Isabel's Wedding

by Pamela Oldfield

  ‘Cross my palm with silver!’ Amused, he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Yes. According to Aunt Alice, Mother believed in mystics and the stars and they both used to “read the tea leaves”!’ She laughed shakily.

  Seeing that she had recovered slightly from the shock, Theo thought it safe to return to the other room. ‘Can I help out here in any way?’ he asked.

  ‘I can manage, but thanks for the offer.’ She gave him a wan smile. ‘Let’s hope that maybe by this time next week we shall all be wondering what we worried about.’

  ‘You think it will happen as soon as that?’

  ‘We have no idea, do we? Why didn’t he give us a clue as to when he might arrive? Unless he’s still travelling and doesn’t know when he’ll be here.’

  ‘Remember,’ he said gently. ‘We are all in this together.’

  ‘Safety in numbers, you mean?’

  As he closed the kitchen door behind him, Olivia reached for the cruet and decided that perhaps she did feel a little better.

  Dinner that night was not, for Olivia, an outstanding success, because nobody paid the slightest attention to the meal she had put on the table. Understandably the talk was entirely focused on the amazing twist of fate that promised to return their father after a twenty-year absence.

  At some point between the liver and onions and the apple pie the subject was their father’s previous friend and partner, Lawrence Kline, and the new mystery was what had happened to him.

  Theo swallowed a mouthful of pie and said, ‘Aunt Alice’s theory was that Father went over there for the second time because Kline offered him a share in his new enterprise – which none of us here understood although Aunt Alice thought it was financial – opening a bank or a loan scheme. Or maybe a business of some kind. She said Father thought they would finally make a success of the venture and he would come home a rich man. She blamed Larry Kline.’

  They all groaned except Izzie who cried, ‘There you are then! That’s why he’s coming home. He’s rich!’

  Luke rolled his eyes. ‘This isn’t a fairy tale, Izzie. He’s not bringing a bag of magic beans or a magic lamp! Don’t you think he would have told us in the letter if he’d struck it rich?’

  ‘Trust you to pour cold water on everything!’ she snapped. ‘You’ve always been the same. When I planted all those seeds in my garden you said none of them would grow, just because I forgot to water them. You’re a pessimist, Luke.’

  ‘I’m a realist, Izzie. Anyway they didn’t grow, did they? I don’t recall any delicious lettuces or radishes.’

  ‘I was only six! What did you expect?’

  ‘A couple of beetroots would have been nice or a tomato.’ He rolled his eyes.

  Olivia said, ‘For heaven’s sake, you two!’

  Luke grinned. ‘I’m trying to save Izzie from a big disappointment. The most likely situation, if you ask me, is that Father and Kline are broke, the wonderful partnership is over and Father has persuaded Kline to get out of there before the creditors catch up with them.’

  A heavy silence followed his words.

  Cicely had gasped and now her eyes widened. ‘Oh no!’ She stopped eating, picked up her serviette and covered her mouth as if to prevent any further words from escaping.

  Theo smiled across at her. ‘Take no notice of Luke,’ he advised. ‘He is just trying to frighten his sister. He didn’t mean it.’ He fixed his brother with a look that spoke volumes.

  ‘Of course I didn’t mean it,’ Luke agreed hastily. ‘Cheer up, Cicely. It was only a joke. He’ll probably turn up with a gold tie pin, expensive cowboy boots, a sack full of gold nuggets—’

  Olivia interrupted. ‘I shall write to Aunt Alice first thing tomorrow and see what she has to say about everything. I’ll enclose Father’s letter so she can read it for herself – and maybe read between the lines. She knows him well – or did. No doubt he’s changed. He’s twenty years older.’

  Undismayed by Luke’s mocking tone, Izzie beamed. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea! We’ll have a party! A homecoming party with coloured streamers and . . . and balloons and champagne and Olivia can make an iced cake and we’ll hang up a banner saying WELCOME HOME FATHER!’

  Luke met Olivia’s glance and laughed.

