TIM, ON THE OTHER hand, was moving into action. He had visited Thea and George and found himself puzzled. George seemed very much the devoted husband and it was Thea who was uncharacteristically brittle, holding them at arm’s length, chattering brightly. When she thought herself unobserved her eyes were bleak and Tim could only assume that things must be as his grandmother had written to him but that George and Thea had no intention of letting the outside world see the cracks in what had apparently been a happy relationship. Nevertheless, Tim came away quite sure that George was still in love with Thea and that it was the ‘other woman’ who was causing the problems. Felicity must be removed. He had no doubts at all about Thea. He could feel her unhappiness behind the facade and he knew her well enough to know that once she loved nothing would change her. And he knew that she loved George. She had written to him in the early stages of the courtship, describing George in glowing terms and her own feelings with an authenticity that had made Tim almost envious. Hermione had confirmed it all in later letters. No, it was Felicity who was causing the rift and she must be dealt with before the damage became irreparable.
Tim was a straightforward young man who disliked muddle. He was by nature a communicator and liked everything open and above-board, preferring to sit down and discuss a minute difference or disagreement rather than let it get out of hand. He knew that Thea was like him in this respect and was surprised that she had let things go so far. He considered having the matter out with both of them , bringing it all into the open, but rejected the idea on the grounds that he did not know the background well enough. The fact that he had just fallen in love himself made him rather more sensitive than usual and he decided on a more circuitous route. On his return from London he sent Mrs Gilchrist—who had agreed to stay on to look after him—on a long, well-deserved rest to her sister and sat back to await his guests.
A few days later, David Porteous climbed stiffly out of the little car and stood gazing appreciatively at the small granite manor house that was Tim’s inheritance.
‘Delightful!’ he cried to his daughter, who was emerging from the driving seat. ‘Absolutely charming!’
The words could easily have applied to David himself. Not overtall and a little on the rotund side, he exuded an air of cheerful expectation that life was going to be good to him and if it wasn’t scheduled for today, well—you could almost see the shrug, the rueful smile—tomorrow would do just as well. From the top of his silver head to his well-polished shoes he looked ready for action and as Tim hurried out of the front door to greet them his heart lifted almost as much to see David, dressed as usual in very old flannels and an even more ancient navy-blue guernsey and waving enthusiastically, as it did to see Miranda.
‘Tim!’ David crossed the gravel to shake Tim’s hand. ‘What a generous invitation! I’m delighted to be here. And what a delightful house!’
‘Isn’t it? I’m so glad vou agreed to come, David. I’m really going to need you to help me sort out this problem I’ve been left with.’
‘My dear chap!’ David opened innocent blue eyes. ‘Sounds most exciting.’
‘He is not to be excited or overtired.’ Miranda received Tim’s welcome coolly. ‘He’s had a very bad strain of flu and he must rest.’
David drew’ down the corners of his mouth in mock gravity at Tim, who winked back.
‘Of course he must!’ Tim picked up two suitcases which Miranda had produced from the car. ‘I’ve lit the fire in the library in case you find the house cold. These old places never seem to warm up even in the hottest weather. Come on in. I’m sure you’re both dying for a drink.’ He headed for the front door, followed with alacrity by David.
Miranda shut the car doors and, carrying other pieces of luggage, followed more slowly. Her face wore a troubled expression. She had none of her father’s tolerance and optimism and tended to see life in black and white with very few shades of grey. She had fallen quite desperately in love with Tim but was behaving in a very restrained manner towards him until she was absolutely certain of his intentions. She knew that her extremely moral Scottish mother had had one or two problems with her easy-going father and she had no intention of suffering in the same way. Yet it was Tim’s very eagerness and enthusiasm, his thick untidy fair hair and twinkling eyes, that had attracted her. What he saw in her she was not yet sure.
In fact, Tim had fallen in love with them both. He added David’s charm, generosity and kindness to Miranda’s ethereal, fair, fine-boned prettiness and they made a most attractive whole. He had hardly been alone with her as yet and this visit was designed to let everyone get to know each other. However, Thea’s problem was verv much at the forefront of his mind and, being Tim, he wanted to get it out of the way before he settled down to his own affairs. By the end of the weekend very little else but Tim’s idea had been discussed and after supper on Sunday they went into the library to try to finalise it.
