He shrugged. ‘You won’t be here much longer.’ He walked down the hall to the kitchen as if he owned the place, taking in the room at a glance and resting a hand on the back of Leonie’s chair. ‘D’you mind?’
It was her turn to shrug. ‘Suit yourself.’
So he sat. She could have crowned him.
‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’ he asked.
She stayed on her feet, arms folded. ‘I’m not coming back to you.’
‘You will when I’m given the children.’
The enormity of the magistrate’s decision reared up and pain twisted through her. ‘Don’t take it lying down,’ Harold had advised when a spiteful girl at school was teasing her. Gentle as a spring morning, was her lovely brother, but that didn’t make him a pushover. ‘Fight back.’
‘She’s upped and left you, then?’
Stan looked away. Good: she had scored a point. But when he looked at her again, his face was rueful, only not sorry-rueful. Smug-rueful.
‘I did warn you. I said you’d be sorry if you didn’t give me your money.’
Her curiosity was hopping up and down, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.
‘She were never happy not being properly wed, weren’t Alice—’
Alice! Nell’s arms unfolded. Her fists landed on the table, knuckles down, sending a stab of heat through the bones in her hands. It sizzled round her wrists like a too-tight bracelet before singing up her arms and jarring her elbows. She wanted to lean over him, to be bigger than he was, to make him squirm, but all she managed was to bring them eye to eye. She had loved his blue eyes once.
‘I told you never to say her name.’
‘I’m sorry, but let’s face it—’
‘Face it?’ She swung away, almost spinning in a circle in frustration. ‘I did face it, Stan. I faced her and I saw her son.’
‘I never meant to hurt you,’ said Stan. ‘I met her after I came home from the army. She weren’t a local lass. She’d come to Annerby to nurse her old auntie through the Spanish flu, but the aunt died and she was alone in the world. She … she needed comfort.’
‘Comfort, and a couple of kids, and a green front door.’
‘What’s the door got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t want to hear about you and her.’
‘You brought her up. You said she left me. You threw it in my face.’
Nell drew a breath. ‘What did that have to do with you asking me for money?’
Stan scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Like I say, she were never happy not being married. After you left and I moved in proper-like, I thought she’d feel more settled, only …’
‘Only she was scared you’d do the dirty on her the way you did it on me. I don’t know why she thought being married would have stopped you doing that.’
His mouth turned down mulishly. ‘I’m not saying owt else.’
‘Yes, you are.’ She made a show of leaning against the cupboard, looking relaxed. ‘If you think I’m coming back to Annerby, the least you can do is tell me what the talk is in the wash house there.’
Rising to his feet, he faced her. ‘The other bloke offered marriage and he said he’d have the children. I thought if I could get money off you, I could make things better for us and she’d want to stay.’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘So you’ve got to come home, and that’s not me talking, that’s the court.’
Still with her hips leaning against the cupboard, Nell leant forward to speak in a soft, confidential voice. ‘I would sooner stick pins in my eyes.’
‘You’ll beg me to take you back when I come to fetch the children.’
She jerked upright. It was hard to breathe. Her lungs felt tight.
‘Speaking of the children,’ said Stan, ‘I want to see them.’
‘You can’t. They’re asleep.’
‘I can. I’m their father. This way, is it?’
Darting after him, she made a grab for his arm, but he shook her off without breaking his stride.
‘Stan—no!’
But he was halfway upstairs.
Leonie banged on her old front door. Then she banged again. She wasn’t in the mood to wait. The door opened and there was Hilda.
‘It’s you, Mother. Why are you making such a racket?’
‘Is Edmund here? I want to speak to him.’
‘Just a minute.’
Hilda turned away. What? Wait on the step while Hilda went crawling to Edmund? No fear. Leonie marched in, swept past Hilda and entered the parlour. Edmund sat in the armchair, cigarette in hand. Posy bounced up from the footstool by the hearth.
‘Gran!’ Her face shone with delight.
‘Sit, Posy,’ said Edmund, adding fuel to Leonie’s anger. Did he think he was speaking to a dog? He stood up. ‘Mother-in-law, to what do we owe the pleasure?’
