The questions were laborious, each answered only by a yes or a no, but slowly a story emerged, teased carefully out of the air as they stood in front of the smouldering apple logs in the low-ceilinged sitting room.
‘Can we talk to the person whose love still fills this house?’
Yes.
‘First, how old is the house. Three hundred years? Two hundred years?’
Yes.
‘Which year did you come here? Was it in the 1700s?’
No.
‘The 1800s?’
No.
‘The 1900s?’
Yes.
‘1901? 1902? …’
It was 1911.
‘Were you newly married?’
Yes.
‘What did your husband do?’ They were assuming it was a woman. ‘Was he a farm labourer – a gardener – a shepherd – a smith?’
A smith. He was the village blacksmith.
‘I know what’s coming!’ Pippa put her hand on Morgan’s wrist as though to stay the restless movement of the rods. ‘Oh God, he was killed in the Great War, wasn’t he.’
NO! The rods had crossed, their tips trembling. No, not the war.
‘What was your name?’ Pippa asked the rods direct. Then realised that was stupid. How could they answer her? They could only say yes or no.
My name is Hattie.
The words were so clear Pippa could not believe Morgan hadn’t heard them too, but he gave no sign. He merely shrugged. ‘We can’t ask that, I’m afraid. So many names to choose from. It would take too long – ’
‘Hattie. Her name was Hattie.’
He frowned. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I heard her …’
He lowered the rods. ‘Speak to her. See if she’ll answer.’
Pippa was staring round the room. ‘Oh my God, is she a ghost? Where is she? I can’t see her.’
‘Ask her.’
She hesitated. ‘Can you hear me, Hattie?’ she whispered. She was suddenly apprehensive and not a little self-conscious.
I can hear you.
The voice was as soft as the wind across the grass.
‘Were you happy here?’
Oh, I was happy. So happy.
Behind her, Morgan sat down in one of the fireside chairs. Quietly he laid the rods on the floor at his feet. She couldn’t tell if he could hear the voice or not.
‘How long did you live here?’
A long time.
Pippa hesitated. ‘Was your marriage happy?’
So happy.
‘Did you have any children?’
There was no answer. She glanced at Morgan. ‘I think she’s gone.’
‘Maybe.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you mind the idea that you might have a ghost in your house?’
She hesitated, then she shook her head. ‘She doesn’t seem frightening.’
‘I’m sure she’s not. Ask your question again.’
Pippa repeated her question and waited, staring thoughtfully into the fire.
I had ten. Ten beautiful babies. We were a happy family!
‘So many children!’ Pippa exclaimed.
This house loves children! The voice was growing fainter.
A log shifted, scenting the room with apple smoke.
‘Hattie? Hattie, don’t go,’ Pippa called.
There was no reply.
She sat for a long time without moving, aware that if she spoke she would cry. Morgan wasn’t looking at her. When she glanced at him she saw his eyes were closed.
‘Did you hear what she said?’ she asked at last.
He nodded.
‘She was so lucky.’ She whispered the words to herself.
‘So could you be.’ His eyes were open now and he was watching her with concern.
She shrugged. ‘I was happy when we first came here.’
‘This is about Col?’ Bending down, he picked up the rods.
‘Don’t ask them!’ Pippa spoke more sharply than she intended.
Dropping them at once, he raised his hands in surrender. ‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘Sorry.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘Yes, of course it’s Colin. He loves someone else.’
‘No, Pippa, he doesn’t. He loves you.’
‘You don’t know anything about it!’
‘I do. He told me.’ He stood up uncomfortably and bent to throw a log on the fire.
‘So this was a set up!’ She was furious suddenly. ‘All this. Coming here. Your rods. Your party trick!’
‘No, Pippa – ’
‘Did he hide my cross and tell you where it was?’ Her tears were very close again. ‘Hattie. That was all pretend!’ Suddenly she was furiously angry. And disappointed.
‘No.’
‘Did he tell you what we quarrelled about? But of course he did! That was what this is all about. Children. Keep me occupied. Distract me! Good old Morgan can talk her round.’ She bit back an angry sob.
