The Very Thought of You

by Mary Fitzgerald

  ‘That bugger’s here,’ Maggie growled. ‘In the library with his lordship. He came round to look at them builders and didn’t seem best pleased. I got Johnny here with me, so if there’s language, his little ears won’t hear it.’

  ‘Good,’ said Frances, and went to wash her hands at the sink. ‘I’d better go up.’

  When Frances walked into the library, Jerry Costigan was sitting in the armchair by the fire nursing a glass of the Calvados she’d brought home from France, while her father stood nervously beside his desk. It was the wrong way round, thought Frances angrily. How dare this man put Pa into such a state.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Costigan,’ she said. ‘I won’t say that it’s nice to see you.’

  He sprang to his feet and shot out his hand, which she ignored. ‘What d’you want?’ she asked.

  ‘Come now, Frances … Lady Frances, I should say, don’t be like that. We’re old friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We’re not. And I repeat, what d’you want?’

  He smiled, showing even teeth in a broad, handsome face. Frances had forgotten how good-looking he was and how he appeared utterly relaxed in any surrounding. ‘I have some business with your father,’ he said eventually. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘I’ve everything to worry about,’ Frances said. ‘Those pretend builders you brought here? Who ripped out several portions of the roof and stole the lead? You’re a con artist, Mr Costigan, and any business you have with my father is over. So you can go.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Jerry Costigan laughed. ‘That’s a slanderous statement you’ve just made. I might have to speak to my lawyer about that.’

  Lord Parnell coughed anxiously. ‘Fran, darling, that was unnecessary. We don’t want lawyers involved.’

  ‘But we do,’ said Frances boldly, although her heart was beating like a hammer and she was fighting to keep the wobble out of her voice. ‘We can have the police here anytime we like to charge you with criminal damage, not to mention usury in the matter of that loan you made to my father.’

  ‘Ah yes, the loan.’ Jerry flicked an imaginary piece of fluff from the lapel of his beautifully cut suit. ‘I’ll expect that repaid in full.’

  Lord Parnell groaned and sat down suddenly on the chair behind his desk. He looked a broken man.

  ‘It will be paid,’ said Frances. ‘After the damage to the roof has been assessed and compensation added on. You’ll have to wait. But in the meantime, no interest will be forthcoming.’

  For the first time, the smile disappeared from Costigan’s face and a mean expression replaced it. ‘That’s not the way I do business,’ he said. ‘I have been known to make things quite unpleasant for people who don’t pay in full.’

  Frances went to stand in front of him and stared up at his face. ‘You don’t frighten me,’ she said. ‘I’ve just returned from France where a man doing the same sort of filthy business as you was flown home in handcuffs. I can get on the phone right now and call up the investigating officer. You may be safe in Liverpool, where you’ve got people in authority on your books who are too scared to touch you, but you aren’t safe here, or in Whitehall.’

  His fists curled and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her, and her father obviously thought so too, for he stood up so suddenly that his chair fell backwards. But nothing happened. The fury that had crossed Costigan’s face melted and he laughed. ‘What a girl,’ he grinned, and glancing to her father, he said, ‘You’ve got a real little street fighter here, Lord Parnell.’

  He put down his glass on the small wine table. ‘I’ll be going, then,’ he said. ‘Don’t bother to show me out.’ At the door, he stopped. ‘I’m staying at the hotel in the town for few days. The best one, of course. Perhaps, Frances, you’d like to have a drink with me.’

  ‘In your dreams,’ said Frances, and was cross with herself for grinning. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ she said, as he was going through the door, ‘that land that you’re hoping to buy – forget it. It’s part of a trust fund my grandfather set up for my brother and me. We’ll never sell.’

  After he’d gone, her father walked over to the armchair and sat down heavily. ‘I’ve been a fool,’ he said. ‘I let things slide for far too long. And, Frances, my dear, you’ve rescued me.’ He stared at the fire and then said, ‘D’you know, I don’t think Hugo could have done that.’