‘I’ve come to see you about – you know.’
He came forward to draw her into the room. She tried to step out of his way, but trod on Hilda’s foot behind her.
‘Come in, Mother-in-law. Hilda, this is private. Go and do something in the kitchen. Posy, help your mother.’
The door shut behind them.
‘Take a seat.’ Edmund was at his charming best. Or his smarmy worst. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
That set her nerve-ends jangling, being invited to make herself comfortable in her own home – in what should be her own home. ‘I don’t need a seat to say what I’ve got to say. I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.’
‘Ah yes.’ He made it sound like he was drawing the memory from the depths of his mind. ‘My offer to restore good relations with Hilda.’
‘Your offer to keep my personal possessions against my will.’
‘But it wouldn’t be against your will, would it? It would be a sign of trust.’
‘Trust? Is that what you call it? Me, I call it blackmail.’
‘That’s rather extreme, Mother-in-law.’ He sounded amused.
‘Is it? I wouldn’t know. I speak as I find. What I find is that your idea of trust is blackmail, pure and simple. Well, you can take your blackmail, Edmund Tanner, and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.’
Nell belted up the stairs, then tried to switch to creeping as she crossed the bedroom threshold, nearly falling over her feet in the process. Stan looked round the room. Nell did too, seeing it through new eyes: the big bed with the upturned tea chest beside it that served as a table; the battered old washstand from the second-hand place; Leonie’s hanging cupboard and chest of drawers, squashed in together; Leonie’s stack of boxes. Suddenly it looked like a dumping ground. Stan’s lip curled and she felt a flare of angry shame.
Stan looked at the sleeping children. Cassie was curled in a ball, only the top of her head showing, Alf flat on his back, one arm flung out. Was Stan seeing his other son? He reached out.
‘Leave them,’ said Nell.
He glanced at her, a glance that said he had made up his mind. The hair lifted on her arms. The lies she had told the children—
Stan gently shook Alf. The boy stirred. Nell held in a wail of distress. The lies she had told—
Alf mumbled and settled again. How young and small he looked. How vulnerable. She wanted to plead with Stan. The lies—
Stan sat on the bed. He stroked Alf’s cheek. ‘Wake up, son.’
When Alf moved and blinked, Stan scooped him into a sitting position. He was clearly used to handling children. Well, of course he was. Alf stared, then shrank away, scrambling backwards until he was sitting on the pillow.
Nell’s heart ballooned. ‘Don’t be scared. I’m here.’ She clamped her hands to her sides so as not to shove Stan to the floor.
‘Hello, Alf,’ said Stan. ‘Do you remember me?’
Alf pressed himself against the brass bedstead, his eyes big and frightened but not focused.
‘He’s not properly awake,’ said Nell. ‘Leave him be.’
Stan ignored her. ‘We’ve not seen
one another for a long time, Alf. You’ve grown up.’
‘Mummy …’ Alf scrambled into her arms. She cuddled him close, kissing his hair.
‘This man isn’t anything to be scared of, pie-can. He’s …’ She looked at Stan. ‘He’s your uncle.’
‘Nell.’ It was a quiet warning.
‘He needs time to get used to you.’
Stan stood up. Hope quivered through her.
‘He needs telling,’ said Stan.
‘This is good of you, Mrs Fairbrother,’ said Jim. He hadn’t expected ever to be in this drawing room again. It was essentially the same old room, with its handsome furniture and grand piano, but the lighting was different. The ornate brass and glass hanging oil-lamps had been replaced by hanging electric lights.
‘Marjorie doesn’t mind,’ said Mr Fairbrother. ‘I used to spring guests on her with no warning. Now she receives advance notice by telephone.’
‘I’m pleased to see you again, James,’ said Mrs Fairbrother. Was she genuinely pleased or was old Fairbrother going to get a wigging for bringing home the son-in-law that got away? ‘Roberta is out this evening, so it will be just the three of us. I expect you’ll want to be left alone later to discuss the case. It must be intriguing if it has brought you back into the law.’
