The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘She still doesn’t believe us,’ Ella said in a small voice, unable to keep the longing from her tone. ‘Even though we’ve got the same allergy.’

  Philip sighed. ‘She’s very upset, more, I think, from the point of view that she has been deceived all these years. But I don’t really think she has any choice now.’

  It was Martin who, brushing back his flop of hair, said, ‘Your allergy must be hereditary. Your father had it too, didn’t he, Phil?’

  Philip nodded.

  ‘Then surely, she must believe that I am your daughter,’ Ella said.

  Philip still seemed unsure. ‘She needs a little time, Ella. But she’ll come round . . .’

  They were the same words which Grandpa Godfrey had used so often about her gran. But Esther had never ‘come round’. Would this grandmother, too, be the same?

  Twenty-Nine

  When the day came for Ella to return to Lincoln to continue her studies, Mrs Trent had still not come to terms with her existence.

  ‘I’m sorry, I should never have come . . .’ Ella began, contrite to think she had disrupted a happy household and caused distress to an elderly lady.

  ‘Don’t ever say that,’ her father said, in mock admonishment but smiling as he added, ‘You hear me?’

  ‘But I’ve upset her.’

  ‘She’ll get over it. She’s a tough old stick. Now, I want you to promise me that you’ll come back for a weekend in a couple of weeks’ time, if you can.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘No buts,’ he said firmly.

  She smiled. ‘All right.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Now I’ll take you to the station, though I don’t really want to let you go at all.’

  As they stood on the platform, he said, ‘See you in a fortnight, then? You will come back, won’t you, Ella?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him. ‘You don’t know what it means to me to have found you.’

  His voice was hoarse and his arms tightened around her as he said, ‘Oh, I think I do, my dear. I think I do.’

  She leant out of the carriage window, waving until she could no longer see him.

  ‘Oh, Aunty Peg, Aunty Peg. I’ve found him!’ She flew into Peggy’s outstretched arms and hugged her with such enthusiasm that Peggy nearly lost her balance.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ She laughed. ‘I don’t need to ask if everything went all right.’

  Ella pulled a face. ‘Well, it did and it didn’t, but oh, Aunty Peg, no wonder Mum fell in love with him. He’s wonderful! Just like Aunty Mave said he was. Kind and caring and so good-looking, even now.’

  They sat up until the early hours for Peggy wanted to hear everything, and some things twice over.

  ‘If only Mrs Trent would accept me.’ Ella pulled a wry grimace. ‘I seem to have trouble with grandmothers, don’t I?’

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot . . .’ Peggy said, jumping up and fishing out a letter from behind the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘There’s a letter from your grandpa. I recognize Jonathan’s handwriting.’

  The girl took the letter into her hands. With wide eyes, she looked up at Peggy. ‘I expect this is a telling-off.’

  ‘Well, you won’t know by sitting there holding it,’ Peggy said, reasonably. ‘Open it and get it over with.’

  Ella’s eyes scanned the two sheets of paper. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said at last, staring up at Peggy, the letter falling into her lap. ‘He’s not even cross. He seems, well, almost to be saying he – he understands. Here,’ she held out the pages to Peggy, ‘read it. See what you think.’

  There was silence in the room, except for the tick-tick of the clock, while Peggy read the letter.

  ‘No, he’s not angry. Not at all. A little sad, maybe, that you’ve gone. He’s missing you dreadfully, that’s obvious.’

  Ella wriggled and muttered, ‘I bet he’s the only one who is.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Peggy remonstrated gently.

  ‘He – he doesn’t mention my gran, does he? He doesn’t say what she thinks. There isn’t even a message from her.’

  Peggy sighed. ‘Your gran’s like that. When Kate found she was expecting you, your gran threw her out, the real “never darken my door again” bit. Not even Jonathan could bring her round. Until you and your mum went back that time for Will Benson’s funeral, she’d never seen Kate, or written to her or even sent her a message. She’s doing the same to you, love. It’s the way she is. She never forgives and she never forgets. But your grandpa, he’ll write regularly. You’ll see. And another thing . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’d want to hear all about how you’ve found your father. He’ll be delighted. You must write back to him. You will, won’t you Ella?’

