by Gloria Cook
All the best, from Kate.
Jonny lay on his back in his hotel room re-reading the postcard he had received that morning. He had been hoping Kate would get hold of his address and write to him. It was just a few plain and simple words in her careful writing but as important to him as the breath in his body. It meant she was thinking about him. It was what he needed to ease him off to sleep after the day’s long trek capturing the magnificent scenery hereabouts. Wherever he went, on hillside or lake shore, he planned to take Kate some day. Aunt Em and Perry’s concerns for Kate were understandable, but he really had changed and he hoped they would see that.
He had shunned all female company here although there had been opportunities for casual sex on this trip. That sort of encounter meant nothing to him now. He had faced up to the seriousness of love. What he felt for Kate wasn’t just some temporary fancy. The old days of avoiding a lifetime’s commitment with a woman were over. He was pleased about it, relieved, and proud of it. He loved Kate with a force that threatened to consume him. He loved the very hint of her. He could take every single second apart and it was Kate who dominated each of them. From any distance he was able to picture her as if she was in his very presence. She was a living ghost who haunted him. When Kate was a little older, he prayed no one would object to him forming something strong and lasting and wonderful with her.
Tomorrow he would travel on to Lincolnshire and see Abbie, and Archie and Honor, the two close friends from his boyhood. Honor had seemed cautious over the telephone but had said they would be delighted to have him stay for a couple of days, and that Abbie was in much better health. Afterwards, it was back to Cornwall for Louisa’s wedding. And back to Kate.
* * *
The maid showed him into the drawing room at Oak Tree Warren. ‘I’ll fetch madam from the morning room, sir. Mr Rothwell is in the study.’
Jonny wandered about the long room, approving of its combination of antique seats, tables and paintings with modern lighting and sundries. He took interest in the sepia photographs of Victorian and Edwardian Rothwells. And a monochrome studio portrait of Archie as he’d never seen him before, in naval uniform, upright, vital and distinguished. He admired snaps of Abbie at various stages of growing up. There was a laughing depiction of her that he had taken himself on Perranporth beach, paddling on the shore, the wind in her hair. A free-spirited Abbie then, his lover for a while. How would he find her? He hoped they could resume their former easy friendship.
Hearing the approach of walking sticks he hurried to the door to see Archie. Honor was with him, his faithful and loving mate, guiding him by the elbow. Jonny’s intention to cast them an exuberant greeting died away. Seeing them both took him back to the days when he, as a four-year-old, had been wrested away from his mother, struggling to adapt to a new situation during the uncertainties of the Great War. Uncle Alec had seized him from his home and it had taken Jonny a while to realize it had been for the best; then Uncle Alec had become his mentor and his hero. For a second, part of him wanted those days again. He wanted not to see his old friend Archie ageing prematurely, stooped, breathing heavily, shaky on his war-ravaged feet and needing to sit down.
‘My dear boy,’ Archie said in a gasp. ‘I’ve seen photos of you over the years. It was easy to see you had grown into a fine young man, but you’re a sight above my expectations. Isn’t he, darling?’
‘He is indeed,’ Honor replied, her usual pacific smile in evidence. ‘Welcome to Oak Tree Warren, Jonny. Would you mind?’ She indicated the wheelchair kept in the hall.
‘Yes, of course.’ He found his voice and feet in a rush and manoeuvred the latest in wheeled conveyances for invalids so that Archie, with some help, could ease himself down in it. Now Archie’s hands were free Jonny grasped them firmly. ‘It’s so good to see you again. I wish I hadn’t taken so long in coming here. Honor, you look as lovely as ever. The years haven’t passed at all for you.’ It was only a slight exaggeration. Her hair was the same maiden-fair, her facial contours still firm, and wrinkles had kindly kept almost entirely at bay.
‘Coffee is on the way,’ Honor said lightly. ‘Shall we go in?’
Once they were settled in the morning room, Jonny asked, ‘Where’s Abbie? She is here? I’ve heard she doesn’t venture far.’
‘You heard right, Jonny,’ Honor replied, with a regretful sigh. She had folded her hands on her lap and neatly crossed her ankles. Jonny noticed an agitated working of her mouth and her fingertips pulling at her skirt. She shot a look at Archie.
