‘Fortunately for my peace of mind and wallet, I don’t.’ Richard took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters. ‘I see no sign of Joseph Griffiths, he can’t think a great deal of his fiancée to leave her alone at a party where she knows no one.’
‘Robin enticed him into the billiard room.’
Richard smiled. His son was in the next room. ‘His son’ – the phrase had an odd ring and a peculiar effect on his consciousness. Strange how Esme and her family had suddenly reappeared in his life. Although she had asked him to handle her divorce, she had taken care to let him know that she had no desire to renew their acquaintance on a more intimate level, but there was no denying their past – or the product of it. All he had to do was walk into the next room, start a conversation and he’d be talking to his son. But first he decided to take another look at the girl Joseph Griffiths had become mixed up with. A girl he had even sounder reasons than Esme to think unsuitable.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, Philip?’
Philip looked at Richard in surprise. ‘Lily Sullivan, Mr Richard Thomas.’
‘How do you do.’ Richard held Lily’s hand fractionally longer than necessary. Unlike Esme, he could see why a young man would be attracted to the girl. Pity. Given the right pedigree ...
‘Mr Thomas is the senior partner at Thomas and Butler, where I work, Lily.’
‘What Philip is trying to tell you is that I’m his boss.’ Richard took a couple of smoked salmon canapés from the buffet and dropped one on to her plate. ‘You must try this. No one makes a canapé like the Watkin Morgans’ cook.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily moved closer to Philip Butler. Helen had told Lily that Richard Thomas made her flesh creep; now she’d met him she understood why.
‘So, Lily, are you a modern woman?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, Mr Thomas.’
‘I was asking if you work.’
‘Yes, in a bank.’
‘Ah, a clerk.’
‘Shorthand typist, Mr Thomas.’
‘Don’t know how you bright young things keep all those squiggles in your head or move your fingers around so quickly on your typewriters. Dexterity, eh, Philip?’ He nudged Philip in the ribs. ‘See you later.’ He headed for the billiard room.
‘You don’t like smoked salmon?’ Philip asked as Lily left it lying, untouched, at the side of her plate.
‘No.’
‘And I take it you haven’t been in this house before?’
‘No.’
Taking her plate together with his own, he laid them on a side table. ‘I’ll give you the grand tour. It’s a pity it’s so dark and dismal outside, the gardens are worth seeing, especially in spring and summer.’
‘Cigars?’ Richard pulled a handful of tubes from his coat pocket and distributed them among the young men in the billiard room.
‘Thank you, sir. Whisky?’ Robin picked up the decanter.
‘If it’s your father’s, yes, he knows how to buy a good malt. Please don’t let me interrupt you. Only called in to escape the crush outside.’ As George returned to the table he moved closer to Joe. ‘How are your mother and grandmother?’
“Well, thank you, Mr Thomas.’ Joe recalled Robin’s warning about Richard Thomas’ loose tongue and prepared himself for derogatory comments about Helen’s slipshod work, or his parents’ impending divorce.
‘I heard you on the radio. You sounded so professional I couldn’t believe it when your grandmother mentioned it was your debut.’ Clamping a hand across Joe’s shoulders, Richard led him to a couple of chairs at the window end of the room. ‘Tell me, do you have aspirations to a career in broadcasting? Because if you do, I might be able to recommend you to a couple of fellows I know ...’
‘Do you mind if I show Lily the Minton-tiled sculleries, Mrs Watkin Morgan?’
‘Not at all, dear.’ Mrs Watkin Morgan’s attention was fixed on the sun lounge. Angela was dancing with a perfectly presentable boy from a sociably acceptable if dull family, but she knew her daughter had set her heart on Joseph Griffiths. And the particular young man she was with had no trust fund – or at least not one substantial enough to be talked about. Turning back, she smiled at Lily, ‘Philip is the expert on this house. His grandfather built it in 1898. Why don’t you take advantage of his knowledge and get him to give you the full conducted tour?’
‘I couldn’t possibly ...’
