Earlier that morning, Marjorie had gazed out of her bedroom window at the autumn garden, a view she’d loved and looked at every morning of her married life. She fought back the tears that sprang to her eyes; today she had to show a brave face to the world. Tears were for tomorrow.
Now, as she followed the coffin, she held her head high. Wearing a simple black coat over a plain black dress and black hat from which hung delicate lace, veiling her eyes, she was dignified and strong. She moved into her pew and reached for Felix’s hand as he came in beside her. She would listen to James speak in praise of his brother. She would hear Felix read the passage she’d chosen from Corinthians, a favourite passage of Peter’s, ending with the words ‘And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.’
She would listen, but she would not hear. The only way she could get through the service was to distance herself from the proceedings; to retreat behind her veil and be with Peter. To remember Peter, her own Peter, not the one everyone else knew. Peter as she’d first seen him at Maud Hathaway’s twenty-first-birthday dance nearly thirty-six years ago. He’d come through the door, glanced across the room and smiled at her... and she’d known she was his.
As the service progressed, she tuned in to James telling the congregation of Peter’s exemplary war record and then tuned out again as her thoughts went to their wedding in July 1915, when Peter was home on leave. Their wedding and their three-day honeymoon before he returned to the front. Felix had been born nine months later; a honeymoon baby whom Peter didn’t meet for another two and a half years.
Felix gave her hand a squeeze, bringing her back to the present, and she watched him go up to the lectern, heard him, with a slight tremor in his voice, read the passage from Corinthians. Dearest Felix, she thought. In his own way he’s grieving as much as I am.
She looked along the pew at Daphne, also decked out in black. Her face was blank as if her mind were also elsewhere. Marjorie found that she didn’t blame her. After all, she and Felix had been married less than a fortnight, and here she was at her father-in-law’s funeral where she really knew no one except Felix.
Daphne was indeed thinking about other things. She was almost counting the minutes till they could leave Wynsdown, catch the train back to London and get on with normal life. The whole week had been very difficult, with Felix virtually ignoring her as he dealt with the business things which had to be done.
I might as well have stayed in London, she thought angrily. And then to top it all, the major’s brother and his awful wife, Freda, had arrived yesterday evening. With Felix and Daphne already ensconced in the main guest room, the smaller, blue guest room, that looked out over the drive, had been prepared. It was clear Freda wasn’t best pleased with this arrangement, but James had said, ‘Come on, Kitten, it’s only for two nights.’
Kitten! thought Daphne as she glanced across the aisle to where James and his wife were sitting. With her permed iron-grey hair, her rouged cheeks and her down-turned mouth, anything less like a kitten than Freda would be hard to imagine.
Dinner had been a difficult meal. Daphne had been introduced and having looked her up and down, Freda had asked, ‘And who are your people, Daphne? Would we know them?’
To her surprise Marjorie had answered her before Daphne had time. ‘Daphne has no close family, Freda, we’re her family now.’
‘Oh.’ Freda was undeterred. ‘Still, we might have known them from somewhere.’
‘It’s very good of you to come, James,’ Marjorie said, changing the subject.
‘Well, couldn’t not be here,’ he replied awkwardly. ‘My only brother. Like to say a few words about him at the service, give him a good send-off, and that.’
Marjorie looked round the church as David Swanson began the final prayers. It was a good send-off, she supposed. In the row behind her stood Malcolm Flint, the evacuee they’d taken in seven years earlier. Both she and Peter had become very fond of the two boys who’d come to live with them. Fred Moore had returned to his family in London at the end of the war, but Malcolm had no family left. He had grown to love his foster parents and he’d stayed on in Wynsdown when peace broke out, working at Charing Farm. He’d married fellow evacuee Clare Pitt the previous summer and Peter had let them move in to one of the estate cottages.
