She peered at his steely profile through the dim light. This wasn’t Paul, this was a stranger. And she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice when she said, ‘I don’t want to go to Eastbourne. I want to hear nothing more.’
‘It has ceased to matter to me what you want. But I want you to go to Eastbourne, and that’s where you’re going. After that you can go where you like.’
‘Paul!’ Her voice was a whimper now, but he took no heed of the pain in it.
After turning a corner at a speed that made her gasp he muttered thickly, as if to himself, ‘Sitting in the wood! Peeping…prying…My God!’
‘Oh, Paul, it was the shock…finding out like that.’
‘Finding out what like that?’ The car was filled with his voice now. ‘You took his word that everything he said about me was true. Why couldn’t you wait and ask me? Anything but trail me and spy on me. And what is more, if I were keeping ten women, it’s no business of either yours or his.’ His head came round to her and his eyes blazed in her direction, and so long did he look at her that she became alarmed for the safety of them both. She bowed her head. He was right, she should never have listened to Bill Tapley. She should have waited until Paul came in and asked him to explain everything. Even now she couldn’t see how he could explain the situation away. Yet some part of her was fearing—and that was the word, fearing—that Bill Tapley had been wrong.
By the time the car stopped she was shivering all over and she had to press her teeth together to try to stop them chattering. He opened the car door for her, then again he pushed her, now towards the garden gate. But once she was on the path he went ahead of her to the front door.
Alison’s head was drooped when the door opened. She could only see the feet and skirt of a woman standing in a dim light. But when the woman said, ‘Why, Paul, what brings you back? What’s the matter?’ she raised her head.
It was a lovely voice she heard, cultured and sweet. And then she was looking at the woman’s face, at her startled eyes and the hand moving up to protect the cheek; but she had seen all there was to see before the woman moved aside, saying, ‘Do come in. Come in.’
Alison moved slowly into the little hall. Already she was bowed down with shame. Whatever she was to learn about Paul now didn’t seem to matter. If he told her pointedly that he loved this woman, she could understand it. He had always been compassionate and kind, and this woman needed compassion and kindness, for one side of her face was seared and scarred in such a fashion that the sight of it made you want to look away.
She had told herself not to turn her eyes away, but to keep looking at the woman as if the face was that of an ordinary woman. But she hadn’t been able to do this.
‘Margaret, this is Alison. I brought her over so that I could explain things.’ His voice was slightly calmer now and the woman, after looking at him intently, said in a quiet tone, ‘But I thought it was to be tomorrow, Paul.’
‘Yes, it was to have been tomorrow.’ Although Alison’s head was bent she knew that Paul was looking at her. ‘But something happened this afternoon that precipitated matters.’
No-one spoke for a moment, then the woman was standing before Alison, her hand on the sleeve of her dress, and she said in surprised tones, ‘But you’re wet.’ Then turning her head towards Paul she added, ‘She’s wet through, Paul.’
This statement elicited no sympathetic reply and into the embarrassing silence the woman spoke again: ‘You must get those wet things off, my dear. Come along into my room.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Do as you’re told.’ It was Paul speaking, as if to an errant, disobedient child. It was more than she could take, and she turned towards him sharply, saying, ‘Don’t speak to me like that; I’ve had enough. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. But don’t speak to me like that.’
‘Uncle! Is that Uncle? Is that Uncle Paul?’ Children’s voices came from a bedroom at the end of the hall and the woman called, ‘Be quiet! and stay where you are. He’ll be with you in a minute.’ On this she again put her hand on Alison’s arm, and turning her about, led her into a bedroom, saying, ‘I’ve just got them bathed and into bed.’ When the door was closed, she went to the wardrobe and took out a dress and a dressing gown. ‘These will be much too big for you,’ she said, ‘but they’ll be dry.’
Alison was standing helplessly before the woman on the good side of her face, and even then there was no sign of beauty. But she had something, some quality. The way she held herself. Her quiet manner. Above all, her voice. All the beauty she needed was in her voice. The woman handed her a towel now, saying, ‘Dry your hair, it’s dripping, you don’t want to catch cold.’ Then she said suddenly, ‘You’re exactly as Paul described you to me.’
