'Oh, no, but I've left my small weekend case. I'm going on to Stretton.' As the Morgan pulled up he asked:
'How are you getting there? You should have told me you'd got a journey ahead of you.'
'It's not far.' She looked at her watch. 'There's a bus at five past six. I'm in plenty of time,' and seeing his face she added quickly: 'If the buses aren't running because of the snow I'm to ring up my father and he'll try and fetch me. I'm sure they are, though, and if I go by bus I'll be able to study the script.'
Adam insisted on taking her to the bus station and they pulled up just as the Stretton driver was climbing into his cab. As Adam reached for her case, Liz said hurriedly:
'Adam, will you come over to us tomorrow? I mean… that is, if you haven't anything else planned?' She got out and walked round the car. 'We've always got extra food in at Christmas and one more isn't going to make any difference.' He slammed the Morgan door shut and they began to walk towards the bus.
'That's very kind of you, Elizabeth, but I'm sure your mother wouldn't agree with you.' The bus started up.
'She thrives on it, and you can always wash up, if it'll make you feel any better. Do say you'll come.' Liz stepped up on to the platform and Adam handed over the suitcase, saying slowly:
'Your offer is very tempting.'
'Good,' said Liz promptly, 'that's settled, then. Oh, thanks, fancy forgetting the script!' The conductor brushed past her, grinning. 'Any time after twelve,' she added quickly.
'Come on, me duck, give the poor chap his kiss and let's be off. Can't wait about all day,' the conductor said cheekily.
Liz thought, what the hell, it's Christmas, and leaning forward gave Adam his kiss, saying: 'A sisterly initiation into the family circle,' and then the bell pinged and she rushed inside, deliberately ignoring the interest of the other passengers. Looking through the window as the bus trundled past, she gave a small, tentative wave, receiving a brief acknowledgement in return.
But the script remained unopened on her lap all the way to Stretton. She could not forget the image of Adam, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, standing by the Morgan in the beam of a solitary street lamp. In the fleeting glance as the bus half-circled and passed by, she had seen an Adam Carlyon new to her, one she did not recognise or want to accept… could not accept. She sighed and impatiently wiped the misty window, peering out into the darkness, watching the grey-white countryside flash by. Sure she had imagined it? She was tired… she could have imagined it. Why, she asked herself reasonably, why should Adam Carlyon, of all people, need to be comforted? Because that was what she had wanted to do. She had seen his face and had wanted to leap off the bus and run to comfort him. How mad! How ridiculous! She almost laughed out loud as she visualised the look on his face if she had done so. Cool, calm, confident Adam Carlyon. Arrogant, domineering, brilliant Adam Carlyon. But the adjectives did nothing to dispel the memory of that unguarded moment before their eyes met, before the mask was back in place and the usual inscrutable Adam raised his hand in a casual salute before disappearing out of sight as the bus drove away.
During the rest of the journey she examined all possible explanations and came up with the logical conclusion that he was missing Louise. It was with relief that she abandoned her thoughts and watched the familiar village square come into view and with it her father, waiting for her, a welcoming smile on his face, and Liz ran to him, demanding and getting the unspoken comfort she had so longed to give to Adam Carlyon. Liz helped her mother in the kitchen during the evening, preparing for the next day. The panto script was propped up in front of her and while her hands automatically topped the brussels sprouts, she chanted:
' "What's happened to Humpty is not so bad, so hush now, children, don't be sad. We will follow his adventures through lollypop land, and…" Drat, I can never remember the next bit,' she said crossly, peering at the page and pushing the hair out of her eyes with a wet hand.
'How big is this part, Liz?' her mother asked anxiously.
'Not very large,' said Liz, with an assurance she did not really feel. 'Who's coming tomorrow?'
'For dinner, Judy and immediate family, and in the evening as many of the others as can, but the weather may keep some away. That's seven adults round the table for…'
'Eight,' broke in Liz. 'I hope you don't mind, Mum, but I've asked Adam Carlyon for dinner. He's been stranded in Queensbridge.'
Her mother's reaction was as Liz had predicted.
