Her grandmother had never wanted her, not when she was small, not now. She would never accept her. Even as a child when Lissa used to clamber on to Jeffrey’s knee and he would give her sweets and presents, laugh and play with her, Rosemary had never unbent a fraction from her rigid disapproval.
Now Lissa stiffened in the straight-backed chair, staring into the empty grate as she remembered doing as a child. Could that be the same cobweb? The very same spider? She would not allow the woman to see that she cared, that her words could still hurt.
‘There seems to be a problem, but we’ll resolve it,’ Philip said.
‘At least you are respectably married,’ Rosemary commented, glaring accusingly at Lissa. ‘I suppose we should be grateful for that small mercy, in view of her undisciplined, hoydenish youth.’
Philip laughed. ‘Hoyden? Hardly a word I would use to describe my wife.’
Rosemary stared at him without expression. ‘Then you do not know her very well. Or she has disguised her true character from you, as Katherine did from me. You have my utmost sympathy.’
Lissa felt a tremor come into her limbs. He would interrogate her later, ask what Rosemary meant. And she would feel guilty even though there was nothing to feel guilty about. She felt a prick of annoyance that they should talk about her as if she weren’t there. Lifting her chin, she outfaced them both.
‘I was no more a hoyden than any other child. Nick and I fell in the beck a few times it’s true, as children will. No other terrible misdemeanours that I can recall.’
Rosemary fixed her with the same cold unblinking stare while continuing to address her remarks to Philip. ‘I used to see her riding the fells on a pony, reckless and alone. Or wandering about on foot. Staying out all night on one occasion, up to goodness knows what. Meg exercised no control over her. None that I could see. She ran wild and free. It is a relief to see you using some discipline over her. She has long been in need of it. More tea, Mr Brandon?’ Rosemary twisted her face into what might pass for a smile.
Red hot fury was pouring through Lissa’s veins. How dare Rosemary Ellis talk about her as if she were a child needing correction, or a dog who needed to be trained? She found herself on her feet, limbs trembling, and two pairs of eyes swivelled to hers, surprised that she had dared move without their permission.
‘I think it’s time we returned to Broombank, Philip,’ Lissa said in her stiffest manner. ‘I must see to the twins.’ If she relaxed her control for a second she would burst into tears and shame herself before them both. ‘Meg will be wondering where we are.’
‘Sit down,’ he said, in his quiet voice. ‘Finish your tea and treat your grandmother with more respect.’
‘But…’
‘Sit down.’
Rosemary Ellis smiled, if only with her cold narrow lips.
Lissa was shaking, the cup and saucer clattering in her hand as she searched blindly for the table. The cup wobbled, fell over and rolled to the floor where it snapped into two pieces. The sound was like gunfire in the still room.
Lissa stared appalled at the broken flowered porcelain, then at the two coldly furious faces. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her throat constricting with fear and shame. But the anger was still there, deep inside, burning right to the heart of her. Then she started to speak, the words spilling out. ‘I won’t have you treat me like this, as if I’m some sort of problem to you both. I’m a living, breathing person who needs to be loved. Can’t either of you see that?’ She looked wildly from one stiffly blank face to the other, then she was running from the room and the sobs were coming from her in great tearing gulps.
Philip did not speak to her for days. And when he did it was to demand she write her grandmother an apology, which she absolutely refused to give.
‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not a wilful child in need of discipline.
‘That is exactly what you are.’
‘I won’t do it.’
‘I say you will. Old ladies sometimes say foolish, hurtful things but she is your grandmother.’
‘She doesn’t think so.’
‘All the more reason for you to try harder to be pleasant to her and then she will.’
‘I won’t do it.’
Philip’s dark eyes glittered with anger though his tone remained as cool as ever. ‘You will if you wish us to remain friends.’ He brought pen and paper and stood over her, instructing her what to write, blotting the angry marks of blue ink, folding the paper, slipping it into the envelope with resolute fingers and taking it to the post box himself.
