by Anne Mather
‘Yes, I know,’ said Tamar bitterly, not wanting to dwell on that particular event.
‘Yes, well, afterwards, it was awful! Ross and Virginia fought like cat and dog, and it was one continual row!’ She sighed. ‘God, how I wished he’d never laid eyes on Virginia!’ Then she gathered herself, and continued: ‘In the end, Virginia took herself off to Dublin, and for a while there was blessed peace at Falcon’s Head.’ She fingered the arm of her chair restlessly. ‘It’s easy for me now to say that Ross should have made her come back, but I think he was as glad as I was, and Steven too, for that matter, to be rid of her. When she did come back, she only brought more trouble.’
Tamar felt a knife turning in her stomach. Mrs. Falcon’s words were too disturbing, too emotional. Already she could recall, with clarity, Ross as he had been in those days. Younger, relaxed, attractive, making love to her — not to Virginia! She rose to her feet jerkily. She couldn’t sit still in the presence of such thoughts.
Mrs. Falcon looked up at her shrewdly and said: ‘What’s wrong? Didn’t you know any of this?’
Tamar felt a suspicious burning sensation behind her eyes. ‘Of - of course not! How could I? I was in England!’
‘Hmm - well, anyway,’ Mrs. Falcon sighed yet again, ‘you can rest assured your departure certainly caused a chapter of accidents.’
‘What happened next?’ Tamar was impatient.
‘Hold on - hold on, I’m telling you, aren’t I? When Virginia came back, she was pregnant. Oh, don’t worry, it was Ross’s baby; the dates, the size, everything was certain in that department. Besides, she wouldn’t have dared to come back unless she had known it was so. And when Lucy was born—’ her voice broke suddenly, and she pressed a veined hand to her mouth - ‘she was so like Ross, and Steven, at that age!’ She shook her head. ‘But - well, I don’t know the kind of life Virginia had been leading, I can only guess, but she had no strength when the labour began, and afterwards she only lived a few days. Oh, she was taken into a nursing home near Limerick, and given the best treatment available, Ross saw to that, but it was no good. She died. And then, later, Lucy was found to be a — a ...’ She twisted her hands painfully. ‘Virginia hadn’t wanted the child. God knows whether she had tried to get rid of it!’
‘Mrs. Falcon!’
Bridget Falcon turned her tortured eyes on the girl. ‘What’s so shocking about that? Why else—’ Her voice broke again.
Tamar left her chair and walked to the window, leaving the old woman to her soul-destroying misery.
‘And your heart attack?’ she said quietly. ‘It - it hinged on these events?’
Mrs. Falcon nodded, and blew her nose violently. Tamar felt an overwhelming sense of despair. No wonder Ross seemed so hard and bitter. So many things had contrived to deny him his wife — and his heir. And yet how could it be so? Virginia had said ...
She walked back to her seat. ‘But to get back to the present, how - how does this affect me? What motives have you for confiding in me?’
‘Motives!’ Mrs. Falcon sniffed. ‘That’s a harsh word, Tamar Sheridan!’
Tamar shrugged. ‘Were there ever any gentle words between us, Mrs. Falcon?’
‘No, I suppose not. All right, I’ll tell you why I asked you to come here. Lucy is six, getting on for seven. She ought to be at school - at a special school - learning how to speak, how to read!’
‘I know that. I even mentioned it to Ross on the way up here.’
‘Did you?’ Mrs. Falcon looked interested. ‘What did he say?’
‘He told me to mind my own blasted business,’ returned Tamar truthfully, and Mrs. Falcon’s grim face broke into a reluctant smile.
‘Yes, he would,’ she said, nodding. ‘As I’ve said, my son is a proud man. Nevertheless, somehow he must be persuaded to let Lucy go to school, and there’s no one else I can ask!’
CHAPTER FIVE
Tamar gasped. ‘You mean - you mean, you want me to persuade Ross to let Lucy go to school!’ she exclaimed.
‘Yes.’
‘You must be crazy!’ Tamar was in no mood to be polite. ‘Your son hates me! I’d be the last person he would take notice of!’
