as tranquil as it always did in the gentle light seeping in through the curtains. Usually the blue-and-white colour scheme, elegant furnishings and opulent comfort engendered a sense of well-being in her, soothed her. But these feelings were sadly absent tonight.
Audra shivered. The early evening breeze blowing in through the window was cool now and there was a sharp tinge of dampness in the air; it seemed to penetrate her joints. Shivering again she drew the quilt up over her body and reached for her pills. Putting one in her mouth, she washed it down with a sip of water, reminding herself that this was her third; the doctor had warned her not to take more than four in one day.
Sometimes she wondered about her arthritis, wondered if her hard life, all the gruelling work, had not contributed to her present condition. Doctor Findlay said it hadn’t, but when she thought of the endless scrubbing and cleaning and washing and ironing, the terrible drudgery that had been her lot for so many years, she could not help pondering. Well, those days had long since gone. In her old age she had a life of ease.
As she put the tumbler back on the bedside table her glance fell on the photograph standing near the cobaltblue glass lamp. Audra turned on her side, rested herself on one elbow and gazed at it thoughtfully.
Three faces stared back at her. Christina’s, Kyle’s and her own.
The picture had been taken last summer, in her rose garden in Yorkshire. What a wonderfully happy day that had been…her seventieth birthday. The weather had been glorious, as the colour photograph attested.
After a little tea party on the terrace, Alex had insisted on taking this picture. In honour of the occasion and for posterity, he had laughingly said, as he had lined them up near the old stone sundial, a few steps to the right of her best hybrid tea roses.
Vincent had stood next to him, smiling benignly, looking inordinately pleased with himself and his family, but most especially with her. She recalled how she had smiled back at him, thinking that he looked handsome and distinguished at seventy-four, and her love for him had swelled in her.
And at that exact moment Alex had snapped his camera and captured that love as it spilled out of her eyes.
They had come a long way together, she and Vincent Crowther.
They had had their struggles and more than their fair share of trouble. And pain and heartbreak, too. But they had survived it all, and their marriage had survived, which was the most important thing. And they were content with each other. At last, in their old age. Over fifty years they had been married. Funny, it didn’t seem that long…how fast the time had slipped by.
Audra focused her attention on the photograph, studying it more intently.
Three generations, she murmured under her breath. But we don’t look as if we’re related. We might easily be strangers, as disparate in appearance as any three women could be. And yet we are very much alike deep down within ourselves.
Almost half a century ago Vincent told me that I had an implacable will. He said I was relentless and propelled by a terrible driving force within myself. He was very angry that day. And I was angry, too. And hurt. But he spoke the truth. And they have inherited those characteristics from me…my daughter, my granddaughter. When Christina was a child I committed an act of will that changed all of our lives irrevocably. And then when she was a young woman Christina repeated the pattern, performed an act of will of her own that was as powerful as mine. Now it is Kyle’s turn…she is on the verge of doing the same. And, as before, our lives won’t ever be the same again.
Audra sat up with a jolt, sudden comprehension flickering on her face. ‘I am to blame,’ she said aloud to the silent room, and then she thought: If I had done things differently, things would be different now. Everything that is happening now harks back to me when I was a young woman. Cause and effect. Every act we commit, trivial or important, has its inevitable consequences. It’s like throwing a pebble into a pool and watching the ripples spread out…farther and farther, ever far reaching.
Audra sank back onto the pillows and lay there, allowed herself to drift with her thoughts. They were centred entirely on Kyle.
Slowly the pain in her hands and knees began to ease and her body grew warmer under the quilt. Audra closed her eyes at last.
Nineteen-twenty-six, she mused drowsily…such a long time ago…but not so long that I can’t remember what I was like then…when I was Kyle’s age.
1926-1951
Today it was her birthday.
It was the third of June in the year 1926 and she was nineteen years old.
Audra Kenton stood at the window of her room in the Fever Hospital in Ripon, where she worked as a nurse, gazing out at the back garden. She watched the play of light and shadow on the lawn, as the sunlight filtered through the leafy domes of the two great oaks that grew near the old stone wall. There was a gentle breeze and the leaves rustled and trembled under it, and shimmered with green brilliance as they caught the sun. It was radiant and balmy, a pretty day that invited and beckoned.
Matron had given Audra the afternoon off for her birthday. The problem was that she had nowhere to go and no one to spend it with. She was entirely alone in this world.
Audra only had one friend, another nurse at the hospital called Gwen Thornton, but Gwen had been summoned home to Horsforth yesterday. Her mother had been taken ill and she was needed. Weeks ago, Gwen had arranged to exchange her day off with one of the other nurses, so that she could be with Audra, celebrate this important occasion with her, and the two of them had planned a very special day. Now their elaborate plans were laid to waste.
Leaning her head against the window frame, Audra sighed, thinking of the empty hours looming ahead. Unexpectedly her throat tightened and she felt the tears gathering behind her eyes as sadness mingled with bitter disappointment trickled through her. But after only a few seconds she blinked and cleared her throat, managed to take hold of herself. Resolutely she pushed aside the negative emotions momentarily invading her, refusing to feel sorry for herself. Audra despised self-pity in others, considered it to be a sign of weakness. She was strong. Her mother had always told her that she was, and her mother had rarely been wrong about anything.
Turning away from the window, she walked over to the chair and sat down heavily, wondering what to do with herself.
She could read, of course, or do a little embroidery, or even finish the sketch of the blouse she was designing, and which she intended to make-when she could afford to buy the fabric. On the other hand, none of these occupations had any real appeal for her. Not today. Not on her birthday.
She had been so looking forward to the outing with her friend, to enjoying a few carefree hours of pleasure for once in her life. Audra had little to celebrate these days, and festive occasions were a thing of the past, a rarity indeed. In fact, her life had changed so radically, so harshly, in the last few years, she hardly recognized it as her own.
It suddenly struck her that resorting to one of those mundane hobbies, normally used to pass the time when she was off duty, would be infinitely
