Coming Home

  In the house, we are a bit of a squash, but managing comfortably. Anna's moved in with her mother, and Jess has got Anna's room. But I think the time has come for me to fly this nest and start building another one for you and me. I saw a lovely house in Portscatho last week, three bedrooms and two bathrooms, not in the village but up on the hill, looking out over the sea. It's only half a mile from the village shop, and a couple of miles from St Mawes. (Mooring for your boat?) It's in good nick, and we could move in tomorrow if we wanted, so I think I shall put in an offer and get it. I spoke to Hester Lang on the telephone the other day, and she has promised to come and stay, and help me over the move. I want to be all settled in and ready for when you come home and we can be together again.

  As for Phyllis, the great news is that Cyril has decided to stay in the Navy on a regular basis. He has done really well, is now a petty officer, with an excellent war record, and a DSM for gallantry. I think it is very important that we get Phyllis settled. With Molly gone, I feel a bit responsible for her, after these years that we have lived, quite happily, together. It will depend on how much of his pay Cyril has been able to save, but they must have a home of their own, somewhere for him to come for his leaves. Perhaps a little terrace house in Penzance. If more than they could afford, would we be able to chip in a little? I am sure Judith would help, but she's got Jess to think about now, and her schooling, et cetera. I'll have a word with her when some of the excitement has died down.

  So that's about it. If I don't stop now I shan't catch the post. Think of me, splashing down the hill to push this letter into the letter-box. I shall take Morag with me for a little exercise. She is getting older now, but still keen as mustard if you breathe the word ‘Walkies’.

  Darling Bob. How lucky we are. Now, I can't wait for you to come home. Don't linger too long.

  My love as forever

  Biddy

  ‘I'd forgotten how long this road is.’

  ‘We seem to be going on forever.’

  ‘It's because we're walking. On bikes it doesn't seem anything.’

  The Nancherrow drive looked a bit unkempt, filled with pot-holes and puddles, and the verges on either side were beginning to encroach. The hydrangeas were long over, their flower-heads browned and papery, sagging with moisture from the showers which had been blown in from the sea, and continued, all through the afternoon. High above, the branches were bare, tossing in the wind, and beyond them the pale sky, scudded with grey, watery clouds.

  ‘The first time I ever came to Nancherrow, the drive was so long and twisty, I was sure the house was going to be quite spooky, when we finally reached it. But of course, it wasn't. It's quite new. You'll see. And then, when I read Rebecca, I was reminded of Nancherrow, and seeing it all for the very first time.’

  ‘I've never read Rebecca.’

  ‘You haven't had much chance. But what a treat you've got in store. Heaps of treats. I shall feed you books, like we feed Morag dog-meal.’

  ‘I had one book when I was little that I always remember. I got it for a Christmas. It was huge and coloured and filled with pictures and stories. I wonder what happened to that?’

  ‘It was put in store, I expect. With all our other stuff. Crates of it. We'll have to get it from the depository. Things that belonged to Mummy. Ornaments and bits of china. It'll be like opening Pandora's box…’

  The trees were thinning. They were nearly there. Around the last curve of the drive, and the house stood before them, but a squall was driving in, hiding, like a grey curtain, the view of the sea. They stopped, and stared for a moment, raincoats dripping, mufflers blowing in the wind.

  Then Jess said, ‘It's really big.’

  ‘They needed a big house. They had three children, and lots of servants, and lots of friends always coming to stay. I had a room of my own. The pink room. After tea, I'll show you. Come on, or we're going to get soaked again.’

  They ran across the gravel, reaching the sanctuary of the front door just as the rain lashed down once more. There, they shed raincoats, toed off their rubber boots. Then Judith opened the inner door and, in socked feet, she and Jess went into the hall.

  Unchanged. Just the same. The same smell. It was a bit chilly, perhaps, despite the logs which smouldered in the huge hearth, but an arrangement of chrysanthemums and autumn foliage stood, bright as flames, in the middle of the round table, where still lay the dog leads, the Visitors' Book, the small stack of mail waiting to be collected by the postman.

  No sound. Only the ticking of the old clock.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Jess whispered, sounding a bit overawed.

  ‘I don't know. We'll go and look. Upstairs first.’