‘Is something wrong?’ Jonny frowned. Recalling Honor’s edginess over the telephone yesterday, and now this, was there a reason they did not want him to see Abbie? Did Abbie not want to see him?
‘Abbie will be here any minute, Jonny,’ Archie said. ‘With her husband. Douglas Goodyear.’
‘Good heavens. Abbie married? That was a bit sudden, wasn’t it?’ Jonny scratched his forehead. This was the last thing he had expected.
‘The thing is—’ Honor’s words were cut off. Abbie arrived on Douglas’s arm. ‘Ah, there you both are.’ Honor went pink and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Jonny’s been here a few minutes. I’ve told him about the wedding.’
Jonny was sure there was more to it. He went to Abbie. She was pale and thin and looked tired. She was wearing a loose dress and cardigan. Should he kiss her cheek or merely shake her hand? Abbie made the decision for him by sticking out her hand. Jonny felt her cold fingers quivering inside his for just a moment. Douglas shook his hand briskly, his salutation on the same brief note. ‘Congratulations on your marriage.’ Jonny couldn’t make his voice bright, it was all too strange.
The coffee was brought in. Honor poured, and while it was handed round there was a tense silence. It was drunk amid awkward small talk, in which only those at Ford Farm were mentioned.
Then Archie cleared his throat in a rumble. ‘I think you should tell Jonny the rest of your news, Abbie.’
‘Oh, what’s that?’ Jonny asked coolly. What was going on? The atmosphere was heavy. He felt he wasn’t really welcome and that the others were, in some peculiar way, wary of him. He was longing to slip outside for a cigarette.
Abbie glanced at her mother, then her father and then Douglas, before gazing levelly at Jonny. ‘Douglas and I were married quickly, just a quiet affair with few guests, because I’m having a baby.’
His immediate inner reaction was, Well, you don’t hang around. He said, ‘Well, this is a surprise. Congratulations again. Good luck to you both.’ He saw Abbie bring her hands towards her middle in what seemed a furtive movement. The air was tight with tension. Something was going on, he was certain.
He stared at Abbie and her paleness pinked up considerably. ‘I’m about five months along. I was seeing Douglas before I went down to Cornwall. Luckily, my ordeal didn’t hurt the baby.’
‘Oh. Yes. You were lucky,’ Jonny agreed. So this was the reason why everyone seemed cagey. They were all embarrassed by the quick wedding. But it was an unnecessary reaction as far as he was concerned. They must know he wouldn’t take a high moral stance. ‘Well, that’s really good news, isn’t it? A baby?’ The uneasy silence continued. ‘Isn’t it? Is there something else?’
‘No, of course not,’ Abbie said, fiddling with the buttons on her cardigan.
‘We’re all quite pleased in the circumstances,’ Honor said, smiling.
Smiling far too wide, Jonny decided. He glanced at Archie, who dropped his head and shook it a little. And Jonny cottoned on to the truth of this odd situation. He was being deliberately lied to, by prior agreement, and Archie was the only one who had wanted the truth revealed. He shot to his feet, propelled by shock and anger. ‘I’m not stupid, Abbie! It’s not Goodyear’s baby you’re carrying, is it? It’s mine! How dare you lie to me? I’ve got the right to know that it’s my child. I had the right to know about it before you rushed off and got married.’
He expected anything but the reaction he got. Abbie viewed him, as cool as an autum
n stream and as remote as a distant hill. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth, but I don’t think I really I owe you anything and nor does my baby. You’ve never wanted a wife or a child, Jonny. There was no reason to expect you to change your mind for me. You wouldn’t want to marry me, admit it. You’ve slept with so many women you’ve probably got children all over the place. I don’t suppose you’ve ever looked back to see if you’ve left any behind. The day that I learned I was pregnant Douglas offered me marriage. I accepted at once. He will make the perfect father for my child. Douglas and I care about each other, we are confident we can make our marriage work. In fact, we’re all leaving here to live together abroad, in Monte Carlo, while Father can still bear the travel. The hotter climate will suit his chest. Douglas is selling his shares in the family business and a cousin of mine is to take over Oak Tree Warren. We’re all starting afresh. There’s nothing else to say.’
