'She insisted on having it left with her the night it was born, even though the nurse wanted to take it out of the room for her to have a good sleep. In the morning it was dead. She maintained she had slept heavily all night, not heard a sound. Why did she want it left with her when she didn't care a jot for it? She didn't shed a tear and immediately began planning the journey home.' Poppy heaved a great sigh.
'She is an unnatural monster,' she said quietly.
Marigold shook her head quickly. She could not believe this of her little sister, but obviously Poppy did.
'Have you decided what you want to do now?' she asked instead.
'I don't want to stay here with Ivy.'
'I wonder if she'd like to go to an art college in London?'
'No. I asked her that when we on the way home, but according to her she knows more than they do and it would be a waste of time. She has a crate of paintings coming, that she did while we were away, and she talks of opening a gallery here to sell them.'
'That might be quite a good idea,' Marigold said thoughtfully. 'She would have responsibilities and be independent. But she would need a manager. She doesn't know how to run a gallery and she wouldn't have time to paint if she did. But what about you? You have enough from what George left to buy a small house somewhere, and probably enough left to live on.'
'I want to work. Could I do something in one of your other hotels?'
It was eventually decided that Poppy would move to Coventry and supervise the work there until the hotel was ready for opening. Afterwards, if she thought she could cope she would manage it. Bill, anxious primarily to please Marigold, readily agreed.
'I will be able to go over regularly and help her if necessary,' he said later to Marigold, and she smiled gratefully at him.
'I'd do anything to help her forget George. She's been so good.'
'The holiday in Switzerland was a good idea, it helped her get over the shock,' he agreed, for that was the story everyone had been told.
Ivy herself never mentioned the baby and Marigold forbore to ask. She thought it was too painful a subject, perhaps, although try as she might she could not quite push Poppy's accusations out of her mind.
The next few months were busy. The Coventry hotel was nearing completion, Poppy was grappling with the many problems there, and finding some satisfaction in it, and Ivy had found a suitable shop and was planning her gallery.
'Will you buy it me and let me live in a flat above it?' she asked Marigold. 'There are two floors above, it would make a very good flat.'
'You're too young to live on your own,' Marigold replied. 'And it would not be a good idea to buy until we see whether it is successful or not. If it is we'll think about it, but for the moment I will rent the shop and we will let the flat.'
Ivy protested but in vain, and when Marigold, exasperated, asked her if she wanted to forget the whole idea she shrugged her shoulders and agreed.
'You all go away from me whenever you want, but you won't let me leave,' she complained. 'Poppy's gone again and we hardly ever see her. And you go to see Dick every Sunday. I never see you at weekends and you're too busy in the week to talk to me. What's the point in living here?'
'I admire you for the patience you show,' Bill said. Ivy had just flounced out of the room one evening after trying unsuccessfully to enlist his help.
'She's very young,' Marigold excused her sister. 'She's the baby of the family and after she was burned everyone gave in to her, I suppose, so it's mainly our fault if she thinks the whole world revolves round her.'
'There you go again, blaming yourself. She has some responsibility for her own actions.'
'I know, but I've been in charge so long I can't let go.'
'You could if you married me. I want to take care of you, Marigold. Surely by now you must have given up hope of Richard being alive?'
Marigold shook her head vehemently.
'I know he's alive somewhere. I just do. If he were dead something in me would have died.'
'That's hope, or superstition. He would surely have come back by now. It's over six years since you last heard from him. He must have died when his aeroplane crashed.'
'What does the length of time matter? Six days or six years, it's all the same. I love him just as much, Bill, and apart from the fact I could not love you I'd feel disloyal, I would be doing something wrong if I were to marry you.'
*
Ivy roamed restlessly about the new hotel. The first wing of it had been open for a week and they would open the rest in stages, for it was the largest yet and there was still work to be done. She had come to fetch some clothes Marigold had left behind after the grand opening.
