JANNA STANDS WATCHING the thick golden mist drifting on the invisible surface of the sea, moving inland, obscuring the further headlands and the cliffs. The crying of the sea birds is muffled, indistinct. Yesterday there was a seal pup on the stony beach, far down beneath the steep cliff near Trevone, and she fears that the mother has gone and that the helpless pup will not survive. She sees in her mind’s eye the cruel, stabbing beaks of crow and gull, and shivers. There is no point in attempting to see whether the pup is still there. The soft mist is rolling in now, lapping at the cliff’s edge, drifting across the fields and enveloping her in its chill clamminess. She turns away and begins to walk back. No picnic today, no sitting in the sunshine; yet she is not depressed as she so often is when the clouds cover the sun. She sees someone on the path but is past before she recognizes him as the man who is researching a book. Through the grapevine she’s heard that the locals believe he’s behind the man who wants the convent for a hotel and that he isn’t writing a book at all. It doesn’t matter any more: Chi-Meur is safe.
She walks quickly with her hands in her pockets, trying to come to grips with an odd experience she had in the chapel before Compline last night. This is the time for Silent Prayer, the chapel lit only by candles, and Sister Emily was in her stall in her usual attitude of contemplation. A priest, at Chi-Meur on a few days’ retreat, sat on a chair near the altar gazing up at the big carved crucifix. Another guest kneeled in the visitors’ pew, head in hands. Janna noted them before slipping into her own corner. Closing her eyes, breathing deeply, she sat simply absorbing the silence, enfolded in the atmosphere of peace. And then, quite suddenly, she had been utterly ravished by a sense of joy. Her heart seemed to flame and burn with it and for a while – nearly ten minutes, she discovered afterwards – she was totally unaware of anything but this overpowering exaltation.
When she opened her eyes, shocked into consciousness by the clicking on of the chapel lights by Mother Magda for Compline, she was dazed, bewildered. She could feel that her mouth was smiling of its own accord and she was still filled with a fading awareness of the joy. Sister Ruth, coming in and seeing her, raised her eyebrows hopefully and Janna gave a little nod and hurried out to keep vigil over Sister Nichola until Compline was over. This is the arrangement just for now.
This morning, as she walks swiftly in the ever-thickening mist, Janna remembers the joy and her heart beats a little quicker; it is as if she is in love. She shakes her head, mocking herself, but still pondering on what has happened.
‘What’s all this praying about then?’ she once asked Sister Emily.
‘Prayer unites the soul with God,’ she answered. ‘That’s what Mother Julian tells us.’
Janna didn’t know this Mother Julian but she remembered what Sister Emily said, and now she broods on it. She does indeed feel as if she’s been united with something or someone; bound in delight and sharing and love. When Mother Magda switched on the chapel lights she’d felt as if she were dropping from space – as if she’d briefly transcended the earth’s gravity – and she really understood the phrase ‘coming back to earth with a bump’. Maybe she’ll speak to Clem about it, or Father Pascal.
She wonders how Sister Ruth is managing at night to keep an eye on Sister Nichola. The elderly nun has forged a link between them, and Sister Ruth is appearing more often in the kitchen with her and leaving her in Janna’s care.
It is odd, Janna thinks, how much she enjoys the almost silent companionship of Sister Nichola. Sometimes she might speak but her words are strange to Janna, and she guesses that they are texts or quotations. She thinks about them afterwards and tries to read some meaning into them. She makes her coffee or a cup of tea, which is drunk with great relish. In this way she is like Dossie and Sister Emily: everything is a celebration.
And now it seems that at some deep level she’s taken the decision about staying at Chi-Meur and had more or less committed herself with those words to Sister Ruth, of all people. Afterwards she panicked: the old terrors returned. Then, last night in the chapel, she’d known that extraordinary sense of peace and belonging.
The mist is swirling about her now and she keeps close to the thorn hedge that borders the cliff-top fields. How easy it would be to miss her step; to plunge over the edge of the cliff onto the rocks below. It is with relief that she turns onto the path that leads across the field to Chi-Meur.
