Ella turned away from the window with a sigh. She was going to miss both her daughter and granddaughter very much. Had she done the right thing, she wondered, in interfering? Instinctively she knew that if it had been Nutmeg, grown up and in her mother’s place, she would not have done anything. She recognized in the child a kindred spirit to herself, one who would take risks, fly close to the flame and inevitably get burned from time to time. Daisy was different. The heat would shrivel her up, she needed some sort of shield and Richard, humourless and pedantic, gave her protection from herself. Daisy would not be able to exist if she lost her children, and if she walked out of her marriage, that is precisely what would happen, for Richard would never let them go. Oh no, he would simply call in that insufferable elder sister of his to look after them. Yes, Daisy – who she supposed she must remember to call Margaret, at least in Richard’s presence – was safer and better off with Richard.
Her own situation had been very different. William had turned out to be a drunken fool. Worse, a lecher (she rather liked that old-fashioned word; it was so descriptive) and violent. Edwin had truly loved her and offered her a genuine sanctuary in her time of desperate need.
Ella was unaware that she had sighed out loud until she heard Walter get up from his chair and walk across to her.
‘Sad they have gone?’ Although posed as a question, it was more like a statement. ‘So am I. I shall miss them both, especially that imp of a granddaughter of yours who reminds me so much of you.’
‘I was thinking much the same thing,’ Ella admitted, and hoped she wouldn’t make as many disastrous mistakes in life as she herself did. ‘I should have married you in the first place, Walter. My parents, it seemed, really did know best.’
Walter did not answer immediately and Ella turned away, but he put his hand on her arm and surprised her by asking, ‘Were you thinking the same thing? That you knew best when you packed Daisy off home?’
Partly because she could not move without pulling her arm free and partly because she was so surprised that Walter should know what she had done, she answered truthfully. ‘Yes, I was. I couldn’t stand by and watch her destroy her life.’
‘You think that falling in love with James would do that?’
‘I think falling love with anyone would.’
Walter relaxed his grip on her arm. ‘You make falling in love sound like a very dangerous pastime.’ His voice was dry.
‘In my experience, it is.’
Walter sighed as she turned to leave him. ‘Don’t rush off to the kitchen or whatever,’ he pleaded. ‘Come and sit down with me, relax, drink a glass of sherry with me. Let’s be Derby and Joan for once.’
‘Most things work out for the best in the end, you know,’ Walter remarked as he passed her a glass of the dry sherry she liked.
‘Meaning?’ Ella asked, nodding her thanks.
‘Well, if you hadn’t taken off to the Antipodes with young William Weston, there would have been no Daisy, or Violet, and certainly no Nutmeg. I wouldn’t have married Marion and would have missed having James.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘To our descendants!’
Ella felt her throat constrict. He was such a kind man and she had treated him so badly. ‘Were you happy with Marion?’ she asked.
Walter nodded. ‘Yes, I was. I had known her all my life. She was my age, we were comfortable together.’
‘I don’t suppose you would have been able to say that of me.’ Ella’s lips twisted into a rueful half smile.
‘Probably not,’ Walter agreed. He leaned back in his chair, looking into his glass. ‘I am sorry our marriage did not last long enough for me to be able to convince her that I did not just marry her as a sop to my wounded pride when you ditched me.’
Ella winced at the expression.
‘Though I have to admit in all honesty that it helped.’ He paused and Ella could see his thoughts were taking him back in time. ‘Poor Marion. Her first husband was killed before James was born and she went back to live with her parents. I don’t think she found it very easy; they were not easy people, very set in their ways.’
‘It must have been hard, bringing up a child in those circumstances.’
‘Very. And particularly hard on the child. James was seven when Marion and I were married. We hoped for more children, but it was not to be. I have always considered James my son, particularly after Marion died. He was only twelve then. So, the time we had together was very short; but yes, to answer your question, I was happy with her.’
They sat in silence for a while. Ella knew she had been extraordinarily lucky to have this second chance with Walter. She placed her hand over his. ‘I think you did a wonderful job,’ she said gently. ‘James has grown into a very fine man.’
‘But not good enough for your daughter?’
‘Oh no – I mean yes. More than good enough. If only … but Daisy could not endure losing her children, and she would, Walter, if ever she attempted anything … foolish.’
‘I know, my dear, it’s just that they struck me as so perfectly suited.’ He returned the pressure of her hand and smiled at her, somewhat wistfully.
‘What an old romantic you are,’ Ella told him, leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the lips.
She got up with a sigh and moved towards the door. ‘Daisy’s children mean the world to her. If she lost them, it would destroy her. She told me that she is not going to work in Richard’s office any more; she intends to stay home. I hope she gets her way and that Richard doesn’t insist that battleaxe of a sister of his stays on. I tried to impress on her that if she needs help, I am the one to ask.’
‘Just so, dear.’ Walter smiled to himself. He would back Ella against Edith any day, and somehow he thought that staying here had toughened Daisy up in more ways than improving her health. He felt for James, but no doubt he would return to New Zealand and hopefully find a new love there. Ella was right; it would have been disastrous for anything serious to develop.
He switched on the radio to catch the six o’clock news.