  On the half-landing, they heard the faint strains of the nursery wireless floating along the passage. The nursery door stood ajar. Judith pushed it gently open, and saw Mary, intent on a pile of ironing. She said her name.

  ‘Oh, Judith.’ The iron was put down with a thump, and Mary's sturdy arms opened for her. ‘I can't believe you've come back to us. And that you're really here again. It's been so long! And this is Jess? Hello, Jess, it's lovely to meet you. Look at your heads, you're soaking. Walk down, did you?’

  ‘Yes. All the way. We've only got one bike. Where's Loveday?’

  ‘She'll be here directly. Walking down from Lidgey with Nat. She had to help Walter pen a couple of calves.’

  ‘How is Nat?’

  ‘He's a holy terror.’ Mary had a bit more grey in her hair, and a few more lines on her face, and she was thinner too, but in a funny way it rather suited her. There were darns in her blue cardigan, and the collar of her blouse was a bit frayed, but she still smelt of Johnson's Baby Soap and fresh ironing.

  ‘Seen Mrs Carey-Lewis, have you?’

  ‘No. We came straight upstairs to find you.’

  ‘Then let's go down now, and tell her you're here.’

  Pausing only to switch off her iron, turn off her wireless and put another log on her little fire (‘Good thing we've got plenty of trees on this place, otherwise we'd all be dying of cold’), she led them out of the nursery, back down the stairs, and along the hall to the door of the small sitting-room. She tapped on the panel, opened it a crack, and put her head around the edge of the door.

  ‘Someone to see you!’ And, dramatically, she flung the door wide open.

  And there they were, sitting on either side of the fireplace, Diana with her tapestry, and the Colonel with the Sunday Times. At his feet, old Tiger lay asleep, but Pekoe, who had been dozing on the sofa and now suspected robbers, sat to attention and let loose a cacophony of barks. Diana looked up, snatched off her spectacles, cast aside her sewing and sprang to her feet.

  ‘Pekoe, be quiet. It's only Judith. It's Judith.’ Pekoe, deprived of pleasure, sunk sulkily back onto the cushions. ‘Judith. Oh, darling. It's been a thousand years. Come and let me hug you to bits.’ She was slender, tall and as lovely as ever, despite the fact that her corn-coloured hair had faded to silver. ‘You've come back, my precious third daughter. And you're looking utterly wonderful! And you've brought Jess. Jess. I'm Diana Carey-Lewis. We've heard so much about you, and this is the very first time we've ever met…’

  Released from Diana's embrace, Judith turned to the Colonel, who was now standing, patiently awaiting his turn. He had always looked older than his years, and now it seemed as though time had caught up with him. And, as well, his clothes, which hung in shabby fashion on his lanky frame — a very elderly tweed jacket, and a pair of washed-out corduroy trousers in which, in the old days, he would not have been seen dead.

  ‘My dear.’ Formal; as always, a little shy. She took his hands in hers and they kissed. ‘How pleased we are to have you home again.’

  ‘Not nearly as grateful as I am to be here.’ Now Tiger, ever courteous, had heaved himself into a sitting position, and Judith stooped to fondle his head. She said sadly, ‘He's looking old.’ He was too. Not fat, but heavy and arthritic, and his dear muzzle was quite grey.


  ‘We're none of us getting any younger. I should start looking for another Labrador puppy, but somehow I haven't got the heart…’

  ‘Edgar. Darling, you must say hello to Jess.’

  He put out his hand. ‘How do you do, Jess? I must introduce you to my dog, Tiger. This is Jess, Tiger.’ He smiled, his gentle, charming smile which no child could ever resist. ‘You've come a long way. What do you think of Cornwall, eh? Doesn't rain like this all the time.’

  Jess said, ‘I actually remember Cornwall.’

  ‘Do you, by Jove? That's going a long way back. Why don't we sit down, and you can tell me about it…here, on this stool by the fire…’ He pushed aside some magazines and papers. ‘How old were you when you left?’

  ‘I was four.’

