White Rivers

by White Rivers (retail) (epub)

  He also knew he was putting off the visit to Albert Tremayne’s studio in Truro for as long as he could. It wasn’t that he felt any resentment towards Albert any more. All that was past, and besides, he knew the absolute truth of the rumours. Whatever incestuous thoughts there had been, they were all in Albie’s mind and never Primmy’s. And it had never come to fulfilment, thank God.

  No, the reason he didn’t want to go to the artist’s studio – could hardly bear to contemplate it, if the truth were told – was because he knew it would still be so full of Primmy. She had had such a happy, heady, bohemian life there – and he simply didn’t want to think of her belonging in any other place but their home in New Jersey.

  ‘You’re a bloody foolish old man,’ he told himself savagely. ‘The life she and Albie shared was nothing compared to the life she shared with you. It may have been wild and unconventional at the time, and caused folk to raise their eyebrows, but it was no more than an episode long past.’

  But the fact that he could still feel jealousy was a torment in his soul, and he finally knew it wouldn’t be assuaged until he faced the lion in his den. And when he did, he stared in disbelief at this bedraggled old man – no more a lion than a shuffling insect, and clearly the worse for drink – who opened the studio door to him and peered short-sightedly at the visitor.

  ‘Yes? Who is it?’ Albie growled.

  ‘Don’t you know me, Albert Tremayne?’ Cress said quietly.

  * * *

  It never promised to be a good meeting. For Cress it was simply something he had to do, as if Primmy was compelling him to at least make contact with her brother. But they could never be friends; never more than two men bound by ties that went beyond the tangled relationships of the Tremayne family. Two men who had loved the same woman.

  ‘Heard you were here. Didn’t expect to see you. Don’t get many visitors, ’specially fam’ly ones,’ Albie said, his voice slurred and his head disorientated. He tried hard to remember something important. ‘Bad news about your son. A shock.’

  ‘Yes. But Skye’s presence helped.’

  ‘Ah – Skye. How is she?’ Albie enquired.

  ‘She’s well. She’s young, and gets over things. And she has her own busy life, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The children will be of help to her. Children take away the hurt,’ Cress went on, almost desperately.

  They each listened to themselves, talking in stark, staccato sentences, each knowing that the gulf between them was too wide to ever cross. It was the strangest thing, thought Cress. They had the most fundamental thing in the world in common, and yet it was the very thing that kept them apart, and always would.

  It had been a mistake to come here, despite Primmy. He felt a violent need to get back to New World, to the healthy, boisterous antics of his grandchildren, and as far away as possible from this gloomy old man who seemed to live half in the shadows in the almost fetid atmosphere of the studio.

  ‘Well, it’s been – good – to see you,’ he said finally, realising he hadn’t even been offered a chair, and thankful now that he hadn’t had to pretend a relationship he didn’t want.

  ‘No, not good,’ Albie said, a shade more lucid and taking him by surprise. ‘I’ll always be a – a question in your mind. Won’t I?’

  Cress felt his heart begin to thud. If this evil old devil was about to pretend to him now, that he and Primmy… he and Primmy… He saw Albie give a twisted smile, but although his words were less muddled, they were slower and more deliberate, as if he climbed a mountain in trying to get them out, but was determined to do so.

  ‘Let me say it. Primmy. Everything – in the world to me. We loved each other. You – knew that. Our life here was – total harmony. I’d have given my life – to make her mine. You know damn well. But I was just her brother. Her best-loved brother, but only her brother. Nothing more. Ever. Question answered?’

  ‘What question?’ Cress said steadily, but he felt increasing alarm as the other man’s eyes burned as if with a fever, and he began to sway. Albie coughed, exhausted after such a long speech, and there was blood on his lips.

  Cress caught at his arm. ‘You’re ill, man. Can I do anything for you? Can I get you a doctor?’

  ‘Not ill,’ Albie croaked. ‘Just tired of living.’