'Poor man, of course I don't mind. What's one extra? Mm… perhaps you'd better do a few more potatoes.'
Liz laughed. 'I shall do no such thing. We could feed an army with what I've done already!' she protested.
'Was anyone else stranded?'
'No. Martin was the only other person I'd thought of, but he was already committed to going to his brother's or else I think he'd have jumped at an invite.' Liz tipped the sprouts into a pan. 'There, that's it, I think. I'll take my case up now.'
'You'll find your bedroom rather a squeeze. I've put a cot I've borrowed for Emma in there.'
'I'll manage,' replied Liz, and made her way upstairs.
A pang of nostalgia always hit her every time she entered her room. Nothing had changed. There were still the theatrical and film photographs, some signed, some not, pinned round the walls, and Liz's golliwog was squatting, rather forlornly, on a chair by the bed. Sitting down, Liz frowned, and thought about what she could do for a present for Adam. There was already a large pile of gaily coloured parcels under the huge decorated tree, and Liz could not bear the thought of him surrounded by the family, all opening presents and there being nothing for him. He wouldn't mind, of course, men don't, but she would. As she gazed round the room for inspiration, her eyes flitted from object to object. Suddenly she saw the very thing. Lifting it down from the wall, she found a clean handkerchief and dusted the picture carefully. A small watercolour, painted by a local artist, it was of the old Queensbridge Opera House which, for many years, combined its services to both drama and musical shows. Wrapping the painting in Christmas paper, Liz went down and slipped it secretly under the tree, together with her other gifts, giving a rather guilty jump as her mother came into the room.
'I'm sure that bird is more than twenty pounds, Liz, or else it's just being awkward! I've had such a job getting it into the oven.'
'Well, if you hear sounds in the night, Mum, ignore them. It will only be the turkey trying to get out.'
'Sometimes, Lizzie, I think your imagination works overtime. Has your father gone up? Oh, dear, I'd better check that I've turned the oven down,' and her mother hurried back into the kitchen.
'You know you'll find that you did,' Liz called after her.
'You're quite right,' her mother agreed as she returned, 'but I have to make sure. Now then, Lizzie, leave that wretched script downstairs. You'll not take in any more tonight.'
Liz yawned her agreement.
She awoke slowly on Christmas Day to smell the delicious aroma of turkey permeating the house.
'Happy Christmas, Mum, Dad.' she said gaily, kissing her parents in turn and joining them at the breakfast table.
'Good lord,' said her father in mock surprise, 'I didn't recognise you in a dress. Where's your paint-smeared jeans we're normally honoured with?' Liz peeped the tip of her tongue at him.
'Laurence, behave. You look very nice, Lizzie,' approved her mother, passing over a cup of tea. 'That shade of blue suits you.' Which happily confirmed Liz's own opinion, for it was a new dress bought specially for the day. 'How did you sleep, dear?'
'Quite well,' Liz answered, digging into bacon and eggs. 'Apart from when I dreamed there were fairies flying around the room on huge plucked turkeys. Yes, you can laugh.
That wasn't so bad, but it ended up with me having the usual nightmare of being on stage and not knowing a damn word… and at this particular moment, that's too near the truth to be funny!'
'You'll be all right, Liz,' her father said reassuringly, 'You'v
e always been good at comedy and you like children and they like you. Just remember you're doing it for the kids.'
'I will, Dad, thanks,' said Liz thoughtfully. 'It will be like telling Emma a story, won't it?' and feeling slightly better, she got ready for church. When they came back, Helen and John arrived.
'Just look what John's bought for Emma,' exclaimed an amused Helen. 'And he would insist on bringing it with us, despite the fact that Emma's only really interested in the wrapping paper at the moment. It's like having another baby in the house.'
John sheepishly came in, holding Emma under one arm and a huge teddy bear under the other.
'Put the fairy lights on, Laurence,' said Mrs Browning, taking her granddaughter over to the Christmas tree. 'There! Pretty lights,' and Emma smiled appreciatively.
'The tree does bring back happy memories,' said Helen nostalgically. 'See, Lizzie, here's the angel I always begged to play with.'