  ‘I didn't realise you were as old as that. Well, of course you have memories. I can remember when I was two. Sitting in my pram, and some other child pushing a bit of butterscotch into my mouth…’

  At this moment, Mary, raising her voice slightly, announced that she was going to go and put the kettle on for tea, and everybody agreed that this would be a splendid idea. When she had taken herself off, Diana sank back into her chair, and Judith sat on the end of the sofa that Pekoe was not occupying.

  ‘Darling, what a time you've had. You look thin. Terribly elegant. Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course I'm all right.’

  ‘Loveday's dying to see you and show you her wicked Nat. They'll be here in a moment. And little Jess! What a brave child. Such experiences. Biddy telephoned the moment she got the cable from Bob. She'd already told us that…’ Realising what she had been about to say, and with Jess in earshot, Diana stopped. She glanced at Jess, sitting there with her back to them, deep in conversation with the Colonel. She mouthed Jess was dead. Judith nodded. ‘…then, to hear. To be told it wasn't true. You must have nearly died of joy.’

  ‘It was pretty exciting.’

  ‘And, darling, so dreadfully sad about your parents. Unthinkable. I was going to write, but you didn't give me time. Biddy told me all the awful things, but before I could put pen to paper, we learned you were on your way home. What sort of a voyage did you have?’

  ‘Scarcely a voyage. More an endurance test. The boat was packed. Three sittings for meals. You can imagine.’

  ‘Ghastly. Talking of meals, the Nettlebeds send their love and say they'll see you soon. They have the whole of Sunday off now, and they've gone to Camborne to visit some ancient relation in a nursing home. Was it heaven to get back to The Dower House? Isn't the garden looking pretty? I gave Phyllis some cuttings…’

  Brittle with excitement, she chattered on, and Judith sat and tried to look as though she was listening, but wasn't. She was thinking about Gus Callender. Was now the moment to tell Diana and the Colonel that Gus was alive? No, she decided, it wasn't the moment. The first person to be told, and in private, was Loveday. Later today, somehow, somewhere, Judith would do this.

  ‘…where is little Jess sleeping?’

  ‘In Anna's room. There's plenty of space. Anna's gone in with Phyllis. Just for the time being.’

  ‘And what plans have you made for Jess?’

  ‘I suppose I'll have to go and see Miss Catto, and see if she'll take her at St Ursula's.’

  ‘But, my darling, of course she will. Oh, isn't it too extraordinary how life goes full-circle. Oh, what am I thinking of? I haven't told you about Athena. She's going to have another baby. In the spring, I think. Too exciting. I can't tell you how we missed them when they went. The house was totally empty without a child in it…’

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than, bang on cue, could be heard the piercing tones of Nathaniel Mudge, on his way from the kitchen, and in full spate of argument with his mother.

  ‘I don't want to take my boots off.’

  ‘You've got to. They're covered in mud.’

  ‘They not covered in mud.’

  ‘They are. You've trodden mud all across the kitchen floor. Now come here…’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Nat…!’

  A howl. Loveday had clearly caught him and was forcibly removing his boots.

  Diana said faintly, ‘Oh dear.’

  A moment later, the door burst open and her grandson catapulted into the room, bereft of footwear, his cheeks scarlet with indignation, and his bottom lip sticking out like a shelf.

  ‘What's this all about?’ Diana asked, and Nat told her in no uncertain fashion.

  ‘Mum's taken my boots off. They're new boots. They're red. I was wantin' to show them to you.’

  Trying to placate, ‘We'll see them another time,’ Diana told him soothingly.

  ‘But I want you to see them now.’

  Judith got up from the sofa. As she did so, Loveday appeared in the open doorway. Looking exactly the way she always had, a ragamuffin teenager, and not in the least like the mother of that formidable three-year-old. She wore trousers and an old pullover and a pair of red socks, and her hair still bounced up from her head in dark, lustrous curls.

  There was a pause, while they simply stood there, grinning at each other. Then, ‘Well, look who's here,’ said Loveday. ‘God, it's good to see you.’ They met, and hugged and kissed perfunctorily, just the way they always used to. ‘Sorry we're a bit late, but…Nat, don't put your fingers near Pekoe's eye. You know you're not allowed to.’

  Nat glared at his mother with defiant brown eyes, and Judith, for all her good intentions, dissolved into laughter.

  ‘You seem to have met your match.’