‘Rubbish!’ Mrs. Falcon sniffed loudly. ‘You’re the only person he’s likely to take any notice of.’
Tamar was flabbergasted. ‘How can you say that?’ she cried.
‘With every confidence. You’re the only person to arouse Ross out of this - this kind of apathy he exists inside, for many a long year. You always were the one. I can see that now. I should have seen it long ago.’
Tamar held up a hand, shaking her head, aware that her knees were shaking too. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘believe me! Your attitude had nothing to do with - with my leaving Falcon’s Wherry. I went willingly - willingly!’
Mrs. Falcon hunched her shoulders. ‘Makes no matter. You’re young and attractive, I suppose, although you’re thinner than Virginia ever was, and by all the saints I believe you’ve got the spunk to stand up to him. I used to be able to. I can’t any more. I’m too old. Any battle I win against Ross, he has let me win.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Please, Tamar Sheridan, think of the child, if you can’t think of me.’
Tamar felt sick. Of course, Mrs. Falcon had had to mention Lucy, to use her to get her own way. It was easy to refuse to have anything to do with Ross, with Bridget Falcon, with any member of the Falcon family, except Lucy, poor helpless Lucy, whose life was slipping away unknown to her. ‘That’s a terrible blackmail you’re using!’ she said, biting her lips to stop them from trembling.
Mrs. Falcon looked weary. ‘Tamar Sheridan, I would use any means within my power to help my granddaughter, the only grandchild I’m ever likely to have,’ this last was said bitterly.
‘But Steven ...’
‘Steven’s wife can’t have children.’
‘Oh!’
Bridget clenched her fists. ‘Can you see now? Lucy is the last of the Falcons. Can I allow her to live her life in ignorance of the fact?’
Tamar turned away. ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. If Ross doesn’t want her - to be normal, there’s nothing anyone can do.’
‘Were you always such a defeatist?’ exclaimed Mrs. Falcon angrily. ‘By God, if you were, you deserved less than you’ve achieved!’
Tamar was stung at last. ‘You’re a rude old woman!’ she said coldly. ‘Who are you to talk of defeatism? Aren’t you giving up on your granddaughter, yourself?’
‘No. I’m enlisting reinforcements!’ snapped the old woman. ‘Oh, come on, this is getting us nowhere. What do you say?’
Tamar shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I still don’t believe Ross will listen to me.’
‘He won’t, at first. But if you persist—’
‘As you are doing?’
‘Yes. Use any means you can. I don’t care, just so long as Lucy gets everything she deserves. How long are you staying?’
‘I’m not sure. I — I was thinking of returning next week.’
‘But Father Donahue is negotiating for the lease of Flynn’s cottage!’
‘I know. But that was before ...’ Tamar’s voice trailed away.
‘And now?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ Tamar compressed her lips. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘All right, I’ll speak to him. But I haven’t your confidence.’
Bridget Falcon looked pleased and relieved. ‘Good. Good.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘And now I’ll get a message sent to Father Donahue telling him you’re lunching with me.’
During the afternoon, while Bridget Falcon rested, Tamar stayed in the study, taking books from the shelves, and flicking through their pages with real interest. Some of them had not been opened for years, and she wondered whether Ross was engaged in writing a book at the moment. She found no trace of his work there, however, and she felt vaguely disappointed. Eventually she settled down with a very ancient copy of the works of Sir Walter Scott, and apart from wishing she had not agreed to wait
for Ross to take her back to Father Donahue’s, she felt relaxed and rather sleepy. The room was warm and comfortable, and the sound of the unceasing surf was a drowsy sound.
Without being aware of it, she must have fallen asleep, for she awoke, startled, by some unexpected noise. Rubbing her eyes, untucking her legs from under her, she became aware of Lucy standing in the doorway, her father just behind her.
Tamar felt unreasonably annoyed at being caught unawares again, and in consequence her voice was abrupt when Ross said: ‘Where is my mother?’
