‘But you don’t need me to come with you,’ insisted Daphne. ‘There’s nothing for me to do down there and I’ll just be in the way.’
Felix had known a guilty sense of relief at her decision. It would be so much easier to discuss things with his mother if it were only the two of them in the house. He wouldn’t have to worry about Daphne being bored, or, he had to admit, getting on his nerves with her complaints about the house and the village and having to be there.
He arrived late in the evening and when he climbed out of Fred Jones’s taxi, his mother was waiting at the door to greet him with a hug.
‘Darling,’ she cried, ‘it’s lovely to see you again so soon.’
They went indoors and Felix felt a comforting warmth as he entered the house; not simply because it was welcomingly warm after the cold of the October night outside, but because it was home, the home of his childhood. He dumped his grip in the hall and followed his mother into the kitchen.
‘Mrs Darby’s left a pot of stew in the oven,’ she was saying. ‘I thought we’d eat it in here. The dining room’s a bit cold at the moment.’
Felix saw that the kitchen table was laid for two, and said, ‘You shouldn’t have waited for me, Mother, you must be starving.’
‘I thought it’d be nice to eat together,’ she said as she put the dish of stew onto the table and went back to the oven for two large baked potatoes. ‘I’m tired of eating meals by myself.’ There was no self-pity in her voice, but Felix recognised the loneliness in her words. He wasn’t surprised she’d stopped eating her meals in the oak-panelled dining room; how depressing to be sitting alone at the big dining table, facing his father’s empty chair.
He sat down at the table and Marjorie served the food before sitting down opposite him.
‘How’s Daphne?’ she asked.
‘She’s fine,’ Felix replied. ‘Sends her love.’
‘Thank you,’ Marjorie said, without believing a word of it.
‘She thought we’d be better on our own this weekend,’ Felix said, ‘and I think she’s probably right. We’ve lots to discuss and she’s got plenty she can do in London.’
Actually, Felix hadn’t a clue what Daphne proposed to do while he was in Somerset; he hadn’t asked and she had said nothing.
‘Let’s not start on anything tonight,’ Marjorie said, ‘you must be exhausted and I’m certainly too tired to think straight.’
After their supper, they carried their coffee cups into the drawing room where a fire still smouldered in the grate. Marjorie poked it back into life while Felix poured them each a brandy. For a while they sat in companionable silence and it came to Felix as he looked round the familiar room, warm in the lamplight, that he couldn’t remember when he’d last sat alone with either of his parents.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come down to visit more often,’ he said. ‘I should have.’
His mother smiled sadly. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t easy during the war and since then, well, you’ve had your own life to lead. It’s what children are supposed to do, you know, fly the nest. I remember my mother saying to me, “First you give them roots and then you give them wings.” It’s what we tried to do for you.’
‘Definitely wings in my case,’ Felix said.
‘Yes,’ agreed his mother, ‘but at least you survived it all. It was difficult for us during the war, always dreading the telegraph boy’s knock at the door. Let’s hope your children won’t have to go to war. Two generations running is quite enough.’
Felix thought about this conversation, later, as he lay in bed. His mother had made up the bed in the guest room where he and Daphne had slept last time they’d come, but it felt odd sleeping there alone and he wished he were in his childhood bedroom along the landing.
‘Let’s hope your children won’t have to go to war,’ his mother had said.
His children, his and Daphne’s. Felix hadn’t really given children much thought. He’d assumed that they’d come along in due time and that he’d be pleased to be a father, but as he considered the idea now, he found he wanted it to happen sooner rather than later. Children of his own to love and cherish.
‘Love’ was a word that had always faintly embarrassed Felix, particularly when his mother had used it with regard to him. Saying they loved each other wasn’t what his family did. They loved each other, of course they did, but it wasn’t something they put into words.
Perhaps we should have, he thought as he lay in the darkness. But he wasn’t sure he could say it to his mother, even now. He couldn’t say it, but he could show it.
