A Friend of the Family (11 page)

There was silence. David looked at Tim out of the sides of his eyes, Miranda sat back farther in the corner of her sofa clutching a cushion to her chest and Tim, who had got up to stride about in order to declaim the better, stood for a moment, baffled, thrusting his fingers through his thick fair hair.

‘Could she be right?' he demanded.

David shrugged, pulling down the corners of his mouth in his characteristic way. ‘Can't say, old boy. Might be. Her mother always was.'

‘How very irritating for you!' Tim, jealous for his lovely plan, was only half joking.

‘Absolutely! Scottish, you know. John Knox has a great deal to answer for, in my opinion.'

Oh, honestly!' Miranda cast aside her cushion and stood up. She made her way to the fire and perched on the edge of the big wooden club fender where, in the past, Thea had loved to sit. ‘Look! I'm not saying anybody's right or anybody's wrong. All I am saying is, let's not rush in like bulls in a china shop. I know you feel that you can't enter into your inheritance until this is settled . . . '

‘I'm not rushing in! I'm sending David to do a recce,' interrupted Tim. ‘And it's nothing to do with my inheritance. Not really. It's Thea herself. She's obviously unhappy however she may try to hide it and I'm very fond of her.'

‘So vou keep saying,' remarked Miranda bleakly.

David looked up. He eyed his daughter thoughtfully and then turned to Tim. ‘Got an idea. Before we do anything why don't you get Thea over? For lunch, say. Once we've met the girl we'll probably feel like you do. Always helps to know the people you're talking about, d'you see? What d'you say?'

‘Well, I could.' Tim stood, considering. ‘I shall have to ask her over soon anyway to meet you. She'll be a bit hurt otherwise . . . '

‘Mustn't have that,' observed Miranda somewhat tartly but Tim was too preoccupied to notice.

‘OK. We'll back off a little and get Thea over. You'll love her.'

‘Naturally,' muttered Miranda as Tim left the room in search of a telephone.

David studied his daughter's bent head. ‘Darling!'

‘What?'

‘It's showing.'

‘What's showing?'

‘Little green-eyed monster. Not very attractive.'

‘I dislike her intensely already.'

‘Nonsense. He's just sorry for the poor girl.'

‘Oh, don't you start. “Poor girl!” She sounds an absolute wet!'

‘Poor darling! You have got it bad.'

‘I haven't got anything. And don't patronise me!'

David pretended to duck, throwing up his hands in protection, and after a moment Miranda smiled unwillingly.

Tim was back looking pleased with himself. ‘She's coming to lunch on Tuesday. That's great. It means we can get on. Now, who would like another drink?'

 

Eleven

 

MAGGIE TABB, THEA'S CORNISH
cleaner, emptied the contents of the red plastic bucket into the sink and turned the taps on full. Thea, sitting at the kitchen table trying to read her letters, wished that she'd use the sink in the utility room but knew she'd be wasting her breath suggesting it. When Maggie was in voluble mood nothing stopped the spate. Somehow, since the spring-cleaning, Maggie had continued to come and Thea found that she liked having her around. It was a strange alliance but Thea knew that Maggie was on her side and Maggie knew that if she needed help to fill in official forms or someone to back her up with those in authority, the ‘missis' would help her. She poured out her problems to Thea and listening to them helped Thea to keep her own troubles in perspective.

Having filled the bucket, Maggie lifted it with strong muscular arms and stood it on the floor. She pushed back her improbably red, wiry hair, showed Thea her crooked teeth and took breath for the second instalment.

‘So I ses to Normin, “Yewer still me ‘usbin, never mind thet yew've gone off wiv that ol' surfboard chin.” An' now ‘e wants me FIS, see! So I tells ‘im, “ ‘Twas fer wen ‘ee wadden earnin' much,” an' I ses, “ ‘ten't fer ‘ee, ‘tes fer me an' ower Wayne, ‘tes fer wives an' kids, not fer ‘usbins who've gawn off wiv some tart.” If et ‘adden bin fer me an' Wayne ‘e wudden ‘ev bin edible fer it, see? If ‘e don' wanna ac' like a faither an' a ‘usbin any moer ‘e don' get no FIS! See!'

‘I should think not.' Thea, who had been distracted for a moment
by the imprint stamped on one of the envelopes, smiled quickly at Maggie lest she should feel that she wasn't concentrating. That worthy, sensing that she had temporarilv lost her audience, smiled back unresentfully.

‘Mister's gone, ‘n? Well, I'll do the baffroom ‘n' clear out ‘is dressin' room. What do ‘e fink o' this vere lil ol' burd, ‘n?'

‘Oh, I think he likes Percy very much, actually. I'm hoping we'll teach him some new sayings.'

‘'E's right priddy, en 'e? Percy, 'n? 'Tis a funny ol' name fer a par-rit.'