The towel in her hand, Alison stared at the woman, who went on, ‘He’s wanted to bring you for such a long time, but I wouldn’t have it. You see’—she turned to the dressing table which, Alison was quick to note, was without a mirror—‘Well, I’m rather shy of people. You can understand that.’ Her head was lowered. ‘I knew from his description that you were beautiful. I thought that you, being young, I…I might frighten you. I…I have seen a young girl turn away from me before today, so…so I don’t often go out, or see anyone. I don’t want to see people, but when Paul brought the necklace over, he said that things must be explained to you.’
‘The necklace? Mrs Gordon-Platt’s necklace?’ Alison was about to put her arms into the dressing gown, but stopped.
‘Mrs Gordon-Platt is my mother. I was Margaret Gordon-Platt.’
‘Margaret Gordon-Platt?’ Alison whispered the words.
‘Yes, Margaret Gordon-Platt. It’s a long story. Come along, put the dressing gown on and we’ll have a cup of tea.’
It was an absolutely mystified Alison whom Margaret led from the room. As they reached the hall the children’s voices assailed them, shouting in chorus, ‘Uncle Paul! Uncle Paul! Why aren’t you coming in, Uncle Paul?’
‘If you don’t stop making that noise I won’t let him come in at all. He’s going to have a cup of tea, so be quiet.’
‘Oh, Mummy, let him come in. Please. Please.’
The voices trailed off and there was a sound of scuffling and giggling, and as Alison listened, a separate pain entered into her. There was something about the atmosphere in this little house that spelt home.
When she entered the sitting room the feeling was emphasised by Paul standing with his back to the fire, for he too looked at home and a little less angry than he had done.
‘There, sit yourself down until I make a cup of tea.’ Margaret was ushering Alison to a chair when Paul said, ‘I’ve put the kettle on; it’ll be some minutes. You sit down, Margaret.’
After Margaret had seated herself at one end of the small couch, Paul took his seat beside her, sitting quite close. In this position he faced Alison and his eyes held hers for a moment before lifting Margaret’s hand and holding it tenderly. ‘This is my cousin Robert’s wife,’ he said. ‘She used to be Margaret Gordon-Platt…’
Margaret interrupted him gently at this point, saying, ‘She knows that, Paul.’
‘Well, what I’m sure she doesn’t know is that the children in the next room aren’t mine, although I wish they were.’ His eyes were holding Alison’s.
‘Oh, Paul!’ Margaret pulled her hand from his and slapped him sharply as she said, ‘You don’t need to say things like that, for you don’t mean them.’
‘I do. It’s the truth, and she’s got to know the truth. But she’s heard so many lies already—and believed them—that I doubt whether she’ll recognise the truth when she hears it. Anyway, I’ll go back and start at the beginning…Right?’ He nodded his head at Alison as if expecting some comment, but when she just continued to stare at him he went on, ‘My uncle, Leonard Welsh, was head gardener to Mrs Gordon-Platt in the old days. He had a son, Robert. And Margaret here … and Robert…well, you could almost say they grew up side by side…’
Alison foun
d that she was listening to Paul’s voice yet not taking in his words. There seemed to be no need, for she knew the story and she was in this moment overwhelmed with shame. She should have known, oh, she should have known, after living with Paul for eight years, that he wouldn’t live the underhand life of which she had accused him. Was it any wonder that he was burned up with anger against her?
Her attention was brought back to Paul as he said, ‘Time and again Margaret tried to make it up with her mother, but to no avail. The price of being taken back into the family fold was that she should leave her husband. Then at just about this time, you came onto my horizon and Robert took ill with TB. He has been in and out of hospital ever since … There now…are you satisfied? Does this explain my double life?’
