Desert Barbarian

There had been no sign of Stonor since the night when James collapsed. Once Marie saw some flowers in a vase beside her father's bed, a card from Stonor pushed among them, inscribed in strong, flamboyant writing with his name and a brief message. But she herself had not set eyes on him.

She told herself she was glad.

Several weeks after James collapsed, he came home from the hospital briefly before going away for a long convalescence at a private nursing home. He sat in the sitting-room staring around him in a strangely thoughtful fashion.

'At one time I thought I would never see this room again,' he said. 'Now I realise I never liked this flat any­way. I'm tired of London.'

Marie looked astonished. 'Tired of London?'

Clare smiled at James. 'Yes,' she said to her daughter. 'We were thinking of moving into the country. While James is at the nursing home I'm going to look for a house. Will you help me, Marie?'

'Of course,' said Marie, noting with pleasure the easy way in which Clare was taking charge. 'Where are you thinking of buying a house?'

'Sussex,' said Clare. 'Near the sea. We'll be able to take walks along the beach every day and buy a dog…'

'Buy a dog?' Marie laughed and looked at her father in sheer disbelief, trying to see him in this idyllic domestic setting. 'You and a dog taking walks beside the sea, Dad? Are you serious?'

James laughed and shrugged. 'Completely serious, Marie. I've spent most of my life chasing success, making money, building up the firm, then suddenly it all van­ished like fairy gold. The business, my occupation… gone! Oh, I'm rich enough now, I can do whatever I like. Clare and I talked it over. We're both ready to settle for a cottage by the sea and some peace. Of course, we wan

t you to come, darling. But whatever you think, we've decided that this is what we want, and we're going to do it.'

Marie smiled at him, then at her mother. 'I just want you to be happy. I'm glad if this is what you want.' She hesitated, then asked, 'What about the firm?'

Her father shrugged indifferently. 'Let Unex have it. I no longer care. Perhaps it was time someone else took over. I'd been running the firm for so long, my ideas were getting stale. I was bored with it all, but I didn't even realise that until I came so close to death. Then I got a new perspective on life. I realised that things just don't matter. People are what matter.'

'You're right, Dad,' Marie said softly. 'And I'm glad you and Clare are together again. It seems so right to see you together.'

James glanced at Clare. 'Marie, I would like you to call Clare by her rightful name again.'

For a moment she was bewildered. 'Her rightful name?'

'She is your mother,' he said gently. 'Call her that.'

Marie looked at Clare enquiringly. 'Of course, if she wants me to, but…'

Clare was pink and half laughing. 'I know I hated it once, but I would like you to start calling me Mother again. You never know you value something until you've lost it.'

'You haven't lost either of us,' James said firmly. 'We're going to be a family again.' Marie giggled. 'You'll have to get married first, Dad!' He looked amused. 'I'd forgotten the legal side. I sup­pose we will. I've never really accepted the divorce, I suppose.'

Clare looked at him half wistfully. 'Oh, James!'

Feeling very much de trop, Marie tiptoed out of the room and left them to discuss the subject alone.

While James was away recovering his strength, Marie and Clare drove around Sussex looking for houses. They saw dozens, but none were suitable. Clare wanted a house small enough to be easy to run, yet with plenty of ground around it to ensure privacy. Just when they were giving up hope of success, they were shown a cottage which had just been put on the market by an artist.

'In rather a ramshackle condition,' the estate agent warned them. 'But basically sound, I assure you. It would cost a little to have some repairs and redecoration.'

Clare sighed and exchanged a look with her daughter. It sounded like another dead end.

The car drove along a narrow marsh lane, winding between ditches and reedy banks, with sheep cropping the soft turf in the fields on either side. The estate agent stopped outside a small blue wooden gate. A crooked sign hung on it. Clare leaned forward to read it and laughed.

'Tom Tit Cottage? How charming!'

Through a tangle of old apple trees Marie saw a thatched roof and faint glimpses of old red walls. They moved to the gate and stopped dead, staring in enchanted silence at the low, rambling little cottage. It was perfect.

'I'll buy it,' said Clare on a breath.

The agent looked taken aback. 'You haven't seen it yet.'