The Prodigal Wife

by Marcia Willett

  He flushed brightly and she turned back to her flowers so as to cover his embarrassment.

  ‘I’m just off to meet…’ He hesitated, and Fliss came to his rescue.

  ‘You’re meeting Maria at the White Hart, aren’t you? That’s a good choice. You can walk in the gardens afterwards and talk things through. You’re quite right to want to be honest, Jo. About Henrietta and this proposed move to Devon. I think Maria genuinely wants to heal the breach but she needs to give you space too. You’ll know what to say.’

  ‘I hope so,’ he said, his expression bleak again. ‘I’m going to get changed. I’ll see you later.’

  Fliss watched him go, the dogs following him, and picked up the vase. Hal was in the hall, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking preoccupied. She put the vase on the table and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘Alan phoned. He’s given me some feedback about Simon March.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said, frightened by his sombre expression. ‘What is it? Is he back in England?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Simon died of cancer earlier this year.’

  Fliss stared at him, horrified. ‘That’s awful,’ she said. ‘I mean it’s awful that he’s died but it’s awful in another way too. Because if it isn’t Simon then who can it be? Did Alan talk to his wife? I mean widow.’

  ‘That’s even odder,’ Hal said. ‘Simon never married. There’s no wife, no children, no second family.’

  ‘But that was why he cut all connections with Henrietta, so that he could commit totally to his new family.’

  Hal shrugged. ‘Nevertheless, those are the facts.’

  She stared at him anxiously. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘We’ll have to tell Cordelia and Angus. But in some way this makes it more worrying, doesn’t it? I felt that between us we might have been able to contain Simon. This puts a different light on it all. Shall you phone or shall I?’

  Fliss bit her lip, thinking about it. ‘You phone,’ she said at last, ‘and let’s hope that Angus answers the phone. I’ve got a feeling that Cordelia is going to find this very difficult to handle.’

  All the way to Dartington, Jolyon rehearsed the various things he might say to his mother. Fliss had given him more courage than she could possibly have guessed. It was so incredible that she’d talked about those very things that his mother had once spoken of so contemptuously; his desire to see The Keep supporting itself from its own land had been only the first step. His heart swelled with gratitude and pride when he recalled Fliss’s words: You’re a true Chadwick and a worthy guardian of The Keep.

  And it was true, he told himself: nobody else in the family could have managed to save it as a private house into the twenty-first century. The knowledge of this gave him confidence as he parked the car at Dartington and walked into the courtyard of the great medieval house – and saw Maria, standing outside the White Hart with another woman. She was looking out for him and she waved when she saw him, and he raised his hand in return. The other woman looked at him curiously, rather excitedly, and he knew exactly what she was going to say.

  ‘I’ve seen you on television.’ She was right on cue. ‘Maria’s promised to get your autograph for me. We all think she’s so lucky to have such a famous son.’

  Her greeting and the following introductions made it easy for him to gloss over his meeting with his mother. He smiled as he shook Penelope’s hand, said all the right things, agreed that they’d see each other again later on, and she went rather reluctantly away, smiling back at him.

  ‘She was hoping we were going to invite her to join us for coffee,’ said Maria complacently, clearly enjoying her privilege, ‘but we don’t want that, do we?’

  He shook his head, opening the door for her to go into the bar, sitting down at the table by the window. The fire had been lit and it was a cheerful, cosy scene. He went to the bar to order the coffee and some pain au chocolat and went back to the table, his heart beating unevenly.

  ‘This is fun,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming, Jolyon. It’s nice to be on our own for a change, isn’t it?’

  The question was an uncertain one and, looking at her, Jolyon saw the nervousness in her eyes and the anxious determination of her smile. It was odd that the carefully coloured hair and well-applied make-up, the brightly varnished nails and smart clothes, rather than achieving the desired effect actually made her seem slightly pathetic. He remembered how pretty she’d been, how stylish, and he felt a stab of compassion.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, it’s nice. And rather necessary. I need to talk to you.’

  Once again he saw that tiny flicker of anxiety behind her bright smile. ‘What about?’ she asked. ‘No problems, I hope?’

