‘A drink,’ she said, relieved. ‘We both need a drink. Now sit down while I forage.’
Still sobbing, Selina allowed herself to be lowered on to a chair and Daphne hastened to find glasses and to pour the wine—a very nice Australian red, she noticed—which had been open and waiting for some time.
‘Now that’s what I call thoughtful,’ said Daphne approvingly, pouring cheerfully. ‘We’ll feel better after one of these.’
Selina took her glass, her sobs gradually diminishing, and smiled feebly through her tears.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It was just seeing you there like that. Time swung backwards.’ Her face creased up again. ‘It was as if I was a child again.’
‘Poor darling,’ said Daphne, somewhat insincerely but ready to encourage this softened, malleable Selina for her own ends, ‘what a terrible time you’ve had.’
Selina groped for her handkerchief, her sense of injustice renewed by Daphne’s ready sympathy.
‘It’s been awful,’ she agreed, a tissue to her eyes. ‘I expect Maudie told you …?’ She began to cry again, remembering her fears of humiliation.
‘Only a little,’ lied Daphne diplomatically. ‘She felt that it was better that you should tell me yourself.’
‘Oh.’ Surprise dried Selina’s tears. She hadn’t expected such consideration from her stepmother. ‘I imagined she’d tell you all about it.’
A sulky note had crept into her voice and Daphne made haste to discourage it.
‘No, no. We had rather a lot of other things to talk about. Anyway, I want to hear it from you.’
‘I’m absolutely desperate.’ Tears were threatening again. ‘And now, on top of everything else, Posy’s dropped this bombshell.’
‘Posy?’ Daphne’s surprise was quite genuine. ‘What’s Posy been up to?’
Selina took a large swig of wine. She was beginning to feel very slightly better.
‘Don’t tell me Maudie doesn’t know? She’s fallen in love with a divorced man with a child of nine months. He’s some kind of writer. She phoned again just now to say that she’s thinking of marrying him and says that they’ll be living at Moorgate.’
Daphne was silenced for a moment. She glanced round the kitchen, wondering how many empty bottles might be lying about, and took a firm grip on the situation.
‘I simply can’t believe it,’ she said, with the air of one who was only too ready to be convinced. ‘But I want to hear about everything. Now, I’m going to take off my coat, put my bag in my room—no, no, don’t get up, I’m sure I’ll find it—and then we’ll have a good old session. I shan’t be long.’
Selina finished her wine and poured another generous glassful. By the time Daphne returned a second bottle was waiting temptingly beside the first.
‘Excellent,’ said Daphne. ‘Now where shall we start?’
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ Selina said, nearly two hours later. The second bottle of wine was half empty, supper had been hastily assembled and disposed of, and Daphne was still trying to decide if Selina should know the truth. So far the conversation had related mainly to Patrick, his affair with Mary and his ultimate defection, with diversions into Posy’s ingratitude and disloyalty which inevitably included Maudie’s insensitivity and selfishness. As she watched and listened, Daphne was struck by Selina’s likeness to Hilda and, as she nodded, sympathised, expressed disbelief, she was trying to remember how she’d felt towards Hilda after the affair with Hector. Surely she must have been consumed with guilt? She knew that finding herself pregnant had tended to absorb her utterly but it was difficult to recall her feelings at the time. There had been an impregnability about Hilda, a smiling, unemotional façade. Discussions about events, whether disasters or celebrations, seemed to slide and drift about her, neither denting her consciousness nor evoking her compassion. Nothing seemed capable of jolting her out of a serenity which appeared to be rooted in indifference rather than achieved by any hard-won personal discipline or spiritual awareness.
Now, as she listened to Selina, Daphne began to recognise the same symptoms. Nothing was Selina’s fault, this much was clear. The irritation, aroused in the past by the mother, was beginning to be created by the daughter and Daphne stirred restlessly. Advice, here, was pointless. Selina would stare at her blankly and immediately return to her first standpoint. The best she could do—and she owed this much to Hilda, surely—was to attempt to help Selina out of the maze of her apathy.