* * *
It’s crazy to come up here in this weather, though the sun was shining when he set out. Trouble is, he’s getting paranoid: seeing things that aren’t there; hearing noises. Still, it’s nearly over for him; another twenty-four hours and he’ll be out of it. He and Phil will have done their stuff and it’ll be up to the legal team. Just one more call, out here where there’s nobody about, and he’ll be packing his bag. He passes the good-looking bird from the convent and nods a greeting. The mist is creeping in now but he’ll be quick. He gets out his mobile, scrolls down, presses the button.
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘just want you to know that the nuns know about that old will … Yeah, according to the gossip, I gather they’ve been told it’s OK because they’ll still be within the messuage. Something like that. The wording is very important, apparently, but they’ve obviously got someone who knows his onions … No, that’s all I know. It’s all Chinese whispers round here, but that’s the gist … Look, I’m outa here first thing tomorrow. Then it’s up to you and your solicitor friend. Just hope he’s got the balls for it, that’s all … I’ve told you what it’s like round here. You’ll have a fight on your hands with the locals if you win, but that’s your problem … Yeah, OK. I’ll call in later on.’
The mist drifts over the cliff-top and he turns to go back, but suddenly the mist thickens, rolling in thick moisture-heavy clouds so that he can no longer see clearly. He can hear feet on the path below him; footsteps that grow faster, break into a run. They are purposeful, heavy, and strange cries accompany them, echoing and eerie. It sounds like a group of savages hunting a wild animal and suddenly he is filled with an atavistic terror. They are all around him now, corralling him, guiding him, and instinctively he turns and runs, away from the village, into the thickening mist towards Trevone.
‘I know that I should have told you at once,’ Sister Ruth is saying. ‘It was my pride that held me back. I thought that I’d failed in my duty as carer. I can see now that this was wrong and that Sister Nichola’s safety is far more important than my pride.’
She looks round at the shocked faces: Father Pascal, Mother Magda, Sister Emily. Sister Nichola is watching her too but with great affection and a warm smile. Sister Ruth takes courage from the smile.
‘I simply can’t manage to watch all night,’ she says rather desperately. ‘So I have to ask for your help.’
Mother Magda is the first to speak. ‘But it was never part of your duties to have to do so,’ she cries. ‘How frightening for you it must have been. None of us would ever have imagined that Sister would go out at night. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘How lucky that Janna saw her,’ says Father Pascal.
‘Very lucky.’ Sister Ruth raises her chin almost defiantly and looks at them all in turn. ‘She brought her back to me, as I told you, and between us we’ve been more watchful. But the nights are too much for me.’
‘It will be easier in the Coach House,’ Sister Emily says thoughtfully. ‘Or … will it?’
‘Janna has suggested that Sister Nichola occupies a room between hers and mine.’ She ignores the surprised reaction, the uplifted brows. ‘And that at night we put a gate across the top of the stairs to prevent accidents.’
‘That sounds a splendid idea,’ Mother Magda says warmly. ‘So, does this mean that Janna has decided to stay with us? She hasn’t mentioned it to me.’
She glances around enquiringly but Father Pascal and Sister Emily remain silent, with little shakes of their heads, merely looking surprised and pleased. Sister Ruth’s cheeks are bright with colour.
‘We simply talked of it in passing,’ she says quickly, ‘when we were trying to think of a solution. I wouldn’t want to preempt Janna’s final decision. The idea of the gate was hers, not mine. Clem used one for Jakey.’ Her blush deepens. ‘I have no wish to denigrate Sister Nichola by implying that …’ She hesitates, flustered. ‘I know that she is not a child but …’
‘But it sounds a very practical idea.’ Father Pascal helps her out of her confusion. ‘We need to make her feel safe and I agree that locking doors is not an option if we can avoid it. And I think you need feel no shame for something that was quite beyond your remit.’
‘Indeed not,’ agrees Mother Magda. ‘This rests with all of us. And I quite see what you mean about removing the key. If there were to be an emergency it could be disastrous. Whatever can we do?’
