Will You Love Me in September

"A few months after it happened. Our friends could not get across immediately to tell me. We heard that your mother had died too. I wondered what had become of you.

I asked for news but could get none. No one knew your whereabouts.”

"Jeanne, one of the maids at the hotel, looked after me. She kept me until my aunt Damaris-my mother's half-sister-came to look for me.”

"Yes. I know that now. But I did not then. As soon as I discovered where you were I sent my nephew to invite you to come here. I wished you had come earlier.”

"I should have done so if my aunt had not been expecting a baby.”

"The good Aunt Damaris. Tell me more about her. Aimee says that her mother tried to find you and failed to do so. She said that after the death of your father and mother there was chaos in the house. Of course Aimee can only speak from hearsay.

She only knows what her mother told her. It was all very mysterious to her before she had the opportunity of coming to England. It was what her mother had waited for.

She wanted Aimee to present herself to her father's family-and to bring back the ring and the watch. Aimee tells me that her mother had recently married and set up home with her new husband just outside Paris. I can imagine that a grown-up daughter would be rather de trop in such a household. I was touched to see how delighted Aimee was by her welcome here, and when I suggested she stay as long as she liked ... in fact, make her home here ... she was overcome with joy.”

"It is all so bewildering. I had no idea what was going on.”

"How could you? What were you ... five or six?”

"I just knew that I was there with my parents in that luxurious house, and then they were gone and I was in a damp, dark cellar, frightened, bewildered, wondering what it all meant.”

"My poor, poor child! But you were brave, I don't doubt. You nave a look of your father. What a waste of a life! I should have been the one. Here I am, condemned to a chair for the rest of my ... That's self-pity. One should beware of that.

It's taking your troubles out and nourishing them ... pampering them ... instead of shutting them away in a dark cupboard and forgetting them-which is the wise thing to do.”

I said, "I'm sorry. Has it been long?”

"Fourteen years ago, when I was twenty-five. I was thrown from my horse when I was out hunting. I knew she couldn't take that hedge. It was too high. Others turned away and took a detour. But I had to do it. It was showing off ... nothing more.

I crashed. My mare was on top of me. She had to be shot. I sometimes think it was a pity they didn't shoot me. There's self-pity again.”

"It's understandable," I replied.

"They never thought I should recover. I was engaged to be married to a beautiful girl. She looked after me in those first weeks. She said we would go through with the marriage ... but old self-pity came along. I was impossible, I knew. I had a grievance against life. We had always been so active in our family; I couldn't endure it. And then there was the pain ... the intermittent pain. The trouble was that I never knew when it was coming on. I had rages. In the end she saw how useless it would be. So did I.I couldn't condemn her to a life like that. She married someone else in time.”

"I am so sorry. Now you seem so calm and gentle ... so reconciled.”

"That is what time does, Clarissa. Time is the great teacher, the great healer. I tell myself that it was tragic that John should die of a strange disease in Paris and that I, his successor, should be a cripple, spending his days in a chair. You might say it was the curse of the Fields, if you believe in such things.”

"Is there supposed to be a curse?”

"No. We've been strong and vigorous through the ages, defending our lands and goods from marauding Scots when they made their forays over the border. It was just one of the misfortunes which beset most families at some time. I have been talking a great deal about myself. I want to hear about you.”

I told him about life at Enderby and how we were close to the Dower House, the home of my grandmother Priscilla, and Eversleigh Court, where my great-grandparents lived.

"You have an uncle too, have you not? One who is in the army?”

"He's my great-uncle, actually. He's Carleton really, but we call him Carl always, to distinguish him from my great-grandfather.”

"Yours is a long-lived family.”

"My grandmother was very young when my mother was born and my mother was young when I was born.”

"I see. It makes a small gap between generations. Do you see much of your uncle Carl?”

"No. Very little until lately. He came with me to York.”

He nodded and was silent for a while, and then there was a knock on the door and Aimee came in. She had changed her velvet dress for one of brocade in a bluish shade.