  ‘Oh, he's a horror. Aren't you, Nat? You're very sweet, but you're a horror.’

  ‘My dad says I'm a little bugger,’ Nat informed the company in general, and then catching sight of Jess, another stranger, he fixed his gaze upon her and stared without blinking.

  Jess, clearly amused, said, ‘Hello.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I'm Jess.’

  ‘What are you doin' here?’

  ‘I've come for tea.’

  ‘We brought chocolate biscuits in a bag, my mum and me.’

  ‘Are you going to give me one?’

  Nat considered this, and then said, ‘No. I'm going to eat them all myself.’

  He then set about clambering onto the sofa and commencing to bounce, and for a moment it looked as though the entire afternoon was about to break up into mayhem, but Mary bustled back to save the day, to tell them that tea was on the table, to scoop Nathaniel out of the air, mid-bounce, and to bear him, shrieking, with what one hoped was glee, in the direction of the dining-room.

  ‘She's the only person,’ said Loveday, with a sort of hopeless pride, ‘who can do a thing with him.’

  ‘What about Walter?’

  ‘Oh, Walter's worse than he is. Come on, Mummy, let's go and eat.’

  So they all trooped through to the dining-room, the Colonel pausing to put the guard in front of the fire, and bringing up the rear. There, the tea-table had been laid, and set with all the remembered nursery treats, of jam sandwiches and Marmite sandwiches, a fruit-cake baked in a ring, and the chocolate biscuits provided by Loveday.

  It was a much diminished table from the one that Judith recalled from the old days. All the leaves had been removed, and what remained looked strangely small and inadequate in the middle of the huge, formal room. Gone was the heavy white damask table-cloth, and in its place, humble but practical, blue-and-white-checked seersucker. As it was nursery tea, Mary sat at one end of the table, in charge of the big brown teapot (Judith remembered that all the traditional silver had been put away at the beginning of the war), and with Nat alongside her on a high chair. Nat didn't want to sit on the high chair. Each time he was put onto it, he slid off, until finally Mary set him down with such a thump on his bottom that he heeded the warning and stayed where he was.

  The Colonel, facing Mary, had Jess on his left hand. ‘Would you like a jam sandwich or Marmite?’ he asked her politely, and Jess said that she would lik
e a jam, while Nat banged on the table with a spoon and announced to the assembled company that what he wanted, and wanted now, was a chocolate biscuit.

  But finally he was shushed, fed with a Marmite sandwich, the pandemonium subdued and normal conversation was able to continue. Mary poured tea. Cups were handed round. Diana, warm and charming, and ever the perfect hostess, turned to Jess.

  ‘Now, Jess, you must tell us all the lovely things that you and Judith plan to do, now you're home again. What's the first excitement?’

  Jess, with all eyes upon her, became a bit embarrassed. She hastily swallowed a mouthful of jam sandwich and said, ‘I don't know, really,’ and across the table caught Judith's eye, a clear signal for help.

  ‘How about the bicycle?’ Judith prompted.

  ‘Oh yes. We're going to buy a bicycle for me.’

  ‘It might have to be second-hand,’ Diana warned. ‘They're terribly difficult to get. Like cars. You can't buy a new car nowadays, and second-hand ones cost more than the new ones do. What else? Are you going to go and look at your old house in Penmarron? Where you used to live?’

  ‘We thought we'd go take the train one day. And go to Porthkerris too.’

  ‘What a good idea.’

  ‘We can't go into the house. Riverview, I mean, because other people live there now.’ Uninterrupted, and with all of them listening with kindly interest, Jess's sudden attack of shyness died a natural death. ‘But we thought we could look at it. And go and see…’ But she had forgotten the name. Once more, she turned to Judith.

  ‘Mrs Berry,’ Judith reminded her. ‘In the village shop. She used to give you fruit gums. And maybe Mr Willis, down at the ferry. Only he was my friend. I don't think he ever knew Jess.’

  The Colonel said, ‘You'll like Porthkerris, Jess. Full of boats and artists and funny little streets.’

  ‘And the Warrens,’ Loveday chimed in. ‘You must take Jess to see the Warrens, Judith. Mrs Warren would be frightfully hurt if you went to Porthkerris and didn't go and eat an enormous tea with her.’