‘Do you remember your promise – to treat me as an adult? You’re worse than my parents. A little girl who has to be kept out of adult business – that’s what you think, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. And if you want to be treated as an adult you should start behaving like one.’
‘Not that fucking cliché. It’s what our Head used to spout all the time.’
‘This is about respecting Marianne.’
‘Well, I’m off.’
‘Leah…’
‘Tell me about it when you get back – if you think I’m old enough to know about such grown-up matters.’
27
It was, Jake had to admit, a fine example of Victorian gothic, albeit on a domestic scale. Marianne had told him once that the architect, for a long time completely forgotten, was now highly regarded and had recently been the subject of several learned articles. He stood for a while staring up at the roof line of the house, marvelling again at the extravagant flourishes and attention to detail which nearly two hundred years ago had gone into the construction of an ordinary middle-class dwelling.
As he stood looking up, the front door opened and Anna came out. ‘You like the house?’ she said, coming down the front step to embrace him.
‘I do – I’ve always wondered what happens in that little tower?’
‘That’s where Marianne locks me if I am bad!’
Jake laughed. ‘And you let your hair down for your lover to climb up – like Rapunzel. Do you know the fairy story?’
‘Of course – we have same story in Latvia. But the tower is disappointing inside: so small all you can do is just stand in it – no real use.’
Jake had been told that Anna knew nothing of Marianne’s decision to have an assisted death and consequently he avoided the subject. ‘I’ve come to help Marianne with her mother’s old diaries,’ he said.
‘That’s good,’ said Anna, suddenly more serious. ‘I think she needs help – recently she seem a bit… well… quiet.’
‘Then we must cheer her up.’
‘Looking at the old books may help. You know she found out her real father was Latvian, like me.’
‘Yes, Leah told me – incredible.’
‘Marianne say it is fate. Such an interesting lady. She was a spy in Russia once, you know.’
‘I heard the story.’
‘Callum told me. She was supposed to be a teacher but she was expelled for spying. I ask her once and she laugh and say, “It’s true, I was thrown out, but I was never a spy.” But I’m sure she was.’
‘You must have become very fond of her?’
‘Of course. I do everything for her. And when I am not working sometimes we play cards or just talk together. When she needs to go somewhere I drive her. I try to be like daughter to her.’
‘I think she is very lucky to have you,’ said Jake.
Despite her original refusal to see Jake, Marianne had begun looking forward to his visit. Perhaps I was right and he will be the one to complete the project, she thought. She was fond of Jake; he had been so devoted to his twin sister that for a time Fran’s death had completely destroyed his confidence. For a year or more she had heard reports that he was suffering from depression and Juliette and Tom had tried to get him into therapy. It seemed that he had managed to dig himself out during his university years, and when she had seen him since he had struck her as a charming and articulate young man.
On this occasion, Jake did not disappoint her. It might also be said that Jake surprised himself with his enthusiasm for her project. What had seemed like an assignment which promised to be both awkward and depressing, now seemed a fascinating piece of detective work. Instead of having to feign interest, he found his natural enthusiasm for history was provoked by what he saw of the contents of the diaries. Sitting together with Marianne, they looked at random pages and Jake began to get a sense of life with her mother’s family, their relationship with the German soldiers billeted on them and, as the bombs began to fall, their understandable anxieties about being caught up in any allied landings.
‘Leah told me about your real father being Latvian.’
‘Yes. I was a war baby. I used to think from a German father, but actually he was Latvian – though part of the German army.’
‘And he died in the war?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Did you want to publish the diaries when you finish?’
‘Possibly, but to tell the truth I had another idea. The material is quite fragmentary with a lot of gaps which one longs to fill in. It could form the basis for a marvellous work of historical fiction.’
‘Of course you were quite a famous novelist in your time – I loved those Russian stories.’
‘Don’t flatter me. Three novels to my name only; the first one attracted some favourable reviews – the two I wrote after my retirement less so. It will be up to you and Claire what you decide to do; it’s too late for me to contemplate anything like that now.’
‘I don’t see why. I mean I saw what you wrote to Claire, but it seems like you still have plenty to live for.’
‘We won’t discuss it.’
‘I’m sorry – I know it’s really none of my business, but I’ve been looking into the whole subject and it would really help me to understand…’
‘I’m not a test case, Jake. Try to use your imagination. I don’t want a messy end. Get out while you’re ahead. Now the subject is closed.’
‘But it’s not just me – I don’t think Claire understands it either.’
‘Well, perhaps she will when she reaches my age.’
‘Callum told Leah in the car – after they visited you. She was quite upset.’
‘Of course. I was upset to say goodbye to her. What do you expect?’
‘I mean – because she didn’t know she was saying goodbye.’
‘I think she did know.’
‘You guessed?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t say anything?’
‘No. I’m sorry, but it was easier for me that way. Tell her I’m a selfish old woman.’
‘She wants to come again…’
‘No, Jake – please tell her not to. You understand, I’m sure. You can explain to her.’
‘But she doesn’t understand why you are doing it. Just being… whatever age you are – it doesn’t seem enough.’
‘I can’t help it if people don’t understand. Now, I’m not going to discuss this with you anymore. I’m sorry, Jake, but if you persist in asking more questions I’ll have to ask you to leave.’
‘OK. I’m sorry…’
‘Incidentally – I gather you and Leah have got together. I hope you are serious. You have some responsibility – being that much older.’
‘Of course – I mean, it’s only… but, yes, I am serious.’
‘Good. I am naturally protective of my grand-daughter; I think she is a special girl and I hope it works out for you both.’
Once they had discussed the diaries, and his feelings for Leah, and with further discussion of AD being off limits, conversation drifted towards the past and it wasn’t long before it lodged on the craggy rocks of the Auvergne and that hot night in August when she had sat on the edge of Jake’s bed and tried to console his grief.
Jake remembered how Marianne had told him something of her own agony at her daughter’s death, but such was his self-absorption at the time that the words had meant nothing to him. He also remembered – and this he had never forgotten – that she didn’t try to minimise his pain, or tell him that he would get over it in time, or bring out any clichés about growing up and new friends. She had talked about Fran, her wonderful spirit, the way she lit up the room, her sense of humour and how lucky he was to have had such a twin sister.