‘Oh, that’s great. Listen, Alan.’ She swallowed nervously. This was the big one. ‘Thank God you’ve come in. I’ve found someone to rent the house. No, listen. It means we don’t have to sell unless we’re really sure we want to. I’m ever so pleased about it. Only trouble is they want to be in by’—she did a quick mental calculation—‘Tuesday at the latest.’
‘Tuesday? That’s a bit quick, isn’t it?’
‘I know. That’s why I’m so glad you’re in. They’ve got to be out of where they are, see? And they have got somewhere else but they want this place. They’re ever such a nice couple, no children, really ideal. I wouldn’t have to worry about them wrecking the place and you know how difficult it is to find nice people!’ She gabbled on breathlessly, willing him to believe her, to agree.
‘Well, OK, love, I can see the advantages, but can we be packed up by Tuesday?’
‘Well, we’ve got to leave a lot of the stuff anyway, as it’s a furnished let. And I’ve been doing a bit myself, praying you’d be in on time. Cass Wivenhoe says she’ll finish anything off for us and send things on and that. Honestly, Alan, it’s just like a miracle. I’m ever so pleased.’
‘As long as you’re happy, Jane, I don’t really mind. But don’t forget we’ve got to go somewhere when we get to Chatham. I suppose we could stay in a Bed and Breakfast ‘til I get a married quarter sorted out . . . ’
‘Well, I’ve arranged that too! See, Cass knows this couple in Chatham who’ve just gone abroad on an exchange. Their people let them down and they want someone in their place. It’s all ready, we can move straight in. Cass says it’s a really nice cottage, just out a bit, in the country. Sounds much nicer than a quarter. Please, Alan. I think it’s sort of meant, the way it’s just all happened. I’m sure we could be ready in time.’
‘OK, love, if it’s what you want.’ She could have fainted with relief. ‘Turning into a proper naval wife, aren’t you? Bit of luck we got in today then, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes!’ she lied. “That’s what I mean, it’s meant to happen this way.’
‘Fine. Well, we’ll get ourselves sorted out tomorrow, then. Must go, there’s a queue forming. See you later on, love. ‘Bye.’
Jane sank into a chair and closed her eyes, horrified by the ease with which she had told so many lies. Soon, soon they’d be gone! No more skulking indoors, frightened to answer the phone in case it was Philip, fobbing him off with excuses that didn’t make him suspicious. She’d been packing the car for days, going secretly from the kitchen door that led directly into the garage, so that none of the neighbours should see. They could be off on Monday, with luck. With a deep sigh of relief she hauled herself to her feet and went in to the kitchen. After all that she desperately needed a cup of tea.
ON SUNDAY, AFTER CHURCH, Cass strolled down to the Mallinsons’ cottage, leaving Gemma to go home alone. Charlotte had said that she felt up to cooking the Sunday lunch. She was still in a very nervous state and had positively refused to return to school on the Thursday. In despair, Cass had telephoned the doctor and asked his opinion. He had told her that a few more days wouldn’t hurt but that she should be perfectly fit to go back the following week. Cass felt that the longer Charlotte stayed away the harder she would find it to return and rather unwisely told her so. She explained, sympathetically enough, that when these things happened it was best to face up to them and get on with life at once. She likened it to falling off a horse and getting straight back up on to it again, a parallel she felt sure that Charlotte would understand. Charlotte had stared at her in a stony and stubborn silence and Cass knew herself to be defeated. She had told Charlotte that she could stay home until the weekend but that she must go back to school on Sunday evening. Charlotte continued to stare at her and Cass had left her to it. She was still battling with her own pain over Nick’s desertion and the way that he had deceived her. She had been so certain that it had been as special for him as it had for her. To know that she had been just one more poor duped female was almost too much to bear and she lay awake at night, staring into the dark, shattered by the turn of events and occasionally shedding tears. She remembered his tender love-making and whispered endearments and ached to feel his arms about her. At these moments, she would turn on to her face and cry in earnest into her pillow. By morning, she felt too exhausted and too miserable to cope with Charlotte’s unreasonable behaviour and was grateful that only Gemma was at home. Oliver had already been taken back to school by his great-aunt’s henchman and Cass had been obliged to telephone and explain to him that Charlotte wasn’t well but that she would be back soon. The twins, too, had returned, under pain of death should they so much as breathe a word about what had happened in Bristol. On Saturday evening, when Cass told her to pack her things for school, Charlotte had announced that nothing would induce her to go back to Blundells, that she would be an object of pity and scorn. There had been a row at this point but Charlotte remained obdurate and had refused to speak another word since.
