Chapter 29 #3
‘I’m not really hungry,’ said Stella. The rich cocoa had made her feel slightly sick.
‘I think Ted just needs to sleep. I’m wondering if perhaps we should go.
If you could telephone Dr Boxer …’ He was the only person she could think of to help.
Tomorrow she would try to get in touch with Monsieur Corbières.
They could travel up on the train. He would organise something for them.
He might know someone who would have a room amongst all his artistic contacts.
Her heart sank slightly at the thought of falling on London’s mercy, but perhaps there would be more opportunity to start again.
‘Oh, don’t go,’ said Daisy, alarmed.
At that moment the door opened and Clementine appeared, looking apologetic.
‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. It’s awfully rude. But there was a lot of explaining to do.’ She sat down at the table next to Stella, looking concerned. ‘Would you like to come and meet everyone? I know it’s probably a lot to take in, after everything …’
Clementine was right. Stella wasn’t sure if she was ready at all.
Here she was, the outsider, about to meet the parents and brother of the man who had meant so much to her.
She supposed she had little choice. They knew about her now.
More importantly, they knew about Ted. They were unlikely to let him slip through their fingers.
He deserved to have some family, she thought. He deserved to have a chance to share in this life. The kitchen at Foxwood had wrapped itself around them, with its warmth, its enticing smells, its larder stuffed with munificence. Already, they’d had a taste of a better future.
‘Ted,’ she said gently, and he roused himself. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
In the small sitting room, Michael, Elizabeth and Alfie tried to arrange things to look welcoming.
They switched off the overhead light and snapped on a few more lamps, threw another log on the fire and turned off the rather portentous Elgar.
Michael and Elizabeth sat on one sofa with Oscar between them, while Alfie stood by the fireplace.
The sense of expectation was palpable. Elizabeth could hear her own heart pounding in her ears, and Michael reached out his hand to hold hers.
She squeezed his fingers to reassure him, and was taken back to the wedding, to them waiting for the ceremony to begin.
And then the door opened, and Clementine ushered in a tall woman with a mane of red hair. Her face was astonishingly pale, like fresh milk, and her eyes were as silver as sixpences. And she had her arm around a small boy, about eight years old, who looked around the room wide-eyed.
‘This is Ted,’ said Clementine. ‘He’s eight years old and he’s jolly good at spelling. And this is Stella.’
Michael jumped up and strode across the room with his hand outstretched. Oscar poured himself onto the floor and followed, eager to investigate the new arrivals.
‘Stella. I’m Michael. Welcome to Foxwood. And this must be Ted. Oscar, down. Honestly, he has no manners. I’m so sorry.’
Ted fell on his knees and put his arms around Oscar’s neck, burying his face in his fur. Oscar, of course, loved the attention, wallowing in it shamelessly.
‘Ted loves dogs,’ said Stella, holding her hand out to shake Michael’s. ‘But we couldn’t really have one on the boat.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear what happened. Of course, you must stay here for tonight at least.’
Elizabeth was approaching too. She only had eyes for her grandson.
The moment she saw him, her heart burst with something even more than love.
It was an overwhelming desire to protect, a fierce rush of maternal instinct combined with the joy of seeing someone connected to the son she had lost. She came and crouched down in front of him so her eyes were level with his.
Those clear green eyes the colour of the marbles he used to roll along the corridor outside the kitchen.
The lock of hair that stuck up at the front – she would endlessly pat it down only for it to spring up.
The little dent in his chin. The more she gazed at him the more similarities she found.
But there were differences too. Ted’s eyebrows were arched where Edwin’s had been straight.
His nose was more of a button where Edwin’s had been aquiline.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Ted.’ She longed to hold him, but not yet perhaps. She didn’t trust herself not to cry.
‘Is this your dog?’ he asked.
‘Ted!’ said Stella. ‘Say hello properly.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Yes, this is Oscar, and there’s Joyce too. You can meet her tomorrow.’
The puppies, thought Elizabeth. All small boys need a puppy, to tell their woes to. She was jumping too far ahead. She stood and held out her hand. ‘Stella. I’m Elizabeth. I’m so sorry to hear what happened.’
Stella took her hand. ‘It’s awful,’ she said. ‘Everything’s gone. I’m not sure Ted’s taken it in yet. Actually, I’m not sure I have.’