‘Move into the Coach House straightaway,’ suggests Father Pascal. ‘There’s nothing to prevent you now that the kitchen is done and the new door into the chapel is in place. The rest of the work is simply making the orchard secure for you and laying a proper walkway around the house so that you can get into it easily from the back. If you are happy to move in then your quarters here can be made ready for guests.’
They all exchange glances. Sister Ruth, it is clear, is only too ready now to make the move and share the load of her responsibility; Sister Emily has her usual positive enthusiasm for a new project. Even Mother Magda, less confident and more anxious, recognizes that the moment has come. Yet between the three of them passes a tremor of regret, of sadness, and of a backward glance to other times. Only Sister Nichola remains impassive, her lips curved in a half-smile, as she waits placidly.
Father Pascal watches them: this is not the time for platitudes and reassurances. They are drawn together, these three survivors, in a shared moment that belongs only to themselves. It is Mother Magda who makes the first move.
‘This has happened in so many other communities,’ she says quietly, ‘but for us it is much more than moving to another house. We are beginning a whole new project of our own in which we are deeply involved. We have already supplied the foundation stones and now we must build on them with Christ as our cornerstone. This is the very first step. We should make it wholeheartedly.’
She reaches out and takes Sister Emily’s hand, eagerly stretched to her, and Sister Ruth’s, who responds with a slight embarrassment. Just for a moment they remain, united, and then she releases them and turns back to Father Pascal.
‘We are ready,’ she says.
‘I’m sure Clem will be at your disposal,’ he says, ‘and it needn’t be done all in a moment. It will take time to decide what you need in your own library, for instance, and the kitchen.’
‘And Janna?’ asks Sister Emily. ‘Will Janna be prepared to move too?’
‘She certainly shouldn’t be in that caravan for another winter,’ Father Pascal answers firmly. ‘But whether she is ready fully to commit …’ He shrugs and looks at Sister Ruth. ‘Shall you speak to her? She has implied to you that she will stay. Could you, d’you think, ask her what she intends?’
Sister Ruth looks uncomfortable. ‘She did speak of staying, but she was anxious about it. And about retaining some kind of privacy but, more importantly, not disturbing us. I tried to reassure her but I was probably clumsy. Janna and I have not always been … easy together. I have to tell you that she very kindly agreed to keep Sister Nichola’s visits to the Lodge to herself until I was ready to speak to you all. Nevertheless, I think Sister Emily would have a more open and truthful response from her.’
There is a little silence during which Father Pascal carefully refrains from meeting Sister Emily’s eye. He almost believes that he can hear the beat of angel’s wings, newly released from captivity.
‘Would you be prepared,’ Mother Magda is asking Sister Emily, ‘to approach her for us? It’s very sensitive, we all know that, but it seems that perhaps Janna has decided to throw in her lot with us and you have always had a special relationship with her.’
‘Of course I will speak to her.’ Sister Emily’s natural ebullience is slightly subdued. She gives Sister Ruth a little smiling nod of approval. ‘Nevertheless, you must have won her confidence since she was so ready to say even that much to you.’
‘Shall we say a prayer, then,’ suggests Father Pascal, ‘asking for the courage and wisdom for these new undertakings? Let us be silent for a moment.’
When Sister Emily arrives at the caravan, however, in the quiet hour after lunch, she receives a shock. Janna is sitting at her little table and in her hands is her old tote bag, which she is turning reflectively; shaking it out and smoothing it. She gets up quickly at Sister Emily’s knock, hurrying to let her in. The mist has become a heavy rain and it drums on the caravan roof and drips in rivulets down the windowpanes.
‘Come in,’ she says, pulling Sister Emily inside. ‘Quick. You’ll be soaked. Whatever are you doing wandering round in the rain?’
‘I’m not wandering,’ she protests. ‘I’m paying you a visit. Are you planning a holiday?’
Janna smiles and shakes her head. She folds the tote bag and puts it on the floor. ‘Just thinking about things,’ she says. ‘I haven’t got much to put in it now. All my treasures are gone.’
Sister Emily sits down at the table. ‘I hope not all,’ she says. ‘Sister Ruth has been telling us an extraordinary story about Sister Nichola going out at night and you finding her and bringing her back. She was very grateful that you haven’t spoken of it until she was ready to tell us.’
