The Colours of Love

by Rita Bradshaw

  Theobald let himself relax against the pillows again; he mustn’t think of Mabel and her sisters for the time being. The stimulus was causing his heart to race, and Dr Martin had said that he had to rest and not exert himself in any way.

  The doctor had given him a spoonful of the medication he was going to leave with Mrs Norton, before he had left the room, and now Theobald began to feel the powerful sedative taking effect. He shut his eyes, a feeling of well-being stealing over him, despite the circumstances. Esther would accompany Monty back here, he was sure of it. Women were a different species from men; they set store by deathbed reunions, and the like. It would take a hard woman to refuse the wish of a dying man, and although Esther was headstrong and difficult and contentious, she wasn’t hard. Or she hadn’t been, when she was growing up anyway. Too emotional and fiery by half of course, but at the time he had attributed that side of her personality to his own mother, who had been something of a tartar behind closed doors.

  His lips compressed at the reminder of how completely he had been fooled, and then he shrugged mentally. No matter. He could still accomplish what he wanted, if he played this stroke card to its fullest potential. Esther back here, where he could keep an eye on her; her child deposited in a boarding school – a good boarding school, he wouldn’t stint on that, but he would make sure it was where she would be out of sight and mind, Switzerland perhaps, or Italy – and Monty jumping through whatever hoops he needed his son-in-law to jump through.

  Theobald smiled to himself. He would see to it that this divorce idea was consigned to the past within weeks, or his name wasn’t Theobald Wynford.

  He must have slept, because it was late evening when Dr Martin left and, when he next opened his eyes, Osborne was gently shaking his shoulder and saying, ‘Mrs Wynford-Grant is here, sir, and waiting to see you. They arrived last night, but it was decided not to disturb your sleep.’ Bright sunlight was streaming into the room.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half-past seven, sir. Mrs Norton dared not leave giving you your medication any longer. Dr Martin was most specific that it must be given exactly to his timetable.’

  Theobald would have told his butler exactly where the good doctor could insert his timetable, but, remembering the part he was playing, he murmured weakly, ‘Thank you, Osborne,’ causing his butler’s mouth to drop open for a moment. In all the years he had worked for Theobald Wynford, he had never been thanked for one service that he had done for his master. As he said later to Mrs Norton in the privacy of her sitting room, ‘Long may the master be ailing, if this is the result.’ Neither of them was blind or deaf to what they termed ‘the master’s shenanigans’, either, and much as they would have liked to leave Theobald’s employ, they were both aware that at their age another position would be almost impossible to come by, especially with the sort of reference Theobald would be likely to give them. But maybe there would be an end to all that now, they agreed. And not before time.

  It was twenty minutes later when Mrs Norton showed Esther into the room. Theobald had been washed and shaved by Osborne, and was sitting propped up in bed, looking as pathetic as he could manage. He had purposely refused any breakfast, although he was starving, knowing this would be duly reported back. He’d also refrained from adding a good measure of whisky, from the bottle he kept on his bedside cabinet, to his morning cup of tea, as was his custom. It wouldn’t do for Esther to smell alcohol on his breath.

  As though it took tremendous effort, he murmured breathlessly, ‘Esther, m’dear. You came.’

  Esther stared at the man she had never liked, even when she had believed him to be her father. One of her earliest memories was of Theobald barging about the house shouting and swearing and bullying the servants. He had been feared by every member of his household, including his wife, but his blistering verbal assaults and ranting and raving had never intimidated her. And he had known this. It hadn’t stopped him trying to break her spirit, however, on a number of occasions when she had lived under his charge. But he had never succeeded.

  The thought brought her head up and raised her chin, and she looked every inch the grand lady, despite the ordinary clothes she was wearing, when she said coolly, ‘Yes, I came. I am sorry to find you so unwell.’

  ‘Come . . . come and sit by . . . me.’ Theobald was careful to gasp and mumble his words.

  Esther hesitated. She didn’t want to approach the bed; in fact she didn’t want to be in the same room as Theobald, but she could hardly refuse such a simple request. And he did seem a shadow of his former self. Quietly she sat down in the armchair next to the big four-poster bed. ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘Pain?’ For a moment he wondered what to say, and then decided to tell the truth. ‘N-no. Ju-just tired. Very tired.’ With a gasping breath that he was proud of, he slowly murmured, ‘Wanted to s-see you. Make things’ – he shut his eyes and opened them on a rasping sigh – ‘right between us.’

  Esther wanted nothing more than to get up and run out of the room, and keep running until she was far from this place she had once called home. There was no doubt that he was ill, but something – and she didn’t know what – was making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Perhaps it was the spectre of death that she was sensing? she asked herself. Certainly something disturbing. She had questioned both Osborne and Mrs Norton before coming into the room, and both individuals had reiterated all that Monty had told her.