The day after they heard the news of his death, Malcolm and Clare had been to visit her. Clare, quiet and reserved, showed nothing of her emotions; Malcolm was clearly affected by Peter’s death as he awkwardly took her hand and offered his condolences. She had surprised them both by giving him a quick hug and saying, ‘Thank you for coming, Malcolm. Peter thought very well of you.’
After the service, now almost at an end, everyone was invited back to the manor for refreshments. Mrs Darby had been amazing and had produced plates of sandwiches, cakes and biscuits, now covered with linen clothes, waiting in the kitchen for their return. Daphne was to help carry the teacups and pass the plates. Felix would dispense something stronger to those who wanted it. Marjorie hoped that people wouldn’t stay too long. She well knew that many of the local people would want to have a look at the inside of the house, but most of them would not be particularly comfortable hobnobbing with people like Peter’s brother James and his wife. Her heart sank as she remembered that they were staying another night, before going back to London.
Marjorie had never got on very well with James, or his wife. Though he was the younger of the two brothers, he’d always assumed a superiority because he lived in London and held some important job in the War Office. He’d married the Honourable Freda Berwick, and they had come to regard Peter as something of a stick-in-the-mud. No ‘Honourable’ for him; he’d married the daughter of another local landowner, and was still living in the family home where he and James had been born and brought up.
‘You should get up to town more,’ James had said on more than one occasion. ‘Always stay with us, you know.’
But they hadn’t. Neither Marjorie nor Peter liked London and visited it as seldom as possible. Peter had done all he could for the war effort, ensuring the estate produced as much food as possible and organising the Home Guard, but he’d felt sidelined, while James was doing something hush-hush at the War Office.
Before the war, Freda would occasionally bring the children, Clive and Christine, to visit Wynsdown in the summer holidays.
‘So good for the children to have some clean country air,’ she’d enthuse as they all piled out of James’s new Lanchester. ‘And they so love coming to Wynsdown.’
That at least was true; Felix and his cousins got on well and all three of them looked forward to the visits. Their mothers, however, merely put up with each other, distantly polite as they waited for the visit to end. Their fathers seldom met.
Generally, the James Bellingers had little time for the Wynsdown branch of the family, and now here they were, all solicitude, and going to stay for two nights. Marjorie, who was aching for solitude in her own home, could hardly bear it.
Later that evening, when the three women had gone to bed, Felix and James sat in the drawing room, each with a large whisky beside him.
‘So, Felix,’ James said, as he stretched his feet to the fire, ‘what are you going to do?’
‘Do?’
‘Well, I mean are you going to resign from the RAF and come back here to live? Take over the running of the estate?’
‘There is no estate as such,’ Felix said. ‘We’re virtually bankrupt.’
‘What!’ exclaimed James. ‘How can you be bankrupt? You’ve got this house, the land, the outlying farms. They must bring you a pretty substantial income, and what about the cottages in Oak Lane?’
‘They’ve been sold,’ Felix said flatly. ‘And it probably won’t be long before the farms are, too.’
‘But where’s the money gone?’ demanded James.
‘I believe,’ Felix said carefully, ‘that you took your inheritance from your father in cash.’
‘
That was agreed at the time,’ James said hotly. ‘Peter had a house and the estate. I had neither, and I had to buy my house in London. It was not handed to me on a plate!’
‘My father received the estate,’ Felix agreed, ‘but little money for its upkeep. He had to mortgage the house to keep the estate running during the war. He had to sell the Oak Lane cottages to repay that mortgage. The income from the three farms is insufficient to cover the upkeep of the house and the general living expenses. The estate needs investment and there’s no cash to invest.’
‘And you’re blaming me for all this?’ James’s face flushed beetroot red. ‘You think it’s my fault?’
‘No,’ said Felix, though in truth he did, ‘but you can see Dad has been struggling over the last few years.’
‘And you intend to sell off the farms?’ James sounded horrified.
‘Dad was considering it, and so am I. We may not have much choice.’
‘What about the house? That must be worth a pretty penny.’
‘The house is my mother’s home,’ said Felix. ‘Dad put it into her name after the war, so that she would always have somewhere to live.’