Janna shrugs. ‘It was a shock to both of us. And I knew that she’d feel she’d failed in her duty and needed time to tell you in her own way. It was very scary.’
‘She says she’s been very anxious ever since and, of course, so are we all now. We have decided that it’s time we moved into the Coach House so as to be able to keep a better watch on Sister Nichola. After all, we were going to do it quite soon anyway.’
Janna fills the kettle and turns on the gas. ‘Well, that sounds sensible,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t see how Sister Ruth was managing at night. She was really frightened. So was I. But there isn’t much I could do about it over here.’
‘She said,’ says Sister Emily carefully, ‘that she’d gained the impression that you might have made up your mind to stay with us. It would be helpful if we knew whether you’ve made the decision.’
Janna leans against the bulkhead, staring at the kettle. ‘It’s been odd,’ she says reflectively, ‘the last week or two. First, that night when Sister Nichola went walkabout and then when Sister Ruth came here to the caravan the next morning to talk things over. I kind of saw her differently. We talked. And I saw, just a bit, that it might work after all. And then, well, just other things have made me feel that I sort of belong here.’
Sister Emily watches her, almost too frightened to speak lest her great joy might put pressure on Janna. ‘You know that we all think so too,’ she says at last. ‘I, for one, firmly believe that you were guided here for a reason. Perhaps many reasons.’
The kettle boils and Janna makes tea – raspberry and blackcurrant – and spoons in honey. She puts the mugs down on the table and sits opposite Sister Emily. The rain beats down harder, tattooing on the roof, and the wind gusts through the orchard and shakes the caravan’s fragile sides.
‘Shall you come with us tomorrow, then? Into the Coach House? We shall make an early start. Perhaps do some packing this evening but, like you, we haven’t too many treasures to take with us. It will be hard for us to leave Chi-Meur, after all the years we’ve been there in the house, even though we’re only moving across the courtyard. We shall be glad to have you with us on our new adventure, Janna. You have become very dear to us.’
Janna looks at her, biting her lips, tears in her eyes. ‘’Course I’ll come,’ she says. ‘’Course I will. I really finally decided this morning out on the cliff.’
Sister Emily breathes a deep, grateful sigh. Having been at Silent Prayer the night before she has a very good idea why, finally, Janna has made her decision; she saw her exaltation and knows that some great gift has been vouchsafed her. Thankfully she takes up her mug and raises it to Janna in a toast to their future.
Janna smiles back at her and lifts her own mug. ‘Good job I got the old tote bag out then,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’d better start packing.’
‘Tommy. It’s me, Phil … No, I know. Listen. Really bad news. Jim’s dead … Listen, just listen. He drowned. Fell off the cliff, well, sort of. Same thing, anyway … That’s just it. Thick fog, lost his way. That’s the dit but I’m not sure. Did he tell you how it was down there? … Yeah, he had a really bad vibe about the place, poor old Jim. Look, the thing is, the police were crawling around and I just wondered if they’ve found his mobile and got the SIM card. See what I’m saying? … Quite. That’s why I’ve got a new phone and you didn’t recognize the number. I don’t want the Old Bill asking me what my connection is with Jim Caine, and neither do you … No, I’m right out of it. I just hope there wasn’t anything on his laptop. We did everything by mobile. Thank God, we did Pay as You Go! You were right about that … Yeah, we’ll be in touch when you’ve changed your phone. Make a note of this number. See you.’
Mummy dies quite suddenly, quite quietly; it is pleurisy that defeats her at the last and quenches the long struggle for life. Rupert comes up for the funeral, all Kitty’s friends surround her, but now she is alone again in the flat with Mummy’s ashes in a container that looks like a sweet jar.
‘Honestly,’ she says to Rupert, ‘you’d think they could do better than that,’ and he hugs her sympathetically and comforts her but he has to go away again, back to Cornwall.
Kitty stands at the sitting-room window staring out at the rain. It’s odd to be here alone, without Mummy somewhere in the background. The structure of her day has gone and she feels odd and lonely and sad.
