‘He will be in a most envious position, I feel.’
Alice detected a frisson of envy which she had expected but she quickly shook her head. ‘Oh no! He will have to stand on his own two feet and fight for his success the way the rest of you do! There’s nothing like healthy competition in business and art is business – make no mistake. Luke will not be allowed to rest on his laurels or rely on me to push him forward.’
‘That’s very reassuring, Miss Redmond, although I never doubted for a moment—’ He broke off as Alice again raised a hand, this time in greeting to an elderly woman who had entered the gallery, a small dog clutched to her chest.
Still smiling, Alice muttered, ‘Oh no! That awful woman with the peke – or whatever it is. Nasty yappy little creature. The dog, I mean, not the woman.’ She lowered her voice confidingly. ‘I have never understood the need some women have to clutch their silly little dogs. They look like children clutching a favourite toy! It’s pathetic.’
‘Please allow me to deal with her, Miss Redmond,’ Geoffrey Granger offered eagerly. ‘I have a way with . . . with women of a certain age!’ He raised his eyebrows humorously and she patted his arm.
‘That’s so good of you, Mr Granger.’ She watched him cross the room to speak with the dog’s owner who listened to him intently and nodded as he led her gently to the door and showed her the stanchion outside to which dogs could be tied while their owners were in the gallery.
There seemed to be a short discussion and then the dog was secured and the two of them returned to the accompaniment of furious yapping from outside.
Alice hurried forward, both hands outstretched in welcome, pretending that the awkward interlude had escaped her. ‘My dear! How good to see you again.’
‘I just had to see how things are going here, Miss Redmond. I know you have a very important exhibition coming shortly and I thought, poor Miss Redmond will be rushed off her feet so I thought I would call in and see you while there is still time.’
‘How very thoughtful you are. But what about you? A little bird told me you had had a nasty fall and were confined to bed. It’s good to see you up and around again.’ There were several new paintings that might interest her, Alice thought, with a gleam in her eyes. The woman enjoyed seascapes and in a Newquay gallery there was never a shortage of those.
Bertie’s mouth fell open when he heard the news of ‘the wanderer’s return’ and for a few moments he was dumbfounded, lost in amazement at the turn of events. He stammered, ‘Coming home? Your father?’
Isabel crossed her fingers, struggling to maintain her air of delight at the news she was sharing with him. They were sitting in his garden, sharing a jug of his mother’s home made ginger beer.
‘Coming home to us at last!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t it absolutely wonderful? We’re so thrilled. Can you imagine!? After all these years my prayers have been answered.’
‘Prayers?’ he echoed, momentarily distracted. ‘But I thought you said he was dead!’
‘We believed he must be dead,’ Isabel explained. ‘We thought that was why he didn’t come back. It was a blow but in time we all accepted it.’
Shocked, Bertie was unsure how to react to the news. How did Isabel expect him to react? He thought rapidly and came to the conclusion that the dead father would have been the preferred option. There was no way a dead father could give or withhold his daughter’s hand in marriage or ask the prospective bridegroom about his prospects!
‘When is he coming?’ he stammered, trying to pull himself together. ‘That is, sooner or later?’ Or much later? The prospect of a beloved father, prayed for over the last twenty years, suddenly turning up on their doorstep was decidedly daunting. Bertie felt that he had been misled in some way; that the fact that he, Bertie, was going to share Isabel’s affection with a beloved father, should have been declared earlier.
‘You could sound a little more enthusiastic, Bertie!’ Isabel protested, pouting a little the way she did when she suspected she might not get her own way over whatever they were discussing. ‘If he arrives in time for the wedding he will be able to—’
‘I don’t know what my father and mother will say!’ he interrupted tactlessly. ‘It will be a shock for them, won’t it – as it is for me. What I mean is . . .’ Suppose they did not care for her long-lost father? Suppose he did not care for them? It could be very awkward. ‘I don’t mean to be unkind, Izzie, but—’
‘But you are being unkind, Bertie! Very unkind. Here I am as happy as a sandboy and you are spoiling it for me! I had no idea you thought so little of my happiness.’
