The Twisted Way

by Jean Hill

  Ronald’s daughter was informed of her father’s death and his attempt to murder his sister. She had little to say and refused to come to England to attend his funeral although his entire estate in Australia had been left to her. Following an inquest Ronald was cremated and his ashes scattered, as he had requested in his will, over his mother Anne’s grave in Roehampton Cemetery.

  Felicity did attend his funeral and cremation in Everton. She asked Robbie to drive her to the church and stay with her throughout the brief service for support. Janet was not well and unable to attend; there were no friends to say any kind words about his life. Felicity clutched Robbie’s arm and although he was sympathetic with her plight the whole affair was to him like a bad, almost surreal, dream.

  Felicity would never forgive Ronald or forget the horror she felt in the kitchen on the day of his death, or the corpse she had identified later as her brother, cold and lifeless. The experience had been sobering and caused her to reflect carefully once again about her life. He had looked quite different from the brother she had known years ago; now old and flabby, a waxy white creature with deep wrinkles etched into his brow, but his tapir nose and strange long lobed ears marked him out as Anne’s son. A birthmark, on his right shoulder, small and brown like an acorn, provided definite proof of his identity. She had shuddered when she first saw him, almost heaved and turned her head away from the body. She looked at the pale grey floor in an effort to regain control.

  ‘Yes, it is my brother Ronald,’ she had mumbled and the the scenario in Janet’s kitchen returned to her mind with unwelcome speed. Ronald had gone and in circumstances she must now make an effort to forget. Time would heal her wounds. She felt lonely and vulnerable. Janet was what she called gaga, she herself was over sixty years old and she began to wonder if she too would, like Auntie, have to endure a bleak old age. Auntie’s money had provided her with the physical comfort that she had craved for so long but was that enough? She thought more each day about Robbie. What a nice man he was; she was beginning to enjoy his company and looked forward to seeing his thin intelligent face and deep hazel eyes.

  Robbie wondered if this flippant woman, who had no apparent kind heart or conscience and was apparently crippled with greed for money, had changed. He hoped for everyone’s sake that she had, but he was suspicious. She was treating him with respect now like an old friend but he doubted whether she had a sincere bone in her body. He would continue to watch his back.

  ‘Can you check the security arrangements in Primrose House, perhaps change the locks?’ Felicity asked him. ‘The windows appear secure but the habit of leaving the back door unlocked for you, the milkman and Joyce will have to change. You must all have new keys.’

  ‘I will see to it as soon as possible,’ he said. He had long thought that would be sensible but Janet had been so trusting

  Panic now threatened to overwhelm Robbie, kicking him in the guts and hurtling through his brain with cynical intensity when he considered Felicity’s now frequently simpering and too familiar attitude towards him. There was one thought uppermost in his mind – get away from her before it is too late! He doubted, however, that he could. Fate was closing in on him.

  Chapter 22

  Reconciliations and a Second Wedding

  Felicity slowly regained her strength and was relieved to return to Primrose House in spite of the ordeal she had endured in the kitchen. She vowed get rid of that foul Aga if she ever inherited the house. Because Ronald was no longer in the picture, it was gratifying that his share of the estate could one day belong to her. That was some consolation for the trauma he had inflicted upon her and recompense for the suffering she had endured at his hands but it was cold comfort. Thank goodness she had not seen anything in the will that suggested that Ronald’s share of Auntie’s inheritance would be passed down to his daughter. Tom Hands, or rather Robbie, had only been left a small sum and she was now of the opinion that such a paltry amount was not worth worrying about. She was becoming fond of the man and it did not seem so important to her now whether or not he inherited some money although the thought remained that he did not need it and it should in fairness come to her. Despite her efforts to find him using the slimy detective, she had changed her mind about getting rid of him. Indeed, she had come to think of him as a friend since her ‘accident’, as she preferred to remember it. The attempted murder by her little brother was something that chilled and terrified even the cool Felicity and she tried not to think about it, although the horror of that afternoon would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Robbie would have been appalled if he had known that she cared for him in any way. The fact that she had warmed towards him surprised her as much as it would amaze him. She could tell he was not well and she would like to look after him. A motherly longing to hug him overcame her whenever she thought about him. She needed his friendship and wondered if she could throw herself on his mercy and gain his sympathy, but she was not adept at that type of behaviour. She knew it would beneficial to consider her options with care.

