‘It’s life.’ Lyn headed for the door. ‘Some people get old, others have babies. I’m not a philosopher like you, but even I can see that’s the way it works. I expect every new generation puts up a fight as it sees old age coming, then it gives up and accepts the inevitable. You rest now. You look washed out too. You know the doctor told you not to do too much. I’ll take Tom for a walk and we’ll have a cup of tea later, OK? Once it gets dark and Luke’s indoors.’
Shivering, Joss pulled the counterpane up over herself. Outside the garden was very still. A sprinkling of snow that morning had melted and everything was dank and dripping. She smiled as she heard Tom’s voice, shrill and excited, outside the window, then it faded as Lyn took him down the drive towards the village and the room sank back into silence. After a while she dozed, drifting in and out of sleep. The room grew darker. Shivering she wriggled down further into the bed, her eyes shut.
The hand on her forehead was cool; gentle. It seemed to soothe her.
Katherine, my clever love.
‘Luke?’ she murmured, barely awake. His hand had moved down to her breast and languidly, still half asleep, she moved beneath the gentle fingers. ‘I’ll come down, soon.’ She slept again.
When she woke it was dark. She lay still for a moment, still wrapped in her dream, her body glowing, sleepily aware of the hands which had caressed her breasts as she slept. Groping for the light switch she looked at her watch. It was nearly five. With a groan she heaved herself off the bed and stood up. The house was still silent. Probably Lyn had put the television on in the kitchen to keep Tom quiet while she made his tea, the routine they had fallen into so Joss could keep the afternoons for writing. She had almost two complete chapters finished now as well as a sheaf of notes and a chronology of the Wars of the Roses. Luke would be in by now. The house downstairs would be warm and busy and welcoming. She shivered, reaching for a thick sweater and pulling it over her head. All she had to do was go downstairs.
The last two entries in the diary had been short. Her grandmother had written:
I feel strangely weak. The doctor came again this morning and said it was the result of being tired. I shall get up when the rain stops and the sun returns. How I crave the sun.
Four days later she wrote:
The loneliness becomes worse. I do not let them know I am alone. The effort of going downstairs for some beef tea is too much. Perhaps tomorrow.
That was all. The rest of the book was empty. Four days later she was dead.
Shivering Joss put the diary back into the bedside drawer. She wished she had not read that. The thought of the woman alone in the house, completely alone and dying, was intolerable. She stood up, conscious of a slight cramp in her leg and went to look down into the garden. It was very black. Rain slanted down across the grass dissolving the last remaining patches of snow.
‘Joss!’
It was Lyn calling up the staircase. ‘Phone call for you.’
Shaking herself Joss turned away from the darkness and ran downstairs. In the study Lyn had thrown several logs onto the fire and the room was almost hot. ‘David.’ She nodded towards the phone which lay on the desk. ‘He sounds excited.’
‘David?’ Joss put the receiver to her ear.
‘Joss. Only a week until school starts. Can I come up and see you?’ He sounded almost breathless.
‘Of course. You know we’ve got room.’ Joss sat down at the desk, pressing the phone to her ear unaware that her voice was seductively husky with sleep. Her hands were, she realised suddenly, shaking. ‘Any special reason?’
‘Wait and see. I’ll be down tomorrow if that’s all right. And you will never guess who I met at a dinner yesterday. A chap called Gerald Andrews who is your friendly local historian. He and I belong to the same club, it seems. Listen, we had quite a talk about Belheddon. I gave him your phone number and he is going to get in touch. And Joss. I am having lunch next week with Robert Cassie. If you have got some stuff ready for our book I could deliver it in person and if that’s not an incentive, I don’t know what is! See you tomorrow.’
‘He’s coming down.’ Joss put the phone down and came to join Lyn by the fire. ‘He seems to have found out some more about the house.’
‘You and your bloody house!’ Lyn shook her head. ‘Can’t you think of anything else?’
Joss flinched. ‘I’m sorry. Am I being boring?’
‘You certainly are.’ Lyn reached for the poker and stabbed ferociously at the fire. ‘Still I’m glad David is coming down. He seems to be our only remaining link with civilisation.’
‘The country is getting to you.’ Joss smiled, determined not to be goaded.
‘Well even you can’t like it in this bloody weather. No doubt it will improve when spring comes,’ Lyn relented a little. ‘The vicar came while you were asleep. He brought the parish magazine, a piece of paper asking for jumble and a packet for you from someone called Mary Sutton.’
Joss stared at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before? Where is it?’
‘In the kitchen. Joss – ’
As Joss scrambled to her feet she was brought up short by the anguish in Lyn’s voice. ‘You do realise Ma might be dying, don’t you?’
Joss froze. ‘She’s not dying, Lyn. She’s tired. Not very well – ’
‘She’s got to have lots of tests, Joss. Dad told me on the phone. She doesn’t want you to know. She thinks it might upset you.’ Lyn’s voice was suddenly harsh. ‘Apparently they don’t mind upsetting me.’
‘Oh, Lyn.’ Joss knelt and put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘You know Mum and Dad. It’s because of the baby. They come from a generation who thought any old thing could upset a baby on the way. They’ve told you because they want your comfort.’
‘I wanted to go to be with them. They don’t want me. They want me to stay here.’
‘Then stay here.’ Joss’s arms tightened round her. ‘When they need you they will tell you.’
‘You think so?’ Lyn’s eyes were full of tears.
‘Of course.’
For a while they sat together in front of the fire, lost in thought, then at last Joss climbed stiffly to her feet. ‘Come on. Let’s make a cup of tea.’