Change For The Worse

by Elizabeth Lemarchand

  The library of Fairlynch Manor was a very large well-proportioned room that had been built on to the original eighteenth-century house. It was well lit by tall windows fitted with elegant internal shutters. Access was from the rear of the entrance hall, near the door leading to the kitchen premises.

  Hugo Rossiter made a minimal adjustment to the alignment of a picture and descended from a pair of steps. Standing in the middle of the room with arms akimbo he looked around with a satisfied expression.

  ‘If you ask me,’ he remarked, ‘we’ve done a bloody good job. Glad to be back in the ancestral home, my lad?’ He bowed ironically to the portrait of the young heir, which, as Katharine had hoped, formed the focal point of the exhibition, carefully sited and flanked by unobtrusive immediate neighbours.

  ‘You two must be feeling on top of the world,’ Rex Allbright, President of the Wellchester Art Club said. ‘All your inspiration, Mrs Ridley.’

  ‘I may have had the original idea,’ she replied,’ but the end product’s Hugo’s. He’s got a phenomenal visual memory. I suppose, though,’ she went on a little doubtfully, ‘Lady Boyd-Calthrop won’t take umbrage at the sixth baronet being rather in a corner and dwarfed by Lydia Gilmore’s abstract?’

  ‘Why the hell shouldn’t it be?’ Hugo demanded. ‘They’re both meaningless exercises in technique. And if anybody suggests starting shoving things round at this stage, I’m going home to blow my brains out.’

  They all turned as the door opened to admit Francis Peck and an elderly man with grey hair and beard and rimless spectacles. Katharine exclaimed with surprise and pleasure. ‘Why, it’s Professor Chilmark! I’d no idea you were in these parts. How nice to see you again.’

  ‘I’m staying with friends near Wellchester,’ he told her as they shook hands, ‘so I thought I’d run over and have a look at this exhibition of yours. Actually I’m on my way to a luncheon engagement, but Mr Peck has kindly offered me a private view on Sunday morning.’

  ‘Actually it’s much more Mr Rossiter’s show than mine at this stage,’ Katharine told him. ‘Of course you’ve both met?’

  ‘On several occasions, haven’t we, Mr Rossiter? May I say how much I admired that Umbrian landscape of yours in last year’s Academy? You’ve got something here, I hope?’

  ‘Only a couple of small local landscapes, Professor,’ Hugo replied. ‘We’ve aimed at a local flavour as far as possible, you see.’

  ‘It promises to be a most interesting show. I hope I may see you both on Sunday morning as well as the pictures? Now I really must be off, I’m afraid…’

  The Professor was led away by Francis Peck.

  ‘He’s HOB’S art adviser,’ Katharine explained to the rest of the company, ‘and very knowledgeable. He’s awfully nice, and was on the small committee which came down to vet Fairlynch when my husband offered to make it over.’

  Rex Allbright asked what Professor Chilmark’s own line was.

  ‘He doesn’t paint much now,’ Hugo Rossiter said. ‘He’s more of an art historian these days. You’ve probably heard him on the air.’

  Francis Peck came in looking unusually elated.

  ‘One up for Fairlynch. It’ll go back to the Central Committee and raise our stock. We aren’t the most popular property just at the moment. You are through here now, aren’t you? Hilary says drinks are laid on in the flat, and she hopes you’ll all come up. It’s time to celebrate, don’t you think?’

  A chorus of approval and thanks greeted the invitation, and within a few minutes a relaxed and cheerful gathering had collected in the Pecks’ sitting room. Their flat was on the first floor of the Manor at the opposite end of the house from the library, with a splendid view down the terraced garden to the Spire valley and the hills on its far side. Katharine Ridley, standing at a window with a glass of sherry in her hand, felt guilty but relieved. She had given little or no time to Tom Basing and his problems for weeks, but the strong north winds of the past month had dried up the soaking ground like magic, and she could see fresh green and flecks of colour everywhere.

