‘Well dear, it is rather unusual, if I may say so, and you can’t really blame them.’
‘But I do blame them. He’s our father and in a way . . .’ She sighed deeply. ‘The thing is this. I’ve been wondering if, when he arrives . . . would it be very odd if I called him Papa? I know it sounds childish and I’m a grown woman but I was never able to call him that. I was never able to call him anything because he was never here so we never met. We don’t know each other. I mean, he was in California with this awful Larry . . .’
‘Larry?’
‘Yes. He’s the man who first persuaded him to go to California – in search of gold. Not that they found very much but Aunt Alice says they did return with a little gold but then later on, when I was due to be born, this awful man somehow lured Father back there. There was some sort of quarrel because Mother wanted him to stay here with us but . . .’ Her voice shook and she faltered, tears pricking at her eyelids. ‘I don’t expect anyone to understand but if I called him Papa just once it would seem as if I had once had a father . . .’
Realizing what was about to happen, Miss Denny rushed forward with a lace handkerchief. ‘Don’t cry, dear! Take this. It’s the most terrible bad luck to cry while you’re wearing your wedding dress!’
‘Bad luck?’ Isabel struggled with her tears, dabbing at them ineffectually with the delicate handkerchief.
A large tear fell on to the front of the dress and Miss Denny cried ‘Oh! Now look what’s happened! You will mark the silk!’ Snatching back the handkerchief she gave a tentative dab at the small wet mark, her face screwed up with anxiety.
‘I’m sorry!’ Isabel sniffed loudly. ‘You must think me very foolish. I just wanted to pretend that he’s coming home from work and I’m rushing to the front door to greet him. Like other little girls. I know he can’t swing me round . . . I’m a bit too big for that but . . .’ Her attempt at a smile wavered as she brushed tears away with her fingers.
A second tear joined the first and Miss Denny gave a small groan. ‘But of course you can call him Papa!’ she cried desperately. ‘Why ever not? I’m sure he would appreciate it.’
‘The others will think I’m being silly but . . .’
‘Ah but your father may be touched by the gesture. Such a kind thought. Yes! He will understand. For all you know, he may be thinking along the same lines. Oh do cheer up, Miss Fratton!’
‘You think so?’ She blinked furiously. ‘About appreciating the thought?’
‘Most certainly. I mean . . . such a sweet welcome and . . . and a sort of forgiveness for all the lost years! He must be feeling extremely guilty. Now stand up, dear.’ She reached for Isabel’s hands and gently urged her into a standing position. ‘We mustn’t spoil your beautiful dress!’
Obediently Isabel allowed the dressmaker to blot the damp spots, smooth out the back of the dress and rearrange the folds to her satisfaction.
‘I think, Miss Fratton, if we’re very lucky the tears may not leave any marks.’ She stepped back. ‘Or if they do, we might hide them with a necklace. I have something that would look very nice and you are welcome to borrow it. You know what they say brides should wear? “Something borrowed, something blue.” Surely your mother . . . Oh! Sorry, I quite forgot.’
‘But I haven’t got anything blue!’
‘Some brides wear a garter made of blue lace – or carry a blue-edged handkerchief. Have a little think about it, dear. I could make a garter for you very easily.’ She walked slowly round Isabel, nodding and making approving noises. ‘Do you want to call your sister up to see it?’
Isabel hesitated. ‘Maybe not today,’ she said. ‘She’s sure to ask why I’ve been crying and I can’t explain. She wouldn’t understand. I don’t think she has ever forgiven him for what he did to us – especially what he did to Mother – and she’s also worried because she’ll be left here alone with him when I’m married and Luke’s moved down to Cornwall. She seems to think they might not like each other. Luke and Father, I mean.’
‘It could be very awkward for her.’ Miss Denny helped her off with the dress, put it on the padded hanger and covered it reverently with the layer of protective white muslin. ‘Next time I come we’ll have a full rehearsal – with the shoes and the little circlet of silk flowers I’m making and you can hold your little white bible.’ She sighed happily, her spirits restored by this comforting image.
