Coming Home (32 page)

Which he did. Without ringing the bell or even knocking on the glass panel of the inner door. He just opened it, and shouted ‘Louise?’ and she must have made some reply, for he went in and slammed the door shut behind him.

Left alone, Judith made a private grimace at his retreating back view. She was not certain if she liked Colonel Fawcett and certainly did not approve of his high-handed behaviour. But perhaps Aunt Louise was fond of him and did not object to his bursting in on her, unexpected and uninvited. Thoughtfully, she wheeled the bicycle into the garage and stowed it with some care, well out of reach of the Rover. With Aunt Louise's driving, one never knew.

Deliberately taking her time, she closed and bolted the garage doors. She was reluctant to go indoors. It would be all right if she were able to slip upstairs to her own room and there wait until Colonel Fawcett had departed, but the design of Windyridge precluded escape. Through the front door, and she was with them both, in Aunt Louise's lounge hall, and there was no way of sneaking off without being blatantly rude.

She found him already settled by the fire, looking as though he had been there forever, and Aunt Louise, her afternoon tea-tray removed by Hilda, was pouring him a drink.

‘And how are you going to spend your weekend?’ He had taken his first large strong mouthful, cradling the glass in his hand with loving, stubby fingers. ‘Made plans? Done your staff work?’

Aunt Louise returned to her knitting. She had not taken a drink for herself, because it was too early and the sun not yet over the yardarm. She was strict with herself about such rules. Living alone, one had to be.

‘We haven't talked about it very much. I'm playing golf on Sunday with Polly and John Richards, and a friend they've got staying. He's a member of Rye, and apparently a very good golfer…’

‘So how are you going to spend your day?’ Billy Fawcett cocked an eye at Judith.

‘I'll probably visit my friend in Porthkerris. I'm going to telephone her.’

‘Can't have you kicking your heels on your own. Always available if you need a bit of company.’ Judith pretended not to hear this.

Aunt Louise changed needles. ‘It would be splendid if Mrs Warren can have Judith on Sunday because Hilda and Edna are taking the day off as well. Might be a bit dull in the empty house.’

‘I can always go out on my bicycle.’

‘Not if it's pouring with rain. You'd need one of those rain capes people wear that come right down to your ankles. And at this time of the year, goodness knows what the weather's going to do.’

Billy Fawcett laid down his tumbler, and contorting himself slightly, reached into his plus-four pocket for cigarette case and lighter. He lit up, and Judith saw that his fingers were stained with tobacco. His moustache looked a bit frizzled, too, as though it had been well smoked.

‘How about a visit to the pictures?’ he suddenly suggested. ‘I was in Porthkerris this morning, and they're showing
Top Hat
at the cinema. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Should be quite a good show. Why don't you let me take you both? Tomorrow evening. My treat, of course.’

Aunt Louise seemed a bit taken aback. Perhaps this was the first time that Billy Fawcett had offered to pay for
anything.

‘That's very good of you, Billy. What about you, Judith? Would you like to go to the cinema and see
Top Hat?
Or perhaps you've already seen it?’

But no, Judith had not seen it, but had been wanting to for ages. And she had seen photographs, in a film magazine which Loveday had smuggled into the dormitory, of the glamorous pair, twirling and gliding over the dance floor, she in a dress adrift with feathers. And one of the girls in the fifth form had already sat through the film twice, in London, had fallen in love with Fred Astaire, and had his debonaire photograph glued inside the cover of her rough notebook.

On the other hand, she would have preferred to go to the cinema with just Heather; together they could have eaten bull's-eyes and swooned contentedly in the stuffy darkness. It wouldn't be quite the same with Aunt Louise and Billy Fawcett.

‘No. I haven't seen it.’

‘Would you like to go?’ asked Aunt Louise.

‘Yes.’ There wasn't much else to say. ‘Yes, I'd love it.’

‘Splendid.’ Billy Fawcett slapped his tweeded knee with his hand, approving a decision well made. ‘That's settled then. When shall we go? Six-o'clock house? I'm afraid you'll have to be the chauffeur, Louise, as my old banger's coughing a bit. Have to take it to the garage.’

‘Very well. If you come here at five-thirty and we'll all go together. It's very kind of you.’

‘A pleasure. Two lovely ladies to escort. Who could ask for more?’ He reached for his tumbler, drained the whisky, and sat on, smoking, with the empty glass in his hand.

Aunt Louise raised her eyebrows. ‘The other half, Billy?’

‘Well.’ He gazed into the empty glass, as though surprised to see it in such a sad state. ‘Well. If you insist.’

‘Help yourself.’

‘How about you, Louise?’

She glanced at the clock. ‘A small one. Thank you.’

So he heaved himself to his feet and went to the drink-tray to do the honours. Watching him, Judith thought he looked quite frighteningly at home. She wondered about his bungalow, and decided it was probably quite awful, cheerless and cold. Perhaps he was dreadfully poor, and couldn't afford cosy fires and bottles of whisky and resident housekeepers and all the comforts of life that lonely bachelors needed. Perhaps that was why he seemed to be insinuating himself into Aunt Louise's well-ordered and affluent life. Perhaps…horror of horrors…he was, in his own way,
courting
Aunt Louise, with marriage in mind.