Her voice trembled and he felt that tears were not far away but he realized he had gone too far to draw back. He felt himself to be under attack in some way he could not properly explain and for a moment said nothing more.
‘Why on earth, Bertie, should they not like each other?’ Isabel persisted. ‘Just because Father has been away for a long time doesn’t mean that he’s not a charming man and I’m sure he will have his reasons . . . No doubt he will tell us all about his travels. He must have led a very interesting life . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Bertie’s mouth was dry and he reached for the ginger beer desperately wishing it was something stronger. Refilling his glass he spoke sternly to himself. Step carefully, Bertie, he urged. Don’t let this get out of hand.
Immediately forgetting his own warning he asked, ‘Does he say in the letter why he stayed away for twenty years with never a word so that you all assumed he was dead and even Aunt Alice took it for granted?’
She sighed heavily. ‘All he said in his letter was that he was coming home. No doubt he’ll explain everything when he arrives.’ She took hold of his hand. ‘Please, dearest, try to see it my way. Poor Father has not even met me! His youngest child! He must be longing for this homecoming . . . and we’ll have so much to talk about. You cannot imagine how much this means to me!’
Failing to grasp this second opportunity, Bertie ploughed on as difficult questions crowded his mind. ‘I hope he doesn’t expect me to ask for your hand in marriage because if you recall I’ve already asked Theo and he said yes and gave us his blessing.’
Isabel had been hoping just that and she looked at him reproachfully. ‘That’s not a very mature way of looking at things. It would actually be very romantic and naturally he would say yes!’
‘You sound very certain of that, considering you don’t even know the man and might not even like him. If he takes a dislike to me he might say no and then where will we be? No wedding!’
At that moment his mother, Dorcas, came out to join them with a plate of biscuits. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked with a falsely bright smile.
Bertie knew at once that she had been watching them from behind the curtain and had picked up on the fact that everything was not ‘all right’.
Bertie looked at his bride to be and said, ‘You’d better tell her, Izzie.’
‘Tell me what, dear?’ Dorcas had turned pale and now clutched at the string of crystal beads she wore.
Isabel looked at Bertie and her courage failed. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said hoarsely. ‘At least, it is but Bertie will explain it better than . . .’ She looked at him beseechingly. ‘Do, Bertie. Please!’
‘He’s your problem!’ Bertie face had reddened.
‘Not a problem! Oh no! Is this about the wedding?’ Dorcas looked accusingly at Isabel. ‘Don’t tell me it’s all off! Don’t say you’ve changed your mind! I don’t think I could bear it!’
His mother looked from one to the other and when neither could speak she said ‘Well?’
‘It’s my father,’ Isabel faltered.
‘You haven’t got a father, Izzie. At least . . . I thought you said he was dead.’
‘That’s just it, Mrs Hatterly. He’s coming back from—’
‘Oh no!’ A look of horror crossed her face. ‘Back from the dead? He’s come back from . . . Oh my godfathers!’ Her eyes rolled up in her head and she swayed forward
.
Both Isabel and Bertie leaped to their feet and just managed to catch her as she toppled forward.
They lowered her to a chair and Isabel propped her up while Bertie patted her hands and eventually they persuaded her to take a few sips of her ginger beer to bring her round.
‘Not back from the dead, Mother! How could he?’ Bertie’s tone was irritable. ‘He’s coming back from California. At least that’s what he says in his letter.’ He found his handkerchief and dabbed at the sheen of perspiration that had formed across his mother’s forehead.
Isabel, too, had failed to see the funny side of the situation and regarded Bertie with signs of desperation. ‘We’d better help her indoors and you can explain it to them both.’
For a moment he believed he could refuse but something in her panic-stricken eyes made him decide to surrender gracefully.
At that very moment Olivia was opening the front door to Miss Denny. She said, ‘Oh dear! Was my sister expecting you?’