‘Of course you could, dear, we’re quite proud of this little pile of bricks and mortar although Philip’s grandfather, not Mr Watkin Morgan, has to take credit for putting them together. And don’t forget the old servants’ quarters in the attic, Philip,’ she called out, as he led Lily in the direction of the pantries and sculleries. ‘Ignore the dust and neglect, and look out of the windows. The view from up there is said to be the best one of Mumbles Head in Swansea.’
Joe checked his watch as Robin rather unsteadily refilled his glass and Richard Thomas’. The old man’s stories about the people he knew who worked at the BBC were fascinating, but he suddenly realised he’d left Lily alone for over two hours. ‘Please, excuse me.’ He placed his full whisky glass on one of the coasters the housekeeper had set out on the windowsill. ‘It’s been nice talking to you, Mr Thomas, but I’ve been neglecting my fiancée.’
‘Small, dark, pretty – Lily something?’ Richard Thomas removed three more cigars from his pocket and handed two to Robin and Joe.
‘That’s her.’ Joe handed back the cigar. ‘No, thank you, Mr Thomas.’
‘Been introduced, last I saw Philip Butler was taking care of her.’
‘See, she ... she’s fine.’ Robin was so full of whisky he could hardly stand.
‘All the same, I’d better check.’ Joe pushed past Robin.
‘Schpoilsport, breaking up the fun. You’ll be back?’ Robin pleaded plaintively.
‘You wouldn’t notice whether I was here or not.’
‘Joseph, angel pie, you promised me a dance.’ Angela zoomed in on him from her station in the drawing room the moment he emerged into the hall.
‘I have no memory of promising you any such thing.’
‘It is my birthday.’ She pouted.
He had the grace to blush. ‘And I’ve forgotten to give you your card and present.’ Patting his pockets, he extracted a creased and battered card from the inside of his jacket and a small box that held the gold earrings he’d picked out for her in his father’s warehouse. Now his mother wasn’t looking over his shoulder, he had no compunction about buying his friends’ presents at family discount prices.
‘Thank you, sweetie. Kiss for them.’ To his embarrassment she linked her hands round his neck and planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Come on, they’re playing our song.’
‘We never had a song.’
‘We have now.’ Dragging him backwards, she pulled him into the sun lounge. ‘I’m here, Joseph,’ she complained as he looked around the room while dancing rather perfunctorily with her.
‘I can’t see Lily.’
‘It’s bad form to look for one girl while you are with another, but as you’re engaged I’ll forgive you. And you don’t have to worry about Lily. Philip Butler is looking after her. The last I saw, he was taking her upstairs.’
‘And this leads to the servants’ attics.’ Philip led Lily up a flight of stairs, less than half the width of the curved grand staircase that linked the ground and first floors.
‘It’s quite dark and eerie.’ Lily looked down a long, windowless corridor interspersed with doors set opposite one another at six-foot intervals.
‘Single low-wattage bulb, designed not to waste electricity on underlings,’ Philip explained solemnly. ‘You’re not cold, are you?’ he asked, seeing her shiver.
‘A little. I’ll wrap my stole round my shoulders.’
‘Here, let me.’ He pulled the woollen wrap round her neck before opening the first door on his right. ‘When I was a boy this used to be my favourite room in the house.’
; ‘You came here a lot?’
‘I used to. My father and Robin’s were great friends. It was practically my second home. Then my father died and I went away to university ...’ Leaving her to construe whatever she wanted, he left the sentence unfinished, walked to the far end of the cubicle and opened a dormer window.
‘What a wonderful telescope; and all these maps, they look fascinating.’ Lily peeled back a pile of astronomy charts.
‘Robin had an interest in astronomy when he was twelve, and the Watkin Morgans aren’t people to do anything by halves. They bought him all the right equipment, including this telescope, which incidentally cost an absolute fortune, for his thirteenth birthday. Robin lost interest in the stars before he reached fourteen and if I remember correctly went on to horses. They in turn gave way to yachts, and I believe girls, in the shape of Emily Murton Davies, are his latest passion. Here.’ He beckoned her forward. ‘This is the view Mrs Watkin Morgan was talking about. Magnificent, isn’t it?’
