he knew so much about worldly things, about history, politics, art, literature; she supposed it ought to have made her feel inferior, but instead she looked on him with ever-increasing adoration and pride. She must be the luckiest woman living to share her life with his in this paradise on earth.

So her letters to Naomi – and to Deirdre, too – were a reflection of the perfection of her days. Yet Naomi was less confident. Perhaps her doubts were based on the daily battle of her own life, but was it really necessary for Giles to return to England as frequently as he did? She told Julian something of her unease, relying on him to persuade her she was worrying for nothing.

All Julian said was, ‘I fear no one will ever change Giles. If Tessa accepts him as he is and still loves him, as she obviously does, then don’t punish yourself worrying about her, my dear.’

He believed he spoke the truth.

Stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray bearing evidence of a stressful evening, Naomi leant back in her chair with her eyes closed. Only
she
could know the visions she saw behind those closed lids.
Richard
, she cried silently,
last year was bad but this one is worse. Tomorrow I must take the books to the auditor – there’s no way of hiding – after all this time I still make one mistake after another. I’ve sent lambs to the abattoir which I should have kept for breeding – not just once but over and over I’ve misjudged what I should have kept and what I should sell. Another few years like this and there’ll be nothing left. I’ve tried, I’ve worked every hour but what’s the use of work when you don’t do it right? What am I going to do? Help me to have the strength to do what is right. Show me what is right. I don’t know . . . I don’t know anything any more. I wanted to keep everything just as you would have; you know I did. Show me what to do. Sometimes I can’t even find you.