‘Of course you do, lovey,’ Sally says. ‘It’s only to be expected. You should think of the future now. But for goodness’ sake don’t give in and go back to Cornwall. Stand firm, for once in your life.’
Kitty turns away from the window. She is beginning to form a plan, a plan that Sally suggested once before: a visit to the cottage. It might be fun to go down to see how it has come on; to take Rupert by surprise. He’s been so sweet since poor Mummy died that she’s almost forgotten that she was getting suspicious about his not getting home. He told her that he’d been thinking it best to let out the cottage after all and he’s been really working at it to get it absolutely right. She really wants to believe him. In her state of sadness and grieving for Mummy she’s coming to the decision that they need to be together, but not in Cornwall. She’s definitely made up her mind about that. She can understand if he doesn’t want to stay in the flat – he’s always found it claustrophobic, and Rupert is a man who needs to feel free – but there are some very nice properties around here or just across the Suspension Bridge in Leigh Woods, and she’s still holding on to her idea about buying and renovating houses for student lets. He needs a project, she can see that: he hates to be idle and confined. That’s why he was always so sweet with Mummy.
‘Poor old Mummy,’ he said once. ‘If I had to be so restricted I’d top myself.’
Tears overwhelm her at the thought of poor Mummy. She always loved Rupert and he made her laugh with his terrible teasing. Weeping bitterly now, Kitty texts him: Hope ur ok. Looking fwd 2 w/e xx. She puts the phone on the table and dries her eyes, wondering where he is.
Rupert is driving through the narrow lanes, cursing the rain, one eye on his watch. It is just his luck that the weather should change so drastically when he’s arranged for someone to come and see the cottage with a view to taking it on a long let. Heading down the hill, windscreen wipers slicing the rain away, he tells himself that it is foolish to worry about the weather; this couple have been coming to Cornwall on holiday for many years and they know the score where the weather is concerned. Even so, it is a stroke of luck that they should have phoned to ask for his advice about renting.
‘I suppose,’ the wife asked jokingly, ‘that it would be too much to expect that one of your lovely holiday cottages might be available but we thought you might know of something.’
He explained the location of the cottage at the edge of the moor, and they were rather excited at the prospect, so the meeting was arranged, and now it is pouring with rain and he’s been held up and is going to be late if he doesn’t step on it a bit. He hears the mobile beep in the glove compartment but decides to ignore it for the moment. He’ll check when he gets to the cottage. After all, if Kitty has a serious problem she’ll ring rather than text.
And there is another source of anxiety. Ever since he had to chuck Pa’s party, he’s been trying to make it up to Dossie and she’s going to be upset when she knows that he’s decided to let the cottage after all and they’ll have nowhere at hand to be together. At the same time he knows that if he stays at the cottage then he’ll have to commit in some way to Dossie. This is a perfect let-out for him. He’ll spin some story about another property not too far away that’s too good to miss … something like that. The trouble is he’s been confused about his feelings for both women, wanting to have his cake and eat it.
And, as for Kitty, well, since Mummy died they’ve drawn closer again. Poor old Kitty is really devastated and he hasn’t the heart to be anything but loving towards her. During the weekend things were better and set them back into a happier relationship again. Not that they got quite so far as discussing the future but much of the tension was gone. Even so, sooner or later, some decisions are going to have to be made. Whistling under his breath he drives down the hill, making a plan. He’ll go to Bristol at the weekend and see if he can’t persuade Kitty into some new ideas for the future.
He glances at his watch again: he’ll just about make it. He swings the car into the low, long, lean-to and scrambles out. As he lets himself into the cottage he glances around, checking that the room is tidy. He hears a car engine approaching, slowing to a halt, and he hurries out to meet his prospective tenants.
‘So what’s happened to this Rupert fellow, then?’ asks Pa.
Mo, perched on a chair with Wolfie on her lap, vigorously drying him with a towel, shakes her head.
‘I have no idea,’ she says impatiently. ‘I’ve told you a dozen times that I simply don’t understand what’s happening. When I mentioned him to Dossie she nearly bit my head off.’
