Season Of Mists

Matthew was waiting for her when she arrived at his comprehensive school a few minutes after four. His blazer was a little dusty, as if it had suffered from contact with the tarmaced playground, but at least the day was fine, and there was no mud to worry about. His boots she was less impressed with. But the only shoes he possessed were track shoes, and as he had refused to consider regular schoolwear, she had been obliged to humour him.

Now he took the suitcase she was carrying from her as they hurried to catch the bus, and Abby knew an unexpected feeling of being cared for. Matthew could be so sweet when he chose, she thought, giving him a warm smile as he took his seat beside her. If only he chose more often, how much easier her life would be.

The train left on time. It was full of business men, returning to the north after a day’s outing in London. Briefcases were the order of the day, and there was plenty of room for their bags and belongings between the seats.

Dinner was served on the train, but Abby had brought sandwiches, and Matthew munched happily as they plunged through the rolling downs surrounding London, and on to the flatter countryside bordering East Anglia. It was still light as they swept through Peterborough and Grantham, but by the time they reached their first stopping place at York, lights were springing up around the train, and dusk had deepened the shadows.

Matthew was growing restless now. With their meal over, and over an hour still ahead of them, he asked if he could go for a walk along the train, and realising she was as nervous as he was, she let him go.

In his absence, she pulled out her compact and examined her pale features with some trepidation. Had she changed so much? she asked herself anxiously. Twelve years was a long time. She was no longer eighteen, she was almost thirty, and the innocence of youth had given way to a guarded experience. She was different in ways that a mirror could not reveal. Although her eyes were still green between smoky lashes, they seemed to have lost their sparkle, and she was probably lucky her hair was that streaky shade of ash blonde. At least no one could see the grey hairs that must be there among the silver strands. Her skin was still good, and she seldom wore a lot of make-up, but nothing could alter the fact that she was a woman now, not a girl, and certainly not the girl who had married Piers Roth.

Matthew came back, his lean face glowing in the dim light. On occasions like this, she thought he did resemble his father, but mostly he took after her, with his fair hair and pale colouring. ‘I opened the window on the door and looked out for a bit,’ he explained, appalling her anew by his casual announcement. They could have passed a signal box, a bridge, anything, and the terrifying pictures these images created caused her to shake her head in horror. ‘It’s okay,’ he added, noticing her reaction. ‘I didn’t do anything dangerous. I just wanted to see the engine, but the door into the driver’s section was locked.’

‘Oh, Matt!’ Abby gazed at him in helpless fascination, and he shrugged his wide shoulders.

‘Well …’ he grimaced, ‘I’ve never been on a diesel train before, and I wanted to get to know all about it, so I could tell the guys.’

‘The guys!’ Abby shook her head. ‘Don’t you mean—the boys?’

Matthew grinned. ‘Okay, the boys,’ he mimicked her humorously, and she thought again how likeable he was when he wasn’t continually trying to score points.

‘You look pale,’ he continued, surveying her with steady consideration. ‘You’re not still worrying about Aunt Hannah, are you?’

‘Well, I am worried, of course, but I didn’t realise it showed so badly,’ she responded dryly. ‘What’s the matter? Do I look a hag? I must admit, I’ve been wondering if she’ll recognise me.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Abby shook her head. ‘It is ten years since she’s seen me, Matt.’

‘So what? You don’t look old.’

‘Thank you.’

‘As a matter of fact, one of the fifth-formers asked if you were my sister the other day,’ he told her, with some reluctance. ‘I said you were my mother, and he said you must have been a schoolgirl when you had me. I socked him!’

‘Oh, Matt!’ Abby was disturbed, but touched that he should care what people said of her.

‘Well…’ Matt hunched his shoulders, ‘he was implying I didn’t have a father. Rotten bastard!’

‘Matt!’ Abby’s lips parted. ‘Don’t ever let me hear you use that word again!’

‘Well, it’s true. Nobody believes me when I say my parents are separated. They think you were never married.’

‘But you and I know, Matt.’

‘Do we?’ Momentarily, his expression darkened, but then, as if determined not to let what other people thought cloud his enjoyment of the trip, he forced a smile and glanced out the window. ‘Where are we? Is this Newcastle?’

Taking her cue from him, Abby forced her own sense of apprehension aside, and looked about her. ‘No, this is Darlington,’ she said, as they slowed to approach the station. ‘Then there’s Durham, and after that, Newcastle.’