She lowered her head further for a moment; then in self-defence she jerked it upwards, saying, ‘I wasn’t an idiot, you know, someone you couldn’t have talked to. You could have explained, some of it, anyway…’
‘I’m afraid that’s my fault.’ Margaret was leaning towards her now. ‘He wanted to bring you here a long time ago but I wouldn’t let him, and he thought it would only complicate things if he told you of the situation, yet continued to visit without you. He thought you wouldn’t understand a woman who couldn’t bear the sight of other women, beautiful women…I’m better now, because I’ve learned to live with myself, but there was a time when I couldn’t. You mustn’t blame Paul for this; if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. You see…’ Margaret swallowed and began to pick agitatedly at the first finger of her left hand, only to have Paul put in quietly, ‘You go and make the tea, Margaret, and I’ll finish the explaining. Go on now.’ He patted her arm, then pushed her gently, and she rose swiftly from the sofa and went out of the room.
Now they were alone, Alison found that she couldn’t meet Paul’s eyes. All she desired in this moment was to throw herself on him and beg his forgiveness. But, from the look on his face, she knew that this wasn’t the moment, and she doubted if there would ever be a moment when he would allow her even to come near him again, really near…close. He was talking now, his voice low and rapid. ‘Just after Angela, the first baby, was born, Margaret was knocked down by a bus. She was so badly injured they doubted if she would live. The injuries to her face meant a long, long period of plastic surgery, operation after operation. She came home for a short while before she was due to go to the hospital at East Grinstead. It was during this period that she realised Robert was sick. They hadn’t long taken this smallholding and everything had gone wrong. Robert was trying to look after the baby and run the place—he didn’t bother about himself—with the result he collapsed three days before Margaret was to go into hospital again. So instead of her going, it was Robert who went, and he was there for nearly a year. If it hadn’t been for the child, Margaret would have gone ahead with the operations, but she refused to leave Angela in anyone’s care. Robert doted on the child and it worried him to think of it being put out to nurse. He had no relative alive except myself. So there you have it. The pattern that has been repeated over the years. Robert would be all right for a short time, then back again to hospital. Margaret had a second baby and then a third, and a fourth, because she wants them, they are her life…a reason for living. She has worked like a Trojan to keep things going here and all to no avail…And that is why, when I saw that part of the necklace, I wanted to bring it to her and let her decide what was to be done with it, for it’s hers by right. Let me tell you, I don’t believe for a moment that the old woman meant her to have it, because when she knew that Margaret had had a bad accident she didn’t even write to her and was heard to remark that there was a saying about making beds and lying on them, and that her offer still stood.’
Alison hated to think that Mrs Gordon-Platt was the type of woman Paul was describing, yet she had to believe him.
Paul was speaking again, ‘Everything’s mortgaged up to the hilt here—those stones would be a godsend. The bank manager would be very pleased to see them, I know that…’
‘Why didn’t you help them?’ The question was out before she could stop it.
‘For the simple reason,’ he said slowly, ‘that I’d used up your money—Tapley told me he had told you about that—and I did use it, I make no bones about it. Old Tapley was charging me six per cent on the loan he made me and it was throttling me. I could see myself slowly drowning as the years went on…working…working to pay that interest. Then you, like a gift from the gods, put into my hands eighteen thousand pounds. Without any compunction whatever I used it, knowing that, given a fair deal, I could put back every penny, and I’ve almost done that. The careful investments I made in…war stock and such have nearly replaced the capital. The interest, I’m afraid, will have to wait a little while longer. But don’t worry, you’ll get it, and the sooner the better, for then I’ll be clear of the whole damned burden. Anyway, there you have your answer. That is why I haven’t been able to help Robert and Margaret…At least, not in a way that would make much impression upon the difficulties they are in now.’
‘Oh, Paul, please.’ She saw he was staring at her as if he hated the sight of her. ‘Please’—she was pleading with him—‘take the money; I don’t want it. Please.’
‘Even if I wanted to marry Freda Gordon-Platt?’