‘Isn’t there?’ Jonny was confounded by the finality of her words but he had more demands. ‘How am I to keep contact with my child?’
‘You’re not.’ She kept up her unwavering gaze. ‘I don’t want you to. It’s best if you just forget all about it.’
‘And how on earth am I supposed to do that? The fact remains that I’m going to be a father, for goodness sake!’
Jonny put his hand up to the back of his neck and shook his head in incredulity. ‘You’ve changed. How can you be so cold?’
‘Yes, I have changed, Jonny.’ Abbie showed a burst of emotion. ‘I had to fight for my life and I see things differently now. My priority is my child. I shall fight in whatever way I see fit to protect it. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it’s fair to him or her to be torn between two fathers. I’m sorry you’ve found out, Jonny. It wasn’t what I wanted.’
So am I! Jonny wanted to scream. Of course, he wouldn’t have wanted to marry Abbie. It probably wouldn’t have worked, especially with her now a distant stranger to him, and it would definitely have meant him having no chance with Kate. But he would have offered to do the decent thing by Abbie if she hadn’t decided to shut him out. It was a possibility that he had fathered a child before, but if so, he didn’t know about it. He knew about his son or daughter growing inside Abbie’s body and he hated the idea of being totally cut out of its life. He swallowed heavily. ‘I can see you’re determined. Can I at least know the date of its birth and whether it’s a boy or a girl?’
‘You can learn that when Mother writes in due course to your Aunt Emilia,’ Abbie replied. As if suddenly weary she bowed her head and seemed to shrink into the chair.
Jonny could see she wanted to forget all about her time in Cornwall. He felt drained, overcome by a terrible sense of loss. He was doomed to an empty ache in his heart while he wondered about his child for the remainder of his life. He turned to Honor. ‘You shouldn’t have let me come here. It would have been kinder…’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, barely able to meet his gaze.
‘We’re all very sorry, Jonny,’ Archie said, massaging his tight chest. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’
‘There is nothing anyone can say to put this right for me, Archie,’ Jonny murmured. ‘I’ve lost three friends and I’ve lost my child. All that is left for me to do is to leave straight away.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
All was quiet at Acorn Cottage. It was the day of Miss Chiltern’s weekly trip into Truro. Having approached the back of the property by the fields, Tony scaled the hedge and crept up to the kitchen window. He was wearing leather gloves and a dark woolly hat, bought specially for the occasion with the last of his cash.
Jobs were getting scarcer for him. He was under no illusions why his services were not recommended any more and it wasn’t because he was a poor workman. People had never liked his family, and since his despised mother’s death, speculation that she had cruelly thrown Kate out was again a hot rumour. Sidney, who was considered to have ‘slocked off’ Delia and ruined her life, now had a growing reputation as a hot-tempered, heavy drinker. It was known he had beaten Delia, who, despite her fall from grace, was pitied by most. And there was vociferous disapproval of his father staying overnight at the home of the flighty widow, Dulcie Tregaskis. Tony had decided there was no longer any future at home for him, even more so now he was on rocky ground after admitting he had murdered his mother. He couldn’t trust Sidney or Delia not to blab about it. Delia was scared of him but Sidney was not. Sidney was on his guard all the time, potentially a deadly adversary. Even though Kate had written to say she would arrive soon and bring a contribution towards their mother’s funeral costs, and Sidney was pleased to think he could bleed her for more money, it wasn’t enough to make Tony content. He wanted to get far away and needed a fair amount of money to do it. All being well, Miss Chiltern would provide it.
He had thought it all through. He would be careful, and he had plenty of time to act out his plan. He wouldn’t take any ornaments or jewellery which could be traced and incriminate him, the sort of thing that he’d read about – it was what a couple from Truro had done, after abducting some posh woman who had stayed at the same farm where Kate lived. He would search the cottage for money — rich old dears like Miss Chiltern usually had something stashed away somewhere. He was banking on it. He had brought a bag of tools with him. He would break a small pane of glass in the kitchen window and lift the latch and climb in through. Straight away he’d clean up the glass with the brush and pan he had brought from home – when he left he would bury the glass deep in a wooded area and shake out the brush and wash the dustpan in a stream. He would take off his shoes to steal through the house. When he’d found the money, careful to leave everything undisturbed, he would climb out, latch the window and then put in the new pane of glass he’d brought with him.
