The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(166)

‘I hoped you would come,’ she said.

‘We had our differences, but Cecil was my brother.’

‘I know. I’m sure he’s pleased that you’ve come too. Nothing brings people together like death.’

Louis nodded and removed his coat and hat, placing them on a chair. ‘I wish I had known about his illness earlier.’ He sighed, flicking his fingers nervously.

‘He didn’t want that,’ Grace replied. ‘He wanted to die with dignity.’

‘Cecil was a man of huge dignity.’

‘He was.’

‘Were you with him when he passed away?’

‘Yes, I was,’ she said, looking at him steadily with her deep, knowing eyes. ‘He tied up loose ends as dying people do.’ He nodded again with understanding. Then his face unfolded like a sunflower that is turned towards the sun. They stared at each other as if suddenly seeing their own reflection for the first time. For a brief moment the world about them seemed to move in slow motion as they hung suspended in time, gazing into the other’s features in astonishment. Neither knew what to say because not only did such a revelation open the cobwebbed box that contained the secret past, but because their real relationship was unmentionable in that house. Finally Louis spoke in a deep voice that was barely audible, even to Grace.

‘He was a good man,’ he said and no one but Grace, Louis and Audrey knew how good he had been.

When the house was finally emptied of guests and Aunt Cicely had been helped out by her husband, wobbling on her heels because of her sprain and because she had consumed far too much wine, Audrey asked Louis to stay for dinner. ‘It will just be you, me and Grace,’ she said. ‘Alicia has returned to London, she finds the countryside suffocating and Leonora has gone home to put the children to bed.’

‘I would like that very much,’ he said, gazing deeply into her troubled eyes.

‘I’d like to have a bath and change, the cold has penetrated right through to my bones.’

‘Of course. Grace will keep me company.’

Audrey left him in the sitting room and climbed the stairs. She felt heavy as if her legs were made of something more solid than bones and her joints ached. But nothing ached as much as her heart. She rubbed her forehead in confusion. Louis had come for her. It was what she had dreamed of and no one knew better than she the power of dreams. Without knowing why she wandered into Cecil’s dressing room. His smell lingered as if he were still alive. It clung to the walls and fabrics and conjured up in her mind the face of the man she had struggled against for so many years until, by the very force of her will and perhaps something much greater than herself, she had grown to love him as she had never believed possible. It wasn’t the obsessive love that she had felt for Louis, but a quieter love born out of respect. He was gone but his presence was so strong she had to sit on the bed and savour it. Such an intense reminiscence might not last forever, even memory fades.

Then she began to go through his things. Cecil kept everything. Boxes of coins, drawers of old letters, piles of leaflets, books and souvenirs all tidy and orderly according to his nature. This room had been his nest and she had never disturbed it. Now she picked each item up, turned it over lovingly, remembering him in all the odd things he collected for his vibration was alive on even the smallest coin. There were peso notes from the Argentine, his ticket from their first date at the Colón, a map of the city of Buenos Aires, the silver pen her father had given him on the morning of their wedding and old newspapers, all worn and creased as if he had handled them a hundred times. She smiled with tenderness as her fingers traced them with nostalgia, brushing off the dust and the years, reliving the past all over again. Then she came across a polished walnut box. It was solid and heavy and shining as if new. This was obviously something of great importance because it was on the chest where he could reach it with ease. She tried to open it but it was locked. Her curiosity was now aroused and she searched for the key. Cecil, being a military man, kept everything in its place and sure enough, in the small drawer at the base of the large oval mirror, not far from the box, lay a silver key. With trembling hands she now opened it to find an old piece of yellowing paper folded neatly inside. Excited by what was without doubt a secret she put the box down and unfolded the note. When she saw what was written on it her heart stumbled and her body was gripped by an icy chill. It was written in Louis’ unmistakeable hand and dated 24 June 1948, the day of Isla’s funeral.

Cecil, why do women torture us so? I gave my heart to Audrey and she took it. We loved with the abandon of two people whose destinies are prewritten in the stars. We sailed against the tide hoping that the winds would change and we would be free to love one another openly, but who would have predicted such cruel winds of change? Isla has died and taken Audrey’s heart with her. Shame on me that I resent Isla for such an untimely departure. I cannot be in Argentina if Audrey is unwilling to belong to me. The pain is too much to bear. I will throw my dreams into the waters and return when the tides change to favour me once again. Until that blessed time I shall wait restlessly in some Mexican city where Audrey’s loveliness is unknown. Forgive us that we led you such a merciless dance, we never meant to hurt, only to disguise. You and I are both victims of love. Louis.