John the Baptist stands, his own towel draped over his back, waiting for Pa, who is kicking off his boots. His wet paws make little puddles on the slate floor and he gives a half-hearted shake, which is hampered by the towel. That youthful passion he had for water is rapidly diminishing and his ears droop disconsolately as he waits for his turn for a rubbing. Then he will be allowed into the kitchen, as close to the Aga as he can get, with a consolatory biscuit for staying out of the puddles.
Mo puts Wolfie on the floor, hangs the towel to dry and pulls off her hat.
‘Come on, Jonno,’ she says. ‘Let’s get you dry.’
‘Leave him,’ says Pa. ‘I’ll do him. God, I hate rain.’ He rubs Jonno’s undercarriage briskly. ‘There was simply no redeeming feature about that walk. The weather was utterly vile. And if it weren’t for you,’ he adds to John the Baptist, ‘I wouldn’t have had to be out there in it this morning.’
‘And you wouldn’t be as fit as you are now,’ retorts Mo sharply, opening the door into the kitchen.
Pa breathes in heavily and self-pityingly, and Jonno flattens his ears in sympathy though his attention is focused on the kitchen now, and the sound of the biscuit container being opened. Pa gives him a pat, hangs up the towel and Jonno hurries eagerly into the warm room where Mo has put his biscuit on his rug by the Aga. Wolfie sits in his basket, crunching appreciatively, with one covetous eye on Jonno’s biscuit.
‘The trouble is,’ Pa says, following him in and closing the door, ‘we shall never know unless we ask. About Dossie, I mean.’
‘I did ask,’ says Mo. ‘I said, “Oh, what a pity Rupert couldn’t make it. Why don’t you invite him over for lunch? Or tea. Or whatever.” And Dossie suddenly went all prickly and muttered something or other, and that was that.’
‘Well, I just don’t like all this secrecy and silence,’ he grumbles. ‘It makes for a tricky atmosphere just when we’re getting the business up and running again.’
‘You know what I think about it.’ Mo starts to root about in the fridge. ‘I’ve said all along that my instincts tell me that he’s a married man. When Dossie said he was coming to the party I thought that perhaps things were sorted out and he was free. Now I’m doubtful again. Shall we have some soup? Or cheese on toast?’
Pa watches her glumly. He is out of sorts: grumpy and anxious and irritated. He feels that they should all be happy now that the B and B-ing is starting up again and bookings are coming in for next season. And instead there is all this anxiety about Dossie and this tiresome fellow. Poor old Dossie. He wants her to be happy – of course he does – but he knows that this is all wrong and he simply longs to tell her so; to have it out with her. Mo is looking at him, frowning, waiting for his decision about lunch.
‘Let’s go to the pub,’ he says. ‘Why not? It’ll take our minds off things and the dogs will be quite happy for an hour or two. Come on, Mo.’
She smiles in spite of her own irritation and anxiety. ‘Why not? Wait while I get my bag. Have you got the car keys?’
They go out together, shutting the kitchen door. John the Baptist lies down, head still raised, ears cocked. He listens to the sound of Mo coming back downstairs and the car engine starting up while Wolfie nips out of his basket and does a quick hoover round for crumbs, and then settles down close beside him. The front door closes, a car door slams, and the sound of the engine fades away down the lane. At last he puts his head down on his paws and sleeps.
Janna’s rooms do not yet reflect the full impact of her personality but there are promising signs: pots of pink and purple cyclamen are ranged in brightly patterned saucers on the breakfast bar and a large piece of soft, plum-coloured velvet is thrown casually over the comfortable old chair beside the little wood-burner. The silver vase that Clem and Jakey gave her stands on a drop-leaf table folded back against the wall. She’s put a spray of berries in the vase and its reflection gleams in the sheen of the smooth rosewood.
‘That’s a very pretty table,’ Dossie says appreciatively. ‘Was that here already?’
Janna shakes her head mischievously. ‘I nicked it from over in the house,’ she admits. ‘Mother Magda said to take what I needed and I wanted a table we could all sit round. You know, like when we have our picnics. There was just a little round table and the breakfast bar, so I went and had a forage. I couldn’t have anything too big in here and this is just perfect ’cos I can drop the leaves down when I’m on my own. It is pretty, isn’t it? Clem helped me bring it over. We took the round table back to replace it. Chairs are a problem, though. There are these two,’ she indicates the two cane-seated chairs at either end of the table, ‘and there’s another up in my bedroom I can bring down, but if there were lots of us I’d be a bit stuffed.’
