A Friend of the Family (17 page)

She walked away from the telephone, deliberating. Surely there could be no harm in a friendly message, hoping that he was safely back? Why should she feel so nervous about it? It was perfectly reasonable that she should feel concern for him and it was possible that he might have mislaid the piece of paper on which she had carefully written her telephone number. This sudden anxiety made her decide to try again. Fortifying herself with a strong gin and tonic, she redialled and listened to David's voice courteously entreating callers to leave names, telephone numbers, messages, after the tone. Felicity
waited for the high-pitched buzz and spoke into the emptiness at the other end. She made her voice light and social, stumbled over her telephone number and replaced the receiver feeling a perfect fool. She finished her drink quickly and went to prepare her supper. Perhaps he might call her later.

At the end of a week, she was feeling desperate. Abandoning pride, she had made several calls and left messages and, on other occasions, talked to a self-possessed-sounding female who told her that David was busy, out, unavailable. She promised to give him Felicity's messages but would not be drawn into conversation. Frustrated, hurt, unhappy, Felicity took to roaming up and down, up and down, gazing out of windows, staring into the darkness at night, remembering the feel of David's arms around her, his lips on her skin, the comfort of his presence. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she huddled beneath the quilt waiting for the dawn, hoping that it would usher in a day during which she would receive an explanation of this terrible muddle. She would not have asked for much: a telephone call, a short note. The Navy had taught her to live alone, contented with the minimum of contact, but she could think of no reason for this unbearable silence.

When Felicity had gone up to bed on the night of David's departure she had found a sketch on her dressing table. It was of a bridge over the River Dart and a part of the bank with a group of foxgloves glowing against the sun-warmed stone. They had spent some happy hours in this place and Felicity caught it up with a cry of delight. It had been lightly colour-washed and the light danced on the water which seemed to flow and splash even as she looked at it. Across the corner David had written, ‘Bless you for everything. It's been perfect. With love. D.' She had wept then but her tears were joyous, grateful, happy tears, confident in his love and in their future together. Now she stared at the sketch with eyes that were swollen with quite different tears. It was the last thing she laid down at night and the first thing she picked up in the morning. It was all that she had left of him.

 

Eighteen

 

WHEN KATE SAW HER
in Tavistock and invited her to lunch, Felicity accepted. She simply couldn't bear another day sitting by a telephone which did not ring. Kate, who imagined that Felicity was still missing George, kept the conversation as impersonal as possible and Felicity, clinging to her pride, tried to appear cheerful. It was evident that Kate was living with great economy and Felicity felt a twinge of remorse that she hadn't thought to bring her some offering towards the meal. She had been too deeply immersed in her own fears to think about it. She looked about the kitchen and at Kate herself, dressed in rubbed cords and an old guernsey. She looked thin and tired and Felicity felt a stronger twinge.

‘Are you keeping well, Kate?' she asked, finding a momentary relief in thinking about someone else. ‘How do you cope financially? I suppose you never hear from Mark?'

‘Not since he went to Canada. None of us hear from him. He never even sends the bovs a birthday card or anything at Christmas. Nothing. Can you imagine it? Not that I wanted anything from him. My brother helps out. He uses the house as a base. You've met Chris, haven't you?'

‘Yes, I think so. Even so, it must be difficult to make ends meet.'

‘I don't,' said Kate simply. ‘I should have taken a proper job, of course, rather than trying to make money with breeding and my obedience classes and things. But I wanted to be around when the twins were home for their holidays. Anyway, we've managed so far. My one terror is that Chris meets someone and decides to get married.'
She set a dish containing a shepherd's pie on the table. ‘Not very exciting, I'm afraid. I'm not much of a cook, as you probably remember.'

Felicity sat down and stared at the dish. She wasn't hungry, she was simply tired. She felt exhausted. She looked up and met Kate's eyes. It seemed at that moment as though Kate knew everything, although that was impossible.

‘Are you OK?' Kate's expression was one of absolute understanding and compassion and Felicity felt her misery rising to the surface. She nodded and fiddled with her fork. Kate watched her for a moment and then began to serve the pie. ‘Sorry I couldn't offer you a drink. A proper one, that is. I've got some cheap plonk here if you feel up to it?'

She poured some into the glasses and pushed one towards Felicity. She raised her own and Felicity nodded and lifted hers, trying to smile, before she sipped at it.

‘The twins have been taking a year off,' said Kate, deciding that it would be kinder to chat mindlessly and let Felicity relax. ‘They've gone off backpacking across Europe. I'm just praying that they'll be OK. At times like these I'm grateful that there are two of them and that they get on so well together.'

‘You must miss them.' The thought of Kate's loneliness reminded Felicity of her own and she swallowed once or twice.

