“Surely that’s still the case.”
“In mathematics, perhaps. But not in life. The variables are too great. It would be possible to rerun the events of the seventeenth of July last year a hundred times within the same parameters and produce a hundred different results. Many of them would be similar, of course. But none would be identical. Not exactly. Some would be dramatically different. Almost unrecognizable. A lot of times-maybe a majority of times-Mummy wouldn’t die. Wouldn’t even be in danger. Just because of some tiny scarcely noticeable variation. Like what she said to me. Or to you. And what we said in reply.”
“But we can’t rerun those events. Any more than we can-or should-take responsibility for the fatal variation.”
“I know.” She looked round at me and smiled. “That’s why I’m going to stop trying to.”
Rowena stayed behind when Sarah drove me to the station early that evening. Sarah, indeed, encouraged her to on the grounds that she should take her convalescence seriously. She was so emphatic on the point, however, that I suspected another reason was at work: an eagerness to compare notes with me on her sister’s state of mind. And so it turned out. No sooner had we left Clifton than she proposed we stop on the way for a drink. There were plenty of later trains than the one I’d been aiming for, so I was happy to agree.
A hotel bar supplied the privacy Sarah was seeking. She insisted on buying the drinks, as if I merited some reward for coming so far. Perhaps my willing response to her call had struck her as unusually-even oddly-generous. She wasn’t to know how helpless I was to resist any summons emanating from her family. I couldn’t have begun to explain why I should be. But I was. What she might regard as altruism was in reality a compulsion.
“I think seeing you’s done Rowena some good. She seemed much more relaxed this afternoon.”
“I didn’t do very much. Apart from listen.”
“Perhaps not. But she thinks you’re the only one who can understand what she experienced the day Mummy died.”
“I can try to. Though I don’t share her belief that your mother somehow foresaw her death.”
“No. Well, obviously she didn’t.”
“Nevertheless, her parting words to Rowena were… a little strange, weren’t they?”
“Ah. She told you them, did she?” Sarah toyed with her glass, rattling the ice cubes against each other and frowning, as if considering a complex legal question. “I do wish she’d forget what Mummy said and what it might have meant.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m running out of ways to avoid explaining to her that there’s a much more plausible interpretation than her fanciful ideas of precognition.”
Now it was my turn to frown. “Meaning?”
“Oh, come on. Mummy had lost her wedding ring. She’d brought a suitcase full of clothes back from Biarritz, but she didn’t leave it at home. It went with her in the car, on the grounds that she had no time to unpack.”
“I still don’t-”
“She was leaving Daddy. That’s what I think, anyway. It’s probably what she told him in the note he threw away. And it’s probably what she meant to tell Rowena. Until she thought better of it. Thank God.”
I wanted to contradict her. I wanted to deny that the mystery and ambiguity surrounding her mother’s death could be reduced to a simple act of marital desertion. But I was aware before I spoke that my protests would seem inexplicable. Why should I care whether it was true or not? Why should it be any of my business? In the end, I said nothing.
“I can’t be certain, of course. It’s not something I was expecting. Or had any reason to expect. But Mummy would have been quite capable of putting up a convincing front. Even Daddy might not have known she was planning to leave him. I can’t exactly ask him, can I? I’d have to accuse him of lying about the note-and of destroying material evidence.”
She’d thought this all along. Since before we’d met in Brussels. It was safe to tell me now, of course. The trial was out of the way. My testimony could no longer be tarnished by doubts about her mother’s image of impeccable virtue. Disgust at her father’s marriage to my sister-in-law must also have played its part. She probably took some small pleasure in enlightening me. Saw it as a vicarious slap in the face for Bella.
“Hadn’t it occurred to you, Robin? I mean, just as a theoretical possibility?”
“No. It hadn’t.”
“I was so worried it must have. And that you’d say so to Rowena. She mustn’t be allowed to think of it. It would be disastrous. She sees Mummy as perfect in every way.”
“But you don’t?”
“She was human. Like the rest of us. And she kept a great deal to herself. If she’d had enough of her marriage, it would be just like her to conceal the fact from Rowena and me. And to endure it until we were no longer dependent on her. Well, I was already off her hands. And Rowena was about to follow. Maybe last year seemed the obvious time to make the break.”
“Where would she have gone?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps she didn’t either. Perhaps it was sufficient just to strike out on her own. A few days with Sophie, then… If she really meant to go to Sophie’s, that is.”
“You’re not suggesting she and Oscar Bantock-”
“No, no. I’m sure not. But… perhaps some other man I never met was waiting patiently. Somebody she’d known years before, still carrying a torch.”
I remembered the man who’d nearly driven me down in Butterbur Lane and was tempted to describe him to Sarah in case she knew him. Then resentment of her honesty overcame me. Why say anything to support her theory when she’d kept it from me so long? Why reinforce a suspicion I wanted no part of? “You could be wrong about this, couldn’t you?” I asked, silently willing her to agree. “As a lawyer, wouldn’t you say the evidence was purely circumstantial?”
“Oh yes. I could be wrong. Easily. I hope I am wrong. I love my father. I don’t like to think of what he must have gone through if I’m right. To learn Mummy had deserted him only a few hours before he learned she was dead. And then not to be able to tell anyone. To love her and to lose her. Twice over. That’s real suffering, don’t you think?”
“I think you’ve all suffered. In your different ways.”
“And Rowena responds by trying to commit suicide. While Daddy makes a fool of himself with a glamorous widow.” She smiled, mocking me as well as herself. “Where does that leave me, Robin?”
“It leaves you taking it in your stride. Apparently.”
“Don’t you think I am?”
“You tell me. Being the strong dependable sister can’t be easy. If you’ll forgive me for saying so…”
“Yes?”
“You look… just a little stretched.”
“Rubbish.” She reddened and took a sip of her drink. “Absolute rubbish.”
“Is it?”
“I believe in facing facts.” She tossed her head, the haughty public schoolgirl peeking from behind the composed professional. “If necessary, facing them down.”
“But these aren’t facts, are they? Only suppositions.”
“Exactly.” She stared at me impatiently, as if I were being irritatingly obtuse. “That’s why I want to protect Rowena from them. Because what can’t be proved can’t be disproved.”
“Then stop worrying. She’ll learn none of this from me.”
“No. I don’t suppose she will.” She sat back and studied me intently through narrowed lids. “You’re a puzzle, Robin. You really are.”
“In what way?”
“Why do you care about us so much? We don’t give you much encouragement. We’re not even as grateful as we should be. When you met Mummy on Hergest Ridge- By the way, that was the first time you’d met her, wasn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“It’s just… well… we only have your word for it, don’t we? That it was a chance meeting, I mean.” Yes. They did. So did I. Only my word. Only my fallible recollection. And now, worming its way into Sarah’s mind, was the half-formed thought that had already strayed into mine. I’d met Louise Paxton by chance. The purest of chances. It couldn’t have been anything else. Could it? “Go on then, Robin. Say that’s what it was. Why don’t you? What’s stopping you?”