‘I suppose it is. I must admit I hadn't thought about it, I've known him for so long. What would you call a parrot, if you had one?'

‘Dunno.' Maggie stared in at Percy, who stared unwinkingly back at her.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' he asked her suddenly and Maggie burst out laughing.

' 'E's a real laugh, ‘n? ‘Oo's a priddv boy, ‘n? ‘Ere! ‘ev anuvver grape !'

She passed one through the bars and, collecting dusters and polish, went out leaving Thea to open her letters in peace.

Barely able to contain her excitement, she tore open the envelope that bore her agent's imprint and drew out a letter. She had to read it three times before she took it in and when she had she fled with it to George's little study, shutting the door behind her. She quickly checked the number, dialled and heard a click and then the sound of Marcus Willby's voice. After a moment Thea realised that she was listening to one of the new answering machines and slammed the receiver down in a panic. Feeling that she would burst if she didn't speak to someone, she tried Polly's number, but there was no reply and she replaced the receiver. She read the letter again.

They loved her stories and the drawings, wanted to publish them and asked if she had any thoughts for further work in this direction. She felt a mixture of excitement, terror and a strange new sensation. It was as though a new part of her were emerging, a hitherto un-known
Thea, a Thea who could produce something that was viewed with admiration by a body of professionals. The letter implied that she had a future, a career, and that she might become important to them. It was such a revelation that she couldn't take it in and, in the end, was obliged to go outside and walk up and down the platform. She longed to tell George but something made her wait until the thing was finalised. She wanted to produce it as a fait accompli, knowing that it would give her extra strength in the fight against Felicity. She felt quite sure that George had no intention of leaving her for Felicity and, lately, that he had been trying to make an opening to discuss the situation. So far she had held him off. Once she would have welcomed the opportunity to have it all out in the open but that was at the beginning when she felt strong and safe in George's love and had thought that the affair was over. When she realised that he was seeing Felicity again she had felt a terrible fear. If she couldn't hold him at the beginning of the marriage, how could she hope to later? Her confidence was badly dented and, with G.A. ‘s death on top of it all, she had felt herself lost. Felicity's telephone call had been the last straw. Yet George was behaving as though the whole thing was over. He seemed more relaxed than he had for some while and it was very clear that he still seemed to love her, to need her.

Nevertheless, there was something, some indefinable obstacle that prevented absolute oneness and Thea knew that it must be done away with completely. Now she felt that this could be achieved only when she and George could approach each other on equal terms. At the very beginning Thea had felt that love was the only criterion and that by giving all she had she would automatically defeat any attempts to destroy or undermine their happiness. She had come to believe that this was no longer the case and that she was fighting some shadowy battle with a very clever opponent who never showed herself clearly. But now Felicity had declared herself with all the strength of a twenty-year relationship with George behind her and Thea had only herself, unformed, untried. It was important that she waited until she was in a stronger position before she struck back and now she had
something more, something positive to add to her inner strength and faith, and she intended to use it. She stood for some moments, the letter still clutched in her hand, watching the swallows wheeling and diving above her head, and a great feeling of power surged in her. She felt that she had been given her weapons, good weapons: self-worth and achievement added to love and understanding, and she could begin to feel the ground sure and firm beneath her feet.

She went back into the kitchen where Maggie, now employed in dusting the kitchen dresser, turned to look at her enquiringly. Thea grinned at her. She longed to tell Maggie the news but didn't feel that she should mention it to anyone until she had talked to Marcus. However, she couldn't help the happiness that welled inside her overflowing a little and her grin widened. Maggie waited expectantly. Thea shook her head.

‘Sorry. Just a letter with some good news. Don't mind me. I'll make some coffee.'

She pushed the kettle on to the hotplate of the Rayburn and assembled the necessary materials, singing to herself in her rich contralto voice.

‘ 'Er's 'appy,' observed Maggie to Percy, whose cage stood on a bamboo table alongside the dresser, ‘Nice, innit?'

‘The nicest child 1 ever knew was Charles Augustus Fortescue,' said the parrot in roundly modulated tones and gave a loud squawk.

‘Thet ol' auntie o' yewers musta bin a right caution.' Maggie took down a bone china handpainted cup and cradled it tenderly in her large red hands as she dusted it.

‘She was.' Thea smiled at Maggie. She had no fears for her precious things; nothing could have been gentler than those unlikely-looking extremities and Maggie cherished the things as if they were her own. ‘1 feel that she's here with me at times. Percy says things in her voice and it's quite uncanny. 1 think that he really brings me good luck. Things are beginning to get better since he arrived.'

Maggie, who knew a great deal about Thea's affairs one way and
another, replaced the cup and smiled at Percy. ‘Ear thet, bwoy? Right lil ol' drop o' sunshine yew be, ‘n?'

