The next couple of weeks passed slowly. Audrey took solace in the mundane routine of domestic life. She busied herself inventing tasks in order to fill the empty hours. Time dragged as if the hands of the clock were weighed down with sorrow and the skies turned grey and stormy, drenching the plain below with heavy, torrential rain. The humidity was stifling. She sweated out her pain and frustration as she turned all her energies on the silver and brass, old cupboards that needed sorting out and threw into boxes marked ‘charity’ all the clothes she had gathered over the years but never worn. Then she went to the hairdresser and had her lustrous curls cut short.
Finally she played ‘The Forget-Me-Not Sonata’ for the last time. With the ceremony of a ritual that only she knew, she pulled out the stool, sat down, lifted the lid of the piano and rested her fingers lightly over the keys. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. With each exhalation she felt the strain loosen its bonds and free her at least from the physical symptoms of a broken spirit. The emotional wounds, however, would never heal. Slowly her fingers began to move across the keys.
In her mind’s eye she saw herself as a young girl when love had wrapped its honeyed tendrils about her heart and ensnared her for the first and only time. She saw Louis’ handsome face and the vulnerability behind his eyes that belied the confidence his face projected. She imagined his wide and captivating smile, before disappointment had erased his joy and his hope, and lived once again his kiss, that melted the material world and transported her into the intangible world of shared dreams. Then once she had awoken from her solemn meditation she closed the piano lid. ‘Let it collect dust,’ she said to herself. ‘Because I will never play it again.’
Just as Audrey believed she would never emerge from her dark tunnel of despair, Fate endowed her with a gift she could never have foreseen. Louis’ child. When she discovered her pregnancy she placed her hand on her belly and with a shamelessness that was quite out of character her face opened into a large and tender smile and her spirit, once so dead, now revived itself and quivered with excitement. A part of Louis was growing inside her. A piece of him would always be with her and, God willing, nothing would take it from her. This child wouldn’t be sent overseas to be educated. She had learnt her lesson. She wouldn’t allow it. Conceived with the purest of earthly love this child would be special. By God’s grace she had been given another future. A future brimming with joy. She was no longer staring into an abyss, but onto a vast horizon of endless possibilities. It shall be a little girl, she said to herself, and I will call her Grace.
Only after having revelled for some time in the magic of Fortune, did she consider her husband. Then her smiling face was reduced to an anxious frown while she deliberated what she was going to say to him. She would have to tell him the whole truth. There was no avoiding it. He would know it wasn’t his and she couldn’t put it down to immaculate conception. She was deeply afraid. Not of his rejection or his anger, but of hurting him.
It was late when Cecil returned home. He was weary and his shoulders stooped as he walked up the path to the front door. Audrey had been so absorbed in her own troubles that she had failed to notice his. He looked broken and dejected and her heart went out to him. She was standing in the hallway biting her nails when he walked in. His face didn’t change expression. He just looked at her impassively as if he were tired of loving her and not being loved in return. As if he were tired of trying.
‘We need to talk,’ she said.
‘All right,’ he replied in a resigned tone. If she were to announce that she was leaving him he wouldn’t have been at all surprised. He followed her into the sitting room and reached for the whisky as he did every night, barely aware of his actions, certainly unable to change the habit even if he wanted to. He sank into an armchair and took a swig from his glass. ‘So, what do you want to say?’ Audrey sighed. She didn’t know how to put it gently, how to soften such a severe blow.
‘I’m expecting a baby,’ she stated without emotion. He stared back at her for a long moment giving nothing of his feelings away, except for his cheeks, which smarted red as if stung.
‘I see,’ he said finally.
‘I owe it to you to explain,’ she began.
‘There is nothing to explain, Audrey.’ He put his hand up, signalling for her to remain silent. She obeyed without a protest and watched as he got up and leaned against the mantelpiece above the empty fireplace. He stared into the shadows, remembering the verse from the bible and deriving strength from it. He was now faced with the unavoidable reality of Audrey’s affair with his brother. His suspicions had been right all along. But she hadn’t left him; for whatever reason she had let Louis go. With a shudder he recalled the morning all those years ago when he had discovered Louis’ disappearance and the note he had written. This was a golden opportunity to redeem himself of his own wrongdoing and assuage the guilt that had gnawed at him ever since. Audrey had placed him at a crossroad. He could continue up the current path with her and the baby, or leave her and walk alone. He had a choice. But there was no decision to be made because Cecil’s nobility of character now asserted itself. He stood up and pulled his shoulders back. He felt empowered; the way one does when one’s actions are selfless and good. ‘We are expecting another child. We are truly blessed,’ he said finally and turned to her with eyes that shone with determination. While Audrey blinked at him in confusion he walked over to her, bent down and kissed her. She flinched and caught her breath, all the time watching him in amazement, not knowing how to respond. ‘Have you telephoned your mother?’ She gulped and tried to compose herself. But her shame suddenly overwhelmed her and she dissolved into tears. She shook her head. ‘Don’t be upset, Audrey, a child is a gift. This is not a time for tears but a time for joy.’