A Friend of the Family (8 page)

Hermione closed her eves for a moment as she took the unintended rebuke to her heart but, before she could speak, Thea was going on.

‘George should have told me himself, of course. If only he'd had more faith in me. I would have understood. And now it's too late.'

‘Too late? Do νOυ mean that . . . ?'

Oh, no. No. We haven't even discussed it. He won't let me near him. But how can 1 fight if he shuts me out?'

‘And what about Felicity?'

‘She hasn't been near. That's why I'm so sure now. She wormed her way in and she's got what she wants. What a fool I've been! And we were so happy.'

Thea gave a little sob and Hermione began to struggle out of her chair but they stopped short as a cry alerted them.

‘So you've arrived and you never came to tell me!'

Mrs Gilchrist was advancing over the grass and, as one person, Thea and Hermione sat up and presented a united smiling front.

‘I thought it was a bit too late for coffee.' Hermione could not help but admire Thea's controlled voice and friendly smile. ‘I decided I could wait till lunch. I'm sorry. Have you been holding it back?'

‘Nothing to notice. I'll pop back and heat the soup. By the time you've helped Mrs Barrable indoors it'll be waiting for you,'

She smiled upon them both and turned back to the house. Hermione looked at Thea. ‘There will be time to talk afterwards,' she said firmly and comfortingly. ‘I'm sure that we shall find a solution.' She paused as Thea helped her to struggle to her feet. Once upright she looked into Thea's eyes. ‘I'm assuming, of course, that you don't want to give him up?'

‘Oh, no!' Thea shook her head miserably. ‘But maybe, if he's gone back to her, he won't want me any more. Perhaps he didn't really love me as much as I thought. And I love him so much.'

‘Absolute rubbish!' Hermione's fingers dug themselves into Thea's arm. ‘It's nothing to do with how much he loves you. I'm sure that there's no question of that. It's just that he's got a conscience and she's exploiting it. I'm sure of it.'

‘But what shall I do?'

‘Don't know yet. I shall have to think about it. But you mustn't give in. You must go on showing him that you love him.'

‘I can't help doing that,' said poor Thea. ‘I do.'

‘Good,' said Hermione. ‘We'll give her a run for her money. And you mustn't get too depressed. I always remember what my dear mother used to say. “Who would want a man that no other woman wants?” Look upon it as a sort of compliment and get ready for battle. After all, you can't know that he's given in. Come along or she'll be out again nattering about the soup.'

They went slowly across the lawn and into the house. In the dining room, Mrs Gilchrist was ladling soup into bowls and smiled at them as they took their seats.

‘Have you heard from Tim lately?' Thea knew that there would be little chance for any private talk until afterwards.

‘My only grandson,' said Hermione as she unfolded her napkin, ‘has written to tell me that he will be coming back from America in the spring. I don't understand all this computer business but he seems very happy doing it. He tells me about “networking” and “software” and “parallel programming” just as he once used to instruct me on cricket. He's coming down to see me when he gets back but his letter was full of some girl he'd just met. He'd just been to an exhibition apparently, by one of our RAs—the name escapes me at the moment—and rather fell for his daughter who was out there with him. He's been asked to visit them in London when he comes over so I have no doubt that I shall be well down on his list of priorities.'

‘I should love to see him.' Thea broke her roll and started on her soup while Mrs Gilchrist bustled round making sure that everything was in order as she would continue to do on and off throughout the meal. ‘There was so little chance to talk to him at the wedding. We write but it's a bit spasmodic.'

‘Well, when he finally turns up you must come over. He'll certainly want to see you.'

‘He was my best friend when we were little. We had such lovely holidays here. D'you remember how I used to write endless stories and then we'd act them out in the summerhouse? The only thing we ever really argued about was Percy. Who would have him if you died.'

‘There was never any question of that,' said Hermione. ‘If anything
happens to me, Percy belongs to you. We all know that. And that reminds me. Have you seen your new friend Polly lately? She sounds such fun. We must teach Percy to say “Pretty Polly” ready for when he meets her. The quotes from
The Beggars' Opera
that your great-uncle taught him might be rather inappropriate.'

