A Friend of the Family (37 page)

‘And do you see it taking place in London amongst your friends, with your club round the corner and theatres and concerts? Or down here? On Dartmoor, amongst the sheep and ponies with the rain pouring down?'

He was silent. He felt her fear and it was infectious. He could imagine how absolutely devastating another failure would be for her and had a vision of Felicity lying dead. His own confidence was shaken and he pushed his chair back and stood up.

‘Will you telephone me if you change your mind? Or if you should need . . . anything? I do love you, Kate. I won't keep hounding you but please think about it. Don't just close your mind to the possibilities. No, don't get up. Please. Goodbye, Kate.'

He went out and she heard the front door slam and the car engine start up. After a while the kettle began to boil and she stood up and
pushed it off the hotplate. She sat down again at the table and listened to the dog snoring in his sleep. Rain pattered suddenly against the window and a door upstairs slammed as the wind got up but Kate sat on, her arms folded across her breast, her head bent, fighting a private battle of loneliness and fear.

 

Thirty-eight

 

POLLY LAY IN THE
bath, luxuriating in the hot scented water, and reflected happily on her life. The flat in Marcus's large Victorian house was small, cosy and just right for her. She liked to feel herself cradled high up under the roof, looking out over the chimneys, with Marcus a staircase away. They were, after all, taking things very slowly and carefully. He was giving her plenty of space to adapt and to make new friends whilst continuing with his own busy life and, as yet, the intercommunicating door had only been opened for the reasons that Marcus had laid down in the car. In public he was strictly her agent, it was a business relationship only—although they'd had some jolly evenings at the local pub—and Polly guessed he was as nervous as she was at plunging into anything that might commit him. She knew that, while she was his client and lived in his house, for him it would be all or nothing.

Polly watched a harvestm an with its long ungainly legs negotiating the rim of the bath.
‘Leiobunum,'
she said. Old habits die hard. ‘Or
Philangium.
'

She thought of Paul and Fiona and the house in Exeter. It all seemed a lifetime away. How odd that ten years of her life seemed to have gone for nothing. There seemed so little to show except the scientific name of the harvestman who was now scaling the tap. Polly watched the eight wavering, cotton-thin legs with the two joints to each, and wondered idly what it must be like to go through life with sixteen knees. Or perhaps half of them were ankles. Paul, no doubt, would have been able to tell her.

She stood up and reached for her towel. Would she ever have the courage to pass through that internal door? Supposing Marcus were to reject her? Or laugh at her? She knew that he considered the years between them to be a far greater barrier than she did and suspected that he might need a little push to get him over it. But how to administer it? The door itself had become a barrier. To go through it now— apart from for those reasons that Marcus had stated—would make such a statement that they would both be terrified. They needed an intermediate, gentler step to start them off.

Polly wrapped herself in the towel and wandered along to her bedroom. In the small hallway she paused. Some instinct made her cross the carpet and open the door a crack. She gave a violent start. ‘Jesus!' she whispered.

Marcus stood at the bottom of the steep flight of stairs, his head bent as though in thought. In his hand he held a bottle. Even as she watched him, he made to turn away.

‘Marcus.' Her throat was dry and she spoke again. ‘Hello,' she said.

He smiled up at her and she clutched her towel more tightly.

‘I was coming to tell you that the studio phoned and we've got the contract.' He held up the bottle. ‘Celebration?'

‘Terrific,' she said. ‘Great idea.'

They stared at one another.

‘Coming down then?' he asked lightly, after a moment. ‘Strictly in the nature of business, of course.'

‘I've got a better idea,' said Polly. She held the door open wide, still clutching her towel with the other hand, and smiled at him bravely. ‘Why don't you come up?'

 

WHEN KATE SAW FREDDIE
at Tavistock market just before Easter she sensed some important change in him. There was a confidence in his bearing and a glow in his eyes which had not been there previously, and she looked at him curiously as he packed some cheese and a carton of free-range eggs into his capacious shopping basket and then beamed at her.

‘Long time no see.' He looked her over carefully. ‘You look tired.'

‘That's because I am tired. You, however, look great. What's happened? Has Polly decided to change her mind and take up dog-breeding instead of being a television star?'

