The Runaway (23 page)

Faith haltingly told her story, Joy adding a question when Faith turned to her, unsure of how to continue. Unlike all the other times when she had recited what had happened to make her decide to leave her daughter, this time it sounded weak, cowardly and extremely cruel to the father. She was becoming less and less sure she had made the right decision. She now seriously doubted whether her conviction that Matt was likely to encourage the development of his own
weaknesses
in his child was true. She became very hot and colour rose in her cheeks as her words became less and less confident.

As her words faltered and dried up, the others waited in silence. ‘You might think I was cowardly,’ she said, reading the expression on Verity’s face, ‘but in fact it took all my determination to walk away from my child. Whether you can believe it or not, it was an act of love. Allowing my little girl to grow up without knowing her father or being aware of his propensity for anger and hitting out, will give her the very best chance in life.’

Verity looked away, but her mother offered her hands to Faith, who took them and tearfully said, ‘Thank you for listening. I’ll understand if you walk away.’

‘No, Faith. I want to sit here with you and talk. This matter is over and done with and there are so many other things we need to learn about each other.’

Verity added little to the conversation and the mood became more light-hearted as they shared amusing anecdotes and memories of less serious events. Joy filled them in on the arrangements for Verity’s wedding and made sure Faith knew she was expected to attend. ‘It will be the perfect opportunity to meet some of your relations,’ she said, then added, ‘although, there are a few we’d like to hide from you!’

Her mother insisted she was welcome to bring a friend. Ian came to her mind but she dismissed the idea of inviting him. She didn’t
think he’d be easy with the idea of ‘meeting the family’. There were connotations of closeness in that which he obviously would not want.

When Faith and Winnie reached home they went to tell the Gretorexes and Kitty and Gareth all that had been said. The strain of the day faded away as Winnie assured her that Joy and her mother genuinely sounded sympathetic. ‘From what you say I’d guess they want you to be a part of the family for always. I think you might have difficulty winning Verity over,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s only a matter of time.’

‘I have to buy something really smart for the wedding,’ Faith gasped, ‘and I haven’t any money!’

‘Don’t worry, you can borrow Olive’s coat!’

Ian’s mother went with her when she looked in various shops for a suitable outfit. On two Wednesday afternoons, half-day closing at the bakery, they travelled to other towns where the half-day closing was on a different day. Each time they came home exhausted but without success. They eventually found the perfect outfit at a second-hand shop.

The lady who ran the clothing shop had built a name for herself by buying from wealthy houses in some of the surrounding villages and selling from her rather scruffy premises just off the main street in town. One Saturday, having finished early, Faith and Vivienne walked past it on their way home and stopped to look at the window display. Without much hope they walked in and the small, bright-eyed owner came out. Without preamble she asked, ‘What’s the occasion? Wedding? Dinner party? Theatre?’

‘Oh, I’ve been invited to a wedding and …’ She didn’t finish explaining as the little woman had disappeared behind a curtain. She quickly reappeared carrying several outfits over her arm. ‘These will suit your colouring. Just arrived, this one has, fit you a treat, you being a bit heavy, like.’

‘Heavy?’ Faith laughed. ‘Heavy sounds even worse than overweight or plump!’

‘Well, dear, you’re no featherweight and what’s wrong with that?’

Faith looked at other clothes on display but each time her hand was tapped gently and the woman shook her head as though telling off a naughty child. ‘Wrong colour,’ or ‘wrong style,’ she admonished.

She ushered Faith into a small fitting-room and helped her into the
dress and jacket she had recommended. It was a sage-green,
straight-skirted
dress, with a jacket lined and trimmed in ivory silk. ‘The woman was right,’ Vivienne whispered ‘It suits you and fits perfectly.’

‘Stay there,’ the owner instructed, ‘I’ll fetch the hat and shoes.’

In less than half an hour they walked out carrying all Faith needed for Verity’s wedding and she was still laughing at the antics of the shop owner when she reached home.

She tried the outfit on for Kitty and Mrs Gretorex to see and before she had taken it off again Ian called.

‘You look nice. Going somewhere special?’ he asked.

‘Not today, but I’ve been invited to my – my sister’s wedding.’ Deciding to risk asking him, she said, ‘I was told I could invite a friend, but I don’t think you’d like to spend hours with a lot of strangers, would you?’

‘Was that an invitation? It sounded as though you wanted me to refuse.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You prefer I didn’t go?’

‘I just didn’t want you to think I was presumptuous. I’d love to go with you.’

‘Then it’s arranged.’ He held her hand and turned her round and round. ‘Wow, if this is what you’re wearing I’ll have to wear my smartest suit.’

Over the following weeks Faith’s excitement rose and fell like a wild tide. Ian was reassuring and promised her a wonderful day. ‘If the company is poor we’ll make an excuse and leave. Although I doubt whether even Verity can be difficult on her own wedding day.’

