A Friend of the Family (13 page)

 

Thirteen

 

FELICITY WAS HAPPY. SHE
could hardly remember a time when she had felt such lightness of spirit, such a positive looking forward to each day, without it being accompanied by some niggling worry or insecurity. This new happiness was free from anxiety and it was David that she had to thank for it. He had come several times to the cottage and during the short chats over cups of coffee she had learned that he was a widower with a grown-up daughter and that he appeared to have no emotional ties. He told her that he would like to work up several sketches of the old longhouse, to do a series of water colours, and she was delighted to accede to his request. Now, at her insistence, he had begun to join her for lunch and twice had stopped on for supper. He was rather enjoying himself. After each visit he returned to an eager Tim and a slightly scornful Miranda but, so far, there was nothing to report. Felicity never mentioned Thea or George, never seemed to have any visitors and was always pleased to see him. After his fourth visit she suggested, rather tentatively, that if he would like to see some of the countryside she would be only too happy to be his guide. With Dartmoor on the doorstep, she said, there surely must be no end of possibilities for an artist of David's reputation and it was such a pity not to take the opportunity to see it. David was inclined to agree with her and they arranged to spend a morning together exploring the lesser-known beauties of the moor. Felicity insisted on driving. It would, she said, give David chance to soak in the atmosphere and she knew the moor like the back of her hand.

To David, used to the pastoral English scenes of the home counties with their wide slow-running rivers and chalky downs, Dartmoor was a minor revelation. Each time they emerged from between the high Devon hedges and banks on to the austere landscape of the moor David was struck anew by the contrast. So many things caught the eye: a group of tall foxgloves glowing purple against a beautiful stone wall, the arch of an ancient bridge with the sun striking down on to the rushing water beneath, the tiny stunted yellow tormentil growing at the foot of a granite cross. David loved the minutiae. Not for him the great sweeps of heather or the jagged stone fists of the tors. Although he loved to look at them and to marvel at the majestic scenes amidst which they drove, when it came to painting it was the small detail which he preferred to record and their first two trips were mainly taken up in deciding what he would like to do.

By this time, David had almost forgotten his mission and was gathering exciting new ideas for an exhibition. Felicity, on the other hand, was beginning to visualise a future with David in it and began to plan cautiously ahead. It was a novel experience to be with a man who was older than she was—even Mark had been two years younger—and she was enjoying it. David was a charming companion and his ten years' seniority made her feel delightfully young, almost girlish. David liked women. He liked them as people and could understand and empathise with them and, for Felicity, this was a whole wonderful new experience. George was a kind man but David went much further than that and Felicity found herself quite at ease with him, chattering and laughing and behaving as she had probably never behaved before in her whole life. She felt free and relaxed and rather special, deferring to him in a way she had never done with Mark or George, and feeling feminine and pliable when she could give in to him. David had a delightful way of making a woman feel very desirable He managed to imply that he was quite bowled over but would never have the bad taste to suggest anything improper and it w as irresistible to Felicity.

This tendency had been one of the many rocks upon which the relationship
with his narrow-minded, moralistic wife had foundered but he had never quite managed to conquer it. It was so second nature to him that he rarely thought about it at all. He liked people to be happy and, in the main, women knew the rules and played along quite readily without anyone getting upset or hurt.

Felicity was taken in completely and before long David was occupying her every waking thought and quite a few of her dreams. She had all but forgotten George. Her new-found emotions for David showed her that what she had felt for George was an affection that was part habit and part fear of being alone and, in the excitement of these new sensations, she shed the old outworn passions without a backward glance. She might have been forty-seven by the calendar but at heart and emotionally she was twenty and she glowed and fizzed with love.

To do David justice, he was not aware of the depth of Felicity's feelings and would have been horrified if he'd realised that she was becoming so involved. Because he saw her at her very best he had no difficulty in imagining that she might indeed be a danger to Thea and he hoped that his presence might distract her. He had no idea of taking George's place but her attitude led him to suspect that she was very ready to devote some of her time to him. When he reported this to Tim, that young man agreed that at least it kept her off Thea's back and gave her and George a breathing space. At the moment they could do no more and David, already wrapped up in ideas for his exhibition, felt that Felicity's company was a small price to pay. Far from it, he enjoyed being with someone who treated him as if he were a cross between Turner and Robert Redford and could scarcely be blamed for taking full advantage of the situation. It never occurred to him that she could be hurt. Her reputation had led him to draw various conclusions and he decided to make the most of the next few weeks. Also, it was giving Tim and Miranda time alone to get to know each other without David feeling like a gooseberry. It worried him that Miranda was so like her mother: prickly, ready to take offence and of a jealous disposition. Perhaps Tim would deal with it better
than he himself had. Meanwhile, he set off most mornings driving Miranda's little car and looking; forward to another day of painting.

 

GEORGE STOOD ON THE PLATFORM
and watched Thea strolling on the track. He had determined that the time had come to tell her the whole truth. He was no longer prepared to waste any more time in misunderstandings and had decided that he must take his chance with Thea's love and generosity. He didn't really fear that she would walk out on him, only that she would love him less. Only! He groaned to himself. Somehow he must get through it. He simply couldn't bear the distances that were stretching between them and longed with all his heart to restore to the relationship the joy and oneness it had known at the beginning.

