AN INVITATION

Anneke is moderately pleased by what she sees in the mirror. The shadows under her eyes have lightened since the Byghan’s funeral and she has just washed her hair, which floats free instead of the up style she wears for work. She ties it back loosely with a lightweight blue scarf that almost matches the pattern in her skirt. Her shirt is crisply ironed and she throws a blue cardigan over her shoulders. She is going to have tea with Emily Ferguson, whom she met at the funeral.

Emily had seemed friendly. Her note to Anneke said ‘It was a pleasure to meet you the other day. Would you like to come and have tea with me one day soon?’, and there was little trouble in arranging things with Margaret. Anneke had not always taken the time off to which she was entitled. Now, on this warm Sunday afternoon, she follows a seldom-used path through the outskirts of the woods and alongside meadowland. It is sunny, and she feels a sense of freedom that has been missing from her life for some time.

She gathers a bunch of flowers from the garden and as she walks, she adds a variety of wild flowers here and there, and a few poppies and ears of barley from the field’s edge. By the time she reaches the stream below Emily’s cottage, the bunch has grown into an unruly bouquet, and she treads the stepping-stones with care. [art club cottage ipicture]

She is curious to see what kind of place her hostess lives in. As she walks up a grassy incline she takes in the thick, whitewashed walls of the cottage, the stone lintels, the grey slate roof and, beside the vegetable patch, a dilapidated shed that serves as a garage. She glimpses the blue paintwork of a car inside the half-open door, a sporty model not usually associated with elderly ladies. Anneke gathers the flowers in her arms, and as she approaches the front door it opens.

Emily has been looking out for Anneke. In the darkness of the hall inside, she opens the door and sees the younger woman holding the loosely bunched flowers in her arms, her fair hair transformed into a halo by the sunlight as a breeze stirs it slightly. The scene is like something from another time. Emily blinks. For a moment she grasps the door post to steady herself, then says: ‘I’m so glad you could come. Do come in, the kettle’s on.’

Anneke sees a tall, elderly woman with a neat, up-to-date haircut, wearing well-cut casual trousers and a top. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, just had a little moment.’

‘Thank you for asking me. I thought you might like these.’ Anneke holds out the profusion of flowers and Emily looks into her clear, grey eyes and the natural, unforced smile. She tells herself that while deja-vu can be an illusion, just for a moment it seems that Flora, the goddess of plants and flowers, has walked in her garden.

Emily takes the flowers and moves towards the kitchen. ‘We’ll have tea in the sitting room. Won’t you go through?’

Anneke finds herself in a comfortable room furnished with elderly chintz-covered armchairs, a few antique pieces and an oriental rug laid over a slightly worn pile carpet. Books are everywhere. A cushion on one of the armchairs moves and turns into two Siamese cats intertwined, their blue eyes scrutinising Anneke.

‘Don’t mind Freya and Odin,’ Emily calls out. ‘Please make yourself at home.’ Anneke sinks into an armchair and takes in her surroundings. The cats yawn, stretch and turn back into the illusion of a cream-coloured cushion. There are paintings on the walls, mostly landscapes or flowers. A silver-framed photograph of a young man in Air Force uniform stands on the writing desk.

Emily comes in with a tea tray. ‘I thought you might like cucumber sandwiches. They are typically English. And I’ve made a ginger cake, which is a treat for me. I don’t often bake. Now, would you like ‘builders’ tea, or there’s Earl Grey if you’d rather?’

‘Builders would be fine, please.’

They set about the tea and sandwiches.

‘I make these as my mother used to, with pepper and salt and a dash of vinegar,’ explains Emily.

‘My mother would cook whatever came to hand,’ says Anneke, thinking of the times her mother had taken her travelling around Europe, and life had never seemed to be settled. ‘We travelled all over the place: France, Spain, Italy, Turkey, even into North Africa. It was like that film.’

‘I know the one. Kate Winslet was in it.’

‘My life was not so romantic as that. My mother always seemed to be looking for something.’

‘Life can do that to people. I had a friend like that once…  Do have another sandwich. I’ll cut the cake.’

Emily goes to the kitchen and returns with the knife she had forgotten. ‘I’m afraid it’s gone down a bit in the middle, but it should be moist.’

As the cake is sliced, they agree that a ginger cake is best if a little bit damp in the middle and slightly crisp on the outside.

Emily asks, ‘How are you getting on with Margaret?’