  Janet too had warmed towards Felicity. She had been company for the ailing old woman, if somewhat prickly and vacillating, and Janet, ensconced in her confused and disintegrating world, was pleased to have her companionship. She was aware of her niece’s lust for money but that did not matter because money and the acquisition of worldly goods no longer interested Janet.

  The bridge club members welcomed Felicity back when she returned to play with Marianne after a few weeks’ rest. Some shook her by the hand and others, to her embarrassment, put their arms around her shoulders to reassure her. It was a new experience for the once socially shunned Felicity. Her status had changed after Ronald’s attempt to murder her, most members having been provoked into feeling sincere sympathy for the victim, despite the fact that she had not been one of their most popular players. Felicity felt some embarrassment at first but soon began to bask in and enjoy the unaccustomed attention and became more relaxed than she had for a long time. ‘Anything we can do?’ ‘You can rely on us …’ ‘Ring me at anytime if you would like to talk to someone …’ were some of the phrases she got used to hearing. She had been cold shouldered and disliked all her life because of her restless and difficult behaviour and she was, to her surprise, touched to the centre of her being and experienced a happiness she had not known before at any time in her life.

  Patsy Croft and John Elk fussed over her. ‘Dear Felicity,’ Patsy gushed uncharacteristically as her face softened with genuine sympathy. ‘We are here for you and were so sorry to hear about your dreadful ordeal.’ John and Patsy were becoming noticeably closer as a couple and Felicity thought that the wedding to which she hoped to be invited, together with some of the other Enderly and Little Brinton bridge players, might soon be forthcoming. She was looking forward to it. There would probably be a good spread laid on for the guests that day in Little Brinton and she would buy an attractive outfit for the occasion.

  ‘Welcome back, Felicity,’ Robbie had announced earlier with his club chairman’s hat on. Old Pat too had squeezed Felicity’s arm affectionately. Felicity glowed with happiness, akin to a feeling she had not felt since she was a small child being rocked in her mother’s arms. The attention she had craved all her life was now given to her. She mellowed, at least for a while, and became increasingly reconciled with the prospect of Robbie inheriting some of her aunt’s money as she felt her affection grow for the man each day.

  A week later Patsy surprised John by suggesting that they might spend a weekend together in Devon. She had found details about a bridge weekend that was to be held in a good hotel in Teignmouth. She had discovered from other bridge players in Little Brinton that the bridge there was always well organised and the food excellent. She showed John the brochure.

  ‘There are attractive red cliffs and quite a reasonable beach to walk on,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’s nice little town with quite good shops and a few interesting places nearby to visit. A we
ll-organised bridge company called ‘Aces High’ is running it and they have a sound reputation. We can book separate rooms, of course,’ she continued, her small eyes twinkling as a smile fluttered round her pale pink mouth which had softened and looked almost feminine since she had been going out with John. A flush crept across her cheeks and she brushed the hair back from her face with neat manicured hands; nails painted with care to match her lips, John noticed. ‘It will be fun. A chance to improve our bridge partnership.’

  John hoped that was not the only partnership that would improve. He was getting restless and longing to get closer to the love of his life. They were not young and he didn’t want to waste too many years, or even months, pussyfooting around as he thought of it. He agreed with alacrity and two weeks later they set off together in John’s old Ford, their smart new suitcases nudging each other in the boot.

