Виктория Холт - Bride of Pendorric

We were very much in love. Roc seemed no longer a stranger. I felt I understood him. There was a streak of mischief in him and he loved to tease me. ” Because,” he told me once, ” you’re too serious, too old-fashioned in many ways to be true.”

I pondered on that and supposed I was different from girls he had known, because of my upbringing—the intimate family circle, the school which was run on the same lines as it had been twenty or thirty years before. Also, of course, I had felt my responsibilities deeply when my mother had died. I must learn to be more lighthearted, gay, up-to-date, I told myself.

Our wedding was going to be very quiet; there would be a few guests from the English colony, and Roc and I were going to stay at the studio for a week afterwards; then we were to go to England. I asked him what his family would think of his returning with a bride they had never met.

” I’ve written and told them we’ll soon be home. They’re not so surprised as you imagine. One thing they have learned to expect from me is the unexpected,” he replied cheerfully. ” They’re wild with delight. You see they think it’s the duty of all Pendorrics to marry, and they believe I’ve waited long enough.”

I wanted to hear more about them. I wanted to be prepared, but he always put me off.

” I’m not very good at describing things,” he answered. ” You’ll be there soon enough.”

” But this Pendorric … I gather it is something of a mansion.”

” It’s the family home. I suppose you could call it that.”

“And … who is the family?”

” My sister, her husband, their twin daughters. You don’t have to worry, you know. They won’t be in our wing. It’s a family custom that all who can, remain at home, and bring their families to live there.”

” And it’s near the sea.”

” Right on the coast. You’re going to love it. All Pendorrics do, and you’ll be one of them very soon.”

I think it was about a week before my wedding day that I noticed the change in my father.

I came in quietly one day and found him sitting at the table staring ahead of him, and because he had not seen me for a few moments I caught him in repose ; he looked suddenly old; and more than that. frightened.

” Father,” I cried, ” what’s the matter?”

He started up and he smiled but his heart wasn’t in it ” The matter?

Why, nothing’s the matter. “

” But you were sitting there …”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’ve been working on that bust of Tiberius. It tired me.”

I accepted his excuse temporarily and forgot about it.

But not for long. My father had never been able to keep things to himself and I began to believe that he was hiding something from me, something which caused him the utmost anxiety.

One early morning, about two days before the wedding, I awoke to find someone moving about in the studio. The illuminated dial of my bedside clock said three o’clock.

I hastily ‘put on a dressing-gown, quietly opened the door of my room and, peeping out, saw a dark shadow seated at the table.

“Father!” I cried.

He started up. ” My dear child, I’ve disturbed you. It’s all right. Do go back to bed.”

I went to him and made him sit down. I drew up a chair. ” Look here,” I insisted, ” you’d better tell me what’s wrong.” He hesitated and then said: “But it’s nothing. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought it would do me good to come and sit out here for a while.”

” But why couldn’t you sleep?

“Here’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

” I’m perfectly all right.”

” It’s no use saying that when it obviously isn’t true. Are you worried about me … about my marrying?”

Again that slight pause. Of course that’s it, I thought. Naturally he’s worried. He’s beginning to realise how he’ll miss me. He said: ” My dear child, you’re very much in love with Roc, aren’t you?”

” Yes, Father.”

” Favel … you’re sure, aren’t you?”

” Are you worried because we’ve known each other such a short while?”

He did not answer that but murmured: ” You’ll go right away from here to his place in Cornwall… to Pendorric.”

” But we’ll come to see you! And you’ll come to stay with us.”

” I think,” he went on, and it was as though he were talking to himself, ” that if something prevented your marriage it would break your heart.”

He stood up suddenly. ” I’m cold. Let’s get back to bed. I’m sorry I disturbed you, Favel.”

” Father, we really ought to have a talk. I wish you would tell me everything that’s on your mind.”

” You go along to bed, Favel. I’m sorry I disturbed you.” He kissed me and we went to our rooms. How often later I was to reproach myself for allowing him to evade me like that. I ought to have insisted on knowing.

There came the day when Roc and I were married and I was so overwhelmed by new and exciting experiences that I did not give a thought to what was happening to my father. I couldn’t think of anyone but myself and Roc during those days.

It was wonderful to be together every hour of the days and nights. We would laugh over trifles ; it was really the laughter of happiness which comes so easily, I discovered. Guiseppe and Umberto were delighted with us; their arias were more fervent than they used to be, and after we had left them Roc and I would imitate them, gesticulating wildly, setting our faces into tragic or comic masks, whatever the songs demanded, and because we sang out of tune we laughed the more.

He would come into the kitchen when I was cooking, to help me he said; and he would sit on the table getting in my way until with mock exasperation I would attempt to turn him out, which always ended up by my being in his arms.

The memories of those days were to stay with me during the difficult times ahead; they sustained me when I needed to be sustained. Roc was, as I had known he would be, a passionate and demanding lover; he carried me along with him, but I often felt bemused by the rich experiences which were mine. Yet I was certain then that everything was going to be wonderful. I was content to live in the moment; I had even stopped wondering what my new home would be like ; I assured myself that my father would have nothing to worry about. Roc would take care of his future as he would take care of mine. Then one day I went down to the market alone and came back sooner than I had expected.

The door of the studio was open and I saw them there-my father and my husband. The expression on both their faces shocked me. Roc’s was grim; my father’s tortured. I had the impression that my father had been saying something to Roc which he did not like, and I could not tell whether Roc was angry or shocked. I imagined my father seemed bewildered.

Then they saw me and Roc said quickly: ” Here’s Favel.”

It was as though they had both drawn masks over then-faces.

“Is anything the matter?” I demanded.

” Only that we’re hungry,” answered Roc, coming over to me and taking my basket from me.

He smiled and, putting his arm round me, gave me a hug. ” It seems a long time since I’ve seen you.”

I looked beyond him to my father; he too was smiling but I thought there was a greyish tinge in his face.

“Father,” I insisted, “what is it?”

” You’re imagining things, my dear,” he assured me. I could not throw off my uneasiness but I let them persuade me that all was well, because I could not bear that anything should disturb my new and wonderful happiness.

The sun was brilliant. It had been a busy morning in the studio. My father always went down to swim while I got our midday meal, and on that day I told Roc to go with him.