When at last the dressmaker had gone, Isabel sat on the end of the bed, cheered by Miss Denny’s words about her father. Her eyes shone at the picture they would make. ‘I might even throw my arms around him and give him a kiss!’
When Bertie returned home after work that evening he was aware as soon as he opened the front door that there was something wrong. His parents were sitting side by side on the sofa which was almost unheard of. Usually his father was pottering in the garden and his mother was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal.
He stood in the doorway and looked nervously from one to the other. His mother and father faced him with identical smiles pasted on to their faces and neither of them could hide their obvious anxiety.
‘Oh there you are, Bertie!’ his mother said brightly. ‘Do sit down, dear.’ She glanced at her husband.
A sort of prompt, Bertie thought, his heart already sinking.
His father cleared his throat. ‘We just want a quick chat . . . before your mother serves up dinner. She managed to get hold of some very nice chops.’
‘Wesley!’ She nudged him.
‘Oh yes. Sorry dear.’
An awkward silence fell.
Bertie looked from one to the other and said, ‘What’s going on? Why the reception committee?’
His father said, ‘Sit down, son,’ and pointed to a chair opposite the sofa. ‘Your mother thinks . . .’ She nudged him again. ‘That is we think . . . Do sit down!’
With an exaggerated sigh Bertie obliged. ‘I’ve had a long day,’ he told them, hoping to head off whatever they were going to say.
His mother snapped, ‘Just lately every day seems long, thanks to a certain person!’
Bertie said, ‘Oh dear! What have you done, Father?’ deliberately misunderstanding. He had been anticipating some kind of protest from his parents.
Wesley said, ‘Me? I’ve done nothing!’
Dorcas said, ‘We’re wondering about you and Isabel – aren’t we, Wesley.’
He nodded.
Bertie frowned. ‘Wondering what exactly?’
Wesley scratched the side of his nose and looked at Dorcas.
Tutting at his frailty she plunged in. ‘About you and Isabel and . . . and if you are sure, in view of this latest development . . . that is, the somewhat unwelcome visitor, namely the errant father . . . You know what I’m saying, dear.’
His father rallied. ‘We have your best interests at heart, son. You are our only child. The thing is it seemed a good idea when you first got together but things have changed and you have to think of the future.’
Dorcas patted his knee admiringly. ‘Very well said, dear.’ To Bertie she said, ‘So you do see our point, Bertie.’
‘Do I, Mother?’ He was frowning. ‘Are you worrying about Mr Fratton? Is that it?’
‘Well of course we are!’ Dorcas blinked. ‘And it must be worrying poor Isabel and it ought to be worrying you. The thing is it’s not too late to change your mind. The invitations have gone out but it’s not too late to cancel the wedding or just to delay it until we know him better. Naturally Isabel must be consulted before we take any firm steps . . . Has it occurred to you that Isabel might be having serious doubts?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed.’ He felt slightly baffled. ‘Isabel’s thrilled by the prospect of meeting her father after all this time!’ This statement was met by blank stares.
His mother said, ‘Thrilled? Oh no, dear! I’m sure she is making the best of a bad job but she needs help to sort out her true feelings and she has no one to turn to except us.’
Bertie shrugged. ‘I
can assure you both there is nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.’
‘Really? Nothing at all?’ Her tone was wistful.
Bertie shook his head. ‘Izzie has hinted that if they know in advance when he’s due they might delay the wedding because she wants him to walk her down the aisle but apart from that . . .’
Wesley said, ‘Walk her down the aisle? Good Lord! I thought Theo was—’
Dorcas had brightened a little. ‘Delay it? Oh, do you think so?’
Puzzled, he glanced at her. ‘A few weeks wouldn’t matter much if it makes Izzie happy.’
His mother said, ‘You’re not worried, then, about what sort of man he is? I mean we know nothing about him except that he walked out on his family and never came back!’
‘He must have had his reasons but what difference does it make now? Lord’s sake! Izzie is marrying me, not her father!’
