‘I wonder why he’s never married?’ mused Thea, leaning sideways to reach for another log. ‘His mother would like him to settle down. She’s moving into sheltered accommodation and would like George to keep the house and live in it.’
Hermione thought that dear Esme had been a shade too obvious here. She had displayed George’s attractions before Thea as a peacock might spread its tail but it seemed that the girl was oblivious to what might lie behind these tactics and had taken it all quite seriously. She considered what answers she might offer Thea and tried to decide whether she should be encouraging her in her interest. After all, the girl should have her own home and family. She shouldn’t be spending her young life ministering to her father and his parish in the vastness of the Welsh marches. But was George Lampeter quite the right man for her? He had certainly been very taken with her. And what chance had she of meeting desirable and available men who would be attracted by her rather unusual qualities?
‘I expect that Esme would like to be a grandmother,’ said Hermione lightly. Thea might choose to walk into the trap but she, Hermione, would make quite certain that she saw all its workings quite clearly first. She must go of her own free will and with her eyes open. ‘As for why he never married, he may simply have been pursuing his career, although I believe there’s been a married woman he’s been involved with.’
‘I see.’
Thea looked thoughtful and Hermione wondered if she should have introduced the subject of Felicity. Esme had poured it all out one day when she had been terrified that George might marry her. The fact that, a year after her husband’s death, he had not done so said something significant; nevertheless, it was only right that Thea should be forewarned. Hermione decided that the whole truth should be told.
‘Apparently she’s been free for a year now so the fact that George is still single must tell us something.’
Thea’s brow cleared a little. Flick, flick, flick went the cards and the logs rustled and creaked a little, sending hissing flames dancing up the wide chimney.
‘He’s invited me over to lunch tomorrow.’ She was smiling again. ‘He offered to drive over to fetch me. Wasn’t that sweet of him?’
‘Very. Did you tell him that you’re perfectly capable of driving yourself?’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ The smile widened. ‘It gives us longer together, you see. And then he’ll have to bring me back.’
Hermione began to laugh, realising that all her warnings would be so much hot air if Thea had made up her mind.
‘Then I hope you enjoy yourself, my darling. These damned cards won’t come out.’ She gathered them up with a great sweeping movement and began to shuffle them .
‘Night cap then?’ Thea stood up, stretched herself and wandered over to the big cage that stood on a round mahogany table in the corner. ‘Percy’s very quiet.’
She stared in at the big African Grey parrot who was hunched sleepily on his perch.
‘He was very good today.’ Hermione pushed back her chair a little. ‘No biblical quotations. Just as well. Poor Esme gets very upset. She doesn’t mind Shakespeare but she can’t quite come to terms with a parrot who quotes from the Bible. Your Great-Uncle Edward was mainly to blame for that, of course. He taught Percy great passages from the Bible as well as other things. Esme, poor soul, thinks it isn’t quite suitable. Heaven knows why. Percy is a very talented parrot and we didn’t see why he should be restricted in his education. I hope that George isn’t as sensitive as his mother.’
‘How d’you mean?’ Thea turned to look at her.
‘It’s always been agreed that you would have Percy when I die.’ Hermione gave her a glinting, mischievous smile. ‘I wouldn’t like to think of a parrot coming between a man and his wife!’
Two
GEORGE PACED THE ‘PLATFORM’ behind the Old Station House. The old seats still remained, placed at intervals and interspersed with half-barrels which would soon be overflowing with flowers. From what had been the ticket office and waiting room and was now a comfortable sitting room, Esme Lampeter watched him anxiously.
George lit another cigarette and paused to gaze down on the grassy track below him. If only he could make up his mind. Thea’s unaffected charm, openness and warmth had completely bowled him over. Her sensible clear-eyed approach to the practicalities of life was so charmingly emphasised by an old-world and unmaterialistic view that he was fascinated by it and her. He had never met anyone like her. Her tall, muscular frame, the glowing hair and warm brown eyes were a complete contrast to Felicity’s black, diamond-bright, birdlike looks. Thea seemed to overflow with superabundant health and generosity. You felt that you could almost warm your hands at her and George was deeply attracted. Above all, there was her youth. She couldn’t be much more than twenty-two or -three.
