‘I never go anywhere without my drawing materials.’
‘Good. So what you presumably also need is a quiet room with good light. Yes?’
‘My bedroom will be fine. It’s where I always used to draw. But I’ll need a table or a desk to put in front of the window.’
‘Easily sorted. Leave it with me. Well then,’ Romily added decisively, getting to her feet as if all was settled, ‘why don’t we go back up to the house and find you something to eat, and afterwards you can get to work – that’s if you feel you want to, if you’re in the right frame of mind.’
‘I’d better see to Annelise first,’ said Hope. ‘She’ll be awake from her nap now.’
‘In that case, I’ll go and see if she’s awake while you have your lunch.’
As they walked in step along the gravel path away from the glasshouse, Hope had the strangest of feelings; as though this wholly pragmatic woman had the power to make everything right in the world. There was a powerful magnetism about her, too. You couldn’t help but be drawn towards her and respond to her positivity. Was that what Hope’s father had seen in her?
They were almost at the gate that separated the kitchen garden from the rest of the garden when Hope slowed her step. ‘How do you do it?’
Romily stared back at her. ‘In what sense?’
‘Make life look so easy?’
‘Don’t be fooled. I’m a swan, gliding along on the surface but paddling frantically beneath.’
‘I find that hard to believe. You’ve just lost your husband and yet you’re able to show me sympathy and enormous kindness. I couldn’t have done that when I was first widowed. In fact, if I’m brutally honest, I still can’t.’
‘You do yourself down, Hope. You could have said no to Annelise’s parents, but you didn’t. You did something wonderfully heroic by bringing their precious daughter home with you.’
‘The trouble is, I can’t stop thinking of Otto and Sabine. I should have tried harder to make them come with me. I fear for them, I really do.’
‘I believe you have every right to be concerned. What I saw going on in Europe when I was recently there chilled my blood. But you did what you could. We all, in the end, have to make difficult choices, and simply do the best we can.’
Romily paused and turned to look towards the house. ‘I found writing today a great comfort,’ she said softly. ‘It was a much-needed diversion.’ She slowly switched her gaze back to Hope. ‘Maybe you’ll find that doing some work will help you get a fresh perspective on your new-found situation. You know, your father was immensely proud of your talent as an illustrator.’
‘He never said so. Not in those actual words.’
‘He probably thought you’d imagine he was patronising you. Would he have had cause to believe that?’
The pain of an old wound deep inside Hope made itself felt, made her remember how furious her father had been when she’d first told him about Dieter. She remembered too how much she had hated him for his high-handed and illogical prejudice. ‘My father rarely gave praise,’ she said, ‘but in contrast he was always quick to show his displeasure at something.’
‘Do you mean when you wanted to marry Dieter?’
‘Yes,’ Hope said flatly. ‘My father refused point-blank to consider any view but his own on the matter. His trouble was that he couldn’t accept he could ever be wrong.’
‘He did, you know. He profoundly regretted his reaction to you and Dieter. If he could have turned back time, he would have.’
Hope chewed on her lip and frowned. ‘What made you fall in love with him? It’s a question that’s puzzled me ever since meeting you. You just don’t seem to be the sort of woman who would put up with a man like Jack Devereux.’
‘I fell in love with him because … because he made my world seem so much better than it had before.’ Romily stared into the distance, her gaze directed towards the church tower on the other side of the beech hedge. ‘The sun was brighter when we were together,’ she said faintly, ‘the sky bluer, the stars and moon bigger. I can’t explain why that should be, but Jack just had that effect on me. Yes, he could be dogmatic and wickedly quick-tempered, but equally he could be gentle and thoughtful. I was ill once, just with a silly head cold, but instead of driving down to London for a meeting he had planned, he cancelled it, then put me to bed with a hot-water bottle, a glass of lemon and honey and a tot of whisky, and read to me.’
‘That doesn’t sound like the man I know,’ Hope said. But no sooner had she uttered the words than a memory from a long time ago surfaced, and she pictured her father by the side of her bed, reading to her and encouraging her to sip the milky drink he’d brought up for her.
‘Perhaps he was afraid to show his softer side,’ said Romily. ‘It couldn’t have been easy for him being on his own after your mother died. He had to be both father and mother to you; he was bound to make mistakes. Mistakes I know that he very much came to regret. He so badly wanted to make amends to you all. But he realised it too late. And now he’s dead.’ She turned away and resumed walking, but not before Hope saw her eyes fill with tears.
‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ said Hope, and meant it.
‘Don’t apologise, there’s no need.’
‘When you feel able to, will you tell me some more about my father, the man you came to know?’
‘I will if you’ll tell me about Dieter.’