  On leaving the house she decided to make a quick tour of inspection on her way home. The general transformation astonished her, experienced gardener though she was. The woods behind the house were misty with young green. The oaks were breaking into fat lime-gold buds, and because of the lateness of the spring the ground was still spangled with primroses and violets. Early white magnolias were in bud, and best of all, a few perfect blooms of softest pink had appeared on the treasured towering campbellii. The polyanthus bed which had caused such despondency earlier on was showing spikes of bright colour, and as she hurried down the terraces she found a favourite scarlet japonica a mass of bloom in a sheltered corner, and caught a waft of fragrance from a clump of narcissi. On her way down the drive to the lodge it seemed that more daffodils had come out in the course of the morning. Of course the gardens were very backward this year, but so were everybody else’s. Gardening enthusiasts would know that the present promise would be a glory in a few weeks’ time, given a reasonable amount of sun. The azaleas would be at their best then. And ‘Pictures for Pleasure’ was arousing a lot of interest: admissions should certainly be up this season, she thought, slipping her latchkey into the lock. At the prospect of a free afternoon she felt herself beginning to unwind. Quite suddenly life seemed full of pleasant things: a normal amount of leisure; Professor Chilmark’s visit on Sunday, the change in Alix since Jim had written so confidently about openings at Canadian universities. After a snack and a short rest she would potter happily in her own greenhouse until Alix came home for tea.

  The following day, Friday, felt like a holiday. After getting Alix off to school and doing minimal housework Katharine drove into Wellchester to have her hair done. Exhilarated by the result she paid an unpremeditated visit to Tops. On hearing her voice Lydia Gilmore emerged from her office at the back of the little shop.

  ‘Katharine! My God, it’s good to see somebody like you in the place! We’ve had the most frightful women in this morning. Flat as boards or with huge overhanging balconies. Is this a social call, or in the best sales jargon, can we do something for you?’

  ‘Of course it isn’t a social call,’ Katharine told her. ‘I wouldn’t presume to make one on a high-powered business woman in working hours. No, I feel a complete mess after working about twenty hours a day for weeks, and want something new. And warm. The wind’s simply Arctic, and it’s going to be freezing chatting up visitors to the gardens tomorrow.’

  ‘You would come in right at the end of the season when the winter stock’s practically cleared out,’ Lydia Gilmore grumbled, opening and shutting drawers. ‘The only decent knitwear’s Italian these days, and I don’t go over to buy in for the autumn till the end of the month. What about this? No, hopeless. Wrong colour for you... This might do. It’s warm, but not bulky or hairy. Come and try it, and these others. All half-price to you. I’m sick of seeing them around.’

  Katharine fell at once for a polo-necked angora sweater in a soft blue, featherweight and very warm. Lydia brushed aside her protests at the price cut.

  ‘You’re doing me a favour by taking it off my hands. And now you’re going to do me another by coming out to lunch. We’ll go to the grill room at the Imperial and have a really decent meal. I’m ravenous, for some reason. If I go there alone some type from the Chamber of Commerce nobbles me and starts talking about the rates and parking restrictions.’

  It was an excellent lunch in a pleasant undemanding atmosphere of chat about local affairs and holiday plans. Lydia Gilmore was envious of the forthcoming trip to Canada.

  ‘Couldn’t I do with six months away from it all,’ she said. ‘Running a business is hell these days, what with one thing and another. You daren’t be away for long on end, even with Tops, although I try to take it as lightly as I can — I’d go round the bend otherwise. Malcolm gets so steamed up at the way the government keeps on chucking a spanner in the works. It’s never-ending with all a construction
firm’s ramifications, you know. I make him take a short break whenever he can, but all the real holiday we had together last year was a measly ten days in the Algarve in September... Tell me, what are you going to do about the lodge if you’re really off for six months?’

  She looked tired, Katharine thought sympathetically. Was it really necessary for them to work so hard, even with two children at expensive boarding schools?

  Saturday dawned clear and sunny, and the early weather forecast was reassuring about showers. Glancing out of her bedroom window as she dressed Katharine watched the daffodils being bowed to the ground by the relentless northerly wind but consoled herself with the thought that the gardens were sheltered to some extent by the wooded hills behind the house.