Twenty years younger than Felicity, he thought. Felicity. Ay, there’s the rub. But after all, he argued with himself, there’s never been any actual talk of marriage. There was certainly no question of it when Mark was alive. It’s only because she’s all alone now that she wants me. She’s afraid of being old and lonely. And she’s too old to have children, never wanted them anyway.
He saw himself coming back to Thea, to a warm happy house in which his sons—naturally he would have sons—were growing up and where he was cherished and cared for, and his heart expanded. He thought of Felicity’s tongue-lashings, her tendency to treat him as a small boy to be granted favours or to be punished if he transgressed, and drew another thoughtful lungful of smoke. He had never said that he would marry her. A tiny thought suggesting that it might have been implicit in the continued relationship nagged at the back of his mind. He deliberately conjured up the idea of Thea and the sheer magnificence of it crushed the unwelcome intruder.
George turned back to pace the way he’d come. Of course, he’d be damned lucky if she accepted his offer of marriage—after all he was no youngster—but there were unmistakable signs that Thea was very fond of his company. She was not one to dissemble nor was there anything of the flirt about her. He would have been frightened off by a modern, trendy girl but in some ways Thea seemed more his age than her own. He thought of all his oppos, imagining their faces if he strolled into the Mess with Thea by his side. They’d be green with envy. And, after all, if he presented Felicity with a fait accompli, what could she do about it?
Nevertheless, it was a big step, a huge step. He was used to living in the Mess, being perfectly free to come and go as he chose and, as a ‘spare man’, always much in demand although, as far as that went, it was not as much fun as it had been once. He often felt out of things these days with all his oppos married and with growing children. The ‘spare’ women that he was invited to pair off with were, often as not, disillusioned divorcees, some of whom greeted him with a predatory delight which quite terrified him. Young women and girls found his old-world charm rather passé and Mark’s death combined with his meeting Thea made him now look carefully at the future. Thea. Her image rose up before him: warm, glowing, kind. He thought of the way she looked at him and the way she received his cautious, very cautious, advances. His heart bumped erratically and he swore softly to himself. Dear God! He’d be mad to let her slip away. If only he could be sure that he could make her happy, that he wasn’t too old. Well, he must chance his arm. She was so unusual, so different from other girls that it might well work. As for Felicity . . . He pushed the thought of Felicity to the back of his mind. He’d deal with it later.
George took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and pitched his cigarette butt on to the track. His mind was made up.
His mother, who knew by some instinct or possibly from his body language that he had taken the decision, hurried out to him.
He smiled down at her affectionately and slipped an arm about her. She looked up at him questioningly and he nodded.
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ he said. ‘I’m going to ask Thea to marry me. I know it’s quick but there’s no point in wasting time. What d�
��you think? Is it too quick? Will she have me?’
‘Oh, darling.’ Esme Lampeter looked up at her tall handsome son and was overcome with a variety of feelings : a sense of relief, delight at getting her own way so painlessly and a fierce pleasure at the thought of Felicity being put in her place. All these sensations overwhelmed her and she burst into tears.
George patted her. He felt strong and happy, confident that he was doing the right thing. Nevertheless, as he followed his mother inside he couldn’t help wishing that the Old Station House was rather farther away from Felicity’s cottage and that he was going back to a nice, safe three months at sea.
IF THEA THOUGHT THAT George was behaving oddly during the second week of his leave she made no remark. His proposal of marriage and her acceptance of it had filled her with a serenity, a deep-down joy that nothing could ruffle. She had known almost from the beginning that she and George were right for each other and it seemed a natural progression that they should become quietly engaged and—as quietly—married. That George had come to the point so quickly rather surprised her since she felt that, after all these years as a bachelor, he might have needed quite a lot of encouragement to get him past the matrimonial starting post. However, now that he had made up his mind it seemed that nothing was going to stop him and he simply couldn’t wait to get started. Thea wandered in the grounds at Broadhayes and thought long and carefully. She had fallen quite irrevocably in love with George and could see no point in postponing the time when they would be together. Here she was egged on by Esme, who was anxious that George shouldn’t get cold feet or that Felicity should discover what was going on and try to sabotage it. Esme longed to see George and Thea move into the Old Station House and herself settled in the cosy little bungalow in Tavistock near her bridge-playing cronies. For Thea herself, after the years of nursing her mother and being a housekeeper to her father, the thought of having her own home and a devoted handsome husband was almost overwhelming. She was well aware that the young men of her own age found her quaint and old-fashioned and she had begun to fear that she might never find anyone to love and understand her and here, suddenly, was George, who had come riding up the drive at Broadhayes almost like the prince in the fairytale.
