A Week in Winter: A Novel (12 page)

He raised his hands pacifically. ‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘I’m not arguing. We’ll miss you—of course we will—but you’ll be around for a week or two, I expect. I think it’s a nice idea. There’s no point in inviting Maudie up here, after all, and she’ll be delighted. It’s good of her to have Polonius.’

She watched him suspiciously, trying to detect signs of martyrdom, but he seemed genuinely undisturbed and she felt a wholly unreasonable stab of hurt pride.

‘What d’you think Mum will say?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Does it matter? If you’ve made up your mind, stick to it. That’s my advice.’

She stared at him curiously, anxiously. This indifference was strangely out of character and she wondered if the Moorgate business were seriously upsetting him.

‘This Moorgate thing,’ she said impulsively. ‘It’s just a bee in Mum’s bonnet. She can’t really be contemplating going to Cornwall to live. She’d die without a tube round the corner and Peter Jones and stuff. Don’t let it get to you.’

He smiled at her, then, with real warmth, as though he were truly seeing her; really thinking about her. ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Stick to your guns about Christmas, mind. I’m going down to the pub for a pint. See you later.’

He went out and she sat still, puzzled. Sometimes he’d suggest she might go to the pub with him but it was clear, this evening, that he had no desire for her company. Presently Selina came into the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows when she saw Posy sitting there alone.

‘Where’s your father?’ she asked. ‘He was supposed to be getting the supper this evening.’

Posy felt a familiar sense of partisanship manifesting itself. ‘He’s gone to
the pub,’ she said casually. ‘He looks a bit stressed out, I think. Worrying about something. Why don’t you give him a break about this Moorgate stuff? You don’t really want to live on the edge of Bodmin Moor, do you?’

Selina looked at her coolly. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business. You have your own life to lead now and I suspect we shan’t be seeing too much of you in the future. After all, you’ve always made it very clear where your loyalties lie.’

They stared at each other, all the old antagonisms rising to the surface, and Posy recklessly seized her chance.

‘I suppose you’re right. Actually I’ve decided to spend Christmas with Maudie. Not the whole holiday, but a few days. Since she’s kind enough to have Polonius …’

Selina gave a short laugh. ‘Kind! She saw her opportunity and grabbed it with both hands. Typical bloody Maudie. She realised that by having that wretched dog your always indifferent kind of loyalty to us would be strained further and might snap altogether.’

Accusations of this kind had been commonplace all through Posy’s life but she defended herself—and Maudie—as best she could.

‘I don’t think she thought about it like that at all. She just knew how miserable I was at the thought of him being given away. You didn’t care. You said he could come back for holidays but you’ve gone back on your word, as usual. And it was I who suggested going for Christmas, not Maudie. Dad seems quite happy about it.’

Selina, enraged as always by the thought of Maudie gaining an advantage, imagining her private triumph, lost her patience. ‘I’m sure he does. But then he’s too wrapped up in the little tart he’s having an affair with to care about any of us.’ She saw shock replace the indignation on her daughter’s face, saw the blank fear in her eyes and knew a brief moment of remorse. It was quickly smothered by a surge of self-righteousness. Hadn’t
she
had to cope with just such a shock concerning her own father and Maudie when she was much younger than Posy was? And now Patrick, who knew how she’d been betrayed and hurt, was just as faithless. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you,’ she said, rather ashamed by Posy’s dazed expression though unwilling to acknowledge it, ‘but you’re quite old enough to deal with it. God knows, I have to! He spends every minute he can with her but he hasn’t got the guts to admit it yet.’

‘No.’ Posy shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. Not Dad. He just isn’t like that.’

‘Like what?’ Selina’s lips curled into her familiar inimical sneer. ‘Oh, this isn’t some passionate sex thing with a dolly-bird type. No, she’s a fat, boring little nonentity with a crippled child. He sees himself as a knight in shining armour, rescuing her from her drab existence. It’s a role he enjoys. God, he is so pathetic’

‘If he hasn’t admitted it how do you know?’

‘Because I
do
know,’ Selina answered quietly. ‘I’ve seen them together. You can take my word for it. Come on, Posy. You’ve seen the change in him. Admit it. You were saying as much just now.’

‘So what will you do?’ Posy felt oddly breathless.