‘Well, what about it, David? Think you can handle it?’ Tim leaned back in a huge armchair, covered with a shabby, faded chintz, and stretched his long legs out to the fire. ‘As I see it, we need someone on the inside to find out the exact situation.’
David, sitting forward in a similar chair, had drawn his feet well in, ankles crossed, knees apart. His forearms rested along his thighs and his eyes were fixed on the brandy glass which he turned thoughtfully in his fingers.
‘It seems easy enough,’ he admitted, ‘the way you put it. If somewhat drastic. But I wonder, dear boy, whether you have too much faith in me. Don’t get me wrong! I’m flattered. Very! But, you know . . . don’t want to let the side down, d’you see?’
‘Rubbish!’ exclaimed the redoubtable Tim, leaning forward to top up David’s glass from the decanter. ‘That’s quite out of the question! You’re absolutely the right man for the job. Isn’t he, Mirry?’ He appealed to the small figure curled up on the sofa amidst well-worn silk cushions.
‘I think that it’s all nonsense.’ This had been her uncompromising attitude from the start and she had refused to join in with the conspirators. ‘You have no right to interfere with other people’s relationships, whatever you may suspect.’
‘But I’ve told you umpteen times it’s not a question of suspicion or hearsay. Thea actually told Grandmother what was happening. They hadn’t been married a year when this woman was trying to get him back. Come on! Surely you have some sympathy for the poor girl!’
‘And I’ve told you, Tim, that it’s not a question of sympathy. You’re so dramatic. OK. So Thea told your grandmother these things and you, being fond of Thea and being her cousin and all that, automatically assume that she’s totally in the right and George is totally in the wrong. Why did George hurry back to his mistress so quickly? If Thea is so delightful and charming why should he go back to a woman who, according to our evidence, is a raddled old cow? You shouldn’t interfere. You might do even more damage.’
There was silence. David looked at Tim out of the sides of his eyes, Miranda sat back farther in the corner of her sofa clutching a cushion to her chest and Tim, who had got up to stride about in order to declaim the better, stood for a moment, baffled, thrusting his fingers through his thick fair hair.
‘Could she be right?’ he demanded.
David shrugged, pulling down the corners of his mouth in his characteristic way. ‘Can’t say, old boy. Might be. Her mother always was.’
‘How very irritating for you!’ Tim, jealous for his lovely plan, was only half joking.
‘Absolutely! Scottish, you know. John Knox has a great deal to answer for, in my opinion.’
Oh, honestly!’ Miranda cast aside her cushion and stood up. She made her way to the fire and perched on the edge of the big wooden club fender where, in the past, Thea had loved to sit. ‘Look! I’m not saying anybody’s right or anybody’s wrong. All I am saying is, let’s not rush in like bulls in a china shop. I know you feel that you can’t enter into your inheritance until this is settled . . . ’
‘I’m not
rushing in! I’m sending David to do a recce,’ interrupted Tim. ‘And it’s nothing to do with my inheritance. Not really. It’s Thea herself. She’s obviously unhappy however she may try to hide it and I’m very fond of her.’
‘So vou keep saying,’ remarked Miranda bleakly.
David looked up. He eyed his daughter thoughtfully and then turned to Tim. ‘Got an idea. Before we do anything why don’t you get Thea over? For lunch, say. Once we’ve met the girl we’ll probably feel like you do. Always helps to know the people you’re talking about, d’you see? What d’you say?’
‘Well, I could.’ Tim stood, considering. ‘I shall have to ask her over soon anyway to meet you. She’ll be a bit hurt otherwise . . . ’
‘Mustn’t have that,’ observed Miranda somewhat tartly but Tim was too preoccupied to notice.
‘OK. We’ll back off a little and get Thea over. You’ll love her.’
‘Naturally,’ muttered Miranda as Tim left the room in search of a telephone.
David studied his daughter’s bent head. ‘Darling!’
‘What?’