When Maggie had gone home and Thea had once more, without success, tried to speak to Marcus Willby, she began to gather her belongings together, watched by Percy.

‘I can hardly believe it,' she told him. ‘It's unbelievable. And it's all because of you, Percy.' She passed him a peanut through the bars. ‘You're my good luck mascot. I feel I can do anything with you around! I must dash! I'm going to have lunch with Harriet.' She hurried out.

 

FELICITY WAS AT HER
wits' end. The trip to London, which had led to a complete stranger opening the door of George's flat and telling her that Commander Lampeter had moved without leaving a forwarding address, had been such a shock that she was still trying to recover from it some weeks later. It had been rage, humiliation and sheer fear that had made her telephone Thea and say that unforgivable thing which she hoped would destroy Thea's peace of mind. As for herself, she felt completely adrift and she spent the days once more in endless wanderings: out into the garden, back to the house to make a cup of coffee, upstairs into little-used rooms, staring mindlessly out of the windows. She went on unnecessary shopping trips to Tavistock and telephoned one or two friends, hoping to pass some time in someone else's company. It was unfortunate that so many people were away on holiday and others were tied up with their children home from school. Felicity remembered Cass's look of compassion and her spirit seemed to shrivel within her. One morning, having had a telephone call from Book Stop to say that the book she had ordered had arrived, she decided to drive into Tavistock to collect it and to pass an hour or so.

Felicity's garden gate opened on to a nearly disused track where, having no garage, she parked her car. To her surprise a man was seated to the side of the track with an easel before him and the paraphernalia of the artist around him. He rose to his feet and smiled at her.

‘Good morning. I do hope that you don't object.' He gestured at the easel. ‘It's such a lovely setting that I simply couldn't resist.'

Felicity nodded rather ungraciously and went to her car, noticing that he'd parked his own car as unobtrusively as possible. She was used to cars slowing in the lane to admire the charm of the cottage, which was an old Devon longhouse set in a background of tall beech trees. There was none of the usual cottage prettiness about it, instead there was an uncompromising austerity about the stone walls and heavy thatch. Felicity had had the good taste to keep the cobbled yard as unadorned as possible and had resisted the hanging baskets and tubs that her friends assured her would ‘liven the place up'. The enclosing walls were covered with pennywort and ivy-leaved toadflax and at the back a small lawn, hedged with fuchsia and escallonia, made a perfect, private spot for sunbathing.

Tavistock was fairly quiet on this sunny morning. Felicity collected her book, stopping to browse a little in the bookshop, bought a few things in Crebers and turned her steps to the Bedford Hotel for a cup of coffee. Her heart gave a little plunge when she saw Kate sitting in the corner but she gave her a nod as she went up to the bar to order. There was nothing for it but to join her and Kate smiled welcomingly enough. After all, she and Kate had always been friendly until Kate's marriage had broken up and George had begun to show an interest in her. It had come to nothing but Felicity had never totally trusted her since. The real obstacle to the friendship had always been the fact that Cass and Kate were so close.

Kate had dressed with her usual indifference to style or fashion and Felicity gave an involuntary little click of the tongue, signifying her disapproval.

‘How's it going?' Kate, moving her tray so that Felicity could share the table, registered the click with amusement.

‘Oh, not too bad. You?'

‘Struggling on. Thankful that the boys have taken their finals and might be able to get out and earn some money.'

Felicity looked at her. It had never occurred to her to wonder how Kate coped, all alone except when the boys were home or her brother Chris, who used the house as a base, was in the country. After the divorce, Mark Webster had gone to live in Canada, leaving Kate to fend for herself and the twins, and, quite unexpectedly, Felicity found herself remembering a time when they had all been young together.

‘Remember the house in Solent Way?' she asked impulsively and Kate looked at her in surprise.

‘I do indeed. You helped me find it. It was like paradise after that ghastly quarter in Eastney.' Kate shook her head and smiled reminiscently. ‘It was a good summer, that one.'

‘Yes.' Felicity poured herself some coffee. She felt the oddest sensation and one she wasn't at all used to. She wasn't one for looking back or glamorising the past but just for a moment those shared times seemed infinitely precious. She looked at Kate, experiencing again the feelings of that younger Felicity, strong, positive, grabbing at life which seemed, in those days, to be so full, so exciting, not the defeating empty existence that it was now.

Kate was watching her. ‘It's the music that gets me,' she said unexpectedly. ‘Pop music. You switch the radio on and they're playing something that takes you straight back. Smells, feelings, pain, joy, whatever. It's all there. Noël Coward was right when he said there was nothing so potent as cheap music. It doesn't happen with Mozart or Brahms. I heard Paul McCartney singing “Yesterday” a few days ago and found that I was crying my eyes out.'