  ‘I’ll be down in a couple of minutes,’ she called in response to a shout from Alix that breakfast was ready, and went over to get her new sweater which was spread out invitingly on the top of her chest of drawers. As she picked it up the telephone extension on her bedside table rang.

  As she took four steps across the room a whole range of possible disasters at the Manor rushed through her mind, but Francis Peck’s voice was reassuring.

  ‘Nothing dire,’ he said. ‘Just rather tiresome. Hilary’s mother has had a fall and fractured her femur. She’s in hospital, and Hilary feels she must go up, as her father’s on his own. I’m running her into Wellchester, of course, but I’ve told her that we can manage perfectly well. The chief thing that’s worrying her is Chilmark’s lunch tomorrow. Could you possibly lay on something, do you think?’

  ‘Of course I can, Francis. Either here or in your flat. No problem at all. I am sorry about all this. Do tell Hilary, and give her my love, won’t you?’

  ‘Mine too,’ put in Alix, who had been following the conversation on the telephone in the sitting room. ‘And Francis, Hilary was on the gate this afternoon, wasn’t she? I can perfectly well do it for her. I’ve been on before.’

  ‘Alix, that’s fine,’ he replied. ‘Could you collect the float from me when I get back? I’ll look in on my way home, Katharine. Many thanks to both of you. See you later, then.’

  He rang off. Katharine put down the receiver with a feeling of relief.

  ‘Thank heaven for deep freezes,’ she said, arriving in the kitchen. ‘I’ll have to leave the later stages of the cooking to you, I’m afraid, if I’m to help show Professor Chilmark round.’

  ‘O.K.,’ Alix replied. ‘Can do. Anyway, we needn’t bother much about our lunch today. Not with a Gilmore supper tonight. Malcolm’s fetching us, isn’t he? He seems to think we’ll all be flat out by closing time.’

  ‘I only hope he’s right,’ Katharine said, pouring herself out a cup of coffee. ‘I shall feel much better if we get off to a good start... That car which went up the drive just now has come back and stopped outside... See who it is, darling.’

  The caller was a photographer from the Wellchester Evening News, diverted from the Manor to the lodge in the Warden’s temporary absence. Katharine collected warm outdoor clothes and went with him to discuss vantage points for photographs of the gardens. Francis Peck returned, and there were some last minute arrangements to settle. With these and household chores the morning passed swiftly. After a hurried snack Alix collected her float and a picnic tea in a basket and hurried off, enjoying her responsibilities. A branch of the drive led to the visitors’ car park. A summer house used as a ticket office stood at the foot of a flight of stone steps leading up to the gardens. Here she installed herself for the afternoon, unnecessarily early.

  Katharine waited until half a dozen or so cars had gone past, and then made her way to the gardens. She had been encouraged to keep up her habit of being about whenever she could on open days. Both she and John had enjoyed meeting the garden enthusiasts who came to look round, and although thefts of plants were rare, they had always felt that this was probably due to their own unobtrusive presence. Today she was surprised at the number of visitors already strolling along the paths, some with nurserymen’s catalogues in hand, and was soon greeted and caught up in discussions. It was some time before she could extricate herself to go and see how “Pictures for Pleasure” was faring. As she went into the hall an encouraging babble was coming from the library. About thirty people were inspecting the exhibits, and she had a word with the Gilmores, who were just leaving. The names of the pictures’ lenders were arousing a good deal of interest, and she overheard one or two ribald comments which she treasured up to retail to Hugo Rossiter. Under pressure he had reluctantly agreed to be present on the opening day, and she was amused to see him inescapably pinned down by an earnest woman in plaid trousers and an anorak. She gave him a discreet V-sign to which he responded with a scowl, and slipped out after a couple of minutes feeling exhilarated. There was an unmistakeable smell of success in the air.

