She came in. ‘Darling, you look smart,’ she announced.
‘Thank you. You were away a long time.’
‘Helen’s nervous,’ she replied. ‘She hasn’t had much of a social life, and I had to calm her. That’s the problem with a girl who has been without a mother – she has no pattern to follow.’
He was surrounded by clever women.
‘Let me fix your tie.’ She stood over him and straightened the offending item. ‘There. You’ll be the best-dressed man in the room.’
‘So I should be – this suit is hand-made by craftsmen.’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘I don’t know why we need to have this damned party,’ he complained. ‘I can think of a thousand ways to spend an evening fruitfully, but this is not one of them. Damned fools coming into my house, eating my food, drinking my—’
‘You’ll enjoy it,’ she promised.
‘Will I?’ His house would be full of lawyers, yet he could not be himself among his own colleagues, because Helen had put a stop to that. Had she really heard that gossip in the Pack Horse, or had it been an opening salvo, a warning shot to his stern? Whatever she had sought to achieve, she had been successful. ‘Louisa?’
‘Yes?’
‘You spend too much time with my daughter.’
‘Do I?’ She sat at the dressing table. ‘It is much better this way, my love. Imagine how hard life might have been had she hated me. I am fortunate. She likes me and I enjoy her company. Helen is very knowledgeable and interesting, you know.’
Life, he thought, would have been a great deal easier had Helen flounced out of the house in temper.
‘I like your daughter, Zach. And she fills some of the hours during your absences. What am I expected to do? Sit at one end of the house while she is at the other? And she goes to work, so we are scarcely constant companions. We are the same age and we complement each other well. She needed help and I enjoy her companionship. She is coming out of her shell, probably for the first time in her life. Your daughter is lonely.’
He seethed. Presented by the defence, the argument for Helen’s case was solid. In court, it would stand up to the most skilful cross-questioning from the best prosecutor on the planet. Louisa was talking sense and he felt like a boxer who had been knocked out in the first round. Yet he continued to cling to the ropes, refused to lie down for the count. ‘She’s devious,’ he said.
‘All women are devious, sweetheart. We are what men have made us.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Yes.’ She spun round on the stool. ‘I’m sure you are right. I shall try to spend more time with you in the future, but you will need to be here. I can’t go travelling from court to court, can I?’
He had lost. The jury would definitely come down on the side of the defence – there would be no sentence to impose. Sliding into his other simile, he was in the corner of the ring and the fight was lost. ‘We shall have to go down shortly,’ he said almost resignedly.
‘Yes, dear. The food looks wonderful.’
‘Good.’ He looked at his watch again.
Louisa smiled brightly. ‘Before we do go, I want you to know that you are going to be a father again.’
He simply nodded, though his eyes blazed with pleasure. That would be a nail in Helen’s coffin. As soon as he had his son, the will would be changed. Of course, he would have to leave her something, but the boy would inherit the bulk. ‘I am delighted to hear that,’ he said. ‘But should you be organizing an event in your condition? Don’t you want to stay up here and rest? I can explain your absence if necessary.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘No. I am well. Explain nothing, Zach. I always think it’s tempting fate to announce a pregnancy too early. Let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being. No one needs to know – except us and the doctor. This is our special secret.’ A smile hovered on her lips. She could manage the man. Like many of his gender, he was a fool when it came to the machinations of females.
He kissed her on the cheek, then left the room.
When he had gone, Louisa stared at her reflection. The desire to scream had been with her for a while, but she would never indulge it. Zach was her safety and her future. The life she had left behind could be allowed no significance, because she had gained what she had sought – security and wealth. This was not a play in three acts, though; this was a charade she would need to perform well until the day he died. He was thirty years older than she was. All she required was patience, humour and one other important element – the distraction embodied by his daughter.
Scars from the past ached, and she pressed a palm into her right side. The disfigurement of her lower body was officially attributed to surgery. Before she had learned to compose herself and take silent charge, she had spoken her mind, had been battered and stabbed by a man who had supposedly loved her. Aware that she now lived with another man of uncertain temperament, she had laid her plans well. No longer a secretary, no longer the dancer, she was determined to make the best of Zachary Spencer. He was an unpleasant man. She would cope.