‘Good.’ Matthew rested his elbows on the table in front of him and watched the activity on the platform. ‘What time will we get to Alnbury? Does Aunt Hannah know we’re coming?’

‘I hope so.’ Abby answered his second question first. ‘I wrote to her yesterday, so she should have received the letter this morning. I would have sent a telegram, but I was afraid she might be alarmed at its arrival. Old people are funny. They associate telegrams with bad news.’ She sighed. ‘We received a telegram when my father was drowned.’

‘Grandfather Charlton?’

‘That’s right,’ Abby nodded reminiscently. ‘Aunt Hannah was so kind to me. I’ll never be able to repay her.’

Matthew was silent for a while, but then, as the train gathered speed again, he said: ‘How will we get to Rothside? You said we could catch a bus to Alnbury.’

‘Yes, we can.’ Abby frowned. ‘I’m not sure now where the bus station is, in relation to the railway station, I mean. But we can always ask someone. If we get into Newcastle on time, we should be able to catch the nine o’clock bus to Alnbury. That will get us there about ten.’

‘Isn’t that late for an old lady?’ asked Matthew, with his usual pragmatism, and Abby had to concede that it was.

‘Let’s hope she appreciates the effort,’ she said, with enforced lightness, but as the train neared Newcastle, her nerves were sharpening.

The train ran into the station at Newcastle at a little after ten minutes to nine, and by the time Abby had extracted them and their luggage, it was five to. The chances of them catching the nine o’clock bus were growing slimmer by the moment, and the idea of hanging about for another hour was daunting.

‘Don’t panic,’ said Matthew, striding along the platform beside her, as she rummaged in her handbag for their tickets. ‘There may be a bus at half past nine.’

‘I’m sure there isn’t——’ Abby was beginning, only to break off abruptly at the sight of the man standing ahead of them at the barrier. Tall and lean, his thin dark face was unmistakable beneath hair that was more black than brown. He had changed. He was older, and perhaps a little broader, but she recognised him instantly, as if his image had been engraved in her thoughts.

She halted abruptly, and Matthew halted too, gazing at her impatiently. ‘Mum——’

‘Just a minute.’ She made the excuse of searching through her bag to give herself more time, but nothing could alter the fact that he was there, and waiting for them.

Aunt Hannah shouldn’t have done it, she thought frustratedly. She wasn’t prepared, she wasn’t ready. The last thing she had expected was to meet him tonight, and she looked at Matthew anxiously, wondering how he would react to this.

‘What’s wrong?’ Matthew was looking at her strangely now, his fair brows drawing together as he identified her consternation. ‘What is it? Don’t you feel well? Mum, it’s nearly nine o’clock. Don’t you want to catch that bus?’

Abby’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to find words to explain what was about to happen. ‘I—we—we may not need to catch the bus,’ she began, glancing towards the barrier, and Matthew swung round curiously, perplexed as to her reasoning.

But even as Abby was trying to summon a stumbling explanation, something else happened, something that caused the hammering palpitation of her heart to pause sickeningly for a second, before racing unsteadily on. Piers was smiling at someone, speaking to someone who had emerged from the first class compartments of the train. And that someone was small and feminine, and, despite the mild September evening had a silky fur coat draped about her slim shoulders. Valerie Langton? Abby wondered, trying to control the giddy feeling of faintness that was sweeping over her, and Matthew looked from her to the barrier and then back at her again.

‘What is it?’ he demanded, as Abby endeavoured to keep her balance. ‘Mum, what’s going on? Is it that man? What’s he doing here? Do you know him?’

Abby’s tongue circled her parched lips. ‘I—I thought I did,’ she murmured, realising she had to pull herself together. ‘My, it’s warm tonight, isn’t it?’ She fanned herself nervously. ‘I feel quite hot.’

‘You don’t look hot,’ declared Matthew, transferring the suitcase and her holdall to one hand and putting the other through her arm. ‘You don’t have any colour at all,’ he added, beginning to hustle her towards the ticket collector.

‘Oh—wait!’ The girl in the fur coat was still at the barrier, handing over her ticket, talking to Piers as she did so. ‘I—there’s no point in hurrying now, Matt. We won’t catch that bus.’