Eventually she went and ordered tea and occupied herself with a small drawing pad, sketching a border of entwined leaves and flowers round the edges.
Poppy was engaged with a visiting representative of a pottery firm who was trying to persuade her to buy china for the restaurant from his firm, and who did not appear to understand that the family connection with Endersby's Pottery meant they did not wish to buy elsewhere.
'So you see, Mr Travers, it's impossible,' Poppy said firmly. 'Now can I offer you some tea before you go?'
He gave in, accepting his dismissal and the tea. Poppy felt uncomfortable about entertaining him in her office so she led the way into the café where a small orchestra played softly at the far end.
Ivy saw them come in and waved vigorously. Poppy had hoped to avoid her but it was impossible, and she had to lead Mr Travers across to Ivy's table and introduce them.
He looked casually at the pad Ivy laid down and raised his eyebrows.
'I say, this is good!' he exclaimed. 'It looks like the border of a plate. Is that what the design is?'
'It could be, I suppose,' Ivy said. 'I just like drawing flowers.'
'May I take this to show my boss? We want some new designs and this is the kind of thing he's looking for. The shapes are so natural and yet so vital, they could be alive. Would you like it if he offered to buy something?'
'Ivy already sells lots of drawings and paintings,' Poppy said.
'But I could always sell more,' Ivy said quickly. 'I've never thought of doing designs for pottery, that's all.'
Mr Travers arranged to contact Ivy in Birmingham the following week, and when he did he told her his boss wanted to see some finished paintings suitable for repeating on china.
'Just two colours and gilt edging,' Mr Travers told her.
A month later Ivy's gallery was open, with Herbie installed in the flat above. Ivy was busy with commissions and Mr Travers often came. By chance when she went to check on the Coventry hotel Marigold discovered he was a frequent visitor there too.
'He's nice,' Poppy said defensively. 'Do you think I'm wrong to see him? It's almost a year since George died and it wasn't as if we were really married.'
'Of course I don't think you're wrong,' Marigold reassured her. 'I'll be glad if you can be happy again.'
Would she be able to think about another man if she'd seen Richard die, she wondered afterwards. She doubted it, but if they hadn't had the bliss of loving perhaps it would have been different.
'Will you bring him home? To Edgbaston?' Marigold asked, but Poppy shook her head swiftly.
'No. It would be too painful,' she added after a pause when Marigold looked startled at her abrupt negative.
Then Poppy begged her not to tell Ivy.
'I can't bear her everlasting questions and comments, and David hasn't spoken yet anyway. Please don't say anything, Marigold?'
'If you don't want me to of course I won't,' she promised. 'Ivy's found a manager for her gallery, did she tell you?'
'No. Who is it?'
'Some student from the art college, Herbie Cole. He used to study with Mr Frome and is quite a good painter, I believe. But not many people can make a living from it like Ivy does,' she added proudly.
Poppy sniffed.
'She earns more money than most people but it sti
ll isn't enough for everything she wants,' she commented. 'She says the clothes here are too dowdy and the dressmakers too inferior, she plans to go to Paris to buy some.'
'Paris! She hasn't said a word to me.'
'She'll probably go off one day with her secret hoard of money and bring a trunkful back. Either that or she was making some subtle criticism of my clothes, for she said they looked dull. I'm still in mourning so what does she expect? And I wouldn't wear bright colours and these new flimsy materials for work anyway!'
'Of course not. I must go now, Poppy, but will you come up to The Place next week for Dick's birthday party?'
'Is Ivy going?'
Marigold's face clouded over.
'No, she says children bore her. So you can safely come, she won't be there,' she added, refusing to let Ivy's attitude to her son depress her. 'Bill's coming too, he's never met Dick.'
*
Sophia Endersby welcomed them graciously. Since the end of the war they had moved back into the main part of the house, and the party for Dick was to be held in the largest drawing room, and if the weather were fine on the terrace outside.
Dick, six years old, was a tall, handsome child, becoming so like Richard Marigold's heart turned over with longing for her husband every time she saw him.