Next morning he went back into his father’s study and spread out the notes he’d made on the work table. Marjorie followed him in and pulling up a chair sat down beside him.
‘Now then,’ she said. ‘Let’s work out what we’re going to do.’
Felix laid out the figures. ‘It won’t be long before you get Dad’s insurance money,’ he said, ‘so you should be able to live quite comfortably on that. The house is already yours, but the upkeep isn’t going to be cheap. I’m afraid Dad let the repairs it needs go for too long.’
‘What does it need?’ asked his mother.
Felix shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I do think we need to get someone to look at the place, properly. There are certainly tiles missing from the roof and there’s that damp patch at the far end of the landing.’
‘Right,’ said Marjorie. ‘Let’s make a list of what we need to do.’ She drew a piece of paper towards her and wrote, Get builder to check roof.
‘We have to make some economies and maybe sell—’
‘Before you go any further, Felix, I want to tell you what I think we should do and then, when we’ve considered that, we can discuss what you think of the idea and any other options you have in mind. All right?’
Felix looked at her in surprise, but there was a firmness in her voice that brooked no argument. He sat back in his chair and nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Well, I’ve given the situation a lot of thought,’ she began, ‘and I’ve spoken at some length with Mr Thompson about this, so these are no spur-of-the-moment suggestions.’ She drew a deep breath and went on, ‘I think I should move out of the manor— No, hear me out.’ She held up her hand to halt the interruption already on his lips. ‘I think I should move out of the manor and move into Eden Lodge. Miss Merton is now virtually bedridden and is being moved into a nursing home. Eden Lodge is, as I think you know, already mine. It is smaller, easier and cheaper to run. If I stay here I shall rattle round the place.’
‘But it’s your home,’ protested Felix. ‘Your home with Dad.’
‘But Dad’s not here now,’ Marjorie said softly, ‘and it doesn’t feel like home without him. I need to make a new home, a home of my own, somewhere else.’
‘But what would you do with the manor?’
‘Well, as I see it, there are three possible options,’ replied his mother. ‘The first is that I could sell it.’
‘Sell it!’ exclaimed Felix. It wasn’t one of the options he’d seriously considered, for he’d been assuming she would continue living there.
Ignoring his interruption Marjorie continued, ‘The second is to let it. Mr Thompson thinks that it might let quite well, perhaps to some businessman who lives in town but would like a country retreat.’ She looked at Felix enquiringly. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think, Mother, that you’d absolutely hate to see someone else living here, you know you would.’
‘Yes, I probably would,’ she agreed, ‘but I could cope with it if I had to. The third option is for me to give it to you.’
‘Give it to me?’
Marjorie smiled at his surprise. ‘Why not? After all, it’s your home too. If it were yours, you could sell it, or let it, or... live in it.’
Felix buried his head in his hands. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘you’ve thrown me completely! I have to think about this.’
‘Of course you do, darling. I
just wanted to let you know what was in my mind, that’s all. You have to consider what’s best for you and Daphne and then we can decide the best way to achieve it. Whatever we decide about the manor house, I’ve made my decision. I shall have Eden Lodge modernised a little, and then move in there.’
Felix found it difficult to concentrate on the other things they needed to discuss after this bombshell, and Marjorie, seeing his confused state, said, ‘Let’s forget about all that for now and look at what else we need to sort out. What about the farms? Are you thinking of going ahead with the sales that your father had set in motion? Mr Thompson says you’re not committed to anything yet. The talks had only been exploratory.’
‘I shall need to visit both John Shepherd and Richard Deelish to see if they still want to proceed. I had a look at the paperwork, as far as it went, while I was here before, but what I want to know is what you think about it?’
‘I don’t know enough about the deals that are being considered,’ replied his mother. ‘Your father didn’t discuss them with me. All I feel is, if we sell off those farms, the estate will be reduced to about a third of its original size. Only Havering Farm and Home Farm will be left. Dad was coping with Home Farm all right, and as you know he wants Malcolm to take on Havering.’
