FELICITY WAS AT HER wits’ end. The trip to London, which had led to a complete stranger opening the door of George’s flat and telling her that Commander Lampeter had moved without leaving a forwarding address, had been such a shock that she was still trying to recover from it some weeks later. It had been rage, humiliation and sheer fear that had made her telephone Thea and say that unforgivable thing which she hoped would destroy Thea’s peace of mind. As for herself, she felt completely adrift and she spent the days once more in endless wanderings: out into the garden, back to the house to make a cup of coffee, upstairs into little-used rooms, staring mindlessly out of the windows. She went on unnecessary shopping trips to Tavistock and telephoned one or two friends, hoping to pass some time in someone else’s company. It was unfortunate that so many people were away on holiday and others were tied up with their children home from school. Felicity remembered Cass’s look of compassion and her spirit seemed to shrivel within her. One morning, having had a telephone call from Book Stop to say that the book she had ordered had arrived, she decided to drive into Tavistock to collect it and to pass an hour or so.
Felicity’s garden gate opened on to a nearly disused track where, having no garage, she parked her car. To her surprise a man was seated to the side of the track with an easel before him and the paraphernalia of the artist around him. He rose to his feet and smiled at her.
‘Good morning. I do hope that you don’t object.’ He gestured at the easel. ‘It’s such a lovely setting that I simply couldn’t resist.’
Felicity nodded rather ungraciously and went to her car, noticing that he’d parked his own car as unobtrusively as possible. She was used to cars slowing in the lane to admire the charm of the cottage, which was an old Devon longhouse set in a background of tall beech trees. There was none of the usual cottage prettiness about it, instead there was an uncompromising austerity about the stone walls and heavy thatch. Felicity had had the good taste to keep the cobbled yard as unadorned as possible and had resisted the hanging baskets and tubs that her friends assured her would ‘liven the place up’. The enclosing walls were covered with pennywort and ivy-leaved toadflax and at the back a small lawn, hedged with fuchsia and escallonia, made a perfect, private spot for sunbathing.
Tavistock was fairly quiet on this sunny morning. Felicity collected her book, stopping to browse a little in the bookshop, bought a few things in Crebers and turned her steps to the Bedford Hotel for a cup of coffee. Her heart gave a little plunge when she saw Kate sitting in the corner but she gave her a nod as she went up to the bar to order. There was nothing for it but to join her and Kate smiled welcomingly enough. After all, she and Kate had always been friendly until Kate’s marriage had broken up and George had begun to show an interest in her. It had come to nothing but Felicity had never totally trusted her since. The real obstacle to the friendship had always been the fact that Cass and Kate were so close.
Kate had dressed with her usual indifference to style or fashion and Felicity gave an involuntary little click of the tongue, signifying her disapproval.
‘How’s it going?’ Kate, moving her tray so that Felicity could share the table, registered the click with amusement.
‘Oh, not too bad. You?’
‘Struggling on. Thankful that the boys have taken their finals and might be able to get out and earn some money.’
Felicity looked at her. It had never occurred to her to wonder how Kate coped, all alone except when the boys were home or her brother Chris, who used the house as a base, was in the country. After the divorce, Mark Webster had gone to live in Canada, leaving Kate to fend for herself and the twins, and, quite unexpectedly, Felicity found herself remembering a time when they had all been young together.
‘Remember the house in Solent Way?’ she asked impulsively and Kate looked at her in surprise.
‘I do indeed. You helped me find it. It was like paradise after that ghastly quarter in Eastney.’ Kate shook her head and smiled reminiscently. ‘It was a good summer, that one.’
‘Yes.’ Felicity poured herself some coffee. She felt the oddest sensation and one she wasn’t at all used to. She wasn’t one for looking back or glamorising the past but just for a moment those shared times seemed infinitely precious. She looked at Kate, experiencing again the feelings of that younger Felicity, strong, positive, grabbing at life which seemed, in those days, to be so full, so exciting, not the defeating empty existence that it was now.