  She was still shaking when Maggie and Johnny came in. ‘He’s gone?’ asked the housekeeper.

  ‘Mm,’ Frances nodded, ‘and he won’t be coming back.’

  ‘Grandpa.’ The child scrambled onto his grandfather’s knee. ‘I’ve drawn you a picture. It’s me and Mummy and you. And the dogs and Achilles. Look.’

  A few days later, Beau rang. ‘Fran, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a proposition. How about us doing a show down here? My people are curious about what we’ve been doing, and there’s a military convalescent hospital only five miles away from you.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Fran. ‘Are you suggesting we put on a show there?’

  ‘Well, no, not exactly. I’ve spoken to the matron there and she’s not keen. Some of their blokes have shell shock and are in a bad way, but she is prepared to organise transport for those who would like to come.’

  ‘But where?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘What about your big barn? Remember you used to have dances there before the war, harvest suppers and the like? I came to a few of them in the old days. God, we were all there that last time, me and Hugo and Robert, of course. Even Johnny Petersham came. Hadn’t he just joined up then?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said faintly. That was the night that …

  ‘Are you still there, Fran? Your voice is fading.’

  ‘I’m here.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think we can do it, but we’re a bit short of the readies.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll sort out food and drink. Now, I can put up the boys here – my parents won’t mind – but can you find a room for Catherine? Della, of course, won’t be able to join us, which is a great pity, but we can do something like we did the night she was injured. And no Baxter, thank God.’ He paused, then asked, ‘What d’you think?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’

  It was three days before Christmas and the barn was looking good.

  Beau had been over from his parents’ house several times, sorting out a temporary stage, and Fran had begged the piano from the church hall. A big tree had been cut from the estate and placed at the back of the stage. Frances was enchanted when Beau’s workers strung lanterns on it, and she added decorations from the boxes in the attics.

  The villagers had all been invited and were looking forward to it. ‘It’s the talk of the village, m’lady,’ said Mrs Bertram, who ran the shop, and then she unscrewed the lid from a jar of sweets and offered it to Johnny. ‘Take as many as your little hand can hold,’ she said kindly, and then smiled at Frances. ‘He’s put on a spurt. Is he starting at the school?’

  ‘After Christmas,’ Frances nodded. ‘In the nursery class.’

  ‘It’ll do him good,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘It’s nice to have friends.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ She thought about that as she and Johnny walked home and she suddenly realised how much she was missing Catherine and Della. They’d lived in each other’s pockets for so many months that it still seemed strange not to have them constantly around.

  Catherine was coming down for the show, leaving Lili in the good care of her grandmother and great-grandmother. ‘It’ll be a relief to be away from them for a couple of days,’ she’d laughed when Frances had phoned her. ‘They never stop talking, and our house is always full of refugees who Grandmère collects at the French church and brings home for a meal.’

  ‘Have you seen Della?’

  ‘Yes, I saw her yesterday. She’s almost back to her old self, apart from not being able to walk. Dr Tim has got a transfer to a military hospital in London and sees her e
very day. And Ma Flanagan has gone back to Liverpool. She’s buying a house in somewhere called Southport, I think. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Oh, I can,’ said Frances, ‘and we know where the money is coming from.’

  When she got home from the village, her father was waiting for her, waving a letter. ‘This is very strange,’ he said. ‘It’s from a Count de Montjoy, and written in very poor English, I have to add. He says he’s in London and will be coming down here. He’d be very obliged to talk to me.’

  ‘Oh, it’s Guy,’ said Frances happily. ‘I told you. We stayed in his chateau. When’s he coming?’

  ‘Tomorrow. And how difficult of him. We’ll be busy with your concert. God knows what he’ll think.’

  ‘He’ll be alright – he’s used to us.’

  She picked up Catherine from the station that evening and the two girls fell on each other.

  ‘Oh, I’ve missed you,’ cried Frances. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you.’

  ‘And me you,’ laughed Catherine. Then, ‘Mon Dieu!’ she gasped, as Frances turned into the drive. ‘No wonder you were so at home at the chateau!’