‘I’m not a ventriloquist, Pippa. I can’t throw my voice. And if I could it wouldn’t be a woman’s. I didn’t know about your cross. All he told me was that you were both very unhappy and he was terrified he was going to lose you.’ Morgan stood up, irritated and uncomfortable. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to become involved in all this. I came because Col sounded so miserable when I spoke to him I thought maybe he could do with a sympathetic ear.’ He paused, seeing her indignation.
‘I’m sorry. I know there are always two sides to every quarrel, but I can tell you honestly that he loves you. He really does.’
She was biting back tears. ‘Maybe he lied to you.’
‘He wouldn’t lie about that.’
‘How do you know?’
He hesitated. ‘I just know. It’s a bloke thing!’ He gave a shrug, half humorous, half rueful.
‘I don’t think so! Blokes are not renowned for their mutual confidences.’ She shook her head wistfully.
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Maybe I should leave,’ he said at last. ‘None of this is my business and I’ve managed to put both my feet well and truly in it! I’m so sorry.’
She didn’t reply. Suddenly she wasn’t listening. He paused for a moment, trying to hear whatever it was she could hear. The only sound in the room as far as he could make out was the gentle crack and shift of the fire in the hearth. Quietly he moved towards the door.
It was only when he had picked up his overnight bag and walked sadly out to his car that he realised he didn’t have his keys. He must have dropped them on a table somewhere as he walked into the house just as he did at home. He glanced back at the cottage, cursing under his breath. He had messed up completely. He didn’t want to go back and confront Pippa and he particularly didn’t want to see Colin. ‘She might talk to you, Morgan. See if you can turn on a bit of the old charm. She’s not got many friends round here yet, and I don’t know if there is anyone she can confide in. I can’t ring one of her old London friends, they wouldn’t tell me. You know what women are!’
Oh indeed. He was the expert on women. No question. That was why he hadn’t noticed his own marriage coming apart; why Sheila had left him for someone else. After all, it was because of their divorce that he was so often at a loose end at weekends, free to dispense his invaluable advice, while his married friends were tied up with their families. With a sigh he leaned on the gate.
Inside the house Pippa was staring at the rods, lying on the carpet where Morgan had left them. For a long time she didn’t move, then at last she picked them up. For a moment they hung inert between her fingers feeling exactly what they were, bent coat hangers, then almost cautiously she changed her grip, holding them as he had, by the short side, extended in front of her, and as she did so something strange seemed to happen. They seemed to come alive. She could feel them suddenly taut, almost trembling, attentive, as she looked at them. For a second she stood watching them, willing herself not to throw them down. Then, her voice husky, she whispered her question. ‘Did Colin tell
Morgan the truth? Does he love me?’
The pieces of metal almost wrenched themselves out of her hand as they sprang together and crossed. She stared. That meant no. She had seen it so many times in Morgan’s hands. Apart: yes. Crossed: no.
‘Did you ask them to show you a yes?’ The voice behind her made her jump.
‘I thought you’d gone!’
‘I forgot my keys.’ He had already spotted them, lying on the coffee table.
‘They say he doesn’t love me.’ She turned away to hide her tears.
‘Ask again.’ He sounded very stern.
‘But they said – ’
‘Ask them. They move in a different way for everyone. You have to establish what the code is for you.’
For a moment he thought she was going to refuse, but she did as he asked and when she whispered, ‘Show me a yes,’ the rods sprang across in front of her.
‘There you are!’ He nodded, satisfied. Scooping up the keys he turned back to the door. ‘Tell Col I will ring him, OK? Sorry to miss him.’
It was the second time he had exited without her noticing. He shrugged as he let himself out of the house. Better this way. Give them some time to themselves and if they couldn’t talk to each other before, perhaps now they could, with their little wire go-betweens. The idea cheered him up as he climbed into his car and set off on the long lonely drive back to London.
‘Hattie, are you still here?’ Pippa laid aside the rods at last.
There was no reply.