At least, on Sunday morning she had stirred from her apathy enough to suggest that she could cook the lunch, although she had looked very oddly at Cass when the latter had announced her intention to check the cottage.
‘I haven’t been over for ages,’ she explained, almost defensively. The child was behaving most peculiarly and it would probably be a good thing when she’d finished those tablets. They seemed to have a very strange effect on her. ‘I shan’t be late for lunch, it’s only a ten-minute walk, fifteen at the most!’
Mrs Hampton waylaid her at the church gate to ask after Charlotte.
‘By the way,’ Cass glanced round and lowered her voice, ‘I’ve got a message for you from Jane Maxwell. Alan’s home and they’ll be off tomorrow. I think you know that it’s all very hush-hush?’
‘I do indeed, my lover. Well, I am pleased. An’ all thanks to you, I ’ear!
‘Rubbish! But she said that if you happened to be passing and popped in, she’d love to say goodbye.’
‘O’ course I will. I’m that pleased for ’em.’
‘Good.’ Cass smiled at her. ‘See you in the morning then, thank goodness! You seem to be the only person that Charlotte will talk to at the moment, and I’m hoping you’ll have a chat with her tomorrow. She simply refuses to go back to school this evening and I’m at my wits’ end. She says that they’ll all laugh at her. We’ve had a bit of a row, I’m afraid, but what can I do? I can’t take her by force. I wish Tom was home. Kate’s been over and tried to reason with her but she just won’t have it. She says she’d rather go to Tavistock Comprehensive. There’s just a chance she’ll listen to you. You’ve always been so close.’
Mrs Hampton looked dismayed.
‘There now! I’d quite forgot! I can’t come in tomorrow. I meant to tell you Friday but it went outa me mind, what with Charlotte an’ every-thin’. I’ve gotta go down the ‘ospital for me check-up. It’s that ol’ leg o’ mine. Mrs Drew’s takin’ me down in the mornin’. Goodness knows how long it’ll all take. You know what them consultants is like. Could take all day.’
‘Don’t give it a thought. You can talk to her any time. It looks as if I’m landed with her. Let me know how it goes. It might be better if she came down to you. You could invite her down for tea and have a little heart to heart.’
They parted and Cass set off on the bridle path that led, amongst other places, to the cottage. The earth was bone dry beneath her feet but today the sun was obscured by a high mist although it was still warm. Change was in the air. She approached the cottage from the back and climbed the stile into the garden thinking of her assignation there with Nick after her party all those months ago. Her heart gave a great throb of pain. She still couldn’t quite believe it and hoped against hope to hear from him, telling her that it had all been a dreadful mistake. But she knew in her heart that it was all too true. Sarah’s revelations had shocked her; Nick must have told her everything and that hurt almost more than anything else. She remembered the pity and contempt in Sarah’s
eyes and felt a thrill of humiliation and pain. How could he have exposed her to that?
She unlocked the front door and went in. It smelt musty and unused and she decided that it might be time to start up the central heating for the winter. It wouldn’t do any harm, either, to let Hammy in with a duster. She passed through, opening windows, and went to look at the central heating boiler. After five minutes it was still a mystery to her and she knew that she’d have to get someone in. She went into the sitting room and looked at the pad which was kept by the telephone. Here, Paul had written various instructions and telephone numbers which he had considered might be useful to her in her capacity as caretaker. Yes, here indeed was an entry: P.R. Plumbing, and a local telephone number. Well, it was Sunday, but it was worth a try. She dialled. After some time a sleepy voice spoke in her ear.
‘Hello? Who is it?’
‘Oh, hello. I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday but I’ve got a bit of a problem. I’m at Brook Cottage, the Mallinsons’ place, just outside . . . ’
‘Yeah. I know where it is. I put the central heating in for ’em.’
‘Ah. Well, that’s the point. They’re abroad at present and I’m care-taking for them. The place is getting very damp but I haven’t a clue how to start the wretched thing up. I suppose you couldn’t come over and get it going for me?’
