The Children's Hour (24 page)

‘Well, Ma-in-law,' he said jovially, with all the brutal condescension of a senior master to a young and foolish pupil, ‘have you been behaving yourself?'

Georgie stared up at him: humiliation stiffened her jaw and squared her thin shoulders whilst the colour flowed into her pale cheeks. She freed her hands, firmly but politely, and turned away from him.

Mina and Nest looked at one another – ‘It was at that point,' Nest said, afterwards, ‘that I knew we couldn't ask for her to be taken away. My God! He is such a pompous prat of a man!' – and both broke into speech, urging the whole party into the house.

It was clear that Helena was ashamed of Rupert's patronizing behaviour, though she refused to side against him. Too many of Georgie's cruel cuts and slights over the long years had sliced away at her love for her mother until only the bare bone of filial affection was left for this elderly woman, who had consistently withheld any shred of diplomacy or generosity with respect to her daughter or her husband. Helena knew that Rupert was at his worst with her mother and her family and, embarrassed though she might be, yet she could understand that it was his own past humiliations at her mother's hands that reinforced his own least likeable mannerisms in her presence.

Georgie had heard the words ‘As you sow so shall you reap' but it had never occurred to her that they would ever ultimately apply directly to
her
and, now, she turned into the house, mortified, resentful and powerless. Mina, who
had some idea of the reasoning behind the behaviour of all three of them – and a certain degree of sympathy for both Helena and Rupert – was nevertheless a prey to sibling solidarity and was relieved to see that Nest, for the same reason, was firmly supporting Georgie.

It seemed, after all, that Elyot was right: the moment had showed its hand and the situation was resolved almost before they'd begun. Nothing occurred to change their minds. The meeting, having got off to an unfortunate start, continued to deteriorate. Helena, refusing to disapprove of Rupert's continuing pomposity yet attempting to restore Georgie's pride, fell between all the stools. Her desperation to shield her husband whilst ameliorating the situation with her mother became too painful to watch and, after lunch, Mina announced that she was taking the dogs for a walk down to the beach. For one brief moment, Nest was truly tempted to break her self-imposed rule and ask to go with her but Mina, not guessing this, added that this was Nest's rest time.

‘I expect that the three of you would like to have some time together,' she said brightly and, without waiting for anyone to agree with this optimistic statement, she seized Nest's chair and pushed her firmly out of the drawing-room and into her bedroom, closing the door behind them.

For a moment they stared at one another fearfully, almost as if they expected one of the others to come rushing after them, before Nest let out a gasp of relief whilst Mina collapsed on Nest's bed.

‘Do you realize,' asked Nest, presently, ‘that we have nearly
twenty-four
more hours of this hell to get through?'

‘Don't,' said Mina. ‘Just don't. At least you can plead exhaustion or pain, or something, and escape.'

‘Poor Georgie,' said Nest. ‘Oh, wasn't it horrid? She looked so utterly humiliated.'

‘Yes.' Mina hesitated for a second, wondering whether she should attempt to put forward Helena and Rupert's point of view but decided against it. It was as if she had been given an answer to her prayer and, that being so, it would be wrong now to cloud the issue. ‘Poor old Georgie. I think, after all, that she'll be better off in that home.'

‘So do I,' agreed Nest at once. ‘Anyway, did you hear Rupert say that they're off for a week's holiday? In which case it looks as if we haven't much choice. Honestly, Mina, Rupert is the
end
!'

They talked together for a little longer but by the time Mina set out on her walk, the decision had been taken.

From:
  Mina
To:
      Elyot

. . . and, to be honest, nothing happened to make us change our minds. It's very sad that they don't get on better as a family but it's too late to turn the clock back and, after all, Georgie will only be with us for three more weeks. It was odd, and very endearing, to see Nest's volte face in the light of Georgie's humiliation. I pray that nothing happens now to make her regret it. I can't really imagine anything that could precipitate such a disaster . . .

At half-past ten on Monday morning, after a long walk beside Malpas creek, round the ornamental lake and home again, Lyddie settled a weary Bosun in the yard, checked his bowl of cold water and gave him a biscuit. He looked at her pathetically, ears flattened, but she patted him briskly and gave him a quick kiss on the nose.

