Meet Me at the Pier Head (19 page)

He picked up Rosie’s half-finished glass of lemonade and went to answer the phone. ‘Hello, Theo Quinn here.’

‘Mr Quinn?’

My God, it’s Isadora Bellamy. The same voice as Tia, but older.
‘Yes, I’m Theo Quinn,’ he repeated.

‘Isadora Bellamy,’ she said. ‘May I speak to my daughter?’

‘Of course. I’ll have to go and get her from the upper apartment. Will you wait, or shall I get her to call you?’

‘I’ll wait, thank you.’

He placed the receiver on the table, turned round and saw Rosie. ‘Your nana will love your new suit.’ He smiled when Rosie clapped her hands. ‘Now, please go and get Miss
Bellamy. If the outside door’s locked, ring her bell. Tell her there’s a telephone call for her. I’ll take care of your lemonade.’ When she had left, he took care of the
drink by adding a double dose of whisky and swallowing the lot. To hell with it; a man had needs. The trouble was, he tended to mislay his inhibitions after a double Scotch.

He combed his wayward hair, paced about, wondered about his blood pressure, heard Rosie returning. ‘She’s coming now, Mr Quinn.’

‘Thank you.’ He picked up the receiver. ‘She’s coming now, Mrs Bellamy.’

‘Good. Is she well?’

‘Er . . . yes.’

‘Are you unsure?’

‘No, I believe she’s in good health.’ He moved away and felt his jaw drop. A picture of health and beauty stood before him. Portia Bellamy, dressed in a fitted, bright red
dress with a peplum that emphasized her shape, and with murderously high-heeled shoes to match, glared at him. ‘You owe me one tin of tooth powder,’ she hissed. Her hair was still damp.
She smelled of sunshine and flowers and summer rain, and he was no longer making sense, even to himself.

Tia took the call. ‘Hello? Oh, darling Ma – how are you? Yes, yes, he’s my landlord and my headmaster. What?’ She looked him up and down. ‘Well, he’s not as
ugly as Mrs Melia, but not as pretty as we are. Right. Fire away.’

Grinning broadly, Theo took Rosie out to the rear garden.
That was a close call. I think I got off lightly, all things considered. She must have seen Emily leaving, and she’s cleaned
up her act just to make a point. This is part of her charm, part of your reason for liking her. Was liking a strong enough word?
‘There’s Tyger,’ he told Rosie. ‘Look,
he’s trying to catch a bird thirty feet up in the sky. You’re right, after all. He’s as mad as a hatter.’

He watched the little girl chasing his kitten.
I suppose Isadora and Nanny will arrive soon. Rosie and Maggie can stay with me; I’m not letting them go off home in case Sadie reappears
and starts playing tricks again. Oh, God. I’ll be sharing my house with five females, three up and two down.

‘Mr Quinn?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why are hatters mad?’

‘I believe they used to put lead in the brims of the hats. Too much lead makes people ill and causes them to act strangely.’

Rosie blinked up at him. ‘Do you know everything, Mr Quinn?’

‘Definitely not,’ he answered. He seemed to know very little about women, and he was about to be invaded. Panic threatened . . .

Tia joined them. ‘I saw your girlfriend leave, and I had made a real effort to be dowdy. You would have left me in that state, wouldn’t you? And I ran out of toothpowder. Have you
any idea of the damage I am doing to the enamel? That stuff’s like scouring powder.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

‘I browned my teeth,’ she announced haughtily. ‘I browned them to make me old and ugly.’

‘In the oven? Like browning a joint of meat?’

Tia looked round; Rosie was out of earshot. ‘You are lucky not to be on the receiving end of a Bellamy Burn. As for your silly question, we have something to paint on our teeth when we
want to look old.’

‘We?’

‘The Bellamys. Actors. Shakespeare, mostly. Don’t you remember him? He was in your class at school. Wore tights. He did all those plays with people running onstage, talking a load of
hogwash, and running off again. No actor sits unless he or she is dead. Some do soliloquies with daggers in their backs or while talking to a human skull. Freud would have had a field day with
Shakespeare.’

This is why. It’s not just the way she looks and speaks; it’s who and what she is.
‘Yes, I remember him,’ he said. ‘He sat at the back scribbling with a
feather, ink up to his armpits. Never got a smile out of him, and he was thumped by one of our baseball stars who had huge muscles and no brain.’

‘Why?’ Tia asked.