‘Had you thought of anything that you might do?’ she asked lightly. They were still in the kitchen—the women’s workplace being from time immemorial the room for confessions and the sharing of secrets—sitting comfortably at the table, the bottle between them.
Selina looked helplessly at her. ‘I’m feeling so tired, you see. It’s simply not like me to be doing nothing. I’ve always been the organiser in this family. Patrick’s useless, of course.’
‘So you haven’t had any ideas.’
It was a statement, as if Daphne were drawing up a debit sheet, and Selina frowned defensively.
‘I wouldn’t say that. It’s just my options are a bit extreme.’
‘Are they?’ Daphne looked interested.
‘Well, the obvious one is to sell the house.’ Selina paused, waiting for Daphne to protest, to say how unfair it was that she should have to consider such a step, but Daphne merely refilled her glass and waited. ‘I could move to a smaller place,’ she said rather sulkily, ‘and invest the money. When Daddy died we had enough to pay off the mortgage so I could do quite well, I suppose.’
‘And would you move out of London?’
‘I don’t want to move anywhere,’ snapped Selina, resentful at Daphne’s lack of sympathy.
Daphne pursed her lips. ‘That sounds reasonable. So what are the other options? Can you afford to stay here?’
‘Probably not. I’m living on savings at the moment but when they’ve gone I’ll have to do something drastic’
‘Like what?’
‘Get a job, I suppose.’
Daphne did not look horrified at this proposal, there were no cries of ‘At your age? Oh, how unfair, it shouldn’t be expected of you!’ She simply straightened in her chair, her face alert.
‘What could you do?’ she asked brightly.
Selina stared at her. That first impulse to throw herself upon Daphne, to become a child again, seeking comfort and reassurance, was passing. Pride was reasserting itself.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered coldly. ‘It’s nearly thirty years since I was in the marketplace. I can’t imagine that there would be many openings for a woman of my age.’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Daphne, with an almost offensive heartiness. ‘Emily works, you know. She had to when Tim died. She had no choice.’
‘Emily’s younger than I am,’ said Selina sullenly.
‘She was when she started,’ agreed Daphne thoughtfully. ‘But she enjoys her work. The children are older, now, which makes it easier, but it was very difficult with the girls so young and Tim a baby.’
‘But she cooks, doesn’t she?’ Selina was reluctant to admire Emily too openly lest it invited unfavourable comparison. ‘She works from home.’
‘She started like that,’ said Daphne, ‘but she’s out much more these days, doing lunches and dinners and all sorts. She loves it but then Emily always got on very well with people.’
‘Of course it’s almost easier if your husband dies than if he leaves you, isn’t it?’
Daphne was silent. How like Hilda this was: it must always be easier for the other person, whatever their situation. Their terrors, disasters, anxieties must always be less dire, their triumphs less praiseworthy. Only Hilda—and now Selina—ever truly suffered. ‘Isn’t it typical!’ was their cry. ‘Isn’t it just my luck!’
‘I can’t quite see why,’ she answered at last, ‘unless you’re talking about pride. Naturally it’s embarrassing to admit that your husband—or wife—has left you, isn’t it? It sugg
ests an inadequacy on your part. Is that what you mean?’
‘Inadequacy?’
Daphne raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Wouldn’t you say so? Why else should he—or she—go? Nobody walks out of a happy, loving relationship voluntarily.’
‘Are you suggesting that it’s my fault that Patrick’s gone?’
‘Well, isn’t it?’
‘But I told you about Mary. That’s when all this started.’
‘Yes, you told me. But why was he attracted to her in the first place? What was missing in his relationship with you that he needed to look for it elsewhere?’
‘It was simply Patrick’s pathetic need for gratitude. His ego has to be bolstered up by being told he’s wonderful.’
‘Sounds like the rest of us,’ murmured Daphne. ‘And I gather that you resented supplying that need?’
