Someone Special (12 page)

‘Where’s Nell?’ Hester said before Mrs Cledwen could reply. ‘Have you put her in her playpen or is she tied into her highchair? Because you know what a one she is now for getting about, she’ll …’

‘She’s in the drawing-room wi’ Mr Geraint,’ Matthew said reassuringly. ‘He’s reading to her from a book of fairytales. You can fetch her out if you want, but she’s rare happy, Hester.’

‘Oh, all right,’ Hester said lamely. ‘I’ll get her presently. Why were you back so soon from the market, Matthew? You don’t usually get home until after our dinnertime.’

‘The sheep weren’t up to much, but we bought some pigs. Here, give us that bag, it looks ’eavy. Hop into the car, Mrs Cledwen, and I’ll run you to the station. If you’re early for your train, at least you can leave your bag and get yourself a cup of tea and a cake whiles you wait.’

‘Thanks, Matthew,’ Mrs Cledwen said. ‘Goodbye, Hester. Take good care of yourself and keep an eye on Mrs Bellis.’

They both waved and Mrs Cledwen cranked her window down and leaned out. ‘Give Nell a kiss for me,’ she commanded. ‘I’ll miss you both, dear.’

‘Oh, a week or so will soon go,’ Hester said cheerfully. ‘Have a lovely holiday, Mrs Cledwen! Goodbye, goodbye!’

She was still gazing after the car when the geese came hissing and wheezing round the corner of the arch,
so with one last wave, and a menacing gesture towards the geese, Hester trotted back through the wild garden, across the yard and into the kitchen.

Her list was on the table, weighted down by the salt cellar and side by side with a letter in a large white envelope addressed, in Mrs Cled’s flourishing hand, to Mrs Ena Bellis. Hester glanced at the list, then went across to fill the kettle and put it on the range. It was a huge blackened thing which took its time to reach the boil, but by the time it did so Matthew would be back with Mrs Bellis and everyone would be glad of a cup of tea.

Hester’s last job the previous day had been to fill the six buckets at the pump; she glanced at them and five were still full, so that was one job which could wait until later. Now, she tipped one of the buckets into the kettle, then stood another on the top of the range, as near the heat as she could get it. If Mrs Cled had seen her there would have been a row, but Hester needed hot water for cleaning and boiling up a bucket was a quick way of getting it, even if it did weaken the bucket as the housekeeper claimed. While the cat’s away, Hester concluded, pushing the kettle over so that the bucket got a bit more heat and then heading for the kitchen door. Not that Mrs Cledwen was in the least catlike; as employers went she was a good one. We get on well, Hester reminded herself with a hand on the latch, but now I’d best get Helen off Mr Geraint before he gets cross with me for leaving her so long.

She was familiar with the drawing-room, of course. She often cleaned out the grate, laid a new fire and then lit it, taking the ashes through to throw on the paths of the wild garden, one of her more sensible attempts to make sure her way out was not completely overgrown. But as she reached the door, she hesitated. She had never entered the room when Mr Geraint was in it; she supposed she should knock. She remembered the nuns’ insistence on
the children in their charge knocking at doors, speaking only when spoken to, giving a little bob of a curtsey before uttering a word and prefacing every remark with ‘Please, m’m’, or ‘Please, sir’.

Was that how she should behave? But in her memory was that night on the sands in Rhyl and her subsequent encounter with Mr Geraint in the wild gardens. She had not behaved the way an orphan should behave on either of those occasions, so she had best act naturally now and say she had come to take Helen back to the kitchen. However, when she approached the door her courage failed her; good manners, after all, were not something which should be dispensed with just because she had met Mr Geraint on previous occasions. So she tapped on the door, waited a second, then entered.

Mr Geraint sat on the couch with Helen on his knee, an open story book before them. Helen lolled against his chest, patting his arm absently with one hand; the other, true to form, was jammed against her mouth. Thumbsucking usually preceded sleep, but Helen’s round amber eyes were fixed on the book, and you could see she was following every word Geraint read.

‘So then the handsome Prince leaned down out of his saddle and gave his hand to the beautiful Princess. And she leaped up, on to his noble white steed, and they rode off into the sunset. The End.’

Mr Geraint closed the book and glanced quizzically across the room at Hester. ‘Have you come for the child? She’s been very good.’

Helen reached for the book while Hester was saying how kind of Mr Geraint to bother but she would take Helen back to the kitchen now. While she was speaking Helen was opening the book at random and shoving it back into Mr Geraint’s hands.