‘What, now?’
‘No, no. But as soon as possible. It really does need some warmth in the place.’
‘Yeah. Well, I could be over that way tomorrer, as it happens. I could do it then, it’s only a five-minute job.’
‘Could you really? That would be marvellous. What sort of time would that be?’
‘Well, I dunno at the minute. I’ll have to check with someone else I gotta see. I’ll phone you in the morning.’
‘That’ll be fine. Look, I’ll give you my home number so that you can phone me there. OK?’
She gave him the Rectory number then, having given the place an airing, shut all the windows, locked up and walked home to lunch.
Twenty-nine
During the night the wind had risen and though for most of the next morning the sun shone fitfully, great pillows of purple cloud banked steadily up in the west.
Holding open the drawing-room door just a crack, Charlotte watched Cass take the telephone call. She strained to hear the conversation.
‘Oh, hello . . . So you can come? That’s marvellous . . . About half-past three? Commander Mallinson, that’s right . . . Oh, don’t worry! I’ll wait . . . Fine, ‘bye.’
To Charlotte’s feverish imagination it sounded like an assignation at the Mallinsons’ cottage. She was convinced now that she had been right all along in imagining that her mother was involved with somebody. It was just as well that she had refused to go back to school. If there was to be no Hugh for her then she simply couldn’t face the mock sympathy, the whisperings that would result when her peers found out. She might just as well stay at home and make sure that at least the family remained safe and all together. It was time for action. Her brain seethed with ideas.
Cass left the Rectory just after a quarter past three. This time, in view of the weather, she took the car, parking it on the hard standing in front of the Mallinsons’ garage. She hurried through the garden and into the cottage, glad to be out of the wind. There seemed to be a storm brewing.
The plumber arrived some ten minutes later and parked a rather battered van beside Cass’s car. She let him in and he nodded to her, going through to the kitchen where the boiler was housed with the air of one who knew his way about.
‘Won’t take long, Missis.’ He put his tool-bag down on the kitchen floor and glanced meaningly at her mug of coffee. ‘Cold, innit? That’s our summer over, I reckon.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right.’ Cass smiled at him, rather liking his looks. He reminded her of someone but she couldn’t think who it was. ‘You’re very welcome to a cup of coffee but you’ll have to drink it black. I didn’t bring any milk, I’m afraid.’
‘ ’Tis better than nothing, as long as there’s sugar.’
‘Plenty of sugar.’ Cass produced another mug, spooned in coffee and sugar, poured on boiling water. ‘I wasn’t sure how long you might be so I thought I’d keep myself warm while I waited.’
‘Ta!’ He took the mug and gulped down a mouthful. ‘That’s better. Now, let’s have a look at this.’
He set down the mug and opened the boiler door. Cass perched idly on the edge of the kitchen table, sipping her coffee and observing his crisp black hair and the warm tan of his skin with approval. She was just opening her lips to remark on his likeness to Alan Maxwell when the kitchen door swung back and Charlotte almost fell into the room.
‘Caught you!’ she cried, with a sound between a laugh and a sob. ‘I’ve caught you . . . ’ Her voice died away as she took in the scene, seeing the young man in overalls at the boiler.
‘What are you doing?’ said Cass, annoyed and half-suspecting what was in Charlotte’s mind.
‘I’ve caught you,’ began the girl, feebly now, aware that the plumber was staring at her in surprise. ‘Caught you before you left, I mean.’ She tried to pull herself together, seeing that she had misjudged the situation completely. ‘I ran across the fields.’
‘Yes, but why?’ Cass’s temper was rising now and she had quite forgotten the plumber. This thing between them was coming to a head and she, for one, was ready for it. Charlotte had been treating her as though she were an enemy, as though she were to blame for the debacle in Bristol, and Cass had been hurt by it. All the misery and humiliation of the last few days rose to the surface of her mind and real anger, something she rarely experienced, was erupting out of them. ‘What’s all this about?’