‘I shan't be long,' she told him, ‘but I simply
have
to do some clothes shopping and I can't drag you round with me.
You can have a good, long sleep and we'll go out again later.
Good
boy!'

He watched her go back into the kitchen and heard the key turn in the lock; when he heard the front door slam and her footsteps going away, he sighed heavily and began to crunch his biscuit. Ten minutes later he was deeply asleep.

Lyddie heard the cathedral bell chime the third quarter as she passed down Pydar Street. It was a bright, crisp October morning and she was glad of her wool jacket although the cold air was invigorating. Even after her long walk with the Bosun, she felt full of energy and was enjoying a sense of freedom. An author had been late submitting his manuscript, a long novel, and Lyddie was in the unusual position of having a two-week slot booked and no work. For some reason she couldn't quite define, she hadn't told Liam about this unexpected bonus: she'd decided to chill out a little, to do some shopping and perhaps pop in to The Place at lunchtime: something she very rarely did.

She spent some time in the Body Shop and then headed for the Mounts Bay Trading Company, where she bought a charming silk and wool cropped jersey and hesitated longingly over a narrow, elegant skirt in dark green, soft merino wool.

‘I'll think about it,' she told the assistant laughingly. ‘No, no, don't tempt me any more! Put it back on the hanger. I'll have some coffee and brood on it.'

She hurried out into the bright sunshine, back to Boscawan Street, wondering whether to check out the Jaeger shop in Lemon Street before deciding on the merino skirt. There was a small queue at the bank and she glanced at her watch as she waited to draw some money: it was nearly half-past eleven. Should she have coffee at the
patisserie
in Lemon Street or go to The Terrace? Lyddie
pushed her card into the slot, tapped in her code and waited. Of course, she could have coffee at The Place – but almost instantly she rejected the thought. It was much more likely that Liam would spare half an hour to have lunch with her than to stop for coffee. After all, he'd have to eat at some point – and it would be fun to have a little extra time together.

For the last few days he'd been on brilliant form: amusing, tender, passionate. She'd begun to believe that the ‘No Thoroughfare' sign was beginning to come down and a new way forward was opening up to them after all. She'd decided that the time was very nearly right to talk to him about her longing for a child: to suggest that it was time they started a family. Putting the cash into her purse, peeping at her new jersey, remembering last night, with its long, languorous hours of glorious, heart-stopping love, Lyddie thought: I am
happy
. She paused for a moment, aware of nothing but untinged, pure joy; a few seconds in which nothing else existed but this upward-winging sensation. The man behind her in the queue shifted and cleared his throat and Lyddie smiled blindingly at him before turning away.

She was passing the narrow entrance into Cathedral Lane when she saw them: Liam and Rosie, silhouetted at the other end of the passage. Liam had his hands up, rejectingly, whilst Rosie seemed to be remonstrating. Lyddie was past, actually looking in the window of Monsoon, when her mind did a kind of double take and she realized what she'd seen. Or had she? She stepped back to look into the lane just as Liam turned away, heading towards The Place, Rosie staring after him. Her stance was defeated, frustrated, and she thrust her hands into her pockets before she glanced round and saw Lyddie. She stiffened, hesitated, and then,
ineluctably drawn, each walked to meet the other. They met outside Abacus.

‘Rosie,' said Lyddie warmly, ‘how good to see you. I was so sorry to hear that you'd . . . left. How's it going?'

Rosie stared at her with that familiar intense, calculating look and then smiled wryly. ‘
Is
it going?' she asked. ‘That's the question.'

‘Oh dear.' Lyddie felt both sympathetic and responsible, guessing that Rosie had been asking for her job back and that Liam had refused. She wondered how much the split-up with Joe had to do with her leaving The Place and whether she was regretting the whole thing. ‘Look, I was just going to have a cup of coffee. Do you feel like joining me?'

‘Why not?' Rosie seemed to be debating with herself as much as with Lyddie. ‘Yes, OK. We'll go to The Terrace.'

With white cane furniture and mirrors, and the ivy in its hanging baskets, The Terrace was charming – yet totally unlike The Place.

‘I always feel faintly guilty when I come in here,' said Lyddie when they had their coffee in front of them on the small round table. She chuckled. ‘It's rather like being unfaithful, if you see what I mean?'

