"Is that right?"
"Just a feeling, Edie. We'll have to wait and see. As well, Edmund told me that he is going to take a bit of a holiday. He wants to spend some time with Virginia and Henry, and of course he must be around to support Archie Balmerino through the next few days. There will be so much to be seen to. A fatal-accident inquiry is inevitable, and then, after that hurdle has been taken, the funeral, and all the sad and heart-rending tying-up of the loose ends. Afterwards, when it is all over, he and Archie plan to go fishing together, to Sutherland, perhaps, for a little while. And you know, that fills me with satisfaction. I have always loved Edmund, Edie, but just lately I have found myself not liking him very much. But I think that everything has changed. Perhaps he's realized at last that the little things in life are sometimes infinitely more important than the big ones. And it's a comfort to know that out of this appalling and unnecessary tragedy has come at least one good thing. Which is that Archie and Edmund are good friends again, just the way they used to be."
"It's taken a long-enough time," Edie pointed out, down-to-earth as ever, and not afraid to speak her mind. "Over twenty years."
"Yes. But then Edmund behaved very badly. We both, I think, know that."
Edie was silent for a little, and then made her only comment. "Alexa's mother. She was a very cold lady."
It was not much of an excuse, but her loyalty to Edmund filled Violet with gratitude. "Well, you should know, Edie. You lived with them in London. You knew them both, perhaps better than any of us."
"A nice-enough girl, but cold."
On the mantelpiece, Violet's little gilt clock struck the hour. One o'clock. Edie glanced up at it in some surprise. The time had flown by.
"Just look at that," she said. "One o'clock already. You must be needing something to eat. I'll go into the kitchen and see what I can find. There was a pot of beef stew I left in the larder yesterday. I'll give it a heat-up. There's plenty for the two of us. So what do you say? We'll have it here, on a tray, by the fire."
"I can't think of anything I'd like more. And perhaps a glass of sherry to cheer ourselves up?" Edie clicked her tongue in disapproval, but she was smiling. She rose to her feet and made for the door. "Oh, and Edie, you will stay with me, won't you? We'll spend the afternoon together, and talk about the old days."
"I'd like that," Edie told her. "I've no mind to be on my own today. And I've brought my knitting."
She went. A moment later Violet heard her clattering dishes in the kitchen, opening and shutting the larder door. Comforting and companionable sounds. She stood up, holding on to the mantelpiece until the stiffness left her knees. Behind the clock, she saw the invitation, which had stood there for so many weeks. Curling now, and a bit dusty from the smoke that rose from the fire.
Mrs. Angus Steynton At Home For Katy
She took it out from behind the clock, and read it for the last time, then tore it into pieces and dropped the scraps onto the flames. They flared, burnt, shrivelled to ashes, were gone.
She went to the door that led out into the garden, opened it, descended the steps and walked out onto the sloping lawn. With the sun gone, and the sky filled with sailing grey clouds, it felt very cold. Colder than it had been all autumn. September was passing, and soon the winter gales would begin.
She made her way to the foot of the garden, to stand by the gap in the hedge, looking out to the south, over the incomparable view. The glen, the river, the distant hills: sunless today, sombre, but beautiful. Always so beautiful. Never would she tire of them. Never would she tire of life.
She thought about Pandora. And Geordie. Geordie, wherever he was, would keep an eye on Pandora. She thought about Edie, and for the first time the dreadful possibility occurred to her that perhaps her dearest friend would die before she herself died, and she would be left with no contemporary, no person to turn to, to give her comfort; no person to talk to, remembering together the days that were gone.
She said a prayer. "I know I am a dreadfully selfish woman, but please let me go before Edie goes, because without her I don't think I could cope with living. I don't think I could cope with growing old."
A sound caught her ear. High up, far beyond the blowing clouds. A distant honking and gabbling, both haunting and familiar. The wild geese, returning. The first she had heard since they had flown away north at the end of the spring. She gazed up into the sky, screwing up her eyes, searching for them. And then the clouds momentarily parted, and she glimpsed the birds, a single skein, beating their way south, the vanguard of the many thousands already on their way.
They were early. They had left late, and were returning early. Perhaps it was going to be very cold. Perhaps it was going to be a hard winter.
But she had survived hard winters before, and this one would be no worse. In fact, it would be better, because she felt, in some strange way, that her family had been restored to her, and she knew that, together, the Airds were strong enough to withstand whatever the fates chose to hurl in their direction. That was the most important thing. Togetherness. There lay the greatest strength. Her family, putting the past behind them, and never losing sight of the fact that, beyond the winter, a new spring was already on its way.
"Mrs. Aird."
She turned, saw Edie standing there at the open door. She had tied one of Violet's aprons on over her good skirt, and her white hair blew in the breeze. "Come away in and get your dinner."
Violet smiled, raised a hand. "Coming, Edie." She walked… slowly at first and then briskly… back up the sloping lawn towards her house. "I'm coming."
Rosamunde Pilcher