The door crashed inward. ‘Denis? Are you there?’ Kate drew breath before repeating the call.
Denis descended the stairs. ‘I think I’m there,’ he said. ‘I was there when I looked a minute ago, but I’m here now, aren’t I? Shall I go back there, then I’ll be there?’
Kate tried to frown, but failed. ‘Listen, you daft lummox. I can’t do nothing with him. He’s dug his heels in and won’t fettle. It’s like the horse and the water – he won’t shift.’
Denis did not need the name of the ‘him’. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Says he’s not going, says he’s no intention of wearing a suit, says the shirt I bought him’s too tight at the neck. I’m going to kill him if he doesn’t shape. Will you come and deal with him?’
‘What can I do that you can’t? You’re his wife – I’m only a neighbour.’
Kate nodded several times. ‘He’ll listen to you. You’re a man.’
‘That still doesn’t tell me what to do, though, does it? Shall I anaesthetize him? Knock him out? Fetch an ambulance? I know how he feels. I’d sooner sit knitting fog than spend three or four hours up yon. Send Agnes. She’ll shift him. She’s even shifted her granddad a few times, and that’s like moving the Isle of Man.’ He shouted up the stairwell. ‘Agnes? Go and dress Albert, will you?’
Agnes appeared at the top of the flight. ‘I’ve had trouble enough fastening my own frock – it fitted last week when I bought it. Anyway, I can’t dress a man. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘I’ve got him into the trousers,’ said Kate. ‘You’ll not see him naked. I wouldn’t let that happen to my worst enemy. There’s enough shocks in life without seeing my Albert in his birthday suit. Bad enough me having to put up with it. Just finish him off, Agnes,’ she begged.
‘What with?’ asked Denis. ‘Arsenic?’
Kate folded her arms. ‘If necessary, yes. We can prop him up on a chair in a corner and say he’s not well. We can order the gravestone tomorrow and I’ll lay on a ham tea for the funeral. Stubborn as a mule, he is.’
Agnes sat on the top stair. ‘Why don’t we all go somewhere else? Please? I don’t know which knife to use for what.’
‘You don’t need to,’ said Kate. ‘You’ll be eating stood up. It’s a buffet. Bits of stupid things on bits of stupid biscuits to start with, then salads and all kinds of meat – for God’s sake, help me.’
Agnes rose to her feet. She was grinning broadly, because she was looking at herself and Denis in forty years’ time. Kate and Albert were happy. They had celebrated their ruby anniversary and they were still happy. Until it came to suits. Dressing up was not Albert’s idea of fun, and Denis was much the same. ‘All right,’ she said resignedly. ‘But I’m promising nothing.’
‘Fair enough.’ Kate sank into a chair. ‘I’m exhausted and we still haven’t had the kick-off.’
After knocking, Agnes entered the cottage next door. Albert, i
n vest and trousers, was hiding behind the Bolton Evening News. ‘Hey, you,’ she began. ‘Stand up, get rid of the reading matter and put your clothes on. You’re driving Kate out of her mind.’
He folded the paper. ‘Then she’s not far to travel, has she?’
‘If your wife’s crackers, you’ve sent her that way. Now, get dressed or Denis’ll do it for you. You’ve got five minutes. No use fighting it, Albert.’
He glared at her. ‘I didn’t ask for no bloody party, did I? I’m all right with me telly and the wireless. From the start, I told her I didn’t want to go.’
‘You’d let her go on her own, then? Four minutes and twenty seconds, you’ve got now.’
‘She works there – she’s used to it.’
Agnes sat down. ‘Right. Remember my grandfather – he was on the telly with his houses?’
He nodded.
‘He’ll be there. Like you, he’ll moan every inch of the way. Like you, he’ll not want to go. And we have to put up with him all night, because he’ll be sleeping over with his wife in our house.’
‘What’s that got to do with the price of fish?’
‘Well, he’s thinking of buying Bamber Cottage. If and when he does, he’ll be looking for an apprentice.’
‘And?’