‘Oh, I do.' Kate smiled a little sadly. ‘I thought that they might stay home for a bit but there's not much excitement for them down here and they wanted a holiday before they start work.'

She didn't expect Felicity to ask what work they intended to take up. She knew that Felicity, having no children of her own, had not the least interest in those belonging to other people. She was not prepared, however, for Felicity's next remark.

‘Why didn't you marry again?' she asked.

Taken aback, Kate raised her eyebrows and laughed a little. ‘It takes two,' she said. ‘And nobody asked me.'

‘What about that chap from the bookshop?' Felicity drank some
more wine in an attempt to wash down the pie which threatened to stick in her throat. ‘Alex, wasn't it?'

‘Oh, Felicity.' Kate shook her head. ‘That's going back a bit. It didn't work out, I'm afraid. I couldn't put him before the twins and he, quite rightly, resented it.'

‘But the twins will go away and leave you. They already have by the sound of it. You'll be left alone. You should have thought of that.'

‘I did think of it. It didn't seem all that relevant then. At times like that you live so completely in the present.'

‘Yes.' Felicity gave up and pushed her plate aside. ‘How terribly true that is.'

Kate looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I was terribly in love with him,' she said. ‘I had no idea that such depths of emotion existed. Nothing mattered but him. It was like I was ill, like an obsession.'

Felicity stared at her. Her breath came quickly, she nodded and her eyes were wide and bright. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I know just what you mean.'

‘I lived like that for three months until the twins came home for the holidays. And then it began. It was like having a bath of cold water emptied over me. Being torn in two pieces. Alex got tired of it in the end and it finished.' Kate, too, pushed her plate aside and rested her elbows on the table. She looked at Felicity and her eyes were cloudy with memories. ‘I can't forget him,' she said. ‘Funny, isn't it? It still hurts like hell but I can't get him out of my system. I really loved him, I suppose that's why. Thank God he sold up and moved away. At least I don't have to see him any more.'

‘Oh, Kate.' Felicity reached out and took Kate's hand. ‘I'm so sorry. I had no idea. At the time I simply didn't understand. And I was so beastly to you.'

Kate came back to the present and looked with surprise at the pain in Felicity's eyes. Their hands gripped for a moment and then Kate reached for the bottle.

‘Come on. No good sitting here crying. Has that friend gone that
you had staying with you? Did you say that he was an artist or something?'

‘That's right.' Felicity attempted a casual tone. ‘He was on a sketching holiday, getting a portfolio together. It was . . . it was great fun. I miss him.'

‘Nice?' Their eyes met.

‘Mmm.' Felicity nodded, not trusting her voice. Her lips trembled a little.

‘That nice?'

Felicity swallowed, nodded and began to cry.

‘Oh, dear.' Comprehension dawned and Kate grimaced sympathetically. ‘Married?'

Felicity shook her head, still crying.

‘So what's the problem?'

‘He's been gone a week and I haven't heard a word. Not a thing. He hasn't telephoned. I've left messages but he doesn't reply.' Felicity lowered her head to her arms and began to cry in earnest.

Kate, guessing what a terrible blow this must be coming so soon after George's rejection, reached across the table and gently stroked the black hair. She considered and discarded various remarks and sat in silence, simply stroking. After a while, Felicity raised her head and began to search for a handkerchief. Kate watched her for a moment and then shook her head.

‘The twins each have a saying at the moment,' she said as Felicity mopped at her face. ‘Guy says, “The light at the end of the tunnel is always an oncoming train” and Giles says, “Life's a bitch and then you die.” I offer them to you as the only consolation I know. Ah hell! Let's have another drink.'

When Felicity left, Kate put her arms round her and held her tight. ‘Cass's old pa used to say, “When you're up against it, go and look at yourself in a mirror and imagine all your ancestors all down the centuries standing behind your shoulder willing you onwards and upwards.” It does work. You think of all that they might have been
through and you feel you can do it, too. Whatever it is. You feel their support and their strength. You're never truly alone, you know.'

‘Thanks, Kate.' Felicity rested for a moment against her and then released herself gently. ‘And thanks for the lunch.'

‘Any time. Stay in touch.'

Felicity nodded and got into her car. When she looked into the mirror as she reached the bend in the road, Kate was still standing at the gate looking after her As she drove through Whitchurch and into Tavistock she remembered Kate's quote: ‘Life's a bitch and then you die.' It occurred to her that were she to die now, crash into a bus or something, no one would care. Except Kate. She knew that Kate would care and a faint rav of comfort touched her sore heart. Suddenly she realised that, should that happen, everything she owned would go to George. So certain had she been, after Mark's death, that they would marry that she had changed her will and left everything to George. As she drove into Tavistock a resolve formed in her mind and seeing a space in the market square she parked the car and hurried into the town.