‘But you said something about us not needing to catch the bus,’ he exclaimed, his suspicions fully aroused now. ‘Mum, you do know that man, don’t you? Who is it? My father?’

Abby wished she could have fainted then. It would have been so much easier just to collapse in a graceful heap and allow other people to take responsibility for what might happen. Even Matthew couldn’t ignore her if she lost consciousness at his feet, and anything was better than having to run the risk of Piers turning and seeing her.

‘Mum!’ Matthew was speaking to her again, and helplessly she shook her head.

‘All right,’ she said, ‘it is your father. But he hasn’t come to meet us, as you can see.’

Matthew’s expression revealed a conflicting number of emotions in quick succession, and then he turned to gaze at the man by the barrier with wide incredulous eyes.

Piers was moving away at last, Abby saw with relief. His companion had slipped her arm through his, and a porter had been engaged to carry her two suitcases. No doubt he had his car outside, she thought, trying not to feel bitter. No buses for Miss Langton. A comfortable ride home in the front of Piers’ limousine. Of all the bad luck, she fretted—that Piers should be at the station, tonight of all nights. Poor Matthew! How must he be feeling? Seeing his own father for the first time, and not being able to identify himself!

She was handing over their tickets to be clipped when Matthew darted away from her. One moment he was there, standing beside her, holding their cases; the next, he had dropped the cases to the ground and was sprinting after Piers and the girl.

Abby’s initial sense of horror froze any protest she might have made. It was like some awful nightmare. She was powerless to stop him, and with a dry mouth and quivering limbs she could only watch her son catch up with the other two. She saw him touch Piers’s sleeve, she saw him speak to him; and she saw the look of dismay that crossed the girl’s face as she looked incredulously up at the man beside her.

CHAPTER TWO

ABBY woke the next morning with a distinct feeling of disorientation. It was the silence that was the most disturbing aspect, the cessation of the sounds she had heard every morning for the past dozen years, and which generally awakened her before her alarm. Now there was no sound but the occasional cooing of the doves from the rooftop, and the argumentative chatter of starlings, quarrelling over the crumbs on the lawn.

She was at Rothside, she remembered with sudden apprehension. She was lying in her own bed at Ivy Cottage, the bed she had slept in for more than fifteen years, before Piers, and their marriage, had destroyed that life for ever.

Pushing back the bedcovers, she padded across the floor, her toes curling when they missed the rug and encountered the polished wood. Her window was set under the eaves, and she had to bend her head to look out of it, but the view that met her anxious gaze was as familiar as it had ever been.

Ivy Cottage was set on the outskirts of the village, but if she turned her head, she could see the green some yards away, and the duckpond, where she used to sail her paper boats. It was not a large village. Apart from the post office and general stores, there were no other shops, and in winter it was not unusual for them to be cut off for days, when the snow was heavy. But it was home to her, much more her home, she realised, than the flat in Greenwich could ever be, and she looked rather wistfully at the grey stone buildings. If only she had never married Piers Roth, she thought, she might still be living here. If, instead of marrying a man not only older, but whose way of life had been so much different from hers, she had married Tristan Oliver, none of this would have happened. She wondered, with a pang, how she might have adapted to being a farmer’s wife. Certainly, Piers’ mother would have said it was more appropriate. She had never wanted Abby to marry her son. She had opposed their relationship in every way she could, and only Piers’ persistence had prevailed. But, as things had turned out, her fears had been vindicated, at least so far as the Roths were concerned.

Turning from the window, Abby wrapped her arms tightly about her thinly-clad body. She had not wanted to think about the Roths, but after what had happened the night before, she could think of little else. That scene at the station was imprinted on her mind in stark and humiliating detail, and the remembrance of Matthew’s behaviour filled her with both anger and pity.

It had all been so awful—so embarrassing—so absurdly comical. Not that she had found any of it funny. On the contrary, she had wanted to die a thousand deaths when Piers turned and looked at her with that cold calculating stare. Yet in retrospect, it had had its moments of humour, if any of them had been objective enough to see them.

But none of them had, of course. Matthew’s impulsive self-introduction had robbed the scene of any amusement, and Abby had the distinct impression that Piers thought she had put him up to it.

Oh, it had been terrible! Putting up her palms to her hot cheeks, Abby shuddered with revulsion, and unable to stand her own company any longer, she put on her dressing gown and made her way downstairs.