‘Hattie? I need to talk to you.’
But the rods had told her what she wanted to know. Yes, Colin genuinely wanted children. Yes, he wanted them soon. No, he wasn’t having an affair. No, he had never even contemplated it and, yes, he would love her whatever happened; whatever she decided.
‘And me,’ she had asked at last, the final question, her mind tired, the rods more and more reluctant to respond. ‘Do I really, deep down, want children? Do I want a baby?’
She had always thought not. She stared at the two motionless rods in her hands, almost willing them not to move. Babies meant loss of freedom, exhaustion, the anguished juggling of job and family, the need for everything and the achievement of nothing. She had seen it again and again, in her friends, her two sisters. She remembered her own mother, struggling to look after them all and keep working at the same time till she dropped with exhaustion. Oh yes, she had two successful friends who had managed it in London. One with the help of buckets of money and a nanny, the other with a willing house husband. But even they were not completely happy; they were missing so much of their children’s babyhood. One couldn’t win! She glanced back at the oracular coat hangers.
Yes. The rods had snapped across. Yes, she wanted a baby.
No.
Did she?
Really?
Of course she did. She wanted one so much it hurt. She dropped the rods and went to stare into the fire.
What on earth had happened? What had changed her mind? It was as though she had suddenly been given permission to confront the truth. Had the relentless time clock she had heard so much about suddenly ticked another second on its inexorable round and pushed her into biological panic or had it got something to do with Hattie? Hattie who had loved her man and loved her babies and who had died with so much love still in her heart that it was imprinted on every timber and every inch of plaster in this cottage.
She was still sitting staring at the fire when Colin came home. She hadn’t heard from Hattie again, but she had heard laughter, children’s laughter, in the distance. Perhaps it had drifted in through the window from the village.
Colin looked down at the dying ashes. ‘Pippa? Where’s Morgan?’ He ran his fingers through his untidy fair hair. Unbuttoning his wax jacket he dropped it over the back of the chair.
She bit her lip. ‘He went back to London.’
‘Why? What happened?’
She smiled ‘He’s a very nice tactful man, your friend Morgan. He thought we should spend the weekend on our own.’ Climbing to her feet she put her hands on his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry I was such a cow this morning. Will you forgive me?’
He laughed. ‘Nothing like the cow I had to deal with today, thank God!’ He kissed the top of her head gently. ‘I even forgave her in the end! Of course I forgive you. I always do, my darling.’
‘It’s more than I deserve.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have learned a few home truths about myself today. In-depth analysis, you might say.’
‘From Morgan?’ He looked incredulous.
‘From those!’ She waved her hands at the truncated coat hangers.
‘And what were these truths? Am I allowed to know?’ He was staring at the coat hangers with a puzzled frown on his face, clearly not recognising the route they had marked into his wife’s – and his own – subconscious.
‘In a nutshell?’ She paused dreamily. ‘I love you. I’m sorry I accused you of being a cheat because I know you’re not, and –’ she hesitated, suddenly afraid to say it out loud.
‘And?’ Colin stared down at her, his face so clearly registering hope, anxiety, fear, concern, that she reached up and put her fingers against his mouth as though to still his frightened speculation. ‘And – I want to have a baby.’
He stared at her. ‘Just like that? After all we’ve been through, suddenly, you’ve changed your mind?’
‘Just like that. And I want Morgan to be its godfather.’
Colin’s mouth dropped open. ‘Isn’t that being a bit premature?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Just well organised. I’m going to be very organised in future.’
‘You’re going to have to be.’ He scanned her face tentatively. ‘You know your dream job – the one you wanted so much? Well, it’s yours if you want it. At the practice. ‘Eve has left. I know once or twice you’ve come into the surgery and caught us together and I could see you wondering about us!’ He gave a hoot of laughter. ‘She was actually telling me confidentially how much better my predecessor was at everything. I got so sick of it! I think we can safely say we loathed each other by the end. I couldn’t stand the woman. And it was clearly mutual. When I went back to the surgery just now I found she had left us a note that she’s gone. No notice. No warning. I rang Bill before I came home and he agreed: the job is yours if you want it. It’s a good job. You’d be perfect.’
