The Birdcage (24 page)

‘Why?' Lizzie asked, standing beside the birdcage, staring in. ‘I'd never really thought about that before, Felix. Not about
why
you and Angel began an affair. It just seemed so right, somehow. You belonged with us, that's how it felt, and yet you had another family.'

He stood beside her, looking at the fluffy chick, perched beside the two little birds; one with its head flung back, beak open in joyous song, whilst the other listened intently, head on one side.

‘To explain all that I'd have to tell you how my marriage was,' he answered at last, ‘and that's very difficult. Not because I don't want you to know but because it must necessarily be one-sided. I can only tell you how it was for me. Marina isn't here to put her side of the picture. I can only say that I wasn't a serial adulterer. Angel was my only . . . love.'

Lizzie, taking a last look into the birdcage, sat herself down in the other wing-chair.

‘Tell me about Marina. Tell me how it all started . . .'

Now, drying the cups carefully, putting them in the cupboard above the working surface, he wondered if he'd managed to be fair. He'd attempted to explain how it had begun: how he had grown to love Marina because she had first loved him and how he'd truly believed that she simply needed to be given the encouragement to allow her confidence to build; that he'd been certain that, with his love to lean against, she could overcome her shyness. He'd tried not to put all the blame on Marina's jealousy, her inability to show physical affection, the silences, but he'd shown how social events had become fraught with dangers because of his friendliness and how innocent conversations were so readily misunderstood.

‘Perhaps I should have been more vigilant,' he said. ‘I'm sure I caused her pain although it was difficult to know quite how to handle it. But it wasn't simply that I grew tired of being continually judged as a lecherous swine and resented it, the fact is that when I saw Angel I simply fell in love with her. It wasn't just a physical thing. It was as if we recognized each other in some way and there is no doubt in my mind that, if I had been free, I should have asked her to marry me.'

‘Were you ever tempted to leave Marina?' Lizzie asked.

‘Oh, my dear girl,' he answered sadly, ‘each time I left you all I wondered if I were crazy. All that love and laughter and warmth. But there was Piers, you see. Even if I could have brought myself to abandon Marina, I could never have given up my son.' He looked at her quickly, fearful that she might be feeling hurt that he'd been prepared to leave her and Angel, but there was only compassion in her face. ‘I loved you,' he told her. ‘You were so dear to me, Lizzie, but it was as if you and Angel and Pidge were another world, a different life. Can you understand that? I know that men are able to compartmentalize their lives in a way that doesn't come easily to most women, and I don't explain or excuse it.' He smiled ruefully, self-mockingly. ‘Perhaps I just wanted my cake as well as eating it.'

‘And so what happened? Why did you give us up?'

‘Marina found out,' he said. ‘I think she'd suspected for some time but there was . . . a confrontation between her and Angel. She'd brought you down for a holiday . . .'

She nodded. ‘I can remember it, you know. We saw Marina with Piers in a shop – I've no idea which one. I've been looking for it but I can't recognize it although I can remember the smells. Coffee and cheese and stuff like that.'

‘Parhams,' he said at once. ‘Good God, Lizzie! But how could you have been so certain? You were only seven or eight years old.'

‘There was a kind of electric current which seemed to sizzle between them,' she answered, ‘and they glared at each other like two cats. Angel squeezed my hand really tightly and I remember staring at the little boy and knowing that he felt that something was wrong too. There was so much tension. But how could Angel have known who they were? Or Marina, for that matter? That's what I've asked myself so many times.'

‘They'd met twice, backstage at the theatre and at a party.' He sighed heavily. ‘It was a crazy thing to do, to come down on holiday. I knew nothing about it and when Marina confronted me about it I was absolutely thunderstruck. When two worlds collide it has a devastating effect and that's when I saw that I'd have to stop.'

‘But it didn't stop then, did it?'

He shook his head. ‘I tried to give you up but I failed. In some ways it was easier because Angel was between contracts with the Old Vic and just after that holiday she began working at one of the other classical reps so the whole scene changed anyway. I told myself that it didn't hurt anyone if I continued to visit you and Pidge, and I'm afraid that Angel and I still met up occasionally. Then she came back to Bristol and someone saw us together. Marina gave me an ultimatum.'