‘I know, Mother, but we need an injection of cash for machinery and general maintenance to make the place viable. That could come from selling either Charing Farm or Newland, or both.’
‘But do we need to sell? The working of those farms is not our responsibility, and they do provide rent. Surely, with the men we’ve got working for us at present, we can keep Home Farm running as it is.’
‘Trouble is, Mother, we have to modernise and make economies. As far as I can see we can’t afford to keep on all five men at Home Farm, and even if we could, we’d need a farm manager to do what Dad was doing and we can’t afford him, either.’ He sighed. ‘I’m happy enough to let young Malcolm Flint take on Havering Farm, as that’s what Dad particularly wanted, but he can’t have it until Lady Day and if he does decide to take over, he won’t be in any position to pay any rent for it for several months. I’ll need to talk to him, too.’
After a morning spent indoors rereading the papers that already dealt with the possible sale of the two farms, Felix felt the need to get out and stretch his legs. He ate a scratch lunch of home-made soup and sandwiches at the kitchen table with his mother, and then set out for Charing Farm. He knew John Shepherd better than Richard Deelish, and feeling that he needed to start somewhere, he decided he would start with him.
The afternoon was bright, but chilly with a wind sweeping across the hills and chasing the last of the leaves in scurrying eddies along the drove. Despite the problems he’d been considering all morning, Felix felt his spirits lift as he strode along the familiar track and then cut across the field past Charing Coppice and down into the fold in the hill that protected Charing farmhouse from the prevailing west wind. The sun on his face and that indefinable smell of the country gave him a lift he hadn’t felt since his father’s death. He reached the farm and went through the yard to knock on the back door. His arrival was greeted with a chorus of barking from the farm dogs and John Shepherd appeared from the stables to see who was there.
‘Felix,’ he cried, coming forward with hand outstretched. ‘Good to see you. I didn’t know you were home again. I was just seeing to the horses. Come in out of the wind while I finish up and then we’ll go into the warm.’
Felix followed him into the stables where two fine-looking horses – one a grey, the other a chestnut – and a diminutive pony were all contentedly pulling at their haynets. When he had admired them all, stroking silky noses and offering apples from a barrel in the corner, he said, ‘Will you be hunting this year, Mr Shepherd?’
‘Hope so,’ John replied. ‘There was none in the war, of course, but we started up again a couple of years ago and gradually we’ve built up our numbers, and people are keen to get going properly again. The Boxing Day meet is here this year, at the Magpie. If the weather’s anything like, it should be well supported. Will you be coming down to hunt, do you think?’
Felix shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it. I’ll probably have to sell our horses. Can’t have them eating their heads off and nobody riding them.’ He looked across at John and said, ‘Might you be in the market for either of them?’
‘To be honest, I doubt it, Felix. I’ve still got old Hamble, here, getting on a bit, but he’s still a goer, aren’t you, old feller?’ He stroked Hamble’s grey nose. ‘The chestnut belongs to my Billy. Bought him at the Michaelmas Fair last year. He hunted him towards the end of the season and he’s worked hard with him ever since. He’s planning to hunt him again this winter.’
‘Whose is the pony?’ asked Felix as he gave Barney half an apple.
‘My grandson is learning to ride him,’ John said with pride. ‘He’s rising three and his legs stick out like matchsticks, but he loves it. You’ll see him in a minute when we go indoors.’
John finished settling the horses and was about to lead the way inside when he stopped and turned back to Felix. ‘Tell you what I will do,’ he said. ‘If you want to bring your father’s horses over here, I’ll keep them in our stables, just for a while, until you decide what you’re going to do, keep them yourself or find a buyer.’
Felix stared at him. ‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ he said.
‘You haven’t,’ said John. ‘I’ve offered. Somebody needs to be responsible for them and it’ll stop your mother worrying about them.’
‘It’d have to be on a business footing,’ Felix said. ‘I’d have to pay you.’