  The girl nodded. Even though she now had a new family, had found her father who, she knew already, loved her, the old hurt still remained, could not be washed away.

  Why, oh why was it never her gran who loved her?

  Peggy had been right. Her Grandpa Godfrey replied at once to her letter saying how delighted he was she had found her father.

  ‘. . . if my little Kate loved him,’ he wrote, ‘then he must be a fine man . . .’

  Ella smiled. What a kind, generous man her grandpa was. Over the following weeks, he wrote regularly; loving, newsy letters about the farm and all the people at Fleethaven.

  Rob is doing very well at the Farm Institute. He comes home most weekends. We can hear his motorbike coming nearly five miles away! He and Janice go out together when he’s home. We all wonder if one day there’ll be wedding bells there.

  The knife twisted in the wound and Ella closed her eyes against the pain. Did her grandpa know how much such news would hurt her? Was he trying to prepare her for the inevitable? That one day, Rob would marry someone else.

  And still, there was no message from her gran.

  ‘I think I’ll write to Uncle Danny and Aunty Rosie,’ she said. ‘I feel rather bad about just leaving without a word.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, love. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted any ill-feeling between you and your uncle.’

  As she sat down and picked up her pen, Ella thought but did not voice it to Peggy, And I might find out if there’s anything really going on between Rob and Janice.

  When she returned to York for the promised weekend visit, she was surprised and not a little dismayed to find the door opened by Mrs Trent.

  ‘Come in, Ella.’ The woman’s voice was expressionless. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’

  She led the way across the hall and made to mount the stairs.

  ‘Please, just a minute . . .’

  Mrs Trent, one hand resting on the banister, turned to look down at Ella. She said nothing but merely waited for the girl to speak.

  ‘Look, I don’t want to upset you again. I can easily stay in a hotel or somewhere.’

  For a long moment they stood staring at each other, then the older woman sighed, turned, and came back down the steps she had just climbed.

  In a totally different tone, as if resigned to the inevitable, she said, ‘Put your suitcase down there, Ella, and come into the kitchen. I’ll make some coffee and we can talk.’

  A few minutes later they were sitting on either side of a pine kitchen table, with coffee and biscuits between them.

  ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking since you were here. And a lot of talking,’ her mouth quirked with amusement as she added softly, ‘and some listening too.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve learnt a lot about my own son that I didn’t know.’ She was silent a moment, sipping her coffee.

  Ella said nothing, though her heart was thudding and her hands felt clammy.

  Mrs Trent sighed. ‘I suppose what hurt was his deceit, at least what I saw as his deceit. But I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that he is – and was then – a grown man with a right to live his own life.’ Her gaze met Ella’s. ‘And if that included loving your mother, then – then I must acce
pt it.’

  ‘Their marriage,’ she went on, ‘his and Grace’s – I have to admit, perhaps we were guilty of pushing them together, expecting it of them almost. Her parents and Philip’s father and I were all close friends. The men were army officers and we shared married quarters abroad.’

  Again there was a silence, then she said suddenly, ‘I went to see Grace last week.’

  Ella’s eyes widened and she gasped.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I said nothing about you. If Philip wishes to tell her, then he must do it himself. No, I went because I needed to see if what Philip had said was true.’

  ‘About her being happy now? In her career, you mean?’ Ella said.

  Mrs Trent nodded.

  ‘And?’ Ella prompted gently.

  A smile, tentative at first, spread across Mrs Trent’s mouth. ‘I have to admit, I have never seen her happier. Oh, we talked about Lizzie and cried together a little, but she confirmed what Philip had said. They had come to a mutual understanding to separate. There was one other thing she did say, and it was without any prompting from me.’

  Ella waited.