‘Her and Piers, or Angel, Pidge and me?'

‘Oh, darling,' he said wretchedly, ‘just don't think it was easy. Telling Angel, trying to explain . . .' and she got up, kneeling beside him so that he put his arm about her whilst staring away the hot, weak tears that burned his eyes.

Felix swiped at them with the tea-towel, cursing himself, glancing at his wrist-watch: nearly a quarter to six. The relief and joy of talking with Lizzie were beginning to fade before the daunting prospect of Piers' arrival. How would he be able to behave naturally with his son after such a meeting? In some ways he felt that he'd betrayed Piers by talking to Lizzie so freely, but he couldn't imagine how it could have been otherwise. Lizzie had the right to a place in his life, to make demands. Yet Piers had rights too: to know that Lizzie had been here and who she was.

‘Shall you tell him?' she'd asked almost fearfully.

‘Should you mind? It would be wonderful if everything could be open and above-board but I simply don't know how to begin. He has always been very loyal to Marina and I can't imagine how he might take it.'

‘He looks nice, Felix.' She'd sounded rather wistful. ‘I wish we could be friends. Does that sound that crazy? Well, I am crazy. Mad as several hatters.'

They'd laughed together, ease slipping between them once more.

‘I liked the sitcom,' he'd told her. ‘I can't tell you how proud I was.'

She'd grinned at him. ‘Aha!' she'd said. ‘So
that
was how you recognized me. All this waffle about second sight . . .'

She was so like Angel when she smiled. When he'd tried to talk about her own life, however, the smile had faded.

‘Don't ask,' she'd replied sombrely. ‘Angel, Pidge, Sam. Oh, Felix, I've lost them all.'

She'd got up then, saying that she must go before Piers arrived, pressing him to have dinner later with her at the hotel.

‘Good luck with Piers,' she'd said. ‘But the timing still might not be right. Play it by ear.'

Nervous now, praying for guidance, Felix went back to the window to stand beside the birdcage, watching for his son. As he saw him at last, coming up from The Steep with that familiar stride, Felix was filled with fear. The mere sight of him, the sheer reality of that hurrying, purposeful figure, made nonsense of the rehearsed phrases and carefully framed apologies: yet he must make the attempt. He'd betrayed both Piers and Lizzie and now the time had come to repair the damage he'd done.

Felix pressed the button that released the door catch and Piers came in, taking the stairs two at a time, the spectacles case in one hand, his briefcase under his arm.

‘Sorry, I'm late,' he said rather breathlessly. ‘A bit of a drama at the office and then the traffic was very heavy. Look, I've had to arrange to meet a client so I can't stop more than a minute. Just check them and make certain they're OK.'

Felix took the case and examined the spectacles, trying them on.

‘Perfect,' he said. ‘I can't tell you how grateful I am. Are you sure you can't stay? I rather hoped I could discuss something with you.'

‘I simply can't right now, Father. It's very important that I catch him – it's John Clarke, remember him? – and I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone . . . if you see what I mean?'

He grimaced as if apologizing for his clumsiness and Felix smiled understandingly, laying his hand lightly on Piers' shoulder.

‘Don't give it a thought, my dear boy. Thank you so much for these . . . I suppose you couldn't come in afterwards?'

‘I'm sorry, Father,' Piers looked harassed, ‘but the fact is Tilda's got Teresa with her and I suggested that she might like to stay for supper. It'll look a bit rude if I'm too late and I have no idea how long John might need.'

‘I quite understand. Perhaps tomorrow? It's rather important. Will you telephone? It was good of you to come in . . .'

He saw him down the stairs, sending his love to Tilda, and went back to the window, feeling ashamed of his huge relief at being let temporarily off the hook, wondering how to arrange another meeting with Piers as soon as possible. Despite this welcome respite, he knew that he simply couldn't let it slide – if nothing else, Lizzie's presence required speedy action – but it was difficult to see how to achieve his goal.