  Frances laughed. ‘You sound just like Della. Though probably the language would be worse. Come in and meet my father and my little boy.’

  John Parnell was overwhelmed by Catherine. ‘What a beauty,’ he whispered to Frances, when Catherine had been taken by Johnny to inspect his cars.

  ‘Wait till you hear her sing,’ she grinned.

  ‘I’ve brought Johnny a present,’ Catherine called. ‘Is it alright?’

  ‘Of course,’ Frances said, and they waited while Catherine went into the hall and opened her suitcase. She came back with a toy wooden Spitfire, complete with roundels and a propeller.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ squealed Johnny, and hugged her round the legs.

  ‘That’ll keep him quiet for hours,’ said Frances. ‘Now, let me take you up to your room and you can hang your clothes up. Maggie’s lit the fire in there and put hot-water bottles in your bed, and we’ll refill them later. This house is freezing, I’m sorry to say, but we’ll have a drink down here afterwards to warm us up and a good chat.’

  It was late when they finally went to bed. Catherine told her all that Robert had said and how she was still no closer to knowing what had happened to Christopher.

  ‘Have you seen Robert lately?’ Frances asked.

  Catherine shook her head. ‘No, not since that lunch at the Savoy. He’s busy, I suppose, but maybe he’s angry with me for not accepting that Christopher is dead.’

  ‘I don’t think that,’ Frances murmured. ‘He’s so in love with you.’

  Catherine gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But tell me, what has happened here, with your father and Jerry Costigan?’

  Frances laughed when she told that story. It was much easier in the telling than it had been at the time; she still didn’t know where that fierce determination had come from, but had, in retrospect, loved it.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ she said, as they were walking up the stairs, each clutching a hot-water bottle. ‘Guy is coming here tomorrow.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Catherine. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Frances answered. ‘We’ll find out when he gets here.’

  Beau drove the boys over in the morning and they all came into the house. ‘Crikey,’ said Tommy, looking around. ‘I thought Beau’s pile was pretty fancy, but this place …’

  ‘Magnificent,’ roared Godfrey, ‘as fine as a raja’s palace I once stayed in. India, you understand, sir,’ he confided to Lord Parnell. ‘I was there for many years.’

  Colin said nothing but walked around with his mouth open. Eventually he said, ‘I’d nae like to pay for the coal here. It would take a fair bite out of a man’s wages.’

  ‘Time for some rehearsals, I think,’ said Beau. ‘We’ll be a bit rusty, so if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the venue.’

  They rehearsed all afternoon, slotting in the numbers so that despite the missing acts, it would be a pretty good show. Frances agreed to be Colin’s assistant for his magic act, and Tommy rehearsed a montage of popular hits on the piano.

  ‘What if I do a speech from Shakespeare?’ Beau asked. ‘It might not fit in with the other acts, but it will fill a gap.’

  ‘Yes,’ they all agreed, and Beau, pleased, went off to decide which one to do.

  At six o’clock, they came back to the house to have a light supper and change. Frances had brought in a girl from the village for the day to help Maggie and they got on so well that Maggie said it was a pity they couldn’t keep her.

  ‘I think we might,’ said Frances. ‘Let me talk it over with my father.’

  ‘Pa,’ she started, when she got up to the hall, but the doorbell rang and instead she went to answer it. It was Guy, standing in the snow, the taxi from the town tooting his horn as he went back down the drive.

  ‘Guy!’ she breathed, and let him take her in his arms. There was a collective intake of breath from the Players, who were having drinks with Lord Parnell by the roaring hall fire. They were as surprised as Frances’s father.

  ‘You are glad to see me, yes?’ Guy asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You have missed me?’

  ‘Have you missed me?’ she countered.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have missed you very much. Now, will you introduce me to your father?’

  They were a jolly company that evening, excited about the forthcoming show, but loving the idea about performing in a barn.

