Penmarric (32 page)

I sensed he was as embarrassed as I was by the situation, although as always he remained courteous and considerate.

“Are you feeling well?” he said. “I hope you’re not doing too much and the vicar of St. Just isn’t pestering you too hard on parish matters.”

“No,” I said. “I feel very well.” It was true. Despite the fact that I was now almost forty-four and much too old, in my opinion, for having a baby I was in excellent health and Dr. Salter was pleased with me. Even when the time for the birth came there was no trouble. Elizabeth was born in June, a dark, plain, heavy baby with little to commend her save her prompt arrival in the world. My confinement was brief, my recovery rapid. After the christening I left her in Nanny’s care with relief, and although I paid my usual visits to the nursery they were paid more out of a sense of duty than any deep emotional feeling toward the new baby. She had inherited Mark’s dark slanting eyes, the first of my children to do so, and against my will I was reminded of Mrs. Parrish’s elder son, whom I had glimpsed briefly years ago. Poor ugly little Elizabeth! I regret to say I held her looks most unfairly against her, but try as I would I could not overcome my irrational prejudice.

Meanwhile the time had come for Philip to be sent away to school with Marcus, who was by this time thoroughly enjoying his career as a schoolboy. I was pleased that he had settled down so well, yet sad that he should now be so independent and no longer as reliant upon me as he had been before. He was now very much the eldest child and looked down with scorn upon Philip and Hugh, who had not been out and about in the world as he had.

“Are there moors there?” said Philip. “Are there mines? Is it near the sea?”

“Of course not!” Marcus said loftily. “The school is near London and the countryside is full of woods. It’s quite different.”

“How stupid it sounds,” said Philip. “Why should I want to go there?” And to his father he declared boldly, “I shan’t go.”

“You’ll do exactly as you’re told,” said Mark curtly, “and no nonsense.”

“I shall run away,” said Philip. “You can’t make me stay there.”

“If you run away,” said Mark, “I’ll give you the best hiding you’ve ever had in your life.”

They stared at each other in open hostility, and suddenly I could not help but notice Philip’s resemblance to his father, the strong will, the stubbornness, the unyielding determination to get his way. He took no notice of Mark’s threat. The first time he ran away he was apprehended within a few miles of the school, but the second time he was missing for three days. I was dreadfully distressed and Mark even came home from Oxford to be with me while we waited for news. Finally Philip, dirty, exhausted and tear-stained, arrived at Penmarric and rushed headlong into my arms.

“We can’t send him back!” I said, appalled, to Mark. “We can’t! Please, Mark, please let him stay!”

“Certainly not,” said Mark. “He has to learn his lesson—he has to learn that he can’t always have his own way. I’m not giving in to him, and the sooner he realizes it the better. He’s going straight back to school and I’m going with him to deliver him in person.”

“But—”

“Blame yourself if the situation is distasteful to you! If you hadn’t always spoiled him so atrociously from the cradle onward he wouldn’t be so unmanageable now!”

We quarreled bitterly and parted in anger. The next day Mark set off with Philip to the east, and after he had delivered Philip to the school in Surrey he went to Oxfordshire and remained at Allengate until December.

I saw little of him after that. He returned to Penmarric for a week at Christmas and a week at Easter, but in the summer he was asked to give a series of lectures to graduates interested in twelfth-century monasticism and he stayed at Oxford throughout all the summer months. Soon the new academic year had begun and I knew I would not be seeing him again before December. We did correspond irregularly about the children, and he remembered all their birthdays with meticulous care, but gradually as summer passed into autumn I began to feel more isolated than I had ever felt before. My parish activities seemed dreary, the mechanical round of social calls futile. Finally in November I felt so desperately low in spirits that I resolved to make the journey across the Tamar and visit the boys at their school in Surrey. Their half-term weekend was in early November and they were permitted to go out for the weekend of three days with their parents, so I wrote to them both to tell them of my intended visit.

It happened that Marcus had already accepted an invitation to stay with a school friend in London; the school friend’s parents had bought theater tickets, and since it would clearly have been awkward for him to cancel the arrangement I did not press him to do so. Instead I met Philip at the school early on the Saturday morning and after we had visited the village tea shop so that he could drink lemonade and eat two currant buns I asked him how he would like to spend his holiday.

