I had never wanted to see Jacques again. He had disappointed me, humiliated me by bringing his objectionable Mimi right into the house with what I could only call insolent nonchalance, as though it were the most ordinary conduct for one mistress to be presented to another in such a casual manner. The arrogance of the man was unacceptable and I had wanted to cast off all memory of it forever.
And then, there he was!
I was thankful when he went away, but I quite liked Simone. She was very different from Jacques—quite modest, in fact. Of course, Jacques had been the artist living in the Latin Quarter, thinking he was a Degas, Manet, or Monet, or that little one with the short legs, Toulouse-Lautrec, I think. Simone was more of a country girl, very eager to please, and Tom Yeo said she was a good worker and he was glad to have her.
I struck up quite a friendship with her; she seemed a little lonely and I did not see why my relationship with her brother should affect ours.
In spite of the war and having to see my poor sister grieving for a lover who, I believed, would never come back, I was not displeased with life. I enjoyed being with the recuperating soldiers. They had a special feeling for me, I knew. They liked to chatter in a jolly way, pretending to fall in love with me. It was all very lighthearted and pleasant.
But I could not stop worrying about Violetta. She tried to be cheerful but she did not deceive me. It was there all the time … a cloud to spoil the complete enjoyment of the fun. And fun there was in the silly little things of everyday life. I wished above everything that Jowan Jermyn would come home—or if that was asking too much, that we might at least know what had happened to him. If he had been killed, it would be better for her to know it. Then perhaps she could begin to forget. I thought Gordon Lewyth was in love with her in his way. I never understood the man. Violetta would say that was because he had not been attracted by me, I thought there was something wrong with him. Well, she did say things like that to me, and often there was some truth in them.
But Gordon was a strange man. There was some hidden depth there. After all, his mother was a murderess and now in an asylum. I knew he visited her frequently and must have been constantly reminded of the terrible things that had happened at Tregarland. But I did think he cared for Violetta, and I was sure he would be a very faithful husband. But she loved Jowan, and I supposed would go on doing so throughout her life—even though he was lost forever somewhere over there.
I had changed a little. Experience does change one; the bigger the experience, the greater the change. I was not the same woman who blithely gave up her home, her husband, and child to go off with a French artist. I sometimes thought of Dermot as he was when I first met him in Germany. He never seemed quite the same afterwards, and it was certainly eerie when I first came to Tregarland. No wonder, with all that was going on in the house! Violetta tried to tell me that Dermot’s death was not due to me. He fell from his horse. They said he had been drinking too much. Yes, but why? Poor Dermot! He had been so crippled that it is possible that he took his own life, though some speculated that it had been an accident. I tell myself it was. It makes me feel better. And then there is my baby.
Tristan is such a darling. He is beginning to like me at last. At first he turned to Violetta and Nanny Crabtree when I wanted to pick him up. It is different now. When he calls me Mummy, I want to hug him and cry: “I’m going to make up for leaving you, my darling. I will, I will!”
So, in spite of the war and my twinges of conscience, which I have to admit grew less as time passed, I could have enjoyed life if Violetta could have been her old self, though recently I had discovered a new interest.
I liked him from the moment I saw him. He is rather tall, not conventionally good-looking, but I like him better for that, and he has an authoritative manner which appeals to me.
The day after he came to inspect us, I met him on the cliffs.
“It’s Mrs. Tregarland, isn’t it?” he said.
“And you are Captain Brent.”
“I recognized you at once,” he went on.
“So you should,” I retorted. “It was only yesterday.”
We laughed.
“What a wonderful old place the Priory is!” he went on.
“Tregarland is as good.”
“Your home, of course.”
“Yes. They are the two big houses around here.”
“And your husband …?”
“I am a widow. It is Mr. Gordon Lewyth who looks after the place. He always did when my husband was alive. He’s very good at it and is quite a personage around here. He runs the Home Guard. I think in a way he would like to join the army but the place would fall to pieces if he did.”
“Well, he is doing the best job possible at home.”
“We’re thinking of using some of the rooms at Tregarland to extend the convalescent home. Then we could take in more at a time.”
“That’s an excellent idea, and you and the other young ladies will be in charge, I suppose.”
“Well, Mrs. Jermyn had the idea in the first place, and Tregarland would be a sort of extension. It would be rather like that, I suppose.”
“And your sister is the fiancée of the heir of the Priory?”
“That’s so.”
“It’s a wonderful job you are doing. All of you work very hard, I’m sure. It is interesting that you are all related.”
“In a way … though Gretchen isn’t really. She’s married to Edward.”
It was so easy to talk to him that I found myself telling him the story of Edward’s being brought out of Belgium by my mother when he was a baby. He listened intently. Then I went on to the incident in the Bavarian forest when we had all been brought face to face with the Nazi menace.
“That was like an introductory chapter,” he said. “It set the scene for the drama to come.”
“Yes, it was exactly like that. Though we didn’t see how important it was at the time.”
“Few saw the significance of it and those who did were not able to do anything about it.”
He turned to me, dispelling the gloom.
“Well, this is a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Tregarland.”
“I do not find it at all unpleasant meeting you, Captain Brent,” I replied.
We laughed a great deal during that morning and when we were about to part he said: “Do you often go out for these walks?”
“Not often. There is usually too much to do. I have a little boy and I like to spend some time with him. He has the best nanny in the world. She was mine and Violetta’s at one time and my mother thought so highly of her that she acquired her for Tristan.”
“Tristan?” he repeated.
“You will like this! My mother was a devotee of the opera. So my sister is Violetta and I am Dorabella, and I thought we should keep the tradition, hence Tristan. If he had been a girl, he would have been Isolde.”
He laughed at that. It was a very happy interlude.
I said to him: “By the way, what do you think of Jowan Jermyn’s chances of getting home? My sister is engaged to him, you know.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Well, it is not impossible.”
“But … remote?”
“I suppose I should say that.”
“It’s better to face the truth.”
“Always.”
“I must go,” I said.
“It has been such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tregarland.”
“That is what you said when we met.”
“It bears repetition and I repeat it with emphasis.”
We said goodbye—and that was the first time. After that our meetings were frequent. They were not exactly arranged, but we somehow contrived to meet in the same place at the same time.