  ‘I thought singing on boards, loosely balanced on oil drums, was alarming,’ bellowed Godfrey, ‘but the thought of all that hay flying about does take the biscuit.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ said Tommy. ‘Does Gertrude know where you are?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t, you dear old thing.’ Godfrey looked over his shoulder as though he was scared that his wife was lurking in the corner. ‘She thinks I’m still in France. I took up Colin’s kind offer and have made my home with him, temporarily.’

  Catherine chatted to Guy, while Frances handed round drinks and sandwiches. ‘Why have you come?’ she asked.

  ‘To see Frances and to speak to her father. Do you know if he speaks French?’

  Catherine smiled. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Well, then can you do me a favour?’

  Frances was surprised to see her father lead Catherine and Guy into the library and was about to follow them when Johnny came up the kitchen stairs and into the hall. ‘Hello, Mummy,’ he said. ‘There are a lot of people in the house.’

  They all came to say hello, and Tommy put a half-crown in the little boy’s hand. ‘Here you are, son. Buy some sweeties.’

  Johnny looked at his mother with shining eyes and Beau, coming up behind them, said, ‘That boy is the image of Johnny Petersham. Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘My mother wouldn’t let me.’

  He laughed. ‘How is the countess? For that matter, where is the countess?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Frances with a grin, and then turned her head towards the door.

  There was the sound of cars coming up the drive and Beau put down his drink. ‘I’d better get my coat and direct them, and you lot must get a move on and change.’

  It was when they were walking to the barn that Frances asked Catherine what she and Guy were doing earlier with her father.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Catherine, with a conspiratorial smile. ‘And that’s all I’m going to say.’

  The barn was full. Not only had the village turned out in force, but several rows of seats were taken up by the military convalescents. Beau’s family sat on the front row with Lord Parnell, who looked as nervous as if he was one of the performers. Johnny was sitting on a hay bale, with Maggie beside him. ‘Mummy!’ he called, pink with excitement, as she stood by the stage, and she gave him a little wave.

  Then Beau stepped to the front of the stage. ‘La
dies and gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘some of you may know that I have been running a touring show. We play to factories and dockyards and to the military. Recently we came back from France, where we played to the brave soldiers at the front and to those in the field hospitals. It was an uplifting experience and also had its dangers. Sadly, one of our number was very badly injured and can’t be with us tonight, but the rest of us are ready to give you an evening to remember.’

  He turned and nodded to Catherine, and as she walked on stage, Tommy struck up with ‘Smoke Gets In Your Eyes’. Her voice lilted over the barn, sweetly filling the place with melody, and soon the audience was singing along with her. Frances could see her father staring at Catherine with his mouth open, and Beau’s father, Rolly Bennett, goggled at her and yelled, ‘Bravo, little lady,’ when she’d finished and, ‘More!’ before getting a fierce look from his wife.

  Then Colin did his turn, which went so well that the audience howled with laughter. Frances could see Johnny on his feet jumping up and down and squealing at the fun, until Maggie grabbed him and put him on her knee.

  Godfrey sang his favourite, ‘On the Road to Mandalay’, which everyone knew and loved, before Tommy played his medley.

  ‘It’s us next,’ Frances said, suddenly nervous at singing in front of people she knew. ‘My God, I’m scared.’

  ‘No need to be,’ whispered Catherine. ‘You know you can do it.’

  She could too, and stood beside Catherine as they sang ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’. It missed Della’s verve and her high soprano voice, but they sang in harmony and the audience loved it and cheered them to the old rafters. So much so that dust floated down, giving a hazy atmosphere that made the lamps that were strung over the tree and across the beams twinkle more softly.

  They had a break then and Beau had arranged for a barrel of beer to be brought in with glasses borrowed from the pub. The men and women in the audience eagerly lined up for that, and some of the nurses who had come with wounded brought glasses back to them.

  John Parnell caught up with his daughter at the back of the stage. ‘Fran, my darling girl, you were terrific. I would never have guessed.’ He bent and kissed her cheek.