  Isabel looked to her sister-in-law for help. ‘Don’t you think so, Cicely? It would be such fun!’

  Cicely lowered her serviette and glanced at her. It was hard to believe, she thought, that in less than six weeks Isabel would be a married woman with a husband and a home to look after. Sometimes, she thought, being with Isabel made her feel almost worldly-wise.

  She glanced at Theodore for guidance on this tricky issue but he hesitated.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait and see what he’s like?’ he said cautiously. ‘It’s been a long time – almost too long – and Father might have changed a lot. Is it wise to roll out the fatted calf before we know how—’

  Isabel glared at him. ‘You’re such a Jonah!’

  Theo shrugged. ‘We do have to face facts. The father we hardly remember might be a terrible disappointment. We might not like the man he has become. We have no idea what he’s done or what he plans to do when he gets here. I suggest we err on the side of caution. There will be plenty of time to celebrate when we know him a little better. If we like him, that is.’

  Sobered by his earnest manner, they were momentarily lost for an answer.

  At last Olivia said, ‘Theo’s right. We should wait and see. There’s no rush. We’ve waited twenty years! And we’ve got all the preparations for Izzie’s wedding to think about. We mustn’t let anything overshadow that.’

  Izzie wavered. ‘No–o but . . .’ She was longing to revel in the excitement of her father’s homecoming but also fearful that it might swamp the excitement of her wedding which was so near.

  Olivia rushed on. ‘You still have to tell Bertie the news – and his parents, naturally. I don’t know what they’ll think. And Cicely will have to tell her parents. There’s plenty to think about.’

  Had she said enough, she wondered, or too much? Her head felt strange and that usually meant that a sick headache was on its way. She stifled a groan. Often they could last for several days and leave her exhausted.

  There was a long silence before Cicely leaned forward earnestly and said, ‘A very nice meal, Olivia. Lovely tender liver.’

  Isabel woke the next morning and decided she must be very careful what she told Bertie about their father’s return. Sitting up, she plumped up the pillows and tried out a few preliminary phrases in a whisper.

  ‘Dearest Bertie, I have some wonderful news to tell you! You will never believe what has happened!’

  That sounded very positive, she thought, and it suggested that Bertie’s excitement should match her own. He had to see Father’s return in a good light and she must not allow him to suspect that Luke, Olivia and Theo were not entirely delighted at the prospect.

  Or she could say something even more dramatic.

  ‘Bertie dear! A miracle has happened! Our beloved father is coming home to us after all these years!’ She could add something like ‘We are all dizzy with excitement!’ Would he find that convincing?

  Perhaps she could add ‘Do say you are happy for me, Bertie!’

  But perhaps that was going a bit too far. On the other hand if she suggested that she was worried and upset about her father’s homecoming, Bertie might feel honour-bound to try and set her fears at rest. Or he might agree with her!

  She also worried about how Bertie would present the news to his parents – his mother in particular. Dorcas Hatterly, she had learned to her surprise, was inclined to worry – in fact Bertie had suggested that she enjoyed having something to worry about. She had been known to visit their local church in times of stress in order to pray and thus satisfy herself that no harm threatened her loved ones. Bertie would have to treat Jack Fratton’s return in a very matter-of-fact way to avoid alarming his mother.

  Isabel decided she would talk very c
arefully to Bertie about the letter. It would never do for him to suggest to his parents that the reappearance of the absent father was not welcomed by the entire family or that there were large gaps in their knowledge of Father’s activities throughout the last twenty years. It must seem that all was well and that his reappearance would be welcomed.

  She frowned. What had their father been up to for the past twenty years? Had he, for instance, fallen foul of the law in California? Another unpleasant thought crossed her mind. Had he been banished? Was that his punishment – to be sent into exile? Was that why he had been forced to return to England? The thought sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

  ‘Surely not!’ she whispered. Mother would never have married such a man – unless at the time her mother had been unaware of the true nature of the beast. So much in love that she was blind to his faults until it was too late! It sounded wonderfully dramatic and almost romantic but she did not think Bertie’s parents would be impressed.

