The Birdcage (48 page)

She copied his address on to the envelope, went back to the bureau to find a stamp and, seizing her bag, she went hurrying downstairs, out of the front door and round the corner to the postbox.

She had a telephone call from him early next evening: short and to the point but his voice was warm and she knew at once that she'd been forgiven.

‘He's regained consciousness and we've been able to talk, though not for long,' he reassured her at once. ‘I'm just going to see him. If it's OK I could be with you late on Sunday morning, just for an hour or so.'

‘For lunch?' she asked quickly. ‘You'll stay for lunch?'

She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Lunch sounds good,' he answered. ‘Everybody sends their love and we're all looking forward to seeing you again.'

‘I'm looking forward to that too,' she said, truly meaning it, and then didn't quite know what to say next.

‘I must dash away to the hospital,' he said, as if understanding her dilemma. ‘I'll give Felix your love, shall I?'

‘Yes, please,' she said. ‘Thanks, Piers. See you on Sunday.'

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

When Lizzie went down to open the door to him on Sunday morning she saw that he was carrying the birdcage. Seeing her face change and grow pale Piers hastened to reassure her, guessing her sudden fear.

‘Don't worry, he's much better,' he told her. ‘It's simply that he's going to be with us at Michaelgarth for some time and he decided that this should be back where it belonged. He said that I should tell you that he thought that it had done all the good Angel intended and it was time that it went home.'

She smiled but her lips trembled. ‘Darling Felix,' she muttered. ‘How odd it's all been. Oh, Piers, it's good to see you. Come upstairs. Pidge's flat is let now, so I can't show it to you, but I want you to feel at home here.'

He saw that she'd left the doors open, as if there were an invitation to go where he pleased, but he followed her into the big room, setting the birdcage down at the end of the long table and looking about him. So this is where his father had been so happy with Angel and Pidge; this is where Lizzie had grown up. On the piano stood a publicity photograph of Angel and he went to look at it, remembering the woman he'd seen in Parhams: this was the woman his father had loved.

Lizzie was watching him and he smiled at her. ‘She looks nice,' he said. ‘Where's Pidge?'

She indicated a smaller photograph: a smart, attractive dark woman with an intelligent face in army uniform standing beside a big staff car. He examined it, rather as if he were fitting together the pieces of a jigsaw, and then looked about the room again, trying to imagine how it had been all those years before.

‘I know you can't be away too long,' she said, ‘so lunch is more or less ready. Have a potter while I put it on the table.'

He wandered out and she saw him glancing into the bedroom, staring up the small staircase which led to the attic, and presently heard him go up the stairs to the little room. She'd felt it important that he grew familiar with this house where Felix had spent such short but vital periods of his life; meanwhile she'd prepared exactly the same lunch which she'd made as a puja for Angel and Pidge before her journey to Dunster: smoked salmon with chunks of lemon, rings of tomato in a vinaigrette with herbs, thin slices of cucumber in mayonnaise, and new brown bread. She'd chosen the same dishes: round, white bone-china for the salmon; oval, blue earthenware for the tomatoes; a yellow bowl for the cucumber. Lizzie knew that Pidge and Angel would have approved: they would have liked to see Piers here in the Birdcage, having lunch at this table where they'd sat so often with his father.

‘It's lovely here.' He was back again. ‘All bright and airy but friendly too. I like your Birdcage, Lizzie.'

‘Come and sit down,' she said, pleased. ‘Tell me everything. How Felix is, first, and then all about Tilda and Jake and Lion.'

They talked together about Felix, about Sam, learning each other; Lizzie put cheese on the table and made coffee but still they continued to talk. At last the afternoon shadows edged silently across the sunny room and Piers sighed, knowing that he must leave.

‘So you'll come?' he asked, pushing back his chair and standing up. ‘I can tell Father that all is well and you'll be down to see him soon? It will mean so much to him.'

‘I promise,' she said. ‘If you're certain . . . ?'