Although it was only half past seven, Hannah Caldwell was already up and dressed. For all her great age, she seemed hardly to have changed since Abby saw her last, though perhaps she moved a little slower as she took the kettle off the stove. She turned as her niece entered the kitchen and surveyed Abby with warm affection, indicating the cups on the tray and the teapot steaming beside it.

‘I was just going to bring us both a pot of tea upstairs,’ she declared, her rosy cheeks dimpling with pleasure. ‘But now you’re up, we can have it down here.’

Abby squeezed the hand the old lady offered, and went to sit at the kitchen table. She might never have been away, she reflected, blinking back a feeling of emotionalism. Thank heavens for Aunt Hannah, she thought, drawing a steadying breath. Right now, she needed someone to talk to.

‘So …’ The old lady set the tray between them, and seated herself opposite. ‘You’re here!’ She reached for Abby’s hand again. ‘Are you going to stay?’

‘Just for the weekend,’ said Abby brightly, trying to behave naturally. ‘You know that. I told you in my letter——’

‘Yes, I know. But you also told me you were worried about Matthew, and now that I’ve met him, I can understand why.’

Abby sighed, and rested her chin on her knuckles. ‘You mean what happened last night?’

‘I mean the reasons behind what happened last night,’ replied Hannah, pouring the tea. ‘Abby, why haven’t you told Matthew the truth?’

‘How could I?’ Abby cradled her cup in her cold hands. ‘He’d never believe me. Not now.’

‘What do you mean? Not now?’

Abby shook her head. ‘It was easier to pretend his father was dead. I mean—so far as we were concerned, he was.’

‘Oh, Abby!’

‘Well …’ Abby tried to justify herself. ‘Aunt Hannah, Piers had disowned us; he’d disowned Matthew. Could you have told him that?’

‘When did he find out?’

‘About two years ago.’

‘How?’

Abby hesitated. ‘He—must have seen his birth certificate.’

‘And?’

Abby put her cup down. ‘He read one of your letters, while I was out.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘It was my fault. I should have realised he was getting older, more inquisitive.’

‘You mean he put two and two together.’ Hannah sighed. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I should have been more careful.’

‘Why should you?’ Abby was quick to reassure her. ‘I mean, you never used Piers’ surname. But his Christian name is rather—uncommon.’

‘But you told Matthew the truth, then?’

‘I told him that Piers and I were incompatible. That our marriage had been a mistake, and we had agreed to separate.’

‘Is that all!’ Hannah stared at her impatiently. ‘Didn’t you tell him about the rows? About Tristan?’

‘Would that have made it any better?’ Abby expelled her breath wearily. ‘It was too late, don’t you see? Any chance I had had of gaining Matt’s sympathy was gone. He blamed me. He still does, as last night proved.’

‘Oh, my dear!’ Hannah looked concerned. ‘Tell me again what happened. You were upset last night. And I didn’t like to probe too deeply; not then.’

‘Oh——’ Abby flung herself back in her chair. ‘It was awful!’ She shook her head reminiscently. ‘Matt had been so good, so—helpful. I really had begun to believe he’d turned over a new leaf. I had no idea he knew about Piers’ letter and the divorce. If I had, I’d have thought twice about bringing him.’

Hannah nodded. ‘Go on. You said you saw Piers at the barrier.’

‘That’s right. He’d come to meet Miss Langton. Apparently she’d been visiting some friends in London, and she happened to travel back on the same train. In first class, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well——’ Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, ‘when I saw Piers, I thought at first——’ She broke off. ‘I’m sure you can guess what I thought.’

‘That I’d asked him to meet you?’

‘Hmm,’ Abby nodded. ‘It was stupid, I realise that now. But at the time, it seemed the only explanation.’

‘And you told Matthew?’

‘Not then, no. But I was stunned, shocked; you can guess how I was feeling.’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘And Matt—being Matt—came to the obvious conclusion.’

‘But why did you let him run after Piers? Surely you must have had some idea of what might happen.’

Abby sniffed. ‘I didn’t let him. I couldn’t stop him. He was gone almost before I realised it.’

‘And he introduced himself to Piers as his son.’

‘Yes.’ Abby felt the whole weight of this realisation bearing down on her.

‘Still,’ Hannah poured herself more tea, ‘at least Piers didn’t disown him in front of Miss Langton.’

