Shy Creatures by Chambers Clare

Author:Chambers,Clare
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mariner Books
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Chapter 22

“I’m sorry,” Marion Kenley said, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a large, folded handkerchief. “That was harder than I expected.”

William had departed for his Monday morning shift at the library, where he made himself useful reshelving books. Helen and the Kenleys remained in the art room for a brief postmortem of the reunion before her first class of the day.

“I’ve never heard him speak before,” Helen said.

Although hoping for just this outcome, she had been unprepared for the curious treble of his voice, so completely at odds with his coarsely masculine appearance. Francis seemed the most taken aback.

“You were very natural with him, Mother,” he said. “I’m afraid I was worse than useless. I knew I would be.”

“Oh no,” said Helen. “It was you he wanted to see. That came across loud and clear.”

“I know,” said Francis unhappily.

“He looked so different and yet sounded just the same as when he was eleven,” said Marion. “It was quite unsettling.”

If his visitors had been taken aback, William himself was no less shaken by the depredations of the passing years.

“You’ve gone grey!” he said to Marion by way of greeting.

And she had laughed and said, “I know. Quite some time ago and almost overnight.”

“If you see someone every day, you don’t notice them getting old,” William explained. “Like Aunt Louisa.”

The visitors nodded. Helen had urged them all to sit, drawing her own chair back so that it was just outside the group. She was finding William’s voice so distracting, so strange and hoarse, that it took all of her concentration to focus on what he was saying.

“I suppose you are probably married by now,” William said to Francis after a pause.

“I was,” Francis replied. “My wife died six and a half years ago.”

I bet he knows to the very day how long ago it was, thought Helen. Now that she knew this about Francis, she felt warmer towards him; it explained the sadness she was now convinced she had heard in his voice on the telephone.

“Was she pretty?” William asked.

From his wallet Francis produced a photograph of a young woman on her wedding day, smiling not at the photographer, but at someone else, away to the side, her face radiating joy.

“That’s Evelyn,” he said.

William took it, nodded, and passed it back.

“She was beautiful,” said Marion, laying a hand briefly on her son’s knee.

“Inside and out,” Francis said quietly, and Helen was appalled to find tears spring to her eyes.

Don’t you dare, she commanded herself. This isn’t your tragedy.

“How is Boswell?” William asked suddenly. “Is he still a good boy?”

Mother and son exchanged glances.

“Sadly, he’s no longer with us,” said Marion. “He lived to a ripe old age, though.”

“I had a cat called Boswell. Named after your Boswell,” William said. “She died, too. In the snow.”

“That’s sad,” said Marion. “Animals are a great joy, but you do miss them dreadfully when they’re gone.”

“William is one of our most talented artists,” Helen put in, thinking that perhaps they had talked enough about death.

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