The Birdcage (41 page)

Piers gave his distinctive facial shrug: the look that he and Lizzie had exchanged had restored his confidence yet he was still ill-at-ease.

‘She's certainly unusual,' he murmured, watching Lizzie crouch beside his father's chair, talking to him while she stroked Lion.

Alison, filled with fresh alarm, sought to distract him.

‘She's clearly not normal,' she said acidly. ‘I certainly agree with you there, but to go back to what we were saying, Piers, about next week. Knightshayes . . .'

As if on cue, his father raised his head and looked at him, reminding him of that earlier conversation.
He led the Third Crusade, if I remember aright
 . . . The way out was clear if he had the courage to grasp it: yet it was difficult to take one's own freedom at the expense of another person. Impossible to explain to Alison that, having met Lizzie, he knew that their own friendship would not develop into anything more; he had no wish to hurt her but how else was it to be done except by plain speaking? He looked down at Alison's anxious, frowning face and glanced again across the garth at Lizzie, who laid her cheek on Lion's head and laughed at something Felix was saying to her. He fetched a deep breath and braced himself.

‘I don't think I shall be able to make it,' he said quietly.

There was a finality in his voice and in his expression, and anguish twisted her gut. Some faint instinct warned her that the gentler powers of acceptance and good grace would stand her in better stead at this moment than the arid comfort of bitter words but, consumed by humiliation and defeat, she denied the instinct for those same reasons that, earlier on this same spot, had driven her to destroy the rose he had given her.

‘I would never have believed that you were the sort of man who would make a fool of himself over a woman like that.' Her voice trembled with furious misery; her face was plain with disgust. ‘It's so undignified for a man of your age to behave like a twenty-year-old . . .'

Tilda was beside them, carrying Lion. She put him into Piers' arms, smiling at them as if she had no idea that she was interrupting.

‘Felix is off to bed,' she told him, ‘and I think Lion's ready to be introduced to his new quarters.' She gave Alison a friendly glance. ‘I think the party's over,' she said gently.

Alison stared at her. There was something symbolic in Tilda's action, as if she were showing that the battle was won and that she, Alison, was on the outside. Before she could respond, Felix joined the group.

‘A wonderful evening,' he remarked generally. ‘I had no idea it was so late.' He turned his head so as to smile directly at Alison. ‘I do hope you've enjoyed it,' he said with affable authority, rather as if he had been the host. ‘Goodnight.'

In the face of such implacable courtesy she could do nothing but mutter ‘Goodnight' and turn away. Felix laid his hand restrainingly on Piers' arm.

‘Don't spoil it,' he murmured. ‘Even a friendly remark at this stage will undo all the good you've done. It's kinder in the long run.'

Piers, who, moved by Alison's look of defeat, had been on the point of calling after her – ‘Be in touch' or ‘See you soon' – looked at his father.

‘She'd misunderstand, you see.' Felix smiled at him. ‘When you're desperate you can persuade yourself to hear or see what you need.'

‘I know you're right,' admitted Piers. ‘It's just that I feel rather a heel.'

Felix nodded cheerfully. ‘Comes under the heading of “Tough”,' he said. ‘I expect you'll survive it.'

Piers laughed. ‘Fair enough,' he said. ‘Have you enjoyed yourself, Father?'

‘Very much indeed.' He hesitated. ‘I think that Lizzie has done us both a great deal of good.'

He waited anxiously for Piers' reply, his thin hand reaching for the puppy's head, pulling one of the soft ears in a gentle caress.

‘A very great deal of good,' agreed Piers – and saw the relief smooth his father's face into a peaceful happiness.

‘Goodnight, my dear boy,' he said. ‘I'm for my bed.'

People were coming in twos and threes to say goodnight to Piers, to thank him, until finally the garth was empty and he went inside to find Tilda putting Joker's bean bag down on the scullery floor, Teresa and Saul clearing up in the kitchen whilst Lizzie drifted to and fro, generally getting in the way.

‘Go to bed,' Tilda said to her, coming in to collect some old newspaper. ‘We shall all be off soon. The dishwasher is loaded and we can finish anything else in the morning. You too, Ma. Piers ought to have a quiet ten minutes with Lion on his own, to let him adjust.'