  ‘She said she had wondered if there had ever been anyone else in Philip’s life and – and she said if there had been, then she would never blame him.’

  ‘She said that?’ For a moment, Ella was incredulous.

  Mrs Trent nodded. ‘She’s a lovely, generous hearted girl who, through her own tragedies, has learnt to be understanding about the needs of others.’

  ‘She must be,’ Ella murmured.

  ‘I’m glad I went to see her. She taught me a valuable lesson.’ She reached out across the table with a wrinkled, beringed hand that trembled slightly. ‘Ella, can we start again? I’d really like to get to know – my granddaughter.’

  Tears sprang into Ella’s eyes and all she could do was nod her head vigorously.

  As often as she could, she travelled to York to be with her ‘other family’ as she called them. The weeks turned into months and it was early summer again.

  ‘I wonder how it is,’ her father remarked on one of her weekend visits, a smile twitching his mouth, ‘that every time you’re here, Ella, young Martin finds a reason to keep popping in to see us. He doesn’t seem to have the same interest when there’s just us two old fogies here, does he, Mother?’

  Mrs Trent, her blue eyes so like her son’s, twinkled. ‘No,’ she said airily. ‘And there I was thinking what a good neighbour he is.’

  They all laughed but Ella pulled a wry face. ‘I think you’ve got it wrong, Dad . . .’ She still savoured using the name. ‘I don’t think it’s me he comes to see . . .’ she touched the birthmark on her jawline, ‘not with this!’

  Her grandmother leaned forward, squinting at her closely. ‘What? What are you talking about, child?’

  ‘Oh, Grandmother.’ She laughed. ‘Now don’t be kind about it. I’ve lived with it all my life. I really don’t let it bother me.’

  Across the table, her father and grandmother looked at each other. ‘I think, Philip, that your daughter needs taking in hand. Tomorrow we begin “Operation Ella”. Agreed?’

  He nodded, seeming to understand exactly what she was talking about, though Ella stared at each of them in turn completely mystified.

  ‘Agreed,’ was all her father said.

  Mrs Trent rose from the table. ‘Well then, if you will both excuse me, I have some telephoning to do to make arrangements.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ It was her father calling up the stairs.

  ‘Coming,’ she called back, and ran lightly down. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ was all he would say.

  She climbed into the front seat of the green Rover marvelling at the comfortable upholstery and giggling inwardly at the comparison between this luxurious car and the Souters’ old banger.

  Her grandmother was sitting regally in the back seat as they drove towards the city centre. Parking the car, they walked to one of the largest department stores Ella had ever seen.

  ‘This is like the one where Aunty Peg works in Lincoln, but about twice the size,’ she gasped, staring wide-eyed around her.

  Grandmother Trent was walking ahead of her, leading the way, nodding to right and left as several of the assistants greeted her by name.

  They went up the stairs and came to a part sectioned off; a hairdressing salon and beauty parlour. A middle-aged woman came towards them, her fair hair sleek and immaculate, her suit well tailored and smart.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Trent. Is this your granddaughter?’ And Ella found herself shaking the woman’s hand. ‘Everything’s ready.’

  ‘Good.’ Mrs Trent nodded and smiled. ‘In you go, Ella. Your father and I are going to the restaurant for coffee while we wait for you.’

  Ella looked from one to the other, bewildered.

  ‘But what . . .?’ she began.

  ‘This way, please, Miss Hilton.’

  Miss Hilton indeed! Ella could hardly contain her laughter. What would her gran say if she could see her now?

  Ella was led into the hairdressing section where her hair was washed, trimmed and set on huge rollers, her head encased under a drier.

  ‘You’ve got the prettiest strawberry-blonde hair, dear,’ the assistant told her. ‘Why don’t you grow it longer?’

  Ella stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair, combed out into soft waves and curls, framed her face in a style similar to pictures she’d seen of Marilyn Monroe, except that it needed to be longer as the assistant suggested.

  The head of department, who had met Ella and her grandmother when they arrived, was at her elbow.