‘Well, you needn't let that worry you, need you?' asked Rosie flippantly.

Lyddie was puzzled, sensing some subtle challenge beneath the casually uttered question. ‘How do you mean?' she asked.

‘I mean why should
you
worry about being unfaithful.' Rosie watched her, still unsmilingly, and then shrugged impatiently. ‘I
mean
' – she emphasized the word as if implying that Lyddie were being unnecessarily stupid – ‘that you're married to the expert.'

‘I don't understand you.' Lyddie tried to speak lightly. ‘Sorry. Look, you seem a bit upset—'

‘No,
you
look.' Rosie leaned forward, blocking Lyddie's view of the other customers. ‘Open your eyes for once. It's about time, after all. I've always thought that you should know . . .' She sat back again, eyes narrowed, assessing her. ‘Perhaps you
do
know that Liam's cheating on you.'

Lyddie smiled disbelievingly. ‘Cheating . . .?'

‘Oh, for God's sake!' Rosie looked away for a moment, her hands clasping in an odd wringing movement, and then stared at Lyddie. ‘Joe always said you never guessed but I didn't really believe him. Christ, Lyddie! You've seen him with the customers, with the women.'

‘Yes,' agreed Lyddie carefully, ‘and I
did
wonder if he'd been with one or two of them before we were married—'

‘One or two?' Rosie gave a short explosive laugh. ‘Jesus! And the rest.'

‘I don't believe you.' Lyddie sounded quite calm, although an icy hand seemed to be twisting and gripping in her gut. ‘Oh, not about Liam going with some of the women in the past. He was a free man, after all, why shouldn't he? But I think that all this is because he won't give you your job back—'

‘We're
lovers
, Lyddie. Me and Liam. We were lovers long before you blew into The Place on that
bloody
summer's day and turned his head with your class act . . .'

‘All the more reason for you to be—'

‘Please,' Rosie interrupted wearily, ‘oh,
please
, don't let's pretend that I'm doing the woman scorned bit. I left The Place of my own free will. Liam and I have been having it off for the last year – yes, there was a break for a while after he married you – but now there's someone new. Oh, I haven't been given the push, Liam's not like that. The more the
merrier where he's concerned. He likes a harem. It lends spice, a bit of competition. Christ! Lyddie, don't look like that. Where the hell did you think he was when he said he was going to the bank every day, or the cash and carry?'

‘And Joe?'

‘Joe?' Rosie looked baffled at the question and then shook her head. ‘You really want some convincing, don't you? Joe and I were never serious except for a short time after you and Liam got married. When Liam and I started to go to bed together again, Joe kept up the pretence because he didn't want you to be hurt. He was furious but he can't do anything about it. They're partners and that's that. The Place is more important to them than anyone, haven't you found that out yet? I told Joe I was going to tell you before one of those other cows that Liam hangs out with spills the beans but he was very angry with me. That's what we were arguing about that night when you came in out of the rain.' She looked aside from Lyddie's white face. ‘It's
not
spite,' she said urgently. ‘It's just . . . You need to know before anything else happens; someone else deciding to drop him in it. He has one hell of a magnetic pull, does Liam, but one of the others might just tug free and decide to get her own back. You're not very popular, you know, waltzing in and pinching him from under our noses.'

Lyddie remained silent; she even drank a little coffee, although her hand trembled and the cup rattled as she replaced it in its saucer. Rosie watched her admiringly, consideringly.

‘I'm not sure you believe me, even now,' she said. She leaned forward again. ‘Tell me,' she asked casually, ‘would you agree if I said that, just these last few days, since Thursday, let's say, Liam's been really sparkling, right up there, know what I mean?' She smiled. ‘Yes, I see that you
would. Know why? The reason's very close to home and she's called Zoë. You can tell when Liam's pulling someone new. It goes to his head like champagne and he wants everyone to share the bubbles. He was at The Place yesterday afternoon, wasn't he? Right? And he couldn't possibly get home. Right? I bet you haven't seen the set-up in one of the storerooms upstairs, have you? Just in case someone's ill or has to stay over? No, well, it's bloody useful. And that's where he was yesterday afternoon and I bet you had one hell of a night with him!'