THE FAMILY ‘Well, one of us should go. We can’t leave poor Rachel to cope on her own.’ ‘Of course we can’t.’ Edward, who had been about to explain that he couldn’t easily cancel his lunch with the blokes who were in charge of the nationalised railways, noticed that Hugh had begun to rub his forehead in a way that announced one of his fiendish headaches and decided that he should be spared the initial painful rites. ‘What about Rupe?’ he said. Rupert, the youngest brother and technically a director of the firm, charmed everyone; he was the obvious candidate but his inability to make up his mind and his intense sympathy for the point of view of anyone he met, client or staff, made him of questionable use. Edward said he would talk to him at once. ‘He needs to be told anyway. Don’t you worry, old boy. We can all go down at the weekend.’ ‘Rachel said it was completely peaceful.’ He had said this before, but the repetition clearly comforted him. ‘Rather the end of an era. Puts us in the front line, doesn’t it?’ This both made of them think of the Great War, but neither of them said so. When Edward had gone, Hugh reached for his pills and sent Miss Corley out for a sandwich for his lunch. He probably wouldn’t eat more than a bite, but it would stop her fussing about him. Lying on the leather sofa in his dark glasses he wept. The Duchy’s tranquillity, her frankness, the way in which she had welcomed Jemima and her two boys . . . Jemima. If he was now in the front line, he had Jemima beside him – a stroke of unbelievable luck, an everyday joy. After Sybil’s death he had thought his affections would ever after be directed only to Polly, who would naturally marry, as she had, have her own children, which she most certainly had done, and that for the rest of his life he would be first for nobody. How lucky I have been, he thought, as he took off his glasses to wipe them dry. ‘Darling, of course I’m coming. If I’m quick, I can catch the four twenty – could Tonbridge meet me, do you think? Rachel, just don’t fuss about me. I’m perfectly all right – it was just a touch of bronchitis, and I got up yesterday. Is there anything I can bring you? Right. See you soon after six. ’Bye, dearest.’ And she rang off before Rachel could try any more to dissuade her. As she walked shakily upstairs, the enormity of the changes that now lay ahead struck her. She was still weak, although the marvellous penicillin had more or less knocked the bug on the head. She decided to skip lunch and pack a few things in a bag that would not be too heavy to carry. Rachel would be anguished by her mother’s death, but now she – Sid – would be able to look after her. They would really be able to live together at last. She had loved and admired the Duchy, but for so long and so often her times with Rachel had had to be cut short because Rachel had felt that her mother needed her. And it had got worse after the Brig had died, in spite of the affectionate attentions of the three sons and their wives. This last illness had been an enormous strain upon Rachel, who had not left her mother’s side since Easter. Well, it was over, and now at the age of fifty-six, Rachel would at last be able to call her life her own, but Sid also realised that this would be – initially, at least – alarming for her, rather like letting a bird out of its familiar cage into vast open country. She would need both encouragement and protection. She was so early for her train that there was time (and need) to eat a sandwich and sit down. After some patient queuing, Sid procured two slices of grey spongy bread, scraped with bright yellow margarine and encasing an extremely thin slice of soapy Cheddar. There were very few places to sit, and she tried perching on her suitcase, which showed signs of collapsing. After a few moments a very old man got up from a crowded bench leaving a copy of the Evening Standard – ‘Burgess and Maclean Taking Long Holiday Abroad’ was the headline. They sounded like a couple of biscuit manufacturers, Sid thought. It was a great relief to get onto the train, after she had struggled against the tide of people who got off it. The carriage was dirty, the upholstery of the seats threadbare and dusty, the floor spattered with extinguished cigarette ends. The windows were so smoke-ridden that she could hardly see out of them. But when the guard blew his whistle and