Chapter eighteen

C

harlotte’s immediate instinct was to phone her mother and she started punching in the number. Before pressing the call button, she hesitated. Would it be better to simply turn up unannounced? Her mother would have to be honest with her face to face. Slumped in the chair, she felt the energy drain out of her body, leaving her frozen in inaction. She had asked Dr Rowlands if there was any chance of error in the diagnosis and he had said, in a kinder voice than usual, there was not. It appeared the cancer had been eating away for months, unnoticed. Or at least unreported by her mother. Making a big effort, Charlotte roused herself enough to make the necessary phone calls. After booking a flight to London, she rang Andy and explained about her mother.

He sounded genuinely upset for her. ‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte. What a dreadful thing to happen. I had no idea your mother had been treated for cancer. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’d hoped it was cured so there was no point mentioning it. You’ve enough on your plate as it is. But you do realise I need to go and see her? I’ve booked my flight for tomorrow morning. There’s not much I can actually do when I’m over there but I’d like to try and persuade Mother to consider alternative treatments. By the sound of it she has nothing to lose,’ her voice caught on a sob and she grabbed a tissue.

‘Of course you must see her and alternative treatments might be worth considering. Do you know someone in particular?’

‘I was wondering about Gillian, Malcolm’s girlfriend. She’s a qualified doctor but specialised in naturopathic and herbal medicine and Mother might be prepared to listen to her. There’s also Paul and his concoctions. If I can persuade her…’ she trailed off, painfully aware of how difficult it might prove.

‘Look, I know you’ll have a lot to do today, so can I take you to the airport tomorrow? It’s the least I can do.’

‘Thanks, I’d appreciate it. If you could pick me up at ten, please.’

After saying goodbye Charlotte rang the rector to say she couldn’t meet Mrs Batiste because she had to fly to England urgently for family reasons. He agreed to let the old lady know and would re-arrange a time on her return. Charlotte hoped this would be by the end of the week but…She then rang La Folie, asking to speak to either Louisa or Paul. Louisa was busy and she was put through to Paul. She told him what had happened and asked if he thought he could help.

‘To be honest, Charlotte, I’ve not worked specifically with cancer patients, but I know people who have. I don’t think anyone would make any promises but it could be worth a try. Let me look into it and I’ll get back to you. Are you going to suggest your mother comes to La Folie? If so I can check if we have a spare room.’

‘Ideally I’d like her to come, yes. If you could check, please.’

The line went quiet for a minute.

‘We could fit her in either next week or the following. Or both, of course. I’ll hold them for you if you could confirm one way or another within 48 hours.’

‘Brilliant. Thanks, Paul. I'll get back to you.’ She then rang Malcolm, explaining about her mother and asking if he thought Gillian might be willing to help. After expressing his shock about her mother’s illness, he said he would talk to Gillian and get back to her.

The phone calls left her feeling a little less helpless. She was doing what she could and everyone was so kind and willing to help, surely it was a good omen. And now it was time to pack.

It was a relief to Charlotte to finally board the plane on Wednesday morning. The process of talking to different people and repeating the same story had prompted an emotional breakdown and Charlotte had cried herself to sleep the previous night. It occurred to her she had been initially too shocked to grasp the full implications of what Dr Rowlands had said but it sank in over the repeated tellings. Her mother was going to die, probably in less than a year, unless there was a miracle.

Gillian had called during the evening and had been both supportive and helpful. She was willing to help in any way, but offered no guarantees.

‘There are some brilliant natural treatments we can use and I’ve known patients go into long-term remission. A lot depends on your mother’s general state of health and how much she’s prepared to help herself, including a change of diet. But it might be we can only offer palliative care and prolong her life for a year or two,’ Gillian said gently. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be more definite until I’ve examined her.’

Charlotte had thanked her, her heart feeling like a lump of lead filling her chest.