‘More,’ she announced, and leaned back again, with the air of one who expects entertainment. Hester smiled,
she couldn’t help herself. Trust Helen to take compliance for granted.

‘No more, Nell. Your Mama has come to take you away,’ Mr Geraint said. He closed the book a second time. Hester saw, with some dismay, a frown etch itself between her baby’s soft brows. She tried to take the book again, but Mr Geraint placed it out of reach and stood her down on the floor. ‘Off you go, littl’un,’ he said firmly, ‘I’m busy now.’

Previous experience had taught Hester the impossibility of reasoning with Helen when she wanted something, but to her surprise the little girl seemed to accept Mr Geraint’s words as final. She set off across the floor towards her mother, holding up her arms.

‘Feed lambs?’ she said. ‘Nell feed lambs?’

‘Later, sweetheart,’ Hester said diplomatically. ‘Mummy has some work to do first.’ She picked Helen up and sat her on her hip, then kissed the top of the child’s silky head. ‘Thank you for looking after her, Mr Geraint. Say goodbye, darling.’

‘Bye, man,’ Helen said briefly. ‘Nell feed lambs
now
, Mummy.’

Carrying her out of the room, doing her best to explain again that work had to come first, Hester heard Mr Geraint’s quiet laughter behind her. It sounded mocking.

‘Say “Mummy”, darling. Come on, say “Mummy”, and Mummy will make you a daisy-chain so splendid that you’ll look like a little queen! Come on, sweetheart, upsadaisy!’

Constance and her sister-in-law, Ella, were sitting on the bank of the river Yare a couple of miles from Goldenstone, with their small daughters playing on a rug at their feet. Over their heads arched the blue Norfolk sky and standing beside them were two push-chairs.
Constance bent, plucked Anna from the grass and buried her face in the child’s sweet-smelling neck, blowing a raspberry against the soft skin. Anna gave a bubbling trill of laughter and clutched a handful of her mother’s golden hair, then laughed again as it slid through her fingers.

‘Ma-ma-ma,’ she crooned. ‘Ba-ba-ba …’

Ella bent over and grabbed Nancy, who was about to set off, fat-legged, pink-cheeked, to find fresh amusement.

‘No you don’t, young lady! Come and persuade your little cousin to say “Mummy”, darling. Nancy can say “Mummy” beautifully, can’t you, my sweet?’

‘Nancy’s three,’ Constance pointed out, cuddling Anna for a moment longer and then setting her back on the rug. ‘When Anna’s three she’ll probably talk just as nicely as Nancy. But she does seem rather slow; she’s only just got all her front teeth and a couple of back ones. How old was Nancy when she started to talk, Ella?’

‘She was talking at about eighteen months, but she had the boys, remember. Older children teach the younger ones more than you know. Why, William said almost nothing until he was two and a half, and he wasn’t dry until well after his third birthday. You just can’t generalise with kids.’

Nancy, small, dark and active, got to her feet and grabbed at the handful of daisies Constance had been building into a chain of mammoth proportions. She held them up and let them swing over the younger child’s head.

‘Here you are, baby Anna,’ she said, bending over to smile straight into her cousin’s face. ‘Nancy’s giving you a pretty present. Take it, little Anna.’

Anna made her cooing noise again and chubby hands, starfished, reached for the flowers. Nancy drew them back a little.

‘Say “Mummy”,’ she commanded coaxingly. ‘Say “Mummy” for Nancy.’

‘Ma-ma-ma,’ Anna said cheerfully. ‘Ba-ba-ba …’

‘She’s just a baby,’ Nancy said, letting her small cousin grasp the daisy-chain and plonking down beside her. ‘Give Nancy a kiss, then!’

She leaned forward, offering a rosy cheek, and Anna obligingly leaned forward too and made contact. Nancy squealed and drew back.

‘She kisses
wet
,’ she said forcefully, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Only babies kiss wet. Can I have a bicky?’

Constance giggled.

‘It isn’t only babies, unfortunately,’ she said to her sister-in-law, reaching into the basket which contained their picnic tea. She found the nursery biscuits with the picture of a cow on one side and a sheaf of wheat on the other and handed one to her niece. ‘Have you ever been kissed by Sammy Firth-Askew?’

Ella, who was ten years Constance’s senior, smiled but shook her head.

‘No, indeed! He’s one of JJ’s repellent little friends, isn’t he? I don’t think he had come on the scene before I left to marry Philip.’