‘No, no.' Freddie shook his head, laughing. ‘Oh, no. That was all . . . well, it's all over. Never got started really.'

Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you look very happy about it.'

‘I am happy. Terribly happy.' And indeed happiness seemed to spurt out from all over him, fizzing and sparkling and showering her with its drops. ‘The thing is . . . ' He glanced round at the people thronging and pressing against them. ‘I'd love to talk to you, Kate. Can you come back for a cup of coffee?'

‘Why not? I've nearly finished. OK. Thanks, Freddie. That'd be nice.'

‘Great.' He patted her shoulder. ‘I'll go on and get the kettle going.'

He disappeared into the crowd and Kate finished her shopping, puzzling over the change in him. She struggled out of the great covered hall, went to fetch the car which she'd left in Chapel Street and drove slowly out towards Mary Tavy, parking where Felix couldn't see Charlie Custard. ‘We'll have a walk on the way home,' she promised him.

The back door had been left open and she called out as she went inside. Charlie Custard came strolling to meet her, sniffing at her cords suspiciously.

‘That's Felix, old chap,' she said to him as Freddie waved to her and the smell of coffee assailed her nostrils. ‘He's a proper dog, not a lazy old hearthrug.'

Freddie chuckled. ‘It's no good. You can't wind us up. We're impervious to insults, aren't we, Custard?'

‘You're no fun any more.' Kate sat down at the kitchen table, glanced round and raised her eyebrows. ‘Heavens, Freddie! What's been going on here? I can see bare surfaces and the cooker's turned
white. Was that with fright when it saw you approaching it with a Brillo pad after all these years?'

Freddie burst out laughing and put down the coffee. ‘Looks nice, doesn't it?' he said, looking round with satisfaction.

‘Come clean, Freddie,' said Kate, putting in sugar. ‘Who is she? Can she cook as well?'

‘It's not a she,' said Freddie, after a considerable pause. ‘It's a he.'

Kate stared at him, frowning. ‘A he?' she repeated. ‘How do you mean? Oh!'

She stopped short and Freddie met her eyes bravely. ‘It's another man. I've realised that I'm . . . it seems that I'm gay.' He said the word defiantly if proudly but his eyes were anxious.

For some reason, Kate felt profoundly moved. After a moment, she put out a hand to him and he seized it eagerly, his face lighting up with all the joy that she'd seen in the market.

‘I'm so happy,' he cried. ‘It's so wonderful after all these years of feeling wrong. Never getting it right with girls. All the strain and things. Oh, the relief! You can't imagine. Nobody could if they weren't like it themselves.'

‘Oh, Freddie. I'm so pleased for you. I never guessed. Is he . . . ? Will you . . . ? Sorry.' Kate shook her head. ‘I really don't mean to pry. I hope he's nice.'

‘He's wonderful,' said Freddie promptly. ‘If I tell you who it is will you swear not to breathe a word? You're the only person I know that I can trust absolutely and it would be such heaven to talk about it all—about him—with someone.'

‘I wouldn't dream of telling anyone.' Kate squeezed his hand and let it go. ‘Do I know him?'

‘It's Jon. Michael's cousin Jon.'

‘Jon?' Kate's brow wrinkled. ‘Oh.' Her face cleared. ‘Of course. I met him during all that ghastly business with Polly. Heavens! But isn't he Foreign Office? Won't you have to be fearfully careful?'

‘Terribly.' Freddie nodded and grimaced. ‘Lucky that I'm so out
of the way here. He can come for weekends and nobody's any the wiser and I can go up to London now and then. Just for twenty-four hours. The girl from the surgery comes and stays overnight to look after the dogs. It's tremendous fun. I'd forgotten what the big city was like. Never known it at all, actually. Jon calls us the Town Mouse and the Country Mouse. We're learning each other's worlds.'

‘And it works?' Kate stared at him.

‘Works?' Freddie's face blazed with enthusiasm. ‘It's brilliant!'

‘But what will happen when he retires. You know? Where will you live then? It's a bit different when it's full-time, isn't it?'

‘Probably.' Freddie shrugged. ‘We'll probably live here and spend a few days here and there in London. Why not? Best of both worlds. No good thinking of that yet. It's now that counts, isn't it? After all, it's all we can count on. Now. This minute. We may not be here next year, next week even. No time to waste. Even if it all finished tomorrow we'd have had this.'