‘It’s a shabby affair, I’m afraid,’ said Mr Fairbrother. ‘A woman left her bigamous husband, but apparently he isn’t a bigamist after all and he wants her back.’
Mrs Fairbrother shuddered delicately. The silvery threads in her ankle-length evening gown caught the light in a cascade of minute twinkles. ‘How unpleasant. Well, my dear,’ she said to Jim, ‘if you will mix with the lower orders.’
Jim wasn’t having that. ‘The woman concerned showed courage and initiative and she’s built a decent life for herself. If anything, she’s to be admired.’
The door opened and Roberta walked in. Roberta! She looked gorgeous in a magenta and gold dress with a floaty layer over the top. Jim’s breath caught. At the top end, the dress was cut to display the line of her elegant collar-bones, while at the other end it was daringly short and might even reveal her knees when she sat down. She wore a sparkly headband that showed off her short fringe and the blonde waves that covered her ears and brushed her cheekbones, leaving exposed the long line of her jaw and her slender neck. She carried a vast ostrich-feather fan that ought to look idiotic, but instead added a cheeky touch that he found – crikey – endearing.
He stood up, excuses at the ready.
‘Bobbie darling.’ Mrs Fairbrother’s poise slipped for a fraction of a second. ‘We weren’t expecting you. James is here.’
‘So I see.’ A rosy blush filled her cheeks beneath the fine layer of powder. ‘How are you, James?’
‘I’m well, thank you.’ He looked at his hostess. ‘Perhaps—’
‘You have to discuss the case, so of course you must stay.’ She extended a hand to her daughter, inviting her onto the sofa. ‘Bobbie darling, what brings you home?’
Roberta sank gracefully beside her mother and yes, there was a glimpse of knee. Jim kept his gaze fixed on her face. The girlish fullness of her cheeks was now refined to a sleek, high-bred line. She snapped her fan closed.
‘Oh, it’s too tedious for words. Never mind it now.’ She looked at James. ‘I didn’t know you were expected.’
‘It was a last-minute invitation.’
Roberta pretended to administer a long-distance slap to her father’s wrist with the fan. ‘You’re very naughty, Daddy.’
‘I know your mother will always cope.’
What about the cook? Did she keep extra portions on stand-by?
‘Bobbie, darling, why don’t you show James the garden?’ Mrs Fairbrother suggested. ‘Get the awkward bit out of the way and if it’s still awkward, Daddy and James can dine in the library.’
The evening air was warm, the light softening into a gentle fade. In the centre of the lawn, the water pattered in the fountain. Roberta stopped at the foot of the front steps, using her slender bare arms to indicate what lay before them.
‘Behold, the garden.’
‘I’m sorry, Roberta. I’d never have come if I’d known you’d be here.’
‘I don’t mind if you don’t.’ She shrugged one shoulder with continental elegance.
‘Then I’d be delighted to stay.’
‘Don’t go all formal on me, James. We know one another better than that – or we used to.’
She strolled down the path and he fell in beside her. There was something sweet in the air. The garden’s scent or a discreet dash of perfume?
‘I’m sorry I caught you by surprise that time at Mrs Randall’s,’ he said.
‘Yes, it was rather a blunder, wasn’t it? I must say, I prefer the look of you this evening. Very spiffy.’
He started to relax. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
‘Why, thank you, kind sir.’ She pointed gracefully with her fan. ‘White flowers. Tall blue flowers. Mummy said to show you the garden, but honestly, the only thing I know the name of is the fountain.’
‘I can go one better. The big green thing is a lawn and,’ he added impressively, ‘I believe it’s made of grass.’
‘Oh, you!’ Roberta laughed. ‘Better not keep the olds waiting. Let’s go and tell Mummy we’ll all be dining together, shall we?’
Nell sat at the kitchen table with Alf on her lap. Stan was in Leonie’s chair, looking thoughtfully into his son’s face while Alf sneaked curious glances. There was a dead weight in Nell’s chest.
‘Alf,’ said Stan, ‘I’m your dad.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Alf. ‘My daddy’s dead.’
‘You mum thought I was dead, but she made a mistake.’