‘And you can apply. Get in first, get to know him and Eva, and you’ll be working out of the weather and with my Pop.’
‘I can’t be an apprentice at my age.’
‘You can. If Pop likes you, that is. He won’t even meet you if you carry on sitting on the shelf like cheese at fourpence. What’s up with you, anyway? Grown man, won’t get dressed, carrying on like a five-year-old in a tantrum. Ridiculous.’ She tapped a foot. ‘Come on – the baby’ll be due at this rate. Just do as you’re told, because you are outnumbered.’
Sighing dramatically, Albert did as he was bidden. She tidied his collar, straightened the tie, examined his shoes. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘You’ll pass as human as long as you stay in the shade.’
The four friends made their reluctant way to the big house. Given a choice, each of them would have been otherwise engaged, but the judge had spoken. Or his wife had spoken. Whatever, they had to go.
Helen trembled, but the brandy remained in its container. She didn’t need it, because Louisa would be there, and Louisa would look after her. James Taylor, the balding eagle, had also been invited to the party, but Helen had been prepared for him. Louisa had the answers; Louisa was Helen’s prop.
‘Tell him to bugger off,’ Louisa had said. ‘You’re out of his league now. Time you started sticking up for yourself. You don’t want him, you don’t need him – just say so.’
From her bedroom window, Helen watched caterers carrying in the last of the food and drink. She didn’t know how many people were coming, but she wasn’t looking forward to the event. James Taylor had telephoned several times. Telephones were easier than face-to-face meetings. She had to get rid of him tonight, and he would probably run to Father with his tale of woe.
She sat down and thought about her stepmother. Married young to a man who had turned into a murderous monster, Louisa had escaped with her life, without a spleen and with one savable kidney. After four weeks in hospital, she had gone home, had sat, had made her decision. She had recently married a man who was worth divorcing. ‘Only the very rich and the very poor can afford divorce,’ she had advised Helen. ‘The very rich don’t miss a few thousand, while the poor have nothing to lose.’
She was wise. Zachary Spencer did not figure in his wife’s emotions – he was just a piece of scaffolding designed to support her. If the marriage failed, there would be a decent settlement. As delicately as possible, Helen had asked about the intimate side of the marriage, had received the reply, ‘I close my eyes and think of Gregory Peck.’ Louisa was brave. She probably recognized Helen’s vulnerability because it echoed her own past. ‘But she is more Charlotte Lucas than I am,’ Helen whispered. Austen’s Charlotte had married a fool; Louisa had fastened herself to a bank balance; the fictional character and the living woman had both married for safety.
Was James Taylor to be Helen’s safety? She thought not. As Louisa had said, if Helen didn’t want him, he should be advised to bugger off. A smile tilted the corners of Helen’s mouth. She would have loved to own the guts to scream those two words into a crowded room, but she would never get that far. Denis. A part of her still wanted and needed him. He continued to occupy her dreams, but she could never have him. Soon, Denis would be a father; Helen Spencer would probably be the eternal virgin.
The dreams about Denis came less frequently these days, but the other nightmare remained. She always woke in a sweat, always tried to piece together what she had seen while asleep, always failed. It was a noisy scenario, terrifying and intense. And she could remember no details. Louisa made up for the dreams, because Louisa had both feet planted squarely on terra firma. But Helen wished the night terrors would abate.
She stood and looked in the mirror. Underneath a deceptively simple dove grey dress, she wore the silk underwear she had bought during her silly phase. Her hair had been styled by Louisa, who had also applied cosmetics in muted tones. Helen knew that she had never looked as pretty as she did this evening, yet she feared company. An outer shell of acceptability would never completely shore up an injured soul. She did not possess Louisa’s strength of character and she probably never would.
Cars began to arrive. Her father and stepmother would greet the guests, but Louisa had asked Helen to be present. ‘This is your home, too. Let people know who you are.’ Her home? According to her father, she deserved nothing, simply because she had failed to be male.
She touched up her lipstick, checked her hose for ladders, picked up a glittering evening bag. But she drank no brandy.