‘Isn’t she here? I’ve brought the beads we’ve been searching for and she was eager to see them.’
‘Do come in and wait, Miss Denny, and I’ll make you a cup of tea – unless you’d prefer a cold drink. Izzie has rushed over to see her fiancé to tell him . . . to pass on some unexpected news.’
‘Good news, I hope, Miss Fratton.’ The dressmaker followed her into the front room and settled herself in her usual chair. ‘I didn’t bring the dress because it doesn’t do the material any good to keep crushing it into a bag when all we need to do is settle on the design.’ She gave a happy smile. ‘I can’t wait to get started. Any dress is a challenge and a delight but a wedding dress . . . Ah! That is always special. I’m looking forward to receiving my invitation and I’ve ordered a new hat for the occasion although I shall wear it to other events afterwards.’ She leaned forward. ‘I treat myself to a new hat for every wedding.’ She laughed. ‘My treat to myself for all the hard work I’ve put in! Silly, I know but—’
‘Not at all! I’ll just pop out and—’
‘It’s so good of you to invite me. You’d be surprised how many families don’t include me. To them I’m just a dressmaker.’ She sighed, studying her clasped hands, but then brightened. ‘I do so look forward to the ceremony – I always cry – and the speeches and the toasts, naturally. I write about it afterwards in my special book. I have a book in which I put all the details of the dress and everything for every bride. Sometimes I just sit and read through it afterwards to remind myself and I give myself a little pat on the back. Metaphorically speaking. It gives me great satisfaction to know I’ve been part of it all.’ She beamed at Olivia.
‘I’m sure it does.’ She wondered what the dressmaker would think when she discovered that the Frattons’ long-absent father was threatening to turn up uninvited.
Miss Denny went on in happy oblivion. ‘I have a feeling I know the design she will choose for the beads but of course I won’t attempt to influence her one way or the other. The only consideration will be the cost and as we only have a limited number of beads that will affect the design but never fear, Miss Fratton. I know how to make them go as far as possible without looking too thinly spread. It’s a matter of experience though I say so myself.’ She gave a self-satisfied smile then glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Interpreting her glance Olivia took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure Izzie won’t be long but she had to tell her fiancé about our exciting news. The fact is—’
Miss Denny clasped her hands. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting her fiancé. Bertram, isn’t that it? I don’t know his surname but it’s not my place to ask. What a lucky man he is. I’m just longing to see his face as his bride walks towards him down the aisle!’ She sighed, smiling at the prospect. ‘I always sit to the side so that if I can’t see properly I can stand up and not spoil anyone else’s view!’
‘Very considerate of you.’ Suddenly Olivia could wait no longer. Raising her voice slightly she said, ‘The fact is we’ve had a letter from my father to say he is coming home and—’
‘Well that’s splendid.’ She took a small screw of tissue paper from her purse and carefully unwrapped it. Carefully she spread it on the table. ‘There you are – the beads! Not too small or they get lost but not too big so as to be flamboyant. What do you think?’
Obligingly, Olivia peered at them. ‘Very pretty. Yes, just right.’
Miss Denny poked them gently. ‘They have to be the right weight. It’s quite tricky. We thought just below the bust. A discreet random scattering or maybe a curving line or even a spray. We thought silver beads originally but then Isabel saw some on another woman’s dress and decided they looked too showy. If you don’t judge it correctly they can look vulgar. I did wonder if silver beads would look right with the dove grey silk of the dress . . .’ She positively beamed. ‘Have you made the wedding cake yet? I expect your Mrs Bourne will be working on the menu, too.’
Olivia gave up. Perhaps it was only fair that Izzie should tell her the news. ‘I’ll make the tea,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
In the kitchen she was able to grin. Quickly she laid a tray with cups and saucers, milk and sugar, and was spooning tea leaves into the pot when the front door opened, shut with a bang and Isabel rushed up the stairs, went into her bedroom and slammed the door.
‘So it didn’t go well.’ Olivia murmured. ‘Poor Izzie!’