  She frowned. Had he pretended to be a single man and married someone else? Was he a bigamist? Was he, by his return, about to heap more shame on the Fratton family than he had by leaving?

  ‘Stop this!’ she told herself severely. She was falling into the trap the others had set for her. Making her doubt her own father! But for much of the marriage Father had been absent so the possibility existed that her mother did not know him very well and might have been misled.

  ‘No!’ You’re doing it again, Isabel, she told herself angrily. Father was and is a good man and you have to believe that or you will never convince Bertie of that. Jack Fratton was a charming man, adventurous, maybe not a family man in every sense of the words but an upright citizen. She tried again to find suitable words.

  ‘Bertie dearest, something extraordinary has happened and I am the happiest girl in the whole world . . . and all my prayers have been answered!’

  Yes, that was a nice touch, about the prayers. She would break the news when they were on their own. Bertie might be in two minds about it. He might even be a little jealous of the fact that another man was entering her life – a man she could love unrestrainedly. A rival for her affections! This guilty thought cheered her immensely. Yes, a doting father would be a great asset. Smiling broadly, Isabel climbed out of bed.

  Two

  That afternoon Olivia watched for the postman and caught him as he walked past.

  ‘Wait, Mr Simms, please!’ She rushed down the path. ‘The letter that came yesterday, with the address in capital letters – did it come in the mail in the usual way?’

  ‘Looked a bit odd, didn’t it!’

  ‘Yes but I wondered if it came via the normal route.’

  He looked uncomfortable at the questions. ‘Not exactly, miss,’ he said cautiously. ‘No. It came by hand, you might say, only we’re not supposed to carry what we see as casual mail. But –’ he lowered his voice – ‘let’s just say it happens sometimes.’

  ‘Casual?’

  ‘You know. Unofficial like.’ He glanced up and down the street. ‘Not paid for in the proper manner. See, this chap comes up to me and says he’ll give me a tanner to push the letter through your door. Said it was urgent.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. What harm can it do, after all?’ He regarded her hopefully. ‘You do someone a good turn and they slip you a tanner. Sometimes more. I had a woman give me a half crown once! Strewth, I thought! Half a blooming crown for a letter! My missus reckoned it must have been a love letter. Another time it was only a threepenny bit. It depends.’ He shrugged. ‘If it does the government out of a few coppers then serve them right, the greedy bug— Oh, sorry, miss! Greedy wretches! They should pay us decent wages. They think we can live on air but—’

  Olivia interrupted him. ‘This man? What was he like? Can you remember?’

  ‘Dear oh dear! Now you’re asking!’ He frowned and scratched his head. ‘What did he look like? To me he looked like an extra tanner in my pocket!’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Hmm? Let me see now . . . not a gent. Not dressed posh but not a tramp either. Sort of in the middle. Scruffy sort of hair. Bit weather-beaten, you could say.’

  ‘Did he sound English?’

  ‘Not exactly but . . . Well, yes I reckon he was English near enough. I mean, I understood what he was saying. Not a foreigner exactly but not from round here. Not Russian or . . .’ He shrugged. ‘He was polite enough, I’ll give him that. But I must get along, miss. Not paid to stand around gossiping.’

  ‘Well thank you and if you think of anything else . . .’

  ‘Yes. Might be another tanner in it for me, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’ Olivia nodded distractedly. ‘Thank you.’

  Once inside it dawned on her that he might have been expecting a tip and she rolled her eyes. She could have given him another sixpence. Too late now but maybe she would catch him again tomorrow. On the other hand she didn’t want to encourage him in case he started making things up just to please her.

  Minutes later, as she watched her sister hurry out on her way to see Bertie, she was trying to make sense of what the postman had told her. The man who gave the letter to the postman could not have been their father because that would make no sense – he would surely have come to the house – but it was possible that he had written the letter and given it to someone to deliver for him in anticipation of his eventual return. Maybe he was ‘following on’.

