The Letter (34 page)

Margaret would rather James had dropped Saurabh, Pavia and Rajeev with her at Conisbrough, after he collected them from Heathrow. Elizabeth wouldn’t hear of it. “Come to us, mum. We can look after you all. Take you round, go to York…”

Elizabeth always took visitors to York, and Edinburgh.
Margaret expected this would be the same, London too. She wouldn’t go to London. It was too big and she didn’t like the underground. However, she could relax knowing her capable daughter would organise the domestic arrangements. Elizabeth had been experimenting making Indian vegetarian meals which, according to James, were delicious. In his opinion it was worth the Indians coming for the food.

She had sampled a curry but refused anything else. The spicy taste evoked the meals and power games that accompanied them at Aakesh, an India Margaret didn’t want to remember. If a simple thing like this upset her how would she cope with the trauma of the visit? Perhaps it was a good idea to use Elizabeth and James’s home. Their comfortable house with six bedrooms would provide privacy and a quiet space for the initial welcome.

Margaret had written to Jean and their brother John in Scotland, to let them know what was happening. They would come to Conisbrough, if things went well. There would be two or three weeks to introduce Pavia, Rajeev and Saurabh to Florrie and Matt, friends and neighbours. She’d have a party. Matt would play the piano. She’d recite
‘My
Love
is
like
a
Red
Red
Rose.’
She hummed the tune. The high notes were out of reach, not like in the old days.

She’d better get up. In this bad weather Elizabeth wouldn’t want to be delayed. Margaret put fresh sheets on the beds, put her suitcase and presents by the door, and left the storage heaters on low.

*  *  *  *  *

Elizabeth was late. Something must have cropped up at school. Margaret was annoyed: didn’t her daughter realise how important today was? What if the plane was diverted or her children didn’t come? What if she didn’t measure up to their memories? What if she did? Margaret had hung on to the notion that they would know each other anywhere. Maybe it was all foolish.
She
had
left
them.
They hadn’t seen her weep, but she hadn’t wiped their tears. She knew from their letters the damage she had done. Could they really forgive her?

Margaret put her coat and hat on. If the plane from Delhi was on schedule, it would have already have landed at Heathrow by the time Elizabeth got here. At last… !

“Thank goodness you’re ready, mum. I want to get home before dark and in case James phones. I don’t know how long it will take him to drive up from Heathrow. On a good day it takes anything from three and a half to five hours, depending on the traffic, but with this weather…” She packed the car and drove speedily to the motorway.

This section of the A1 north was clear but the trees and fields on either side of the carriageway were covered with snow, and the wind was getting up. Her mother was quiet. Elizabeth wondered if she was excited or apprehensive, probably both. It was always difficult to tell what she was thinking.

“Elizabeth… ! Slow down!”

“Sorry, I hadn’t noticed.” She slowed to a more sensible speed.

There was so much riding on this visit. Maybe she should have swapped cars with James. This one was made for rough weather. She’d come off the A1 at Junction 44. The gritters should be out on the road towards Bramham but if the weather carried on like this they’d have to use snow ploughs. She’d take it steady. The lane to their house would be the tricky bit.

The snow was falling heavily, drifting across the road in flurries like Margaret’s memories. She tapped on the
Range Rover window “Snow, snow, go away…” Would the
presents she’d chosen with such care be suitable? Rajeev had a sweet tooth. She’d wrapped bars of nougat for him, the nearest thing she could find to the nutty treats she’d bought to send him from Kohat. She had given them to the servants before leaving for Bombay.

Security lights flashed on as they pulled into the drive. Elizabeth switched off the engine. “Stay in the car, mum… I’m going to get a shovel and clear a path to the door.” Margaret watched her stamp a track to the stable block.

The garden dazzled silently, a peaceful English wonderland, outshining the showy mountain majesty of Kohat and Nainital. It was so long ago. Margaret had loved India and Ben but, like moths in the lamplight, they were destined to burn out. Was it really God’s will or part of a primitive, spiritual universality that bound life together, a sort of cosmic dance? She thought of the statue of the dancing Shiva. Margaret wouldn’t let superstition rule her but if the separation from Ben hadn’t taken place, then Elizabeth couldn’t have existed. And without Elizabeth where would she be?

Irrepressible Elizabeth, hair corkscrewed with snow, pushed an enormous snow-shovel towards the four by four. Margaret prayed that when they met the children would like each other. It would be the end of her if they didn’t. She couldn’t give any of them up. She wound down the window. The cold air brought her to her senses. They’d all been writing for ages. It couldn’t happen?

