The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [165]
“This first map was done in stages. It shows the route of the Border riders.”
“Archie,” I said. “Do you like me?”
“Of course I like you. That’s why we’re getting married. See how the map-maker drew in a cross for each abbey and a little flag for each castle.”
“But marriage isn’t all about skalds and old maps.” I moved my hand from his hand to his forearm. Through the cotton of his shirt I could feel the heat of his skin.
“I walked this path once.” As if unaware of my touch, he lifted his hand to trace the route. “It took three days and each night I slept in an abbey. I was probably breaking the law, but it made me feel like a pilgrim.”
I stroked his arm. “Archie.” One of my Latin translations had been about Caesar hesitating on the banks of the Rubicon. To lead his troops across the small stream was to declare war with Rome. “Would you like to kiss me?”
“Jean. What’s got into you?”
A blaze of colour appeared high on each cheek. Still holding the book, Archie was on his feet. Three steps carried him to the door. “My van’s been making a strange noise,” he said. “Mr. Stewart promised to take a look at it this evening. Can you let yourself out?”
His feet thudded on the stairs. Looking out of the window, I saw him hurry down the garden path and, still clutching the book, without a backward glance, climb into the postal van and drive away.
I pocketed the photograph and followed. I knew now exactly what I was going to do. Pedalling at top speed, I headed back along the narrow road, hoping to arrive home before Marian went to bed. My efforts were rewarded. As I stepped into the kitchen, I heard a low hum of conversation from George’s room. I tiptoed up the stairs to her bedroom. The dim light filtering through the curtains revealed Robin, already asleep in his bed, and next to him the chest of drawers. Holding my breath, I glided across the room. The underwear drawer opened easily, the money made no noise, but as I closed the drawer, Robin asked drowsily what I was doing.
I knelt beside him. “Are you awake enough to remember something?”
“I think so.”
“Tomorrow, very early, I have to go away to find my family, but I’ll come back soon. Ten days or two weeks. So what you have to remember is that I haven’t disappeared. I’ve gone away to do something that’s very important. I’m going to write a letter to Granny and Grandpa.”
“Okay,” he said and rolled back into his pillow.
In my own room I packed my clothes and my precious photographs, and sat down to write to Marian and George. Of the few letters I had written in my life this was by far the hardest. As I laboured over the sentences, I kept thinking I should put the money back and ask for a loan. But what if they refused? I remembered Mr. Milne’s words the day he had driven me back from the hospital. He had turned out to be right. I was prepared to go to almost any lengths to get what I wanted.
Dear Marian and George,
Forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye to anyone but Robin. Don’t forgive me for taking all your money, Marian. It’s a terrible thing to do and I promise to return it as soon as I can. I am no longer engaged to Archie—I never should have been. He mistook one feeling for another. Whatever he says about me is probably too kind.
I took the money because I want to go to Iceland to find my grandparents, or any other members of my father’s family. I don’t think I can go forward until I know what lies behind me. I am sorry not to explain better. I will be back in two weeks, or less, if you still want me to work for you. I’ll understand if you don’t.
Thank you for giving me a home and for being so kindto me.
Love, Jean
P.S. My real (Scottish) name is Gemma Hardy.
Then I wrote a short note to Hannah and Pauline; I would post it in the morning on my way to the bus. I tried not to think of the irony that Archie would be the one to slide it through their letter-box. As for him, there was no need to write.
PART