'And did, when you thought I wasn't looking,' her mother commented.
'It's funny how small and ordinary they look now,' Liz said rather wistfully. 'Come and help me lay the table, Helen, like old times.'
'How many places?' Helen asked, following Liz into the dining room.
'Eight, not counting Emma. You have brought her car seat, haven't you?'
'Eight?' questioned Helen, counting on her fingers. 'Seven, surely?'
'Adam Carlyon is number eight.'
Her sister swung round and stared. 'I thought he was in London with Louise?'
'Well, he's not,' said Liz, and explained the situation.
'Poor Adam! The weather and 'flu have really messed up his Christmas. Still, at least Louise understands the odds.
How disappointing for them both.' She placed the candle arrangement carefully in the centre of the table. 'As far as the good fairy goes, I won't say don't worry, because you will, but I'll go over the words with you this afternoon, if you want me to.'
The front door bell chimed while Helen was speaking and now voices could be heard from the hall.
'That sounds as though the others have all arrived together,' and Helen left the room. Liz carefully straightened the already perfectly placed cutlery and, after a few moments, followed her. The lounge seemed to be full of people, all busy unwrapping parcels. Oohs and aahs competed with thank-yous and kisses and the floor soon became covered with paper and boxes. Judy hugged Liz and whispered:
'Merry Christmas, Liz, and thank you for the lovely mittens, they'll keep me beautifully warm.'
A box tied with ribbon, was handed to Liz by the human chain stretching from the tree, and when she opened it, she gave a gasp of pleasure.
'Lizzie dear, that is pretty,' her mother said, appearing at her side. 'It looks like Sevres.'
'Yes, it is,' said Liz, reading the card and adding in a carefully controlled voice: 'It's from Adam.'
'How nice of him,' her mother said placidly. 'He's brought me the most beautiful azalea, which now I come to think of it, I ought to take out of this warm room,' and she hurried away.
Liz made her way through the family and found Adam standing in the alcove studying the books in a floor-to-ceiling bookcase.
'Happy Christmas, Adam.'
He swung round and smiled. 'Happy Christmas, Elizabeth.'
Liz held the bowl carefully in the open palm of her hand.
'Adam, thank you, it's beautiful.'
'I'm glad it's pleased you,' he answered, searching her face as if for reassurance.
'It has,' she replied shyly.
'And I must thank you for your charming painting.' He looked quizzically at her. 'I think a brotherly kiss would be in keeping,' he suggested. 'We don't need the excuse of mistletoe, do we?'
When Liz was released, she gasped: 'That was… brotherly?'
'Well, no,' he admitted, dark eyes smiling into startled blue ones. 'But then I haven't had much practice being brotherly. I might get better.'
'I doubt it,' said a flustered Liz. 'Er—I think Mother wants us for dinner.'
After a suitable amount of time, a walk was suggested as a combat to turkey and pudding and with the grandparents looking after Emma, the three couples wrapped up warmly and set out along the country lane, talking and arguing amicably, ending up an hour later with a vigorous snowball fight, which left them warm, glowing and wet.
At six o'clock Judy made a reluctant farewell and Simon drove her back to town, returning in a rather disgruntled mood with their cousin Antonia. By the bright, mischievous look on Antonia's face as they walked in, the journey to Stretton had been lively. As she grinningly said to Liz, when questioned:
'University lecturers have to be taken down a peg or two, otherwise they become full of their own importance.'
'One of these days Simon will forget he's been well brought up,' Liz laughingly warned her.
'Lizzie darling, do you really think so?' exclaimed the unsquashable Antonia.
Emma was put to bed and gradually the house filled with friends and relations who had decided to brave the snow. The garage, which had been cleared, became the hub of young and not-so-young activity, with hilarious games of progressive table tennis and round-the-board darts. In the house there were card games for the addicted and the usual charades. And through it all Liz was conscious of Adam Carlyon fitting into the scheme of things as if he was a main stem of the family party and not just an accidental off-shoot. During a lull, sandwiches and mince pies were brought round and when everyone had their second wind the piano came into its own. The session ended with Uncle Arthur giving his yearly rendering of Bless this House. Liz, standing next to Antonia, whispered:
'Any other time this song sounds as corny as a breakfast cereal, but on this day, with all the family around, it always brings a lump to my throat.'
