Chapter 8
EIGHT
The next morning when I woke up, Steve had gone, and my spirits had lifted.
I had slept well and now here I was at the beginning of a new job with a patient who was definitely going to be interesting, in an amazing house filled with characters.
I dressed quickly and went downstairs to the kitchen where I found Angela bustling around, pots bubbling merrily on the Aga and the kettle boiling.
Greg was sitting at the table, devouring a large plate of bacon and eggs.
‘Good morning!’ I said, and they returned the greeting.
‘Now, you sit down with a cuppa,’ said Angela, pouring me one. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes. What would you like? There’s a full English, porridge, toast, cereal, yoghurt…’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘I was expecting to get my own breakfast, and Marilise’s, too.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said firmly. ‘What people seem to expect of nurses! You’re here to look after Marilise, and that means it’s important to keep your own strength up and not waste it doing other people’s jobs.
I daresay you’ll find living here will ask more of you than you expect, so don’t you worry about me making you breakfast. Now, what would you like? ’
I grinned at Greg, who had been making amusing faces throughout his wife’s speech, and said, ‘Well, in that case I’d love some porridge, thank you.’
I sat down and sipped my tea.
‘There’s no arguing with her,’ said Greg, wiping a piece of bread around his plate and eating it with evident satisfaction. ‘And she’s right, anyway, of course.’ He winked at Angela, who batted him with a tea towel. ‘Do you normally get all the meals for your patients, then?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘And not only that. Usually, it’s just me and my patient in their home, so I do everything on top of their medical and personal care: cooking, cleaning, shopping; whatever’s needed.
If I’m lucky, they’ll have a cleaner who comes in once a week, or meals on wheels delivered, but those things are a luxury.
’ I smiled at their horrified faces. ‘I enjoy it, I like looking after people, but I will admit that it can be very tiring. I feel very lucky to have come here this Christmas.’
‘I think you’re a wonderful young woman,’ said Angela, pulling out a tray and putting on bowls and cutlery. ‘And it’s us who are the lucky ones. Now, this is all ready to go up, if you are?’
I put my half-drunk tea onto a space on the tray and picked it up, then went upstairs.
There was a small table outside Marilise’s room which was perfect for resting the tray on while I opened the door.
She was still sleeping, so I moved about the room quietly but making enough noise to rouse her, as she had instructed me to.
‘I have enough naps during the day,’ she had said.
‘So I like to be awake at eight to enjoy a bit of the morning.’
Sure enough, a few minutes later, she began stirring, and I went over to help her sit up.
‘Good morning, Laura,’ she said with her sweet smile. ‘Have I slept very late? I was tired after that fabulous party last night.’
‘Not at all,’ I reassured her. ‘You’re right on time.’
After I had helped her to the bathroom, we sat either side of a polished circular table by the window to have breakfast.
‘What a view,’ she said, nibbling at her toast. ‘I have never grown tired of it in all the years I have lived here.’
I could see why. Beyond the immaculate frosty lawns and through the morning mist you could make out undulating hills in the distance. Dozens of birds came and went to the feeders hung in the bare trees, and I could hear wood pigeons gently cooing.
‘Here,’ said Marilise suddenly, opening a small cabinet next to her and taking out a bag of seed. ‘Open the window and put this on the sill; sometimes, I get a little visitor.’
I did as she had instructed and, sure enough, a few moments later, a little robin appeared. He pecked at the seed, then looked straight at us, his head on one side, as he ate.
‘Isn’t he sweet!’ I said. ‘The gardener’s friend, isn’t that what people call them?’
‘My friends, too,’ said Marilise. ‘We saw so many of them at the palace when I was young, we used to tame them so they would come and sit on our hands to take treats. One year my dear father took photographs of all us children with them perched on our fingers. He may have been an important man with all the jewels and luxuries imaginable, but he loved a simple robin, and a child’s joy in it. ’
‘Christmases there must have been incredible,’ I said, trying to imagine the bygone days of a sumptuous palace and a royal family now destroyed, its members dispersed around the world.
‘Oh, they were! It always snowed at that time of year, and we drove our nursemaids crazy by spending hours playing in it, then crying because we were so cold and wet. They would bring us inside and change us into dry clothes, scolding us for our folly, and then we would sit by the fire and our parents would come, bringing sweets and little pastries that cheered us up and made us want to go and play in the snow again.’