‘Yes, that's true,' said Kate slowly. ‘I was saying that to someone not so long ago. It's the difference between living and existing. Sometimes, though, existing seems a wiser choice.'

‘Not for us.' Freddie shook his head. ‘Safer perhaps. Maybe less painful. But there may be years and years for me to exist in. I've had plenty already. I'm going to live for a change.'

Kate drove home deep in thought. She took the road out past Mount House School and remembered happier days when the twins had been there. She thought of the long empty years with Mark, the brief spell of passion with Alex and the lonely span of time since they had parted. She remembered, too, the joy and release of David's lovemaking and how hard it had been, after years of strictly self-imposed celibacy, to drop the barriers of protection and stand naked before a man she hardly knew and surrender herself to him. It had cost all her pride and he had given it all back to her, had given her those hours of freedom and cathartic pleasure and made her feel that it was she who had been the giver.

She walked Felix at Sampford Spiney and, as she walked, the moor seemed to enfold her in its great quiet spaces.

It's been like a mother to me, she thought. Or like God. Always there when I need it. Comforting, soothing, encouraging. It absorbs my worries and my fears and gives me courage to go on. But to what? That's the thing.

When she got in there was a postcard from David on the doormat. She read it as she walked slowly through to the kitchen. He would be down at Broadhayes next weekend for Easter and would love to see her. Love, David. She turned the card. It was a reproduction of one of his own paintings. He had sent her several now, begging her not to think that he was showing off but that he wanted to share them with her. Share. She had noticed that David used that word a lot. The picture was of an old dresser with blue china on the shelves. There were other things, too. David's love of minutiae showed in the myriad tiny objects that had been lovingly put there. As usual he had printed his telephone number carefully in the top left-hand corner just above ‘My Dear Kate'. Kate stared at the card for some time and presently she went to the telephone and dialled.

The receiver was lifted at once. ‘Porteous.'

The cool clipped word confused Kate and she hesitated and almost slammed the receiver down.

‘Hello?' His voice was still impersonal. Not quite impatient.

‘David.' Kate could hardly bring the name out.

‘Yes?' The voice was different now. Questioning, hardly daring to believe. ‘Kate? Is that you, Kate?'

‘Yes. Yes, it is.' Kate felt that she might be crying. Or was it laughing? It seemed to be both. There was a complete silence from the other end and she swallowed, wondering how to go on.

‘Just in case,' David's voice spoke suddenly in her ear. ‘In case it helps you to say whatever it is you want to say, I love you. I love you, Kate. Just in case, d'you see?'

Kate nodded. Yes. It helped. But she still seemed tongue-tied. Her
gaze strayed round the kitchen and came to rest on Felicity's painting. She gulped and swallowed and suddenly it was easy and she could find the words.

‘David!' she cried and, at the other end, David clutched the receiver, his whole being concentrated on what she might say. ‘Oh, David. Could you come?' She was trembling violently. ‘Could you come at once? I've taken my shoes off. Oh, David. I'm going to need so much help to walk barefoot!'

 

‘
I MUST SAY,' SAID
George, dealing with a cork with an experienced hand, ‘that it's nice being just the two of us.'

‘You mean with the children in bed and everything quiet and peaceful?' Thea was fiddling with saucepans at the Rayburn. ‘Yes, it is nice.'

‘Well, I didn't mean the girls.' George stood the wine on the kitchen table and sat down next to it. ‘They're us really, aren't they? I meant that it was nice not to have other people around. You know. Polly or Tim or Maggie. Just us.' He poured the wine and sipped contentedly. ‘Nice wine.'

‘Look not upon the wine when it is red,' advised Percy in Hermione's voice and George laughed.

‘Sounds like your G.A. was keeping old Edward under strict control,' he said.

‘Percy's been in a biblical mood today,' said Thea, stirring things. ‘We've had various collects and one or two verses from the Psalms, interspersed with some of Polly's blasphemies. Sounds very odd.'

‘Here.' George filled a glass and took it to her. ‘Something for the cook.' He put it into her hand and kissed her. ‘Bless you.'