He raised his eyes to the hills beyond. On the highest peak a soft mist curled like smoke, forming and re-forming as the warm west wind blew it, shredded it, lifted it. Cloud shadows darkened the slopes and then moved away so that they were once again bathed in bright sunshine. The scene soothed him and quietened his terror. He looked again at Thea, who stooped to pick the wild flowers that grew alongside parts of the track. Jessie followed in her wake, jumping out at the fast-moving shadows and bouncing at bumble bees that lumbered heavily amongst the blooms. As though she guessed his thoughts, Thea turned and looked back. Her hands were full of ox-eve daisies and she stood for a moment, watching; him. He raised an arm and waved to her and she made her way back to him, pausing on the track to gaze up at him as he stood above her. He reached a hand down to her and pulled her up rather than letting her use the ramp and then held her, gripping her by the upper arms, the daisies crushed between them.

‘Thea.' He looked into the brown eyes nearly on a level with his own and shook his head. ‘I've been a fool, Thea. I want to talk to you.'

‘Come then.' She disengaged herself gently and led him to one of the seats. She put the flowers at the end and sitting down turned towards him as he sat beside her.

‘The thing is . . .' He paused to light a cigarette and to marshal his thoughts. ‘The thing is that Felicity and I had an affair. It lasted for nearly twenty years and right up to the moment that I met you. When Mark died she expected me to marry her and perhaps I should have. But I didn't want to.'

He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. ‘I realised that a spasmodic affair was very different from marriage and I wasn't prepared to commit myself to it. And I didn't love her.' For the first time he looked directly at Thea. ‘It's easy to sav that, isn't it? It's very easy to deny things when it suits your book to do it. But it's quite true. She doesn't love me either. It had become a habit that started when we were both young. I'm not going to explain or excuse it. It was before you and it's between me and Felicity. The trouble was that I behaved very badly to her when I met you. I should have told her then, of course, but I was so afraid that she might do or say something that would ruin what we had.'

He stirred restlessly, tapping some ash to the ground. ‘I behaved like a coward. I hid from her until we were married and then wrote to her. Yes, I know,' as Thea made an involuntary gesture. ‘I simply couldn't bear the idea of your knowing, you see. But she came here and met you and then came to the flat in London.' He looked at Thea again. ‘Nothing happened, I swear to you. Since I first met you I've never touched her.'

They looked at each other. Presently Thea turned a little, staring out across the track. George took a last lungful of smoke and threw away the stub. He watched her profile, waiting for her to speak.

‘Don't you believe me?' he burst out at last. ‘I know it was wrong of me. I should have told you everything from the start but honestly, nothing has happened.'

‘Why are you telling me now?' asked Thea.

‘Because it's between us. We're not like we were at first, like we could be. I've meant to tell you over and over again but I always lost my nerve. I'm very ashamed of myself. I haven't enjoyed facing the fact that I'm a coward.'

Thea turned to him then and touched his knee. ‘I guessed anyway. No, not that you're a coward, silly. About Felicity. It didn't matter as long as it was in the past. You should have realised that. It was when I thought that you and she . . . ' She stopped.

‘But we didn't,' cried George eagerly. ‘She turned up at the flat and I was terrified that she' d come when you were there. She tried to blackmail me into going back to her.'

‘Blackmail you?'

‘Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous. But when she found out that you didn't know about us she hinted at things. Things that would have sounded awful out of context.'

‘Like the bed being uncomfortable?'

George stared at Thea, who had turned away again and was looking across to the hills. He swallowed and nodded.

‘Yes, I see. That's when you changed and became so far away from me. What did she say? Or did she write?'

‘She telephoned. She said that she was glad that you'd left that awful flat. That the bed was the worst she'd ever slept in. Did she sleep in it?'

‘Yes,' said George flatly and Thea looked at him quickly. ‘She turned up one evening saying that she'd gone to see a friend but that there was nobody there. She had one of her heads. Felicity gets these really dreadful migraines and she looked awful. She could barely stand up and I told her that she'd better stay the night. She suggested that I stay with her but I refused and spent the night at the bed and breakfast round the corner. That's the absolute truth. That's what I meant when I said that things sounded awful out of context. What must you have thought? Oh, Thea. I'm so terribly sorry. You do believe me, don't you? I swear to you . . . '

Thea leaned forward and kissed him, her eyes suspiciously bright, and he strained her against him, relief and joy sweeping over him and making him tremble. He buried his lips in her hair and willed himself not to burst into howls of relieved weeping.

‘You are a twit.' Thea's voice shook a little. ‘It's been so awful. I believed that you'd gone back to her.'

Oh, my God.' He held her tighter. Oh, Thea. I should have told you.'

‘Yes, you should. All this wasted time. Oh, George, you should have trusted me.'

‘I know. And then I saw you with that man and 1 could see that he was falling for you. I was so afraid.'

Thea sat back and gazed at him in surprise. ‘What man?' ‘That Freddie. The dog-breeder. I came into the kitchen that Sunday and he just had that look. I knew he was falling in love with you.' Thea burst out laughing. ‘Oh, poor Freddie. No, no. You've got it quite wrong. He's madly in love with Polly. Apparently it was love at first sight when he met her with Harriet ages ago and she's hardly aware of his existence. He told me in secret and I'm the only one he can talk to about her. He'd just been having a session when you appeared.' She started to laugh again. ‘Oh, dear. Poor George. You mustn't breathe a word about it.'

‘Oh, Thea. Oh, thank God. I was afraid that he might make you see that I'm just a silly old man . . . '

‘No more!' Thea kissed him. Tt's all over. Finished. We're us and I love you.'