He knew from detective stories that many a robber was caught by leaving footprints; he’d ensure he left none. He’d bury the gloves and hat with the broken glass and clean his shoes of woodland dirt. If luck was on his side Miss Chiltern wouldn’t notice for a few days that the window had been repaired or that her money was missing. He would be long gone by then, after provoking a noisy quarrel with Sidney and telling the nosy neighbours he’d decided to leave because he couldn’t stand the violent atmosphere at home any more.
He got in as planned, and as soon as he had finished in the kitchen he made for the stairs. Any money was sure to be hidden up there somewhere. He had nearly three hours to make a search. Each stair gave an accusing creak under his weight. That didn’t matter. On the landing in his stockinged feet he rucked up the carpet runner. Cursing, for it unnerved him, he straightened it. All was meticulously tidy and he made sure the runner was geometrically straight. He became aware of his breathing, thick and nasal and astonishingly noisy. A clock on the wall ticked louder than seemed natural. It chimed on the quarter hour and his heart leapt in fright. He swore under his breath. His confidence was waning and the jitters were setting in. His heart was pounding against his ribs. He was sweating. He could feel drops of it stinging his neck, his back and under his arms, and wetting his palms inside the gloves. He hoped he didn’t leave a bad smell behind to alert Miss Chiltern on her return. His limbs felt as if they were in danger of turning to jelly. Steady. Steady now. It was natural he was tense and as taut as a spring. He had broken into someone’s house and had already committed a crime for which he would receive a prison sentence if caught. There was no going back. Please let me find some money and get out quickly.
He had an idea Miss Chiltern slept in the front bedroom above the sitting room. That was the most likely place she would hide money. Thankfully, there were heavy lace curtains at the window so there was no possibility of him being seen from the lane. Wiping his gloved hands down his sides, he took a deep breath, opened the bedroom door and looked in. ‘Oh!’
Miss Chiltern was standing facing him, as straight as a woman forty years younger, in her dressing gown and slippers and a sleeping cap on her head. She was tall and slender,
and seemed without fear. ‘So it’s you, Tony Viant, who has seen fit to take liberties in my home. The game is up, as they say.’
Tony cursed himself for not checking that the old lady had actually got on the bus. ‘M-Miss Chiltern, I – I can explain.’
‘I don’t think so. When I heard noises I thought I was dreaming at first, or that I was merely feverish from the cold I’ve suffered for the last few days. Then I knew beyond doubt that someone was coming up the stairs. I am right in thinking you’re after money?’ Her cut-glass voice was steeped in nononsense superiority. He had thought her a typical doddering frail old thing. She had never given away that she was made of stalwart stuff.
‘L-look…’ Tony thought his legs would give out on him. ‘I’ve only b-broken a window. I can mend it. It’ll be as good as new. There’s no other damage, I swear. Can’t we leave it at that? I’ll go away from the village today, it’s what I intended to do anyway. You’ll never see me again. Please, I didn’t mean you any harm. I was desperate.’
‘Looking for an easy life, more like it. I believe in crime and punishment, Tony Viant.’ Each of Miss Chiltern’s spiked words reached him as if with a snap in its tail. ‘You came here with the intention of stealing my life’s savings, without a care about how I would manage for the rest of my life. Move aside, I intend calling the police.’
Fear and panic rent through Tony. There was only a claustrophobic dark cell shared with mean criminals and heavy labour ahead of him. No! He wasn’t just going to meekly accept that. This haughty, hard-hearted old bag was glaring at him as if he was nothing but scum. She’d had things cushy all her damned life and didn’t care about anyone else. He soared into a rage similar to the one that had made him threaten Sidney with the poker. Dark with fury, balling his fists, he hissed, ‘And how does a weak old woman like you think you’re going to get the better of me?’