Antonia nodded her smiling agreement as they both joined in with the singing.
'If Emma can sleep through that lot, she can sleep through anything!' exclaimed Helen when the piano was reluctantly closed and everyone began their goodbyes.
'Are you coming back with me, Toni, or going with your parents?' asked Simon, putting on his coat.
'Need the dear boy ask?' Antonia demanded of Liz. 'A Stag versus a Ford Pop!'
'Well, I can't get out yet, there are cars blocking the way. But make sure you're ready when I can, or else you'll be left,' Simon ordered with a decided glint in his eyes.
'Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir,' bleated Antonia, and giving Liz a quick hug, went to do her round of farewells.
Helen and John left with a still sleeping Emma, and Liz went upstairs to fetch the rest of the coats. As she came down again she heard her mother saying:
'I think that's a very good idea, Adam,' and seeing Liz, continued: 'Oh, Lizzie, there you are, dear. Adam's offered to give you a lift back to The Laurels tonight.'
'Tonight?'
'I'm not sure when I can get someone to go over the dance routine with you, Elizabeth. I couldn't reach anyone today,' he explained. 'It may be that the morning is the most convenient.'
'And it's beginning to snow again. You might get stuck over here,' her mother added, looking concerned.
'I hadn't thought about that,' Liz admitted. 'Yes, perhaps it would be better if I went back to town. I'll go and get my things, I won't be long,' and she ran back up the stairs.
Humming happily to herself, she quickly packed her case, carefully placing the Sevres bowl in her handbag. On her return she found Adam shrugging himself into his sheepskin jacket.
'I've said goodnight to your parents. I'll just go and warm up the Morgan while you say your goodbyes.'
During the drive home Adam talked and Liz listened. It was as if the day spent surrounded by her family unleashed his own childhood memories. She heard of his early years in the theatre, first as an actor, gaining considerable acclaim, and then getting the chance to produce and deciding that that was where his future lay. She imagined rather than was told of the early struggles and he made her laugh when relating some amusi
ng theatrical anecdotes.
'I'm rather fortunate,' he said musingly, 'that I'm a person who isn't compelled to have possessions. I have them, of course. I have a kindly godfather who allows me to park my few bits and pieces in his spare room, and there they will remain until I finally set up home and stay more or less in one place.'
'And when… do you think that will be?' asked Liz.
There was slight hesitation as if her question had thrown him off balance and then he said thoughtfully:
'As I'm getting older I admit the urge to take root gets stronger. Chance, fate, call it what you will, also takes a hand, and although nothing in life is certain,' he gave a short laugh, 'I hope to be able to enjoy my few possessions in the not too distant future. There'll be the devil's own row if I can't.'
The rest of the journey was made in comparative silence; the lightly falling snow necessitating Adam's complete concentration. As for Liz… she had asked and been answered.
The Laurels was in complete darkness when they approached and Adam switched off the engine and cruised to a halt. He turned to her, saying:
'You have a wonderful family, Elizabeth.'
'I'm glad…' she swallowed, 'I'm glad you think so, Adam.'
Leaning over, he kissed her gently. 'Thank you for taking pity on me,' he said softly. 'Goodnight, Elizabeth.'
'Goodnight,' she echoed.
The Morgan waited until a light showed in the first-floor window, and then with a quick burst of life accelerated gently away, rising to a crescendo as it disappeared into the distance.
Liz drew back the curtains and gazed out of her bedroom window. The sky was clear again, the white trees surrounding the house giving a ghostly outline. She shivered suddenly and crept into bed. The Sevres bowl was placed on the dressing-table in easy view. The card was under her pillow and she did not need to look at it to know what it said, she could remember it quite clearly, the handwriting strong and distinctive. "Elizabeth, from Adam. With love." Five words. Surely Louise would not begrudge her the teeny, tiny bit of love that went with the gift? She was sorry if Louise did, of course, but she fully intended keeping it.
Dear Villain Page 18