Last Act of All (11 page)

‘
Edward, please don’t…’

He
put a finger gently across her lips to silence her. ‘I’m not trying to hurry you — time isn’t important, you can take all the time in the world — but in the end, I’ll persuade you to agree. Oh, you’re far, far too good for me, I know that, and don’t think I’m expecting you to fall madly in love with me. I don’t suppose I’m what anyone would call a romantic figure.

‘
But I can look after you, offer you — and Stephanie, of course — a secure home with a husband who adores you. I can see it all so clearly, Helena. When I’m in the Red House, I see you there, in the chair by the fireside with your hair shining gold against the panelling. It’s a timeless picture, so I don’t know when you’ll feel ready, but it’s not a dream. It’s a promise, and it’s going to happen.’

She
could not move or speak, only gazing at him, wide-eyed, and he laughed tenderly. ‘I didn’t mean to make a speech. I’m sorry. But at least I’ve declared myself, and you can start getting used to the idea.

‘
No, don’t say anything. I’ll see myself out, and I’ll be back in London soon.’

He
kissed her fingers, then touched a light kiss to her lips, and left her in the kitchen.

She
stood, almost transfixed, for a long moment, then moved slowly outside to the darkening courtyard and sat down again, oblivious to the cold.

Reason
told her she was in no state, as yet, even to consider the future. She needed time to adjust to the death of her marriage; she had only just regained that freedom which was a modern woman’s most treasured right. And yet, and yet...

It
was a wonderful feeling, being cherished, and there was such a promise of security in Edward’s undemanding adoration. They didn’t seem to be handing out prizes for uncomfortable self-sufficiency this year. And he seemed so sure.

Oh,
she wasn’t deluding herself that she was ‘in love’. The remembered headiness of high romance, the stomach-lurching ecstasy that was pain as well as pleasure, formed no part of her feelings for Edward.

But
somehow, the ancient words kept floating back into her mind: ‘Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples.’ Love, for her, was a sickness she had outgrown.

*

They were married in December, with Stephanie’s blessing, just before the much-publicized media marriage of Neville and Lilian.

Bradman
’s marriage took place on screen, before record audiences, a week later.

Just
before Christmas, Helena, trying to dismiss her misgivings, returned to Radnesfield once more.

*

Martha Bateman did not look full of the Christmas spirit when Jane Thomas caught up with her on the way to their places of work on the morning of Christmas Eve.

‘
Well, Martha,’ she said cheerfully, malice spicing her speech like the cinnamon in the biscuits she was taking in to Mr Tilson, ‘you’ll be enjoying having a family in the house for Christmas, I dare say.’

Martha
’s sniff was eloquent. ‘I never did think to see Mr Edward fix to marry. His mother, God rest her soul, wouldn’t be resting easy, like she’s every right to, if she knew.’

The
look Jane gave her held understanding, but she said only, ‘Not much harm in it, surely? He’s not a lad, and she’s not a young woman. Stands to reason he’d be lonely, with his mother gone and all. And not having other friends, neither.’

‘
Weren’t no call for other friends, you know that, Jane Thomas.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Kept themselves to themselves, they did, as were right and fitting. She never reckoned to go so soon, poor lady — shouldn’t have, not by rights. And nothing been right here since.’

They
were nearing their destinations now, the two houses next door to one another. At the gate of Tyler’s Barn they both stopped, and Jane said slowly, ‘Other days, other ways, Martha. I reckon old things got to turn over to new sometime.’

The
other woman’s eyes were hard as pebbles. ‘Never knew a plough turn over a furrow without all the nasty crawling things come up to the surface. You mark my words, Jane, best leave things just the way they are.’

‘
I never held anything different, Martha.’ Jane sighed, closing the gate behind her. ‘Not a great old lot we can do about it, though.’

With
a tightening of her lips, ‘Them as lives longest sees most,’ Martha said, in a favourite phrase, and stalked on to let herself in to the Red House.

*

‘Martha hates me,’ Helena said. ‘She really hates me.’

‘
Give her time.’ Edward bent to kiss her cheek reassuringly.

‘
Perhaps she’ll come round once she sees I’m making you happy,’ she said hopefully. She was feeling optimistic; they had spent a domestic fortnight in a quiet Devon hotel and were already, almost against her expectation, contented, like a long-married couple. There had been no surprises; Edward, if not exciting as a lover, was tender and thoughtful, and if Helena ever thought of the almost sick excitement of her relationship with Neville, she did not admit it, even to herself.

Edward
laughed, patting her hand. ‘She sometimes gets a bit carried away with the old retainer part. But you’ll be accepted eventually. They’ll even accept Neville, you know, given time, once they understand he isn’t going to turn everything upside down. Though quite honestly, I think he’s almost an irrelevance. He’s only there at weekends, after all.’

Helena
looked at him sharply, but he seemed genuinely unconcerned. Well, she wouldn’t trouble him by putting the idea into his head, but she could not see Neville, who was becoming less and less amused by his plaything, considering Radnesfield House as a home for generations of Fieldings as yet unborn. When he eventually grew terminally bored with the entertainment it had to offer, he would sell up.

Even
so, she could claim no premonition as to the scope of Neville’s next disastrous enterprise.

*

The vicar’s hands were black as he turned round from groping in the open flue above the stove, and across his face a sooty streak had given him a Hitler moustache.

The
three children, jostling to get the best view of what was going on, shrieked raucously, and their mother laughed too, but to Peter Farrell’s anxious ear the tone of her laughter was almost hysterical.

‘
But can’t you see what’s wrong with it, Peter?’ Perhaps the tears in her eyes were still tears of laughter, but he wasn’t sure.