‘Well, thank you. I think she likes having someone around the place.’

‘Good. I can imagine it. That house terrified me when I first saw it.’

Anneke is interested, ‘When did you first come here?’

‘I was just a little girl. It was in the War. We lived in London and lots of children were sent to live in the country because the bombing was getting closer. We were put on a train and I had no idea where I was going. I hated leaving my parents. I thought I would never see them again.’

That must have been horrible.’

‘It was. And it was a very long train journey, many hours out of London. We had to carry our gas masks in boxes which hung over our shoulders on string, and everyone had a case containing their belongings. Some of the poorer families couldn’t afford everything. They gave us tea and biscuits and we had sandwiches wrapped up in paper, but we were exhausted by the time we arrived. At the station, we all got off the train and some went off on buses, but I was met at the station by the lady I was staying with.’

Anneke is fascinated. She has heard stories about the war in the 1940s.

Emily goes on: ‘She was a rather grand lady, Mrs Diana Clemens. She looked down at me as if I was a new puppy and she was not sure if she approved of the breed.’ She laughs. ‘She wore a little fur cape, and I was astonished when we got into a very grand car with a man to drive it. Where I came from not many people owned cars in those days. After what felt like hours, we drew up outside an enormous house and I couldn’t believe that one family had the run of the place. I thought the lady must live in part of it, like a flat. As it turned out, I wasn’t far wrong.’

‘Was she kind to you?’ asks Anneke.

‘She was always kind in her own way, but I was conscious that I wasn’t quite ‘one of them,’ as you might say. I was probably an awkward little girl, but I was frightened, and I think she understood that. I got on well with Edward, her son. We stayed friends for life, even when he married Margaret much later on. I was able to help him with his schoolwork when we were small, and his mother liked me for that. As luck would have it, I was blessed with an amount of brain, which is how I got into Oxford and went on to have a career in the Foreign Office.’

 Anneke remembers the car in the garage. ‘That is when you bought your car?’

 That one came later, but yes, I always liked nice cars, after that first ride in one. It wasn’t long before petrol became unobtainable because of the War, and the grand car was shut in the garage. I used to sneak in sometimes just to look at it. I loved the smoothness of the bodywork, and the wonderful smell. When I bought my very first car I went for the best I could afford. I loved driving. Still do. But round here I found the twisty lanes can be a bit challenging.’ 

She laughs and changes the subject. ‘Mrs Clemens used to drive about in a pony and trap, so I got to know the countryside and some of the people living here. I must have seemed a strange kid from London to most of them, something from another world.’

Anneke nods. She understands what it feels like to be an outsider.

‘There were people here from all over Europe. The French were somewhere nearby, although it was all very secret then, as well as the Dutch, and the Americans were all over the place before D-Day. Some of the officers were using part of the house and we just lived in one wing.’

Anneke pricks up her ears. Was it true that the Dutch were here? ‘Do you have any old photos?’ 

‘Only one or two that somebody took when I was a child. Later on, when I bought this cottage, I photographed everything. I still have most of them, somewhere upstairs. I’ll find them for you.’ They sit in friendly silence for a moment, then Emily says, ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, my dear, you are looking a lot better than you were the other day. It’s been a hard time for you. Are you managing to get some rest?’

‘A bit. Mrs Clemens is quite busy these days, so she is not needing me all the time. But there is plenty to do in the house.’

Looking at Anneke, Emily thinks that she seems today almost a girl, although she must be around forty. They continue to talk of this and that, about the village and the changes Emily has seen, and Anneke mentions that she keeps a journal. ‘Excellent!’ smiles Emily, ‘I wish I had done that. But I have plenty of writing to do. It’s become my retirement occupation.’

As the shadows outside lengthen, Anneke takes her leave.

‘Come again soon,’ says Emily. ‘I’ll rummage and find those old photos.’ The tea things are cleared and she watches her visitor cross the stream and walk away along the edge of the woods. She realizes she meant to ask Anneke about the pretty necklace she wore at the funeral. That will wait for another day.

As she looks across the fields, watching Anneke make her way back to the big house, she recalls the Americans, the Dutch and the French being here; that busy, exciting and sometimes fearful time when she and Edward were children. Gazing out, she fancies she sees two figures holding hands in the distance, walking in the late afternoon sunlight. When she looks again there is nothing but the breeze wafting through the long grasses.

Chapter 11