Wesley bristled. ‘That’s no way to speak to your mother, Bertie!’
Dorcas said, ‘How could she marry him? He’s her father!’
Bertie groaned. ‘Exactly. That was just a figure of speech. Please listen to me, both of you. Izzie and I are in love with each other and nothing will change that. Her father could be . . . the Pope for all I care. Or an axe murderer!’
‘Bertie!’ Dorcas cried, one hand to her heart. ‘Don’t say such terrible things! The Pope! Really!’
Bertie stood up, grinning. ‘It was a joke, Mother! Forget I said it.’ He looked at his father. ‘Nothing and no one is going to come between Izzie and me so do stop worrying.’ He stood up and his grin broadened. ‘Actually I’ve got a bit of news of my own. I heard on the grapevine that my senior colleague is going to be promoted at the beginning of next year – to floor manager – and—’
‘Oh Bertie! That’s not fair. I thought—’
‘Certainly it’s fair, Mother. He’s older than me and he’s been there longer. But guess who is going to take his place?’
Dorcas gasped. ‘Oh Bertie! You don’t mean . . . Is it you?’
‘The same!’
‘Bertie!’ She looked at her husband, her earlier worries immediately banished from her mind. ‘Promotion! Oh Wesley! Bertie is going to be promoted. Isn’t that wonderful!’
Wesley stood up and shook his son’s hand. ‘That’s very welcome news, son. A step in the right direction.’
Dorcas stood up and hugged him.
He said, ‘Could we eat a little later tonight? Say half an hour? I want to pop over to tell Izzie the good news.’
‘Of course, dear! No problem at all. I’ll put the potatoes on half an hour later. Her family will be impressed!’
Minutes later they watched him pedal away and for a long moment neither spoke.
Then Wesley said, ‘I dare say when all’s said and done, we shall have to leave it up to them. We’ve done our duty. We’ve warned him. We can’t do more than that. We’ve given him something to think about. Let’s just put it out of our minds.’
‘Put it out of our minds? I wish I could . . . but promotion! Just imagine!’
‘And as for Isabel, we must accept that our son knows what he wants. He’s a grown man, Dorcas.’
‘It seems only yesterday he was being made a prefect! But you’re right. We’ll see how things go.’ She giggled. ‘Pope indeed!’
Smiling, he said, ‘That’s Bertie for you!’
‘It is indeed!’
The clock struck one a.m. and Olivia stared up at the dark ceiling feeling more hopeless than usual. More than anything she longed for sleep but there was so much to worry about and now the rain had started in earnest and she knew it might find its way in above the back door and drip on to the mat.
‘So get up and go downstairs and move the mat!’ she told herself but then the familiar reasons why she should not go downstairs filled her mind. She was not responsible for everything that happened. She simply happened to be the eldest family member residing in the house now that Theo had moved out. She organized everything because somebody had to do it but she frequently felt ‘put upon’.
‘I am not your mother!’ she muttered. ‘I am just as lost as you are. I am the sad little spinster. Don’t expect me to solve all the problems because I can’t . . .’
Perhaps she should ask the local handyman to take a look at the door frame. Maybe he could seal the leak with something.
To lessen the sound of the persistent rain, she turned on to her side so that one ear was against the pillow.
‘We’ll have plenty of problems for you, Father,’ she told her absent parent, ‘so don’t think it will be all wine and roses when you come home!’ If he was returning to England to avoid problems in America he would be disappointed to find plenty to worry about here. There was a little rivalry developing between Izzie and Cicely. The first grandchild was due a week before Isabel’s wedding. ‘Your youngest son, Father, is involved with a married woman . . . and your older daughter is very firmly ‘on the shelf’ and may end up as an embittered old maid!’ There was also money needed to do maintenance on the house and to top it all, Olivia had not been invited by Izzie to see her finished wedding dress.
‘A bad sign!’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m out of favour.’
Restlessly she turned over on to the other side and closed her eyes. ‘Sleep!’ she said firmly.