A dozen children were there, being carefully shepherded by their nannies or their mamas, and eagerly awaiting the conjuror who had been booked.
'I thought we could have the entertainment first, then tea, and they can go and run about and work off surplus energy outside afterwards,' Sophia explained.
Mr Endersby, an unwilling participant in the revels, soon became engrossed in business talk with Bill. Marigold was not surprised to see them slide guiltily out of the room as soon as the conjuror began pulling playing cards and long gauzy scarves from improbable places.
'Mr Thomas seems a very pleasant young man,' Sophia said to Marigold as they sat and watched Poppy and some of the younger nannies organising games for the children on the terrace after tea.
'He's a very helpful partner. We are thinking of expanding and opening another hotel in Walsall.'
'That might not be wise, my dear. Mr Endersby says the post-war surge of prosperity has reached its peak and there will almost certainly be a recession soon. Then your hotels will not be so busy.'
'Bill is confident it will not be severe when it comes.'
'I trust he is right.'
There was silence for a while. It was a companionable silence and Marigold marvelled that she and this woman now got on so well. Sophia had mellowed, and her gratitude to Marigold for being able to have Dick showed itself in all sorts of thoughtful ways.
'Have you ever thought of marrying again?' she asked abruptly.
Marigold glanced at her but Sophia was busy brushing a speck of fluff from her pleated skirt.
'Richard is still alive,' she said softly.
'You know all hope of that vanished when he didn't come home after the war,' Sophia said wearily. 'If he'd been hiding somewhere he'd have been able to come. If he was injured he'd have been found in a hospital somewhere. No, my dear, you must accept that he's dead. He wouldn't want you to waste your youth in this vain wait for him.'
'I don't consider it a vain wait. I have no desire to marry again whether Richard is dead or not.'
'But this man Bill, it's clear he adores you. He could make you very happy and be a father to Dick. Mr Endersby and I will not be here for ever, my dear.'
'You're not trying to tell me you're ill, are you?' Marigold asked in alarm.
Sophia laughed.
'Of course not, child, though who can tell what disaster might strike at any time? But we are older than you and may die before Dick is able to take over the management of the firm. He will need a friend and some good advice then.'
Marigold laughed aloud.
'You want me to marry Bill so that I can provide Dick with a business advisor!' she accused, smiling.
Sophia shook her head quickly.
'Not altogether,' she protested. 'I want you to be happy again too.'
Marigold pressed her hand. Their relationship had progressed a good deal since that first disastrous meeting.
'I think Poppy may have found someone else,' she said. 'He works for one of the other pottery firms, a salesman only, but she seems to like him.'
They chatted about other friends and soon it was time for the children to depart.
'I've had a lovely party,' Dick said sleepily later as Marigold tucked him into bed. 'I like living with Grandpa and Grandmama, but I'd rather be like the others at school and live with my proper Mummy and Daddy.'
'One day, perhaps,' Marigold managed to say, blinking back the sudden tears.
It was the first time Dick had expressed such a wish. She'd always felt jealous of the love he showed Sophia, but now he was old enough to understand and had friends who lived in normal families he was beginning to question his own situation.
Would Sophia give him up if she were married again? She appeared to approve of Bill and recognised that there might be advantages for Dick in having a father.
For the first time Marigold admitted to herself the possibility of remarriage.
Was she being stubborn, relying too much on her desperate hope that Richard would come back to her? All rational argument was against it. No one else believed Richard could possibly be alive.
Bill had remained faithful for years. He loved her but she could never love him in return. Her heart would always be faithful to Richard. But people did make successful marriages without the sort of passionate love she and Richard had enjoyed. Would that be fair to Bill? Would he settle for second best?
She was very quiet as they drove back to Birmingham in Bill's car. When he leaned over to kiss her lightly on the cheek she didn't draw away as she normally did.
'Good night, Bill. I'll see you at the meeting with the bank manager in the morning. Thank you for coming.'
