Spencer took Vicki away with him and came back a few minutes later. Laura was wrapping the cake she and Vicki had made in greaseproof paper. She knew she was going to get a reprimand for some reason and was in no mood for it.
‘I’m busy in the kitchen. If you want to talk to me it’ll have to be in there.’
‘You know that I have something to say to you then?’ he said tightly, following her through.
‘You never bother to hide your feelings, Spencer Jeffries. What have I done wrong this time?’
He stood beside her, squaring his shoulders. ‘I just want to say that I don’t want Vicki coming here to become a regular thing. She’s my daughter. I have the right.’
Laura bustled him out of her way as she reached for a cake tin. ‘I agree with you. You have the right to do what you think is best for Vicki, but have you thought everything through clearly?’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘There’s no need to be aggressive.’ Laura put her hands on her hips. ‘Why do you always have to take that line? It’s a great pity you’re not more like Ince.’
‘Would you mind getting straight to the point?’ Spencer interjected, leaning towards her.
‘Very well. I was thinking about her grandmother, Felicity Lean.’
‘That’s none of your bloody business! If you think you can live in this village for five minutes and play the lady and interfere in my affairs then you’re very much mistaken.’
Spencer made to hurtle out of the kitchen but Laura grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ‘Spencer, will you listen for a moment instead of getting all fired up. Stop and think about the future, man! Everybody in the village knows Felicity is Vicki’s grandmother. She starts school in a few days’ time, one of the children might tell her. Have you ever stopped long enough to consider that? Don’t you realise that the vice-like grip you keep on Vicki isn’t good for her? How is she going to feel when she learns you’ve been keeping secrets from her?’
‘I’ll tell her the truth! That Felicity Lean’s a dreadful woman and I’ve only been protecting her.’
‘That’s not true and you know it,’ Laura shouted back angrily. ‘Felicity only kept from you what Natalie asked her to. It’s not Felicity’s fault that Natalie died. It’s nobody’s fault. Natalie had a serious health problem. You have no more right to deny that poor woman her granddaughter than you have to deny Vicki the love and attention of her grandmother. It’s not what Natalie would have wanted you to do. It’s you that’s dreadful!’
Laura ended on a gulp. She knew she had gone too far. Spencer pushed her away from him so forcefully she hit the table behind her. For one terrible moment she thought he was going to come after her and unleash some of the rage that was making him shake from head to foot. His face was a cold mask, his grey eyes shone queerly. Laura shuddered. It was as if something dead was glaring at her.
He pointed a finger at her and strained his words out between clenched teeth. ‘How dare you involve yourself in my family life. You’ve got no right. I know you’ve got something going with Ince but he’ll just have to meet you here instead. If I ever catch you on my land, if I ever learn that you’ve spoken a single word to my daughter again, I won’t be responsible…’
When he had gone, Laura fell down on a chair. She felt cold right through, as if she’d been out on the moor for hours with hardly any clothes on. She had tried to help Vicki and Felicity and had failed alarmingly. Now the one thing in her life she wanted and enjoyed the most, to spend time with Vicki, to be part of her life, she had just lost for ever. It was ironic, she would never have shouted back at Bill in that way, but now she had sown a wind and reaped a storm.
There was a knock at the door. Like someone in a stupor, she answered it. It was Marianne Roach. Laura said nothing, she stood aside to let the girl in.
‘Thanks for seeing me, Mrs Jennings,’ Marianne said, twisting her hands together in front of her body self consciously. ‘I… I was wondering if you’d thought about coming to see my mother with me yet? I’ve thought of nothing else over Christmas. I know how unfair it is to ask you to do this for me when it’s Bill’s baby I’m carrying, but you’ve been so kind to some of the other villagers.’
‘Sit down, Marianne,’ Laura said numbly.
Marianne suddenly became aware that she wasn’t the only one who might have problems. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Jennings? You look as white as a ghost. Can I get you anything?’
‘Yes, you can,’ Laura said, flopping down on the settee. ‘You’ll find a bottle of brandy in the sideboard. You can pour me a large glassful. There’s some lemonade in there too if you want some.’