‘Why should I?’ demanded Selina. ‘I’ve given him thirty years of support and he betrays me with a little tart and then leaves me. After everything I’ve done for him.’
‘What have you done for him?’
Selina shook her head with an expression which asked if Daphne was in her right mind. ‘I’ve supported him, brought up his children, run the home, taken all the responsibility. Patrick never had to think about anything but his job. Such as it was.’ Selina was flushed with righteous indignation. ‘And, even then, if it hadn’t been for Daddy’s generosity I’m not sure how we’d have survived.’
‘Sounds very businesslike,’ Daphne said judiciously. ‘The perfect wife and mother. Rather like a job description, isn’t it? But it tends to leave out the messy, human bits.’
‘What’s wrong with that? It works for decent people. It worked for my parents.’
‘Not altogether.’ Daphne’s calm voice belied her inward terror.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You are very like your mother, Selina. You keep to the letter of the law but it leaves out all the warmth and frailty and fun. Hilda was the same and, although your father was devoted to her, he needed some of that fun. Hilda rarely condemned or criticised, she was always correct, but her forgiveness was cold as charity; it could freeze sea water. Hector was different. He was infuriating, tiresome, overbearing, but he had a generosity and a kind of humility which made him great. Even he, honourable though he was, needed to breathe the ordinary air of the lesser mortals.’
‘If you mean Daddy was unfaithful to Mummy I don’t believe a word of it. He wasn’t like that.’
‘I don’t know what “like that” implies. There are so many areas of grey in a relationship. Your father certainly wasn’t promiscuous, he was like most of us are—human—and, like Patrick, he had a lapse.’
‘How would you know?’ asked Selina contemptuously.
‘Because he had it with me,’ said Daphne wearily.
They stared at each other across the table. Daphne held her trembling hands clenched in her lap but she kept her eyes fixed bravely on Selina’s.
‘I don’t believe you.’ But she did. Her face showed it.
‘He always regretted it.’ Daphne felt a compulsion to comfort. ‘It was at a bad time and he needed simple affection, uncomplicated fun. He wanted to be seen as Hector, not just as a provider.’ She was pleading now, wondering how she could have destroyed Selina’s trust so cruelly. ‘Hilda never knew.’
‘How could he do it to her?’
‘It wasn’t like that. Not premeditated. It just flared up out of nothing—’
‘And how could you do it? You were her best friend. Oh!’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘I loved him, you see.’ Daphne spoke quietly, rather as if she were talking to herself. ‘I loved him so much. Philip was rather like Hilda—punctilious, proper, kind, but there was no warmth, no hugs and silliness and ordinary fun. Hector and I were rather like brother and sister. No.’ She shook her head. ‘More like cousins. We could hug and joke and be silly but occasionally there was a flash of something else. I loved him, Selina.’
Selina raised her head. Her eyes were puzzled and Daphne was seized with guilt.
‘But you loved Mummy too. Didn’t it bother you at all?’
‘Oh, my dear child.’ Daphne almost laughed. ‘Have you never known that kind of passion? That mindlessness that sweeps everything before it? The kind of need that you’d sacrifice everything for gladly? No, clearly not. Well, it’s a sort of madness that possesses you and that’s the only excuse I can offer you. For a few days your father and I were mad together. If it’s any comfort, he never forgave himself. That’s what he was apologising for at the end. It was nothing to do with Maudie. It was me he was apologising for.’
Selina sat in silence, staring back into the past, adjusting her ideas.
‘And Mummy never knew?’ Daphne shook her head. ‘And how did you deal with it afterwards? Weren’t you tempted again?’
‘I was too busy having Emily,’ she said almost bitterly, ‘and Hector was too angry with me for it to happen again.’
Selina leaned forward. ‘What do you mean?’ she cried fearfully. ‘Do you mean Emily is Daddy’s child?’
Daphne looked at her compassionately. ‘She’s your half-sister,’ she said. ‘Your father was unable to acknowledge her. At least you know that. You can believe that because you know it to be true, Selina. Nobody ever guessed.’