Selina shrugged, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I shall bide my time. I’m getting the house valued and I’m preparing to buy Moorgate. Not as a second home. Oh, no. She’s not going to have him, I promise you that. If we have to live in Cornwall, then that’s what we’ll do. He’ll have to make a move soon but, meanwhile, I wait.’ She frowned and glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Talking of waiting, I suppose I’ll have to get on with the supper myself.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ said Posy. ‘I’m not hungry.’

She went out, upstairs to her bedroom. Sitting on the bed, driving her hands through her hair, she stared about her. Dull and uninteresting though the bedroom had become, she now realised how important it was to her to have this place of security; the comforting knowledge that home and her parents—especially her father—were there in the background, waiting should she need them. It was a shock to think of him in any other role than as husband and father; impossible to see him simply as a man, attracted to a woman other than her mother. She felt childishly angry that this new-found love was more important to him than the company of his own daughter. It was because of this unknown woman that he was preoccupied and indifferent, quite ready to allow her, Posy, to go off to Maudie for Christmas, no longer requiring her company down at the pub. Perhaps he had lied to her; perhaps he hadn’t been going to the pub at all but was with the woman now. She simply could not think about them; her mind steadfastly refused to furnish her with new disturbing images of him and his mistress. How could she possibly face him on his return? Posy rolled over on to her side and drew up her knees, wrapping her arms about them, shivering. Presently she began to cry.

‘Where’s Posy?’ Patrick blinked rather blearily around the kitchen. ‘She’s not upstairs. Is she OK?’

‘So very much OK that she’s gone back to Winchester,’ said Selina brightly. ‘She didn’t want to hang about, she said.’

‘Gone?’ Patrick looked at her disbelievingly. ‘But it’s barely eleven o’clock.’

Selina raised her eyebrows. ‘So?’

‘But I’ve hardly seen her,’ he mumbled. Selina’s shiny brittleness penetrated his heavy-headed stupor and he felt the chill of caution trickling down his spine. ‘I thought we might go for a walk or something.’

He turned his back on her, switching on the kettle, suddenly alert. He’d got back later than he’d intended, slipping into the spare bedroom so as not to disturb Selina, but he’d been unable to sleep. There had been no answer when he’d telephoned Mary from the pub. Just her voice on the machine, asking callers to leave their names and numbers. He’d told her that he would almost certainly telephone at about this time so he’d assumed that she was dealing with Stuart and couldn’t get to the phone. Presently he’d tried again but there was still no reply. Since she rarely went out in the evening—and he liked to think that she told him her plans—he’d gone back to the bar to finish his pint, anxious and rather puzzled. After a while he’d begun to work himself into a state of serious worry, imagining various scenarios in which Mary was unable to reach the telephone; that she’d fallen or been taken ill. After another fruitless call he
determined to walk to the flat to make sure that all was well. As he hurried through the streets, he convinced himself that it was perfectly reasonable to check things out; that he had every right to be worried about her. Yet a tiny worming fear gnawed in his guts. Since the meeting with Selina some undefinable change had taken place in his relationship with Mary. After that first outburst was over she’d been just as loving, still looking forward to their weekend away, yet there was something …

When he’d arrived at the house the front door was locked as usual but he could see a light in her sitting-room window although the curtains were closed. He rang her bell several times but there was no reply and he’d stood, undecided, wondering what he should do. The landlord lived across the hall but Patrick was unwilling to rouse him by ringing his bell and asking him to check on Mary. It was quite possible, after all, that she’d pushed Stuart round to visit her parents, leaving her light on as a precaution in case they were late back, and he certainly didn’t want to cause any trouble or make himself conspicuous.

Frustrated, still worried, he’d walked back to the pub and had another pint, trying to console himself. After all, since Mary knew that they were restricted to seeing each other on Selina’s bridge evenings, there was no reason at all why she should stay in on a Saturday night… except that he nearly always managed to call her on a Saturday night one way or another. She always said how wonderful it was to hear him, that he’d cheered her up, and the thought of her sitting in her little room waiting for his call, Stuart asleep across the passage, gave him a warm, possessive glow. His disappointment was out of all proportion and he’d ordered a large Scotch in an attempt to cheer himself up. At last, after one final unrewarding telephone call, he’d set off home. The house had been in darkness and he’d gone quietly upstairs to the spare room—but not to sleep. He’d lain awake, worrying and miserable, until eventually he’d managed to persuade himself that she’d gone to see her parents, that there had been some kind of emergency, which had kept her there, and, promising himself that he’d speak to her first thing in the morning, he’d fallen at last into a troubled doze.