It was an idea so dreadful that it scarcely bore thinking about. And yet, why not? He was an old acquaintance of Jack Forrester's, and Aunt Louise clearly found his company amusing, or she would have sent him packing long ago. She was not one to suffer fools gladly. So perhaps she was just sorry for him, and their relationship had simply evolved, over the passage of time. Such things happened.

‘Here you are, my dear…’

Judith watched her carefully, but she received the drink in her usual practical fashion, and placed it on the table by her side. No covert glances took place, no secret smiles. Judith relaxed slightly. Aunt Louise was far too sensible to make any rash decisions, and what could be more rash than making any sort of commitment with a penniless old boozer like Billy Fawcett?

‘Thank you, Billy.’

Good old Aunt Louise. Judith decided to forget her instinctive fears; put them out of her mind. But she discovered that the idea, once planted, had taken root, and knew that there was no way of ignoring its possibility. She would simply have to watch and wait.

The next morning she rang Heather. Mrs Warren answered the telephone, made a few pleased and welcoming noises when she realised who was on the line, and then went to fetch her daughter.

‘Judith.’

‘Hello.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘It's half-term weekend. I'm with Aunt Louise.’

‘Got the bike, have you?’

‘Yes, we bought it yesterday, in Pitway's. It's super. I went out for a long ride yesterday evening. Only thing is, I want to get some lights.’

‘What kind is it?’

‘Raleigh. It's dark green. Three speeds.’

‘That's lovely.’

‘I want to see you. I wondered if I could see you tomorrow. Could I come over?’

‘Oh, darn it.’

‘What's wrong?’

‘We're going up Bodmin for the weekend to visit my gran. Dad's got the car and we're leaving in about five minutes. Won't be back till late Sunday night.’

‘I can't bear it.’ It was too disappointing. ‘Why do you have to go away
this
weekend?’

‘It's all arranged. And I didn't know you'd be home. You should have let me know.’

‘I've got Monday off, too.’

‘No good. I'll be back to school Monday. Could you come for tea Monday?’

‘No, because I've got to get back to St Ursula's by four o'clock.’

‘Oh, that's some nuisance,’ said Heather. ‘I'm really vexed. I've been wanting to see you. Hear about everything. What's it like? Made any friends, have you?’

‘Yes. One or two. It's not bad.’

‘Missing your mum?’

‘Sometimes. But it doesn't do any good.’

‘Have they got there? Colombo, I mean. Had a letter, have you?’

‘Yes, lots. And they're all right, and Jess is all right.’

‘Elaine was asking after you the other day. Now I can give her some news. Look, I'll see you Easter holidays.’

‘Right.’

‘When do your holidays start?’

‘First week in April.’

‘Well, ring me up right away and we'll fix something. Mum says can you come and stay a couple of nights.’

‘Say yes, I'd love to.’

‘I've got to go, Judith. Dad's hooting the horn and Mum's putting on her hat and flapping around like a flea in a blanket.’

‘Have a good weekend with your gran.’

‘You, too. Don't forget. See you Easter.’

‘I won't.’

‘Bye.’

She went, feeling flat, to tell Aunt Louise the bad news. ‘The Warrens are going to Bodmin for two days to stay with Heather's gran. So they aren't going to be here tomorrow.’

‘Oh dear. How disappointing. Never mind, you'll be able to get together next holidays. And with a bit of luck tomorrow will be fine and dry. If it is I'll get Edna to make you a picnic and you can go out on your bicycle. Perhaps down to the beach. Or up to Veglos Hill. All the wild primroses are out up there. You can bring me back the first bunch of the season.’

‘Yes. I suppose so.’ But it was still disappointing. She slumped into an armchair with her legs sticking out in front of her and sucked at a strand of hair which had escaped from its ribbon. She thought about the empty Sunday, and hoped that Aunt Louise would not tell Billy Fawcett about the change of plan. She opened her mouth to say this, thought about it, decided not to, and closed her mouth again. Better not to say anything. Better not to betray any inkling of her instinctive antipathy towards the harmless old codger whom Aunt Louise so clearly looked upon as a close friend.

After another drizzly morning, Saturday afternoon blossomed into sunshine, blinking in and out behind huge clouds which drifted inland from the sea. Aunt Louise announced that she would garden, so Judith helped her, grubbing weeds out of the soft damp earth and carting away, in a wheelbarrow, the dead wood that Aunt Louise had pruned from various rose-bushes and shrubs. They did not come indoors until half past four, but there was plenty of time to wash hands and tidy up and have a cup of tea before Billy Fawcett presented himself, marching up the path from the gate, eager and ready for the evening out.

They piled into the Rover, Billy in the front seat, and were on their way.

‘What have you two been doing today?’ he wanted to know.

Aunt Louise told him. ‘Gardening,’ she said.

He turned in his seat to grin at Judith, and she saw his yellowed teeth and his twinkling eyes.

‘Not much of a holiday, when the memsahib puts you to work.’

She said, ‘I like gardening.’