‘If you think you must, you can pay for their feed.’
‘You’re very generous,’ said Felix.
‘Your father and I have been friends and neighbours ever since I can remember,’ replied John. ‘You can say I’m doing it for him. Between us Billy and I can exercise them enough for the time being. We’ll both enjoy that. Now, if that’s agreed, let’s go indoors and get warm.’
The farm kitchen was welcoming as ever. A small boy was sitting at one end of the kitchen table busy with chalks and paper. His grandmother was at the other, rolling out pastry for an apple pie.
‘Here’s Wing Commander Bellinger come to see us,’ John said as they walked in through the door. ‘And this is my grandson, Johnny. Say hallo to the wing commander, Johnny.’
The little boy looked up, staring solemnly at Felix, but saying nothing.
‘We’ve been putting the horses to bed,’ John said, ‘and the wing commander gave Barney an apple.’
Mention of Barney brought a smile to Johnny’s face. ‘I rided him this afternoon and Gramp said I was good at riding today.’
A little at a loss, Felix managed, ‘Well done, young man.’
‘Was this a purely social call, Felix,’ John asked, ‘or shall we go into the farm office for a chat?’
‘The farm office, I think,’ replied Felix, ‘if that’s all right.’
‘I’ve got the kettle on,’ Margaret Shepherd said. ‘Come back in for a cup of tea when you’ve finished talking business.’
John led the way across the hall to the small room he used as a farm office. He went across to the desk, which was piled high with papers, waving Felix to a chair beside it.
‘It must have been an awful shock when your father was struck down like that,’ he said. ‘We were all shaken by it. Peter and I were much of an age and it brings one face to face with one’s own mortality.’
‘It certainly was a shock,’ said Felix. ‘I’d only seen him the week before and he seemed absolutely fine. Even more of a shock for my poor mother, finding him on the floor.’ He looked across at John Shepherd, a man he’d known all his life, and sighed. ‘I’m afraid the estate finances are in a bit of a mess. I know he approached you about buying out your farm, and I wondered if that was still in your mind.’
‘If I can raise the money,’ John said, ‘it’s cert
ainly something I’d like to do. It would give security to my wife if anything happened to me, and a future for Billy and his family. You know he’s married and has two children? Little Johnny out there is his son, and there’s a baby, Edie. I want my family to be able to stay here at Charing Farm, where we’ve been for the last three generations. Owning rather than leasing the farm would secure that.’
Felix nodded. ‘So if I wanted to sell, would you still be in the market?’
‘Definitely,’ John replied, ‘but I certainly wouldn’t be able to proceed until Lady Day at the earliest.’ He smiled across at Felix. ‘That’d give you time to reconsider if you want to. I know you’re probably under some financial pressure, but if you’ll take my advice, Felix, you won’t make any hasty decisions. If at any time you want to discuss anything with me,’ he went on, ‘I’ll be happy to listen. Your father and I became good friends over the years.’
‘‘Thank you,’ Felix said, genuinely grateful for John Shepherd’s attitude and advice. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ He reached over with outstretched hand and John grasped it firmly.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now let’s go and find that cup of tea.’
They returned to the kitchen to find Charlotte seated in a chair, her baby in her arms. She looked up as they came in and smiled.
‘Hallo, Gramp,’ she said. ‘Johnny said you’d come in.’
‘Have you met my daughter-in-law, Felix?’ Margaret said as she picked up the teapot from the hob. ‘Charlotte. This is Felix Bellinger.’
‘We haven’t met,’ said Felix, ‘but wasn’t it your baby that was christened not long ago? I saw you all in the church.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Charlotte answered. Nancy Bright was right, she thought, as she smiled up at him. He does look like Clark Gable!
Felix returned her smile, thinking, as he accepted a cup of tea from Margaret, that Billy was a lucky bloke to have such an attractive wife; and not just physically attractive, there was an air of serenity about her as she sat there, gently rocking the baby.
The Married Girls Page 18