‘She'd love him.' Thea watched Mrs Gilchrist out of the room and turned to Hermione. ‘She thinks that I ought to go with George to London during the week. I wondered that, too. If I hadn't left him all alone during the week perhaps this would never have happened. It was just so awful. Those endless days in that poky flat with nothing to do. I know a lot of people think that I must be mad, with all London on the doorstep, but once you've seen all the things that people say you mustn't miss and been to the theatre and some concerts it all gets rather boring. You can't spend your whole life shopping.'

Hermione sipped at her soup thoughtfully. She knew that Thea simply wasn't cut out for city life but Polly had a point.

‘And George,' continued Thea, ‘got paranoid about the house being broken into while we were away and his mother's things being stolen. A neighbour went in and kept an eye on things but that's not terribly satisfactory. And then he started talking about letting it. I couldn't bear the idea of not having a bolt hole from London and I hated the idea of other people living there.'

Hermione set her spoon down and smiled. ‘It's a good job that George has reached the rank he has. You'd have made a dreadful naval wife.'

‘I would,' agreed Thea readily. ‘I'd have hated all that moving about. Never settled in one spot. Grotty married quarters without your own things round you and having to let your own home to complete strangers. Awful. Cass and Kate were talking about it once and it sounded quite unbearable.'

Hermione opened her mouth and shut it again as Mrs Gilchrist put her head round the door. There was one obvious way to tie George back to Thea's side and she was surprised that Thea hadn't already thought of it. For the moment, however, it would have to wait. Perhaps
she could approach the subject after lunch; meanwhile the subject of Tim seemed to be as safe a conversation as any, and for the rest of the meal they stuck firmly to memories of his and Thea's shared childhood holidays.

 

Eight

 

FOR THE WHOLE OF
the winter, George and Felicity seemed locked together in a battle of wills. It was not enough, now, for Felicity to destroy George's marriage. It was as if, in some way, Cass's pity had underlined what Felicity had discovered for herself on that first visit to George in London: on its own that would be a very empty victory. She saw her own loneliness stretching away into the future and the fear of it made her clutch at George as her only means of escape from it. She knew that at any time she could have gone to Thea and woven the strands of their past relationship together with the fragile threads of the visits to the flat into a fairly sturdy rope for George's neck. Unlike George, however, Felicity felt quite sure that Thea would throw the rope down and trample on it and tell Felicity to go. She found it amazing that George couldn't see this and that he only had to tell Thea the whole truth and he would be free. She rejoiced at his lack of understanding of Thea's character for here was her strongest weapon. It lay in deceit and lies and the guilt that was growing in George, smothering and distorting his natural feelings and reactions. She never let him see what a bitter, crushing wound to her self-esteem his rejection of her had been on the night she had appeared with her ‘migraine.' Cass's pity had worked her up to it, spurred her on, and, nervous though she had been, in her secret and innermost heart she had felt certain that George would be overwhelmed by guilt, his innate kindness, the intimacy of past moments, and would give way.

He had not. He had left the flat, taking an overnight case, and gone
to a local hotel and she had left early in the morning after a night of humiliating misery; it had taken all her courage to write him a note thanking him for his hospitality which she followed up with another visit. The pain she felt when she saw the complete rejection—almost disgust—-in his eyes had to be borne. Somehow she had to get him back. She had deluded herself into believing that if he would only make love to her again all would be well. The past would reinstate itself and he would love her again. But George had never loved her. Nor had she loved him.

In the beginning it had been a joke, harmless fun: George, the best man at the wedding, Mark's closest friend, pretending that if only he'd seen her first Mark wouldn't have stood a chance. It was a joke that went on too long. When Mark's submarine had sailed immediately after the honeymoon he had already asked George to look after her. Felicity had newly moved to Alverstoke, knowing no one, and George had taken her round, introduced her to other submariners and their wives, escorted her to a Ladies Night in
Dolphin,
the submarine base. No one remarked on it. George had a reputation for being a very useful man even in those early days. Men would sigh with relief when George approached their table, knowing that he could be safely left to talk to or dance with their wives while they went off to the bar to talk shop. Husbands and wives alike trusted George.