He’d woken late, feeling ghastly, longing for hot tea. Selina had left her bedroom door wide open but Posy’s door was closed and he’d wondered if she were still asleep or whether she too might appreciate a cup of tea. There had been no answer to his knock and, opening the door a crack, he’d seen that her bed was empty. He hadn’t noticed that her belongings
were gone and Selina’s news had come as a shock. Now, as he made his tea, some shadowy premonition, some shred of self-preservation kept him silent.

‘The news of your affair with Mary upset her.’ Selina sounded perfectly friendly, almost cosy, as if they were gossiping about friends. ‘Well, that’s understandable. I felt exactly the same when Daddy brought Maudie home. But you know all about that, don’t you? You were so upset when I told you. Do you remember, Patrick? What a perfect
preux chevalier
you were. You considered it quite shocking that I’d had to come to terms with such things. You said some rather cutting things about Daddy at the time, if I recall. A dirty old man was one of them, wasn’t it? But then, you were very young, weren’t you, and Daddy seemed old to you? I suppose he was about your age now at that time. Fifty-ish. Odd, isn’t it, how the young consider that anyone over forty is past it, and the thought of their parents having sex is bad enough, but to find out that your father is having a fling with another woman is terrible. I found it almost impossible to come to terms with, as you know. It’s so utterly sordid. So tacky. You feel sick and you don’t want to be near him or see him. All your respect vanishes. That’s how Posy feels about you, of course.’

Patrick stood quite still, keeping his back to her, his hands trembling. He felt as if he were shrivelling inside as he imagined his daughter’s clear-eyed, ruthless gaze. How cruel the young could be; how devastatingly cruel. Just so had he reacted when the young, tremulous Selina had poured out her pain; how self-righteous he’d been, how loudly disgusted by the needs of an old man. Oh, yes! Safe in his own youth and virility he’d been the first to condemn Hector’s need for another, younger wife; very ready to enter into Selina’s feelings, to sympathise with her.

‘At least,’ Selina was saying conversationally, ‘Daddy was a widower. At least he wasn’t an adulterous bastard.’

He took his hands away from the mug and pushed them deep into his pockets.

‘Why did you tell her?’ he asked, turning to face her. ‘Why did you tell Posy before you even spoke to me about… your suspicions.’

She laughed contemptuously. ‘Suspicions. You’re not denying it, I notice.’ She waited, interrogatively, but when he did not answer she shrugged. ‘Posy noticed that something was wrong with you. So I told her what it was.’

He swallowed in a dry throat and his head rocked with pain. ‘Since you’d suffered as much as you did in similar circumstances, I suppose it didn’t occur to you to protect her from it?’

She raised her eyebrows, delighted at such an opportunity. ‘My dear Patrick, don’t accuse
me!
It’s your job, as her father, to protect Posy. Don’t expect to behave like a selfish, disgusting prat and then blame
me
if your daughter despises you. I notice that you’re not particularly concerned with how
I
feel about it.’

He was suddenly, blindingly angry. ‘Why should I be? You don’t care about anything else that concerns me. You didn’t give a damn until this happened. You still don’t. Not really. You’re a dog-in-the-manger, Selina. You don’t really want me, except to pay the bills, but you’re damned if you’ll let go. Why?’ He laughed hopelessly, mirthlessly. ‘Why keep up this pretence?’

‘Because I choose to,’ she said. ‘You’re mine, Patrick, and I intend that we shall stay together. Make up your mind to it. And you can tell your little tart that if she doesn’t lay off I shall write to the school governors. Don’t forget that I’m particularly friendly with Susan Partington. She doesn’t like adulterers either. Not since Paul went off with his secretary. You just tell dear Mary that. When you’ve done it we’ll discuss selling this house and buying Moorgate.’ She stood up but, at the door, she paused, looking him over. ‘You haven’t forgotten that we’re lunching with Jane and Derek, have you?’ she asked sweetly—and went away upstairs.