‘It’s showing.’
‘What’s showing?’
‘Little green-eyed monster. Not very attractive.’
‘I dislike her intensely already.’
‘Nonsense. He’s just sorry for the poor girl.’
‘Oh, don’t you start. “Poor girl!” She sounds an absolute wet!’
‘Poor darling! You have got it bad.’
‘I haven’t got anything. And don’t patronise me!’
David pretended to duck, throwing up his hands in protection, and after a moment Miranda smiled unwillingly.
Tim was back looking pleased with himself. ‘She’s coming to lunch on Tuesday. That’s great. It means we can get on. Now, who would like another drink?’
Eleven
MAGGIE TABB, THEA’S CORNISH cleaner, emptied the contents of the red plastic bucket into the sink and turned the taps on full. Thea, sitting at the kitchen table trying to read her letters, wished that she’d use the sink in the utility room but knew she’d be wasting her breath suggesting it. When Maggie was in voluble mood nothing stopped the spate. Somehow, since the spring-cleaning, Maggie had continued to come and Thea found that she liked having her around. It was a strange alliance but Thea knew that Maggie was on her side and Maggie knew that if she needed help to fill in official forms or someone to back her up with those in authority, the ‘missis’ would help her. She poured out her problems to Thea and listening to them helped Thea to keep her own troubles in perspective.
Having filled the bucket, Maggie lifted it with strong muscular arms and stood it on the floor. She pushed back her improbably red, wiry hair, showed Thea her crooked teeth and took breath for the second instalment.
‘So I ses to Normin, “Yewer still me ‘usbin, never mind thet yew’ve gone off wiv that ol’ surfboard chin.” An’ now ‘e wants me FIS, see! So I tells ‘im, “ ‘Twas fer wen ‘ee wadden earnin’ much,” an’ I ses, “ ‘ten’t fer ‘ee, ‘tes fer me an’ ower Wayne, ‘tes fer wives an’ kids, not fer ‘usbins who’ve gawn off wiv some tart.” If et ‘adden bin fer me an’ Wayne ‘e wudden ‘ev bin edible fer it, see? If ‘e don’ wanna ac’ like a faither an’ a ‘usbin any moer ‘e don’ get no FIS! See!’
‘I should think not.’ Thea, who had been distracted for a moment by the imprint stamped on one of the envelopes, smiled quickly at Maggie lest she should feel that she wasn’t concentrating. That worthy, sensing that she had temporarilv lost her audience, smiled back unresentfully.
‘Mister’s gone, ‘n? Well, I’ll do the baffroom ‘n’ clear out ‘is dressin’ room. What do ‘e fink o’ this vere lil ol’ burd, ‘n?’
‘Oh, I think he likes Percy very much, actually. I’m hoping we’ll teach him some new sayings.’
‘’E’s right priddy, en ’e? Percy, ’n? ’Tis a funny ol’ name fer a par-rit.’
‘I suppose it is. I must admit I hadn’t thought about it, I’ve known him for so long. What would you call a parrot, if you had one?’
‘Dunno.’ Maggie stared in at Percy, who stared unwinkingly back at her.
‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ he asked her suddenly and Maggie burst out laughing.
’ ’E’s a real laugh, ‘n? ‘Oo’s a priddv boy, ‘n? ‘Ere! ‘ev anuvver grape !’
She passed one through the bars and, collecting dusters and polish, went out leaving Thea to open her letters in peace.
Barely able to contain her excitement, she tore open the envelope that bore her agent’s imprint and drew out a letter. She had to read it three times before she took it in and when she had she fled with it to George’s little study, shutting the door behind her. She quickly checked the number, dialled and heard a click and then the sound of Marcus Willby’s voice. After a moment Thea realised that she was listening to one of the new answering machines and slammed the receiver down in a panic. Feeling that she would burst if she didn’t speak to someone, she tried Polly’s number, but there was no reply and she replaced the receiver. She read the letter again.
