"Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove . . ."
Chapter 9 – The Remains
Years and years later, Ruth could still remember her mother saying it. Her voice dripping with scorn, almost vituperative: "There's no fool like an old fool." She used it liberally for anyone from the Scottish vicar, to her seamstress and – eventually - her own parents. Now Ruth was guilty of what mother hated most: being old and a fool. Minutes before, Martin had correctly diagnosed her with easily treated Sjogren's Syndrome rather than the dreaded Lupus she thought would kill her. Now she leaned against his tall frame, arms wrapped around him, overcome with relief that she was not dying – at least not yet.
His body tense, Ruth was reminded of the one time Martin returned her embrace – his schoolboy chess championship nearly 30 years earlier. Much had happened since then: the horrid estrangements - first caused by his father and then by Martin, himself. He had fled to Portwenn leaving London and his aunt behind. She was surprised when he rang, saying he would be in the city to interview for a surgical posting. Could they meet for a meal? He had only a short time but would like to see her. Ruth rearranged a filled diary to schedule lunch with her only nephew.
The news that Martin might return to surgery and London was welcome, but it seemed at odds with Joan's report about the village schoolteacher. Wasn't his former fiancée expecting a baby and determined to raise the child in Portwenn? Joan urged Ruth to use her professional skills to sort out Martin's plans for the child. She had tried everything in her arsenal of "aunt-hood" with nothing to show for it. Now it was down to Ruth.
Ruth arrived early, prepared to savour each minute with the nephew she hadn't seen for so long. Of course, he had arrived earlier, looking relaxed and self-assured. The meetings at Imperial must have gone well. Indeed, they had. Yesterday afternoon, Martin had impressed the chief executive and appointments people for nearly three hours. This morning, he spoke with various consultants and his former mentor who confirmed a specialty hiring letter would be sent shortly.
Martin somewhat excitedly told Ruth that he had let a flat near the residence he sold to redeem Havenhurst from his father. Their conversation naturally turned to Joan, and Martin was far more reassuring than expected. Ruth had been concerned not only about her sister's possible Lupus but her financial health as well. Joan begged off trips to London, pleading her duties at the farm rather than lack of funds. Yet Ruth recalled ringing Joan only to receive a message that her telephone had been switched off. A week or so later Joan called, laughing that British Telecom had mistakenly terminated her service. All was sorted now. Martin did admit that Joan was having a rough patch financially and refused any help. He had insisted on paying for her car insurance, but beyond that could do nothing.
By the time Ruth discreetly brought the conversation to his paternity predicament, Martin consulted his watch and apologized that he must be off. The locum could stay in the village no more than two days, and Martin had a full schedule of patients. With a hasty kiss on her cheek, leavened by a boyish grin, Martin dropped pound notes on the table and departed before Ruth could say: "lovely to see you."
This meeting with Martin was yesterday's lie of omission to Louisa. She didn't want to distress the woman further by mentioning Martin's near exuberance at returning to London. How could she describe the dramatic difference between her nephew's behaviour in London and his morose manner in Portwenn?
She pulled away from Martin and felt his body loosen with relief. Like Joan, she wondered how he could possibly do what was necessary to conceive a child, but pushed that thought from her mind. She owed it to Joanie to sort out the hash Martin had made of his life, beginning with his phobia.
"It's not contained, is it? The haemophobia." Ruth hoped a blunt approach would elicit the truth from Martin.
"Of course it is. I'm perfectly well. I've used self-administered techniques to control the phobia. I'm fine."
"Physician heal thyself," Ruth's arch comment riled Martin.
"Oh you're one to give advice," he huffed. "Haven't you only now admitted you self-diagnosed the Lupus Nephritis without any corroborative evidence? Not even a simple blood test."
True enough. Had she not cut her palm at the pub, Martin wouldn't have noticed her insensitivity to pain as he stitched up the wound. She could have gone on in ignorance, expecting her condition to worsen, gruesomely awaiting death. What her injured hand demonstrated more was Martin's extreme reaction to blood. He grew pale, sweaty and lost a valiant effort to control a stream of bile. But she wouldn't argue with him. Or at least not in an apparent way.
"I apologize, Martin. I'm certain the haemophobia is controlled or you wouldn't have accepted the post at Imperial. The Ellinghams are an ethical sort if nothing else. Speaking of which, Joan said Louisa is planning to stay in the village with the child while you go on to London. Is that right?"