  Their coffee and pastries arrived, and Jo waited until they were quite alone again before he answered. He gathered his courage, remembered Fliss’s comments and took the plunge.

  ‘I haven’t been quite honest with you, I’m afraid,’ he said quietly. ‘When you came to stay I wasn’t quite certain of how the future lay and I misled you on a rather important matter.’

  It wasn’t coming out quite how he’d planned – it sounded very stilted and a bit pompous – but he couldn’t quite find a more natural approach.

  She was making big eyes at him, guying it up a bit, but he knew now that she was just as nervous as he was, and it gave him courage.

  ‘That sounds serious,’ she was saying. ‘Whatever can it be?’

  ‘I’m engaged to be married,’ he said – and saw the smile fade from her face and her eyes widen with shock.

  ‘Married,’ she repeated faintly. ‘Good heavens. But who…? Is it Lizzie?’

  ‘No, not Lizzie.’ He drank some coffee. ‘Do you remember Henrietta March? She came to lunch on my birthday.’

  ‘Yes, of course I remember her.’ Maria seemed to speak with difficulty, as if her lips were stiff. ‘But why didn’t you tell me? You both seemed so…indifferent, I suppose. I never guessed for a moment.’

  ‘We didn’t want you to.’ It was brutal but he could see no way out of it. ‘We weren’t engaged then, and neither of us wanted you to know that we were…romantically involved.’

  She was staring at him, coffee and pastries forgotten. ‘You mean, everyone else knew? Fliss and Hal…? And Cordelia?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said reluctantly; he was hating this. ‘Yes, they knew but they’d promised us, you see. Only the family knew.’

  ‘But I’m family too,’ she said; she sounded furious. ‘I’m your mother.’

  He simply looked at her, a measured look, and presently her gaze dropped.

  ‘You mean I didn’t deserve to know?’ she said at last.

  She drank some coffee and he tried to think how he should answer her: only the truth would serve.

  ‘I couldn’t trust you,’ he said. ‘In the past, you’ve never hesitated to make your feelings very clear about how you thought about me and what I did, and I couldn’t risk that with Henrietta. I wasn’t certain how you might react. Of course, things have changed a bit lately, I realize that. Adam has died and Ed’s gone to the States…’ He hesitated, unable to add, ‘and I’ve become a well-known TV personality.’

  She said it for him rather bitterly. ‘And you’re famous now. Yes, well, I knew that you’d think that had something to do with my visit.’

  ‘Didn’t it?’

  She looked at him; her anger had fallen away and she looked defeated. ‘I don’t think so. I really don’t. It’s true that being all alone has made a huge difference, I can’t deny that. When Adam died I suddenly realized how easy it is to take people for granted and how precious love is. It was a shock. Then Ed decided to move so far away – not that I’d seen much of him since he and Rebecca got together – and that was another blow. It doesn’t reflect very well on me, I can see that, but I wanted to try to make a new start with you. I can’t pretend that I’m not thrilled that you’re famous but I don’t think that’s w
hy I came to see you. Hal wrote such a nice letter after Ed had gone. It was as if he understood how empty my life must be, and I suddenly needed to be in contact with all of you again. Not just you, but with Hal and Prue and The Keep. I’ve been a fool, I know that, and I’ve said some pretty awful things to you in the past and behaved very badly, but I hoped that we might, well, try again. Are you saying that it’s too late?’

  She looked desolate and he felt guilty, remembering how happily she’d waved at him and her expression of expectation. He thought of her plans to move to Devon and of everything she must have been hoping for. He’d crushed all her future dreams.

  ‘No,’ he answered cautiously. ‘I’m not saying it’s too late but I think you’re expecting too much too soon.’ She was watching him eagerly now, hopefully, and he tried to remember what he’d planned to say.

  ‘I like Henrietta,’ she was telling him, almost pleadingly. ‘She’s a lovely girl. I can’t imagine why you should think I wouldn’t have been pleased.’