Teresa continued with her task of scraping odds and ends into the bin, whilst Saul collected empty wine bottles together, but Lizzie did as she was told, said goodnight to Teresa and Saul, gave Tilda a hug and crossed to the doorway where Piers stood with the puppy in his arms. They looked at each other carefully, almost warily, and, shifting Lion's weight, he held her tightly with one arm as she reached to kiss him on the cheek.

‘Thanks, Piers,' she murmured. ‘It's been really great. I can't tell you . . .'

She leaned against him briefly and then went past him, out into the hall and up the stairs.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Piers slept heavily until he was wakened by the closing of a door and the very faint, insistent noise of Lion whining miserably. He rolled onto his back, saw that it was already light and peered at his bedside clock: just after five o'clock. He groaned, knowing that he must go down at about six to let Lion out, feed him and play with him for a while, wondering if Tilda had already been downstairs to see to him. That early period of bonding was a very important one and he didn't grudge it but, just now, he would have preferred another three hours' sleep. At least he could have an hour, he told himself, if only he could get off again. The mournful, piteous noise drifting through the open windows moved him to compassion but he knew that Lion must accustom himself to being without his litter brothers and sisters. He'd soon adjust; Piers hardened his heart and turned onto his side, willing himself to sleep. A car passed along the lane below the house and a blackbird was singing on the hill behind the garth. Piers settled himself more comfortably.

There has been a blackbird singing out on the hill for as long as he can remember. As a small boy he sleeps in the room on the south-east corner facing on to the hill but he always longs for a view of the sea from his bedroom.

He stands at the window in his parents' room, staring across the tawny little fields towards the coast where the autumn gales pile the grey seas onto the rocks below Hurlstone Point.

‘Couldn't I sleep in the west wing?' he pleads yearningly. ‘In Grandfather's old room. Please.'

He has another reason: he misses his grandfather very much and to be in his room brings him closer, refreshes his memories. He is relieved that his father hardly changes the study where the old man once sat to listen to the wireless and to read his newspaper: it retains his influence, as if he might be found there, dozing in his chair, waking to cry, ‘What's up? Where's the fire?' His bedroom still has his books on the shelves, his small personal items lying about, and Piers likes to touch them so as to feel the worn imprint of his grandfather's hand.

‘Not yet,' his mother answers inexorably. ‘You're too small for such a big room. And anyway, if you were ill or frightened in the night I'd never hear you.'

He is twelve years old when he is assigned the room on the north-west corner of the house, which in due course becomes David's room. Sue suffers far fewer qualms about her son's hardihood and he is allowed to move in at eight years old.

‘I have no wish to hear him in the night,' she says. ‘The further away the better. I need my sleep.'

David pleads to keep the double bed with the same fervent passion that, later, he has for a motorbike, a sports car – ‘She's a real bargain, Dad. I can work on her. She's a beauty' – and the sailing boat that he keeps down at Porlock Weir. ‘Just a loan, Dad,' he says. ‘After all, it's only money. I've got to phone the owner today or I'll lose it. Don't put that face on, life's too short.'

Piers pressed his face into the pillow. Oh, to see that wheedling grin again, the complicit droop of the eyelid; to lay his hand proudly on his son's broad shoulder and feel the warmth and comfort of those strong, young arms giving him a hug. He stifled the sobs that wrenched his throat and burned his eyes, whilst Lion continued to whine miserably, and presently he flung back the sheet, pulled on his dressing-gown and went quietly downstairs, crossed the hall and passed through the kitchen to the scullery.

Lion ran to meet him, tail waving furiously, and Piers picked him up and held him close whilst Lion dabbed at his cheek with excited licks.

‘You'll wake the household if you carry on like that,' he murmured. ‘Good boy, then. Good fellow. Out we go.'