‘Well, Shakie asked could he compare him to a summer’s day, and all hell broke loose. It was like the Alamo all over again. We all joined in, and our teacher made for the hills,
never to be seen again. All because of an ink-spattered playwright and sonnetist.’

‘Poor Shakespeare.’ She shook her head sadly.

Theo continued. ‘Even his mom despaired. She always said he’d come to nothing if he didn’t clean up his act and stop dressing like a woman at weekends. She thought he was
uncertain about his gender, but men had to play all the parts. He was the back end of Richard Three’s dying horse, too. Made a real hash of it, no sense of direction.’

‘And who was the front end?’

He shrugged and told her he was pleading the Fifth Amendment.

‘Just as I thought.’ She giggled. ‘Yes, your face fits the part.’

‘Glad I wasn’t the rear end, then. So, is Isadora on her way?’

Her face entered serious mode. ‘Yes, and she’s nervous. Ma is a complicated character, and Pa will go volcanic. The ash will cover most of Europe and half of Africa. My mother is a
very good woman, so sweet and kind, but under the icing sugar and the marzipan she can seem as cold as steel. Beyond the steel is a heart of gold, which she does her best to ignore. It was the
steel that got her through the pretending to be drunk time, but the precious metal’s still there.’ She sighed heavily. ‘If that twenty-four carat comes to the surface, she might
give in and stop proceedings out of pity for him.’

‘And which metal is she today?’

‘Steel with a thin layer of gold plate. She’s bought a flat in Canterbury for Juliet. Pa’s on a tour, so Ma’s denuded the house of furniture, because she bought most of
it. That’s in storage. They are packing personal stuff, and Delia will use the van to bring it here. Ma and Nanny will travel by train.’

‘When?’

Tia raised an eyebrow. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, but within days, I believe. The divorce papers and all pieces of evidence are filed with her lawyer, who is waiting for her nod, as
is her agent. She’s intending to buy Bartle Hall from Pa, because it’s his only asset, and it’s crumbling. The money he earned went on wine, women and London clubs where actors
meet. Without Ma, work may dry up for him, because they used to come as a pair like Hepburn and Tracy, the difference being that Tracy can act, while Pa needs scaffolding – my
mother.’

‘Bugger,’ he whispered.

‘Stop upstaging me, Quinn. That’s my line.’

‘You have copyright?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Bugger,’ he repeated. ‘What happens now?’

‘I sue, or . . .’ she blushed and turned away.

‘Or what, Tia? The Bellamy Burn?’

And there it was between them, a roaring, snarling animal that would not be tamed, an elemental force of nature that belonged to neither of them, and ruled both. Theo, who had been in love
eighteen years earlier, recognized the symptoms, while Tia, whose experiences had scarcely got past the lust stage, remained confused. This was different. What the hell was going on? She’d
known him for a few days, yet she couldn’t imagine life without him. It was very silly. She walked off to find Rosie.

Theo watched as she attempted to stalk through the room, her gait unsteady. She probably needed a pilot’s licence to drive such shoes; she was now taller than he was.
Trying to stop
this would be fruitless. It’s like the idea of training iron filings to stay away from a huge magnet. It was the same with Sally, but I was young and foolish then, a stranger to England and a
slave to the RAF’s Brylcreem boys. Do we never learn? I’ve survived almost nineteen years without the pain of love; now, I’m losing my reason, my strength, but not my memory.
Damn, this hurts.

Tia returned and sat in the deckchair he had left in the garden. She’d already told him once that something unusual was happening. What was happening lay well outside the scope of her
experience. He was a dozen years older than she was, so was she looking for a father figure? No way was he old enough to fill that role. Older brother? She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Closing her eyes for a few minutes, she allowed her mind free rein.
What is it about Theodore Quinn, aka Tom Quirke, aka Teddy? Ticks a lot of boxes, I suppose. Attractive, tanned,
dark-eyed, a lunatic, loves children and animals, creative, industrious, protective of Rosie, very aware of me. Aware, but afraid, I think. Why? What troubles him? Am I too forward, too pushy? Ma
certainly thinks I am. ‘Let a man lead on the dance floor, and grant him the delusion that he is leading you through life,’ Ma had suggested years earlier. But what did Ma think now? On
the brink of divorce and . . .
A shadow loomed over her, and she looked up.

Holding Rosie’s hand, Theo looked down at the young woman who occupied his chair. ‘Is this the Bellamy Burn? Do you pinch a man’s seat?’