‘We’ll find some folding ones,’ Dossie says, ‘and keep them somewhere handy. Don’t worry, we’ll manage somehow. So how are you feeling now? About moving and being here.’
‘Yeah, OK.’ Janna stares round her new quarters. Once the decision has been taken and the move got under way she’s begun to enjoy herself; she is surprised that she’s already feeling at home. ‘There wasn’t much to move, and Clem’s been great. And Jakey approves of it too. He wasn’t sure he was going to like it as much as the caravan but he thinks ’tis fun, perching up at the breakfast bar, and he loves the spiral staircase.’
‘And you don’t feel too hemmed in after all?’
‘Not as much as I thought. I think ’tis because these two rooms are in this little wing on the end and I can look right out. Especially from upstairs. The view’s amazing. Go up and have a look.’
While Dossie makes her way up the winding wrought-iron staircase Janna slips behind the breakfast bar and switches on the kettle. It is good to have Dossie here; each visitor makes it feel more like home. Sister Emily has already popped in for a coffee break and so has Father Pascal. Clem and Jakey have come for tea so that Jakey can show Stripey Bunny the funny staircase and let him sit on one of the tall stools with his stripey arms propped up on the little counter.
‘It’s like being in a café,’ he said delightedly, ‘and you’re our waitless, Janna. We’d like two cups of tea, please, and some cakes.’
She pretended to be a waitress and served him and Stripey Bunny, and then gave them a bill on the back of an old receipt. Clem paid and she put the money in a little pottery bowl to give to the Air Ambulance.
Dossie reappears, coming down carefully. ‘What a view!’ she exclaims. ‘You can see right across the cliffs. It’s utter heaven, Janna.’ She hitches herself up onto one of the stools. ‘But wasn’t it awful about that man falling down the blowhole in the mist and you having to say that you’d seen him up on the cliff path only just before?’
Janna pushes the mugs across the counter and comes round to sit beside her. ‘It was awful. The coroner was really nice, though. Accidental death. Lost his way in the fog. He’s been around for months, on and off, researching a book, he said, though Penny never believed it. She said he was all tied up with making the convent into a hotel. Anyway, he must’ve just completely lost his bearings.’ She shudders. ‘Imagine how terrible it must’ve been. Stepping into space and crashing down and down, smashing against the rocks. Tide was coming in too. He didn’t have a chance.’
They sit for a moment in silence, thinking about it.
‘Anyway,’ Janna says, ‘how about you? How’s it working out with you and Rupert?’
Dossie shrugs, nods. ‘OK, actually. He’s had to rent out the cottage which is a bit of a bore, but he’s thinking of buying one not that far away, so it should be OK. But he’s still playing a bit difficult to get. When I talk about his meeting Pa and Mo he hedges a bit. I just wish I had the nerve to ask straight out where he thinks we’re going but I can’t quite summon up the courage. He’s still running it all, if you see what I mean. I don’t feel I can take anything for granted. I still don’t feel I can just drop in on him.’
‘Bit odd, isn’t it?’ agrees Janna. ‘I wonder why he won’t commit? I mean, it’s no great deal, is it? Meeting your parents. You’re not kids any more. Your dad’s not going to ask him his intentions. Perhaps you should take him by surprise at the cottage. I mean, what’s he got to hide? I wonder why he’s so twitchy.’
As Dossie drives home she wonders why, too. It is beginning to affect too many people: Pa and Mo are feeling the strain, she can see that. At the same time it is impossible simply to be truthful with them. She can’t find the right words to describe the relationship and, if she were to try, she can imagine all too clearly their expressions: puzzled, sympathetic, anxious. And then there is Clem. Clem is happier than he’s been since before Madeleine died: loving his training, confident about his future, and Jakey’s, at Chi-Meur. She has no wish to embroil him in explanations about Rupert unless she can be certain that he is going to be a real part of her own future.
