as a feather.
7
The Letter
‘Ingrid? Do you know Ingrid?’ Beatrice appeared surprised.
‘I met her in Hay-on-Wye,’ Antonia reminded her.
‘Of course you did. Sorry, my dear. I’ve got so much on my mind. Oh, yes, she still lives here, but now that Len’s moved in, she’s planning to move out.’ Beatrice Ardleigh gave a sigh. ‘I am so sad. I am deeply grateful to her. She did everything for me, you see. We’ve lived together for – what is it? Nearly thirty years? Goodness, that’s a terribly long time, isn’t it? She never allowed anyone to come near me. Never.’
‘Not even your doctor?’
‘Dr Aylard found her quite difficult.’ Beatrice held her cigarette away from her eyes. ‘Once she pushed him out of my room. Well, Ingrid saw me through all my indignities. When I couldn’t sit up and had to lie down all the time. When I couldn’t go by myself to the loo. It is so easy to be dismissive and say, “Oh, one of those feverish female friendships,” I am sure that’s what people are saying, but it was so much more than that. Whenever I felt down and wanted to have a little cry, Ingrid sat beside me and held my hand. She read to me. She’s particularly good with voices. She sang me to sleep. Honestly. She fed me, mopped my brow, brushed my hair, bathed me, gave me massages. She dealt with all my correspondence –’
‘She reads your letters?’ Payne interrupted.
‘Used to – I mean she did it until recently. Not any more – not since Len’s been around. But before that she acted as my secretary. She was also my nurse, nanny – mother, if you like – guardian angel! All rolled up in one! I was Ingrid’s baby, her very special little girl. I know this sounds ridiculous and strange, but she lost her child, you see. She was seven months pregnant when it happened. It was going to be a little girl, apparently. Claire.’
‘Claire?’
‘That was the name Ingrid intended to give her little girl. She had been listening to “Clair de Lune” on the radio when the accident happened. She’s got all those photos in her room – various little girls – blonde and demure-looking. She said they were her nieces, but, you see, she hasn’t got any sisters. Once she was off guard and she said, “That’s Claire, my daughter.” Some of the photos are actually magazine cuttings. Photos of fair-haired girls modelling children’s clothes.’
‘You mean she pretends they are her daughter?’ Payne’s eyebrow went up. ‘ She imagines they are her daughter?’ ‘Yes. Yes. She could never get over the loss of her baby. She keeps having conversations with Claire in her head. She sends a monthly cheque to the Convent of the Poor Claires. She keeps listening to “Clair de Lune” –’ Beatrice broke off. ‘Oh, I know – I know – it’s totally mad. You poor things – the look on your faces! Well, losing the baby was a most devastating blow for Ingrid. She was quite unable to come to terms with the fact she’d never have another child too. To cut a long story short, I became a – a substitute. I allowed her to mother me. I don’t care what people think. Great shame it all has to end like that.’
‘She didn’t like the idea of you marrying?’
‘She didn’t. She was distraught. She made a ghastly scene.’ Beatrice shut and opened her eyes. ‘It was quite frightening. Honestly. She said some truly appalling things to me. She made me cry. I didn’t really see why the three of us couldn’t be happy together. I honestly didn’t. Len said he didn’t mind at all; he is an angel . . . I misjudged the situation completely, it seems. I must be terribly naive. Ingrid took it all rather badly. “You don’t really expect me to cohabit with you?” How she screamed! She seemed out-raged. She made it sound as though I’d come up with some really improper suggestion.’
‘You haven’t made up?’
‘I am afraid not. She’s still extremely cut up. She won’t speak to Len. Pretends
7
The Letter
‘Ingrid? Do you know Ingrid?’ Beatrice appeared surprised.
‘I met her in Hay-on-Wye,’ Antonia reminded her.
‘Of course you did. Sorry, my dear. I’ve got so much on my mind. Oh, yes, she still lives here, but now that Len’s moved in, she’s planning to move out.’ Beatrice Ardleigh gave a sigh. ‘I am so sad. I am deeply grateful to her. She did everything for me, you see. We’ve lived together for – what is it? Nearly thirty years? Goodness, that’s a terribly long time, isn’t it? She never allowed anyone to come near me. Never.’
‘Not even your doctor?’
‘Dr Aylard found her quite difficult.’ Beatrice held her cigarette away from her eyes. ‘Once she pushed him out of my room. Well, Ingrid saw me through all my indignities. When I couldn’t sit up and had to lie down all the time. When I couldn’t go by myself to the loo. It is so easy to be dismissive and say, “Oh, one of those feverish female friendships,” I am sure that’s what people are saying, but it was so much more than that. Whenever I felt down and wanted to have a little cry, Ingrid sat beside me and held my hand. She read to me. She’s particularly good with voices. She sang me to sleep. Honestly. She fed me, mopped my brow, brushed my hair, bathed me, gave me massages. She dealt with all my correspondence –’
‘She reads your letters?’ Payne interrupted.
‘Used to – I mean she did it until recently. Not any more – not since Len’s been around. But before that she acted as my secretary. She was also my nurse, nanny – mother, if you like – guardian angel! All rolled up in one! I was Ingrid’s baby, her very special little girl. I know this sounds ridiculous and strange, but she lost her child, you see. She was seven months pregnant when it happened. It was going to be a little girl, apparently. Claire.’
‘Claire?’
‘That was the name Ingrid intended to give her little girl. She had been listening to “Clair de Lune” on the radio when the accident happened. She’s got all those photos in her room – various little girls – blonde and demure-looking. She said they were her nieces, but, you see, she hasn’t got any sisters. Once she was off guard and she said, “That’s Claire, my daughter.” Some of the photos are actually magazine cuttings. Photos of fair-haired girls modelling children’s clothes.’
‘You mean she pretends they are her daughter?’ Payne’s eyebrow went up. ‘ She imagines they are her daughter?’ ‘Yes. Yes. She could never get over the loss of her baby. She keeps having conversations with Claire in her head. She sends a monthly cheque to the Convent of the Poor Claires. She keeps listening to “Clair de Lune” –’ Beatrice broke off. ‘Oh, I know – I know – it’s totally mad. You poor things – the look on your faces! Well, losing the baby was a most devastating blow for Ingrid. She was quite unable to come to terms with the fact she’d never have another child too. To cut a long story short, I became a – a substitute. I allowed her to mother me. I don’t care what people think. Great shame it all has to end like that.’
‘She didn’t like the idea of you marrying?’
‘She didn’t. She was distraught. She made a ghastly scene.’ Beatrice shut and opened her eyes. ‘It was quite frightening. Honestly. She said some truly appalling things to me. She made me cry. I didn’t really see why the three of us couldn’t be happy together. I honestly didn’t. Len said he didn’t mind at all; he is an angel . . . I misjudged the situation completely, it seems. I must be terribly naive. Ingrid took it all rather badly. “You don’t really expect me to cohabit with you?” How she screamed! She seemed out-raged. She made it sound as though I’d come up with some really improper suggestion.’
‘You haven’t made up?’
‘I am afraid not. She’s still extremely cut up. She won’t speak to Len. Pretends
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