Selina looked so shocked that Daphne filled up her glass for her. She took it mechanically and drank but she seemed dazed.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Daphne at last. ‘I simply didn’t know if I should tell you. It’s just that Emily is hoping that you’ll come out and stay with us. She was always very fond of you, Selina, as you know, but young Tim looks just like Posy did at that age, just like Hector, and I think it’s only fair that you should know.’
‘Emily knows, then?’
‘I told her when Philip died.’
‘What did she say?’
‘I wondered if she’d suspected something. She took it so calmly. Philip never guessed, of course, and she loved him very much, but she was always very fond of Hector and of you and Patricia.’
Selina’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Emily was like a little sister,’ she said. ‘I loved Emily …’
‘I hope you’ll go on doing it,’ said Daphne gently. ‘I can understand that you might not be able to forgive me but none of it was Emily’s fault.’
They sat in silence for a while. Selina felt as if she’d drifted from some safe, quiet mooring into a busy waterway and she was trying to take a bearing on her present position. Her head was dizzy with wine and shock, and presently she looked at Daphne.
‘I was thinking,’ Daphne said carefully, ‘if a visit to see us all might be good for you.’
Selina shook her head helplessly. How would she feel, visiting Emily, knowing her to be her half-sister, remembering what Daphne had said about her father; their father? How would she deal with it? Pride wearily raised its head.
She thought: But I was first. Daddy loved me. Emily never had that.
Somehow, though, she felt that, with Emily, it needn’t be important.
‘I keep wondering,’ she said, dully, too tired to think clearly, ‘whether Patrick might come home.’
‘I think he might.’ Daphne smiled encouragingly at her. ‘I think Patrick needed to feel useful. The Mary thing isn’t important—try to forget about it if you can—but this was a challenge, a crusade. After a year or so he might feel he’d like to come back. If you could cope with it. But wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t sitting and waiting? Don’t you think you’d feel more positive if you’d been getting on with your own life while he’s sorting himself out?’
‘What life?’
‘For a start you could come out to Canada. You could meet your nieces and nephew and you could see how Emily runs her business. After that delicious supper I must say that I think you could do worse than start your own little outfit.’
Selina stared at her. ‘Cooking, you
mean?’
‘Why not? There must be a tremendous demand for lunches and supper-parties in London. It’s quite a smart thing to do, isn’t it? And rather fun. Emily meets all sorts of famous people. You could see for yourself. She’d love it.’
‘I’d need to think about it.’
‘Well, naturally. We’ll talk about it again, over the weekend. That’s if you want me to stay.’
Selina took a deep breath in and let it out very slowly. ‘Yes, of course I do. I’m just rather … overwhelmed.’
‘Of course you are. I’m sorry, Selina.’
‘I think I’ll go to bed. My head is beginning to pound. Do you think you can find your own way around?’
She stood up, glancing about the kitchen as though puzzled that everything was still the same.
‘Go to bed,’ said Daphne gently. Til clear up. Tomorrow is another day.’
‘Thanks. Good night then.’
She went out and Daphne poured herself another glass of wine. It was done and the bond had not broken; strained, weakened, but not broken.
She thought: I must warn Emily that I’ve told her and that I’ve invited her to stay. I’m sure it was the right thing to do. Oh God, I am so tired.
She stood up, stiff after sitting for so long, and, moving slowly and painfully about the kitchen, began the process of clearing up.
Chapter Forty
‘The thing is,’ said Posy, as though it were the only thing in the world that could matter, ‘I love him.’
She stared at Maudie anxiously but with a determination which Maudie did not for a moment underestimate. She knew that she’d let Posy down, that Posy had counted on her total sympathy and support. Yet her desire to be at one with this beloved child, her fear of risking her love, struggled with a requirement to show Posy the whole picture.
‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ she said gently. ‘I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t marry him. It’s simply that you’ll be sacrificing your own career to his.’
A Week in Winter: A Novel Page 35