The wedding was a large one and for Faith that was a relief. A small crowd all curious about her, asking questions, sizing her up, some suspicious, others blatantly hostile, would have been difficult to manage. Some guests were introduced to her as various cousins and an uncle and a couple of aunts but she took in very little. People
gathered
in groups and talked, glancing her way from time to time, some smiling, others wearing a frown, and she wished she could overhear what was being said. From some expressions, it would not be
flattering
, specially, she noted, when they had just spoken to Verity.

‘I’m not going to remember a thing,’ she wailed to Ian when yet another group had introduced themselves, then moved on.

‘This isn’t an exam, it’s an occasion to be enjoyed.’ Ian had been at her side throughout the service and the lull that followed and sat beside her at the wedding breakfast. Amid the smiles, there was only
Verity to spoil the day. She scowled whenever she passed Faith and smiled only briefly at Ian when they were introduced; after that she ignored him.

As they were about to leave they talked to someone who
introduced
himself as Uncle Dewi. He had obviously been watching the proceedings because he came up to Faith and said, ‘Don’t worry too much about young Verity. Afraid you’ve come to take half of the
business
, she is. She’ll come round.’

‘Why would she think that? It belongs to her and Joy and my mother. I’ve had nothing to do with building it up.’

‘The money, see.’

‘What money?’

‘It was your grandmother’s money that gave them a start and now you’ve been found, I suppose you’ll be entitled to your share.’

‘Please reassure Verity that I have no intention of interfering with Beautiful Homes and I don’t need money from any of them.’

‘I’d talk to your mother if I were you, she’ll be able to explain better than I.’

On the journey home Faith and Ian talked about all they’d learned and their impressions of the newly discovered family.

‘Are you pleased with the way the day went?’ Ian asked.

‘I don’t expect to have a lot to do with them, they’re busy people and I live too far away for regular visits, but it will be good to have letters, and to remember birthdays and Christmases.’

He laughed. ‘I saw you scribbling notes into your diary. Birthdays and addresses no doubt.’

‘You and your mother, Winnie and Paul and the children will always be at the top of any list I make, but I am happy that there are people in the world who are my family.’

‘And I’m happy that you’re happy.’ He smiled. ‘Now, what about going somewhere to eat? The wedding breakfast was a long time ago.’

M
r Gretorex went away alone on several occasions, starting with a weekend then extending his absence for three then four more days. Faith longed to ask if there was a troublesome reason for this but, as always, Mrs Gretorex evaded questions and changed the subject with expert ease, making it quite clear that her private life was just that: private.

Mrs Gretorex filled her time in the house, helping Faith by doing some cleaning and preparing food. When there was nothing more pressing to do she knitted and sewed clothes for Kitty and Gareth’s baby. This delighted Kitty who wrapped them carefully in tissue paper and put them in a moses basket she had bought ready for the new arrival. She brought them out to show any visitors to the house and when Mr Gretorex came home after an absence of almost a week, she showed him. To Kitty’s embarrassment he brushed them aside with hardly a word.

It was obvious something was wrong and although she longed to help, Faith knew she had to wait and hope that eventually Mrs Gretorex would come to her. The rent was paid regularly and the Sunday lunch arrangements still brought them together once a week and no one said anything further when Mrs Gretorex was alone.

‘Goes to the library a lot, she does,’ Olive reported, ‘and reads romances and historicals.’

‘Has there been anything happening at the building site?’ Faith asked.

Olive shook her head. ‘I did see her sitting up there once. Heaven knows what she was thinking about, sitting there in the cold all alone. Worried I was, so I went back to the caravan and made a flask of tea, but when I got back she was gone.’

Kitty told them later that their house was almost finished and Faith looked sad. It seemed likely that Mr and Mrs Gretorex would be leaving soon. They were unhappy and if he wanted to live
somewhere
else, his wife would surely go with him. Kitty and Gareth would move into their new home and once their baby was born they wouldn’t visit very often. She would be losing all her friends and it wasn’t a happy thought. Thank goodness for Winnie and Olive. They were close by and hopefully that wouldn’t change.

On Wednesday afternoon Faith called to see Winnie and suggested a walk around the lake and a cup of tea in the café. She looked at her friend as she slowed down on the slightest incline. She sat on every available seat and on garden walls and even talking made her breathless. It was clear she hadn’t told them the truth about her illness. As they turned for home Faith was alarmed at how exhausted she appeared. Calling one day when she knew Winnie would be out, she asked Paul for the truth.

‘She insists it’s nothing but a recurring chest infection and she refuses to let me talk to the doctor.’

‘Refuses to let you? Paul, you’re her husband, of course you need to find out what’s wrong.’