Marianne poured a large brandy for Laura, all the while glancing at her anxiously. She had never seen anyone looking so shaken. She sat down with a glass of lemonade. ‘Have you had a shock, Mrs Jennings?’
Laura raised her glass. She looked and spoke as if she was drunk. ‘Call me Laura. No, I haven’t had a shock. I’ve just had something reaffirmed for me, something I’ve always known, that nearly all the men in the world are callous bastards. And you know that too, don’t you, you poor girl? You’ve been seduced and left pregnant by the worst, or perhaps the second worst, one in the world. Of course I’ll come with you to tell your mother that you’re pregnant. And if your damned father kicks you out or threatens to hurt you, you can come and live with me.’
Chapter 22
Harry Lean was meeting an acquaintance in the historic fourteen-century Bell Inn public house in Launceston. Harry bought the other man, a heftily built, middle-aged, balding individual, a double Scotch.
‘I take it you have some information for me then, Hugh?’ Harry rubbed his soft hands together and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
‘Had a little look through the files for you this morning, old boy,’ Hugh said, gulping at his whisky and wiping his fat lips with the palm of his hand. ‘I think you’ll find it most interesting.’
‘Go on.’ Harry moved his bar stool closer to Hugh and lit a cigarette.
‘As you thought, Harry, Jacka Davey bought his farm from your father on a mortgage from the bank I work for. He’s now behind on three repayments. He had a letter warning him that the bank will take steps to repossess the property if he doesn’t pay half the amount due by January the first.’
‘And has he?’
‘Oh, yes. We received his letter and postal order this morning.’
‘Damn!’ Harry growled. ‘I wanted to get that dirt farmer off the property. I was going to make the bank an offer it couldn’t refuse.’ Harry could, too; since the mismanagement of the family affairs by his father, Harry had been astute in his career moves and business management and had built up a healthy bank balance to ensure that he and his mother would never want for anything. It hadn’t worried him before, the selling off of the Leans’ property around Kilgarthen; he didn’t want the bother of collecting the rents and selling Little Cot to Bill Jennings had broken ties with a man he despised. If he had secured Tregorlan Farm, he would have promptly sold it again.
‘You want to get back the farm your father sold off, is that it, Harry?’
‘No, I want to pay back the farmer’s daughter for showing me up in public and refusing me the pleasure of her body.’
Hugh laughed uproariously. ‘Tell me about the daughter, Harry. I shall be most interested to hear about her.’
Harry shook his head ruefully and a lecherous smile marred his handsome face. ‘She would have been delicious. A virgin of course. Rather strange in her ways, talks to herself a lot, but as pretty as a picture. A tiny little thing. Twenty years old and has no more idea what to do with her body than a nun. I love the very smell of her, so young, fresh and untried. I don’t think a man could ever take her beyond the experience of it being the first time. Think of it, Hugh. Bliss, bliss and more bliss, over and over again.’
‘Mmmm…’ Hugh licked his fleshy lips. ‘And she refused you?’
‘Damned near tore my face off! I sw
ore revenge on her then and I meant it.’
‘Were you hoping she’d turn to you if she became homeless?’
Harry slapped Hugh playfully on the shoulder. ‘Do you know, I never thought of that. You’ve cheered me up. She’d rather live in the gutter than succumb to me, but she might be willing to reconsider my proposition if it meant keeping the roof over her father and aunt’s head.’
‘Well, in that case, I might just be able to help you.’ Hugh took an envelope out of the inside breast pocket of his flamboyantly styled suit. ‘This just happens to be the letter and postal order from Jacka Davey Esquire. I could delay paying it into his account for a few more days, for a small consideration of, say, fifty pounds? Then you can put your bid into the bank. What do you say to that, Harry?’
Harry pushed back his shoulders and stretched his entwined fingers out in front of him. With face abeam, he said, ‘Excellent, it’s cheap at the price, Hugh, old boy.’