  But on the other hand it could have been Father from the description. The postman had said he spoke English near enough and that might mean with an accent – but not foreign. So not Spanish or German or Russian! American, possibly? And the man was polite. That sounded promising. She was assuming her father had been a polite man. Scruffy and weather-beaten? He might be both if he’d been travelling for days or even weeks.

  She sighed. Did she want it to have been her father, she wondered. Tomorrow she would waylay Mr Simms again and give him a shilling by way of a ‘Thank you’ for services rendered, and see if it produced any further recollections. In the meantime she might tell Theo if he called in as promised but she would not mention anything about the letter’s delivery to Isabel or Luke.

  She felt sorry for poor Isabel who was now torn between her forthcoming wedding and the possibility of their father’s return. What should she focus on now? Presumably her current concern was how Bertie would react to the news and how his parents would feel about Isabel’s changed circumstances.

  Olivia sighed. Probably best to get on with her letter to Aunt Alice who just might have had a similar letter, in which case they could confer – sharing their knowledge and deciding what was the best way to ensure a hopefully reasonable outcome.

  Alice Redmond, unaware of the disturbing news that would soon reach her, was cheerfully absorbed in her gallery, talking to an elderly man by the name of Granger who had recently moved to Newquay and was likely to become another of the artists who regularly displayed their work in her gallery. He worked in oils on a small scale and she had four of his works on the wall already. They were more than moderately good and at the prices they had agreed on should sell successfully. Granger had confided in her that he worked quickly and mostly in his studio, from the various sketches he had made in the surrounding countryside. Alice was persuading him to be as visible as possible on his sketching excursions as it helped to be seen at work. People found it fascinating to watch artists at their easels and he would make friends who would talk about him to others. Word of mouth was very important.

  Sixty-three years old and never married, Alice still boasted a slim, girlish figure and wore her long greying hair swept up on top of her head so that her dangling silver earrings could be seen to best advantage. A once beautiful woman, Alice now retained a certain grace of movement and a soft, fading beauty that men still found attractive. Something Geoffrey Granger said made her laugh suddenly and her eyes sparkled. This man, she thought, was not only a talented artist but he looked the part and would prove a great asset. She had no
doubt that he would be able to persuade susceptible women to purchase his watercolours and the tills would duly ring in appreciation!

  The future looked rosy, she thought happily. As soon as Isabel’s wedding had been and gone and she was married to her awful Bertie, Luke would join Alice in her elegant house on the edge of Newquay and he, too, would be a fresh face at the gallery. Her stable of artists had never looked so promising. Luke would succeed at the art of selling, and being young, good-looking and talented would stand him in good stead.

  ‘So when is your young protégé going to join us, Miss Redmond?’ Granger asked.

  Alice smiled. ‘The sooner the better, as far as I am concerned,’ she told him. ‘The delay is caused by a family wedding which is due at the end of the month . . . or is it the end of next month? I must find out for certain as I expect to be invited although I may be tied up here and unable to travel.’

  ‘Train travel can be very tiring.’

  ‘I agree but how else does one travel these days?’ She threw a kiss to another regular client who passed her on the way out then went on. ‘Isabel, the youngest child, is the second child to marry although personally I think she is too immature by far. I really don’t know what gets into young women these days. Hardly out of the cradle before they are looking for a suitable mate!’

  He regarded her admiringly. ‘It’s well known in Newquay that you sacrificed a great deal for your little family in Kent. Most commendable. If I were wearing my hat, I would take it off to you!’

  Laughing, Alice waved airily at someone behind him, but quickly returned her attention to him. ‘I brought the children up single-handed and feel that my godson, Lucas, is to be my reward!’ She laughed. ‘I have invested a great deal in his career and I know I shall not be disappointed. If I were a gambler I would bet on it!’ Alice gave a slight shrug. ‘I always wanted a son and Luke is the next best thing. A godson.’