She stopped for want of breath, and Alexander said, ‘Miss Morgan, at this moment I don’t know anybody I’m more pleased to see than you and your friend there’ – he nodded towards Joe – ‘because you’ve filled in the great gap of her life. And, do you know, twice she has said the name Bella.’
‘Has she?’ Bella’s face was a-beam now.
‘Yes, it was as if she missed you.’
‘Would . . . will I be able to see her?’
‘Of course. You’ll be very welcome. I’m sure you’ve got a long tale to tell us, and I’ve got, I can assure you, Miss Morgan, a longer and more terrible tale to tell you.’
Her face drained of colour. She looked at him and said, ‘Aye, I bet you have, sir. I knew something terrible must have happened in her early life because she used to go into spasms at the mention of a name or a word that seemed to recall some terrible past. Her body would go into contortions as if she was fighting somebody.’
‘And indeed she was, Miss Morgan. But you’ll know all about it later. Now, I’m not going to ask you if you would like a cup of tea here, I’m going to take you to my sister’s nursing home where you’ll be made more than welcome, I can assure you. And there you will see your—’
‘I call her my lass.’
‘Well, you’ll see your lass.’
He rang a bell, and when Miss Fairweather entered he said, ‘I am going with these good friends to my sister’s, Miss Fairweather. And when Mr James comes back, tell him to come straight along, will you, please?’
‘Yes, Mr Armstrong.’
He took his hat and coat from a hallstand near the door, and led them out, down the stairs and into the hall. There he paused. ‘Will you just wait one tick, I forgot to tell my secretary something.’
At this he went back up the stairs and surprised Miss Fairweather by going to her desk and saying in a low voice, ‘I’ve left quite a number of letters I’ve already drafted on the desk. Some others I haven’t got down to yet, but they’re not very important and you’ll know how to deal with them. Will you see to them for me?’
‘Of course, Mr Armstrong. Don’t you worry, just leave them to me.’
‘Thank you, Miss Fairweather.’ He patted her arm then left her with a strange look on her face. He would have been surprised if he had seen her eyes turn to her arm where he had laid his hand, for it was the first time he had made such a gesture to her in all the long years she had worked for him.
Bella could not believe all this was happening to her and Joe. Wait till she told the others! The car was a large one, though she did not appreciate the luxury of it for she was so taken up with the fact that in a short while she would see her lass. The words kept repeating themselves in her mind: she would see her lass . . .
The lady who was introduced to her as the solicitor’s sister was kindness itself. She took them both into a fine sitting room, where she informed them that before they did any visiting they must have a cup of tea and a little talk with her and her brother.
The little talk filled Glenda and Alexander with astonishment. For twenty-six years this little woman had looked after Irene. They could hardly believe it, nor that the poor dear thing had lived in a house for years and years without going out of its doors. But was it any more astounding than the life the patient was revealing to them all bit by bit, demonstrating the time she had suffered under that brute, that filthy brute of a man, who was now a multi-millionaire and sitting comfortably in his mansion?
When Glenda opened the bedroom door, Richard rose to his feet from the side of the bed and stared at the little woman and the tall fellow by her side, and exclaimed softly, ‘Bella?’
She stared at him: this was Carl’s doctor, Dr Baindor, whose name had knocked her lass into one of her turns. Baindor. This, then, was the boy, the son. She thrust out a hand towards him and he grasped it; then he put his finger to his lips and pointed to the chair. She sat down, still looking at him, before she turned slowly to the bed and looked at the face that was lying there. That dear, dear face, but how different: the long plaits hanging down each side of her shoulders, the pretty nightdress, the long sleeves ending in frills at the wrists. Gently, she lifted up the thin hand from the counterpane and held it almost reverently against her breast.
Slowly the eyes opened and to her utmost delight there was recognition in them, and her name came out quite clearly, though slightly huskily. ‘Bella. Oh, Bella.’
The arms lifted and were about her neck, and she was enfolding her lass, crying as she did so, ‘Oh, my lass! Oh, my love! To see you here lookin’ so lovely! I’ve been so terribly worried. I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Bella. Bella.’