  ‘Now we’re going to take you to have a make-up demonstration . . .’ and within minutes Ella found herself sitting in a chair, with a girl smearing cream all over her face, talking all the time she worked.

  ‘This is a moisturizer. You use it every day under your make-up base. And this is a blemish concealer, just here and – here . . .’

  Ella gasped, stared and leant closer to the mirror. Before her eyes, the birthmark had disappeared. ‘Oh,’ she said, and again, ‘oh! However did you do that?’

  The young assistant was smiling down at her. Gently, she said, ‘Let me finish the full make-up and then we can cleanse it all off and you can have a go.’

  ‘You mean, I shall be able to do it myself? Every day?’

  The assistant laughed. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh, do show me how – please!’

  It was the ardent ‘please’ that brought tears suddenly to the eyes of the young assistant. By the time Ella stood up from the chair, hardly able to take her eyes off the new image of herself in the mirror, she was scarcely able to recognize the face staring back at her. And, best of all, however she twisted to right and left, lifted or lowered her chin, she could not see the birthmark.

  Her escort took her up to the next floor and into the restaurant, leading the way through the diners to a table near the window where her father and grandmother were sitting.

  As they turned to look at her, Ella felt a sudden thrill as she saw their mouths drop open and they gasped. ‘My dear child. You look absolutely marvellous.’ Mrs Trent clapped her hands together.

  Her father stood up and held out a chair for her to sit down but not before Ella had seen a sudden moistening of his eyes. He cleared his throat and said strongly, ‘Now, shall we order lunch?’

  ‘I don’t think I dare eat with this lipstick on.’ She laughed, her voice a little unsteady.

  ‘Now, my dear,’ Mrs Trent leaned towards her, ‘the secret of self-confidence is to take time and trouble with your appearance, but once it’s done, forget about it. No one likes to see women constantly fussing with their hair or renewing their lipstick. And you’d better have something to eat. We’ve a lot of shopping to do yet.’

  Philip Trent laughed. ‘What a good job I brought my cheque-book.’

  By the end of the afternoon, Ella was completely exhausted, but Mrs Trent seemed to be
indefatigable. ‘Just try this dress on, dear. It’ll look wonderful with your tiny waist. Oh, I do wish I could wear these pretty cotton shirt-waisters.’

  ‘But, Grandmother, you’ve bought me so much already. I can’t begin to thank you enough . . .’

  ‘Nonsense, child. I haven’t started yet.’

  And another dress was folded neatly and placed in a carrier.

  ‘Well now,’ Mrs Trent remarked, as they emerged at last from the store, ‘I don’t know when I last enjoyed myself so much. It’s much more fun buying for someone else, and such a pretty young thing too, rather than for an old trout like me.’

  There were tears in Ella’s eyes as she looked from one to the other. ‘You’ve both been so kind and – and especially about this . . .’ She touched her jawline where the cosmetics now covered the birthmark completely.

  As they climbed into the car, her father said, ‘I had a chat with Doctor Lucas about that and there are operations, you know, but he felt that if it would cover with cosmetics, it would be much more satisfactory.’

  ‘Oh, it’s wonderful. I never dreamed . . .’

  ‘Have you never used make-up before, dear?’ came Grandmother Trent’s voice from the back seat.

  Ella could not hold in the smile. ‘No, Grandmother. It’s not quite the sort of thing Gran would encourage.’

  There was a disapproving snort from the back seat, so like Esther Godfrey that Ella almost laughed aloud.

  ‘Just look at all these clothes, Aunty Peg. I feel almost guilty that they’ve spent so much money on me.’

  ‘Well, don’t. They’ve obviously loved spoiling you. Enjoy it. It’s you that isn’t used to being spoilt. And I do like your hair like that, Ella. It makes you look older.’

  ‘Oh, good. I’ve got an interview for a job coming up next week. And now I’ve got a smart new suit to wear too.’ She held up a dark blue jacket and pleated skirt with a soft, pink blouse to go with it.