Now, with the plane taxiing along the tarmac towards the runway, she acknowledged the fear she might, in a matter of months, be truly alone. An orphan, without a partner for emotional support. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself the one tiny ray of hope – Gillian’s treatments. And Andy’s goodbye kiss had been so passionate at the time, everything else had fled from her mind and all that mattered was being in his arms. The image was firmly imprinted like a photograph in her mind’s eye and she hugged it to herself during the flight. To her surprise and delight he had offered to fly over to join her if needed, but Charlotte knew it was better if she handled her mother alone.

After arriving in Gatwick she headed to her home in Bloomsbury, keen to catch up with the housekeeper, Mrs Thomas, and to collect some clothes. She had phoned ahead to explain why she would be in London and Mrs Thomas proved to be a brick, fussing over Charlotte and insisting she take a long, soothing bath while lunch was prepared. Happy to agree she felt renewed by the time she was dressed and downstairs again.

Mrs Thomas had set out a mixed salad and plate of crusty bread in the breakfast room and brought in a fresh pot of tea.

‘Lady Townsend arrived on Sunday, without any warning as usual, Madam, not mentioning why she was in London. I did think she looked a bit peaky and made sure she had a good breakfast before she left, although she only picked at it. Your mother did ask when you were expected home and I said I didn’t know.’

Charlotte sighed. ‘Thank you for looking after her, Mrs Thomas. I know Mother still thinks of this house as her own London residence, which of course it was when Daddy was alive. I don’t think she’s likely to change now. This looks lovely, by the way. While I’m eating I’d be grateful if you’d pack the clothes I’ve left out on my bed as I plan to drive up after lunch.’

‘Certainly, Madam. Do you know when you might be returning?’

Charlotte shook her head. ‘It depends on Mother. I’ll ring you.’

Mrs Thomas left and Charlotte ate her lunch, enjoying the stillness of the sunny room which had always been her favourite. Designed to catch the morning sun, it was more intimate than the formal dining room on the next floor, now rarely used. Sitting at the round mahogany table she could see out to the garden, the autumn sunshine creating shades of light and dark. A man came in regularly to keep it in shape and she noted, with approval, how neat the lawn and shrubs were. The garden was generous for London but small by comparison with the family’s country home and Lady Townsend had insisted it be maintained to her own high standards, taking a particular interest in the rose bushes, always her favourites. Charlotte guessed her mother would have been on a tour of inspection while here, passing on to Mrs Thomas any instructions for the gardener. It was bittersweet to think her mother might not be laying claim to the house for much longer. With this thought she finished eating and checked on Mrs Thomas.

Her case was packed as neatly and efficiently as ever and Mrs Thomas had called the garage to bring the car around. In this part of town, the houses did not have their own garages and Charlotte’s car was kept in commercial garaging when she was away. An arrangement set up by her father. Once the boot of the Jaguar was loaded she headed out of London to pick up the M3 to Frome, feeling anything but keen to arrive.

‘Charlotte! What on earth are you doing here?’

Her mother’s tone was not encouraging. Charlotte had parked at the front of the house and been welcomed by the butler, Phillips, with a smile and raised eyebrows. After unloading her case he walked ahead to the sitting room to announce her arrival to her ladyship.

‘I came to see you, Mother. What else?’ Charlotte replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Her mother responded with a glare fierce enough to stop most people in their tracks.

‘There was no need to come haring down, as I said quite plainly yesterday. But as you are here, I expect you would like some tea. If you could bring us some, please, Phillips.’

‘Very good, Madam.’

Once the butler had left, softly closing the old oak door behind him, the two women faced each other.

‘I know the truth, Mother. I phoned Dr Rowlands and he explained about the cancer and…and it’s not good news. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Charlotte sat opposite her mother, noting the dark circles under her eyes and a pinched look that wasn’t there last time they met. And she had most certainly lost weight. Normally a generous size sixteen, she looked more like a size twelve. At her words, her mother’s face seemed to collapse; changing from the initial angry, defiant glare to the sagging softness of defeat.