When he had gone, Lissa hammered the desk with her fists in a moment of rare fury then sobbed out her despair. But what else could she have done? His control was absolute and she couldn’t bear him to be angry with her.
Hilary Cheyney was delighted to acquire a new volunteer with her charity work but though Lissa might fill an afternoon with a rummage sale, or spend a morning serving coffee, it did not make her feel any more fulfilled. She even felt an outcast from her own children.
The twins seemed to grow with each passing day and Lissa found herself competing for every moment with them, asking Nanny Sue if she might take them to the park or to feed the ducks, or if Beth might be spared egg for tea since she did not care for it. It was as if she had no say over her own children’s welfare. Philip saw little of them but laid down a strict routine which he was adamant must be kept.
And Nanny must answer to him if it was not kept. What hope did Lissa have of changing anything? She grew increasingly frustrated. Yet any resolve to defy him was demolished by his continual criticism of her. He was like a tightly coiled spring, barely restraining his anger. Each month he would bark out his disappointment at the regularity of her periods which seemed to mock his manhood. His increasing complaints and demands left her too numb to argue, made her question her own self-worth and wonder if she had anything of value to offer anyone, let alone her own children.
Nevertheless Lissa went on taking the contraceptive pill. She refused to contemplate bringing another child into this less than perfect marriage.
And every time she walked past the old drapery her heart clenched, as if it somehow represented the depth of her captivity. Dare she contact Miss Stevens again?
Whenever she could, Lissa escaped to Nab Cottage. She and Renee would drink sherry or Coca-Cola, and gossip. Those times were a blessed relief, an oasis of warmth in a life stultified by frozen emotion and a growing fear that things would never be any better.
‘You shouldn’t let your husband dictate your life to you,’ Renee insisted. ‘Make a stand for women’s rights. It’s 1963, for goodness’ sake.’
Lissa was sitting on the rug in front of the electric fire, playing with the twins who were happily engrossed emptying Renee’s capacious beige plastic handbag and filling it up again, trying out comb, powder puff and hair pins as they did so. Sarah had daubed lipstick on Beth’s mouth and was pretending to be a hairdresser and put rollers and pin-curls in her baby soft hair. Lissa, for once, was laughing and happy, Nab Cottage seemed to be the only place where she could relax and enjoy her children.
‘I mean to, one day.’
‘Huh. One day.’ Renee was washing out the budgie cage in preparation for its new resident. A hot pot was bubbling in the oven and Jimmy would be home in an hour or two but for now she was concerned about Lissa. Renee had grown quite fond of her over recent months, and the terrible twosome, who were delicious and not terrible at all.
‘Look, love. If I thought he was making you happy I’d say bugger the shop, have another kid and be done with it. Except that nobody but a one-eyed catfish could call you happy. I can see that there’s more to this than you’re telling. No, it’s all right. None of my business. It’s your life. Only don’t let things drag on too long. Make up your mind to put it right, one way or the other. Everyone deserves to be happy. You only get one shot.’
‘Derry used to say that.’ The unexpected admission brought a blush to Lissa’s cheeks,
and a wry smile to Renee’s bright lips.
‘I know you’ve never got him out of your system, but I won’t tell on you.’
The doorbell rang and she swore silently under her breath, annoyed by the interruption. ‘Who the hell can that be? It’s too early in the season for paying guests.’ She peered through the lace curtains. ‘Oh my God, it’s your beloved himself. In person. What the hell is he doing here?’
Lissa leapt to her feet, reaching for the twins. ‘He must be looking for me. Oh, Renee, he mustn’t find me here. He’ll stop me coming again.’
Renee didn’t pause to question why, or feel offended by the implied criticism. She was too busy finding the twins’ coats and bonnets, bundling the three of them out the back door. The doorbell rang again.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ she shouted. ‘Down the garden and out the back gate,’ she hissed. ‘Takes you directly to the lake path.’
Renee closed the kitchen door and hurried back to the parlour with the sound of continuous ringing in her ears. Drat the man. Had he no manners? Moments before she opened the door, her eyes alighted on the spilled contents of her handbag, all over the rug.