‘Beautiful. I had no idea we were so close to the sea.’ The night air was freezing, icy and clear, the lights of the cottages nestling in the land curve that culminated in Mumbles Head glistened like stars against the blackness of the cliff. And beyond was the deep blue velvet of the bay ... She started as the door banged violently back on its hinges.
‘Excuse us.’ Grabbing Lily’s hand, Joe yanked her into the corridor.
‘Joe, this is Philip Butler ...’
‘I know who he is.’
She looked back at Philip who was staring after her in bewilderment. ‘Joe, please, you’re going to pull me over,’ she protested as he dragged her down the stairs.
‘Going too fast for you?’ He released her hand and glared at her as they reached the top of the main staircase on the first floor.
‘I don’t understand ...’
‘I do and we’re leaving.’ Pushing her ahead of him, he watched her run down the main staircase.
‘Joe, Lily ...’
‘We’re leaving,’ he repeated loudly to Angie, attracting the attention of most of the people in the hall. As they fell silent, he turned to Mrs Watkin Morgan. ‘Sorry to have to rush off like this, but I have a headache.’
‘Can I get you something, Joseph?’ she enquired solicitously, ‘an aspirin and a glass of water perhaps ...’
‘When the pain begins like this, the only thing I can do is lie in a darkened room.’
‘We have plenty of spare rooms upstairs, Joseph.’
‘I really would prefer to go home, but thank you. If you’ll pass on my apologies to Robin. Lily?’ Ignoring the stares, he hauled her through the front door.
‘I see what you mean about lack of breeding,’ Richard observed to Mrs Watkin Morgan as he left the dining room with a fresh plate of food.
‘You wouldn’t believe the detrimental effect that girl has had on him. Joseph used to be so thoughtful. I only wish I could do something to help. You’ve heard about his poor mother – sorry, that was tactless of me. For a moment, there, I forgot you’re the family solicitor. I remember the dreadful fuss when Esme married that awful man but that’s going to be nothing in comparison with the scandal of their divorce.’
‘After meeting that girl, it wouldn’t surprise me if the son’s marriage goes the way of his mother’s.’
‘Such a tragic waste of a talented young man.’ Mrs Watkin Morgan shook her head. ‘Angie’s putting a brave face on it but she was devastated when Joseph brought that girl tonight. She absolutely adores him.’
‘If I were you I’d persuade her to attend Joseph’s engagement party with Robin.’
‘How can I, in the circumstances?’ Mrs Watkin Morgan lowered her voice. ‘We all hoped ...’
Balancing his plate, Richard patted her hand. ‘Tell Angie she will be very sorry if she doesn’t. Because young Joseph will need her before the evening is out.’
‘What do you ...’
Richard tapped his nose. ‘Not a word to a soul. If you speak I’ll deny I said anything. Just get her there.’ He beamed as Philip’s mother walked past. ‘Amelia ...’
As Richard walked away, Mrs Watkin Morgan looked at Angie, still hiding behind her brave smile. Richard Thomas could be overbearing and arrogant, but she had never known him be wrong about anything.
‘Mrs Watkin Morgan ...’
‘Excuse me, Emily, I’ll be with you in a moment, but I have to have a word with Angie about something before I forget.’
‘Get in the car.’
‘Not until you apologise for making a spectacle of both of us.’ Lily returned Joe’s furious glare as she stood, shaking with anger, beside the Rover.
‘Get in, we can’t quarrel here.’ He glanced nervously across to the front door as he suddenly realised the truth of what she’d said.
‘Either you’re drunk or mad, and whichever it is, I’d prefer to go back into the house and telephone for a taxi.’
‘Lily, get in ...’
‘Not until you apologise.’
‘Me? After I find you in a bedroom with another man when you’re engaged to me!’
‘I didn’t see any bed, Joe. Did you?’
‘The room was upstairs.’