Kate was watching her. ‘It’s the music that gets me,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘Pop music. You switch the radio on and they’re playing something that takes you straight back. Smells, feelings, pain, joy, whatever. It’s all there. Noël Coward was right when he said there was nothing so potent as cheap music. It doesn’t happen with Mozart or Brahms. I heard Paul McCartney singing “Yesterday” a few days ago and found that I was crying my eyes out.’
‘Don’t!’ said Felicity fiercely. She swallowed hard several times and her lips trembled.
‘Sorry.’ Kate covered the thin hand with her own. ‘But you can’t deny the past, Felicity. It’s part of us. It’s helped make us what we are. How’s George?’
The question pulled Felicity together as nothing else could. She and Kate stared at each other.
‘It’s over,’ said Felicity and she pressed her lips together and tears filled her eyes as she continued to stare at Kate. ‘Don’t tell Cass,’ she said desperately and covered her face with her hands as she heard her pathetic plea ringing in her ears.
Kate looked with compassion on the bowed black head and leaning forward topped up the coffee cups.
‘It’s the last thing that Cass would be thinking about,’ she said gently. ‘Tom’s been appointed to Washington. Captain of British Naval Staff. You knew he’d been promoted? He’s off in a couple of weeks. Cass is hanging on to get Gemma off to boarding school and then she’s following him out. She’s trying to let the Rectory.’
Felicity blotted her eyes carefully and felt an enormous relief. ‘You must think me an absolute fool.’
‘Of course I don’t. Do you realise that we’ve known each other for twenty years?’ Kate smiled at her and, after a moment, Felicity smiled back. ‘Must count for something. If you can cope with the twins you’re very welcome to come back for lunch. They’ll be here in a minute.’
‘I’d love to come. But not today. Thanks. Perhaps I could phone.’
‘I wish you would. I get lonely, too, you know.’
‘Yes.’ She accepted Kate’s admission, suspecting that it had been offered to help her over that awful moment of weakness earlier, and was grateful. ‘Thanks. I’d better be on my way.’ She stood up, picked up her bag and the shopping and hesitated. ‘Thanks, Kate.’
‘Don’t forget to phone.’
‘No, I won’t. I really won’t.’
‘See you then.’
As she went out she passed a tall dark young man on the steps. He gave her an indifferent glance and Felicity’s heart gave a great bump. It was a few moments before she realised that what she had thought was a reincarnation of a youthful Mark Webster must be one of Kate’s twins. What must it be like to have such a constant reminder of a not very happy past?
As Felicity parked her car at the end of the track, she saw that the artist was still there. She regarded him more closely this time, noticing that the cord trousers and navy-blue guernsey were good quality, if old, and that he had donned a floppy linen hat to keep the sun off. Their earlier exchange had already elicited the fact that his voice was that of a gentleman and he had charming manners. He seemed to be in his late fifties. He was sitting, now, on his little collapsible chair with his arms folded across his chest, staring at the scene before him. He had evidently made a start although, at this angle, she couldn’t judge the results. She had to pass in front of him to get to her gate set in the low stone wall and decided to smile at him pleasantly, if not absolutely welcomingly. His response was gratifying for he raised the hat and made an attempt to ri
se.
‘Please don’t get up,’ she said at once. ‘I don’t want to disturb you but I do have to come in and out, you know.’
She was rather surprised at her effort at good humour. She was still feeling very emotional after her meeting with Kate and all she wanted to do was go inside and put her thoughts in some sort of order. She realised that the artist was smiling at her and making some reply to her remark and suddenly she felt afraid of being alone, of brooding, of confronting her future.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she asked abruptly. ‘You must be getting rather hot sitting there?’ Am I mad? she asked herself. Inviting a perfectly strange man in for coffee! He’s probably a homicidal maniac! Well, who cares?
‘How extraordinarily kind!’ He was looking at her in gratified amazement. ‘But I really mustn’t trespass on your hospitality. I have a flask, you know.’
‘Oh, a flask!’ She dismissed his flask contemptuously. ‘Flask coffee is abominable. Come on in and have a fresh cup. Mind you, I shall demand a look at the finished work!’