As she passes through Crugmeer she feels the familiar sensation of despair at having to face the fact that this might be just another failed attempt at love. She seems fated to pick men who, for one reason or another, just don’t stand up to making good partners. Except for Mike: Mike was the exception. And Mike died.
Swiftly, as if avoiding the familiar descent into introspection, Dossie presses the CD button: Joni Mitchell singing ‘Both Sides, Now’. Dossie smiles bitterly to herself. This CD has seen her right through the relationship, and now the words of the title track seem depressingly apt. It is true, thinks Dossie, that she really doesn’t know love at all: it is love’s illusions that she recalls each and every time. The CD finishes, there is a pause, and the first track begins: ‘You’re My Thrill’. With a tiny stab of pain to her heart the song reminds her of how she reacted when they first met; how she felt each time she saw him.
She won’t give up yet; not yet. As she drives through the narrow lanes towards The Court she begins to make a plan.
Father Pascal passes down the steep cobbled lane between granite, herringbone garden walls and cottages, armour-plated against the weather with grey slates. Hydrangeas – wine-red mopheads and delicate creamy lace-caps – still flower in small sheltered gardens, along with the hardy fuchsias, scarlet and pink. Overhead, the wild warm wind whirls the fine wrought-iron weathercocks dizzily perched on stone chimneys, and flees down narrow alleyways with ginger and golden leaves scurrying before it. Out at sea, framed briefly between two tall gateposts, a white sail slices across the choppy water, sharp and fast as a shark’s fin.
As he walks he ponders on the homily he might give next Sunday: the Feast of Christ the King and one of the most important days in the convent’s calendar. Fragments of the readings and the intercessions are in his mind, along with the memories of the past few weeks, all jostling together. Under his breath he murmurs the antiphon for the psalm: ‘“He will be called the Peacemaker; and his throne will stand for ever.”’
This year the celebration will be especially important, given all the changes and the exciting prospects ahead. How different it was last November. Back then he wondered whether the fragile little community would still be together in twelve months’ time. So many miracles have come to pass that his heart is full of joy, though there is much yet to be accomplished: Clem’s training and ordination, as well as the establishment of the retreat house. How crucial this next year will be for them all, and for the willing team of people who have gathered to support them.
Lord Jesus Christ gather your flock from every corner of the earth …
It is a blessing that Sister Nichola’s nocturnal visit to the Lodge has precipitated the move to the Coach House. What might have been a painful, reluctant, drawn-out transition has become an immediate necessity, and the Sisters have welcomed it as a solution to the problem. Once in, they’ve begun to enjoy the extra space and comfort of their rooms, and Janna and Clem between them have made the move as painless as possible.
Father Pascal silently gives thanks that this November he will be celebrating the Eucharist for Christ the King in Chi-Meur’s chapel with the community on the brink of a whole new life, when they might so easily have been scattered, the Sisters taken in by other houses, Clem and Jakey and Janna set adrift again, whilst Chi-Meur itself waited to be converted into a hotel.
Let us take a possession of the kingdom prepared for us since the beginning of the world.
Father Pascal turns into the narrow passage that climbs up towards the church and the cliffs, still thinking of his friends – and of his homily. To Sister Emily, the move and the opening of the retreat house represents an exciting adventure and she has readily embarked upon it; Mother Magda sees it as a challenge to be overcome and is bracing herself accordingly; as for Sister Ruth, who has spoken so strongly against it, she is simply too relieved to have such a ready-made solution to her worries about Sister Nichola to be anything other than cooperative about the whole project. Sister Nichola, herself, is confused but cheerful, and as for Janna … He is so proud of Janna: she has risen to the occasion, hiding her own fears and doubts so as to support the older women during the move. Using her strength and her humour she has made the event seem like one of her picnics, full of fun and laughter, and now she too is installed with the others and already beginning to settle in. And there is a new confidence about her, which is enabling her to approach the Sisters on equal terms at last.
By speaking the truth in the spirit of love, we must grow up in every way to Christ …
He lets himself into his little cottage and goes up to his study to put down on paper some of these thoughts and prayers that have begun to come together in his head.