His eyes fell from her face: "I believe so. Chris Parsons has sorted out a new GP, and the South African surgeon will leave Imperial in two months time. Then I'll move house to the Kensington flat."
"What of the child? Louisa? How will you manage with them in Portwenn and you working in London?"
"I've suggested that Louisa come to London as well. There's a second bedroom – small, but adequate for an infant. If she won't leave the village, I hope she'll allow the child to visit. We haven't registered his birth yet, but I'll claim parental responsibility."
"Yes, that's terribly important. When will you complete the registration? You need a name. And what's the surname to be?"
"I've suggested the name Henry, after grandfather. But she likes Terry, her father's name."
"Terry? A bit common, I'd say. Isn't it even Terrence or something proper?"
"No, I've met him, and he's only Terry."
"You wouldn't want Christopher, I'd imagine. Certainly, there's another more suitable name from her family. He'll be an Ellingham, I should hope."
"Not necessarily. Even if we were married, Louisa is not obliged to give him my name. It could as easily be Glasson. That's why I want to register his birth and assume parental responsibility quickly. If anything should happen to him medically, I'd have no say in his treatment. No say in anything really. Louisa could do with him as she pleased. Just as she did during the pregnancy . . . ."
Suddenly, Martin's voice broke, and his face crumbled: "God, it was awful Aunt Ruth. She wouldn't let me do anything. Only Joan. The villagers hated me even more. I was made out to be this heartless cad who was abandoning her and the child. I didn't know what to do. Staying here in Portwenn, seeing them each day but not allowed near either of them. I couldn't do it. It was painful enough before the baby was born. The mother of my child, ignoring me, refusing my help."
"There, there, Martin," Ruth reached across the desk with her uninjured hand to touch his arm. "Things seem to be sorting themselves out. You'll soon be at Imperial and living in a comfortable flat, hopefully with Louisa and the child. Your life will be restored – even better, really. You left London under a cloud, now you're taking a top of the range post at Imperial. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Uhm, nothing. Nothing will go wrong."
"If Louisa joins you in London, her circumstances will change as well. Joan said she was quite good as head of school, now she'll be with the infant rather than teaching. At least she knows London, has some friends there. Lacking that, there are the mum's groups. Those young mothers are all over Crowthorne. You can't enter a coffee shop or park without tripping over pushchairs and prams. Louisa surely understands that motherhood brings a loss of self."
"Nonsense, Aunt Ruth. Louisa will not become involved in that rubbish. You make her out to be another Olivia Parsons. She wants to teach."
"Well, who's to care for the child. Will you foist him off on a nanny as your mother did?"
"Never," Martin's vehemence startled Ruth. "Our child will be raised by his mother."
"And not his father," Ruth quietly asked.
"I'll be busy, certainly, but I will have time for my son even if only visiting him in Portwenn. I'll not be like my father, more like grandfather. He had plenty of time for me."
"But little for his own children, Martin. Like you he was an eminent surgeon, but it was to the detriment of his family. By the time you were born he was a man of achievement: a successful Harley Street practice, medical patents in England, Germany and the States which made him very wealthy, and a family he could parade out at will. The brilliant first born son, and the two plain daughters who would never dishonour the Ellingham name. If he is your role model, I pity this child and any who follow."
Martin looked shattered at Ruth's harsh description of his beloved grandfather, and she regretted her comments. Again, she reached across the desk to tap his hand but he pulled it away. It was he who changed the subject.
"Did you know that Joan left Havenhurst to you? That was her major asset and the reading of the will is only a formality. We should go into Truro tomorrow to finalize things."
"Oh bother! I don't want it. What am I to do with a farm? Bloody woman. I told her to give it to you. You've paid for half of it. Havenhurst should be yours. You could let the land to any number of farmers, and the chicken and sheep should go to market. The lake is quite worthwhile. Joan thought there was a possibility of it being used for windmills. You might investigate that bit. London is an expensive city, and NHS salaries don't compare to private patient fees. You'll need the money to even live modestly. Public school costs are outrageous. Olivia Parsons told me they looked into Saint Benedict's for Danny, and they simply could not do it. He was admitted to a good grammar school, and they're saving madly so that the three children may attend university."