‘He had no right to tell you!’ For a moment there was a spark of anger before she continued, more quietly, ‘It was a shock, as you can imagine. I was convinced as was apparently Dr Rowlands, it was nothing serious and when he told me…I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. The last thing I needed after leaving the clinic was to explain everything to you. I neither want nor need your pity, Charlotte,’ she said, her mouth tight.

Charlotte knew she should offer a hug, but the words stopped her. She sensed the brick wall her mother had built around herself was now further fortified and was at a loss as to how to breach it. It had been so different when her father was taken ill. Not one to make a fuss, nevertheless, he had explained the seriousness of his illness and his days might be numbered and he intended to make the most of the time left. They had gone on trips, seen plays and films and generally had a great time full of laughter till the end. Annette had not always joined them and it seemed to Charlotte she was burying her head in the sand. As she appeared to be doing now.

‘Mother, I–’ before she could continue, Phillips knocked on the door and entered with a tray bearing the accoutrements for tea.

‘Leave it on the table, Phillips, my daughter will do the honours.’

The butler bowed and left.

Charlotte poured tea for them both and offered her mother the plate of dainty sandwiches, which she refused, saying she wasn’t hungry. Helping herself to a couple, she sat down again.

‘You started to say something?’ her mother said, her face having regained a shuttered look.

‘I was only going to ask if you would consider spending a week or so at the natural health centre in Guernsey. They offer fantastic treatments and might be able to offer an alternative therapy for – your illness.’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to say cancer.

Annette pursed her lips. ‘I can’t see any reason for me to do anything other than take the medication Dr Rowlands has prescribed. Surely if drugs are not sufficient to prolong my life then nothing else will help?’

‘It might and you could continue with the chemo as well. I’ve spoken to Paul, the manager at La Folie, who’s experienced in Eastern medicine which might be worth considering. Also, I know a medical doctor who specialises in natural approaches and she is willing to talk to you. As Gillian lives in Richmond it would be easy to meet up. She’s a close friend of the owner of the health centre in Guernsey.’ Charlotte held her breath. Would her mother be prepared to try unconventional treatment?

Her mother’s face remained closed but she noticed a slight twitch under the left eye. She must be so frightened. Her heart went out to her.

‘Harumph. I’ll think about it. I don’t see any point in prolonging the inevitable and if it’s my time to go, then so be it,’ she said, bleakly.

Charlotte was relieved. ‘Thank you. It might be possible to…to gain you more time, Mother, as well as make you more comfortable,’ she said, reaching over to touch Annette’s arm. Her mother recoiled as if burnt and Charlotte drew back, biting her lips. The woman was impossible!

‘If it’s all right with you, Mother, I thought I’d stay a night or two.’

Her mother simply nodded and Charlotte stood up and made towards the door. As she opened it, she turned around and saw tears trickle down her mother’s averted face. She left quickly before Annette became aware. Once in the hall Charlotte gripped her hands into fists, tension making its way across her shoulders and down into her arms. What could she do? Her mother pushed her away even now and she could hardly force her to accept help. Any normal mother would be glad of a daughter’s concern but not her mother. Lady Annette Townsend was a law unto herself and Charlotte was strongly tempted to leave – now. But it would put her in the wrong and she couldn’t do it. She owed it to her father to at least try to help. As she stood in the vast panelled hall, surrounded by his lovingly collected paintings, Charlotte ached to be in his arms again. ‘Oh, Daddy, what shall I do?’ she whispered, looking around as if he might suddenly appear. She jumped as a door opened, but it was only Phillips.

‘I’ve taken the case up to your room, Miss Charlotte, and cook has been advised there will be two for dinner. Lady Townsend eats in the breakfast room at seven these days. Is there anything else you need?’

‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’

He gave a slight bow and she ran up the ornately carved staircase, keen to reach her room and desperate for someone to talk to. She remembered Andy had offered to come over with her so perhaps he’d make a good listener.