 

MIRANDA WAS BECOMING MORE
and more suspicious. However, since David quite deliberately shut himself away during the day— she knew better than to disturb him when he was working—and had spent a few evenings with friends, it was several days before she spoke to him about her suspicions. By this time she had taken two more calls from Felicity and listened to several more messages on the answering machine. She cornered him one evening before supper when, pleased with his day's work, he was enjoying a gin and tonic and listening to a concert.

‘Daddy.' Miranda stood looking down at his semi-recumbent figure. ‘What's going on with vou and Felicity Mainwaring?'

‘What? How d'you mean?' David hauled himself into a sitting position.

‘She keeps phoning. Why did vou give her our telephone number?'

‘Well, it was difficult not to.' David had learned that a calm rational
reply often allayed suspicion. ‘I was there for two weeks, you know. Damned awkward.'

If he hoped to awaken sympathy he was to be disappointed.

‘But she knew the situation. You said that she was delighted to play hostess to a well-known painter.'

‘Perfectly true. Still, she was very kind. Couldn't treat the place like a hotel, d'you see?'

‘She seems to think that you're going back.'

David's heart sank. He hadn't realised that Miranda had been monitoring the answering machine or that Felicity's messages were becoming more frequent and less discreet.

‘Well'—David's calm slipped a little-'obviously, in two weeks, we became quite friendly. Only to be expected. I might have said things, led her to suppose that I'd drop in if I was in the area.'

‘It sounds more than that to me.' Miranda stared at him uncompromisingly. ‘I hope you didn't lead her on. You know what a reputation she's got.'

‘For heaven's sake, Miranda,' said David testily. ‘Don't talk to me as if I were a child. I'm not Tim. He was the one who dropped me in it and I dealt with it as best I could. If there have been misunderstandings I'll deal with them. It's none of your business. And don't speak about Felicity like that. She's a very nice person and I feel very badly that I used her as I did. She was very kind to me.'

Suddenly the remembrance of those magic days engulfed him and he felt a stab of loss. Miranda's face took on a half-contemptuous, half-fearful look that David recognised and dreaded.

‘You slept with her, didn't you? She's more or less implied it, anyway, so you needn't lie. Oh, how disgusting! How could you?'

David swallowed his drink and stood up. With an effort he controlled his temper but his hands trembled.

‘I have no intention of discussing my private life with you,' he said quietly. ‘Yes. Felicity and I made love. It was comforting and generous and moving.'

‘At your ages?' Miranda was pale with mortification and disgust. ‘It's horrible.'

‘Stop this!' David's voice rang with the authentic note of real anger and Miranda, on uncertain ground, backed off a little. David saw it and took advantage. ‘I refuse to discuss this any further. It is no business of yours and I will not have you sitting in judgment on me. I had quite enough of that with your mother. Now. Are we having any supper this evening?'

At the mention of her mother, Miranda flushed a dark red and, biting her lip, fled from the room. David sighed a deep sigh and finding that he was still shaking poured himself another drink. He heard the telephone ringing and the noise cut off short as Miranda answered it. Perhaps it was Tim and she was pouring out her heart to him. Well, good luck to her. He knew that Tim would be on his side but prayed that he knew better than to let Miranda know it.

Supper was a very quiet affair. Miranda was behaving rather oddly, which didn't particularly surprise him, but she wore an air of triumphant defiance which puzzled him a little. It was only when supper was over and he was back in the drawing room that he thought to ask her if it had been Tim who had telephoned earlier. She shook her head and set his coffee down beside his chair.

‘Who was it then?'

She looked at him, still with that strange expression. ‘It was Felicity,' she said at last. ‘I told her that you didn't want to speak to her.'

David opened his mouth and shut it again. After all, what could he say? He had been going out of his way not to speak to Felicity for nearly two weeks. Miranda stared at him and David shrugged and turned away. The second half of the concert on the radio was just starting—Sibelius's First Symphony. He sat down and picked up his coffee. He must have dozed a little for he had disturbing dreams and then Miranda was leaning over him and saying that she was going up to bed. After she had gone, David got up and stretched a little and then went to pour himself a brandy and soda. As the music of the last movement filled the room, he had a sudden vision of Felicity. He
stood quite still on the hearthrug and stared unseeingly ahead of him. She was walking on the moor. The wind had whipped her hair over her eyes and she was laughing at him, her eyes alight with love. Clouds streamed across the granite peaks behind her and the sky in the west gleamed with golden light. Other intimate scenes formed and re-formed in his mind's eye. His heart beat a little faster and he knew himself for a fool. As the symphony's last notes died away, David swore quietly to himself, set down his glass and, going upstairs to his studio, found Felicity's number and picked up the telephone receiver.