Charlotte gazed into her mother’s face with dismay. In all her life she had seen Cass lose her temper probably no more than half a dozen times and she always found it very frightening. Everything was going terribly wrong. Her overwrought brain had conjured up images as she had run across the fields, having been presented with the perfect excuse to come to the cottage. She had imagined Cass in her lover’s arms and she, Charlotte, denouncing her and extracting promises of fidelity for the future whilst Cass grovelled at her feet in humiliation. What had gone wrong? She closed her eyes tight to shut out Cass’s expression of anger and contempt and searched desperately for a way out. Of course! She gulped with relief. She already had her excuse.
‘It’s the Maxwells!’ she cried, opening her eyes. ‘Jane phoned just after you’d gone. She wanted to say goodbye to you. They’re leaving for Chatham and she wanted to say thanks for everything and she’ll phone when she gets to their new place. They were leaving that minute, she said, but I thought if I ran you could phone from here . . . ’
‘What rubbish!’ shouted Cass, getting off the table. ‘Why not tell her to phone me here? Or why didn’t you phone? It was just an excuse . . . ’
She broke off as the plumber elbowed her unceremoniously aside.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said. He seized Charlotte by the upper arms, his face screwed up with a mixture of puzzlement and rising anger. He looked as if he was attempting a violent mental exercise. ‘What do you mean, “just leaving for Chatham”?’
Charlotte stared at him in surprise.
‘Tell me!’ He gave her a little shake as though to jolt the words from her. ‘Did you say Jane Maxwell is just leaving for Chatham?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Charlotte gazed at him in alarm. His entire concentration was focused upon her. ‘She’s going to live there with her husband. Why? What’s the matter?’
‘The bitch!’ he whispered, loosing his grip on the frightened girl. ‘The bloody bitch! She’s been lying to me. Fobbing me off! I should’ve guessed. She’s going off with that bastard. With my kid!’
He stood quite still for a moment and then with a supreme effort he seemed to pull himself together. The doors banged open as he flew out and Cass gave a cry as realisation struck her like a physical blow. Her h
ands flew to her face as she saw, as if etched on the air before her, the name that was printed on the notes she had found on the telephone table. Philip Raikes. P.R. Plumbing.
‘Philip Raikes,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my God, it’s him . . . You idiot!’ She turned on Charlotte. ‘You bloody idiot. D’you see what you’ve done? Come on, we’ll have to try to stop him!’
She seized Charlotte by the arm, dragging her with her. They raced through the garden, the wind tearing at their hair, out of the gate, in time to see Philip Raikes turning his van. He could have been drunk the way he was driving. As Cass reached him, he straightened the van up and tore off down the lane, mud and gravel spurting from beneath the wheels.
Cass leapt for her car.
‘Get in!’ she shouted to Charlotte, who was near to tears. ‘Get in!’
Charlotte scrabbled into the passenger seat as Cass dragged the keys from her pocket and started the engine. As the car leapt into the lane Charlotte turned to Cass.
‘What is it?’ she pleaded, her voice trembling with fear. ‘What have I done? Please, tell me!’
‘That man,’ Cass jerked her head towards the vanishing vehicle, ‘has been having an affair with Jane Maxwell. She’s having his baby and he wants her to leave Alan and live with him.’ She changed down with a shrieking of gears and took a bend on the wrong side. ‘He’s threatened to kill her if she stays with Alan and, it seems, he’s quite capable of carrying out the threat. We’d managed to arrange to get them both away without his knowing. They’re going to Chatham. And you, you stupid little fool, have blurted it all out in front of him.’ She clashed the gears again, putting on another spurt as she saw the van reach the junction and pause. ‘God knows what he means to do but . . . ’
She too, had reached the junction and slammed into first gear but, even as she let out the clutch, she gave a little cry for the Maxwells’ distinctive yellow car had appeared over the brow of the hill. Charlotte, who at such a bald stating of the facts had covered her face with her hands, dragged them down at Cass’s cry just in time to see the van career across the road and smash at full speed into the yellow car. There was a noise of tearing metal and splintering glass as Philip was flung, first through his own windscreen and then the Maxwell’s, to die in Jane’s lap as she sat, covered with fragments of glass and rigid with shock and horror, watching his blood soak into her skirt. After a moment, or a lifetime, Jane was aware that the low moaning noise that had been issuing from Alan’s lips had stopped and he lay slumped sideways, his face grey, blood pumping from his leg. She lost consciousness.
First Friends Page 40