Alf looked up at her, puzzled, trusting. She nodded, her neck stiff and creaky.
‘In bed, you said he was my uncle.’
‘I know.’ What could she say? ‘Sometimes, when something is difficult to say, you say it a bit at a time, to get used to it.’
‘Is he really my daddy?’
‘Yes, pie-can.’
He pushed himself closer to her. ‘I like being here with you and Cassie and Nanaleonie.’
‘So do I,’ said Nell.
‘There isn’t enough room in the bed for Daddy.’
‘Not to worry, son,’ said Stan. ‘We’ll soon—’
Nell shook her head at him. There was a furious ache in her throat.
‘Soon what?’ asked Alf.
‘Soon nothing,’ said Nell.
‘Are you saying it a bit at a time because it’s difficult?’
‘Aye,’ said Stan. ‘I reckon she is. Maybe you and me should have a talk man to man.’
Alf sat up straight. Nell felt a thrill of fear as their cuddle loosened. Was Alf warming to Stan?
‘Other boys have daddies,’ said Alf.
‘You do an’ all now,’ said Nell, though it tore at her heart to say it.
‘You had one all along,’ said Stan, ‘but your mum made a mistake.’
‘How?’ asked Alf.
Nell stared at Stan. Her mind was blank.
‘Never mind that now,’ said Stan. ‘You need to plan what to tell your mates at school and in the street. I’ll tell you something else an’ all. You’ve got a nanny who can’t wait to see you again.’
‘Nanaleonie? Why isn’t she here?’
‘Nanalee …? Stan looked at Nell.
‘Mrs Brent. Nana Leonie.’
‘The children call her Nana?’ He sounded displeased.
‘Don’t, Stan.’
He smiled at Alf. ‘Your real nanny.’
Alf wriggled round to look at her. ‘Did you think she was dead too, Mummy?’
She needed to get her answers worked out. ‘I can’t remember at the moment. I’m so surprised at Daddy turning up.’
‘Are you going to have more children? Then I can wear the I have a baby brother badge or the I have a baby sister badge at school.’
�
��We’ll see.’ Stan’s smile verged on a grin.
‘Mummy, you said I was too young to remember Daddy dying.’
‘That’s right, pie-can. You were too young when I thought it happened.’
‘You said Daddy was buried with ham. How could he be buried with ham if it was a mistake and he wasn’t dead?’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alf hated her.
Her darling son, with whom she had had such a close and loving bond since the day he was born, had turned against her. He was a thinker; and once he had thought through the ramifications of his daddy’s supposedly being buried with ham, she had lost him.
She had never seen him erupt like that, red in the face, incoherent, shaking. Stan was as taken aback as she was. As they tried to calm him, he became more distraught.
In the middle of the rumpus, Leonie came home.
‘You woke him up to tell him?’ she demanded incredulously. ‘Couldn’t it have waited?’
She got rid of Stan and took charge of an exhausted Alf. She got some warm milk down him and took him upstairs, soothing his tear-encrusted face with a damp flannel while Nell hovered in the background, reduced to the role of bystander.
When Leonie pulled back the covers for him, Nell couldn’t bear it any longer. Inserting herself between Leonie and the bed, she sat on the edge, drawing Alf to her, but instead of curling into her embrace, he went stiff, his limbs shooting out to shove her away, thin arms and surprisingly strong legs pencil-straight and unyielding as they fought against her. When his feet started pummelling her stomach and ribs, Leonie pulled her away.
Downstairs, Nell paced the kitchen, hugging herself. When Leonie came in, she ran to her.
‘He’s asleep, fair worn out with it all, poor lamb. Whatever possessed you to wake him up and tell him?’
‘Don’t rub it in. I feel bad enough already.’
‘Things will look different in the morning.’
‘Will they?’
‘Who knows?’ Leonie’s skin was faded and tired, her lines deeper. ‘You hurt me, lass.’ She held up a hand. ‘I don’t want another apology. You did what you did and I have to get used to it, but what you’ve done to me is nowt compared to what you’ve done to them children.’
A Respectable Woman Page 30