As time went by Felicity tried to detach him from his gallant ways, hating it when any other woman benefited from his considerable charm. However, the affair that George and Felicity drifted into was a very spasmodic relationship. It could hardly have been anything else with the Navy moving them about like so many chess pieces. Perhaps it was because he had deceived his best friend that George carried on, afraid that if he didn't Felicity might spill the beans. Perhaps it was because he was constitutionally unable to bear the sight of suffering or pain that he had himself inflicted that made it impossible for him to cut himself free. Whatever it was, it was not because he loved her. And to Felicity, George was a possession, a belonging, and, even if she didn't love him, she wanted to keep him. So she continued to
turn up, waiting for that moment in which he might weaken. When he grew angry, she pointed out how easy it might be to misconstrue these visits: the dinner at the Italian restaurant, the night spent in his bed and one or two other unheralded arrivals. George's spirit writhed within him. When he had told her that she must never come to the flat again or to the Old Station House she had opened her eyes at him and wondered aloud what Thea would think to find that George had asked her, back in the spring, to invite his mistress to their house. Beside Felicity's rapier-like mind, George's brain was like putty, soft and heavy and only too impressionable.

Thea, meanwhile, had thought deeply about G.A.'s suggestion which would probably solve the problem. It was a simple and obvious one: Thea should start a family. She and George had agreed to give themselves a year or two together first and Thea had decided to abide by that decision even when, during long days and nights alone at the Old Station House, she had begun to wonder whether it wouldn't be rather fun to get on with it. When Polly had told her about Harriet, Thea had felt a fierce envy clutch at her heart, and when G.A. had suggested that it would be the answer to these real or imaginary problems, Thea had longed to believe in it and act upon it.

There was one fact, however, that couldn't be done away with and it was this. At present the fight was between George, Felicity and Thea. A baby would unquestionably weigh on Thea's side and George would be duty-bound to cast Felicity off. This, in Thea's mind, had a grave disadvantage. It meant that she would never know whether George had come back for her or for the baby. George must be hers because he loved her most. At the thought of losing George she felt weak with fear and heavy with misery and it was only with a supreme effort that she could continue to greet him with open and unquestioning affection on Friday evenings, turning away his moods with love and his irritability with good humour.

She guessed, rightly, that these were outward manifestations of his guilt and she therefore feared the worst. However, love, warmth, a happy home, these were her weapons and she used them. She decided
that it wouldn't be cheating to make her home even more of a solid bulwark against the threats from outside and when she heard that Harriet was going to get a Newfoundland puppy she was tempted to do the same. A home was even more of a home with animals and she arranged to go with Harriet to have a look at the litter. She had met Harriet and Michael's Newfoundland, Max, and had been completely won over by his great bulk and kindly manners.

‘They've got a wonderful temperament,' Harriet told her, ‘but you'll have black hairs over everything and they eat an enormous amount, especially when they're young and you want to be building up the bone.'

Max, leaning heavily against the dresser, looked at her reproachfully.

‘Now you've hurt his feelings,' cried Polly, who was over for the dav. ‘You're worth it, aren't vou, Max?'

Max sighed weightily and yawned a little as if to imply that he was used to this sort of treatment and that it was all one to him. Harriet laughed.

‘We're dying to see how he reacts to a puppy,' she said. ‘We don't want to leave it too late so that it upsets him. I've told Freddie—that's the breeder—that we'll be over this afternoon. And all I can say is: beware. If you can resist a Newfie puppy you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.'

Thea couldn't resist. She gazed at the big, black fluffy puppies with their enormous paws and flopping ears and fell in love at once. Freddie Spenlow, a broadly built young man with an eager face that was saved from plainness by the variety of expressions that passed so rapidly across it, laughed at her expression.

‘They're exactly like bear cubs,' she breathed. Oh, I love them.'

‘Well, at least I don't have to tell vou that they won't stay that size,' he said. ‘Not if you've seen Max. That one's yours, Harriet. That big chap at the back. He's got a look of Max about him, I think. Their mother,' he told Thea, ‘is Max's litter sister's daughter. Never
mind.' He smiled at her blank expression. “Are you thinking about a dog or a bitch? I imagine you've had dogs before?'

‘Oh, yes. We always had dogs at home. Usually crossbreeds that were going to be put down. We could never afford a pedigree.'

