Kitty and Joan are sitting together in a restaurant for tea. They've spent their afternoon by shopping together. Kitty sighs, she is tired, the baby is kicking her ribs and she puts her hand on her belly. "Sjsjsjs little one," she thinks. Joan looks at it, Kitty sees it "He's awake."
Whereupon Joan asks: "He? You already know that it's a boy then?"
"Yes, I think it's a boy," said Kitty. "A very big boy, given the huge belly that I have now already. And Thomas is convinced that it's a girl," she says with an endearing smile. "Well, we'll see what happens."
Joan tells about Anton and their upcoming wedding. It is a tricky issue because Anton is not an Englishman, and it is not clear whether Joan, after her marriage, can retain her British nationality.
So they will probably remain a little longer in England, to sort things out. But they have plans to move to Germany and Anton wants to live in Berlin.
"I dont have much left in England," says Joan then. "And the family of Anton lives in Berlin. He can find work there, it's far more difficult for him to find a job in England."
"That's too bad," says Kitty. "I'll understand though, but I think it's just so nice that the two of you are living in London."
"Well, people do strange things out of love," says Joan. "I could have never imagined that I would move to Germany, off all places."
"It is selfish of me, I know," Kitty says. "You know, I miss friends, maybe even family. In France, there were always people around me, and although London is a big city, I can feel pretty lonely, sometimes."
"And it does not compare with what you did for Anton," she adds then softly, thinking of the years that Joan spent in prison.
"But, I would also go to the end of the worlds with Thomas," she says. She smiles at the thought of him.
"Aren't we the lucky ones, then?" asks Joan.
"Yes," she says, knowing on what Joan is referring. "Yes, we certainly are."
At the end of the afternoon she goes home. Thomas is already at home, she sees. She opens the door and stumbles, laden with packages and bags inside. "Hello honey," she calls.
Thomas appears in the door, watches her and laughs: "Goodness, don't you not have enough to drag around?" he asks amused.
She walks into the room, puts everything on the table and unbuttons her coat.
"Yes, I know, it's a lot. For the baby, Christmas presents," she says, almost apologetically.
He takes her coat, kisses her quickly and aks: "You've enjoyed your afternoon, then?"
"It was nice. How was your day? "
"Good, " he says absently, viewing the post, and Kitty decides to clean up her purchases . She puts some stuff in the closet, and is daydreaming, when she's holding a tiny hair brush. Would the baby have hair? How will he look like? Will he look like Thomas? Or her? Or a mixture of both of them?
Then she hears Thomas: "Letter for you," he says. She puts the brush aside and looks at the letter that Thomas hands her. A heavy white envelope with her full name written on it. She frowns, trying to recognize the handwriting. But she has no idea who the sender is, so she quickly opens the letter.
"Catherine,
I'm writing you to inform you that our mother is very ill and has likely not much time to live. She has expressed her desire to see you before she passes away.
Be so kind to contact me,
your brother,
William Trevelyan."
She sits down, gasping for breath and reads the letter once more.
"That is incredible," she says and let the letter sink.
"What is it?" asks Thomas absorbed in his newspaper.
"Here, read it," says Kitty, and she gives him the letter.
He reads the letter and looks at her.
"I was recently thinking of her, when we were talking about Sylvie," she says. "I wondered if my own mother would sometimes think of me. But I've never, ever imagined this. Not in my wildest fantasies."
"What do you want to do?" asks Thomas.
Her mother. She sighs at the thought of her. What will she say? Will she curse her one last time? Or will she forgive her? And why does her mother ask for her now? Her mother had declared her dead, and now, she's dying herselve. Possibly, that's why, she reckons.
"I want to go there," says Kitty, determined. "She's my mother, she is dying apparently. I cannot ignore it, now can I?"
She thinks of her two brothers, William and George. She barely knows them. As a child she was very fond of them, but after their father died, her brothers married and her contact with them was different, ultimately diluted, and in the end they cut the ties through.
Thomas faces at her and sees her tighten, her face distant and haughty. Like she was when he saw her for the first time. As if she is in a different reality.
Then Kitty looks at Thomas. She smiles, a fast, small smile, "Sorry, the past haunts my mind," she says, sighing.
"Will you go with me?" she then asks him.
"Sure," says Thomas. "I won't let you go alone."
He sees them coming. Kitty, with her new husband. His little sister, years younger than himself. He remembers the day that she was born. When he was at boarding school and his younger brother, George, too.
They were boys then, twelve and fourteen years old. But when they got home, they were blazing enthusiastic about that little sister. And after that, it was not so bad to go back to that cold, chilly household, with their strict father and their silent, aloof mother.