He bowed. ‘I shall be delighted for you to see it. Perhaps I should introduce myself.’ He fumbled in his back pocket, produced a card and handed it to her. She studied it and her eyebrows shot up.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I am honoured. Come on in and we’ll have that coffee.’
Twelve
POLLY SAT AT THE table, eating toast in a desultory way, listening to Composer of the Week—the radio was permanently tuned to Radio Three—and thinking about Thea. She was delighted for her, no question about that, but she also felt a sort of envy as though Thea’s new-found achievements had underlined a certain lack in her own life. Hitherto, she had been perfectly happy listening to music, reading endlessly and being on the fringe of university life. She loved Exeter and went often to the cathedral to listen to the music and the singing. Polly was an indifferent housewife and her ability to ruin food amounted almost to genius. Paul, who despite his preoccupation with the taxonomy and population distribution of the British Ephemeroptera liked a comfortable and well-run home, had decided that help was needed. He discovered, through a colleague, a Mrs Bloge who was prepared to come in and do all that was necessary in the house and, for an extra sum, would prepare meals which could be put in the freezer, thereby providing a staple diet. In between, they lived on cheese and tinned soup and Paul made certain that he had a good lunch. Polly herself was totally indifferent to food and was grateful that he took such a pragmatic view of the situation. All the same, she was beginning to wonder exactly what purpose she was fulfilling in life. It wasn’t as if Paul really needed her. He was so wrapped up in his work that Polly wondered whether he noticed her at all although, to be absolutely fair, he always liked to share any new discovery with her. Polly tried not to let him see that she wasn’t absolutely riveted by the fact that Ephemeridae lay their eggs in water in summer, or that the ‘nymphs'—that live underwater for anything up to two years—moult approximately twenty-seven times. She tried to look fascinated when he informed her that the adult never feeds and lives from twelve hours to one week depending on the species, resolutely resisting the urge to say, ‘Why bother then?’ which was the observation which had sprung most readily to her lips. That was in the early days, when she had been determined to share every tiny fact and statistic with him.
Now, try as she would, the problems surrounding the similarity of the Leptophlebiidae and the Ephemerellidae had ceased to excite her and latterly she found herself suffering from regular bouts of lockjaw in her determination to stifle her yawns lest he should feel hurt. Since he had become a Reader he had a number of research assistants with whom he could share the progress and excitements of his work. He went on field trips to collect specimens which were brought back to the lab for identification and sometimes he went to lecture at other universities. Lately, on these occasions, Polly hardly noticed that he wasn’t around and it was her friendship with Thea that had made her realise what she was missing.
For years she had watched and admired Harriet and Michael’s marriage. They were so happy together, so in tune. Of course, they had trained and worked together which was unusual but then the baby, Hugh, had arrived which had seemed to make the bond tighter than ever. Polly loved the way that Michael really cherished Harriet, caring for her, smoothing her way, anticipating her needs. Nevertheless, she had looked upon it as that one-in-a-million relationship that didn’t have any bearing on real life. It was wonderful, enviable but a minor miracle that one didn’t look for in one’s own more mundane experience.
When Thea appeared on the scene, Polly had felt that here was someone to whom she could more closely relate. Her husband was also bound up in his work, committed to something which Thea could not really share. He was away for days at a time and Thea also was thrown on her own company but Polly had begun to realise that Thea approached it quite differently. She was not content to let herself and George run quietly along on parallel lines that, however close they might be, never actually met. She was determined that the marriage was going to be a lively, important event and not just a background to George’s job. Polly was very impressed with the line Thea had taken regarding Felicity. Thea had fought intelligently and now, with her book arousing such interest to give her an extra zest, Polly was quite sure that she would win.
These days when Polly returned from the Old Station House, where an air of busy fulfilment was more and more to be felt, she looked around her own home with a feeling of dissatisfaction. Her peace of mind, her ability to potter endlessly and to feel quietly content, w as vanishing and she didn’t know how to deal with it.