‘Mrs Colwith?’
‘What is it?’ she snapped. ‘Am I on fire or summat?’
Philip Brandon looked startled by the question. `I beg your pardon?’
‘All that damned ringing. Thought it must surely be the fire brigade.’
He gave a half laugh. ‘Very droll.’
‘Didn’t you hear me call? I was out the back.’
His face tightened and the smile vanished. ‘I don’t have all day. My friend here is looking for a room,’ indicating a bespectacled young man who might have been a vicar, fidgeting beside him. ‘I seem to recall you are in that line of business.’
‘I do bed and breakfast for summer visitors. I don’t take lodgers.’
‘He’d be no trouble. A professional man who must visit the area from time to time for the purpose of his work, which may take two or three weeks on each occasion. The Marina Hotel is somewhat expensive for a long-term stay.’
Ah, so that was the way of it. She’d had those sort of folk before. Travelling salesmen who pretended they were staying in an expensive hotel, wanting her to bill them as if they were, so they could claim extra on expenses while paying her cheaper rates.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, giving the man a scant glance of disapproval. ‘I never take folk this early in the season. My husband doesn’t like it. Sorry.’ She started to close the door.
‘Let’s see if I can change your mind.’ Philip brushed past her, as if she were of no account, and marched into the front parlour. As she told Jimmy later, it was as if he owned the damned place. The young man followed like a spaniel at his heels.
Renee had always thought him a real charmer, a proper gent. He was smiling at her now, though something about it caused her to suppress a shudder. She could see he was weighing her up, starting with the hair.
‘Well, well. You’re the red-headed waitress who tipped soup down my trousers. I didn’t recognise you at the time, Mrs Colwith, being otherwise occupied.’
Renee didn’t feel too happy about being recognised now, but carelessly shrugged her shoulders, trying to show that it didn’t trouble her one bit. ‘These things happen. I nearly lost my job over it.’
‘Nearly?’
‘They’re very fair at the Marina Hotel,’ she said, meeting his stare with her own. And if you humiliate Lissa in public again, I’ll do the same again, her eyes said. Job or no job.
‘You do seem rather accident prone.’ He was staring at the jumble of items on the hearthrug. Purse, bus tickets, spare stockings, safety pins, an open lipstick, powder everywhere, all spilled from her bag. Then his gaze took in the rest of the untidy room. ‘Housekeeping not your forte?’
Renee shrugged, not troubling to reply. She wouldn’t be bullied by him. He wasn’t her husband. Though despite herself a feeling of intimidation was creeping over her and she felt vaguely uneasy with these two men in her parlour. ‘Jimmy’ll be home in a minute.’ She didn’t know why she needed to say that. Something about the expression in his eyes. ‘There’s nothing I can do for your friend. I’ve told you. I only take summer visitors.’
That would show him she wasn’t scared of his high-handed tactics. She half glanced at the young man, pale and freckle-faced, skinny, glasses sliding down his nose. Probably single and lived with his mother, she decided.
But Philip Brandon didn’t seem to be listening. He circled the small room as if he owned it, filling it with his tall, lean, pinstripe presence. He poked a finger at the budgie cage and laughed, picked up newspapers and tossed them down again. Even walked into the kitchen and inspected her cupboards.
‘Here, where d’you think you’re going?’ Cheeky bugger.
He turned to her with a dry smile on his thin mouth. ‘I was told you were a good cook. Is that so?’
Renee drew in a deep breath and puffed out her chest. ‘There isn’t lighter pastry in Lakeland.’
Philip was rubbing the bridge of his narrow nose with the tip of one finger, his dark eyes measuring her. The woman was proving obstinate but he had little patience to waste on persuasion. Time was of the essence. Money went nowhere these days, what with nannies and children, the new car he had bought, enormous fees for the Yacht Club and the Golf Club next year. Not to mention all the entertaining that was expected of a man in his position. He needed a fresh injection of capital and thought he’d found the way to do it. No blowsy female too big for her stocking tops was going to get in his way. ‘I once recall doing you a favour,’ he said.
