Elizabeth Elgin - The Linden Walk

He put the guard over the fire, then walked to the stair bottom, turning out the lamp, making his way carefully to the little back room. There was no light beneath Lyn’s door. She had shut him out completely; no use knocking.

He lay, hands behind head, for a long time, fighting sleep, willing her to come to him, wanting to lie close to her, soothe her doubts, kiss her fears away, take her gently and with love. But when the downstairs clock chimed once, he knew that tomorrow had come and there would be no opening of the door, no one whispering, ‘Drew? Are you awake …?’

‘So, Drew – how did it go? Got things sorted?’ Julia asked. ‘We can talk, now. Nathan won’t be back from Evensong till eight, at least. No one will interrupt us. And if you don’t want to tell me,’ she added hastily, ‘I shall understand, of course.’

‘There’s nothing to tell, Mother. Lyn was pleased to see me when I got there and I tried to get her to tell me what was bothering her; because I knew something was, I told her. And it all came out, eventually. What it boils down to is that she’s jealous of Kitty – of Kitty’s memory, I mean. And that she and I were lovers. That’s what I think hurts Lyn most. I tried to sort things; tried to get her to talk, but –’

‘But you made a mess of it?’

‘I’ll never earn a living in the Diplomatic Corps, that’s for sure. I asked her to go to bed with me and that was it! Door slammed in my face. I waited a bit; didn’t know what to do. Was hoping she would come to me, but no such luck. Anyway, things were better in the morning. I thought she had got over whatever it was, even though she didn’t seem to want to look me in the eye.

‘So I said, “Doesn’t a man get a decent good-morning from his girl, then?” and she smiled, and kissed me and said she was sorry. What for, mind, I had the sense not to ask. It was a decent day. I walked with her to the hotel, then went back to the cottage. She had left the pheasant doing slowly in the oven and instructions about basting it and to take it out if I thought it was overcooking. She was back at four. I’d peeled the potatoes and sprouts and put apples in to bake.’

‘Good for you. Didn’t know you had it in you,’ Julia grinned.

‘Mother! I did six years in the Navy, below decks. We all had to muck in, especially on the Maggie where everyone had to help out. But we had a good meal and I washed up and Lyn dried, then we listened to the wireless. There was dance music on, but we didn’t dance.’

‘Why not?’ Julia demanded sharply.

‘No room.’

‘Drew! You don’t need a ballroom! Dancing, when people are in love, is holding each other, even if you’ve only got a hearthrug to dance on. Better, that way. Andrew and I often danced without music, without moving, even. Very romantic …’

‘Mother! You don’t have to tell me how to romance a girl! Of course I wanted to hold her; we danced a lot together, once. But I was scared she’d slam down the blinds again, so I behaved myself. I kissed her goodnight, and this morning she was working ten till four, same as yesterday, so I left her at the hotel and got the first bus out. Not what you’d call a successful weekend, but at least I know now what’s bothering her.’

‘And you know how best to deal with it? Given it some thought, have you then?’

‘I have, but it isn’t going to be a lot of good, is it, when we aren’t going to see each other till Tatty’s wedding. She’s looking forward to it. Says her folks will have arrived by then and she won’t mind leaving them on their own for a couple of days. They’ll probably enjoy it, she said.’

‘So, until the wedding, you’re going to have to write to her a lot, tell her how much you love her. Pity she isn’t on the phone. She should be, you know, alone in an isolated cottage. Can’t you try doing something about it?’

‘She’s on the waiting list, Mother. Unless something happened like she was pregnant and there alone, she’s got to wait, like other people.’

‘When are we going to meet her parents?’ Julia changed tack abruptly because she knew she might explode if they didn’t talk about something else. ‘And what does Lyn call her mother – is it Auntie Blod, still?’

‘Most times it is. But I think when she sees them together and finally realizes they are married, churched , Lyn called it, she’ll call her Mum, eventually. Churched, eh? Lyn’s got a wicked sense of humour, you know. She’s fun to be with, apart from being very – well, very attractive.’

‘She’s a lovely young woman and you’re not half-bad, yourself. You’ll have beautiful children, Drew.’

‘Ha! Children , you said. The way we’re going on, they’ll be immaculately conceived!’

‘That wasn’t funny. You’re going to have to learn to be patient with Lyn. I like her; have always liked her, and I won’t be best pleased if you lose her through being stupid.’

‘I won’t lose her, Mother. I love her too much.’

‘Then keep on telling her. Write lines and lines of it in every letter. And I’m sorry, son, for going on.’ She ruffled his hair like she did when he was a boy. ‘You see, I care for you both so much and I know you’ll be happy together. I’m even having lovely little daydreams about a granddaughter with hair the colour of Lyn’s. Stupid old woman, aren’t I?’

‘Stupid? Not you, dearest. And old – never! And I’ll be patient with Lyn, don’t worry.’

He would be, he thought later when he was in bed and thinking about the weekend, and Lyn. And about not seeing her until Tatty’s wedding. And about telling her he loved her, because he did. He loved her a lot, even though he hadn’t told her so.

And that wasn’t on. Not asking a girl to go to bed with you and you not ever having said ‘I love you’. It wasn’t an accident, either. He wanted to say it, but every time he tried, the words wouldn’t come. It should be easy to say, just as he was thinking it, now.

I love you, Lyn Carmichael. I love you, love you, love you …

Then why hadn’t he told her so?

Drew sat in the winter parlour, Lyn’s letter on his knee. She must have written it immediately he left on Sunday; at work almost certainly, since it was on hotel headed notepaper and folded into an envelope bearing the name Riverstones Hotel, Llangollen on the flap. It was as well, he thought, that he had written to her that same Sunday evening; that their letters had almost certainly crossed in the post.

My darling Lyn , he had written.

I am back at Rowangarth and wondering what happened this weekend, and why things were still up in the air when I left you.

I wish you would open your heart to me completely; we are going to be married, Lyn, and there must be no secrets between us, no doubts.

For my own part, I can’t wait for our wedding day. If thoughts of a big wedding upset you, we can have a quiet one – just you and me and families, it truly doesn’t matter one iota.

If, by asking you to sleep with me on Friday night, I offended you, then I am sorry. Fact is, that I wanted you very much; wanted to hold you close and, if nothing else, to awake in the morning with you beside me.

I know you are apprehensive about things and we must talk about it next time we meet which should be on Dec 17th for Tatty’s wedding. How long will you be able to stay?

This is a muddle of a letter. What I am really trying to tell you is that I want you, only you, and that I love you very much.

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