Meet Me at the Pier Head (8 page)

Tia wasn’t aware of having reached any sensible conclusion about Theo Quinn; he confused her, and that fact might prove . . . where were her words? Diverting? Alarming? Apple pie. She put
his spare key in a pocket, picked up the dishes and waited till he opened the door.

‘Good night, Tia,’ he said.

She walked up the side of the villa to her own door, which Delia had left on the latch. A great deal of tidying had been achieved. ‘Delia?’ she called. ‘Apple pie for two.
Thanks for all you’ve done.’

‘Coming.’

They ate cross-legged on a rug in front of the fireplace.

Delia, always hungry yet permanently thin, finished first. ‘That was some dance you two were performing down below,’ she said.

Tia swallowed a mouthful of pie. ‘Dance? What dance?’

‘The Avoidance Tango. So busy not looking at each other, you chattering like a young gibbon, he concentrating on the kitten—’

‘He had his cat put down today, Delia. He was crying when we arrived.’

‘Oh.’ Delia held up her hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘OK, don’t shoot. He’s very attractive, nearly handsome enough to make me change sides. He looks like a
gorgeous, sun-kissed Italian or Spaniard. And a man who cries is a man with soul.’

‘That’s a line from one of Ma’s films. Pa was in it, too.’ Tia went for a change of subject. ‘Do you think the divorce will happen?’

‘Abso-bloody-lutely. I’ve seen the preparatory paperwork, rooted it out of Ma’s bureau when she was in the garden with Nanny Reynolds. Pa is photographed with an assortment of
young females, and Ma’s lawyer has collected signed statements. Oh yes, just you wait for a couple of weeks and it will be in all the gossip columns.’

‘I’d better get this place ready if they’re coming to stay. Will you help?’

The younger sister yawned. ‘Tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.’

Tia climbed over boxes and bags until she managed to reach her bed. Delia, bless her, had made it up with fresh, new sheets, blankets and eiderdown. Nightdress?
Oh, bugger that; I’ll
sleep in my underwear and clean up my act tomorrow. I should really have a bath, but I’m too . . .

Her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light within minutes. She dreamed of cats, kittens and Dresden, her long-dead pony.

The luminous hands of her wristwatch announced two o’clock when she woke in an unfamiliar room whose shadows were eliminated by a bright, full and low-hanging moon.
Stepping carefully over her possessions, she went to close the curtains, and saw that she had probably been disturbed by more than moonlight. He was digging. A small suitcase lay on the grass
behind him; he was burying his beloved cat.

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled slowly down her face. Theo Quinn was a good, kind man. About six feet in height, strong and tanned, he was also decorative, sensitive and capable. Although
she couldn’t see his face, she knew from the occasional movement of an arm that he was dashing saline from his cheeks, and she wept with him. A coat hung on the back of her door, and she
longed to don it, run downstairs and hold his hand, but she wouldn’t. This was a private funeral and a private man, and Tia should avoid intrusion.

As she drew her curtains towards the closed position, he turned to pick up the case containing Tyger. Movement in his peripheral vision made him look up, and he froze. Their eyes locked as if
drawn together by some weird kind of magnetism. Madam was wiping her face on new curtains, ten shillings a yard plus lining and weights, plus maker’s fee. She was dressed in some sort of
underslip with thin straps over her shoulders. And now, she stood as still as stone, watching him watching her.

Come on, Theodore Quinn, pull yourself together. Come on, Tia Bellamy, pull your curtains together. It can’t happen, not now, not ever. Romance is for other people, not for you, Theo,
because . . . Oh, to hell with the because
. He picked up the case and placed Tyger in the grave.

Tia returned to her bed. Delia might be right; perhaps the band was playing, and he and she were blocking out the rhythm. Simon would be here soon, Simon who loved her. Simon, who refused to
take no for an answer, was relocating to Liverpool in order to wear her down. She would not be worn down, but he was persistent. His father was Jewish, his mother Christian, and Pa had hit the roof
when he’d heard Simon’s surname. Pa might have been a great help to Hitler or Mosley, since his attitude towards minorities was appalling.

She fell asleep eventually, this time dreaming about a tall, beautiful man standing over her as she reached for an old cat under a table, a striped animal that refused to come
to her. The brown-eyed man smiled down at her while she crawled across a rug. ‘He’s a one-person cat,’ he said, his accent slightly American.

‘You’re a no-person man,’ she accused him. ‘Why?’