‘But if you can’t afford the upkeep...’
‘I’ve been discussing various options with Mr Thompson, Dad’s solicitor, and when we’ve thought them all through, we’ll decide what to do.’
‘And what are these options?’ demanded James.
‘I’d rather not say at the present time,’ replied Felix.
‘But perhaps I can advise you,’ James suggested.
‘Like you advised Dad to invest in those South African mines?’ Felix couldn’t keep a trace of bitterness out of his voice.
‘Well, that wasn’t a very good investment,’ admitted James. ‘I lost some money in that venture, too.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Felix flatly. ‘But you could afford the loss. Dad couldn’t.’
‘But I warned him,’ said James angrily. ‘I told him to sell.’
‘Maybe you did, but if so, it was too late. All I know is that he lost much more than he could afford.’
‘Perhaps I can help out with your plans, if you’d only tell me what they are.’
‘When we’ve come to a decision,’ Felix said, ‘I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Well, in that case,’ James picked up his glass, and tossing off the last of his whisky, got to his feet, ‘I’m for my bed,’ he said. ‘Good to have a chat with you, Felix. I’ll see you in the morning before we go. Goodnight.’
Felix poured himself a second much-needed whisky and sat for another half-hour, thinking. Would he indeed have to resign his commission and return to live here in Wynsdown? What could he do here that he couldn’t do from London? Look after his mother. She would be desperately lonely without his father, but her home was here in Wynsdown. It was here that she’d spent the happiest days of her life. It was here she belonged with her friends about her.
After the service, Malcolm Flint had come up to him to shake his hand. ‘I owe everything I am now to your father and mother,’ he said. ‘They took me in after I’d lost my parents in the Blitz. If there is anything I can do to help you or your mother, please ask.’
Felix had never actually met either of the evacuees who’d lived at the manor, but as he shook Malcolm’s hand he was struck by the sincerity with which the younger man spoke. He remembered his father’s intention of offering him Havering Farm when the tenancy came up and knew he must give it serious consideration.
‘I’ll remember,’ he said, ‘and I know my mother will be grateful for your care.’
When James and Freda had departed next morning it was as if the house itself had heaved a sigh of relief. Marjorie felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her loss, reborn each morning as she awoke to the emptiness in the bed beside her, was no less, but the blessed comfort of her own home was returned to her. Felix and Daphne would be leaving tomorrow morning, and though she felt guilty admitting it even to herself, she was ready for them to go. She needed the house to herself. Felix had been wonderful, tackling the piles of paperwork in the study, dealing with the solicitor, but now all that could wait. She knew Felix had to be back at work on Monday, and it was quite clear that Daphne, a fish out of water, couldn’t wait to leave.
At lunch Marjorie decided to take the bull by the horns and said, ‘I think you should catch the evening train back to town, Felix. There must be things you have to do before you go back to the office on Monday, and I shall be quite all right here on my own.’
As she spoke she saw the light of hope flicker in Daphne’s eyes and added, ‘Poor Daphne’s hardly been in her own home since you got back from your honeymoon. That’s where you should both be now, together in your own home.’
‘There’s still a lot to sort out, Mother,’ Felix said.
‘Darling, it can wait. I know things are in a dreadful state, but you need time to go through it all. You can come down for another weekend in a couple of weeks’ time and we can talk things through properly.’ She gave a sad smile and went on, ‘To be quite honest with you, darling, I’m not quite ready to go into it all now.’
Nor was Felix, and to Daphne’s delight, they caught the early-evening train.
It was almost ten o’clock when Felix and Daphne got back to the Oakley Street flat. They’d had some dinner on the train and were both ready to fall into bed and sleep. It had been an exhausting week.
Daphne had heard Marjorie saying that things were in a dreadful state, but she’d not expected these ‘things’ to relate to her. What worried her more was that it sounded as if her mother-in-law expected them to visit her again very soon. Daphne, however, had no intention of going. If Felix needed to go, well that was up to him, but Daphne hated the country, disliked her mother-in-law and found the house cold and uncomfortable.