‘Yes, I’m your Bella. I’ll always be your Bella.’
Then the face below hers turned and looked at the man standing to the side of the bed, and Irene said, ‘My son.’
‘Yes, lass, your son.’ Bella was looking up into Richard’s face and she said, ‘I can’t believe it, but I always knew she had a child somewhere;’ and turning back to Irene, she said, ‘Remember the teddy bear?’
‘Teddy bear.’ Those words were clear too.
‘You hugged it and rocked it, and I knew then you had a child.’
Bending down to his mother, Richard said softly, ‘Bella and I have met before. I look after one of her boys. You know . . . Carl.’
‘Carl. Oh, dear Carl.’ The name, too, was clear.
‘Bella came to visit him.’
‘Carl here?’
‘Not here, Mother, in the hospital.’
Irene looked at Bella and, lifting one hand, she stroked her cheek, saying as she did so, ‘Kind. Kind.’
‘And who wouldn’t be kind to you, lass? Who wouldn’t? The lads’ll be overjoyed. Joe’s here.’ Bella looked over her shoulder. ‘Joe! Come and say hello.’
Irene now looked up into the big rough face, and the smile came to her lips again and she said, ‘Joe.’
‘Yes,’ put in Bella, ‘Joe and Carl. They were pals. Always pals.’
‘Lovely to see you, Reenee . . . ‘tis,’ said Joe. ‘By! We’ve missed you.’ Then, bending closer to her, he said, ‘Worn my shoes down lookin’ for you.’
The lips went higher up into a smile. Then Glenda’s quiet voice broke in on them: ‘I would let her rest now.’
After they had left the room, Richard sat by the bed, and Irene, looking at him, said, ‘Bella . . . so kind, so kind,’ and he answered softly, ‘Yes, I’m sure she is, my dear; and she loves you.’
Irene’s eyelids drooped and there was a smile on her lips as once again she drifted into sleep.
It had been agreed between Alexander, James and Glenda that before he approached his father Richard should talk to Jackie and give her the full picture, because although the result of the interview might not alter his choice of profession, it would certainly affect his way of living. The old swine would definitely cut him off without a penny.
They imagined they all knew exactly how Jackie would react, but it was better, they thought, that it should be put to her, so here he was at the station, greeting her from the train.
After their warm embrace Richard said, ‘May we go to your flat?’
‘Yes, of course; but what about yours?’
‘I . . . I don’t want to go back there.’
When she glanced sideways at him, he said, ‘It will all be made plain to you shortly.’
‘Well, I hope so; you’ve had me worried for the last fortyeight hours.’
‘How did you get on?’
‘Well, I suppose you could say the interview was successful but to sit for two solid hours in the company of a man who has the intelligence of a rabbit and an ego the size of an elephant, there you have my answer. I suppose he was born with a photographic mind and at school he could read through a book and remember every page of it, so was dubbed one of the clever clogs, and he has built on that. He could tell me every law that has been passed since 1066, oh, and long before that, and that has got him
where he is today. But ask him to solve any of the problems that are being created by his lot, and he’ll give you an answer by reference to page so-and-so in a book by so-and-so. There were times when I had to tell myself to sit still, to stay put, that this was a job: I wasn’t there to dissect his character, only to know how he felt about his new title.’
Her tirade stopped as he brought the car to a halt outside her flat, but as soon as she was indoors and they were settled in a comfortable but small and rather cluttered sitting room, she went on, ‘I was saying about how that had got him where he is today. Now, Richard, give my father his due, and I know, as do a few other people, that in a way he bought his title. You don’t shovel heaps of money into your party without expecting something in return. He has always aimed at being somebody, after having pulled himself up by his bootlaces, and not having had much of a so-called education. Yet he’s got more intelligence in his head than many of his so-called friends in the House of Lords, especially that big lump of egotism I’ve been dealing with all day. Well, now, that’s the answer to your question at the station; and now it is your turn to tell me whatever is making your face the colour it is. Before that, however, d’you want a drink? Something hard? Or tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please. It’ll keep hot longer.’ He gave her a wry smile.