They loved her stories and the drawings, wanted to publish them and asked if she had any thoughts for further work in this direction. She felt a mixture of excitement, terror and a strange new sensation. It was as though a new part of her were emerging, a hitherto un-known Thea, a Thea who could produce something that was viewed with admiration by a body of professionals. The letter implied that she had a future, a career, and that she might become important to them. It was such a revelation that she couldn’t take it in and, in the end, was obliged to go outside and walk up and down the platform. She longed to tell George but something made her wait until the thing was finalised. She wanted to produce it as a fait accompli, knowing that it would give her extra strength in the fight against Felicity. She felt quite sure that George had no intention of leaving her for Felicity and, lately, that he had been trying to make an opening to discuss the situation. So far she had held him off. Once she would have welcomed the opportunity to have it all out in the open but that was at the beginning when she felt strong and safe in George’s love and had thought that the affair was over. When she realised that he was seeing Felicity again she had felt a terrible fear. If she couldn’t hold him at the beginning of the marriage, how could she hope to later? Her confidence was badly dented and, with G.A. ‘s death on top of it all, she had felt herself lost. Felicity’s telephone call had been the last straw. Yet George was behaving as though the whole thing was over. He seemed more relaxed than he had for some while and it was very clear that he still seemed to love her, to need her.
Nevertheless, there was something, some indefinable obstacle that prevented absolute oneness and Thea knew that it must be done away with completely. Now she felt that this could be achieved only when she and George could approach each other on equal terms. At the very beginning Thea had felt that love was the only criterion and that by giving all she had she would automatically defeat any attempts to destroy or undermine their happiness. She had come to believe that this was no longer the case and that she was fighting some shadowy battle with a very clever opponent who never showed herself clearly. But now Felicity had declared herself with all the strength of a twenty-year relationship with George behind her and Thea had only herself, unformed, untried. It was important that she waited until she was in a stronger position before she struck back and now she had something more, something positive to add to her inner strength and faith, and she intended to use it. She stood for some moments, the letter still clutched in her hand, watching the swallows wheeling and diving above her head, and a great feeling of power surged in her. She felt that she had been given her weapons, good weapons: self-worth and achievement added to love and understanding, and she could begin to feel the ground sure and firm beneath her feet.
She went back into the kitchen where Maggie, now employed in dusting the kitchen dresser, turned to look at her enquiringly. Thea grinned at her. She longed to tel
l Maggie the news but didn’t feel that she should mention it to anyone until she had talked to Marcus. However, she couldn’t help the happiness that welled inside her overflowing a little and her grin widened. Maggie waited expectantly. Thea shook her head.
‘Sorry. Just a letter with some good news. Don’t mind me. I’ll make some coffee.’
She pushed the kettle on to the hotplate of the Rayburn and assembled the necessary materials, singing to herself in her rich contralto voice.
‘ ’Er’s ’appy,’ observed Maggie to Percy, whose cage stood on a bamboo table alongside the dresser, ‘Nice, innit?’
‘The nicest child 1 ever knew was Charles Augustus Fortescue,’ said the parrot in roundly modulated tones and gave a loud squawk.
‘Thet ol’ auntie o’ yewers musta bin a right caution.’ Maggie took down a bone china handpainted cup and cradled it tenderly in her large red hands as she dusted it.
‘She was.’ Thea smiled at Maggie. She had no fears for her precious things; nothing could have been gentler than those unlikely-looking extremities and Maggie cherished the things as if they were her own. ‘1 feel that she’s here with me at times. Percy says things in her voice and it’s quite uncanny. 1 think that he really brings me good luck. Things are beginning to get better since he arrived.’
Maggie, who knew a great deal about Thea’s affairs one way and another, replaced the cup and smiled at Percy. ‘Ear thet, bwoy? Right lil ol’ drop o’ sunshine yew be, ‘n?’
When Maggie had gone home and Thea had once more, without success, tried to speak to Marcus Willby, she began to gather her belongings together, watched by Percy.
‘I can hardly believe it,’ she told him. ‘It’s unbelievable. And it’s all because of you, Percy.’ She passed him a peanut through the bars. ‘You’re my good luck mascot. I feel I can do anything with you around! I must dash! I’m going to have lunch with Harriet.’ She hurried out.
A Friend of the Family Page 10