He stared at her. Near-black wavy hair had tumbled onto his forehead. His eyes, usually so warm and friendly, were suddenly free of expression. ‘I must give you a copy of the
curriculum,’ he said. ‘And a statement book for each child. That way, we can account for the progress and development of every individual.’

Simon was pulling at her arm. ‘Go away,’ she ordered.

‘Come on, Tia.’

‘Go away.’

‘Wake up now, or I’ll get a cloth and cold water.’

The victim opened one eye. ‘Ah, it’s you, Delia.’

‘Who did you think it was? The Boys’ Brigade?’

Tia sat up. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘Were you, now? About your beautiful landlord?’

‘Cats, if you really must know. I have to look after the new Tyger while Theo’s out. And I really wanted to observe at the school.’

‘Go, then. I’m sure I can kitty-sit.’

Tia yawned. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost ten.’

‘What? Why didn’t you wake me?’

Delia shook a finger under her sister’s nose. ‘Your royal highness, I am deeply sorry. But one’s bath has been run, and if one would kindly amble unaided towards the
facilities, one might soak oneself and find clean clothes before one begins to pong.’

‘Oh, pong off, Delia. Take the key from my dressing table, go down and make sure the kitten’s OK.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

When Delia had left, Tia scraped her abundant hair into an untidy bun on top of her head. After crumbling sweet-smelling bath cubes into the water, she stepped in and allowed her aching body to
relax. Delia was right; driving hundreds of miles in an MG was an uncomfortable experience. Should she sell Evangeline and buy something sensible? No. Twenty-six was surely rather young for
sensible?

Strangely, Juliet seemed to be the most robust and pragmatic of the Shakespeare trio. She loved her job, worked hard at it and stayed resolutely in Kent in case Pa needed help once the divorce
was over. Perhaps Juliet was a saint in training? Or maybe she was just the one with the most common sense.

Delia talked rationally, yet her commitment to modern music came high on the agenda. She was going to try to buy new drums here, in Liverpool, a city famous for its brilliant music shops. If
Scotland Road’s instrument emporium was good enough for Americans, it was worth a visit by Delia Bellamy. ‘They cross the Atlantic to buy in Liverpool,’ she had said. ‘So
I’ll take a look.’

As for herself – Tia knew she was a born actress with absolutely no interest in pursuing that avenue. She liked children, wanted to work with them and to use drama as a tool, a vehicle
that could carry pupils through reading, through self-expression and, thereafter, through life. It built character and confidence, attributes so important in areas where poverty and deprivation
were apparent. ‘I am the light,’ she told herself aloud, wondering if that might be blasphemy. Wasn’t it from the Bible . . .?

Delia entered the bathroom with a very small cat in her hands. ‘This is a good boy. I took him out and he delivered as ordered. Now, are you going to school or not?’

‘Not today. I’ll organize the dressing room, sort through my books and put up some pictures. Will you buy groceries when you’ve looked at drums?’

‘Of course.’ Delia paused. ‘Are we feeding the one below?’

‘No.’

‘Right. I just thought he might like us to return the favour.’

‘He isn’t driving all the way from Kent. And remember, he’s my boss, too. Some distance must be maintained.’ As the words fell from her lips, she knew she was lying. She
wanted to know him.

‘As you wish, ma’am. I’ll make a pot of coffee. You get dressed and take over kitty-sitting.’

When Delia had left in the rattling old van, Tia carried Tyger downstairs, fed him and took him outside where once again he performed his duties perfectly. This was a promising kitty. The garden
was beautiful; it was apparent that Theodore Quinn took pride in his place of residence. There was a tiny summerhouse, a shed and a greenhouse. This was clearly a tidy, organized man.

She carried Tyger over every inch of his immediate territory, talking all the while about the apple trees, the hedges, the thorns on the rose bushes and how to avoid drowning in the pond.
‘This is a magnolia,’ she told him. ‘Your master does well to establish one of these so far north. It may not flower every year, but you must respect it. You are one fortunate
feline to be taken in by someone like Theo.’

Clearly unimpressed, the kitten yawned.

In the front garden, she stood by the new grave. ‘The other Tyger,’ she said. ‘We don’t even know how old he was, because he belonged to the house, you see. Now,
you’ve been chosen by a very special man, so look after him. I think he gets a bit sad.’

‘Do I?’

She swallowed hard.
He’s behind me. This is like bloody pantomime, but without the audience to warn me. I never heard his car arriving because I was at the back of the house. I’m
blushing again. This is beyond embarrassing.