‘No.’ Abby was grudging. ‘But he didn’t exactly welcome him either.’

‘You couldn’t expect that.’ Hannah studied her niece’s pale face with compassion. ‘My dear, can you imagine what a shock it must have been for Valerie? No one in the valley even knew you had a son. And the Langtons regard Piers as one of them.’

Abby finished her tea and pushed her cup over for more. ‘I suppose you’re right. But at the time, all I was aware of was Piers looking at me as if he could have killed me!’

‘Well, you’ve certainly put the cat among the pigeons, haven’t you, my dear? I mean—an ex-wife is one thing, a stepson is something else.’

Abby shrugged. ‘Piers doesn’t regard Matt as his son. I expect he told Miss Langton that, the minute we got out of the car.’

‘Well, at least you didn’t have to wait for a bus,’ pointed out Hannah dryly. ‘Piers’ Daimler must have been an improvement on that.’

‘I suppose so.’ Abby shuddered again. ‘But it was the longest journey of my life. No one spoke, not even Matt. Perhaps he was regretting what he had done. Anyway, we all just sat there, like dummies, waiting to get to our destination.’

‘Didn’t Piers ask how you were? Why you were here?’

‘Not in the car. I don’t remember anything he said, just his hostility. It was awful!’

‘And how did he introduce you to Valerie?’

‘Oh—as his ex-wife, I think. It was humiliating. I think she thought Matt was some kind of punk!’

Hannah half smiled. ‘Well, you have to admit, it’s not every day a youth rushes up to your fiancé and claims that he’s his father!’

‘No.’ Abby had to giggle at this. ‘I suppose it was quite amusing really. I just wish it hadn’t happened.’

‘Never mind.’ Hannah put the cups aside and regarded her warmly. ‘You’ve no idea how good it is to have you here, Abby. The cottage has been so empty all these years.’

Abby allowed her to take both her hands, and they looked affectionately at one another. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Aunt Hannah,’ she said gently. ‘And what’s all this about you misbehaving yourself?’

‘Oh——’ Hannah drew her hands away. ‘You mean that conversation you had with Dr Willis. I told you in my letter, I have no intention of leaving the cottage. If I die, I intend to die here, and not in some home, with none of my own things around me.’

‘I’m sure you’re allowed to take your own things with you, Aunt Hannah,’ Abby exclaimed. ‘Your personal things, at least.’

‘And my furniture? That dresser, for instance. Do you think I could take that? And my china cabinet, in the front parlour?’

‘Aunt Hannah——’

‘Don’t bother. I know what you’re going to say. I can’t expect a residential establishment such as Rosemount to provide space for all the odds and ends its inmates have collected over the years.’

‘You make it sound like a prison, Aunt Hannah!’

‘It would be, to me. Abby, can’t you see? Can’t you understand? I’ve lived in this cottage almost all my life. I don’t want to leave it now.’

‘Then you’ll have to have a nurse—or a housekeeper. Someone who could take care of you——’

‘I don’t want some strange woman in my kitchen,’ the old lady interrupted her crisply. ‘I don’t want any female telling me what to do in my own home!’

‘But, Aunt Hannah——’

‘It’s no good, Abby. My mind’s made up. And if you’ve come up here to try and change it, you’re wasting your time.’

Abby shook her head. ‘Dr Willis says you shouldn’t be alone.’

‘Then you come home,’ said Hannah flatly. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, not now you and Piers are getting a divorce. Come back to Rothside. I’d employ you. And it would give Matthew the chance to get to know his real background.’

‘I couldn’t!’ Abby was appalled.

‘Why couldn’t you? Oh, I know—because of your job in London. Well, I daresay I’d see you didn’t lose by it.’

‘It’s not that.’ Abby shook her head.

‘No?’ Hannah frowned. ‘You’re tired of working in London?’

‘No.’ Abby hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, Bourne Electronics is going out of business.’

‘It is?’ Hannah looked delighted. ‘There you are, then. Your problems are solved.’

‘No, Aunt Hannah.’

‘Why not?’

Abby bent her head. ‘The Roths wouldn’t like it, you know they wouldn’t.’

Hannah snorted. ‘So what? Since when do I care what the Roths think?’

‘Oh, Aunt Hannah!’ Abby gazed at the old lady helplessly. ‘I couldn’t do that to Piers.’