Minutes later she was thinking about Luke and Fenella Anders. During the afternoon she had scoured her mind for anything she knew about the woman. Fenella was a pleasant-looking woman, probably about thirty and with no children. Her husband Will was presently away and maybe Fenella was lonely. Luke was a good-looking young man and it would be easy to see how a casual friendship might have turned into something deeper. The trouble was the news would spread like a wild fire in heather and before long Will Anders would hear the rumours that his wife was being unfaithful.
And what on earth would happen when he did? Olivia was reluctant to say anything to Luke.
Firstly, as she reminded herself, it was not her business, scarcely older than he was and with no more understanding of the world and how it wags.
Secondly, if she were honest, a tiny part of her did not want to spoil things for her brother. No doubt he was deeply in love for the first time – or fancied he was – and she envied him those emotions with all her heart. She had no strong wish to be the one to snatch away his happiness. Soon enough he would be called away by Aunt Alice to ‘pay court’ to her in Cornwall and no doubt that would be the end of the affair – if it was anything as serious as an affair. She did not envy him his ‘wonderful future’! Aunt Alice had very strong beliefs and was not afraid to voice them and during her spell as surrogate mother to the Fratton children she had been kindly but very firm. She liked to get her own way and woe betide those who failed to conform.
Olivia had often wondered how different their upbringing would have been if Ellen had lived. It was not that she did not understand how lucky they were to have an Aunt Alice – the alternative of an orphanage was too dreadful to imagine although, as a young girl, Olivia had often tried. It was simply that the idea of a ‘normal’ family life with mother and father had always sounded ideal.
Thirdly, she did not know what to say to Luke about his relationship with Fenella Anders. Would Jack Fratton know how to deal with it? What experience did her father have of understanding a son recently grown to manhood? None at all, she reminded herself bitterly, because he had relinquished the role of wise parent when Luke was only a two year old. Unless, she told herself, one of his revelations would be another relationship and possibly more children.
‘And when exactly are you planning to arrive, Father?’ she said softly. ‘Will you turn up at the wedding like a ghost from the past?’ She tried to visualize a weather-beaten man with a large hat and a knapsack on his back, making his way slowly down the aisle in the middle of the service. Whatever would the wedding guests make of him?
Or maybe there would be a loud knock at their door in the middle of the night . .
. or he might turn up in the middle of the day, having drunk too much by way of fortifying himself for the ordeal. She frowned. She had been thinking about the effect he might have on their lives but now she wondered what effect they would have on him. Now that the time was near, he might be terrified by the prospect of a hostile welcome.
‘It would serve you right!’ she told him.
Receiving no answer to her earlier question about the date of her father’s arrival, Olivia gave up. All she wanted was a few hours of oblivion, she told herself. Was that too much to ask? Turning on to her back she closed her eyes, just as the church bells sounded the first quarter after one.
Five
Olivia was in the garden three days later, pegging up a few items of washing, when Dorcas Hatterly appeared round the side of the house, complaining that no one had answered her knock on the front door.
‘I wondered if you would be in the garden,’ she explained. ‘I do hope you don’t mind. I thought we should have a little talk – if you can spare the time.’
‘By all means. Come inside and I’ll make a pot of tea.’ She smiled to hide her nervousness. What was this about, she wondered.
As soon as they were settled in the front room, Mrs Hatterly stirred her tea but made no attempt to drink it. ‘It’s about the wedding breakfast,’ she began. ‘As you know my husband is insisting that we pay for everything as our wedding present to the happy couple – wine, beer and all the food but of course we have no firm idea how many people will be attending the wedding.’ She opened her purse and produced a folded sheet of paper. ‘We had ten names when we sent out our invitations – that includes my parents and my husband’s mother – his father is dead. An aunt and uncle, Bertie’s godfather, a school friend of mine who adores Bertie as if he were her own son – if she had a son, that is – and her daughter . . . and the two of us. We’re not sure how many were sent out on your side or if there have been any late additions.’
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