‘Eh?’ Renee was startled, wondering for a moment what he meant.
‘I remember you coming to me for advice on how to rid yourself of Derry Colwith. Isn’t he your brother-in-law?’
‘Stepson, as a matter of fact.’ Uncertainty crept into Renee’s voice. ‘I wanted him to move out, that’s all. And I asked your advice on doing bed and breakfast.’
‘That’s right. I suggested you put him in the garden shed and leave the rest to me. Now it’s time to repay the favour.’
Renee stared at him, appalled. ‘I only asked you to pay Derry more money so he could afford his own place.’ Somehow the conversation had got out of hand. Philip Brandon had offered to persuade Derry to leave town, though how he’d intended to achieve that, she hadn’t asked at the time. She wished now that she’d never interfered. If Lissa, or worse, Jimmy, found out that she’d been to see Derry’s boss who’d then sacked him, they’d blame her for everything. ‘Oh, hecky thump,’ she said.
Philip smiled. ‘Your husband wouldn’t be too pleased to learn how you conspired to drive his son out of town, now would he?’
‘Conspired?’ Renee wasn’t good on long words, but she understood this one. And when she was beaten.
‘Look, it doesn’t matter,’ the young man said, speaking for the first time. ‘If there’s a problem I can go elsewhere.’
They both stared at him, as if they’d forgotten his presence.
‘There’s no problem,’ Philip said, suave and confident. ‘Mrs Colwith will be only too pleased to take you. Mr Spencer here is a consultant for Manchester Water Board. A respectable man. He requires a clean, comfortable bed, a substantial breakfast and an evening meal. You can manage that, I’m sure?’
‘I don’t do evening meals.’
‘You do now. You can provide him with a monthly account to send to his employers but the exact sum will be settled in cash, privately. Is that clear?’
As crystal. ‘Jimmy might object,’ Renee mumbled. ‘He likes his privacy.’
‘I’m sure you can persuade him, if you put your mind to it. Well, that’s splendid.’ Taking her agreement for granted. ‘It is so much easier when people are obliging, don’t you think?’
He’s nuts, Renee thought, finding herself suddenly feeling sorry for the young man who looked as bemused as she felt. But she agreed to take him, evening meals and
all.
Chapter Eighteen
Lissa stayed away from Nab Cottage for a while, just to be on the safe side. She’d gone home in trepidation that day, expecting the usual lectures, but rather to her surprise Philip had said nothing. Nevertheless, his visit had made her jumpy. How often did he follow her? Did he watch everything she did? Surely not, he was far too busy to concern himself with her mundane routine.
For two pins she would leave him, start a new life of her own. Then almost before the thought had formed she would quash it with a sigh of despair. Look at the scandal there would be if she did. She would be looked upon as a loose woman. Wishing to be liberated was one thing, carrying it out was quite another matter. Lissa did not think she could face the shame of the whispers, the sly looks and comments which Miss Stevens had rightly warned her of. Her case was hopeless.
She concentrated on keeping busy, filling her life with good works as if that would solve everything. So when Hilary Cheyney rang and asked her to visit an old folks’ home, Lissa was happy to oblige.
The Birches seemed better than most, being a spacious, rather sedate, ivy-clad building, set in its own grounds. It looked like a grand country house hotel and the residents appeared lively and occupied. She talked with several, listening to their stories, admiring photographs of grandchildren and beloved, long dead husbands looking impossibly fresh and young in smart WWI uniforms.
Lissa approached one frail old lady who sat apart from the rest, in a corner all alone. Her head flopped oddly to one side, the mouth twisted, and Lissa’s heart flooded with pity. How dreadful to be overset by old age and abandoned by one’s family. It made her own problems seem insignificant by comparison.
‘Hello, how are you today?’ she asked, taking the old woman’s hand gently in her own.
‘Charles will be home soon,’ the woman said. ‘He’s in the war, you know.’
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