‘Why not telephone Romily to see if she has enough food to go around?’ he said.
Annelise didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m not sure Edmund’s in the mood for enjoying himself to that extent.’
‘A change of scene might do you both good,’ he suggested. Selfishly all he could think was that Christmas Day spent with Annelise would be better than without her.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chelstead Cottage Hospital, Chelstead
December 1962
Hope
Hope had the curious sensation of floating. It was as if whatever had been keeping her anchored had released its hold and her body, which had felt so leaden and inert, was now as light as air.
Was this death? Was she finally to be released from the cruel torture that had robbed her of all movement? She had a sense of her mind clearing too, as it did when a migraine passed. Or when she came through a period of time with the Black Dog. Was this what was meant about being made whole when entering the state of heaven?
Not by any means was she a regular churchgoer, but she knew her Bible, and if there was one quote that had been a comfort to her when Dieter died, it was Revelations 21:4.
‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.’
She had hung on to the belief – the hope – that it was true, that Dieter was in a better place. Such was her heartbreak at his death she had considered ending her own life to be with him. All that had really stopped her from doing so was the fear she would then be bound for hell and not heaven. Forever parted from Dieter.
There had been times when Hope had doubted the existence of heaven, but hell, oh yes, she knew that hell existed. So much of her life had been just that, and never more so than lying here in this bed powerless to move or speak.
Her body feeling yet lighter still, and ever more convinced the end was drawing near for her, she suddenly wanted Edmund and Annelise to be with her. She wanted to say goodbye to them. Where were they? Had they forgotten to come? Or had they grown bored of sitting here with her, constantly having to think of things to say?
She wanted to say sorry to Edmund for having been such a poor wife to him. And Annelise, the dear girl had not been given the love she deserved from Hope. And now it was too late to explain how desperately sorry she was that she had failed them. It was also too late to wallow in self-pity. What she had to do before she ran out of time was confess her sins and seek forgiveness. God loved a death-bed act of contrition, didn’t he?
She was just marshalling her penitent thoughts when she heard singing. Was that the sound of angels she could hear?
As the singing grew louder and more distinct, she could clearly hear that it was ‘Away in a Manger’ being sung. Did angels sing Christmas carols?
Then she remembered that it was Christmas Day. The nurses had been chattering on about it last night, how it would definitely be a white Christmas. They had been worried about getting home and whether or not this morning’s shift of nurses would make it in. Somebody had joked that if the snow kept up, they’d be snowed in and would have to spend Christmas here.
Was that why Edmund and Annelise weren’t here? She remembered them saying they would spend the day with her. Edmund had said they would have their very own Christmas Day together, complete with decorations from home which Annelise had put up in her room.
The singing was much louder now, and ‘Away in a Manger’ had been replaced with the irritatingly jolly ‘Jingle Bells’. She wished whoever was singing would go away. If she was about to die, she did not want ‘Jingle Bells’ to be the last thing she heard.
Stop it! she wanted to shout.
Go and annoy somebody else!
Leave me in peace!
To her surprise the singing immediately stopped, and she was rewarded with silence. Feeling a strange rasping sensation in her throat, there then followed a cacophony of voices. One of which was full of urgency.
‘Quick, fetch Dr Carling, and then telephone Dr Flowerday.’
Another voice, and one that was much nearer to her, was softer. ‘Mrs Flowerday . . . Hope . . . can you hear me?’
‘Of course I can hear you!’ Hope replied. It took her a moment to register that the ugly croaking sound she could hear had come from her own mouth, and wasn’t confined to the inside of her head.
Very slowly, as though there were the heaviest of weights resting against them, she opened her eyes.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Ralph
Ralph really shouldn’t have polished off that bottle of wine last night, but one glass had led to another and such was the excellent quality of the claret that before he knew it, the bottle was empty, and he was spark out on the bed. As a consequence, he was dead to the world until lunchtime. Now, up and dressed, and ready to face his father, he went downstairs. It was time to prove his mettle and play his first move.
‘I thought I’d told you to leave this house.’
Ralph regarded his father as he sat at the head of the dining-room table. A napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, the grotesque man was tucking into his Christmas lunch. On one side of him sat Julia, a visible nervous wreck, and opposite her, and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, was Charles. The atmosphere could not have been less cheery had the threat of the Black Death been at the door.
‘And a Happy Christmas to you, Father,’ Ralph said brightly, pulling out the chair on which he had sat last night. There was no place setting for him today. Undeterred, his voice still as upbeat as he could make it, he said, ‘Happy Christmas to you, Julia, and you too, Charlie-Boy. What did Santa bring you?’
‘How many times have I told you not to refer to my son in that way? His name is Charles.’
‘You don’t mind me calling you Charlie-Boy, do you?’ Ralph said to his half-brother. ‘I bet you have any number of nicknames for me.’
The poor lad, his lips clamped together as if to keep him from bursting into tears, shook his head.
‘What? Not one little name?’
Arthur glared at Ralph. ‘He’s been told not to speak to you. One word, and he won’t receive a single present.’
Ralph looked across the table at his stepmother. ‘And does the same go for you, Julia? Are you also under orders not to speak to me?’
Giving him the smallest of nods, she poked at a sprout on her plate.
‘So what will you do to your wife, Father, if she dares to disobey you? Will you send for that quack of a doctor from London again? Or perhaps you’ll just lock her in her room?’