with a lurch the train began to puff its way across the bridge, Sid began to feel less tired. How many times had she made this journey to be with Rachel? All those weekends when to go for a walk together had been the height of bliss; when discretion and secrecy had governed everything they did. Even when Rachel met the train, Tonbridge had been driving; he could hear every word they said. In those days simply to be with her was so wonderful that for a long time she had needed nothing more. And then she did want more – wanted Rachel in bed with her – and a new kind of secrecy had begun. Lust, or anything approaching it, had had to be concealed – not only from everyone else but from Rachel herself for whom it was terrifying and incomprehensible. Then she had been ill, and Rachel had come immediately to nurse her. And then . . . Remembering Rachel offering herself still brought tears to her eyes. Perhaps, she thought now, her greatest achievement had been getting Rachel to enjoy physical love. And even then, she thought, with wry amusement, they had had to battle through Rachel’s guilt, her sense that she did not deserve so much pleasure, that she must never allow it to come before her duty. Sid spent the rest of the journey making wildly delightful plans for the future. ‘Oh, Rupe, I’m sorry. I could join you tomorrow because the children won’t be at school. But you’d better ring and see if that is what Rachel would like. Would you like me to tell Villy? . . . OK. See you tomorrow, darling – I hope.’ Since Rupert had joined the firm they were much better off – had been able to buy a rather dilapidated house in Mortlake, on the river. It had not cost too much – six thousand pounds – but it was in a poor state, and when the river was high, the ground floor was often flooded in spite of the wall in the front garden and the mounting block where a gate had once stood. But Rupert didn’t mind any of that: he was in love with the beautiful sash windows, the splendid doors, and the amazing room on the first floor that ran the whole width of the house, with a pretty fireplace at each end; the egg-and-dart ceiling friezes; the bedrooms that rambled on the top floor, all leading into each other, culminating in one very small bathroom and lavatory that had been modernised in the forties with a salmon-coloured bath and shiny black tiles. ‘I love it,’ Rupert had said. ‘It’s the house for us, darling. Of course we’ll have to do a certain amount to it. They said the boiler wasn’t working. But that’s just a detail. You do like it, don’t you?’ And, of course, she’d said yes. Rupert and Zoë had moved in in l953, the year of the Coronation, and some of the ‘details’ had been dealt with: the kitchen had been extended by adding the scullery to it, with a new boiler, new cooker and sink. But they could not afford central heating, so the house was always cold. In winter it was freezing. Rupert pointed out to the children that they would be able to see the Boat Race, but Juliet had been unmoved by the prospect: ‘One of them’s got to win, haven’t they? It’s a foregone conclusion.’ And Georgie had simply remarked that it would only be interesting if they fell in. Georgie was now seven, and since the age of three had been obsessed with animals. He had what he described as a zoo, comprising a white rat called Rivers, two tortoises that constantly got lost in the back garden, silk worms, when the season allowed, a garter snake that was also a virtuoso at escaping, a pair of guinea pigs and a budgerigar. He longed for a dog, a rabbit and a parrot, but so far his pocket money had not run to the expense. He was writing a book about his zoo, and had got into serious trouble for taking Rivers to school concealed in his satchel. Although Rivers was now confined to his cage during school hours, Zoë knew that he would be accompanying them to Home Place but, as Rupert pointed out, he was a very tactful rat and people often didn’t know he was there. As she prepared their tea – sardine sandwiches and flapjacks she had made that morning – Zoë wondered what would happen to Home Place. Rachel surely would not want to live there alone, but the brothers might share ownership of it, although this almost certainly meant that they would never go anywhere else on holiday and she longed to go abroad – to France or Italy. St Tropez! Venice! Rome! The front door slammed, followed by the thud of a satchel being dropped on the flagstones in the hall and then Georgie appeared. He wore his school’s summer uniform: a white shirt, grey shorts, tennis shoes and white socks. Everything that was supposed to be white was of a greyish pallor. ‘Where’s your blazer?’ He looked down at himself, surprised. ‘I don’t know. Somewhere. We had games. We don’t have to wear blazers for games.’ His grubby little face was wet with sweat. He returned Zoë’s kiss with a casual hug. ‘Did you give Rivers his carrot?’ ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I forgot.’ ‘Oh, Mum!’ ‘Darling, he’ll be all right. He gets lots of food.’ ‘That’s not the point. The carrot is to stop him being bored.’ He rushed to the scullery, knocking over a chair in his haste. He returned a moment later with Rivers on his shoulder. He still looked reproachful, but Rivers was clearly delighted, nibbling his ear and burrowing under his shirt collar. ‘A mere blazer is nothing compared to a rat’s life.’ ‘Blazers are not mere, and Rivers wasn’t starving to death. Don’t be silly.’ ‘All right.’ He smiled so engagingly that, as usual, she felt a shock of love for him. ‘Could we start tea now? I’m really hungry. We had poison meat and frog spawn for lunch. And Forrester was sick everywhere so I couldn’t eat it.’ They were both sitting at a corner of the table. She smoothed his damp hair back from his forehead. ‘We must wait for Jules. Meanwhile, I have to tell you something. The Duchy died this morning. Quite peacefully, Aunt Rachel said. Daddy’s going down to Home Place today, and we may be joining him tomorrow.’ ‘How did she die?’ ‘Well, she was very old, you know. She was nearly ninety.’ ‘That’s nothing for a tortoise. Poor Duchy. I feel very sorry for her not being there.’ He sniffed and brought an unspeakably filthy handkerchief out of his shorts pocket. ‘I had to clean my knees a bit with it but it’s only earth dirt.’ A second bang of the front door and Juliet came into the kitchen. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, not sounding it at all, wrenching off her crimson tie and school blazer, which fell to the floor with her satchel. ‘Where’s your hat, darling?’ ‘In my satchel. There are limits and that hat is definitely one of them.’ ‘You’ll have scrunched it all up,’ Georgie said, his tone a subtle mixture of admiration and cheek. At fifteen, Juliet was eight years older and Georgie desperately wanted her to love and be interested in him. Most of the time she alternated between being carelessly kind and sternly judgemental. ‘Guess what?’ he said. Juliet had cast herself into a chair. ‘God! What?’ ‘The Duchy’s dead. She died this morning. Mum told me so I knew before you.’ ‘The Duchy? How tragic! She wasn’t murdered or anything?’ ‘Of course not. She died very peacefully with Aunt Rachel.’ ‘Is she dead too?’ ‘No. I meant Aunt Rachel was with her. You’ll have to be far older before you know a murdered person,’ she added. Georgie was eating sandwiches rather fast, and Rivers was getting fed bits of them. ‘Mummy, must we have tea with that rat?’ And then, feeling that it was rather a heartless remark, Juliet said in her school-drama voice, ‘I feel so upset, I don’t think I can eat a thing.’ Zoë, who knew a good deal about her stunningly beautiful daughter’s ways (had they not been her own when she was that age?), spoke soothingly: ‘Of course you’re upset, darling. We’re all sad because we all loved her, but she was quite old, and it’s just good that she didn’t suffer any pain. Eat something, darling, and you’ll feel better.’ ‘And,’ Georgie continued, ‘Dad’s gone down to Home Place, and we’ll all go first thing tomorrow morning if Aunt Rachel wants us to. Which she will.’ ‘Oh, Mummy! You were going to take me shopping, to get my jeans! You promised!’ And at the thought of this betrayal, Juliet burst into real tears. ‘We can’t buy them on a weekday because of horrible school and that means I’ll have to wait a-whole-nother week. And all my friends have got them. It’s not fair! Couldn’t we go shopping in the morning and then go on an afternoon train?’ And Zoë, not at all feeling like a continuing scene, said weakly, ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’ Georgie said, ‘And we all know what that means. It means we aren’t going to do what you want, but we’re not going to tell you that now.’