‘
I can’t see anything,’ he said wearily, wiping his hands ineffectually on a rag. ‘We’ll have to get a man to come and take a look at it.’

‘
And what are we going to do for baths and heating meantime? Nat! Nat, will you get out of there, you naughty boy! Now look how filthy you are, and how I’m going to get the soot off your school shirt with cold water, I don’t know. Oh, just go to your rooms, all of you, and see if you can manage to keep out of trouble for ten minutes.’

There
was an astonished silence. Clean clothes had never been an obsession of Marcia’s, and curiosity was considered sacred evidence of an enquiring mind. While the vicar was not sure that intellectual stimulation was invariably the primary motive for messing about with things, he was as unsettled as the children by their mother’s uncharacteristic reaction.

‘
You heard what your mother said,’ he pitched in, with an assumption of authority, ‘off you go,’ and to his surprise, they obeyed, with only Tamara whining, ‘I don’t see why we should go to our rooms, just because Mum’s in a filthy mood,’ as she shut the door.

Marcia
turned, looking stricken. ‘Oh, she’s quite right, Peter. That was entirely unfair. I was punishing them for my own unhappiness. I’d better—’

He
grabbed her hand, incidentally covering it with soot, though neither of them noticed. ‘Look, sit down. Never mind them; it might do them good to think of other people’s feelings, just for once. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

Blinking
back the tears of sheer misery, Marcia for once did as she was told. ‘I can’t bear it, Peter; no heating, no hot water, and it’s going to be one of the coldest nights of the year, they’re saying. I’m sorry to be so feeble, but it was just that I had really counted on not having to cope with another winter of this. Double-glazing and proper central heating, by now, I thought…’

Farrell,
warming the pot, chose his words carefully. His wife had been defensive on this subject before.

‘
Did – did Fielding give you any clear indication of when he would actually be lending us this money?’

Marcia
’s face flamed into two unbecoming Dutch doll patches of colour.

‘
How could I speak to him again, Peter, when I told you he said that Helena and that fancy solicitor of hers were simply bent on bleeding him dry! His accountant’s hardly going to encourage him to go making deferred-payment, interest-free loans in a situation like that. But he did say he wouldn’t forget. “Now I’ve put my hand to the plough,” he said, remember? And I said I didn’t know why everyone always thought they had to quote scripture to the vicar’s wife, and he laughed.’ She smiled herself, reminiscently.

‘
But now Helena’s managed to get Edward into her clutches, perhaps we can hope she’ll take her claws out of poor Neville. I trust him absolutely, you know, to do whatever he can.’

She
sipped tea from the mug, rimmed with greasy black fingerprints. It seemed to do her some good; after a moment or two, she blew her nose fiercely.

‘
Well, I’ll just have to soldier on, won’t I, and trust in the Lord to see us through.’

She
managed an unconvincing smile, but as her husband turned to fetch his own tea, added, ‘But oh, Peter, I really don’t think I could bear it, if there was no end to this in sight.’

Seeing
himself as at the same time helpless and responsible, he found he could say nothing. He felt awful about it, simply awful, as he so frequently did about almost everything.

*

‘Do you know what your ex-bloody-husband has done now?’ Chris Dyer shouted. ‘Do you know?’

It
was a Thursday afternoon in April; opening her front door, Helena took an involuntary step back at this verbal assault. It was despite an inner cringing that she managed to sound unruffled.

‘
No, I don’t know, Chris, but I can’t imagine that shouting at me will help.’

‘
Sorry.’ It was a perfunctory apology.

‘
I think you should come in.’ Helena led the way into the sitting-room. ‘I think we’d both be better to sit down.’

She
sat as she spoke, but Chris was too overwrought to follow her example. He strode about, conducting a taurine progress past the delicate porcelain collection which had belonged to Edward’s mother.

‘
He’s hi-jacked Harry, that’s what. And does he have the decency to tell me face to face?’ He glared at Helena, then answered himself. ‘Well, of course not. He knows he’d have got this,’ he doubled up a massive fist, ‘straight in the middle of the face he considers his fortune. I hear of it from my assistant producer — and he’s fit to be tied, as you may imagine. But Neville’s gone mad — stark, raving mad. I think he’s got a death-wish, and he won’t be satisfied till he’s reduced everything to rubble. But I’ll be damned if he’ll destroy my life without paying for it.’

Helena
was listening with growing bewilderment. It was plain enough that there was some major upheaval going on in their television world, but she did not see how it affected her. Surely he could not want her to intercede with Neville; Chris would hardly be naive enough to expect results from that.

‘
I don’t understand what you’re saying, Chris, and I certainly don’t see what I can do about it.’

He
stopped short, whirling to face her ‘Ha! that’s rich! It’s not what you can do about it, my lovely. It’s what it’s going to do to you.’

For
the first time, she felt real disquiet. ‘For heaven’s sake, Chris, stop striking poses, sit down, and tell me simply and clearly what this is all about.’

At
last he told her.

*

When Edward came in, his eyebrows rose as he paused on the threshold. In another man, this would have been a violent exclamation of astonishment at seeing his wife, not only entertaining, with apparent equanimity, a man she cordially disliked, but holding a large Scotch in her hand at five o’clock in the afternoon.

It
was clear, however, that here was trouble of some kind, and he crossed to kiss her first, then, perching protectively on the arm of her chair, nodded coolly. ‘Afternoon, Dyer. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

Helena
’s face was white and shaken. ‘You’d better tell him, Chris.’

It
was simple enough. Neville, Chris said, had become increasingly restive about the storylines on ‘Bradman’. Harry, he claimed, was being shown in an unsympathetic light and he started to blame Chris whenever he felt Harry was getting what he termed a bad press.