  He slumped to the floor then, and as Cresswell felt his pulse and saw his sickly grey pallor, he knew this was more than a drunken stupor. His heart plummeted, unable to cope with another fatality so soon after Sinclair… but then common humanity took over, and he knew he couldn’t just leave the man here like this.

  He telephoned New World and spoke to Skye. She gave him the name of a Truro doctor and said she would come to the studio immediately. Since it was a considerable distance, the doctor was there long before her, and by the time Skye arrived, Albert had been taken to hospital in an ambulance, and the doctor had remained behind to have a long talk with Cresswell. He reported it gently to his daughter.

  ‘Albert has had a stroke, Skye, but although the doctor doesn’t seem to think it’s serious, there are other, more serious problems.’

  ‘What other problems?’

  She didn’t want to get involved. Didn’t want to have to think about Albert Tremayne at all, and she was quite sure her father didn’t want to, either. But here they were, the only two of the family on the scene when they were needed. She hated the thought, and yet she had the strongest intuitive feeling that it was what her mother would have wanted. Primmy wouldn’t want Albie to be deserted. She drew a deep breath, concentrating on what her father was saying now.

  He spoke as unemotionally as possible, not wanting to distress her by repeating the doctor’s scathing words that when the artist drank to excess and his senses got out of control, he resembled a raging bull.

  ‘The doctor has been treating him for some time, for alcoholism and senility, darling. He’s been insisting for months that Albert shouldn’t continue living alone, or he’ll end up doing himself real harm.’

  At the implication of what he was saying, Skye felt horror creep over her, and her voice was shrill with panic.

  ‘He can’t come to us! Philip would never agree to it. And the children – no, I won’t subject them to it—’

  Cress clutched her shaking arms, but she knew that her outburst had nothing to do with Philip or the children.

  It did in part – but her prime feeling was one of terror at just having Albert Tremayne in her house, ogling her, wanting her… She caught herself up short, reminding herself that he was a pathetic, shambling old man, and her mother had loved him, but for the life of her she couldn’t produce any sympathy at that moment. All she could do was shudder.

  ‘There’s no suggestion of that,’ she heard her father say. ‘What the doctor’s strongly suggesting is that he’s placed in a home where he can be properly cared for.’

  ‘Oh God no, not an asylum,’ Skye whispered. ‘Mom would never agree to that!’

  She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming above her fingers. But here in Albie’s studio, where he and Primmy had shared all those reckless bohemian years, she seemed to hear her mother protesting violently that they couldn’t do this to her beloved Albie. Primmy’s voice was so strong in her head, and she prayed desperately that her father couldn’t hear it too.

  ‘No, darling, and neither would the family,’ Cress said steadily. ‘The doctor says there are excellent rest and care homes where he’ll be looked after properly until the end of his days. We’ll insist that he’s found the best.’

  ‘No matter how much it costs,’ Skye said.

  ‘No matter how much,’ he agreed.

  * * *

  ‘You’re not planning on paying for the old boy’s keep forever more, I hope?’ Philip asked her, when at last she and Cress returned to New World, totally exhausted.

  She looked at him speechlessly. The visit to the hospital had been harrowing. Albie’s health had declined so fast
it was almost unbelievable. The stroke had been a minor one, but it had been the trigger to destroying him. It was easy to see there was no going back to the studio for him, nor living alone, and the trembling hands that had produced such delicate paintings would never hold a brush again.

  ‘I certainly am,’ she answered Philip, furious. ‘You seem to forget he’s my uncle, and he was my mother’s dearest friend as well as her brother. What else would you expect me to do?’

  Philip shrugged. ‘I think you take on too much, my love,’ he said, the coolly uttered endearment such a contradiction. ‘There are others in the family who should help.’

  ‘But none who were ever as dear to Uncle Albie as Mom and me,’ she dared to say, knowing her father was listening.

  ‘And if the expenses bother you that much,’ Cress put in, ‘I’ll be more than willing to share them with Skye.’