  ‘Look.’ He still couldn’t bring himself to call her ‘Mum’ she was almost a stranger to him. ‘Whether or not you like her isn’t the point as far as I’m concerned. The point is that you decided more or less to cut me out of your life when I was very young and you can’t simply expect to walk back into my life now as if nothing has changed. I’m sorry if that sounds brutal but if we’re going to start again then we need to know where we both stand. I’m glad you’ve had a road-to-Damascus experience if it means that we can make a new start but there’s a lot of mending to do along that road. We can’t just pretend that we’ve been a close, happy family for the last twenty years – at least, I can’t – but it doesn’t mean, either, that there’s nowhere to go.’

  She nodded, drank some coffee, but remained silent. He sat back in his chair and glanced around. It seemed light years since they’d come in and the noise of chatter and laughter struck his ears suddenly as if, until that moment, he’d been deaf.

  ‘I know what you’re saying.’ She spoke at last and he turned back to her. ‘And you’re quite right, of course. I got carried away. I so enjoyed my last visit to The Keep and seeing you all that I felt we’d made some real progress.’

  He watched her warily, refusing to feel guilty, and after a moment she looked away from him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said lightly. ‘I shan’t do anything rash, like buying a cottage in Staverton. It was a crazy idea, I can see that now.’

  He felt as if he’d hit her but he knew that he mustn’t back down. ‘It’s too soon,’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘Much too soon. Can’t we take it a step at a time? You’re coming down for Dad’s birthday, aren’t you? Well, that’s something to look forward to, and you’ll be able to celebrate our engagement with the rest of the family. Until then I’d be grateful if you didn’t speak of it to anyone else.’ He added as some kind of comfort, ‘Even Kit doesn’t know yet.’

  ‘It’ll be odd to see Kit after all these years,’ she said quietly.

  He felt uncomfortable, but relieved; he’d made his point but he hadn’t closed the door on the future. She was smiling at him now, as if she could sympathize with how he was feeling.

  ‘Penelope’s meeting me here for some lunch,’ she told him, ‘and if I know her she’s probably planning to wheedle you into joining us. She’s a terrific fan, you know. I wonder if it might be a good idea for you to make a getaway while you can.’

  For the first time he felt a tremor of real affection for her and he nodded gratefully.

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ he said, ‘and we’re all looking forward to seeing you in a couple of weeks. Everyone sends their love.’

  She nodded smilingly, quite in control of herself again, and he got up, hesitated and then bent to kiss her quickly on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ she said, and he smiled awkwardly and then hurried out.

  He almost ran to the car park, dreading that he might see Penelope, relieved that the meeting was over, anxious that he’d messed it up. Once in the car he dragged out his mobile: he needed to talk to Henrietta.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Maria sat on, a little half-smile pinned to her lips lest anyone should think anything might be wrong. Several people had recognized Jolyon and she was so glad that he’d kissed her when he left because nobody would guess at the terrible things he’d said. I couldn’t trust you, he’d said. And, Whether or not you like her isn’t the point as far as I’m concerned. It was difficult to keep her little smile in place when she was in such pain but she couldn’t bear that any of these people, some of whom still glanced at her from time to time, should suspect for a moment that she and Jolyon didn’t have a special relationship.

  She’d been so thrilled to meet him in such a public place – Penelope had been green with envy and had dropped heavy hints about how she’d love to meet him – and it had been rather sweet to see that Jolyon wasn’t really aware of people staring and nudging one another. And it was fun to see people looking at her and wondering who she might be, but she hadn’t expected him to be so hurtful. He’d looked so like Hal. How odd that the little Jolyon, always so eager to please her, to win her love, had grown into this rather tough, focused man. As a little boy he’d dreaded arguments and angry voices, gone out of his way to be the peacemaker; he’d loved her so much – and she’d hurt him so badly.

