Kate Morton - The Distant Hours

That explained the frequency of post Percy had been carrying to and from the castle of late; Saffy’s determination to stay within reach of the telephone ‘in case an important call should come through regarding the war’. Percy cursed herself for having been distracted by her WVS duties, for not having paid closer attention. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I’m certain that Seraphina had every intention of honouring her agreement. But the war, you see, and now our father has been taken ill. I’m afraid she’ll be needed at home for the duration.’

Though disappointed and understandably confused, Mr Wicks was mollified somewhat by Percy’s promise to send him a signed first edition of the Mud Man for his collection of rare books, and rang off in relatively good spirits. There would be no question, at least, of his suing them for breach of contract.

Saffy’s disappointment, Percy suspected, would not be so easily managed. A toilet flushed somewhere in the distance, then the pipes gurgled in the kitchen wall. Percy sat on the stool and waited. Within minutes, Saffy hurried in from upstairs.

‘Percy!’ She stopped still, glanced towards the open back door. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Meredith? Her parents haven’t left already, surely? Is everything all right?’

‘I came to fetch more tea.’

‘Oh.’ Saffy’s face relaxed into a faltering smile. ‘Then let me help. You don’t want to be away from your guests too long.’ She fetched the jar of tea leaves and lifted the pot’s lid.

Percy considered obfuscation but the conversation with Mr Wicks had so surprised her that she drew a blank. In the end, she said simply, ‘There was a telephone call. While I was waiting for the kettle.’

Only the faintest tremor, a fine drift of tea leaves from the sides of the spoon. ‘A telephone call? When?’

‘Just now.’

‘Oh.’ Saffy brushed the loose leaves into the palm of one hand; they lay together like a pile of dead ants. ‘Something to do with the war, was it?’

‘No.’

Saffy leaned against the bench top and clenched a nearby tea towel in her hand as if trying to avoid being pulled out to sea.

The kettle chose that moment to spit, hissing through its spout before winding itself up to a menacing whistle. Saffy took it off the heat, remained at the stove with her back to Percy, her breath stilled.

‘It was a fellow by the name of Mr Archibald Wicks,’ Percy said then. ‘Calling from London. A collector, he said.’

‘I see.’ Saffy didn’t turn. ‘And what did you tell him?’

A shout from outside and Percy moved swiftly to the open door.

‘What did you tell him, Percy?’

A breeze, and on it the yellowing scent of cut grass.

‘Percy?’ Barely a whisper.

‘I told him that we needed you here.’

Saffy gave a sound that might have been a sob.

Percy spoke carefully then, slowly. ‘You know you can’t go, Saffy. That you mustn’t mislead people like that. He was expecting you in London next week.’

‘Expecting me in London because that’s where I’m going to be. I applied for a position, Percy, and he chose me.’ She did turn then. Lifted her clenched hand, elbow bent, a strangely theatrical gesture made more so by the scrunched tea towel still in her grasp. ‘He chose me,’ she said, shaking her fist for emphasis. ‘He collects all sorts of things, beautiful things, and he’s hired me – me – to assist him with his work.’

Percy dug a cigarette from her case, had to fight the match, but eventually she struck it.

‘I’m going, Percy, and you can’t stop me.’

Damn Saffy; she wasn’t going to make things easy. Percy’s head was already throbbing; the wedding had left her spent, then playing hostess to Meredith’s parents. This was the last thing she needed; Saffy was being purposely obtuse, goading her into spelling things out. Well, if that was how she wanted to play it, Percy wasn’t afraid to lay down the law. ‘No,’ she exhaled smokily, ‘you’re not. You’re not going anywhere, Saff. You know it, I know it, and now Mr Wicks knows it, too.’

Saffy’s arms slackened beside her, the tea towel fell to the flagstones. ‘You told him I wasn’t coming. Just like that.’

‘Someone had to. He was about to wire you the fare.’

Saffy’s eyes were brimming now, and although Percy was angry with her she was pleased too, to see that her sister was fighting the rush of tears. Perhaps a scene would be avoided this time, after all.

‘Come along now,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you’ll see eventually that it’s for the best-’

‘You’re really not going to let me go.’

‘No,’ said Percy, firmly but kindly, ‘I’m not.’

Saffy’s bottom lip trembled and her voice when finally she managed to speak was little more than a whisper. ‘You can’t control us forever, Percy.’ Her fingers were scrabbling together against her skirt, gathering invisible sticky threads into a tiny ball.

The gesture was one from childhood and Percy was overwhelmed by déjà vu and a fierce urge to hold her twin close and never let her go, to tell her she was loved, that Percy didn’t mean to be cruel, that she was doing it for Saffy’s own good. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. And it wouldn’t have made any difference if she had, because nobody wants to be told that sort of thing, even when they know, in their heart of hearts, that it’s true.

She settled instead for softening her own voice and saying, ‘I’m not trying to control you, Saffy. Maybe some other day, in the future, you’ll be able to leave.’ Percy gestured at the castle walls. ‘But not now. We need you here now, what with the war and Daddy as he is. Not to mention the severe shortage of staff: have you considered what would happen to the rest of us if you left? Can you see Juniper or Daddy or – Lord help us – me , staying on top of the laundry?’

‘There’s nothing you can’t do, Percy.’ Saffy’s voice was bitter. ‘There’s never been anything you couldn’t do.’

Percy knew then that she’d won; more importantly, that Saffy knew it too. But she felt no joy, only the familiar burden of responsibility. Her whole being ached for her sister, for the young girl she’d once been with the world at her feet.

‘Miss Blythe?’ Percy looked up to see Meredith’s father at the door, his thin little wife by his side, and an air of complete perturbation surrounding them both.

She’d forgotten them completely. ‘Mr Baker,’ she said, ruffling the back of her hair. ‘I apologize. I’ve taken an age with the tea-’

‘That’s all right, Miss Blythe. We’re about done with tea. It’s Meredith, you see.’ His shoulders seemed to sink a little. ‘My wife and I planned to take her home with us but she’s that set on staying – I’m afraid the little devil’s given us the slip.’

‘Oh.’ It was the last thing Percy needed. She glanced behind her, but Saffy had performed her own escape act. ‘Well. I expect we’d better take a look then, hadn’t we?’

‘That’s just it,’ Mr Baker said unhappily. ‘My wife and I have to be back on the three twenty-four to London. It’s the only service today.’

‘I see,’ said Percy. ‘Then of course you must go. The trains are terrible these days. If you miss today’s, you’re as likely still to be waiting this time Wednesday.’

‘But my girl…’ Mrs Baker looked as if she might be about to cry and the prospect didn’t sit comfortably on her tough, pointy face. Percy knew the feeling.

‘You’re not to worry,’ she said with a short nod. ‘I’ll find her. Is there a number in London where I can reach you? She won’t have gone far.’

From a branch in the oldest oak of Cardarker Wood, Meredith could just make out the castle. The pointed turret of the tower and its needle-like spire piercing the sky. The tiles glowed crimson with the afternoon light, and the silver tip shone. On the lawn at the top of the driveway Percy Blythe was waving her parents goodbye.