  ‘Dr Martin says he could go any time, ma’am,’ Mrs Norton had whispered, as though Theobald was capable of hearing her, downstairs in the breakfast room. ‘You can never tell with cases like this, he said. Some linger, and some go out “poof!” – like a light. Mind, some get better an’ all, ma’am, as I said to Dr Martin. My sister-in-law was told to let the Co-op know – they’d got a savings card with them, for their funerals – that our Bart was on his way out, when he had his stroke, but two months later he was back on his milk round. Mind you, he couldn’t hold the reins in his left hand like he used to, but old Tess, the horse, she knew the way round them streets without any encouragement. Lovely gentle thing, she was.’

  Osborne had coughed discreetly at this point and so the story of Mrs Norton’s brother had ended, but it had left Esther uneasy. She had been told by Monty that Theobald was dying, and she wanted to make her peace with him and leave; nothing more complicated than that.

  Theobald had thought very carefully about his next words and he had got them off pat. Slowly, his halting voice little more than a whisper, he murmured, ‘I’m sorry for the way I was when the baby came. It’ – he took a seemingly laboured breath – ‘it was the shock, and then Harriet saying what she did knocked me for six. The thing is’ – another tortured breath – ‘if I ever loved anyone, it was you. You . . . were my pride and joy, and to find out I wasn’t your father . . . ’ He forced moisture into his eyes. ‘But now I understand it isn’t just the conception of a child that . . . that makes her yours. It’s the looking after when they’re . . . here in the world. And I did that, lass. I looked after you.’

  Esther swallowed hard. She felt completely out of her depth. This wasn’t the same man who had bellowed and bullied his way through life. Helplessly she shook her head. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘You’re my daughter.’ Theobald was gratified to find he could squeeze out a tear. ‘In . . . in every way that matters.’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself.’ She couldn’t bring herself to touch him, but her voice was soft.

  ‘I need to . . . to make you understand.’

  ‘I do understand.’

  ‘And . . . and do you forgive me?’ he asked pathetically.

  What else could she do but say ‘yes’? ‘Yes, I forgive you, and I know it must have been hard for you to hear the truth, but I do believe Mother thought what she did was for the best. She knew how much you wanted a child.’

  Theobald closed his eyes, worried they might reveal his true feelings. ‘I know, I know and’ – feebly he looked at her
again – ‘she wouldn’t have wanted us to remain estranged. Esther, will you stay until . . . until it happens? I . . . I don’t want to die without my family around me, and you are my daughter; that’s how I feel.’

  This was awful, awful. What if he lingered, as Mrs Norton had said? In turmoil, she finally murmured, ‘I can only stay for a little while. I have a job – responsibilities.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Closing his eyes again, he said, ‘I’m tired, so tired,’ and pretended to drift off to sleep.

  He heard Esther stand to her feet after a couple of minutes and knew she was looking down at him. He wasn’t aware of her walking across the room, but he heard the door open and then close, and when all was silent for some moments more, he cautiously opened his eyes. She had gone.

  So far, so good, he said to himself. Osborne had told him she had brought her brat with her, so the next time she came into the room he’d win her round further by asking to see it. When he thought of Esther’s child, it was always as an ‘it’.

  The bedroom door opened and Monty came tiptoeing in. Theobald waited until his son-in-law was standing by the bed before he said, ‘She’s staying for a while. Did she tell you?’

  Monty’s eyes widened for a moment. Theobald had spoken in a stronger voice than he had expected. He was further surprised when his father-in-law levered himself into a sitting position in the bed, using his left arm as well as his right. According to Osborne, Theobald hadn’t been able to eat anything and was as helpless as a kitten, and Esther had seemed to think the same. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  Theobald ignored this. ‘I said: did she tell you she’s agreed to stay?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘Esther? Yes, yes, she mentioned it when she came downstairs.’

  ‘Good. Now listen to me. We can use this to our advantage, but I don’t want you messing it up, understand? She’s here, and that lout she’s taken up with is miles away, so now is your chance to win her round. Don’t rush in like a bull in a china shop, but woo her. Do you hear me?’

  Monty stared into the swarthy face as realization dawned. Theobald might have had some kind of seizure, a small stroke perhaps, but he was not at death’s door as he had led everyone – including him – to believe. Stiffly he said, ‘How ill are you exactly?’

  ‘To hell with how ill I am. I’m as ill as I need to be to knock this divorce business on the head, and get Esther back here where she belongs. If you come up to scratch, there’s no reason why you can’t be living as man and wife in the near future.’

  ‘She’d never agree to that.’

  Theobald ground his teeth. If ever life had thrown up an ineffectual sop, it was Monty. Tersely he bit out, ‘Make her.’

  Monty blinked. ‘How?’

  ‘For crying out loud!’ The man needed a red-hot poker up his backside to get him energized. ‘She was barmy about you once, man. Like I said: woo her, promise her the earth, make her believe she’s the centre of your universe. Court her, like you did before.’

  ‘She’s a different woman now.’

  ‘Then adapt.’

  ‘I tell you, it won’t work,’ said Monty in a level tone.