At this point Thea laughed a little at herself. Nevertheless, it was quite dreamlike enough for her to want to grasp it with both hands before it dissolved or—and this was much more real and frightening—before the mistress of whom Hermione had spoken reappeared and claimed George for herself. After all, what was there to wait for? Hermione approved and her father would want what was best for her happiness. She had already spoken to him at length on the telephone, not knowing that Hermione had already had her say, and he was looking forward to meeting George. Thea’s heart told her that she and George were meant for each other and that nothing could come between them. Her head warned her to get a move on before George lost his nerve and began to weigh his freedom in the balance. He had proposed an autumn wedding in six months’ time and there seemed to be no good reason to delay. Thea turned back to the house, her mind made up.
As for George, he gave thanks to all the gods at once that Thea was a simple, unspoilt girl who wanted to be married from her own home with as little fuss as possible. He was living in terror that Hermione should demand a formal announcement of the engagement be sent to The Times but when no mention of it was made he began to wonder if he might not be able to get through the whole business from first to last without Felicity hearing about it. Knowing that she would be back from her visit to Exeter, he spent almost all of the second week at Broadhayes, driving over early and returning late by as many back roads as possible, his eyes peeled for the sight of Felicity’s little red hatchback. He was fairly certain that she would have telephoned the base by now, discovered that the submarine was in and been told that George had gone on leave. He now wished that he’d written to her telling her that he’d been invited to visit someone whom it was impossible to refuse or that he was having to start at the MOD at once.
He was obliged to warn his mother that it was just possible that Felicity might telephone her to ask for news of his whereabouts and Esme took immediate action.
‘You must write to her at once,’ she said, ‘telling her that you’ve to go away on an assignment which is top secret. Tell her that you can’t give her any information about it. As a naval wife she’ll understand that.’
George looked at his mother with a certain amount of respect. ‘Won’t she wonder why I didn’t telephone?’ he ventured. ‘It would be more natural, wouldn’t it?’
‘You tried to telephone,’ said Esme at once, ‘but receiving no reply you came to the conclusion that she must be away and you decided to write.’
George stared at her, respect now bordering on awe. ‘That’s pretty good, Mother,’ he said. ‘She’ll think I tried to get in touch while she was in Exeter.’
Esme beamed upon him, delighted at both his quick-wittedness and his obvious willingness to cheat and lie as much as was necessary to untangle himself from Felicity’s clutches. She had feared that he might prove intractable, insisting that Felicity should be informed and everything kept aboveboard. She realised now that she should have known him better and that his passion for a quiet life meant that he was prepared to connive at almost anything to keep Felicity off his back.
‘There’s no point in asking for trouble,’ said Esme. ‘The last thing we want is Felicity rushing over or confronting Thea.’
George felt his blood run cold. He imagined Felicity, poised like a bird of prey, beak and talons outstretched, above the unsuspecting, innocent Thea and the thought made him tremble. His mother was watching him.
‘Once you’re married there will be nothing she can do,’ she said comfortingly if naively. ‘We must just get through the next few months. After all. she doesn’t know Thea or Hermione and vou must say nothing to anyone who would tell her.’
‘But we’ll have to send out invitations,’ protested George. ‘I shall want some of my friends at my wedding. I’d like old Tom to be best man. Not that he and Cass have any love for Felicity. She hates Cass like poison.’
Esme was silent, thinking. She realised that the naval grapevine would spread the news faster than bush-fire. She imagined Felicity turning up at the wedding and making a scene. She knew very well that when it came to being a woman scorned Felicity would play it by the book.
‘You must make a list of those vou wish to ask and then we must decide how many of them can be sworn to secrecy. I know it sounds melodramatic but we must get through it without giving her the chance to destroy Thea’s faith in vou. Have you told her about Felicity?’
‘Certainly not!’ George looked alarmed. ‘I couldn’t possibly. Honestly, Mother. Have a heart!’