"When did you speak with Olivia?"
"I presume you noticed that she and Chris were at Joan's funeral? Olivia came to the reception, and Chris joined her after your meeting. It was quite lovely catching up with them. I hadn't seen either since Sally Hocking's Boxing Day party several years ago. The three of us had a nice conversation."
"You, Chris and Olivia – good." Martin began to shuffle papers on his desk, Ruth assumed as a show of disinterest in her prattling on and a hope that she would leave.
"No, Louisa, Olivia and I. It was quite interesting. Olivia told Louisa of your boisterous behaviour in medical school and your scandalous doings afterward. I believe she may have dropped Edwina Smallwood into the mix. Louisa seemed to enjoy their chat."
"Now that's enough Aunt Ruth. Your sister is barely in her grave, and you are making merry at my expense. I, for one, am still mourning my aunt."
"Oh, please, Martin. Where is your sense of humour? Louisa is a lovely woman and has been through a great deal in one very short week. Her life has been turned upside down. If she had a slight giggle with Olivia, you should be happy for her. When I took Louisa to the cottage, she could barely walk. I put the baby in his cot and her to bed. I hope she slept through the night and you saw to the child. She is exhausted."
"We are both exhausted. I'm trying to place baby on a schedule, but Louisa insists he needs cuddling. Nanny did not pamper me and that's why I am disciplined today."
"Well your grandmother and I surely cuddled you as did nanny. By the time we returned you to Margaret at age 3 months, you were on a schedule and awoke only once or twice during the night. Nanny was horrified that your mother insisted you be allowed to cry yourself to sleep, but she could do nothing. Father tried to reason with Christopher, but he threatened to keep you from them. He is a cruel man, Martin, as you well know. Have you told them about the baby?"
"God, no. Why would I do that? Louisa's parents know, of course, but they are only marginally better."
"Do they live here? Have they seen the child?"
"No. Didn't Joan tell you about them?"
"She only mentioned that Louisa was from the village. I assumed her parents lived nearby."
"Firstly, Louisa's mother is in Spain with her – uhm – I suppose you would say boyfriend. She left the house when Louisa was age 11. Her father's imprisoned at Channings Wood. A bit of a scoundrel. They're quite different from my parents."
Yet there are similarities, Ruth thought. "What crime did her father commit – nothing violent I should hope."
"Something to do with smuggling – I don't believe it was drugs. Maybe cigarettes or whiskey."
"Well that'll make for scintillating conversation at the Christening." Martin's eye roll indicated his disapproval of her droll remark, so Ruth pressed on.
"Is there a sibling to be Godfather or Godmother?"
"No, Louisa is a single child – like me. Chris Parsons asked if he could be the Godfather, but for a male child we'll need two. There's a chap in the village I may ask. Louisa has many friends who could be the Godmother."
"When will you have the Christening? I'd like to be there."
"We haven't discussed it yet. Louisa seems reluctant to even register the birth, so I've not mentioned the Christening. Most people around here don't bother, so she's likely to do the same."
"No Christening! That's absurd. It's almost as important as the registration."
"Many parents think registering the birth is sufficient. When infant mortality rates were high, it made sense to christen a baby. Now it's more a social event than a religious ceremony."
"You seem terribly familiar with today's mores. I'm quite impressed Martin. That sort of thing was never your forte."
"Uhm, that's right. I've had to learn a great deal – to protect my son. I want to make certain he has every advantage in life, just as I did. Louisa seems a little reluctant to follow my suggestions, but she'll realize I have the child's best interest in mind."
"Martin, you have a tendency to be a little high handed about decision making. You might want to discuss the Christening and other details with Louisa. She is the mother, and even with parental responsibility, she'll have control of the child. She seems easily upset, and you must take her concerns into account."
"Well, thank you, Aunt Ruth!" Martin's sarcasm was refreshing, "but I believe I know Louisa better than you do. You only met her yesterday."
"And you only reconciled with her a few days ago. Louisa was terribly candid with me, Martin, and you may not understand her worries and concerns about you, London, your son, everything. You really must sort out how you will parent this child and the sooner the better."
"Yes, yes, I know. Talk, communicate, be smarmy, cuddle the baby."
"Oh, Martin, really! You make me wonder what that darling girl sees in you."
Continued . . . .
