She was stalling, she knew. Her hand lighting on the objects on the top shelf over her desk: a bird carved from oak given to her by Robert (why did she still keep it?), a photo of her as a baby in her mother’s arms, a small crystal vase where she kept posies gathered on her walks, a magnifying glass with a turquoise beaded handle given to her by her father. Each a talisman that offered some sort of protection: the bird to remind her of the importance of freedom, the photo the complexity of love, the vase confirmation that beauty must be present in her life, and the magnifying glass to tell her that things were not as they appeared.
Yes, she was stalling.
Well, not stalling. Thinking. She pulled her mirror out from the cupboard and began pinning her hair up. There were things going on around her, and she needed clarity on the letter from her brother. And she had not seen Miriam in four days, not since their day in Guildford, the day of the demonstration sidetracked by Miriam’s condition. The condition of her pregnancy, and the condition of her mind, that of distress.
Audrey checked the clock. Twelve forty-five. Frank would be expecting her in fifteen minutes, and she was hardly ready. She would have liked to cancel the lunch date; she knew that’s what they wanted not because they didn’t want her there, just that they wanted to be alone. Propriety. That was what she was bringing to this lunch engagement.
It was to be a celebration, too, of course. Frank was leaving for Maidenhead tomorrow to train for the Air Transport Auxiliary, something that would give him an official role should war break out. He was happy these days, more at ease with himself, his shoulders back, his tone less hesitant. She recognized the signs. Fresh love. She could not decide how worried to be.
Up until a few months ago she and Frank had each ring-fenced their contentment. Now they were becoming heedless in a world that was changing day by day, taking risks they’d not considered. Was this how it was to be from now on?
The fact was that both she and Frank had carved out lives defined by isolation. She understood that they thought this was enough to protect them, like others in the country who thought isolation was a protection from war. Though it was not war they hid from.
She could live her unorthodox life, had sought it, but Frank’s life had a different complexity that worried Audrey. She had known for some time that he favoured men, that the attentions of all those young women fluttering around at family parties were wasted on him. He deserved to have Peter over for lunch. He deserved love.
Oh, the time, the time. She must hurry.
She pulled the stopper from her perfume bottle and dabbed it behind her ears, then ran a quick hand over her dress, a tug at her sleeves, an adjustment of her collar before snatching her coat from the hook. She stepped outside and paused to feel the warm air on her face. She stood for a few moments in this manner, on her stoop, where the breeze was a tonic. How she longed to turn and go back into the caravan. She would get out of the dress, put on her bathing costume, slip into the river.
Her body taut as a braided rope these days.
Worry seemed to be an occupation; concern for Frank, concern for Miriam, how could she help her without influencing her, without guiding her to the conclusion she suspected Miriam was after.
Audrey walked down the steps slowly, carefully, placing each footstep as if it were ice she was treading on, and at the bottom she stopped again, her hands bunching into fists. The letter from her brother. Received the day before, quickly read and tucked away in the drawer. She would need to go to London, speak to him. He’d heard that Lord Derwent had opened his family home in Osterley Park three days a week at sixpence for admission to the grounds and another shilling to see the house; her brother was forming similar plans for Wentworth House.
A movement in the grass caught her eye, and she looked over to see a hedgehog waddle into the reeds near the river. She took a few steps closer, careful not to frighten it but eager for a closer look. She traced the quivering grass as the hedgehog made its way toward the water. Audrey took another step.
Snap.
A twig.
She bent down, peering through the grass, and saw that the hedgehog, startled, had curled into a spiky ball.
“I know how you feel,” Audrey whispered. “But I am no danger to you. I am just curious. But I will go now so as not to disturb you.” She was walking backward, stealthily creeping away from the animal that was still as a rock. “I should like to have your defences,” she said, still whispering. “Especially when facing my brother.” Muttering as she walked to the river, she dipped her fingers in the water then coiled her hands around her neck, the chill rushing through her body. “How can I tell my dear Frank that his father wants to make a zoo of his home?” She was still talking out loud, no longer whispering as she strode up the hill toward the house. “I could tell my brother about Frank’s proclivities, that they might not be good for business. Though, perhaps he’d consider this an added bonus to the spectacle. ‘Visit the home of a real homosexual.’” Her voice rose at this, her breath heavy as she hiked up the hill, her arms pumping as she neared the top.
She sat down on the bench that served as a resting spot below the house. Two chestnut horses grazed near the fence, and she spotted the gardener cutting back hazel bushes around the paddock gate. She heard the thrumming of an engine and looked up, her tendency these days, the blank sky making her uneasy until she realized that it was most likely a motor car she was hearing and not an airplane. Not a warplane.
She would have to stop reading the newspapers. The south coast would be an easy target. She began imagining a pilot, a German pilot, one who had crossed the channel and was hunkering down across Kent, then Sussex. What would he be looking for? A military base? A town where destruction would be noticed? A woman on a bench would not be on his radar, obscured by the fields, his attention drawn to the house, the nearby village. Still, in the open, perched on the bench of this hill, she felt herself an easy target, because one thing she knew with certainty was the randomness of war.
Audrey pulled herself up tall on the bench, her back straight, her chest thrust out as she drew three deep breaths. She needed to focus on Frank today, his happiness, his future.
This should not be too much to ask.