  People were still coming up from the car park in small groups, and Katharine wondered briefly how Alix was getting on. Among the flowering shrubs an elderly couple were admiring the white magnolias. She stopped to give them a friendly word in passing, and was asked rather diffidently if it would be possible to get a magnolia established in the small garden of their suburban bungalow. As she entered into pros and cons she was aware of someone standing a little way behind them, obviously waiting for an opportunity to speak to her, and as they moved on with repeated thanks for her help she turned to greet the new arrival.

  She found herself face to face with Geoffrey Parr.

  In the disintegrating terror of an experience apparently outside the natural order she went cold. There was a long silence. At last he broke it.

  ‘Disconcerting, isn’t it, when somebody rises from the grave? I always think Lazarus must have got the frozen mitt from quite a lot of his old pals.’

  She felt her brain beginning to function again although the muscles of her throat remained paralysed. The appalling thing was that the question of identity simply did not arise. Beyond any shadow of doubt this was Geoffrey Parr, not so much coarsened as intensified. The once humorous mouth had tightened into an ironic slit. The calculating eyes were more unwavering and now bloodshot. There was a subtle but unmistakeable suggestion of being up against life.

  ‘The silence of utter disapproval,’ he commented, as Katharine still did not speak. ‘You haven’t changed, have you, mother-in-law? But the set-up has, I gather. I’ve been getting all the gen from my daughter down there.’

  Fury and fear gave her back her voice. ‘You haven’t...’ she blazed at him.

  ‘Introduced myself? Of course not. Many a promising situation is ruined by being over-hasty, you know. I —’ he broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps — ‘I suggest we meet up at your new home for a nice chat. A bit public here, don’t you think?’

  He turned and strolled off in a leisurely way as two women appeared from the opposite direction, and bore down on Katharine with enthusiastic exclamations about the beauty of the Fairlynch gardens. She was astonished to hear that years of practice were enabling her to make the right responses. She could feel her head nodding judiciously and her mouth smiling automatically, and knew that by some miracle she was appearing perfectly normal. At last she glanced at her watch, simulated surprise at the lateness of the hour, and managed to detach herself.

  It was possible to escape any further encounters with visitors by taking a circuitous route to the lodge. As she hurried along she found that the initial shock of Geoffrey Parr’s reappearance was wearing off, and that she was thinking coherently. The circumstances of his official death were, for the moment, a side issue. The important and urgent matter was the motive behind his visit. Obviously it was blackmail, probably with Alix as the bargaining counter. She was still a minor, so he could have parental rights over her. But could a parent who was legally dead claim them? He could go to court, of course, but by the time so complicated a case was decided she would be eighteen, and of age...

  In her relief at this comforting thought Katharine released a long pent-up b
reath. But almost at once an even more disquieting idea struck her. How would Alix, impulsive and with her over-developed sense of social responsibility, react to the sudden appearance of a father she had never known, and one who had fallen on hard times? What unspeakable folly would she commit? Somehow — at whatever cost — Geoffrey Parr must be bought off, and persuaded to leave the country.

  Absorbed in these thoughts Katharine suddenly realised that she had arrived at the lodge. As she put her latchkey into the lock Geoffrey Parr came silently round from the back of the house and followed her inside, closing the door behind him. She led the way to the sitting room, sat down, and motioned him to a chair facing her own. He seated himself, and gave his surroundings the leisurely evaluating glance that she remembered so vividly from his visit to Fairlynch with Helen.

  ‘Very nice,’ he commented. ‘You’ve made yourself very snug, haven’t you? I gathered from my daughter just now that your late husband made over the estate which was legally hers to this conservation racket called Heritage of Britain.’

  Sure of her ground here, Katharine moved in swiftly.

  ‘You are misinformed about the Fairlynch estate,’ she said coldly. ‘It was not entailed and was entirely at my husband’s disposal.’

  Geoffrey Parr crossed his legs and leant back in his chair.

  ‘Legally, perhaps. Morally, his action looks a bit dubious to me. Was Alix, as my daughter tells me she’s called, consulted at all? Too young, perhaps? I admit that she struck me as a bit immature for seventeen. She’s underage, of course, so I’m perfectly entitled to take her back to London tonight.’