‘You are entitled to feel that way, Liddy. You must not be so hard on yourself.’ He bent to pull up a few dandelion leaves which, for some reason best known to himself, he then put in his jacket pocket. ‘The man deceived and betrayed you. That is an undeniable fact. He’s an absolute bounder!’
‘Was, Father. He’s dead now.’
‘Dead? Is that so?’
‘I did tell you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He fell from a rooftop.’
‘Ah yes. So he did.’
‘You were right about him. I should have listened to you from the start, but I was so . . .’ She bit back the words, still afraid that her anger would make her say something she might regret.
‘You loved him, my dear. We all make mistakes.’ He glanced round the garden, eyes narrowed. ‘Well, if he comes back here – if he sets a foot in this place again – he’ll regret it! Spy or no spy, I’ll throw the wretch out on his ear!’
‘He won’t, Father. Remember what I told you? He was killed trying to evade the law. He fell from a roof and was killed.’
‘Killed? Good Lord!’ He rapped his head with his knuckles. ‘I can’t seem to hold a sensible thought for more than five minutes!’
‘So, Father, what do you think about asking Dolly to stay for a while. A few weeks or months, maybe? Shall we ask her?’
‘By all means. Yes, indeed. You do what you think best.’ He frowned. ‘What’s happened to the swing, Liddy? Robert’s swing. I was thinking that Adam might like it. He’d like to have a swing. All children like to have a swing.’
Lydia sighed but forced a smile. ‘I think the ropes wore out a long time ago, but . . .’
‘And Robert has grown out of it.’
‘Yes. We’ll buy another one for Adam. That’s a very good idea!’
George’s face brightened at once. ‘He’ll like that.’ Suddenly, he fished out of his pocket the already wilting dandelion leaves, dropped them on to the path and ground them with the sole of his shoe. ‘Beastly things, weeds!’ he said. ‘I never could abide them.’
Without giving herself time to consider further, Lydia went to find Dolly and put the suggestion to her.
‘You could have Mr Phipps’ room,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t be a servant or anything like that because we couldn’t pay you, but you could “live in” . . .’
Dolly’s eyes lit up at the offer, and she thought quickly. ‘I could earn my keep, anyway. I could help you with Adam and your father, so that would take some of the strain off you. I was thinking of being a companion to someone rich, but it would be more fun here with you! And I love your little boy, and your father and I get along.’ She grinned. ‘So I’ll say yes before you change your mind. And when the baby comes . . .’
‘We’ll deal with it together!’
They regarded each other warily, almost afraid to believe that this might solve most of their problems.
Dolly spoke first. ‘So is Mr Phipps’ room mine now?’
‘Yes. The bed’s made up. You can move right in.’
It almost seemed too easy, thought Lydia, always cautious. Nervously, she crossed her fingers. She said, ‘It won’t be all clear sailing. I’m sure things will go wrong sometimes. They always do, but . . .’
‘We’ll get by!’ Dolly laughed. ‘What would Don say if he could see us now? He spent so much time and effort keeping the two of us apart, and instead he’s brought us together!’
Lydia sighed. ‘I’m trying not to think of him,’ she confessed. ‘I swing between hating him and loving him . . . and most of all despising myself for being stupid enough to believe all his lies.’
‘We were both tricked,’ Dolly told her soberly. ‘We trusted him because we loved him – and he betrayed us both. It’s as simple as that.’
Epilogue
Tuesday morning, mid-November 1907
Dolly had taken seven-year-old Adam and little Clara to the park for an hour to give Lydia a quiet house in which to talk to the new doctor about her father’s problems while George rested upstairs.
Dr Neath was in his thirties, with curly fair hair, pale-blue eyes and an unassuming manner. As they stood on the doorstep, he shook her hand warmly, smiling as he introduced himself. He had an honest face, she thought, and she felt intuitively that she would be able to rely on him, although she would miss Doctor Wills, who had been their family doctor for as long as she could remember.