‘And I was looking out of the window, admiring the view of Mumbles Head. Mrs Watkin Morgan suggested Philip take me up there because she felt sorry for me. You’d disappeared for over two hours. I didn’t know a soul ...’
‘Mrs Watkin Morgan suggested Philip take you upstairs?’
‘Not “take me upstairs” as you put it. She suggested Philip show me the house. His grandfather built it ...’
‘I’m sorry.’
Relenting, Lily finally opened the car door and stepped inside.
‘I really am sorry, Lily.’ He climbed in beside her. ‘I shouldn’t have left you ...’
‘I’m more concerned with what happened just now than you leaving me. It’s obvious you don’t trust me further than you can see me.’
‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’ Starting the engine, he reversed the car across the courtyard, then, putting his foot down, he drove out through the gate. ‘Angie told me you’d gone upstairs with Philip Butler. I know what happens at these parties ...’
‘Angie! She would. It’s obvious she’s in love with you.’
‘We’re over.’
‘Have you tried telling her that?’
‘Yes.’
‘But because Angie told you that I’d gone upstairs with Philip Butler you assumed I’d gone up to test one of the beds with him.’
‘I was angry, I didn’t know what to think.’
‘We’re engaged, Joe, We should trust one another absolutely.’
‘I didn’t know if you’d been drinking ...’
‘If you’d been with me you would have known that I’d had one glass of champagne and by the look of you, that’s a lot less than you. And even if I had drunk more I wouldn’t have forgotten that I’m as good as engaged to you, no matter what usually “happens at these parties”. Don’t tar me with the same brush as your friends, Joe. I am – or rather was – a one-man girl. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘How many times can I say “I’m sorry”?’
She stared at the road ahead, not saying a word until he drove the car down the lane at the back of Carlton Terrace and into his father’s garage.
‘Damn and blast,’ he cursed vehemently as he scraped the bumper on the garage wall. Shutting off the engine, he opened his door, banging it back against the wall and chipping the paintwork. ‘I wish to God I’d never heard of Angela Watkin Morgan, or her bloody birthday party!’
‘It wasn’t a good evening.’
‘Lily, I really am very, very sorry ...’ He gazed at her, silently pleading for forgiveness.
‘The food was good.’
Uncertain if she was making fun of him or not, a wary look stole into his eyes.
‘It gave me some good ideas for our party next weekend.’
‘Lily, Lily, Lily!’ Gathering her into
his arms, he hugged her as she left the car. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Another evening like this one and you’ll find out.’
‘Come in for a coffee. We can try out Helen’s sofa if she and Jack aren’t using it.’
‘They might have broken the springs.’
‘I’m prepared to risk it if you are.’
‘On one condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘Never leave me alone at a party again. Next time I really might be tempted to look for another man.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Helen was alone with Jack in the front room of the basement. She was waiting for him, lying naked on the sofa, watching him undress. She looked into his eyes and as the slow, lazy smile she had come to love played across his mouth, he opened his arms, leaned over her and was instantly transformed into the wrinkled, grinning figure of Richard Thomas. A bell began to ring, a discordant warning bell that droned on and on and on ... She screamed – but although she opened her mouth as wide as she could, she was suddenly struck dumb. Shaking, terrified, she was catapulted from sleep into a harsh, cold sweat. Sitting up, she reached for the alarm clock to silence it. The walls of the room wavered around her as the furniture began to blur. Turning her head, she almost fell out of bed as she vomited on to the floor.
‘You look peaky, love,’ John commented as Helen staggered into the kitchen in her dressing gown.
‘I have a terrible sore throat,’ she whispered, pitching her voice several octaves lower than usual.
‘A Monday-morning sore throat?’ Joe enquired cynically, as he arranged the bread he’d cut on the grill pan.
‘A heading-for-tonsillitis sore throat,’ she rasped back. Unfortunately for her, Joe had always been able to tell the difference between her real and feigned illnesses, and had never balked at telling their parents whenever he thought she was perfectly well, apart from wanting a day off school.
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