  ‘It had better.’ Theobald’s eyes were as hard as iron. ‘You do all right out of me, and don’t you forget it. Where else would you live in luxury and get paid an inordinate amount for doing precious little? A trained monkey would do a better job than you, and we both know it. This isn’t 1846; it’s 1946, and the days of the idle rich lording it over their estates are fast coming to an end. You were born at the wrong time, Monty; and don’t forget the only thing you have left of value is your name, and the doors it opens for me. But I can do without you, if I have to.’

  Monty’s face was white, but he said nothing, as Theobald had known he wouldn’t. The two men stared at each other for a moment more, contempt in Theobald’s face and something approaching hatred in Monty’s. Then Theobald said softly, ‘Now go and do what you’re told. And the next time you come in here, bring Esther and your daughter with you. Start acting like a husband and father, and you might just make her believe you can manage to be one.’

  It was later that evening when Theobald saw Joy for the first time since her birth. Dr Martin had paid a visit that morning, privately expressing his surprise to Esther and Monty – once he had left the sickroom and come downstairs – that his patient was still with them. ‘It must be the boost of seeing you again, m’dear,’ the doctor said to Esther. ‘It’s amazing how the mind can heal the body, and I know he was anxious to set things right. He’s more than holding his own now, which I wouldn’t have thought possible yesterday. Of course he is still a sick man, and with things of this nature one never knows if the same problem might happen again, but for the present I am encouraged. Yes, indeed.’

  Esther had taken Joy to the estate farm that afternoon. Monty had told her one of the sheepdogs had had puppies, which the little girl might like to see. As Esther had sat in the barn where the bitch and puppies were, watching Joy play with the tiny animals, Dr Martin’s words had resounded in her ears. Encouraged. She supposed she ought to be pleased that Theobald might not die, but at the moment all she could think of was the delay in getting back to Caleb. That and the fact that she couldn’t rid herself of the notion there was a dark presence brooding over the house.

  But she was being silly. She nodded mentally at the thought. Of course she was going to feel strange, coming back to the home where she had lived for the first seventeen years of her life before joining the Land Army and which she had finally left in such traumatic circumstances, once and for all, after Joy’s birth and the shocking revelations by the woman she had always thought of as her mother. On the way here she had hoped that, in returning, she would be able to lay to rest the ghosts that had been with her since that time, but she doubted that now. She felt more perturbed, if anything. And somehow, being back in the place where Harriet had told her about her real parents, the longing to find her roots, and the people she had come from, was growing stronger. She hadn’t had time to think about that side of things too much before now; not with the war and her work as a Land Girl, whilst also being a mother, then meeting Caleb and, recently, moving to Sunderland. But this afternoon the longing to know more was so strong it made her chest ache.

  Monty had come to join them after an hour or so, when he had finished talking to Neil Harley about certain farm business, and the three of them had walked back to the big house together in the warm May sunshine, with Joy swinging between them as they strolled along. Anyone observing them would think they were a young couple out for an afternoon walk, without a care in the world, Esther thought, glancing at Monty’s handsome face. He caught her glance and smiled at her, the sunshine turning his fair hair into a halo. And it could have been like this, but for Harriet unknowingly throwing a time-bomb into their midst, a time-bomb that was inside her genes and which had manifested itself when Joy was born. Esther had no doubt that if Joy had been white, then the truth would never have come out, and Harriet would have taken her secret to the grave. But fate had cast the dice instead.

  They had almost reached the house when Monty had murmured, ‘Theobald wants to see his granddaughter, if you have no objection?’

  ‘She isn’t—’ Esther had stopped. Her voice had been too shrill. More quietly she’d said, ‘You know she isn’t his granddaughter, Monty, any more than I am his daughter.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it would please him.’

  And now they were on the landing outside Theobald’s suite of rooms, and Esther found she didn’t want to take her daughter inside. She glanced down at Joy, who was holding her hand, and Joy smiled up at her, her limpid green eyes with their thick lashes dancing as she said, ‘Poorly man, Mummy. Shush!’

  ‘Yes, darling. Poorly man, so we have to be quiet.’ She had told Joy this when she had explained to the child that they were going to see the man who owned this house they were staying in. He was someone Mummy had known when she was just a small girl, like Joy was now,
she had continued, when her daughter had stared at her, wide-eyed. And because he was poorly, Mummy had decided to pay him a visit.

  ‘To help make him better?’ Joy had asked trustingly. Her mummy always made a cut finger or a grazed knee better for her.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Esther had smiled down into the beautiful little face. ‘We’ll have to see.’

  ‘Seeing you will certainly help,’ Monty said, over-heartily, behind them. If Esther had but known, he was experiencing a similar feeling to her. Now that they were standing outside Theobald’s door, he regretted persuading Esther to bring the child to Theobald. They had taken afternoon tea together, when they had got back from the farm, and he had kept up a gentle but compelling argument on Theobald’s behalf, but suddenly he had the desire to tell Esther everything: that Theobald wasn’t as ill as he was pretending to be; that the old man was using his indisposition to blackmail Esther into staying; that she couldn’t trust a word he said.

  Esther turned to look at Monty. ‘Are you sure it’s the right thing to do, to take Joy in to see him? It won’t be too much for him?’