Elizabeth panted, “I’m going to let Rory out.” She grunted and shovelled, every now and then turning and grinning at her mother until a rudimentary path led to the front door. The dog was released. It raced round the garden, leaping higher and higher, twisting and snapping at snowflakes, rolling madly on the white blanketed lawn. Elizabeth tried to coax the crazy animal indoors but it made a game of it, coming close, and then dodging out of reach. She grabbed its collar as it tried to sneak in through the open door and was dragged into the hall calling, “Won’t be a minute…”

Margaret wound up the window to shut out the cold. Elizabeth’s eyes were sparkling when she returned. Margaret could hear the dog howling as soon as she got out of the car.

“What a noise!”

“Just concentrate on where you’re walking, mum. I don’t want you to fall. I’ve shut Rory in the drying room.”

“You’re not going to leave the poor animal shut in there?”

“No, just while I get you in safely. He’ll quieten down in a minute.”

Elizabeth lit the log fire, checked the answering machine — there were no messages and switched on the lights decorating a pine tree by the french windows. The crystal star at the top skimmed the high ceiling.

But it was a tiny Christmas tree taking centre stage on the Georgian mantelpiece that drew Margaret’s attention. No more than eighteen inches high, glass baubles drooped down from its spindly faded branches. She smiled with recognition, “I remember buying this with your father for your first Christmas… but Elizabeth, we’ve had Christmas.”

“Mum, I’m not going batty… that was when the Indians were
supposed
to be coming, but Rajeev couldn’t get leave. It’s a good job we hadn’t told you. We’d bought all the presents so we decided to have a surprise Christmas when they arrived, even though it’s February. The snow is a bonus.”

“It’s a daft idea Elizabeth, but I love it.”

Elizabeth ferried Margaret’s luggage and the rest of the presents from the car. Then she hung her coat in the drying room and let the dog out.

“Down Rory, down” Margaret said, tapping him on the nose to stop him nibbling at a parcel.

“Everybody’s got their own spot, mum. Be sure to put them in the right place.”

“I wish I could put this dog in his rightful place.”

“I know. It’s hopeless. One word and Rory does as he likes… I don’t have many failures but he’s one big one. Aren’t you, fella?” The dog barked.

“Don’t set it off, Elizabeth. What about the neighbours?”

“We haven’t got any near enough to bother.”

Margaret turned over the neatly-written tags on the three piles of gifts under the enormous tree. “There should be a parcel in the gold wrapping paper… with your name on?”

Elizabeth said she hadn’t been sure what to do with it and brought it in from the hall table.

“It’s something special that your father gave me from China. I wanted to remind you of how much we loved each other, before and after his accident.
No
one
could
take
his
place.
Open it now before the others come.”

Elizabeth beavered at the sellotape but the parcel was so soft it changed shape under her hands. “It’s got to be the kimono! I haven’t seen it since the day I asked you about the bracelet and the Atrey name…”

“You were nine or ten…”

Elizabeth tore open the paper. The silk kimono blossomed out like an exotic flower. “It’s even more beautiful than I remember.” She rubbed the fabric against her face then slipped her arms in the sleeves.

“Oh Elizabeth, it fits you perfectly. You could almost be me.”

“I’ll treasure it forever. You know I will…” The phone rang. Elizabeth went to answer it. Margaret held her breath.

“Everything’s fine” Elizabeth reported. “They’re about an hour away, the snow ploughs are out… I’d better put the food on but first I’ll go upstairs and take this off.” She gave a final twirl in front of her mother. “I’m so happy. I can’t wait…”

Margaret sat in her favourite armchair. The dog licked her hand and curled up by her feet. It would be the longest hour of her life.

*  *  *  *  *

Elizabeth woke her. “I thought I’d let you sleep. Pavia, Saurabh and Rajeev are here. The car’s on the drive.”

Margaret nimbly avoided the dog in a joyful race for the door.

“Mum you’re not going out? It’s freezing… At least get your coat!” But Margaret didn’t stop.

They were there under the light. Saurabh, in his dark overcoat, hat and scarf, was the image of his handsome father in the winter of Nainital. Rajeev, tall and straight, hatless, his mop of dark hair tamed in manhood, a blue woollen scarf wound round his neck. And her beloved Pavia, a beautiful woman, her magnificent plait tucked
inside a heavy camel coat, crying out “Mama… Mama…”
while Rajeev steadied her on the icy path.

Saurabh was the first to touch Margaret’s feet. “My son… Oh my son…” She wept, blessing him. He rose to stand at her side. Margaret drew strength from his presence. Her love blazed out at him and his smile healed her broken heart.

Rajeev came next. Margaret rested her hands on his head, “Can you forgive me?” she asked this once sickly boy whose dark eyes and likely death had haunted her.

He stood up and took her in his arms, bending to bury his head in her shoulder as he’d done as a boy.

Pavia was the last to pay homage, laughing and crying; tears streamed down her cheeks. The boys tenderly raised her up.

Saurabh tried to speak for all of them, “We three are here, and Elizabeth… Continents may separate us, but Mama your loving children will be united in their hearts for ever.”

Together for ever, after so many broken dreams Margaret didn’t feel the cold.