He opened the scullery door, set the puppy down on the cobbles and bent to clear up the newspaper. Lion pottered about inquisitively, tail waving cautiously; he sniffed at an empty glass, left standing half-hidden beside the trestle table, and sat down quickly, ears flattened, as the swallows swooped low over the garth. Having disposed of the newspaper, Piers stood at the door watching him, his grief dissipating. After a moment he went away to pour himself a glass of water and when he returned he brought one of Joker's toys: a bright red rubber ball. He rolled it towards Lion, who galloped towards it joyfully, scrabbling with it, trying to pick it up in his mouth, nudging it with his nose. Each time it came to rest, Piers would set it rolling again whilst Lion gambolled to and fro, ears flapping, clearly enjoying the game.

After a while, Piers fetched one of the more comfortable, reclining garden chairs and sat down, suddenly possessed of an enormous weariness. Lion came to look at him, whining a little, standing on his hind legs with his paws on the side of the chair.

‘Had enough, old chap?' Piers ran his hand over the soft, fluffy coat, imagining how much David would have approved of him, able to think of his son now with a little less pain.

Joker's descendant whined again, wagging his tail hopefully, and Piers scooped him up, settled him comfortably, and presently both of them were fast asleep.

Tilda found them there several hours later and took Lion off for his breakfast, suggesting that Piers should go upstairs to shower and dress.

‘Coffee?' she offered as he hovered in the kitchen doorway, yawning, but he shook his head.

‘I'll have some more water.' He filled a glass and drank thirstily, watching Lion pottering about, exploring his new home. ‘Did you come down earlier, Tilda?'

Instead of placing Jake's little chair on one of the kitchen chairs as she usually did, she was setting it on the floor so that he could see the puppy. When Lion encountered the kicking legs, so near to his inquisitive nose, he sat down abruptly, staring in amazement. Tilda laughed, crouching beside them, speaking encouragingly. ‘Look, Jake, this is Lion. Isn't he nice? Say hello.' She glanced up at Piers' question.

‘No,' she answered, ‘I thought you ought to be the one he saw first. You said that you'd like to have that time to yourself with him so I left him to you. I heard him though, last night and this morning. The thing is, with it being so hot, you have to have all the windows open so you can't help but hear him. He settled down quite quickly, actually.'

‘Let's hope he didn't keep the others awake.' Piers leaned against the sink, ankles crossed, watching Lion sniffing cautiously at Jake's toes. ‘Lizzie's room is right above the scullery.'

‘I did warn her that he might be noisy on his first night away from his brothers and sisters.' Tilda stood up and began to assemble her breakfast things. ‘She told me that she'd once slept through her host's garden shed burning down, which included the entire family racing round the house and a visit from the fire brigade, and that she'd never found sleep a problem. Waking up, she said, was something else. In fact she made me promise to take her up some coffee if she hadn't surfaced by nine o'clock. I told her that she could sleep until lunchtime if she wanted to but I don't think she feels she knows us quite well enough for that yet. We compromised on ten o'clock.'

‘Fine. Well, I'll see if the bathroom's free and be down as soon as I can.' Piers finished his water and refilled the glass. ‘I want to find David's old playpen. It came in very useful for Joker and I'm sure we shall need it again now. It's a wonderful way to restrain puppies as well as babies but, meanwhile, if you have a problem just shut Lion in the scullery.'

‘Stop fussing and go and have your shower. I can manage a baby and a puppy, you know.' She put two slices of bread into the toaster. ‘I hope his arrival in the middle of your party wasn't too . . . embarrassing for you.'

He'd bent to stroke Jake's head gently with one finger. ‘If you mean Alison,' he said, after a moment, ‘let's just say that I think the timing was perfect. He's a terrific present, Tilda. The best. It'll be fun watching him and Jake growing up together.'

They looked at each other, both thinking about David, each aware of the fact. In a rare gesture he held out an arm to her and she slipped into his embrace, hugging him tightly, her face hidden against his dressing-gown. He stared over her head, his own face momentarily bleak, but when she raised her head he smiled at her, touched his cheek to hers, grimaced and said, ‘Oh, hell, I need a shave.'

‘That's OK,' she said, courage restored, comforted by the sharing of their unspoken grief. ‘See you later. Bang on Saul's door as you go past.'