‘I’m Howard Neath, Dr Wills’ replacement,’ he told her. ‘I believe he explained the situation with regard to his practice.’
‘He did, yes. Some time ago, actually, but it has finally come to pass. Do come in.’
The doctor stepped inside and took off his hat, and Lydia hung it on the coat rack. ‘His wife’s poor health means that he is retiring a little early.’
‘Yes, we’re all very sorry to lose him, but he has to put his family first. We understand that.’ She led Dr Neath into the front room, indicating a chair for him, then sat down and folded her hands in her lap. As always when meeting strangers, Lydia wondered how much this man knew about her unfortunate history but, as always, she did not volunteer anything. Research had reassured her that her marriage to John was legal so she was officially a widow. The extent of the deceit he had carried out had somehow stiffened her to counteract the shock of his death and soften the realization that he had probably never really loved her the way she had imagined.
Lydia and Dr Neath regarded each other from opposite sides of the fireplace as he settled himself in the armchair and put down his black bag. He appeared very at ease, she thought enviously, and found herself imagining him at the funeral of his wife and newborn child.
She said, ‘I’m sorry about your family. Losing them both that way must have been terrible for you.’
‘It was, of course, but sadly, as a doctor, I have never underestimated the risks posed by childbirth. Too much can go wrong, although we do the best we can and improvements in medical care are better than they have ever been. In spite of that, there is always the unexpected.’ He sighed. ‘But you, too, have suffered a loss, Mrs Daye, and poor little Adam lost a father who no doubt was dear to him.’
‘I think he has survived as well as could be expected. His school teacher says he seems happy, and he doesn’t have nightmares or anything.’ She looked at him fearfully. ‘I would hate to think his life has been blighted in some way that could never be put right. His father would have hated that. I know he loved the boy.’
‘I’m sure he did, Mrs Daye. Be reassured on that score. The details are in your family notes, naturally, and I can understand what a setback that must have been for you. Your husband . . . his betrayal . . . all very fraught. Dr Wills said that you were very brave in the face of such adversity and that he saw little sign of any mental damage to your son.’ He smiled. ‘He describes you as an excellent mother.’
‘He’s very kind.’ She smiled wryly. ‘It was more a case of survival!’
For a moment neither spoke.
‘But life goes on,’ he said softly. ‘We carry on because there is no alternative.’
Lydia nodded – then, fearful that his sympathy would undermine her, she took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. ‘At least we are reasonably secure. That was a worry when my husband died, but our family solicitor helped me untangle the family finances, which sadly were beyond my father. We discovered an endowment plan of which I knew nothing, and it has helped considerably.’
‘Money can be bewildering in its complexity!’ he agreed.
Just then a large tabby cat slid in at the door and headed straight for the visitor and jumped on to his lap.
‘Sooty! Get down.’ Lydia jumped to her feet apologetically. ‘Let me take him! Many people don’t care for cats.’
He made a dismissive gesture, smiling. ‘He’s fine. Or is it a she? I like cats.’
‘My son’s beloved tabby is a “he” by the name of Sooty!’ She was reminded of her husband’s reaction to animal fur, but pushed the unwelco
me thought from her. She had long since decided to keep thoughts of John at bay and was relieved that lately, since starting school, the number of Adam’s questions about his father had lessened. She had told her son a part truth – that John had been mending a roof, but had fallen and died. Adam still liked to find John’s photographs in the album, and Lydia did nothing to discourage him, but she felt it unfair and unnecessary to give him too much unpalatable information. The time for the truth might come later – it might not.
‘It is my father who gives me the most concern,’ she told the doctor, ‘and that is why I have asked you to call. His vagueness is increasing, and he seems depressed. I don’t know how I will manage without my friend Dolly, who currently lives with us but will soon be marrying and moving away.’
Lydia refrained from explaining that Dolly, against Lydia’s advice, was corresponding with her new fiancé Willis Burke who, given a lighter sentence, was due for release from prison in two weeks’ time.