‘Oh, I'm certain,' he assured her. ‘You can't imagine what you've done for us, Lizzie. I promise you it far outweighs your small sins of omission. What my father said is absolutely true: if you hadn't come to Dunster there's no way he'd have been able to accept my invitation to convalesce at Michaelgarth so wholeheartedly as he has done. We're both looking forward to it.' He watched her for a moment. ‘The trouble is,' he said at last, ‘that I have my own agenda here and I can't pretend otherwise. Nevertheless I would hate you to feel pressured into coming to Michaelgarth simply out of compassion for my father now that he isn't well. There's an element of blackmail in it, isn't there? Your friendship with my father rather includes all of us as a package.'

She smiled at him, remembering Felix's words when he heard that Piers had invited her to Michaelgarth: . . .
that place is very special to Piers, remember
 . . .
By accepting
you,
surely he must have forgiven
me.
You embody all the things that threatened him and yet he's invited you into his home . . . I feel . . . as if I've received some kind of absolution . . . It's beyond everything I've ever hoped
.

‘You can't possibly guess how relieved I am to know that I'm still welcome,' she told him. ‘I behaved very badly. You are all suffering the effects of real bereavement and I took advantage of a misunderstanding and then ran away. You have the right to be angry, and Tilda probably most of all.'

‘We're all hoping you'll come back to Michaelgarth,' he said. ‘I know that you'll be good for all of us, including Tilda. She's been jolted out of her mourning in a rather horrid way, which she might tell you about, but she's decided that she can move forward now although it's going to take some courage. When I explained your situation she was totally sympathetic and said she thought you were very brave. We know that you have your own life and your work but it would be very nice if you could find time to visit us now and again.'

‘I'd like that,' she said. ‘I'd like it very much. And I certainly want to see Felix very soon. The trouble is I can't quite say which day next week, it depends how the filming goes . . .' She clapped her hands together in frustration. ‘Tell him it will be as early as I can make it.'

An idea struck her and she went to the birdcage and opened the little door. Very carefully she unwound the fine wire that bound the yellow chick's feet and released her from the bar. She looked at her for a moment, gently stroking the faded fluffy coat with her finger, and then held her out to Piers.

‘Give this to Felix with my love,' she said. ‘It's a token. A symbol. He'll know what I'm trying to say.'

She put the chick into Piers' hand and he held her on his outstretched palm, touched by this gesture and not knowing how to react. Lizzie helped him through the difficult moment.

‘Be careful with her,' she advised as, not quite certain how to transport it, he finally wrapped the chick carefully in his clean handkerchief. ‘She might look like she's just out of the egg but she's a bit of an old boiler, actually.'

He chuckled, holding out his arms to her, and she hugged him. ‘I must get back,' he said, knowing that it was right to leave now, however much he might long to stay with her. ‘We'll keep in touch.'

‘We'll keep in touch,' she agreed, ‘and I'll be down next week. Give Felix my love. Tell him he's got to get better because I need him. Tell him . . .'

‘Tell him what?' prompted Piers gently when she seemed lost for words.

‘Tell him to remember how we were,' she said at last.

She stood at the top of the stairs so as to see him off and then went back to watch from the window. She saw him cross the road and get into the car without looking back but, as he pulled out, he glanced up and blew her a kiss. She waved to him, her eyes suddenly full of tears, and then turned back into the room.

The familiar scene comforted her but there seemed to have been some kind of change: the atmosphere was still peaceful, yet there was a new air of hope and expectation. She sat down on the sofa, drawing Angel's yellow silk shawl about her, staring at the birdcage: it looked odd without the little fluffy chick, who had spread her wings at last and was already embarked on a new stage of her life. Sitting there in the quiet room, listening to the voices of the children drifting from the square and watching the dappled shadows cast by the plane tree, Lizzie thought of Angel and Pidge, feeling them near at hand, content and approving.

She wiped away the last of her tears with Angel's shawl and rose to her feet. Picking up the birdcage, she crossed the room and reached to hang it on the hook above the piano. It swung gently for a moment and then settled, back where it belonged again, and she paused to look more closely at the two little wooden birds. So delicately painted were the tiny feathers, blue and green and yellow, that it seemed that they must stir: that at any moment the folded wings might be stretched for flight. One had her head thrown back, beak parted in joyous song: the other had her head on one side, as if listening.

Lizzie smiled at them, her heart full of gratitude and love. ‘Welcome home,' she said.