Dressed in their best, Eva and Fred were taking the opportunity to have a second look at Bamber Cottage. Detached, it stood in a large garden that would easily house a shed big enough for Fred’s business. The house itself was not oversized; between them, they would be able to keep it in decent order. ‘It’s that quiet, I’ll not know what to do with meself,’ said Eva. ‘No buses, one little shop, the same people every day.’
‘If you don’t want it, we won’t have it,’ Fred told her. ‘It’s your shop that’ll be paying for it, so the decision’s yours, too.’
‘We’d live longer up here,’ she said. ‘And Agnes is near.’
‘She is. She’s near and she’s bossy.’
Eva laughed. ‘She can see straight past you, if that’s what you mean. And I’m not going through what she went through – sawdust and paint. You get that shed built before we come. There’s no room for your tranklements in the house – I don’t want to see even one screwdriver. Do you hear?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘And I’ll want a proper washing line.’ In her head, she carried a wonderful picture of snow-white sheets blowing freely against a background of greenery. ‘I’ve never had country-aired clothes. We can plant flowers, too. Is there room for a greenhouse as well? I could grow me own tomatoes.’
Fred smiled. She had made up her mind and they both knew it.
The owner asked whether their mortgage was arranged. Eva, in a moment of pure pleasure, held her head high and her stomach as far in as she could manage without girders. ‘We won’t be having one of those,’ she replied. ‘We are already owners of property.’
The owners of property made their offer on the spot and it was accepted. They wandered off in the direction of Skirlaugh Rise, saw the house at the top and paused for thought. ‘I’ll never get there,’ Eva moaned. ‘It’s too steep. By the time I get to that house, everybody else will be on their way home.’
‘Take it slowly,’ Fred advised. ‘You’ll get used to walking more once we live here. And we won’t be going to Lambert House every day, will we?’ Cars were passing them. ‘Shall I thumb a lift?’
Eva shook her head. She was a big woman and there probably wasn’t enough
room in a normal-sized vehicle. ‘No, we’ll walk it. If it takes me till Christmas, I’ll get there.’ At snails’ pace, the couple began the ascent to the top of the Rise. Fred wanted to kick himself – if he’d had an ounce of sense, he would have catered for this situation. When they were halfway up, they paused for a rest, though Eva, who was still forced to bear her own weight, got no benefit from stopping.
By the time they reached the front door of Lambert House, she was in a state of total disarray, face damped by sweat, skin reddened from exertion, ankles swollen like a pair of balloons.
Agnes flew to her side and ushered her into a downstairs bathroom. ‘Sit,’ she ordered, pointing to a wicker chair. She bathed the poor woman’s face in cold water, pressed a damp towel against her neck, did her best to straighten Eva’s powder blue wedding suit. It took over half an hour to achieve a condition in which Eva was sufficiently composed to join the party.
By that time, war had broken out.
At first, it was easy to keep away from the dreaded man. Helen, as deputy hostess, circulated and made the best she could of her conversational abilities. All the time, she could feel his eyes boring into her flesh, but she kept travelling about the room, since a moving target was reputed to be more difficult to hit. While she had improved in appearance, he had not. He was ungainly, ugly, disgusting. She could not embrace Louisa’s theory of thinking about a film star – if this man touched her, she would scream.
The scream was meant to be silent, but it was far from that. When he stopped her for the third time, she eyed him sternly. ‘Leave me alone,’ she said quietly.
He blinked and swallowed, the protruding Adam’s apple moving like a buried mole beneath a stretch of sun-deadened lawn. Her flesh crawled with a million invisible ants and she stepped away from him. Unfortunately, she reversed into a waitress bearing platters. Food was spattered everywhere and she felt the colour rising in her cheeks. He had done this; why would he not leave her be?
The silliness happened then. She felt very much as she had during the Denis episode – detached from herself, yet deeply disturbed. Anger rose within her. It was a fury too hot to be contained and too strong for the current small crisis. The room disappeared and became silent. She was alone with the balding eagle. He had a great future, terrible skin and a horrible nose. He wanted her to be his biddable wife – grateful, obedient, unquestioning. He wanted to be her father all over again – another great dictator.
The Judge's Daughter Page 16