‘Resting,’ she retorted, sliding her feet into her shoes, and endeavouring to smooth down her short skirt which seemed to have wriggled its way up her thighs. Then, with slightly more warmth in her voice, she said: ‘Doesn’t she usually rest during the afternoons?’
Ross raised dark eyebrows, and unbuttoning his jacket he stretched lazily, as though to ease the enforced inertia of driving. Then he said:
‘I guess she does. Perhaps I thought that as she was entertaining you today, she wouldn’t.’
Tamar made no reply. Newly roused from sleep, without the mental shell she had adopted fully alerted, she was experiencing an awful sense of longing towards Ross, and as though aware of it, his eyes held hers deliberately, and then moved to her mouth lazily. Oh God! she thought pressing a hand to her stomach. Not again — never again!
She dragged her gaze away from him, looking at Lucy, smiling at the little girl, trying desperately to regain a sense of detachment.
‘Has - has Lucy been with you?’ she asked, not looking at him now.
Ross flung himself into the huge chair behind the desk, and reached for a cigarette. ‘Yes,’ he said, lighting the cigarette, and inhaling deeply. ‘Have you and my mother had a good talk? Have you dissected every mouldering fragment of my life?’ His tone was harsh now.
Tamar was showing Lucy the watch that hung like a pendant around her neck. Lucy seemed to have accepted that Tamar was harmless, and had come forward to finger the attractive gold case. But at Ross’s words, Tamar looked up angrily.
‘What colossal conceit you have!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘You can’t conceive of us discussing anyone else but you, or your affairs, can you?’
Ross shrugged his shoulders, albeit a little impatiently. ‘Are you going to try and tell me you haven’t been discussing me and my affairs, then?’ he questioned dryly.
Tamar felt the annoying, revealing colour burn her
cheeks. ‘No, of course not,’ she cried. ‘But you yourself - your ego, are not of paramount importance. What’s important here is Lucy! Lucy’s life, Lucy’s desires, Lucy’s opportunities!’
Ross banged his fist down on the table. ‘Oh, yes, of course - Lucy! You think I’d forgotten perhaps about my child, my deaf and dumb child!’
‘Ross!’ Tamar stared at Lucy apprehensively, and Ross rose to his feet.
‘Don’t be alarmed, she doesn’t understand, not one word! And how lucky she is! How bloody lucky!’
Tamar clenched her fists, pressing them together. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Why not? Lucy is lucky. What worries will she ever have? What problems will ever cloud her brain? What emotional disorders will she ever suffer? What disastrous marriages? I’ll tell you, Tamar, none! Not one! And I think that’s pretty impressive!’
Tamar brows drew together in an incredulous frown. ‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for every blow life deals you, it deals you a pat on the back as well, or didn’t you know that?’
Ross looked derisive. ‘Oh, yes? And where do you suppose my “pats on the back” are coming from? So far as I can see, I’ve had one series of blows, and if I allow my mother to have Lucy educated, I shall merely be supplying myself with another season of misery!’
Tamar allowed her fingers to move caressingly over Lucy’s hair. It was smooth and thick, like Ross’s, but whereas his was straight, hers was really curly. She smoothed the curls behind two shell-like ears, and found the child’s eyes upon her, watching her interestedly. Oh, she was adorable all right. Tamar’s heart reached out to her. She wanted to gather her into her arms and hold her close, and assuage some of the grief she had felt all those years ago. This child was Ross’s flesh and blood, and already she loved her. Loved her! Tamar felt her heart contract. No, that was the wrong word; she was fond of her, she cared for her, she wanted to help her, she was sorry for her, but she couldn’t love her!
Then she became aware of Ross watching her, watching the fleeting expressions crossing her mobile face. She looked at him, and said:
‘Whatever you decide to do with your own life, you have no right to deny Lucy the kind of upbringing she could have, the normal life she could lead. Don’t you want her to do all the things ordinary children do? Don’t you want her to grow up into a beautiful young woman, and one day marry and have children of her own?’
‘No!’ Ross was vehement.
‘Oh, you’re impossible!’ Tamar felt impatient herself now. ‘You won’t see that you’re depriving her of - of everything!’
