“I regret to tell you…” and had known that her instinct was right, utterly and devastatingly right.
After that everything was a little blurred.
She remembered having one very strong drink at the counter and then another. She remembered walking home through the streets, losing her way, walking miles further than she need, too dazed and bewildered to remember where she was going, or even to recall her own address. At last she reached home, and many hours later became conscious of the fact that she was lying on the floor of her bedroom. It was dark, save for the golden glimmer of the streetlights coming through the uncurtained windows.
Mona had sat up slowly and felt for her handkerchief. Her face was wet with tears, but she had no recollection of crying. She was trembling, and in a curious detached way, wondered why.
‘Lionel is dead’. The words kept repeating themselves over and over again in her mind, and yet they meant nothing. She could not grasp it. She was numb with a misery that was beyond the power of pain or suffering.
For her, this was the end of everything.
For the Vicar, it was different. He had not lost someone he loved, but someone he might have hated. Even so, death was frightening. The moment when one came face to face with the Great Unknown and realised how limited was man’s comprehension of the meaning of life in this world and the next.
‘What happens after death?’ Mona asked herself as she went into the Vicarage.
It was impossible to imagine Mavis Gunther in any traditional Heaven. The house was drab and cheerless and seemed peculiarly lifeless without the woman who had dominated it for so long.
“Will you be alright?” Michael asked, as the Vicar thanked him.
“Absolutely,” Stanley Gunther replied. “I’m going to have a bath and shave and then I think I shall sleep. I feel there will be a lot to do later on. At present I am so tired I can hardly think.”
“That’s splendid then,” Michael said. “I’ll come in and see you this evening Vicar, and if you can get a sleep in the meantime, it will do you all the good in the world. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye Merrill, and thank you, Lady Carsdale.”
Stanley Gunther took Mona’s hand, hesitated, then raised it to his lips. There was something pathetic in his gesture of gratitude, but Mona understood. There were tears in her eyes as she walked beside Michael down the garden path and back to the car.
“It’s nearly lunchtime,” he said. “What about having some with me at the Park and I’ll drive you home afterwards?”
“I’d like some lunch,” Mona replied, “but I’ll walk home.”
She was glad of the invitation. If Jarvis Lecker came over, she thought, it would be better to avoid meeting him. Char, too, could just be left to guess where she was. She knew her mother would not worry unduly, she often stayed out for meals, and it was an understood thing that no one waited.
“You’ve done a good morning’s work,” Michael said, as she got into the car.
“That poor man!” Mona replied. “I think the trouble is that he’s been in prison so long he’s half afraid of freedom. Oh Michael, it’s an awful thing to say, but I’m glad, really glad, that Mavis Gunther’s dead!”
“So am I,” Michael agreed, then cautioned, “but we mustn’t say so in the village.”
“Of course not, but then there’s a lot of things one mustn’t say in the village. I wonder why life has to be a series of pretences?”
Michael thought for a moment.
“Don’t you think that everyone’s standard is different and the kindest way to go through life is not to disturb those standards, however limited they may be.”
Mona smiled up at him.
“I like you when you are a philosopher, Michael.”
“And I like you in the role of ministering angel.”
Mona looked at him quickly to see if he was laughing at her, but his eyes were tender.
“I felt embarrassed,” she said, “but I think I did comfort the poor man a little bit.”
“I’m quite certain of it.”
“The world’s topsy-turvy,” Mona said with a sigh. “It’s a funny thing but we all suspect specialists. What I’m trying to say is, that because I look like a ‘glamour girl’ people listen to me when I talk, and if a Hollywood film star writes a book on farming, we are all more likely to read it than one written by you, for instance.”
Michael laughed.
“You’re quite safe! I’m not thinking of attempting such a thing.”
“But you see what I mean?” Mona insisted. “Stanley Gunther listened to me, where he’d perhaps have paid no attention to a clergyman.”
“I do see what you mean,” Michael said, “and I still think I like you in that particular role.”
Mona smiled.
“I’m glad you approve of me sometimes!”
“You know I do,” Michael replied. “Mona, you remember what I said this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what about marrying me? Don’t you think we might be rather happy together.”
He didn’t look at her, his eyes were on the road ahead. They were climbing the hill towards the Park and suddenly Mona knew with a certainty she had never known before, exactly what she wanted. She wanted to say “yes” to Michael. She wanted to be his wife, to travel through life beside him, secure in the knowledge that she was his, that he would protect her and look after her.