'I enjoyed it. Dick's a grand little fellow but he could do with being amongst younger people more.'
*
A month later, before Marigold could bring herself to decide on her own future, Poppy forestalled her by telling her David had asked her to marry him.
'Poppy, I'm so glad. You've accepted?'
'Yes, but he understands I don't want a big wedding. We won't marry yet, it's still rather soon after George, but I am happy, Marigold, truly.'
Ivy was openly contemptuous. 'All you want is a man and a ring on your finger,' she said scornfully. 'George is barely cold in the ground and you want another man.'
'That's enough, Ivy!'
'But Marigold, it's true. She hardly knows the man and what is he? A miserable commercial traveller. He'll either never be at home, and he'll be up to all sorts of mischief travelling round the country, or he's marrying her thinking he'll be given a cosy little job in one of your hotels.'
'David is willing to work for me and I shall go and live with him in Stoke-on-Trent,' Poppy retorted. 'He doesn't want a job with Endersby's and he doesn't want me to go on working after we're married.'
'That's what he says now,' Ivy muttered. 'Marigold, I haven't had time to tell you before but I'm going to stay with Johnny and Lucy for a few days.'
Before Marigold could reply she left the room, and her sisters looked at one another with rueful resignation.
'In other words she's mad at me and going to pour out her woes to Lucy, hoping for sympathy,' Poppy said with a shrug.
'Lucy can cope. She's one of the calmest, most level-headed people I know. Johnny was so lucky to find her.'
It was, therefore, a total surprise when Lucy appeared in Birmingham three days later.
'Is Ivy ill?' Marigold demanded before even greeting her sister-in-law.
'Ivy? How should I know? Marigold, what's the matter?'
Apologising, Marigold led her to the private parlour and explained.
'She said she was going to stay with you, and we know she often does, so
we let her be. Didn't she come?'
'No. Where can she be? Ought we to tell the police?'
A sudden suspicion entered Marigold's mind.
'Wait, let me get the diary and work it out,' she said and rooted in her desk. 'When did she last come and see you?'
'Before she and Poppy went away,' Lucy said promptly. 'Has she been telling lies?'
'It seems so,' Marigold said unhappily. 'She said she was staying with you three weeks ago, just for a couple of nights. I wonder where she goes? Lucy, what have I done wrong? Why is she like this? Surely it can't all be because of the scars?'
'None of it's because of the scars, she's just wicked!' Lucy declared angrily. 'Marigold, she's played on those scars and tried to make you feel guilty ever since she was a baby! It wasn't your fault but she makes you believe it was, and ever since she's had you doing exactly what she wants!'
'I've never heard you speak badly about anyone before,' Marigold said in astonishment.
'I hate doing it now,' Lucy said gently. 'I wouldn't if I thought there was the slightest good in Ivy. I believe that if a sinner repents God can forgive and we should forgive too. But Ivy only says she's sorry if she can see some advantage in it for herself.'
'No, she's not that bad,' Marigold said, distressed. 'She may be selfish and thoughtless, but not deliberately wicked. That I can't believe.' 'Then you're more of a saint than I am. Heavens, listen to me, all this talk of saints and devils! It must be my Irish ancestry coming out,' she said more lightly. 'They believe in evil and original sin and the devil. Perhaps Ivy is possessed of a devil. I'm sorry, Marigold. I'm teasing you but it's not a fit subject for jokes. Just wait until I see that little madam again, I'll give her a large piece of my mind. How dare she tell lies to you and use us into the bargain!'
'Let's forget her. How long can you stay?'
'Just an hour or so. We're going on holiday to Blackpool next week and I thought I'd come and see you before we went. I wish you'd open another hotel there. That would be very popular with your niece and nephew! They love the sand and the sea.'
The following day Ivy reappeared and Marigold tackled her about the lies she told.
Ivy turned an innocent gaze towards her sister.
The Cobweb Cage Page 39