‘Oh, well.’ Esme gave a grim little laugh. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much. If you haven’t you can be pretty certain that Hermione has!’
THEA WASN’T WORRYING ABOUT Felicity. For all her youth, she had a surprising grip on the realities of human frailties and she would have been surprised, and even worried, if George had reached the age he was without having a few adventures. She could imagine that it might be easier for one of his temperament to have a mistress than to tie himself down to the responsibilities of marriage and she was merely thankful that he felt that, with her, he could take the plunge.
Hermione had already pointed out that marriage to a bachelor in his forties and a naval officer to boot might have its difficult moments but she was forced to agree with Thea’s reasonable reply that most marriages were liable to difficult moments. So Thea spent the days with George, not particularly surprised that he wanted to go no farther afield than the house and grounds for the April days were cold, and when she returned to Shropshire it was with his promise that he should follow her as soon as possible so as to meet her father and obtain his formal permission—not that Thea needed it but they both felt it was a courteous gesture—for his daughter’s hand.
First, though,
he must return to Faslane to sort out his immediate future. He had been gone only hours when the telephone rang. Esme hurried in from the garden to answer it.
‘Mrs Lampeter? It’s Felicity Mainwaring. Is George there?’
Esme gave silent thanks that she didn’t have to lie. Tm afraid not, Mrs Mainwaring.’
i’ve just had the most extraordinary letter from him. Do you know where he is?’
‘I understood from him that, wherever he is, he’s incommunicado.’ Esme’s voice was cool.
‘He’s been with you, though? I see the postmark is a local one?’
Silently Esme cursed her own short-sightedness and Felicity’s perspicacity alike. ‘Fie came down for a few days to collect some things. I understand that he tried to telephone you but got no reply.’
Felicity gave a vexed sigh. ‘I’ve been away for a few days. How annoying. So you can’t tell me where he is or when you expect to hear from him?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Esme with perfect truth. ‘And now if you’ll forgive me, I have visitors.’
She put the receiver down and stood thinking. There was no doubt that Felicity’s voice had the confidence of a woman who had expectations. Whilst Mark was still alive she would never have telephoned George’s mother, let alone demand information regarding him. Esme returned to her gardening with an anxious heart.
FELICITY SLAMMED THE RECEIVER back on its rest and went into the kitchen. There had been something odd about George’s letter and she couldn’t decide quite what it was. Of course, she hadn’t expected much change from George’s mother. It was unlikely that she would want to be of any assistance to Felicity. On the few occasions that they had met, Mrs Lampeter had made it plain that she disliked her and that she held her responsible for George’s part in their relationship. No doubt she would prefer him to marry and start producing children. She was exactly the sort of woman who would delight in being a grandmother. Felicity’s lip curled in disdain. She glanced at the kitchen clock and decided to have a stiff gin and tonic before her lunch. As she went to the cupboard she found that odd phrases from George’s letter were passing through her mind: . .all terribly hush-hush . . . no idea when I shall see you again . . . unlikely that I’ll be in touch . . .’ It was all too Le Carré for words. Felicity simply couldn’t imagine George in the role of secret agent and had telephoned the base at Faslane only to be told that Commander Lampeter was away. She took her drink to the table and sat down, drumming her fingers irritably as she wondered whom she could pump to find out where he was and what he was doing. She hadn’t liked the tone of his letter, apart from all the secrecy and silence nonsense. It sounded as if he couldn’t give two hoots how long it might be before they were together again and there was no hint of regret or apology. He might have been writing to a casual friend and Felicity was annoyed. She knew that he was supposed to be starting at the MOD any time and found herself idly wondering which of her friends had husbands there at the moment. Tom Wivenhoe was there, of course, but she’d rather die of curiosity than telephone the Wiven-hoes for information about George. It would be bad enough asking her friends. It would all have to be done very casually. Of course, George is at the MOD now. Has John seen him yet?’ and so on. But why did she think that he would be at the MOD when his letter implied he would be doing something different? Felicity thought about this for some while as she sipped slowly at her drink. After a while she realised that it was because she simply didn’t believe a word of it. Not a single phrase of the letter rang true. And it had been posted locally after she had returned from Exeter. He had been down but hadn’t tried to get in touch with her, even knowing that he was going away and wouldn’t be seeing her for a long time.
A Friend of the Family Page 2