‘Well, we’re very happy to have you here, although I’m sorry it’s under such difficult circumstances.’
‘Thank you.’ Stella managed a smile. ‘We don’t have anywhere else to go.
Well, we could go back to London. But I don’t even have the train fare.
I’ve got my purse, that I took to the shop.
That’s it.’ She held out her arms and looked down at her clothes – a brown jumper, a pair of woollen slacks and lace-up shoes.
‘I don’t want you to worry about anything for the time being,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I can find you some things.’
Stella could only nod her appreciation. Elizabeth saw she was exhausted, and was barely taking anything in. Her eyes never left Ted, and were filled with anxiety. But she smiled as Alfie came over.
‘Alfie,’ she said, before he’d even had time to introduce himself. ‘Edwin told me so much about you.’
Alfie had been going to offer his hand, but instinct made him open his arms to embrace her.
The two of them held each other, so much waiting to be said, but it felt so right.
Stella found herself burying her face in his shirt, breathing him in, her hands tightening on the arms that held her, and he patted her on the back. He knew. He understood.
Elizabeth saw the shadows under Stella’s eyes were purple, and she had begun to shiver.
This must all be overwhelming. Elizabeth had so many questions about so many things, but she sensed now was not the time to ask.
If they took things slowly, there would be all the time in the world.
She wasn’t going to interrogate the girl about why she had kept hidden for all this time.
Or pry into her relationship with Edwin.
She certainly wasn’t going to query the veracity of her story.
She needed no more proof than the boy with his arms around Oscar.
‘You both need to sleep,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Let me ask Daisy to get you a room ready. I expect you’d like to be together for tonight, after everything.’
Stella wrapped her arms around herself and nodded. Her teeth were chattering. Michael looked at her thoughtfully.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘we should get Dr Boxer back. Just to check you over.’
It was nearly midnight before Stella crawled into bed. Ted was already fast asleep. Dr Boxer had given her a little something to put in his bedtime drink.
‘We don’t want him having nightmares,’ he said. ‘And there’s something here for you too. I’d recommend taking it. Sleep is a great healer.’
She didn’t tell him she already knew that.
Sleep was all she had done after Edwin died.
Work, eat and crawl into bed to find oblivion for as long as she could, for while she was awake only one thing circled around in her mind: how was she going to live without him?
Somehow she had survived, even with the shock of finding out, eventually, that she was expecting, but Ted had been the saving of her, because she’d been to some very dark places in her head before she knew he was coming along.
She’d stayed at the boarding house in London to have him, feeling safer in the hands of a city hospital than a rural one, but when Ted was four months old she’d packed everything up and headed down to Somerset to live on the boat, for Edwin’s solicitor had contacted her and told her Edwin had left a confidential letter of wishes for the boat to be hers.
In Breverton, she did as she pleased and no one interfered, although she was under no illusion that they didn’t speculate, or have opinions.
But it was easy to keep herself to herself, the eccentric widow who lived on the canal.
What was everyone in the town going to say when they knew the truth?
She’d seen Margaret’s eyes gleam with interest when she’d asked the doctor to take her to Foxwood.
No doubt gossip would be flying around the little town already, but she felt safe here, protected from prying eyes and loose tongues.
She sank into the softness of the mattress, pulling up the smooth linen sheets and the wool blankets and the satin eiderdown, luxuriating in the warmth.
She and Ted had both had a long hot bath each, and she had felt some of the horror of the day float away.
She was overcome by the welcome the two of them had been given.
She had felt reassured as soon as she met Elizabeth and Michael.
Yes, Elizabeth was terrifyingly glamorous in a yellow crèpe dress and discreet diamonds, and Michael was a typical country gentleman – though not the red-faced, port-soaked variety, thank goodness – but they had been immediately welcoming and kind and warm.
If only she’d had the courage to approach them sooner.
But she simply hadn’t had the confidence.
She had worried she was no replacement for an American heiress, that they might resent her for displacing Meg.
She’d had nothing to bring to the table. But it seemed her fears were unfounded.
‘My family will love you,’ Edwin had always said, and she should have believed him.
Sleep was floating in, courtesy of Dr Boxer, a warm tide gathering up her thoughts and carrying them away. The bed was enormous, but she reached out to pat Ted’s back as he lay curled up beside her. And then blackness fell, extinguishing every last worry, and she slept.