If Felix feels he has to go, he can go by himself, she decided, and closing her eyes, she slid into a dreamless sleep.
Tired as he was, Felix found it difficult to switch his brain off and sleep. He’d told James that he had some ideas which he hoped might help the estate finances, but that was all they were, ideas. He hadn’t a clue if they were really viable. What he needed to do was to go back down to Wynsdown and spend time with all the people concerned to see if they could thrash something out between them. He knew Daphne wouldn’t want to go there again yet, but there was little he could do about that. Tomorrow he’d have to explain to her how things stood with regard to the estate and his father’s will and the effect it was going to have on them; it was a conversation to which he was not looking forward.
On Sunday morning, as they sat over a late breakfast, Felix said, ‘We’ve got to have a chat, Daph. Things have changed in the last week and they affect us as well as Mother.’
Daphne looked startled. ‘What d’you mean?’ she demanded. ‘What things?’
‘Well, as you know, I was going through my father’s papers while we were down there and I discovered that the estate is in financial difficulty.’
‘So, how does that affect us? We don’t live there.’
‘No, but you know in my father’s will the estate comes to me, and so now I’m responsible for it... and its debts.’
‘Debts? Why can’t you pay them off with some of the money your father left you?’
‘There wasn’t much for him to leave and most of what there was goes to my mother.’
‘You mean there ain’t no money?’
Felix had noticed before how Daphne lapsed back into her childhood speech when she was angry or upset. Sometimes he teased her about it, but now was certainly not the time.
‘No, I’m afraid not, well, very little anyway.’
‘So we get nothing?’ Daphne sounded incredulous and Felix saw just how difficult the rest of the conversation was going to be.
‘It’s not quite like that. There are some stocks and shares, but they’ll have to be transferred to my name and that’ll take a while.’ No need, Felix thought, to mention t
hat any dividends would be going to his mother. Maybe Daphne wouldn’t know about dividends... he could only hope.
‘I expect I’ll have to go down there quite a lot in the next few months,’ he continued. ‘I have to get things back onto an even keel, and that won’t be easy from here.’
‘But what about your job at the Air Ministry? They won’t give you any more leave, will they?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Felix. ‘I’m going to explain the situation and ask for some extended leave, but I may not get it. It’d probably be unpaid anyway.’
‘Unpaid!’ squeaked Daphne, beginning to worry for the first time. ‘If you don’t get paid what are we going to live on?’
‘I’ve got some savings,’ Felix said, ‘but whatever happens we’re going to have to tighten our belts for a while.’
‘But what about me?’
‘What about you? We’re both in this together, Daph, and I know you’ll do your best to manage on less. I’m sorry, but for a little while at least, I shan’t be able to give you the allowance I promised.’
‘But you did promise!’ cried Daphne. ‘You know I ain’t got no money of my own! I need that allowance!’
‘And you’ll have one, Daph. It’s just that it’ll have to be a bit less than you thought, that’s all.’
‘How much less?’ Daphne demanded. ‘You promised me ten pounds.’
‘I’m afraid, in the circumstances, it’ll be more like five.’
‘Five pounds! But that’s only half!’
‘I know, my darling girl, but for now it’s all I can afford. It’s just till I’m sure my mother has enough to live on.’
‘Oh, I see,’ snapped Daphne, ‘she’s more important than me.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ Felix scolded gently. ‘Of course she isn’t, but she’s in more need than you just for the moment, and she’s my mother and I have to make sure she’s looked after. She’ll have money coming through in the next few months, but until it does I’m going to fund her from my pay. Don’t worry, I’ll still give you housekeeping.’ He looked across at his wife’s mutinous face and forced a smile. ‘Come on, Daph, it won’t be for ever. Just till we get the finances sorted.’ He hoped it was true, but he knew better than to go into more detail now.
The Married Girls Page 16