He saw Piers appear from below him, raised his hand in a salute and remained, transfixed in shocked horror, his hand still upheld as he watched him cross the road and disappear into the porch of the Luttrell Arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Refreshed by a shower, Lizzie pottered between bathroom and bedroom, trying to decide what to wear for dinner with Felix. She was buoyed up with a sense of wild elation: she'd found him – and the birdcage – and simply being there in his flat, talking with him, had eased the loneliness that had haunted her for the last few months. His evident delight in her company had given her confidence a boost and – despite her anxiety about Piers – she'd felt an uprush of high spirits.

Crooning to herself ‘Can't Help Loving that Man of Mine', hamming it up as she wound the springing tendrils of her thick mass of hair into a low knot at the back of her neck, she sat for a moment staring at herself in the mirror. She made a few faces – it never ceased to amaze her how easily one set of features could be changed into so many different expressions – and wondered how Felix was managing with Piers, trying to imagine what his reaction would be: how he would feel when Felix began to disinter the past. She could picture the scene – Felix in his wing-chair with Piers sitting opposite – but with what words, she wondered, would the scene begin? She tried a few phrases and dismissed them as over-dramatic or pathetically banal. It became clear to her that it would be very difficult for Felix to advance without antagonizing Piers almost at once.

‘By the way, you remember that mistress I had when you were a boy . . . ?' or, ‘You'll never guess who's in Dunster, Piers . . .'

How would he explain her presence without it sounding impossibly contrived?

‘Well, you see Pidge and Angel died quite a while back and when she lost her husband she decided to . . .'

To what? To seek out her mother's lover? After thirty-five years? She could imagine the sceptical look on Piers' face; his ‘oh, yeah!' expression. He might think that she and Felix had been in contact since Angel's death and even believe that the affair itself had gone on much longer than Felix had admitted. When she'd asked how he'd explained the presence of the birdcage to his son, Felix had told her that Piers had never asked about it, behaving as if some instinct warned him against seeking an answer that might hurt him.

Slowly her ebullience began to subside beneath a wave of compassion for Piers. It was one thing knowing his father had had an affair, quite another for the mistress's daughter suddenly to appear on the scene. She pulled the towelling robe more closely around her, suddenly chilly, although the evening was still warm. Surely talking about those happenings of so long ago couldn't be too painful? Lizzie shook her head: remembering Felix's face, knowing that this was simply wishful thinking. The trouble with burying emotions very deeply was that, once re-exposed, they were liable to be fresh and raw and every bit as sensitive as when they'd first been hidden beneath thick layers of denial. Even Felix, who was ready to accept the damaging results of his behaviour, had clearly found it difficult to talk to her about certain aspects of the past. How much more daunting it would be to have this dialogue with Piers.

Lizzie began to feel that she needed a drink. She looked at her wrist-watch: not yet half-past six and a good hour and a half until she met with Felix. It had been thoughtless of her to insist on that meeting, knowing that he was to have such an encounter, yet it had been such a joy to see him again that she'd hated leaving him without his promise. Pulling on her jeans, together with a loose linen overshirt, Lizzie tucked her big key into her bag and went downstairs.

The heavily beamed room, with its only window looking into a high-walled court, was dim and it wasn't until she was at the bar, ready to order, that she saw Piers beyond the shoulder of a burly fellow with his back to her, who was leaning with his elbow on the wooden counter. Piers was listening intently, watching his pint, but as Lizzie moved into his line of sight, he raised his eyes and looked at her.

Their glances locked with an impact that shocked each of them equally. His face brightened, as if in recognition – and even pleasure. She instinctively smiled back at him and then, swiftly pulling herself together, she looked away –
slowly
,
count the beat
,
don't overdo it
– still smiling, though rather vaguely now, as if embracing the other occupants of the bar with the same casual friendliness. The young barman moved towards her, greeting her cheerfully, but even as he mixed her vodka and tonic, adding the ice and slice of lemon, she was aware of Piers' attention. His companion – noticing that sudden change of expression – had glanced briefly over his shoulder but was now continuing his conversation whilst Piers, though taking his part, still watched her as she took her drink to the small table near the door.