Polly sighed and began to clear away the breakfast things. She collected up the crumbs for the blackbird and, leaving the washing-up for Mrs Bloge, went to get dressed. Thea was coming up to do some shopping and they had arranged to meet at Coolings. She brushed her long heavy bob of dark hair and put on a simple white shirt with a long thick cotton skirt in an unusual terra-cotta colour. As she slipped her feet into leather sandals and looked around for her bag she kept one eye on her watch. Polly always tried to be on her way out of the house when Mrs Bloge arrived. She felt that she was despised by this tall, thin woman whose nose, chin, bosom, even knee caps jutted forward in an aggressive way. She knew that Mrs Bloge was wondering why she, Polly, couldn’t look after the house herself and she felt inadequate under the humourless grey stare.
Often she would escape to a friend, who lived a couple of doors up, thus avoiding the verbal cut and thrust in which Mrs Bloge liked to revel before she got down to work. Even here Mrs Bloge bested her. She had the tact and delicacy of a bull elephant and delivered her observations, based on the obvious and the banal, with the finesse of a steam hammer and the bridling self-satisfaction of one who has just invented a brilliant epigram. This tended to leave Polly feeling even more depressed, so she was delighted to have a good reason to be waiting to leave the minute Mrs Bloge arrived in the kitchen.
Thus it was that she arrived early at Coolings and, having bought herself a drink, was very surprised to see Thea already there, sitting at a table with a dark young man.
‘Look who I found in Waterstone’s,’ she said as Polly approached.
Freddie Spenlow smiled round at her. ‘Hello,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I’m not trying to muscle in on your party. Just keeping her company till you turned up.’
‘You’re very welcome as far as I’m concerned.’ Polly bent to kiss Thea, beamed upon Freddie and, sliding into the spare seat, raised her glass to them.
‘I’ve been telling him my news.’ Thea looked flushed and happy. ‘I’ve sworn him to secrecy. I don’t want George to know until I’ve signed the contract. It’s lucky that he’s away all week or I’d never keep it up. But when I saw Freddie I simply burst out with it,‘
‘I spied her poring over the books in the children’s section,’ explained Freddie. ‘I thought she was going to tell me something else when she said she had some good news.’
> Polly laughed and Thea blushed a fiery red. ‘I was looking at the competition,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m euphoric and terrified in turn.’
‘You need another drink,’ said Freddie. ‘Or would you like me to be on my way now?’
The girls looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Thea gave a little shrug and shook her head and Polly nodded agreement.
‘You may stay,’ she said graciously and Freddie smiled at her.
‘Very kind, ma’am. In that case, may I buy you a drink, too?’
‘Splendid fellow,’ murmured Polly. She emptied her glass promptly. ‘I knew that there was an excellent reason for your staying.’ She looked at Thea as Freddie threaded his way to the counter. ‘So. How’s everything?’
‘Better.’ Thea seemed to think about it and then nodded. ‘Yes. Definitely better. Oh, Polly. It’s so exciting. I feel so strong and positive. If Felicity showed her face now I feel I could beat her.’
‘Any more telephone calls?’
‘Not a word. Nothing. If only I could get that remark she made out of my mind I would say it’s all over. But I can’t forget it. When I think of George with her like that probably just after I’d left to come home . . . ’ Thea’s hands clasped involuntarily.
‘You’ve either got to forget it or have it out with him.’ Polly put her hand on Thea’s arm and gave it a little shake. ‘I thought you said that you were going to talk to him.’
‘It needs to be the right moment. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage but I think it will be soon now.’ Thea smiled up at Freddie, who had returned carrying three glasses. ‘Lovely. Thanks. But I must remember that I’ve got to drive home.’
‘You can come back and sleep it off,’ said Polly, taking her glass. ‘I’ll make you pints of black coffee. We’re here to celebrate and that’s just what we’re going to do! Here’s to Thea.’ She raised her glass and Freddie followed suit. ‘And even more important! Here’s to Thea’s parrot! To Percy!’
A Friend of the Family Page 11