‘And if I was pregnant?’
‘If you didn’t mind, we certainly wouldn’t. There’s plenty of cover with the part-timers. And later, you can stick the baby in the back office.’ He was watching her anxiously. ‘You’d even be in the right place for emergency deliveries. We had a beautiful calf this morning. A heifer!’
She laughed out loud.
‘Any other godparents lined up?’
She shook her head. She did have an idea, that was true, but she wasn’t sure yet whether Hattie would qualify.
Putting her arms round Colin’s neck she hugged him. This time, when she heard children’s laughter, she was almost sure it came from their own garden.
Lost in the Temple
The first day of the cruise began so normally. The River Nile was bustling with boats of every size and shape. Palm trees stood sentinel on the far bank and a graceful minaret rose against the vivid blue sky. Emma glanced at Gill as they collected cereal and fruit from the serving table. ‘I can’t believe we’re really here!’
Gill grinned. Tall, blonde and tanned from the sun-bed, she had been noticed at once. The night before, at their first meal on-board, Emma, glancing round, had caught appraising looks cast in their direction by some of the men, not least the tour guide who, after doing the rounds of the tables, had finally settled in an empty chair next to them and introduced himself. His name was Mahmoud and, having established that they were without male escorts and so presumably potentially available, he hadn’t taken his eyes off Gill.
Emma sighed. She was used to this. Small in stature, shy, her dark hair cut to a shoulder-length bob, she had y
ears ago resigned herself to being outshone by her friend. Strangely, in the end, Emma was the one who had married – even if it hadn’t lasted. And after all, it didn’t matter here. They hadn’t come to Egypt to meet new men. They had come to see the antiquities. Or she had.
Climbing onto the bus which was to take them from the boat through the teeming, noisy streets to the Temple of Karnak, she found herself sitting alone. Scanning the crowded seats in front of her she spotted Gill’s blonde head. She had taken a place near the front. Next to Mahmoud. Actually, Emma was quite pleased. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted just to look.
With a hiss of compressed air, the bus doors closed and it set off, lurching up the track from the river bank towards the road. On either side, mud-brick houses, adorned with brightly coloured rugs and blankets airing in the sunshine, alternated with groves of palm trees and exotic plantations. As the bus swung out to pass an old man perched perilously on the rump of a small donkey, Mahmoud stood up, holding on to a seat-back to keep his balance. Emma saw him glance down at Gill and wink as he launched into his running commentary. With a resigned smile, she sat back and turned towards the window. This was going to be the most wonderful holiday of her life and she was not going to allow anything to spoil it.
By the time they had disembarked and crossed the dusty car park to enter the Temple, Gill was once more at her side. Mahmoud was too busy, buying tickets and passes, ushering his charges through the gates and describing the avenue of ram-headed sphinxes, to pay her any attention. Emma smiled as she reached for her camera. ‘It looks as though you’ve made a conquest.’
Gill shrugged. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’
Emma was just standing there, staring at the statue of Rameses in front of them and nodded dreamily.
There was a peal of laughter from her companion. ‘Not that thing! I mean Mahmoud.’
Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Each to his own. It’s the Pharaoh I fancy!’
Almost deliberately she found herself dropping further and further behind as Gill hung on Mahmoud’s every word.
The heat was unbearable. The sun beat down on hats and dark glasses, reflecting from every stone surface. Huge stone columns rose around her, casting black heavy shadows between ribs of vicious sunlight. Emma stared up at a distant lotus-shaped capital which had once, presumably, supported a roof. A group of Italian visitors passed her and for a moment she was engulfed in noise and laughter, then they disappeared towards the next gateway. Wistfully she watched them leave. Now they had gone, she was surrounded by silence. Even the cheeping of the sparrows had stopped. There was no one else in sight. She shivered. But not because there had been any relief from the heat. On the contrary, it was hotter than ever.