I laughed.
‘I guess children are the same no matter what!’
‘Exactly, although we of course had the luxury to be naughtier than many.’ Her face grew solemn. ‘We did not have to work from a young age, help put food on the table, or worry about losing our home. Or so we thought. It was a blessed time.’
‘How old were you when you had to leave?’ I asked.
‘Seventeen,’ she replied. ‘One night my mother shook me awake, told me to put on as many clothes as possible, with my jewels stuffed into my underwear. I was allowed one suitcase, and I remember the feeling of panic, not because I feared what might happen to my family – I was too ignorant and protected for that – but because I could not take all my belongings with me.’
‘How awful,’ I said, tears coming to my eyes as I imagined the horror of their nighttime flit.
‘Yes, but we were so lucky, so lucky to be able to come to England and continue a very spoilt life, even if it was not the same. We lived at the Ritz for two years, the Ritz! We do not deserve sympathy. Many people are displaced and do not have the comforts that we took for granted. Anyway, I prefer to remember the happy parts of my life, and Christmas is among those.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to be spending this Christmas with you,’ I said. ‘And I’m sure that even if we can’t replicate the Christmases of your childhood, we can still make it a very happy one.’
‘Not if Nick’s got anything to do with it,’ said a cheeky voice from the doorway. It was India. ‘Mind if I join you?’ She lifted up a bowl. ‘I had a glorious ride this morning on Firefly and everyone else has finished breakfast.’
I pulled another chair over to the table and she sat down.
‘So, how are we going to persuade Nick to get this house looking more festive?’ she asked, gobbling down porridge. ‘I don’t think there are any decorations here at all.’
‘I did have an idea,’ I said slowly. ‘I don’t think it will take too much in the way of actual decorations, mostly paper and paint and some imagination.’
‘I’m sure we can supply those,’ said Marilise. ‘What is your idea?’
‘Well, I was thinking about Sofia arriving later today, and worried that she will already be feeling upset. It would be nice to have something to welcome her. I know it’s not December yet, but I thought we could do a sort of Christmas countdown, using the house – make it into a giant advent calendar. ’
‘That sounds brilliant,’ said India. ‘How are we going to do it?’
I smiled at the ‘we’.
‘I don’t think we can have it all ready in one go, but I thought to get started we could put today’s date in one of the windows.
She would have to go and find that window from inside the house and there will be some sort of Christmassy surprise there to welcome her.
Then maybe we could all take turns doing different windows for different people. ’
Marilise clapped her hands with joy, and I could see the carefree little princess still within her.
‘This is beautiful, Laura! I will enjoy thinking of ideas, so much.’
‘It’s a great idea,’ said India, nodding. ‘Let’s tell the others about it at lunchtime.’
‘Do you think Nick will mind?’ I asked. ‘He did specifically say that he doesn’t want to be involved in decorating the house.’
‘Well, he won’t have to mind,’ said India. ‘It’s a super idea, and he doesn’t have to join in if he doesn’t want to, he can ignore the whole thing. It’s not like we’re stringing tinsel up all over the place.’
Right on cue, we glanced at a movement outside in the garden and saw Nick striding across the lawn, Steve gambolling around him.
‘I worry about my grandson,’ said Marilise with a sigh. ‘He is lonely, anyone can see that, but he pushes everyone away, even his family, who care so much for him.’
‘He is lonely,’ agreed India. ‘But he brings it on himself, always rushing off around the world and refusing to put down any roots. Everyone’s always trying to set him up with women, but he won’t have it, at least…’
She stopped suddenly and we both looked at her.
‘At least, what?’ asked Marilise. ‘You can speak plainly here.’
I nodded, curious as to what her thoughts were.
‘I was going to say, “at least not for more than a night”, but that’s a bit gossipy of me.’
Marilise shrugged.
‘Maybe, but I think it is true, and it makes me very sad. He is such a warm-hearted man – he would make a perfect husband and father – but he runs from it all.’
‘Maybe he’s happy that way,’ I ventured. ‘My family think it’s wrong of me to move from job to job and refuse to contemplate marriage again, but I like my life.’
Marilise and India both stared at me, identical sceptical expressions on their faces, but didn’t comment. Instead, India said:
‘You know, you should go to that concert with him. You can be a sort of bodyguard and I’m sure Minty would be glad, too. It would get her family off her back.’