It was a revelation; first her mother’s confidences about how she had felt about her baby, the full extent of which Tatty had never realised, and then to find these letters and pictures. Poor Mum! She could imagine her return to Upstone after that trip to Russia, the tears, the guilt and sorrow, the settling down again to life in England, knowing her baby was in Russia at a time when the Germans were sweeping all before them. She must have suffered unbelievable anguish. Carefully, she returned everything to the trunk and found another case for her purpose.
Bobby, in his second year at Peterhouse, drove himself back to Cambridge, his little sports car so loaded with clothes, books and sports equipment there was no room for Tatty. Robert and Lydia took her in the Bentley, settled her in her room and made a long list of things she was going to need which she had forgotten, and then drove home to an empty house: no Claudia, no Bobby, no Tatty. It was eerie and unsettling.
In the next couple of days, Lydia did her best to act normally, but she was beginning to wonder what normal was. Her conversations with Robert were stilted and confined to practicalities. He spent a lot of time in the garden, talking to Percy, and doing odd jobs about the house, his demeanour one of forced cheerfulness. Lydia wanted to talk to him about what he had said, but every time the opportunity arose, she simply could not find the right words. And so nothing was said which might have eased the tension.
In the middle of the week, as if he could stand it no more, he told her he was going to sail round to Plymouth. After he had gone she went into the kitchen to make lunch for herself. The house was empty and silent: no voices, no laughter, no clatter, no overloud pop music which Robert deplored. Nothing. For the first time in her life, she felt alone. She kept herself busy for the rest of the day, slept badly that night and rose next morning to more of the same. She had hoped Robert would ring her the next day and be his usual cheerful self but the telephone remained silent. By lunchtime the following day, she realised he must be well on his way and would not ring until he returned to Ipswich. Unable to stay in the house, she picked up her bag and car keys and left, not knowing where she was going. She drove to Swaffham and went to the cinema. Driving home afterwards, she was sorely tempted to drive straight to Northacre Green, and might have done if she had not seen Claudia in the village and stopped to talk to her.
‘You must feel a bit flat now the fledglings have flown the nest,’ Claudia said, after they exchanged greetings.
‘Yes. I’ve just been to the pictures and was hating the idea of returning to an empty house.’
‘Isn’t Captain Conway at home?’
‘No, he’s gone to Ipswich.’
‘Oh, sailing.’
‘Yes. You know how he loves anything to do with the sea, and he was feeling at a low ebb after the children left.’
‘Come and have tea with me. We can have a good old chinwag. You can tell Claudia all your troubles. Reggie has gone to a meeting of the Upstone Horticultural Society.’
Lydia laughed. ‘I haven’t got any troubles.’
‘Then you must be the only one who hasn’t. Come anyway.’ She took Lydia’s arm and guided her along the street to one of the houses on the new housing estate.
Lydia could always talk to Claudia, who had been her comfort from the very beginning and had remained her comfort through thick and thin. But even she did not know Alex was alive and that she had seen him. Nor would she tell her, even though she knew she could trust her. The secret was a burden she did not want to put upon her friend who would be aghast that she had betrayed Robert. Nor could she tell her what Robert had said about their marriage. Instead they chatted about the wedding and taking Tatty to Girton, and the changes Reggie was making to their garden. ‘He’s digging a fish pond,’ Claudia said. ‘It’s going to have a fountain and a waterfall and a little stream.’ She laughed. ‘Just like Upstone Hall’s, only in miniature.’
It was late when Lydia finally went home and let herself in the house. Even though the building was two hundred years old, she had never thought of it as spooky before, but tonight it seemed as though there were ghosts in every corner. She switched on all the lights and was in the kitchen putting the percolator on to make a cup of coffee when the telephone rang. Wondering who could be ringing at that time of night, she went to answer it.
‘Mrs Conway?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is Upstone Constabulary.’
Lydia’s thoughts jumped to Bobby and that sports car of his which he drove too fast. Had he had an accident? Or Tatty. Her daughter had never been away from home for any length of time before. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, unable to keep the panic from her voice.
‘I’m afraid your husband has been in an accident. Is it convenient to call on you?’
Robert, not the children, but that was still bad. ‘Of course, but can’t you tell me about it on the phone?’
‘Better not. We’ll be with you in ten minutes.’
Lydia put the phone down, shaking so much she couldn’t get it on the cradle at the first attempt. She sat on the bottom step of the stairs and waited. It seemed like the longest ten minutes of her life while her thoughts went incoherently round and round. The ringing of the doorbell startled her. She rose to answer it.
A uniformed policeman and a policewoman stood on the step. ‘Mrs Conway?’
She nodded without speaking and opened the door wider to admit them.
‘I’m Constable David Jackson, this is WPC Penny Brown,’ the young man said, as she led the way into the drawing room. ‘Earlier this evening we had a call from the Devon police. Your husband’s yacht has foundered off the South Devon coast and he is missing.’
‘Missing?’ she repeated in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. ‘What happened?’
The policewoman, who looked no older than Tatty, took her arm and led her to the sofa. ‘Sit down, Mrs Conway.’
Lydia dropped down onto the sofa with the young woman beside her. ‘We don’t know the details,’ she said. ‘The yacht has been found badly damaged on the rocks at Prawle Point. Your husband was not on board.’
‘He may yet be found safe and well,’ PC Jackson added.
‘But how can it have happened?’ Lydia asked. ‘He is an experienced seaman and knows that coast like the back of his hand. However rough the sea, he knows what to do and it wasn’t rough today, was it?’ She was talking for the sake of talking, but her mind was only half on what she was saying.
‘We don’t know what happened, Mrs Conway. We were given no details, simply told to come and inform you. It was better than learning it from a telephone call. We were asked to emphasise that it is early days and there is no reason at this time to surmise that your husband has perished.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What can we do for you?’ Penny asked. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea?’
Lydia jumped up. ‘Goodness, the coffee percolator! I put it on before you rang.’ She dashed into the kitchen to rescue it, followed by Penny.
The pot had almost boiled dry and the coffee was undrinkable. Lydia put the kettle on to make a pot of tea. ‘I must go down there,’ she said. ‘I can’t sit around here waiting.’
‘How will you go?’