Rites of Spring

52

After coffee at the hunting lodge, David, Nettan and Sebastian return to the castle, while Thea hurries home to the coach house. She takes her suitcase out of the wardrobe and places it on the bed, then sits down and stares at it.

She promised herself that she would support David, help him in the same way as he’d helped her. But maybe it would be better if she left, before something comes out that could damage the restaurant project? Or is she trying to justify leaving him in the lurch? Avoiding a confrontation with her father?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the front door.

It’s Hubert Gordon. The little man is in a tweed suit beneath his oilskin coat; he is also wearing his usual flat cap, and wellingtons.

‘I wondered if you and Emee would like to come for a walk?’

She’s about to say no, but Emee has already pushed past her and is winding herself around Hubert’s legs, delighted at the prospect of an outing.

Thea reluctantly pulls on her jacket. They walk for a while in silence.

‘Have you read any more of the poetry book?’ Hubert asks.

‘A little – but there’s been a lot going on.’

‘Have you worked out which is my favourite poem?’

‘No!’ She can hear how snappy she sounds. Hubert hears it too.

‘Is everything all right, Thea?’

‘Have you . . .’ She stops dead. ‘Have you ever felt as if you might be exposed at any moment? As if the people around you are about to find out that you’re actually a sham? That you’re a completely different person from the one you’re pretending to be?’

He laughs, much to her surprise.

‘Of course. I think that’s one of my most common nightmares. That and standing naked in the middle of the village square.’

In spite of the situation, Thea can’t help smiling.

His tone grows more serious. ‘We all have our secrets, things we absolutely don’t want to come out. Although sometimes you have to wonder . . .’

He pauses.

‘Wonder what?’

‘Whether it would really be so terrible if those secrets were revealed. Then at least we would have to carry them alone. Loneliness is fucking worse than almost anything.’

He falls silent, and they continue their walk.

The f-word surprises her. Hubert doesn’t usually swear. Although he has a point. She’s kept her family a secret for almost three decades – or rather kept herself a secret, constantly worried that they might catch up with her, expose her, turn her back into what she once was.

But she’s no longer a frightened nineteen-year-old, Daddy’s little girl who suddenly realises that the world he’s dragged her into contains nothing but crap and stagnant water. Who flees in the middle of the night with nothing but a battered suitcase, a bank book and a train ticket.

She’s a grown woman who has worked in war zones, been bombed and shot at. Lost everything she cared about.

Hubert is right. What is she so afraid of?

‘Thank you, Hubert,’ she says.

‘For what?’ He gives that wry smile she likes so much.

‘For listening.’