  She looked at him, and had never loved him more. But perverse as ever, Philip shook his head.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m just concerned for Skye, that’s all.’ He put on a more practical voice. ‘So, assuming that he’ll never return to his studio, who’s going to clear it out and put the place up for sale? It won’t be the most savoury task, I suspect.’

  ‘It’s far too soon to think of that. Besides, no one can do that without his agreement,’ Skye said swiftly, the thought of it appalling her.

  ‘They can, if he’s so deranged that a doctor and lawyer decree it. Consult your Pengelly man and ask his advice.’

  Chapter Nine

  Theo, Charlotte and Emma were called in to the family council. Luke Tremayne had declined to attend; probably thinking that he’d be the next to go, Theo had said sourly. Luke was not yet sixty years old, but since his long-ago conversion to religion, he had turned into a latter-day Methuselah, according to Theo. And no doubt Luke’s pious presence always made Theo feel uncomfortable, considering his own extra-marital activities, thought Skye shrewdly. But this was no time to dwell on personalities. Albert Tremayne’s future was an important matter, and the only other direct older members of the family were too far away to be consulted.

  Cresswell had intended going home to New Jersey as soon as he decently could, but from Skye’s present state of mind he knew he must stay until these proceedings were finished. As for Philip, once he realised the family was closing ranks on any decision, he ignored the entire feudal business and let them get on with it.

  The family council was quickly arranged to take place in Truro, at Theo’s home. Killigrew House seemed the obvious place to hold it, and those present included Dr Rainley and the family solicitor, and Skye felt her heart jump when she saw Nick Pengelly walk into the drawing-room.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone,’ he said quietly. ‘I apologise for Mr Slater’s absence, but he has to be in session in Bodmin for the next couple of weeks. I’m fully conversant with all the details of this case, and I trust no one has any objection to my presence? If so, the whole matter will have to be postponed until a later date.’

  ‘Just get on with it, man,’ growled Theo. ‘We all know why we’re here, and there’s more important clay business to sort out than the future of a senile old man.’

  The doctor cleared his throat, while the others stared stonily ahead. They were all used to the insufferable Theo, but he could be guaranteed to mortify them by his crudeness in front of outsiders. Dr Rainley spoke unemotionally.

  ‘I’ve had a consultation with other senior doctors, and we are all of the same opinion regarding the health of Mr Albert Tremayne. I have obtained signed statements to that effect, which I will show to you all, and then pass on to Mr Pengelly. They all affirm that Mr Albert Tremayne is no longer competent to live alone, and would be a danger to himself and possibly to other people. Because of his unpredictable nature, we do not advise any of you to offer him a home.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Theo said feelingly.

  ‘Shut up, Theo, for goodness’ sake,’ Emma said, red-faced at such a lack of charity. ‘Albie’s our family, after all.’

  ‘Oh ah. Were you thinkin’ of movin’ him in wi’ you and your farmer then? Got a suitable hen house for him, have ’ee, Em?’ he sneered.

  ‘What do you advise, Dr Rainley? We want the best for him. Our mother would wish it.’ Charlotte asked, ignoring him, and clearly wishing herself anywhere but here.

  Dr Rainley was her family physician, and she tried to hold on to her dignity. She could see how upset Emma was now, and probably liable to lapse into coarse farming talk at any minute if she and Theo began wrangling. And she had no wish for Theo to let the side down any more than he had to. Neither did Skye. Charlotte knew that by the way she was staring into the distance.

  In fact, Skye was finding it very difficult to concentrate in the stuffy atmosphere of the drawing-room that Betsy always kept at near to hot-house temperature. But she knew Morwen would have wanted the best of care for her adopted son, Albie. So would Primmy, and so did she.

  She caught Nick Pengelly’s glance, was held by it for a timeless moment, and swiftly looked away. But just for that one brief moment while the others squabbled, she had the strangest feeling that no one else existed for either of them. His unspoken sympathy for her, on account of all these impossible people, was obvious. But she knew there was far more than that in the magnetic exchange of glances, and she didn’t want to admit that it meant anything at all, not for one second.

  She forced herself to listen to what he was saying in his lawyer’s voice now, as the doctor passed the signed statements over to him. He scanned them quickly.