If he had lifted his fist and struck her in the face she could not have felt more shattered. In spite of his manner and anger against her, he had almost been her Paul again, and now he had said, ‘Even if I wanted to marry Freda Gordon-Platt.’ She wished she was big enough, not in body, but in spirit and in heart to be the kind of person who loved him in such a way that she could say, Yes, even if you want to marry her, take what you want. But she wasn’t that kind of person. The very thought of Mrs Freda Gordon-Platt touching anything that belonged to her was enough to send anger flaming through her.
He was waiting for her answer and she gave it to him. ‘I wouldn’t want Mrs Freda Gordon-Platt to have a farthing of mine, so there.’
‘Even if you knew that she too had suffered and was up against it?’
‘Even if I knew that; I’m no hypocrite. I don’t like the woman and never have since the first moment I saw her.’
‘But you haven’t the same feeling towards her son?’
She moved her head slowly. Here they were, off again on the wrong tack; but if he could hurt, so could she and she replied, ‘No, I haven’t. I don’t know how he comes to be her son. He’s too nice to have any connection with her whatever.’
‘I’m sure he’s very happy to know how you feel.’
At this point Margaret entered the room carrying the tea tray and Paul turned hurriedly to take it from her.
‘There now.’ Margaret sat down with the unscarred side of her face towards Alison, but when she turned to hand her the cup the terrible destruction of tissue was in full view. Alison’s heart once again went out to this woman, and she remembered something that Nelson had once said about his losing the sight of his right eye. ‘Aa’ve had plenty of time to weigh the whole thing up,’ he had said, ‘and my feeling about it now is that life isn’t complete unless you’re given a cross to carry.’ Well, age might have brought philosophy to Nelson’s way of looking at life but it would take a lot of philosophy, she thought, to welcome the cross that this poor woman was carrying. And yet there was about her a quietness, a peace. Yes, there was a sense of peace in her presence.
Alison drank the tea gratefully, and she was handing her cup to Margaret to be refilled when the voices of the children were heard again, so Paul, laying down his cup, rose from the chair and went out of the room.
Margaret, passing the cup to Alison, now said quietly, ‘Don’t look so perturbed. Paul will get over his anger, and I don’t blame you for thinking as you did. Not knowing the facts it was a natural conclusion. And it was my fault…If I had the money I would buy an island.’
‘Oh, please, please don’t say that. I’ve been a dreadful fool…at least where you’re concerned…’
She wasn’t being a fool over Mrs Gordon-Platt, she knew that. She leant forward now towards Margaret and whispered, ‘About the necklace. I’m quite agreeable that you should keep it. As Paul says, it’s yours by right.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Margaret nodded her head slowly. ‘But as I told Paul in the beginning, I would rather go to my mother and see what she has to say about it. But Paul is all against that.’
Alison could understand why Paul was against such a move. Freda Gordon-Platt would not like the idea of him allowing anything of value to be directed to sources other than her own. If there was anything of value to be turned into money she would consider herself, and her son, had prior claim to it.
Margaret was speaking again. Quietly she said, ‘I’ve tried for years to mend the breach between myself and my mother, but she was always so bitter. I cannot really believe that she wants to see me now.’
‘But she does,’ Alison put in quickly. ‘Beck says that she kept the necklace particularly for you and hid it so that no-one else would get their hands on it.’
‘She’s a strange woman. She always was. We never understood each other. Charles was her whole life and when he left her and went abroad she became embittered…suspicious.’ She turned her face fully to Alison now and asked abruptly, ‘Do you like Mrs Freda?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Nor do I.’ A faint smile spread across the contorted features. ‘I never have done, and now she’s trying to get back on the old footing with Paul and she’ll only bring him misery. I know she will. She did years ago. And he deserves so much. I just dare not think what would have happened to us as a family if it hadn’t been for Paul. He has helped Robert again and again and kept us afloat. When he himself was sinking he kept us afloat. He’s a wonderful person, is Paul.’ She paused here, looking steadily at Alison, then added, ‘He’s greatly attached to you. You’ve made such a difference to his life.’
The Lady on my Left (The Mists of Memory) Page 13