Double entendre yet again. She kicked off her shoes. If sparring continued, she needed to stop towering over this poor, frightened, delightful creature. ‘Rosie, thank you for staying
clean. A policeman is coming to talk to you very soon. Tell the truth, don’t be shy, and try not to be cheeky.’

The child frowned. ‘Am I cheeky, Miss Bellamy?’

‘I should be worried if you weren’t, and so would Mr Quinn. You’re a clever girl. As you grow older, you’ll learn to be cheeky silently, inside your head.’

‘Colin Duckworth didn’t learn,’ Theo grumbled.

‘He’s a mere male,’ was Tia’s swift reply to that. ‘We mature more quickly and learn when to keep our counsel. My father’s still a teenager, and he’s
fifty-something. Throws a tantrum if he’s given the wrong toothpaste.’

‘Lend him your tooth powder,’ Theo suggested.

Tia awarded him a look designed to cause a large war in a small country.

Rosie bent to pick up Tyger’s miniature teddy, the gift bought by Tia. ‘Here he is,’ the child shouted triumphantly.

‘Great,’ Theo said. ‘Tyger hates sleeping alone.’ He turned and looked at the ridiculous kitten, who was engaged in battle with a geranium. ‘Look at that,’ he
muttered. ‘My money’s on the plant.’

They walked into the house, each holding one of Rosie’s hands. It occurred to both that any casual onlooker might see them as a family, a mother and a father with their daughter. In
Tia’s heart, hope fluttered like a fledgling bird, up in the air, then down to earth, repeatedly. But all Theo felt was fear. Unless this heat died down, he would need to tell her things
about which he had seldom spoken thus far.

Rosie put Tiny Ted in Tyger’s basket. She was happy. Nana would be better soon, and Mr Quinn and Miss Bellamy were . . . happy, too. They were happy together. ‘Can I go up and play
with the dolls’ house, Miss? I’ll wash my hands first.’

‘My front door isn’t locked. Yes, go up and help yourself.’

Rosie skipped outside. They could talk in private now.

Tia knew that she was the braver one. Something held Theo back, and she intended to break through the barrier. Boldly, she placed a hand on his face; bugger the male lead, she told her mother
silently. This was the dawn of a new age, and women were moving on, no vapours, no declines, no Victorian females waiting for orders from husband or father. ‘Why did you never marry?’
she asked.

The power of speech seemed to have deserted him.

‘Teddy?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Genetics,’ he achieved finally.

‘Genetics?’

‘Genetics,’ he repeated. ‘There’s a fault in the line that shows up from time to time. I care too much for children to risk producing one of my own.’

She didn’t remove her hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

‘As am I, Tia. But it’s a fact. No matter who or when I married, the danger would be there. Yes, I was engaged almost two decades ago, but I was young, foolish and careless –
you know that stage you go through when nothing can touch you, when the world’s your playground?’

‘Oh, yes. The recklessness of youth.’

‘Then life changed for all of us, Tia. We matured quickly.’

‘The war?’ she asked.

He sighed, the air shuddering its way out of his lungs. ‘War in the sky is a desperate and terrifying experience. It aged me. I killed so many people, and after several sorties I saw
countless unoccupied seats at breakfast. One night, we lost fifty-six men, each and every one a friend and colleague. The mess would be silent, because we felt guilty about being alive. The Battle
of Britain was also a battle of conscience. Now, my conscience forbids me to reproduce.’

‘Oh, Teddy.’ She placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘Talk to Simon.’

‘He doesn’t like me, Tia.’

‘Only because he knows I’m . . . fond of you. He can enquire about vasectomy.’

Theo shuddered. ‘Look at me. I’ve stared death in the face, and I’ve looked briefly into the eyes of young Germans just before shooting them down. You’ve seen my back
with all its scars. I survived all that, yet I remain terrified of surgery.’

‘But it’s not major surgery,’ she told him.

‘I’m a coward.’

‘Good,’ she declared. ‘I was beginning to worry that you might be perfect. I’m not keen on perfect; it’s a bit too Roedean and Oxbridge for me.’

Tia continued in charge, pulling his head down an inch or so, since she had remained barefoot. But the kiss, which began life as her property, was quickly taken over by him. She was his oasis
after a long drought, and he drank long and hard.

No one had ever kissed her in such a way, but perhaps none of her ex-boyfriends had been starving. She stopped thinking and lost herself in the moment, the minute, the quarter-hour – she
had no idea how long the embrace lasted. He played with her hair, touched her throat, an arm, her behind, and it wasn’t enough for either of them. When they finally separated, each had to
fight for breath.