  ‘These documents are legally and unquestionably sound,’ Nick said. ‘You may all examine them, and I will provide copies for you all in due course. And if it is the family’s wish that Mr Tremayne be committed to a place of care, then I will deal with all further legalities.’

  ‘As long as it’s a decent place of care where he can be looked after with every kindness,’ Skye said emphatically. ‘I refuse to sanction one of those awful asylum places.’

  ‘No, indeed!’ Charlotte added. ‘We could never hold up our heads in public if poor Albert was sent to such a place.’

  Skye looked at her coldly. ‘That was the least of my concerns, Charlotte.’

  ‘Well, of course, Americans see things differently, don’t they?’ Charlotte said, unable to resist the small barb.

  ‘I think what Skye means,’ Cresswell put in, ‘is that we want every comfort for our brother, until the end of his days.’

  Skye had never loved him more. Albert wasn’t his brother, and if anyone here had cause to resent their concern for him, it was her father.

  ‘Can we get on with it?’ Theo bellowed. ‘Em will want to get back to her farmyard, and Skye and I have urgent business of our own to deal with, in case you’ve forgotten, cuz.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ she snapped. ‘But it can wait until later. Please go on, Nicholas – Mr Pengelly. What do we do next?’

  ‘Dr Rainley has advised me of several suitable rest and care homes of the type your uncle needs,’ he said, addressing her as if they were the only two in the room. ‘Unfortunately none of them is in Cornwall, and the actual location is a decision the council will have to make. There’s no question of an asylum since the family is well able to support Mr Tremayne in his last years. I presume that is agreeable to you all?’

  ‘Oh my goodness, yes,’ Charlotte said. ‘Whatever it costs, I’m sure the family will rally round.’

  ‘It won’t matter where the bugger is, if he don’t even know what day it is,’ Theo scowled.

  ‘I’m very much afraid Mr Tremayne is right in that respect.’ The doctor ignored the outraged gasps from the others. ‘His condition has deteriorated swiftly, and it’s doubtful already whether he would know any of you for more than moments at a time. I understand from Mr Slater that your lawyers can be given power of attorney if the client is incapable of making personal decisions, so whatever happens to his property will eventually be your joi
nt decision.’

  ‘He’ll certainly get no visits from me, wherever he is,’ Theo retorted. ‘Just find him a suitable place and let us know the fees. We’re none of us paupers, though I’d have thought he had assets enough, considering all his paint daubings. Unless he’s drunk it all away, of course.’

  At that moment Skye hated the lot of them. Theo for just being Theo, which said it all; Charlotte for her snobbishness; even darling Em, fidgeting uncomfortably in her dowdy clothes and sensible shoes, and clearly wanting to get away. She was totally out of her element here, and it showed.

  ‘Please listen a moment.’ Skye said, knowing she had to take the initiative or they would get nowhere. ‘Theo is right again, however tastelessly he puts it. It’s reasonable to assume that all Uncle Albie’s costs will be met out of his estate, since he has no direct descendants to leave it to. But when that is exhausted, then his every comfort will be continued to be paid for by funds from the Killigrew Clay estate. It’s what Granny Morwen would have wanted, and I’m sure Mr Pengelly and Mr Slater can arrange things, once we have found the right accommodation.’

  She shivered. She hadn’t intended to make such a lengthy speech, and she knew she was being far too bold in some folks’ opinion. Despite having lived in Cornwall for thirteen years, where her roots were, she would always be the interloper… the American cousin, as her father had been before her. But since no one else seemed to be making any sensible decisions…

  ‘You can rely on us,’ Nick said, his eyes telling her that she was the only sane one among them, as far as he was concerned. Except for her father, of course.

  ‘Then I think this initial meeting is at an end,’ said Dr Rainley briskly. ‘You are all at liberty to visit Mr Tremayne in Truro hospital to see him for yourselves, of course, though he probably won’t know you. I know Mrs Norwood has already done so, and will confirm my words.’