Nicola Upson - Angel with Two Faces

‘So he threw himself into the war effort instead. He told me that much.’

‘Yes, and my father was ill by that time, so there was really no one left to stand Loe’s corner. She suffered along with the rest of us.’

Like Ronnie, he spoke of the estate as a woman, she noticed. As interested as she was in this new aspect of the war’s impact, though, she tried to steer Archie back to a more personal history. ‘It’s a tribute to what your father achieved that anything managed to survive that,’ she said. ‘He must have had an extraordinary vision.’

‘He did. The sort of vision that comes from respecting the past, I suppose. He had hundreds of opportunities to move on – people were always coming to him for advice, offering him work on country estates that were a lot grander than this one. He could have been a rich man, but there was never any question of his leaving Loe. He was tied to it by something very powerful – so was my mother. But you’re right – he did look to the future. He was always experimenting, and his knowledge was extraordinary. Even in later life, I can remember him sitting by the fire, exclaiming with delight over some new discovery he’d made. He never lost that childlike excitement.’

‘You have that, you know – when you let yourself forget about work for long enough.’

‘Once or twice a year, then,’ he said glibly, but she could tell he was pleased.

‘And that explains the books. I’ve been having a look through, trying to guess what belongs to whom. Who’s the Trollope fan?’

‘That was my father. The Lodge was always crammed with books. I’ve kept his favourites, but lots of the more specialist volumes have gone to a library in Penzance. It seemed a shame to keep them here, unused. My mother had lots, too, but her interests were less scientific.’

Josephine looked at him. ‘Less scientific? In what way?’

He smiled. ‘Morveth’s not the only person round here who put her faith in unconventional remedies – at least, she wasn’t when my mother was alive.’

‘You knew?’ she asked before she could stop herself.

‘Was that another secret I’m supposed to be oblivious to?’ Josephine blushed, but he made light of it. ‘It was never an issue for her – just another way of looking at things. And she did share things with me,’ he added, more seriously. ‘That was one of the things I loved most about her – and why I was so shocked this afternoon. I thought I knew her inside out, but I suppose some things were outside that understanding – and I have no choice now but to accept that. Her belief in folklore wasn’t one of them, though.’

‘But you were so dismissive of Morveth the other night at dinner.’

‘No, not at all. I was – I am – dismissive of the idea that people have certain powers that are beyond our understanding – for good or evil. I don’t like it whether it comes under the name of religion or magic or quackery. But as far as healing is concerned – people have managed for hundreds of years without some of the things we know now, and who’s to say that their ways are no longer valid? Both Morveth and my mother chose to put a spiritual importance on their learning which I can’t accept, but that doesn’t detract from the facts. It’s knowledge, just like my father’s, and when I chose to study medicine, it was down to both of them – the healing and the science. But it wasn’t to be.’

‘The war again,’ Josephine said bitterly. She knew the reasons for Archie’s change of career but – privately – had always believed it to be a change for the better, the one precious thing to have come out of the sadness. Now, though, she was not so sure, and felt for the first time the loss of direction which Archie must have experienced on leaving that tribute to his parents behind.

He hesitated. ‘The war was part of it, but it really only confirmed what I knew. In my heart, I’d already decided that medicine wasn’t for me. Or rather, that I wasn’t for medicine.’

‘Why? It sounds to me as though you were born to it.’

There was a long silence, and Josephine poked the fire unnecessarily as she waited for him to speak. ‘Can you take another secret?’ he asked eventually.

‘As long as it’s yours. I’d much rather share one with you than know something you don’t.’

‘Everything I told you about my father – all the learning and the knowledge – it made the way he died so cruel. He suffered from dementia for the last few years of his life. It was gradual at first, and still quite mild by the time I went up to Cambridge, but the estate wasn’t the only thing I noticed a change in whenever I came home. I wanted to put my degree on hold for a bit but my mother wouldn’t hear of it – she said my father would never forgive himself if he realised, and I suppose that was true. But it was hard on her, that sort of steady decline. Sometimes he’d go missing for hours and she’d find him in the gardens, desperate because he couldn’t find something he’d planted or remember the name of a flower. He’d get so angry – with himself and then with her. Then, of course, it got worse and it was my mother and their marriage that he had no connection with.’

‘I can’t imagine anything more difficult. My mother’s illness was terrible for my parents, but at least they faced it together and took some strength from each other. She must have felt completely isolated from all she loved most.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly how she felt. It wasn’t so much the physical strain of caring for him – that was bad enough, but William and Morveth were a great help to her; it was the loneliness that nearly destroyed her, being taunted with a physical presence which was so familiar to her and yet having no emotional connection. For someone like my mother, that was a living hell.’

‘Lizzie died soon after your father, didn’t she?’

‘That’s what I’m coming to. She was actually diagnosed with cancer a few weeks before his death.’ Josephine said nothing, unable to articulate a response which would do justice to the series of events that had transformed Archie’s life. ‘She hadn’t felt well for a while, but she ignored it because of how things were at home. By the time she did something about it, it was too late. They gave her six months. She was absolutely devastated when she found out.’

‘Worried about what would happen to your father?’

‘Yes. It was the beginning of the summer holidays, thank God, so at least I was there. That was the first and only time I ever saw her completely lost. It wasn’t the natural way of things, you see – my father was several years older than her, and she should have been able to care for him until he died. She accepted her own fate, but not at the expense of his. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. At first, I refused to believe her diagnosis. I tried to persuade her to see other doctors, but we both knew it was a waste of time, and my not accepting the situation was just making things more difficult for her. Anyway, by that time she’d already faced up to her responsibilities – at least, that’s how she saw things. She had vowed to look after my father until the end, and that’s exactly what she did.’ He paused, obviously trying to find the right words to explain. ‘There’s no easy way to say this.’

By now, she knew what Archie was going to say, and tried to make it easier for him. ‘She restored the natural way of things – would that do?’ He nodded, unable to look at her. ‘Did you know what your mother had done?’

‘Yes. He died peacefully one night and she was so calm about it. She knew I’d guessed, but we never spoke of it – I suppose she didn’t want to involve me, just in case someone else found out, and I didn’t want to make it any more difficult for her than it already was.’