‘Well, take it from me, he kisses wet,’ Constance said. She leaned over and ruffled Anna’s mop of dark gold curls. ‘Anna’s kisses are damp and sweet, but Sammy’s are wet and smothering and – and forceful.’ She looked plaintively across at her sister-in-law. ‘He traps me, you know. He lurks when he comes over to see JJ and he lurks when we go over to see his parents.’ She shuddered. ‘Odious young man!’

‘Funny you should say that,’ Ella said thoughtfully. She took a bottle of milk out of the basket and poured some into a mug, which she handed to her small daughter. ‘Don’t spill it, darling,’ she said. ‘Would Anna like some milk, now?’

Anna reached out both hands and made cooing noises so her aunt filled a beaker and handed it to her.

‘Carefully, sweetness,’ Constance said. ‘Oh, quick, a bib – that pink dress is a fiend to iron, Nanny says.’ A bib was produced and tied around Anna’s chubby neck. The two young women waited until their offspring were deep in milk and biscuits, Anna scattering both freely, then Ella resumed her interrupted conversation.

‘As I was saying, it’s funny you should mention Sammy, because to be honest my dear, there has been some talk. Mother mentioned in confidence that she came out of our drawing-room a few weeks back and there were you and Sammy … she said you sprang apart!’

‘Mother shouldn’t say horrid things about me,’ Constance said. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, and guessed her eyes were shiny with embarrassment. ‘Who else has she told? Why on earth didn’t she ask me? I’d have told her Sammy was a pest.’

‘I’m sure she’s only told me,’ Ella said hastily. She took the flask of tea out of the hamper and stood it on the bank beside her, then fished out the red bakelite picnic cups. ‘She said she did try to say something, but you cut her off short.’

‘She asked me if I liked Sammy, and I didn’t cut her off short at all, I just said, rather sharply, that he was a friend of JJ’s and thus a friend of mine,’ Constance said. ‘Ella, what else could I say? It’s awfully awkward because he and JJ are very thick.’

‘Perhaps you should tell JJ,’ Ella said slowly. ‘He could warn Sammy off better than anyone else could.’

‘Yes, but he mightn’t believe me. He might think I was getting back at him for … for things,’ Constance said vaguely. ‘You must know your brother well enough to guess that he’s no angel himself. If I said anything about Sammy – well, it would look like a dig, don’t you think?’

‘Connie, what on earth do you mean? You’re not trying to say that JJ still squeezes kitchen maids?’

‘I mean he does much more than squeeze, and not just kitchen maids, either. But what’s the point in talking about it? I knew when we got married that he had a roving eye, I just didn’t realise that three years and a child later he would still – well, you know.’

‘But mother said he was a changed person, so attentive, absolutely adored the baby …’

‘Yes, and your mother said I was having an affair with Sammy,’ Constance said reproachfully. ‘So I think we can discount what she says in this context at any rate. Ella, be a dear. Tell her she’s mistaken and see whether you can think of anything to keep Sammy at bay.’

Ella was preparing to answer when someone hailed them. Both girls turned to the gate to the lane and there was JJ, swinging towards them in a white open-necked shirt and flannels, with a broad smile on his handsome face.

‘My four favourite women,’ he called. ‘Hello, darling, who’s come to find his golden girl, then?’

Constance felt the colour rise in her cheeks. One hand flew to her throat and she leaned forward, addressing her sister-in-law in a low whisper.

‘Ella, not a word! I adore JJ, he’s my life, I’ll work something out. So long as I’m the most important person in his life I can put up with …’

The words died in her throat. JJ was dropping on his knees at the edge of the rug. He gave Constance a quick, perfunctory smile, then held out his arms.

‘Who’s my precious, then? Who’s Daddy’s golden girl?’

Anna dropped her beaker but clutched her biscuit and scrambled to her feet. She toddled across the rug and into her father’s arms, cooing, laughing.

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,’ she shouted, ‘Daddy ha’ bicky!’

JJ pretended to nibble the biscuit, picked his daughter
up and hugged her, smiling at his wife over the top of the child’s dark gold head.

‘Hear that? She said “Daddy” clear as clear,’ he announced. ‘Come on, beautiful, let’s go and paddle in the river and see if we can find some fishes.’ He held out a hand to Nancy, who was staring adoringly up at him. ‘You coming too, sprat?’

When they had gone Constance began to put the picnic things away. She felt slow and heavy, and the afternoon was dark suddenly, the breeze which had delighted her earlier cold and unwelcome.

JJ had everything now, even Anna. The baby would say ‘Daddy’, though she did not seem able to get her tongue round ‘Mummy’. She remembered when she had been her husband’s golden girl; now, without a thought, he walked past her and bestowed the name on her small daughter.