She carried the tray into the front room and smiled reassuringly at the dressmaker who was now looking anxious.
‘Was that Isabel?’
‘Yes. I’ll pop up to her in a moment. This is such a worrying time, for her – so much to think about and she’s only nineteen.’
‘Yes. She’s very young, as you say, but this should be such an exciting time for her. Her wedding!’ She accepted a cup of tea and added two spoonfuls of sugar. ‘If you go up to her and tell her I’ve brought the beads, I guarantee that will cheer her up. I can stay for another half hour and that will give us time to choose the design. I’ll start sewing them on this very evening!’
Three
Sunday, 6th May
What a long day! I have so much on my mind and no one I can talk to. Things have not gone particularly well since we heard from Father that he is on his way home. I think we all have mixed feelings about his return but until we see each other face to face I doubt if we can tell exactly how we shall feel about him being with us again. I do hope we can like him and hopefully feel some real affection for him. I assume Mother would have wanted that.
Luke seems the least concerned but then after the wedding he will be living with Aunt Alice so however things have turned out here, he will not be directly involved. He seems to treat it all as a bit of a joke but then he never takes anything seriously. He has been rather protected throughout his life – cushioned and cosseted by Aunt Alice – and maybe that is not such a good thing.
Theo and Cicely seem to be weathering the storm. Probably because they are one step removed from it. From all accounts her parents have accepted the rather bizarre state of affairs with good humour – when told about Father’s return after twenty years of being presumed dead her father said, ‘That’s nice, then,’ and went on reading The Farmers News. Probably more concerned about the price of hay or the next calf! And why not?
But they have the satisfaction of knowing that Theo and Cicely will be living with them until the new windows are installed in the cottage and will then move into the cottage where they will be under the beady eyes of Cicely’s parents and when the baby arrives that will take up all their energies.
Isabel worries me. After her visit to Bertie’s parents she finally condescended to come downstairs again and talk to Miss Denny about the decoration for her dress. I don’t know if she told her about Father. She was not in a mood for questions after Miss Denny’s visit and went to bed early claiming a headache. I suspect she is torn between their own flat and living here with her newly discovered father. She even hinted yester
day that if she had to delay the wedding for any reason she would be willing to do so. What on earth does that mean, I wonder? I don’t even want to think about it!
She thinks Bertie’s family disapproves of the uncertain situation here but what can we do about it? We can hardly refuse to allow him into our home especially as we know so little about his present circumstances. We might be seriously disappointed – we might bitterly regret it. Are we heading for a disaster? I do trust not but what do we do if we desperately need to get him out of here? I’m saying little to the others but I feel it is a big risk.
It dawned on me this morning that in fact Father will not be ‘returning to the bosom of the family’ – if that was his intention – because the family is rapidly shrinking. Luke will be in Newquay, the other two will be living as married couples and I shall be here on my own. With Father, that is. I don’t know why but I am not looking forward to it. Too many changes in too short a time. I do wish Mother could have been here. She, at least, might be looking forward to his return and would at least know what sort of man he used to be . . .
Olivia read the entry through but it did nothing to ease her doubts. The year had started so well with Izzie becoming engaged, and the prospect of a wedding had focused their attention. Now suddenly everyone was on edge and nothing seemed certain. No doubt their errant Father was imagining cries of joy at the prospect of his return but he might be sadly disillusioned.
‘I wish you were still with us,’ she told her long dead mother. ‘At least you would be thrilled and happy to see Father again and that would help the rest of us to view him favourably and give him the benefit of the doubt.’
Olivia had written to Aunt Alice in the hopes that her godmother would have something helpful to contribute. She had invited her to visit them, before their father arrived, to talk about things, but she was well aware that the gallery now came first in Aunt Alice’s mind and there was always a special showing to arrange, an exhibition to organize or a new artist to be introduced. After the years Alice had sacrificed to the well-being of the Fratton children, Olivia could hardly resent it if the gallery now took precedence.
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