* * *
While her son was engaged in underhand dealings, Felicity Lean was thanking Laura for the cake she’d baked for her. ‘You are kind. I was afraid you wouldn’t come again after what Harry did to that poor girl and I have come to value your friendship, Laura.’ There was emotion in her pale blue eyes and a slight tremble in her voice.
‘That had nothing to do with you, Felicity,’ Laura said, taking a seat in the drawing room which boasted a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree complete with dozens of tiny white candles in silver clip-on holders.
‘I don’t know what came over Harry. He must have had too much to drink before the concert started. He’s never done anything like that before. Tressa Davey is very pretty. Dresses like an urchin and has terrible hair, but I can see that she would be appealing to young men. I understand from Mrs Biddley that your solicitor friend is quite taken with her. I hope Tressa wasn’t too badly distressed. I’ve been wondering if I should write and apologise to her on Harry’s behalf. What do you think?’
‘Tressa’s made of stern stuff, Felicity, and she seems confident nothing like that will happen again. I should let it die a natural death.’
The tired, almost defeated look that was beginning to etch deeper fines in Felicity’s regal face eased a little, and for a few moments she looked more like the vibrant purposeful woman she had once been. ‘Oh, you’re such a comfort to me. I think you understand how I feel about little Vicki more than anyone else.’
Laura looked down guiltily at the carpet. ‘I think I probably do but I fear I might have made things worse yesterday.’ In a flat, apologetic voice she told Felicity of her latest altercation with Spencer.
Felicity sighed heavily then shrugged her graceful shoulders. ‘Even if Vicki learns I am her grandmother, Spencer will still continue to deny me access to her. How could things be worse? At least someone had the guts to say something to him on my behalf at long last. I thank you for trying to make him see things from my point of view.’
Mrs Biddley brought in a tray of coffee and tiny mince pies and because Felicity was distracted, staring at Natalie’s photograph, Laura did the honours. ‘Was he a beast when he married Natalie? Were you worried at all about her?’
‘No,’ Felicity said emphatically, gathering her wits together. ‘Spencer was always quiet and intense but he adored Natalie. I can’t ever remember him raising his voice to her.’
‘Well, he has to me,’ Laura said bitterly. ‘More than once.’
‘It was the shock of Natalie’s death that changed him, Laura. It was so unexpected, he’s never been able to get to grips with it. He threw himself into fathering Vicki and never allowed himself to grieve over Natalie. He puts flowers on her grave, but he’s shut his mind to the fact that she’s dead. He just feels bereft at not having her with him, that she’ll never come back to him. He’s all lost and mixed up inside.’
‘You’re very understanding towards him, Felicity. I can’t forgive his behaviour towards me. I had a cruel husband and I ended up hating him. I hate his memory. I won’t tolerate another man abusing me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Felicity murmured and turned her head away. She was running out of energy, she didn’t want the little she had left used up by listening to another’s troubles; she had enough sorrows of her own and they made her rather selfish.
The two women lapsed into a mournful silence. They both needed a comforting hand but they weren’t close enough to make any such intimate gestures to each other.
‘Could I take a look around the stables?’ Laura said to change the subject. ‘I haven’t got time to ride today but I think it’s a good idea to get to know the mount I’ll use.’ Laura knew from a piece of barking gossip from Ada Prisk that Harry was going up to London for a few days after doing a bit of business in Launceston today.
‘Yes, of course.’ Felicity rose to her feet. ‘I’ll come with you. I could do with a walk in the fresh air. After all the rain and drizzle we’ve had, it’s such a lovely day. I hope you’ll be careful when you go riding, Laura. You aren’t used to the moor.’
‘I’ll be fine. I bought a detailed map of the moor when I was last in Launceston.’
‘Yes, dear, but it’s not the same as having local knowledge. When you arrived you said you were busy today. Does that mean I can’t persuade you to stay for lunch?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have to meet someone,’ Laura said grimly, thinking of the reason that forbade the ride today. ‘I’m helping someone to sort out a problem.’