‘Well, I tell everyone who has one of my puppies the same thing. If you have a problem telephone me first. Vets aren't too used to these big breeds and I can probably help. I was trained as a vet and I know Newfies. If you can't cope, bring the puppy back. Don't give it away or have it put down. Oh, you'd be surprised.' He nodded at her shocked look. ‘I've got very cautious since I've been breeding. Anyway. I'll make some coffee and we'll bring Harriet's puppy in so she can have a good look at him. At the moment you could have a bitch or a dog but I've got three couples coming down at the weekend to have a look so you'll have to make your mind up.'

Over coffee, Freddie put all the pros and cons clearly before her and it was obvious that his dogs were very important to him and that he only let his puppies go to homes that had been vetted as thoroughly as possible.

‘You remind me of Kate Webster,' said Thea. ‘She breeds golden retrievers.'

‘Oh, I know Kate,' said Freddie with a smile. ‘We're very good friends, Kate and I.'

The next day, Thea went to Freddie's again on her own. She didn't want to be distracted by talk of Harriet's puppy or Polly's cries of delight and amusing observations. She sat in Freddie's muddy kitchen in his unattractive little bungalow with three large Newfoundlands vying for her attention and watched the bitch puppy that she had selected growling and pouncing and playing on the floor. The big dogs looked down in astonishment at this forward creature, lifting their paws politely as she tumbled between their legs and ignoring her as she tugged at them and worried at their tails. Thea sat at the table, her arm round the neck of Freddie's stud dog, Charlie Custard, whose head was nearly on a level with her own, and felt, for the first time for
ages, peacefully happy. Here, in this untidy place, she felt as if she had stepped out of her own life with its attendant problems and was just herself: Thea, unattached, uninvolved, free. Freddie pushed a mug of coffee across the cluttered table to her—he made surprisingly good coffee—and sat down opposite. He didn't speak, just sat quietly with her, letting her unwind as she hugged the great dog and rubbed her cheek against his warm, smooth, furry head.

Presently she looked across the table at Freddie and smiled rather ruefully and sighed a little. He smiled back and Thea could see some sort of likeness to Kate. She struggled—for her brain seemed to have become dull and sleepy—to analyse it. She had been to Kate's for coffee and had felt the same peaceful, still quality. Surely it couldn't be because they both bred dogs and wore disgracefully old clothes? Perhaps it was because they lived alone, pleased themselves and had none of the struggles that were automatically involved in relationships. They could be themselves, no self-doubt or guilt. But there was probably a price. Loneliness, perhaps; a lack of love? Did that explain the dogs? Thea shook her head and pulled herself together. Freddie was still smiling at her.

‘Got it all worked out?' he asked and she had a suspicion that he had followed her entire thought process.

‘No.' She shook her head again and smiled at him. ‘Not really. I was just trying to decide why I feel so comfortable and relaxed here.'

‘Dogs are nice people,' said Freddie. ‘They don't impose on you. Not till dinnertime, anvwav.'

Thea burst out laughing and looked at the puppy, who had fallen asleep between the front paws of one of the big dogs. ‘I love her,' she said.

‘Only way to buy a puppy,' said Freddie. ‘Love at first sight. Same with humans, of course. The trouble is, they don't always love you back.'

Thea looked at him quickly but he was looking at the puppy.

‘You'll have to help me,' said Thea, not knowing quite what else to say. ‘With the puppy. What it eats and things.'

‘No problem. I'm not far away.'

‘No,' said Thea. ‘No, that's true,' and wondered why she found it such a comforting thought.

 

ONCE AGAIN IT WAS
February and once again Hermione was waiting for Thea to arrive. On this occasion, however, there was no fog. A high, blustery wind from the south-west roared and crashed about the house, howling in the chimney and whining round the doors. Hermione pulled her shawl a little closer and looked at Percy, huddled silently in his cage.

‘We don't like it, do we, Percy?' she murmured. ‘We're getting too old.'

‘To me, fair friend, you never can be old,' recited the parrot in Hermione's dead husband's voice. ‘For as you were when first your eye I eyed, such seems your beauty still.'

He was silent and the wind howled louder. Hermione stared into the corner where the cage stood. Her chin shook and tears ran down her soft wrinkled cheeks. ‘Edward,' she murmured and covered her eyes with her thin, age-mottled hand. ‘How I miss you still. Oh, my dear love. How we loved the sonnets.'