Angel with Two Faces

‘Why? It sounds to me as though you were born to it.’

There was a long silence, and Josephine poked the fire unnecessarily as she waited for him to speak. ‘Can you take another secret?’ he asked eventually.

‘As long as it’s yours. I’d much rather share one with you than know something you don’t.’

‘Everything I told you about my father – all the learning and the knowledge – it made the way he died so cruel. He suffered from dementia for the last few years of his life. It was gradual at first, and still quite mild by the time I went up to Cambridge, but the estate wasn’t the only thing I noticed a change in whenever I came home. I wanted to put my degree on hold for a bit but my mother wouldn’t hear of it – she said my father would never forgive himself if he realised, and I suppose that was true. But it was hard on her, that sort of steady decline. Sometimes he’d go missing for hours and she’d find him in the gardens, desperate because he couldn’t find something he’d planted or remember the name of a flower. He’d get so angry – with himself and then with her. Then, of course, it got worse and it was my mother and their marriage that he had no connection with.’

‘I can’t imagine anything more difficult. My mother’s illness was terrible for my parents, but at least they faced it together and took some strength from each other. She must have felt completely isolated from all she loved most.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly how she felt. It wasn’t so much the physical strain of caring for him – that was bad enough, but William and Morveth were a great help to her; it was the loneliness that nearly destroyed her, being taunted with a physical presence which was so familiar to her and yet having no emotional connection. For someone like my mother, that was a living hell.’

‘Lizzie died soon after your father, didn’t she?’

‘That’s what I’m coming to. She was actually diagnosed with cancer a few weeks before his death.’ Josephine said nothing, unable to articulate a response which would do justice to the series of events that had transformed Archie’s life. ‘She hadn’t felt well for a while, but she ignored it because of how things were at home. By the time she did something about it, it was too late. They gave her six months. She was absolutely devastated when she found out.’

‘Worried about what would happen to your father?’

‘Yes. It was the beginning of the summer holidays, thank God, so at least I was there. That was the first and only time I ever saw her completely lost. It wasn’t the natural way of things, you see – my father was several years older than her, and she should have been able to care for him until he died. She accepted her own fate, but not at the expense of his. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. At first, I refused to believe her diagnosis. I tried to persuade her to see other doctors, but we both knew it was a waste of time, and my not accepting the situation was just making things more difficult for her. Anyway, by that time she’d already faced up to her responsibilities – at least, that’s how she saw things. She had vowed to look after my father until the end, and that’s exactly what she did.’ He paused, obviously trying to find the right words to explain. ‘There’s no easy way to say this.’

By now, she knew what Archie was going to say, and tried to make it easier for him. ‘She restored the natural way of things – would that do?’ He nodded, unable to look at her. ‘Did you know what your mother had done?’

‘Yes. He died peacefully one night and she was so calm about it. She knew I’d guessed, but we never spoke of it – I suppose she didn’t want to involve me, just in case someone else found out, and I didn’t want to make it any more difficult for her than it already was.’

‘Did Morveth know, do you think?’

‘No. I think it was something private between the two of them, the last intimacy they shared.’

‘It was brave of her not to share it more fully. She could have saved herself a lot of pain if she’d chosen to die with him.’

‘But that would have implicated my father in some sort of pact, and she wouldn’t have wanted anything to tarnish his memory. For my sake, apart from anything else. She stayed around as long as she could to help me through his loss – I can see that very clearly now.’ At last, he looked up from the fire. ‘Are you shocked?’ he asked.

She thought for a moment, knowing how important it was to both of them that she gave an honest answer. ‘No, not shocked. Surprised, perhaps – but only in the sense that I’m always surprised when someone does something utterly selfless. It doesn’t happen very often.’

‘You think it was selfless?’

‘Of course it was. She protected the people she loved from further suffering and unbearable guilt without any thought for how it would damage her own emotions – her peace of mind, if you like – during the last few weeks of her life. I can’t think of anything more selfless. I’d call it heroic if it didn’t come out of such bloody misery, and I only hope that someone would have the courage to do the same for me if it were necessary.’ It was hard to tell what effect her answer had on him, if any. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think, though,’ she continued. ‘You obviously felt it was wrong in some way, or you wouldn’t have abandoned the path you set out on.’

‘No – that’s just it. I was so sure it was right – that’s why I couldn’t go down that path. I wish it hadn’t happened, of course I do – but never for one moment have I doubted that she did the right thing. I’d have even done it myself if she’d asked me, and that’s not the attitude to have if you hold someone’s life in your hands. I was afraid of that certainty. It’s more than just making a decision and sticking to it – it can so easily become arrogance, and I’ve seen that in too many other people to think that I’m immune to it myself. Policing is different – you have to have evidence and it’s never just down to you, no matter how good you are. You can’t play God.’

‘Is that really what you think she did?’

‘It’s what I was afraid I might do, given the opportunity.’

‘And do you regret the decision, if not the act that led to it?’

‘Not very often these days. I love what I do, and I’m good at it, but…’

‘But what?’ she prompted.

‘I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about everything that’s been going on here lately, and perhaps I was wrong ever to go away at all. William could do with some support now, and God knows what it’s going to be like when he’s older. Lettice and Ronnie are hardly likely to take over the reins. Perhaps I should come back here, after all.’

‘Is that really what you want?’ Josephine realised suddenly how much she depended on Archie’s being in London, and tried to fight a selfish impulse to influence him. She could hardly expect him to base his future on their friendship while she remained free to walk in and out of his life as she pleased, but it occurred to her now that much of the pleasure she took in her visits south was down to him, and her earlier words to William came back to trouble her: Cornwall was a very long way from Inverness. ‘Would it make you happy, do you think?’

‘No, probably not, but sometimes living your own life feels like a very self-centred thing to do.’

‘You have to answer to yourself for not doing it, though.’

‘Is that what you’ve done? You gave up your freedom to go back to your father when your mother died.’

‘No I didn’t. I gave up a reasonably satisfying job as a physical training instructress, which would have given me up eventually anyway. All right, I resented it at first simply because it was expected of me, but it didn’t take me long to see that it would work for me. I have as much freedom as I want, with time to write, time alone, and the financial means to come and go without feeling guilty. And I’ve never been tied to my father – he’s not an invalid, just a man.’

Archie laughed. ‘I know you get on well.’

‘Yes, most of the time, and he respects what I do. I might complain about a few domestic chores but it suits me, this life – you know it does. So don’t make me a martyr, for God’s sake. I couldn’t bear that.’

‘All right. I take it back.’

‘And don’t be one yourself. I know how this sadness affects you, particularly where Morwenna’s concerned, but distance isn’t the same thing as detachment. Do you think Morwenna would have found such comfort in talking to you if you weren’t to some extent an outsider?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Anyway, from what I’ve seen, William’s got a while to go yet before he’s ready to ask for help. Perhaps in a few years’ time, when you’ve got your feet under the chief superintendent’s desk and you’re tired of pushing papers. Think about it then. In the meantime, we should get some sleep. I expect you’ve got another early start?’

‘Yes. Listen, before you go to bed – did you manage to find out anything from Loveday?’ He looked sheepish.