‘Oh, that means it’s going to be a long session.’
‘Yes, it means just that.’
It was an hour and a half later. They were both still sitting on the couch and they were silent. He had told her everything, right from the beginning, as Alexander had told him, up to the present day when his mother had given him four pawn tickets and a faded picture of himself when he was a boy. As yet he didn’t know what the pawn tickets represented; but he or Alexander would find out. And lastly he had told her what he meant to say to his father, and that he knew he would be disinherited.
Slowly she put out a hand, caught his and held it against her cheek. She said softly, ‘The usual thing to say would be that I can’t believe it, but I can, every word of it; and I’ll tell you now, darling, I might not have said so but I have always disliked your father. As for my old man, he can’t stand him either, for he knows only too well your engagement to me would never have been countenanced if it hadn’t been for his title.’
‘I’ll not have any income other than what I earn, you understand that?’ Richard said.
‘Of course I understand. But very shortly you’ll be a consultant, and I haven’t seen your present superior or any of the others like him living from hand to mouth. And then there’s me. I have my job, which I might tell you I’m going to change.’
He took her other hand. ‘What d’you mean you’re going to change?’
‘I’m . . . Oh, I’m going to stay in the same business, but I’m not going to go on tour any more. That one assignment abroad finished me. I realised then that I wasn’t made to witness children dying of hunger or people fleeing for their lives, and one tribe slaughtering another. I thought I was until I got there; but no. It takes years to find out what you do best, and I’ve just found out what I can do best’ – and now her voice changed – ‘and one of the things is staying near to you, because I love you, Richard.’
He was now holding her tight, and they were lying on the couch and his eyes filled as he said, ‘I’m ashamed of myself. I’m doing this so often.’
‘You can’t find a better way of release. Go on, darling, let go. As long as you want to cry on my breast I’ll be happy all my life.’
After a moment he muttered, ‘It’s . . . it’s her . . . Mother. I . . . I can’t get her out of my mind. The sight of her and what she must have gone through at his hands. To have turned her mind, because it is still not right. She slips back and forward between the past and the present, and nearly always a terrible past. It’s pitiable to see her fighting and struggling when she’s remembering him again. I don’t know how I’m going to face him, Jackie, I really don’t. I know I must; but how am I going to keep my hands off him?’
‘You will. After what you’ve told me you’ll be able to cut him to shreds with your tongue. The final fact that you’re walking out on him for ever will finish him.’
They lay quiet for a moment before she asked softly, ‘Will you take me to see your mother?’
‘Yes, darling. I’ll take you to meet her, and you will be able to see for yourself the devastation that one human being can wreak on another.’
It was nine o’clock the next morning when Richard rang the number of what was called the house phone. This was placed in Mrs Atkins’s office so that she could deal with the ordering and the household necessities quite apart from what was called the main phone.
When she picked it up and heard Richard’s voice saying, ‘Is that you, Mrs Atkins?’ she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Mr Richard, the master has been so worried—’ only to be cut off by his voice saying sharply, ‘Listen, Mrs Atkins. I need your help and Trip’s. Now, listen carefully: get Trip to the phone, but don’t let the master know I’m calling. You understand?’
‘Yes, Mr Richard. I’ll get him.’
When Trip came to the phone, he said, ‘Oh, sir, I’m glad to hear you. We wondered what had happened to you.’
‘Listen, Trip, there isn’t much time. Has he got anyone looking after him now?’
‘Not at the moment, sir. You know he’s had nurses, but the last one left a week ago. He’s been seeing to himself since.’
‘Well, now, I want you to do something for me; and should it go wrong and he finds out that you have helped me, let me assure you and Mrs Atkins that you will not lose by it. What is more, there is a position awaiting you both at Beaumont Lodge, Miss Jackie’s home, you know. Now, listen, I want you to get my cases, or better, tell Mrs Atkins to take a maid up with her and fill the cases with as much of my clothing as they can get in. Don’t bother with any folding or messing about; just throw everything in from my drawers and cupboards. Then I want you to have them carried down the back stairs where my car will be waiting near the old barns. Who can you trust? Benson?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. Benson, of course.’