  The bridge was as good and well organised as Patsy had suggested it would be and the food in the hotel well up to their expectations. They played well together and did not argue about the conventions or mistakes in their play which was unusual. There was often some small blip they discussed heatedly at the end of an evening, but not this time. John’s thoughts were centred on how he could get Patsy into bed, indeed he was getting quite obsessed with the idea. Bridge was a secondary consideration.

  Patsy kissed him briefly on the lips at the door of her room after the second evening of play finished at about eleven o’clock. It was the kind of affectionate kiss a daughter might give her father.

  ‘I’m tired and must get my beauty sleep,’ she said. ‘It’s getting late.’

  She yawned, lifted her glasses, and rubbed the corners of her eyes.

  John’s face drooped and Patsy’s heart lurched. She turned towards him and reached out for his one of his hands and stroked his long sensitive fingers. What was she doing? She turned and took an abrupt step towards the door. No, she could not ... but, why not? The touch of the brief kiss on her lips lingered and tingled, she longed to get closer to him, and the smell of his enticing aftershave, mmm ... so masculine ... what was it?

  John turned his back on her. His narrow shoulders drooped and his thin gangly arms hung disconsolately by his sides as he crept along the thick fawn carpet that graced the centre of the corridor stretching towards the stairs. The prospect of being alone in his single room on the next floor was not a welcome one.

  ‘John, oh John,’ a voice, soft and urgent, sounded behind him. He looked round and Patsy, a bewildered and forlorn expression on her face, held out her thin arms to him. Her pale blue evening shawl had slipped off one shoulder exposing a round and tantalising stretch of pink skin he longed to kiss.

  ‘Are you sure, quite sure?’ he asked, his breath coming in rapid rasps. He could not believe his luck. He turned on his heel and moved towards her.

  ‘Quite sure!’

  The past was no longer relevant. She loved John, really loved and wanted him. She wanted him close to her. Stunning realisation swept over her and the shackles that had held her in check for so long dropped away like autumn leaves being swept along by the wind. She led him into her room and locked the door. The passion that they shared together in her narrow hotel bed made up for all the miserable years endured in limbo; it had been worth waiting for.

  The first words John spoke in the morning were to ask her to marry him, and soon.

  ‘Darling Patsy,’ he said. ‘I can’t live without you.’ It sounds corny, she thought, but I agree with every word. ‘I can’t live without you either,’ she replied with sincerity and fervour.

  She reached out her arms to hold him closer. Love for a man was marvellous. What a fool she had been to waste so many years as a miserable old spinster.

  They drove into Exeter in the morning and purchased an engagement ring, sapphires and diamonds, ‘like your eyes,’ John said. In his sight she was lovely and he was happier than he had ever been in his life. She was his soulmate, someone he had thought he would never find.

  They anticipated that the Enderly and Little Brinton bridge club members would be surprised, but the majority of them, like Felicity, had been looking forward to Patsy and John’s wedding for some time. Old Mr Croft thought it was the best news he had ever heard. He had thought at one time that his daughter was too shrew-like to ever attract a member of the opposite sex. He longed to see her marry and enjoy life and perhaps have a family of her own, like so many of her school friends in the village had earlier. He could even suffer that lady vicar in Little Brinton church if she married them. He had found her even worse than some of the previous lady vicars who had been relegated to judging the local produce sale each autumn. They did not know the difference between a carrot and a turnip, his vegetables were the best but they never seemed to realize it. They were an ignorant lot. The next year they were to have a male vicar. There is hope yet, he thought with chauvinistic abandon that would have infuriated his daughter.

  Patsy had at last become reconciled to the horror of the rape as a schoolgirl that had haunted her for so long and could now move on with confidence with John. Mr Croft had known that something dreadful had happened to his daughter when she went on a school holiday in her teens but would never discover what had taken place. Patsy had not told anyone about her ordeal except John Elk who had provided her with the friendship, love, patience and understanding that she needed.