Because from then on, Kitty was always there, a little thing, sparkling with life, curious, scared of nothing and nobody. She loved them without conditions, he devises. Such a sweet little thing, more or less ignored by her parents, cherished by her brothers. What went wrong?
He knows it, of course. After the death of his father, his mother withdraw, overwhelmed with grief. He got married and so did George.
Kitty was left alone with their mother. Nobody was really interested in her. Until his mother arranged a marriage for her.
And Kitty was not happy in that marriage, so much he did know. But what should he have done about that? He is not exactly happily married himself, unfortunately, but he and his wife have resigned themselves to it and they're keeping the outside appearances up. Like so many other couples are doing, as far as he knows.
But Kitty caused a scandal of unprecedented proportions.
He sighs, pushes the thoughts of that away. Along with his guilty feelings, knowing that he did not help her when she needed it. And knowing that Elliot, that man, wasn't such a gentleman as they've expected. At least not for Kitty.
Then he goes to greet them. Kitty looks tense. Her husband is severe, gives him a firm handshake and looks him into the eyes.
Kitty is nervous. She has her mask of aloofness on, the way to guard herself against all the memories that come to her, now she's back in the family home after such a long time.
Upon entering the house, she found the old butler, Mr. Brown, who greeted her warmly: "Miss Catherine, it is good to see you." Kitty smiled at him, unable to say something. And once inside, in the library, waiting for the things to come, she feels her heart pounding in her throat. She looks at Thomas, who is standing next to her, and reaches out for his hand.
Then the door opens and there is William, her eldest brother. A tall man with graying hair and a tired face. He greets them, they're sitting down and William tells about their mother.
She has been ill for some time, it appears. The last few weeks it runs downhill with her, she delivers an occasional high fever and lies then deliriously, calling for Kitty. "I could not stand it anymore," says William. "So I asked her if she wanted to see you, and that's what she desired. Hence the letter. And now you're here, " He is quiet for a while and then he asks: "Do you want to see her, Kitty?"
"Yes, otherwise I would not have come here, William," she replies.
"Well, let's go to her then," William says, as he rises.
Kitty nods and looks at Thomas. William says quickly: "Just the two of us, Kitty, I'm sorry Mr. Gillan, but my mother is an old, proud woman."
And so Kitty walks along with William, and Thomas remains in the library.
When Kitty enters her mothers room, she is startled by the old woman lying in bed. Is that what's left of that proud, stately woman? She walks over to the bed and says softly: "Mother."
The woman in bed slowly opens her eyes. She looks incredulously at Kitty and says, "Catherine. Is that really you? "
"Yes, it's me," she replies.
Her mother sights: "Oh." She reaches out her hand and gestures that Kitty should sit down, in a chair beside the bed.
Then her mother says: "William, if you could give us a moment?"
William nods and leaves the room.
Kitty sits silently beside her mother's bed. She listens while her mother, softly and haltingly, speaks to her.
"I'm dying, Catherine. And in the face of death, one does think about matters that are really important.
A mother can not forget her own child. That's an impossible task.
I declared you dead, but you eventually became more alive in my mind. I tried to forget you, tried not to think about you. But you are my child. How could I forget you?"
She falls silent, closes her eyes and she seems to faint, fall asleep maybe, but after a few moments, she talks further.
"I really couldn't understand," she sighs and then says "I want to ask you for your forgiveness. I want to die in peace. For though I do not understand anything of what you did, that is not necessary, you are my child. That's what counts. And I do wish that I never had written that letter."
Kitty listens quietly to her mother and what she never expected, and also from her mother's mouth, has never, ever heard before, she hears now.
Her mother, asking for her forgiveness!?
She thinks about that letter from her mother, and remembers the letters that she herself sent to her mother. The letters in which she said that she was desperate, in which she prayed and begged for forgiveness, for one word, for a sign of life from Sylvie.
She never received it.
And while she thinks back to it, here, in the room of her mother, in the home of her childhood, she is overcome by a sudden wave of sadness. She feels the sting of tears behind her eyes.
Then she faces her mother, and she realises what a self-overcoming task this must be for her mother, to ask her this.
How can she not forgive her? What would be the point of that? How can she refuse to give away something, what she has asked to receive for herself?
And so, she gives to her mother the forgiveness, for which she has begged and pleaded for herself:
"Mother," she says. "Mother, I forgive you."
She sobs and lays her head on the bed.
Her mother opens her eyes and looks at her: "Thank you, my child," she whispers, as her hand is stroking Kitty's hair.
So, what do you think of this? I really hope that you all have enjoyed reading this! As always, suggestions, feed-back and comments are very welcome.