‘That’s only your opinion,’ returned Ross coolly, and walked to the door. ‘I’ll go and find Hedges and provide you with some afternoon tea before you leave.’
‘That’s not necessary!’ cried Tamar angrily, but he had gone.
Lucy continued to stay near her. She seemed to have taken a liking to Tamar, and as well as fingering the pendant watch, she touched her hair and her dress, and examined the book she had been reading. Tamar felt a sense of frustration. She hadn’t the faintest idea how a child with Lucy’s handicap was taught or she would attempt to teach her herself. As it was she could merely indicate things, and mouth the words in the hope that Lucy might attempt to copy her.
But basically Lucy was an outdoor child, a child obviously used to spending much time with her father, and after a while she seemed to get bored and went in search of diversion. Before Ross came back, the wheelchair rolled through the door, and Mrs. Falcon, looking rather conspiratorial, said:
‘I see Ross is back. Have you had a chance to speak to him yet?’
Tamar sighed. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. But it’s no good. It’s like I told you - he doesn’t take any notice of me.’
‘And like I said: rubbish!’ exclaimed Mrs. Falcon. ‘Anyway, it’s early days yet. I’m convinced that given time, and enough persuasion, he will give in.’
‘I wish I were as certain,’ remarked Tamar dryly, as the maid wheeled in the tea trolley. ‘Whatever happens, I can’t stay in Falcon’s Wherry indefinitely, Mrs. Falcon.’
But the old woman pretended not to hear her, and
Tamar felt an old familiar sense of inadequacy. Against such intolerance how could she defend herself?
Ross did not appear until after they had had tea, and then only to stand in the doorway, and say: ‘If Miss Sheridan is ready, I can run her back to the village now, before I do anything else.’
Tamar rose willingly to her feet, but Mrs. Falcon stayed her. ‘Stay for dinner, child,’ she said, but Tamar shook her head firmly.
‘Not today, Mrs. Falcon,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent quite long enough here. Thank you for lunch.’
‘Thank you, my dear. You won’t forget what I said?’
‘As if I could,’ remarked Tamar dryly, as Ross held her coat out for her.
She took it from him and put it on herself, not wanting his hands to touch her, to disturb any more of those long-buried emotions.
The promise of the morning had not lasted, and now a steady drizzle had reduced visibility to almost nil, while a mist was settling on the hills. But it was warm in the car, and there was no Lucy in the back to relieve the intimacy that Tamar wanted desperately to avoid. Not that there was any danger of Ross attempting to take advantage of her, but it was her own traitorous feelings that disturbed her.
Ross drove slowly and Tamar’s hands felt clammy suddenly. She was thinking far too much about him, and the fact that he was
a widower and therefore available should mean nothing to her. He had destroyed all her hopes years ago, and only a fool would think otherwise. She was allowing a purely physical reaction to his body, when she had been fresh from sleep and vulnerable, escalate out of all proportion.
Deciding that anything was better than this pregnant silence between them, she said: ‘Are - are you still writing?’
Ross glanced her way, and then shrugged. ‘Now and then.’
‘I - I bought two of your books in London. I enjoyed them.’
‘Did you now?’ His tone was mocking. ‘And why should you be interested in anything I wrote?’
‘I like reading history,’ she said defensively.
‘Irish history?’
‘Any history,’ retorted Tamar, staring out of the car’s windows.
‘Well, I’m sorry I can’t say I’ve seen any of your exhibitions,’ he muttered coldly.
Tamar glanced back at him angrily. ‘I’ve only had one,’ she said pointedly.
‘You surprise me. A girl like you - I should have thought your apparent success would have proved much easier to achieve.’
Tamar felt furious. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, there is a predominance of men in the artistic field, isn’t there?’
Tamar couldn’t have felt more angry or more impotent. She wanted to jump out of the car, and get as far away from his sarcastic, baiting tongue as was humanly possible. But that wasn’t practical on such a gradient, so instead she leant forward and turned off the ignition, deliberately, waiting for the car to slow down so that she could escape.