  It was impossible to keep smiling now and she opened her bag and pretended to look inside it. The remains of her coffee were cold but she hadn’t the will to go up to the bar and order some more. Anyway, she needed a drink: a serious drink. She felt rather weak, as if she’d been struck a blow, and in a way she had been, yet a part of her knew that nothing Jolyon had said had been untrue or unfair. As usual she’d been looking at things from her own point of view and not thinking properly about anybody else. This plan for moving to Devon, for instance, had been an impulsive idea. With the weekend so fresh in her mind the possibility of moving west had seemed a wonderful opportunity, something exciting to plan. She hadn’t thought it through or imagined how the Chadwicks might see it, Jolyon in particular; but then, looking back, she was obliged to admit that she’d never much worried about what Jolyon had felt about things. She’d ignored him, and used him, and cast him aside in favour of Ed and Adam. And now he was getting married and he didn’t care whether she liked his bride-to-be or not. After all the years of rejection he was now utterly indifferent to her feelings.

  Instinctively, as if to hurry away from the wrenching pain in her heart, she closed her handbag, got up and went to collect a glass of wine from the bar. Waiting in the small queue she reflected on the humiliation of spending that whole weekend at The Keep with everyone else knowing about Jolyon and Henrietta. She felt hot with the shame of it. How they must have laughed behind her back – and how difficult, now, to go for Hal’s birthday. How would she manage it? Yet she saw, dimly, that if there were ever to be some kind of reconciliation then she must accept the humiliation and hurt patiently, and work through it. Somehow, Jolyon had conquered his own hurts and her rejection of him, and had become a strong and successful man, loved by his family and by a charming and pretty girl. Now, she must try to win back just a little of the affection he’d once felt for her.

  She saw with dismay that Penelope had come in and was looking about with bright, expectant eyes. She was early, damn her, in the hope of catching Jolyon. Maria waved, mimed a drink and pointed to her table. She took a deep breath, summoning her courage and some shred of gaiety; Penelope must never guess that anything was wrong.

  Neither Angus nor Cordelia answered Hal’s telephone call. They’d left the cottage at the same time, in separate cars, and were planning to rendezvous at Angus’s house in Dartmouth for a late lunch.

  As they reached Kingsbridge, and Cordelia and McGregor turned off towards the car park, Angus flashed his headlights and headed on to Dartmouth. Cordelia drove into the car park with a lightening of heart. Fond of Angus though she was, this moment of f
reedom was delightful. She hadn’t realized how unaccustomed she’d grown to having somebody around all the time and she was finding it the least bit claustrophobic. Of course, she could disappear into her study to work – but each time she was seized with feelings of guilt that Angus was bored and wondering what to do, and she couldn’t concentrate. He insisted on going with her even to buy the newspaper in the village and she was beginning to believe that she’d rather take her chance with Simon than continue to endure this feeling of being a prisoner. She was rather shocked at her feelings but, after all, she’d been alone for the last twenty years and her solitary routine was a difficult habit to break overnight. Yet she loved Angus; she’d always loved him.

  Enough to live with him? asked the small familiar voice brightly in her head.

  ‘Shut up,’ she muttered and got out of the car and went to the ticket machine. She felt depressed and anxious as she fed money in and scooped out her ticket.

  ‘Hello again,’ said a voice from behind her. It was the tall woman who’d returned her scarf outside the bookshop and Cordelia greeted her in return and stood aside so that she could buy a ticket.

  The woman smiled and then looked at her more closely. ‘Are you OK? You’re looking rather glum this morning and you were so happy the last time we met.’

  Cordelia summoned a smile, touched by her enquiry. ‘I’m fine. A bit of a problem, nothing much.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The woman hesitated. ‘Would a cup of coffee help? I’m just going into Mangetout to have one myself.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Cordelia, surprised. ‘That would be nice.’ She waved her ticket. ‘I’ll just put this in the car and I’ll be right back. I’ll meet you on the corner.’

  They went together into the delicatessen and sat at a table at the far end of the café. They ordered coffee and Cordelia glanced around. It was here that she’d sat the last time she’d met Angus and suddenly she remembered something else.

  ‘I think I saw you in here a few weeks ago,’ she exclaimed. ‘You were sitting on one of the stools. I knew I’d seen you before.’ She smiled. ‘Shall we introduce ourselves?’