I had fully expected him to list a number of things he wanted to do in London, for I had already asked the townhouse staff to prepare themselves for our visit, but to my surprise he had other very different plans.

“I want to go to Brighton,” he said firmly. “There are downs there like moors, and there’s the sea. One of the masters at school lives there—we can go to London and get a train from Victoria Station, he said. There are lots of schools there and I want to see if I like it. If I do I shall ask Papą to let me change schools. I want to be by the sea.”

So the matter was settled. We journeyed down to Brighton easily, much more easily than I would have believed possible, and found ourselves in a pretty seaside town with attractive townhouses and esplanades and a strange foreign-looking palace that had been built years before by the Prince Regent. The driver of our hired cab took us to the largest hotel that was open all the year round, even in November, and the manager offered me a most pleasant suite of rooms overlooking the sea. I accepted the offer at once, and the porters began to bring up the luggage.

“This is delightful!” I exclaimed to Philip, pleased because the town was more congenial than I had anticipated and because the hotel was luxurious and comfortable. “How clever of you to suggest we come here!”

That evening we decided to dine in the hotel dining room rather than in our suite, so I put on my best gown and saw that Philip was clean and tidy before we went downstairs together soon after eight o’clock. The hotel at first seemed as quiet and sedate as when we had arrived, but presently we heard the murmur of voices from the dining room and I supposed that there were more guests staying at the hotel than might have been anticipated at that time of the year.

As we went into the dining room the headwaiter came up to us and bowed. “A table for two, madam?”

“Yes,” said Philip before I could speak. “A corner one, please.”

“Hush, Philip!” I was amused but a trifle embarrassed by his precocious treatment of the eminent headwaiter, but the latter merely smiled and said kindly, “Of course, sir! This way, please.”

I was just stepping forward to follow him when Philip said, surprised, “There’s Papa.”

There was a void below my heart. I felt my breath catch in my throat. And then I looked across to one of the tables on the other side of the room and saw Mark with Rose Parrish and their two sons.

She still looked young and pretty. Why not? She was no more than thirty-five. She was dressed in a beautiful, expensively cut gown and there were diamonds at her throat. Age had improved, not detracted, from her looks, and although I had always remembered her as pretty, now her prettiness seemed more mature, more striking. She was happy too. She was laughing, her expression gay and carefree. Beside her were the two boys, the elder good-looking with more than a hint of the familiar Penmar features, the younger as blond and cherubic as a choirboy.

“Mama,” Philip was saying urgently. “Mama.”

Mark chose that minute to catch sight of us. I saw his expression change.

“Madam?” said the headwaiter, returning to my side when he saw we were no longer following him to the table in the corner.

Mrs. Parrish had seen us. I saw the laughter die from her eyes and the color ebb from her face.

“Mama,” said Philip, tugging at my hand. “Why is Papa with those people?”

I said to the headwaiter, “Pray do not trouble to seat us at a table. We shall be dining elsewhere.”

The headwaiter looked astonished but I did not care. I turned, walked blindly out of the dining room into the brightly lit hall and began to stumble up the staircase. My breath was coming in short, uneven gasps and I felt ill with shock.

“Mama!” Philip was behind me, treading on my heels. “Mama, what is it. What’s the matter?”

I was crying. I tried not to but I was unable to control myself. I fumbled for a handkerchief and tried to hide my tears from him.

“Didn’t you want to see Papa? Who’s that woman? And who are those boys? Are they at school here?”

Of course, I thought, it would be their half-term too. Mark had come down from Oxford to see them and take them out. He had made no effort to see his legitimate sons, but for Mrs. Parrish’s children he was prepared to travel from Oxford to Brighton.

“Mama, please!” He was frantic. “Please talk to me! Who are those people? Why is Papa here?”

“I … will explain …” We reached the suite. I fumbled in my handbag for the key to the door and felt the tears wet on my cheek.

“You’re crying,” said Philip.

“No.” I found the key, fitted it in the lock.

