A Way Through The Woods
John Gresham was shown into a joyless drawing-room.
No fire burned in the grate, not a speck of dust softened the polished bureau or chair legs, even the late spring flowers stood meekly to attention in symmetrical arrays of pink and white. A blend of gold, cream and subdued green, the room gave no indication that the mistress of the house was a young woman, unless perhaps by the translucent glean of immaculate, over-elaborate lace curtains. Near the plain mantel was a small inlaid table, its purpose to support two photographs. One must be Nicholas; the face beneath the uniform cap displayed anonymous, clear-cut features in half profile. The second, oblong mounted, was presumably Sophia, though she was scarcely recognizable to John Gresham; her face looked thin under hair swept back according to pre-war fashion, her gaze remote, her mouth softened only by Vaseline on the kind camera lens.
Hearing footsteps, he gently replaced the portrait and turned to the door, and there she was, rather less delicate-featured than in the photograph, very pale, her eyes puzzled but revealing the correct degree of welcome.
"Mr Gresham. What a pleasant surprise."
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I wanted to come in person."
She offered him tea, but no, he would not stay, he had just been passing and had an appointment later.
"First, let me congratulate you on your engagement," he said. "I read the announcement, and of course your aunt was very full of it."
She smiled self-consciously and clasped her hands to conceal the ring.
"But I'm afraid it's as the executor of my wife's Will that I've come. She died, you know, in March."
Her poise was fractured, she looked genuinely upset.
“Mrs Gresham! I had no idea. Oh I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, well, she had been very ill for a long time, as you were perhaps aware.”
“No, I didn’t realise. I’m sorry. I’m rather out of touch with my aunt, you see.”
“The fact is my wife left you something and I thought.…as it might seem….Well, I had other business in town so I thought I’d come."
She was regarding him now with some warmth. She smiled again. "Really I hardly knew her. I can't think why she would leave me anything."
"Oh, it's very small, terribly small, just a couple of notebooks - they were Helen's. I know, it's very odd, but my wife particularly wanted you to have them. She only made a Will in February, you see, and was still very much in her right mind. I couldn't refuse her.!
"But how extraordinary! What about Helen? Doesn't she want them?"
"No, no. I checked with her. I wrote. She replied that my wife had discussed it with her. Really she would rather they were thrown away, she said but she thought it was up to my wife as she'd had them for years. Helen gave them to my wife a long time ago, you see. Helen didn't want them, and Eleanor asked for them."
Sophia's posture had altered. She was leaning forward a little in her chair, her hands clenched together. . 'Well, it was really very kind of you to have come all this way to bring them to me."
''No, I was in town. But I haven't brought them. That was the other thing - you have to collect them in person. I'm sorry. They're in Needlewick. It's silly, I know. I would understand if you didn't bother. I’ll put them away, or burn them if you'd rather."
Sophia now collapsed back, laughing.
"Really, it's most peculiar. What a mystery! Well, Mr Gresham, I'm afraid I can't say that I've any plans to come to Needlewick at the moment. Colin and I intend to marry in September, you see. Quite soon. There's lots to be done."
"Of course, of course." He was drawing his feet together, ready for departure. They. both stood.
"I’ll let you know what I decide, shall I?" she asked, leading him into the hall and opening the front door for him.
''Yes, yes, there's no hurry."
She shook his hand.
'It really was very kind of you to come."
"Not at all, not at all."
Sophia watched Mr Gresham walk hurriedly away, a slight figure, much too frail. She had scarcely known him before; he had been only a tentative, masculine presence, yet his smile now seemed welcome and familiar to her. Poor Mr Gresham, alone. She closed the heavy door and stood for a moment smoothing her dress and hair. The visit had left her in a state of nervous excitement. Mrs Gresham was dead.