  A date was soon set for the wedding. It was to be held in Little Brinton Church in April. Invitations had been sent to all the bridge club members, family and other friends of the bride and groom. Felicity urged Robbie to drive her into Brinton where she purchased an expensive fine pale blue wool suit and small head band to match, soft Italian shoes and a lavish leather and fabric bag. She had regained her spirits after Ronald’s attempts to shorten her life and plenty of cash and new clothes were, as always, essential to her well-being.

  She showed her purchases to an embarrassed Robbie and pressed him into an opinion regarding the suitability of her goods, about which he had no idea.

  ‘Does the colour flatter me?’ she asked, her small eyes opened as wide as possible with feigned innocence and undoubted affection.

  Robbie coloured. ‘I am no expert Felicity. Ask Joyce Skillet or your aunt.’

  ‘I am not interested in what they think, only your opinion,’ she retorted.

  Robbie cringed. What was the woman playing at now? She fluttered her newly acquired false eyelashes and leaned closer to him. He backed away. God, was she flirting with him? He hoped not. The phrase ‘disaster threatens’ passed through his mind and he heard alarm bells clanging. An unpleasant and persistent ache had invaded his forehead.

  Felicity’s hair was now tinted a pale auburn and she was convinced it made her look at least ten years younger. She was pleased with her new look and surprised that Robbie was not more responsive. He must have noticed. What was the matter with the man!

  The wedding day in early April turned out to be slightly cool, but dry. Little Brinton Church was crammed with close family, villagers and bridge club members, some having to stand in discomfort close to the cold grey stone walls because all the pews were full. Patsy, despite her once sharp tongue, had many loyal friends and work colleagues anxious to see her tie the knot. John Elk was liked too and his parents, sister Joan and her husband and three young children were excited and pleased that their once lonely son and brother, who had appeared to be a confirmed bachelor, was at last getting married.

  Old Mr Croft was dressed in a smart suit which was a change from his usual scruffy old tweed trousers and jacket. He was hardly recognisable.

  ‘This is a great day,’ he repeated to all and sundry, beaming. ‘I never thought this would happen, marvellous. I have a lovely daughter who deserves to be happy.’ He thought back guiltily to the many times he had told himself how glad he would be to get rid of his miserable child, a child he wished to be happy and had no idea how to help, but that bad patch was now behind them.

&nb
sp; Patsy wore a cream satin dress scattered with seed pearls. A band of orange blossom on her head held in place a short cream lace veil that had belonged to her mother. Her friend Jenny Saunders was matron of honour and small cousin Jack, a gangly difficult child, proved himself to be a reluctant pageboy. The congregation gasped with admiration when they saw Patsy. She had abandoned her glasses for contact lenses and her hair had been curled and cut to flatter her face. The loose-styled dress suited her slim angular body ensuring that a feminine and attractive woman floated down the aisle.

  The ladies of the Village Hall Committee in Little Brinton had also made an effort to attend and the chairman Ned Windsor looked proud of his club secretary. He liked Patsy, a feisty girl after his own heart. He had no time for weak women. He sat next to Mrs Blunt whom he had considered to be an old battleaxe when he first moved into the village shortly after Jack Headley left for Scotland, but they were now becoming close friends. They were an odd couple. She was an upright pillar in the local community, strait-laced, honest and determined, and quite different from Ned who had a criminal record, although the villagers, with the exception of Mrs Blunt, did not realise that. He had told her about his past, how he was imprisoned for killing his wife in a drunken stupor and had shared a cell with the bridge club’s first chairman Jack Headley. She appreciated his honesty she told him, and promptly set about helping him to become a respected Little Brinton villager. He went along with that; it suited him. Jack had no idea that Ned was now living in Little Brinton and would have been very surprised if he had. Mrs Blunt held Ned’s arm possessively and he smiled with obvious warmth. Many of the villagers noticed that he had mellowed since they had become close friends, indeed they hoped that there might be another wedding in the near future. He could be a difficult man when he wanted to be as some of the Village Hall Committee ladies knew. Used to getting their own way, even they were wary when dealing with Ned.