* * *
Barbara Roach looked anxiously from her daughter’s taut pale face to the beautiful young woman she had unexpectedly brought home with her. Barbara knew there was something ominous brewing; until yesterday Marianne had not had a good word for Laura Jennings, in fact each word had been edged with spite and seamed in hatred. Trouble, trouble, there was always trouble. Why had Marianne suddenly made friends with someone she had so recently hated? The two of them appeared not only friendly, there seemed to be a bond between them. Barbara resented it. There had never been a bond of any sort between her and her surly, wayward daughter.
Barbara told Marianne to show Laura into the sitting room. She stayed in the kitchen to make a pot of tea and delay the inevitable bad news. Or was it bad news? The most likely reason for this unexpected visit was the announcement that Marianne was leaving home, that Laura Jennings knew of a friend in London who would put her daughter up and help find her a job. It would be one source of tension out of the house. And without Marianne here, she might be able to pluck up the courage to leave her vile, despicable husband.
Barbara didn’t have the courage to ask Marianne or Laura outright what was this was all about. She poured the tea and passed round the plate of dainty fairy cakes, then sat and waited for one of them to speak.
‘You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, Mrs Roach,’ Laura ventured, daunted by the other woman’s demeanour of suffering and misery which sat on her shoulders like a heavy black cloud. Laura was more than suspicious about Cecil Roach being a cruel husband; the last time she had gone to the butcher’s van she had listened in on a piece of gossip about the Roaches. Ada Prisk had ‘just happened to be passing by School House the other day’ and said she had heard Cecil bawling at ‘the poor unfortunate woman, he went on for ages, he did, and then there was this terrible smacking sound and I heard Barbara scream’. It was easy to draw conclusions from what Ada Prisk had said, even the wrong ones, but there was a suspicious-looking bruise on Barbara’s cheekbone. When Cecil learned that Marianne was pregnant, Laura was afraid he would take his anger out on his wife.
Barbara forced a wan smile. ‘I knew you would have called here eventually. I would have invited you myself, but things were hectic before Christmas with the concert and everything and, and…’ She ran out of excuses and sipped her tea.
Laura looked meaningfully at Marianne who was hanging her head in shame. She knew her father would take the news of her pregnancy out on her mother. ‘I think you should tell your mother without any beat
ing about the bush, Marianne. It would be simpler and kinder.’
Barbara dropped her cup into its saucer, making a loud chinking noise. A chill rose round her heart and squeezed it tightly. ‘What is it, Marianne? Are you really ill? Has the doctor said it’s more serious than you’ve told us?’
Marianne’s tears weren’t far away. She had rehearsed a hundred different ways how to tell her mother about her baby and each time she had nearly cried. She had felt like the little girl she had been for only a short time of her childhood, having forced herself to grow up all too quickly to block out the feelings of unhappiness her overbearing, constantly critical father caused the family. She couldn’t stand seeing her kind and loving mother being shouted at and brutalised. She had come to think only of herself and her needs, to seek adventure outside her dismal home environment, to shut out any thoughts about her mother’s sufferings.
She had found some of that excitement with Bill Jennings, the local hero. He had secretly showered her with little gifts from the day of her sixteenth birthday. He had asked her to meet him clandestinely. Soon he had taken her to the moor and given her her first lesson in love. Marianne had believed it was love, now she knew better. She had overlooked Bill’s bad temper and impatience, the times when he’d snapped and sworn at her. It hadn’t been the pressure of work, an unhappy marriage with a proud, arrogant wife who looked down on him that had made him harsh. It was his natural character. Then there had been the times when he hadn’t wanted to see her; he had probably gone with other women. Marianne had begun to admit this after she’d seen what Bill’s widow was really like. How ironic that because of her sulky behaviour she had alienated everyone in the village and could only ask Laura Jennings to be her comforter. If Laura had not come with her she would have deliberately caused a row with her mother so she could have blurted it out and blamed her, but when Laura had agreed to come with her it had humbled her. She couldn’t let her gentle, loyal mother suffer another moment of agonised waiting.
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