“He’s made you unhappy.” He turned and began to walk off down the corridor back to the stairs. “I’ll go and talk to him.”

“No, Philip!” I cried. “No, no! Come here at once. Don’t you dare go downstairs!”

He hesitated. I had never spoken to him so harshly before.

“Please,” I said. “Come here, Philip, and don’t be disobedient. Please.”

He came without a word. We went into the suite and I closed the door. The maid had already been in to light the gas and the room was well lit and warm. After a moment I sat down by the fire and stared into the flames in an attempt to compose myself.

“Tell me,” said Philip, kneeling on the floor and pressing close to me to secure my attention. “Tell me. I want to know. Please, Mama. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying, Philip.” I was more controlled now. My voice was stiff and level. I tried to swallow but my throat still ached too much. After a while I said, “The woman is called Mrs. Parrish. She’s a widow, an acquaintance of Papa’s. The boys are her sons.”

“Is it their half-term? Are they at school here? Why did Papa come to see them and not Marcus and me?”

“I … don’t know … I suppose there was some reason—”

“That’s not fair,” said Philip. He scrambled to his feet. “May I go down and speak to him?”

“No—please, darling, please. Stay with me.”

There was a knock at the door.

I started violently. I rose at once to my feet but before I could speak Philip said, “That’ll be Papa. Perhaps he’s come to apologize.” He crossed the room, wrenched the handle and pulled open the door.

Mark stood on the threshold. He was alone, and suddenly I felt so faint that I had to sit down again.

“Hullo, Philip,” he said. “What a surprise to see you here! Where is Mama?”

Philip said nothing but merely stared at him stonily. Mark took no notice. He came into the room and when he saw me he held out his hands.

I looked away. At last he said, “Why did you bring Philip to Brighton?”

“I … it was merely …” My voice was unsteady. I had to stop.

“It was my idea,” said Philip from beside me. “I had heard there were schools in Brighton and I wanted to see what sort of place it was. I was going to ask you if I could go to school by the sea. It’s got nothing to do with Mama. It’s not her fault.”

“No one,” said Mark, “is implying that anything is Mama’s fault.”

There was a silence. Then: “Why are you here?” said Philip with the bold insolence that Mark could not tolerate. “Are those boys having half-term? Why did you see them and not Marcus and me?”

“Perhaps because they have better manners.” He turned to me. “What have you told him?”

“Nothing. Only her name.”

“I must talk to you alone,” he said abruptly. “My suite is down the corridor. I suggest you come there with me for a few minutes.”

“No,” I said strongly, “I’m not going into any suite of rooms you share with that woman.”

“Please, Janna!” He was dark with anger. “Not before the child.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t care. I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life as when I walked into the dining room and saw you sitting there with her—with your sons.”

“They’re not his,” said Philip. “They’re hers. You told me—”

“Listen, Janna—”

“No, I won’t! Where does she live now? Is it in London? Ah no, of course she must be at Oxford—at your new house at Allengate! How stupid of me not to have guessed before! I suppose she’s masquerading as your housekeeper.”

“I refuse to discuss this in front of the child. He shouldn’t be present.”

“How dare you dictate to me what should be done with my children? What right have you to interfere with them when you do nothing but ignore them for the best part of the year? How am I to explain to Marcus and Philip why you preferred to see William and his brother at half-term? How dare you pay such attention to your bastards!”

His hands were on my shoulders. He was shaking me. “For Christ’s sake!” He was so furiously angry that he did not even check the profanity. “Have you no sense, no discretion, no—”

“Stop it!” shouted Philip. He drove his small fist into his father’s thigh and tried to tear Mark away from me. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

“You see how you’re upsetting the child?” He took Philip by the scruff of the neck and disengaged himself from the child’s grasp but Philip flew straight back into the attack.

“No, Philip.” I caught his hand and pulled him to my side. “It’s all right, darling, it’s all right.” I stooped and hugged him tightly. He looked at me, his blue eyes clear, his face white and strained, and then suddenly his mouth trembled and he began to cry. I pressed him to me and looked up at Mark with blazing eyes.