Tia turned and there he stood. He had been listening; how much had he heard? ‘Sorry,’ was all she managed at first. She drew herself up to her full five feet and nine inches.
‘I was showing him his territory.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I watched you from my kitchen window.’

She thrust the kitten at him. ‘He did his duties for Delia, then for me. He’s had two tiny meals, and he likes Charlie, my blue rabbit. Perhaps I’ll buy him a soft
toy.’

‘That would be appreciated, Tia.’

Was he laughing at her? ‘Are you laughing at me?’

He nodded. ‘You remind me of me. I’ve talked to animals all my life, and it’s good to know I’m not the only idiot on the planet. Will you come in for a sandwich? I seldom
make it home for lunch, but I wanted to see Tyger-Two. Thanks for taking care of him.’

This is not going to be as easy as it might have been, Portia Bellamy. He’s stunning; you’d better start looking for somewhere else to live. What’s the point, though?
You’ll be working with him. Stop staring, for goodness’ sake!

‘Tia? A sandwich?’

‘Er . . . no, thank you. Delia will be back shortly with her drums.’

Theo raised an eyebrow. ‘Drums?’

‘She won’t practise here. I shall make sure of that.’

‘Pity. I play a few chords on the guitar, so she might like to try the drums out in my flat. This evening, perhaps? The house is detached, so we’ll disturb nobody.’

‘I’ll ask her.’

‘Do that. Come with her if you think you can tolerate the noise.’

She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again.

‘Well, Miss Bellamy?’

‘I have a great deal to do,’ she said after the long pause. But might Delia speak out of turn to him? ‘I’ll come down tonight if she gets some drums. She’s very
particular. Oh, and skiffle is somewhat noisy.’

Theo nodded. ‘Right. I’ll raid the wine cellar.’

‘You have a wine cellar?’

‘Of course, and it’s well stocked. It’s called Warburton’s. It’s on the main road, wedged between fish and chips on one side, haberdashery on the other.’

If he pulls my leg any harder, it will drop off. You like a man with a sense of fun, Tia Bellamy. You like a man with good musculature, generous lips, square jaw, dark hair, warm chocolate
eyes . . . Stop this now, you damned foolish woman.

Delia broke the strange and uncomfortable spell by rattling onto the driveway and up the side of the house with her group’s disreputable and noisy vehicle. She alighted and ran round to
the front garden. ‘Got some,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Scotland Road was brilliant once I broke through the language barrier. Hi, Theo.’

He grinned at Delia. With her face illuminated by excitement, she was almost pretty. ‘Bring them into my place,’ he said. ‘You don’t want them stolen from the van.’
He turned to Tia.
God, why do you have to be so bloody perfect?
‘I’ll see you both at about seven this evening. Delia, I play the guitar, so we’ll have a
session.’

‘Great. Give me a hand, please.’

Once more, Tia was in charge of Tyger while the drums were carried into the ground-floor flat.
We are the three Ts. Theo, Tia and Tyger. I should have taken the post in St Helens. I should
have found a different flat. No, I like this one. And he fascinates me, but I’ll get used to it because I must. Simon will be my shield – is that cruel?

Theo reclaimed his kitten. ‘Thanks, Tia. Miss Ellis says if you want to come in for a couple of hours tomorrow, she’ll show you the ropes. Not that we make a habit of hanging our
kids, but punishment is sometimes necessary, and you need to learn how to tie the knots.’

Tia found herself grinning. ‘So that’s where you get your body parts?’

‘Young meat is tender. And I also use hospital morgues, because sometimes I need bigger bits. They require simmering for several hours.’

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘That chicken salad you gave us – was it really chicken?’

‘Oh, Miss Bellamy, I never answer such questions. You enjoyed the food, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘I made the pie with apples from my own trees.’

‘It was good.’

‘Thank you. See you later, then.’ He took Tyger from her and walked away.

Determinedly, Tia climbed the stairs, found nails and hammer and began arranging pictures on her walls. Life wasn’t all about pretty kitties and handsome landlords. She sorted through
books, dusted their covers and arranged them on shelves at each side of the fireplace in her sitting room before repositioning furniture to suit her own idea of comfort and order. The dining room
was easy – one table, four dining chairs, two carvers and a sideboard. She sorted out the kitchen and found that Theo had thought of everything from a fish kettle to cruets. He was rich, far
too wealthy for a headmaster of an infant and junior school. She found decent cutlery, moderately expensive dinner and tea sets, good table linen, substantial pots and pans.