‘I’ve tried and although he hints that things maybe worse than she’s telling me, he won’t break confidences.’

‘Then remind him you have three children!’

‘Would you look after them on Sunday? I thought I’d borrow a car and take her to the seaside. She’d like that. Somewhere quiet, down The Vale perhaps.’

‘Of course, Paul. You really do have to make her face whatever’s wrong with her and get the necessary treatment.’

‘If we can have a day together, I’m hoping to persuade her to talk.’

To Faith’s surprise, Ian offered to share the care of Jack, Bill and Polly and promised them a day to remember.

‘If Winnie is seriously ill they’ll miss out on lots of things, so if you agree, we can make a difference.’

‘Agree? I’m thrilled that we’ll do this together.’ Then she glanced at him, had she sounded too sure of him? Would the word ‘together’ give him doubts and cause him to avoid seeing too much of her? She was fond of him and guessed he felt the same, but there was always a
hesitation
, a wordless warning to her not to expect too much of him.

‘I thought we’d take them to Bristol Zoo, what d’you think?’

‘They’ve never been there. That’s a lovely idea. I’ll pack a picnic and we can treat them to a meal on the way back. I’ll check with Paul to make sure he agrees to us taking them so far away before I tell them.’

‘Paul trusts you, doesn’t he?’

‘I hope so.’

‘You make friends easily. He – and Winnie of course – is very fond of you.’

Was there some hidden comment in the words? She shrugged. Was she getting paranoid? But the hesitation before including Winnie sounded curious.

Both Winnie and Paul were happy for the children to go to Bristol Zoo and there was great excitement once the children were told. She was laughing as she closed the door on them and set off home. Still smiling she was startled when Matt’s cousin Gwenllian appeared and at once complained.

‘Happy are you? You’ve no right to happiness after ruining Matt’s life,’ she said.

Faith turned away and hurried along the lanes back to No 3, her expression solemn. She hadn’t replied, there was nothing she could have said to placate the woman. She wore her anger proudly, like a badge, outrage threatening to burst out whenever an opportunity offered.

Faith sighed as she went inside. Gwenllian must grow tired of her campaign eventually. She began planning what she would make for the picnic and the smile returned.

Verity was curious about the man Faith had treated so badly. Imagine giving away his child after denying he was the father. What sort of a man was he that he could cause such vindictiveness? Their new sister was obviously not as angelic as she appeared. There could never be a strong enough reason for her to treat a man she had loved like that. Verity took a couple of days off and, after telling her mother she was going to spend a few days in the north searching for new suppliers for their china and glass, she made her way to Barry and began asking for the workshop of Matt Hewitt.

A wedding and a honeymoon hadn’t distracted her from her
determination 
to discredit Faith. There was a lot to lose. Besides, her new husband was away for three weeks on a sales trip in Belgium. With cats away the mice will play, she thought with a smile. A visit to this Matt Hewitt might be interesting.

He was easy to find as, besides his skills as a sculptor and designer of garden furniture, the notoriety of the long-ago court case and its recent revival, made his name well known to most of the residents of the town. She travelled by train, then a taxi dropped her at the corner of the road in which Matt’s workshop was situated. She walked slowly along, studying the rather untidy yard with the workshop at the far end. Above the entrance to the workshop was a statue that at once caught her eye. It represented a fairy, with a smaller figure holding her hand. It was beautiful.

As she reached the gate Matt came out of the workshop. He looked up and waited for her to approach. She didn’t know what she had expected: someone small and anxious to please? Covered in stone dust and wearing overalls? Certainly someone boring, if he’d been attracted to someone like Faith. But Matt startled her with his dark good looks and strong physique. He stared at her boldly as she smiled and walked towards him; his eyes were almost magnetic and she found it hard to look away. Forcing herself back to her usual arrogant style, she said:

‘I believe you make some high quality sculptures besides these, er, things,’ she waved an arm disparagingly at the garden benches and gnomes and planters surrounding them. ‘I do hope I haven’t travelled this far to see these cheap items.’

‘None of my work is cheap and I always make the best quality, even if it’s a flower pot for a child. Now, will you tell me how I can help, I have work to do.’

Heavens. This wasn’t what Verity had expected at all. What had Faith been thinking of, walking away from this man?

‘I run a London shop specializing in the best of modern design,’ she said. trying to recover her poise. ‘I noticed the statue of the fairies above the door, can you tell me how much it costs and whether you have anything of a similar nature to show me?’ All the time she was talking it was as though she was listening to someone else’s voice, the man had so confused her.

‘You’d better come in and look at my display,’ he said. He turned away and walked into the workshop, assuming she would follow.
Again she was surprised. Not much charm about him for all his magnetism.