‘And old Tollett?’
‘Both of them. They would do anything for you . . . like myself.’
‘Thank you, Trip. Thank you. As I say, don’t worry. Whatever happens, you’ll all be taken care of. That’s a promise. I shall be there within the next hour. That should give Mrs Atkins time to get those cases downstairs, shouldn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. You are leaving, then, sir?’
‘Definitely, Trip. To put you in the picture, I shall tell you one thing: I have found my mother. Yes . . . yes, I heard you gasp. I gasped too. She was turned into a vagrant on the roads. It’s a long, long story, but if you stand in the hall this morning, you and Mrs Atkins, you will hear all about it. But do this for me first and as quickly as possible. You will, won’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, sir, we’ll see to it. Don’t worry.’
Richard put down the receiver, and stood breathing deeply. Then he looked at Glenda, who was standing nearby, and said, ‘Glenda, I’m full of fear, like a soldier who has been sent into battle and ordered to kill somebody.’
‘Oh, Richard, don’t talk like that; and you’re not full of fear, at least of him, are you?’
‘Oh, no! Not of him. Never again of him, ever. But I’ve a fear of myself and what I might do.’
‘Well, you know what Jackie said to you: slay him with words, that will be enough. And another thing, you’re not sleeping on that chair-bed any more. There is a room vacant, it’s just two doors away, and you’re going to take that as yours for the present.’
He put out his hands to her and drew her gently to him and said, ‘You’re a lovely person, Glenda Armstrong, a lovely person. And, like your brother, you are the best friend a man could ever have, and I’ll never stop being grateful to you.’
‘Get yourself away! We don’t want any more tears, do we? That’d be the end of me if my staff see me with a wet f
ace; they’ll know they have made a mistake and that I’m human after all.’
She pushed him away from her on a laugh, and he too, entering her mood, laughed and said, ‘Poor staff; I understand how they feel.’
The road along which he drove was so familiar. He knew every hedgerow, every copse, every field. He felt he even knew the cows in the fields; the same ones seemed to have been there for years. And then there was the river gleaming in the distance. How many times had he fished in there? But never again. When he came to the gates of the manor he drove past them and for some distance until he came to two more iron gates. These were plain ones and were open; he drove through them and along an avenue of beech trees. They ended at a high wall, beyond which were the kitchen gardens. He drew the car to a stop, picked up a case from the passenger seat, then got out and walked round the side of the house on to the terrace.
Within a few seconds he was standing at the front door. He had no need to ring, it was open, and Trip stood there as if he had been waiting for him.
‘Where is he?’ asked Richard quietly.
‘In the drawing room, sir. He’s been using it a lot of late.’
‘Are my things in order?’
‘Just as you arranged, sir; and your sports gear, too.’
‘Thank you very much, Trip. We’ll be talking later. Don’t worry,’ and he put out his hand and patted the old man’s shoulder as he emphasised, ‘And tell Mrs Atkins the same.’
It seemed a long distance before his steps had covered the hall and he was at the drawing-room door. He did not knock but went straight in and closed the door behind him. Then he stood looking at the man who had brought himself forward in the big armchair, muttering, ‘Richard.’ His name, though, wasn’t spoken in welcome but in a growl of disapproval. As the great bony figure pulled itself up from the chair, the voice went on, ‘And where do you think you have been, sir, on your month’s leave? Answer me.’
‘I’ll answer you, sir,’ Richard replied, in a similar tone. ‘I’ve been seeing my mother. I’ve been by her bedside for days now.’
He watched the face before him change colour as if it had been lit by a red-hot fire beneath the skin. The voice that came now was not from the throat but as if from some distant high place: ‘You’re mad! What is this? A game? Your mother died years ago.’
The Silent Lady Page 29