Dr Neath nodded. ‘I have been thinking about this problem since Dr Wills discussed it with me, and I have a suggestion to make which—’
Anxiously, she interrupted him. ‘Please don’t suggest that Father be committed or anything like that! I would never consider it. He is most certainly not mad. He is simply elderly and suffering as many elderly people do with a faulty memory and increasing confusion. He must stay here with us. We are all he has, and I like to think that being among his loved ones—’
It was the doctor’s turn to interrupt. ‘Such a thing never entered my head, Mrs – er that is . . .’
‘I still call myself Mrs Daye.’
‘Mrs Daye. What I want to suggest is that maybe you could employ a nanny who would help keep an eye on your son so that you are able to keep a closer watch on your father.’
Surprised, Lydia considered his idea. ‘A nanny? I was thinking more of a part-time nurse.’
‘But does your father need nursing? Does he feed himself? Wash and dress himself?’
‘Oh yes. He is very capable physically, but his mind is unreliable.’
He leaned forward eagerly, and Lydia was struck again by the blue of his eyes. ‘I know of a sweet woman – a Miss Spinks – who has been a nanny all her life. She has never been married and is dependent on the family for whom she has been working for the last twenty years. They are now moving to live with the son in France.’
‘France? Good heavens.’ The idea of someone choosing to live anywhere else appalled Lydia.
He smiled. ‘The son is a professor of English at a university in Paris and has now obtained a permanent position. His parents are happy to move to be near him and his young family, but Miss Spinks refuses point blank to leave England – she is nearly sixty-five and to her France is almost as remote as another planet!’
‘Poor soul!’
‘Exactly – so she has nowhere to go.’ He regarded her earnestly. ‘I would recommend her to you. She would be very loyal, a help with your father and would adore your son. She would also always be there to keep an eye on Adam if you were rushing around the streets in search of your father.’ Suddenly aware that perhaps he was leaning too close, he drew back.
‘I will certainly give that idea serious thought,’ Lydia told him, ‘and will come back to you in a day or two.’
He said quickly, ‘Tomorrow would be very convenient.’
‘Tomorrow it is then.’ She smiled, aware of a lift to her spirits. ‘Perhaps you would like to come upstairs now and meet my father – he’s resting on the bed, but I’m sure he’ll come downstairs and join us. I’ll make a tray of tea. If you can spare the time, that is. You obviously have other patients . . .’
‘Fifteen minutes would be neither here nor there, Mrs Daye. I would love a cup of tea.’
Fifteen minutes, thought Lydia, wishing it could have been longer. As she made the tea she told herself sternly to calm down, but she still felt ridiculously excited. There had been no other man in her life since her husband’s death, and she had scarcely given a thought to her future. The weeks had become months, and the months had lengthened to years, and in all that time she had wrapped herself in a protective coat – Mrs Daye, widow – and now . . . Well, was it too late to start again, she wondered, suddenly anxious. Was it even sensible to think that way? John Daye’s betrayal had convinced Lydia that she could never trust another man as long as she lived.
‘But I dare say there are exceptions,’ she murmured, filling the milk jug.
She found some biscuits, arranged them on a plate and added them to the tea tray. As footsteps sounded on the stairs she heard the doctor say something and was surprised to hear her father’s laugh ring out. Lydia raised her eyebrows. That was a rare sound. ‘But a very welcome one,’ she murmured.
As the three of them settled in the front room, Lydia caught the doctor’s eye and it seemed to her that a brief look of understanding passed between them. They had both loved and lost, but did the glance amount to anything, she wondered. Was she imagining it?
By the time that Dolly returned with the children nearly half an hour later, Lydia had convinced herself that when John had betrayed them all those years ago, she had been a little too hasty in thinking her life was over and that she would never love again.
Maybe the worst was over, she thought hopefully and smiled. Perhaps it was time for a new start.
The Great Betrayal Page 20