It was only when he began talking about the various pieces that his voice softened. The work was mostly statues of beautiful women designed for elegant gardens, or statues of small children in beguiling poses. Outside were the small, popular ornaments for small back gardens, but in here was where he gained his pleasure. She touched a model of a child holding up a shallow basket in which water would attract wild birds, and he smiled at her obvious delight.

She said very little, just allowed him to talk as he explained that some of the ideas came from poetry, or books he had loved as a child. ‘Some of my happiest memories are from when I was young,’ he said. When she left she had arranged to buy three statues for a startlingly high price and, having seen photographs of some of his previous work, promised to return for more.

‘It has been such a pleasure meeting you,’ she said. ‘An artist with the heart of a poet.’

‘Please come again,’ he said. ‘It’s wonderful talking to someone who understands.’ He laughed after she had stepped into her taxi, and went to tell his mother. Fingering the cheque, he kissed it and said, ‘Idiotic woman. It’s so easy to win them over with a bit of
flattery
and a hint of a tormented soul.’

When the statues were delivered Verity’s mother was doubtful, but to their surprise they were sold within two weeks. Verity offered to go back to see if there were any more available.

‘He’ll probably have a book of sketches,’ her mother said. ‘Look through it and order what you think we can sell. Your choices were exactly right so I’ll leave it to you. Although perhaps I could go and meet him sometime. It’s always good to have some details about the artist to give the buyer. Makes it more personal.’

When she asked Verity how she had heard of the man, Verity was vague. ‘Word of mouth, you know how it is. That’s why I didn’t say anything in case he was a disappointment.’

She wrote to Matt and told him when to expect her. When she arrived, he was in a smart suit. ‘I thought we could talk over lunch,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll come back and you can see the few quality items I have for sale. I’ll bring my sketch book, so you won’t be bored,’ he said with a quirk of an eyebrow.

There was nothing pretentious about his choice of venue; in fact
Verity at first thought it was some kind of joke. They ate at a small café near the newsagent’s shop and the choice was what to have with chips. Verity wasn’t impressed but she ate a little of the fishcakes and baked beans. The place was full and very noisy, making conversation impossible and she concentrated on looking through the sketch book.

The variety showed his willingness to create small pieces as well as large imposing ones like the fairies over his door. There were concrete gnomes and small animals, which she guessed were regular sales; some illustrations showed them painted. She tore up a paper napkin and marked several pages before they finished the dark-brown tea and left.

Apart from the nude designed to sit beside a garden pond, the statues were suitable for any situation. She noticed for the first time the fine busts of Romanesque men set on plinths. They represented years of work in between making the cheaper items that sold easily to local people and the occasional tourist who managed to find the place. And he had doubted they would ever sell. He set the prices high and Verity agreed without discussion. The nude to sit beside a pond was going to be a centrepiece for their window display.

‘Do you have to go back immediately?’ he asked when the business was done.

She looked at him and smiled. ‘Do you have in mind dinner at another greasy spoon?’

‘My mother will have a meal ready and you’re welcome to share it.’

She knew she ought to leave and get the train she had planned to take but instead she found herself agreeing to share their meal. Newly wed or not, it was difficult to refuse this man.

Carol fussed a lot – obviously flustered by their elegant, some what haughty visitor with her upper-class voice – anxious to please, but Matt seemed quite relaxed, even when his mother brought on eggs and chips. Verity looked up and saw he was smiling.

‘This looks lovely, Mrs Hewitt,’ she said. ‘I love chips, don’t you?’

‘Would you like beans with it?’ Matt asked, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

Holding back laughter, she agreed that, ‘Baked beans would be perfect. It’s so long since I had any.’

They were laughing as Matt walked her to the bus stop, insisting that a taxi was a waste of money. He took her arm as they crossed
the road and slid his hand down until he was holding hers. At the railway station he pulled her towards him and kissed her. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Today has been good.’

Her heart was racing as the train moved off. She looked back at the platform expecting him to be waiting for a final wave, but he was gone.

It wasn’t until the new order had arrived and her mother was pleased with her purchases that Verity told her who the sculptor was.

‘These were made by the man Faith ran from? Why didn’t you tell me? This could be most embarrassing.’

‘That’s why I said nothing. I wanted to see for myself who he was. We only have Faith’s version of what happened and you need all the facts before you can judge.’

‘And what have you decided? That Faith is lying to us?’

‘There are always two sides, Mother, that’s all I’ll say. Why don’t you come and meet him?’

‘One day maybe, but not yet. Be careful, Verity. In this instance hearing one side is enough to convince me that he’s a dangerous man.’

Joy and her husband visited No 3 the following week. It was Sunday afternoon, Faith was alone in the house and she welcomed them with delight. The day was dull but they wandered around and admired the garden then sat in the overcrowded living room.