The Twisted Way (38 page)

Alan Wilkins looked at Rosalie and her family. He liked what he saw. Felicity Brown gave him the creeps, indeed ‘cow’ was a word that came to mind when he first met her. He hoped she was not going to be too much of a damned nuisance.

Anne Robinson too had no doubt that Rosalie was Janet’s daughter. A picture of Janet taken on the day she retired from the local school was still hanging in the staffroom. The likeness between Janet and Rosalie was incredible; the only difference between the two was the colour of the eyes and the fine arched eyebrows. Where had she seen those before? She would remember later.

‘Oh ... oh!’ Felicity suddenly screamed, shattering the strange silence that had settled on the beneficiaries. ‘Ahhhh! ... This cannot be right, I am her true heir!’

Joyce and Robbie rushed forward as if to help her but more in fear of what she would do next. Rosalie and her family looked pained and shaken. The solicitor and other beneficiaries were again stunned into silence. A puzzled Rosalie stepped forward as if to help Felicity but was restrained by Alan Wilkins.

‘Leave her,’ he said. ‘Mrs Skillet and Robbie will assist her.’ The vicar, in an attempt to control what he anticipated could turn into a nasty situation, took Robbie to one side, tugging firmly at his arm until he went with him.

‘Can you take her back to your cottage until she calms down?’ he whispered. ‘She will not be able to stay here, except to pack her bags. The sooner the poor woman leaves this house the better,’ he continued doffing his forceful ‘do-gooder’ cap which had in the past so often annoyed his daughter, but a stance that was difficult to resist. Irritating as he appeared to some people he had a charisma and strength of personality that was difficult to ignore. He was used to getting his own way.

Robbie was overtaken with a feeling of horror and despair but found himself, against his better judgement, agreeing with the man, though he would hardly have described Felicity as a poor woman. He shuddered when he thought of the turmoil that was so evident on the surface and wondered what lurked beneath her hippo-like skin. She was like a volcano that had erupted once and would soon do so again, spilling hot and spiteful lava on everything and everybody around her.

‘Yes, of course vicar, she can stay in my spare room … er, that is, until other arrangements can be made.’

Did he really say that? Was he mad? he asked himself and shuddered involuntarily. He could barely keep his hands from shaking, he felt queasy and the inevitable headache started with a slow persistent throbbing above his temples. Felicity Brown in his dear little cottage! But it would not, must not, be for long he swore. The vicar had inflicted a horrible blow on him and he, poor fool that he was, had succumbed in a weak moment.

Robbie moved with reluctance towards Felicity who was sobbing with noisy rasps and being comforted by Joyce, who was struggling to keep a look of triumph off her face. He gazed at her, his eyes intent and steady in order to mask the distaste that threatened to show itself and distort his usual gentle features. The feeling that someone had pushed a cork down his throat and that it was pressing on his voice box increased but his voice eventually emerged in the form of a hoarse whisper.

‘It is all right Felicity … er … you can come home with me.’ He placed a feeble arm nervously around her shoulders in an attempt to lead her away. She uttered a loud eerie sob, then leaned on him and emitted what sounded like a sigh of relief.

‘Dear Robbie,’ she mumbled as a feeling of doom threatened to engulf him.

The rest of the party, overcome with embarrassment, removed themselves with undue haste to the dining room. Conversation was stilted and there was a general curiosity to observe Janet’s daughter and grandchildren interspersed with a number of genuine but feeble attempts to make them feel welcome. The vicar and Anne Robinson said a few complimentary and carefully chosen words about Janet. The majority of the guests had not had their appetites dented by the extraordinary events at the will reading and ate their sandwiches and drank their tea with obvious enjoyment.

Alan Wilkins suggested that Rosalie and her family should return to his office with him and they would discuss the will and its consequences further in more relaxed surroundings.

‘I am so sorry for the unpleasantness at the will reading,’ he mumbled. ‘It was most unexpected.’

‘That was not your fault,’ Rosalie answered in a firm and confident voice.

She had booked rooms for her family in a hotel in Everton for a few days, something Alan Wilkins had earlier suggested, and now, although their spirits were dampened by the unexpected avaricious niece, they looked forward to exploring the area and discovering more about Janet. Felicity was an unhappy thorn in their side but not one of their making.

Robbie had made an effort to calm Felicity as well as he was able. ‘Come on,’ he said in a low soothing tone. ‘I’ll fetch my car. We ’ll soon be out of here and you can relax in my cottage for a while.’ Would he ever relax again? he wondered.

‘Oh, yes, dear Robbie,’ Felicity stuttered. ‘Joyce will help me pack a case, I won’t stay in this dreadful place a moment longer.’

She looked at Robbie with an expression of affection and reached out an arm to him for support. His heart sank and he was left with the uncomfortable feeling that it would soon rest with clumsy abandon in his boots, never to return to its rightful place. He must make sure she didn’t stay in his home too long and his usually alert mind became cluttered with cunning half-formed plans on ways to get rid of unwanted guests. What an idiot he must have been to get himself into this mess. It was a pity that self-righteous vicar did not invite her to stay in his home; the foolish man was too free with his suggestions that other people should help. What horrors did the future hold for him now?

Felicity, with Joyce’s help, packed two large suitcases with clothes and overnight essentials. She promised to return the 
next day to collect the rest of her things. Joyce had been 
asked by the solicitor to stay on as housekeeper in order to keep Primrose House tidy and help sort out Janet’s personal possessions, and he also asked Robbie to continue to tend the garden until the house was sold. Some of the furniture and paintings would be valued professionally and removed to a safe location until a sale could be arranged.

Felicity carried her cases down the stairs and into the hall, the hall that she had stupidly thought would soon belong to her. She sat on the bottom step for a moment in disbelief. What an idiot she had been. She was leaving Primrose House, her home, forced out by those interlopers.

Robbie appeared in the doorway and collected her cases. He put them in the boot of his car and returned to assist a still shattered Felicity to the passenger seat because she claimed that her legs felt weak and she found it difficult to walk. As the car moved away she opened her mouth wide and uttered a pitiful earsplitting howl like a wolf who had lost its mate. Robbie’s blood ran cold and he shivered.

‘Interlopers!’ she shouted. ‘What right has that woman and her brood to take my house?’

Robbie remained silent. It seemed the best option. What he had seen so far of Rosalie he had liked. She reminded him of Alicia Merryweather.

He parked the car in front of his old oak studded front door and opened the passenger door to assist Felicity. She stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight at the front of the house where they were greeted by pots of vivid red geraniums that had been placed each side of the door. Felicity’s spirits started to lift. An iron boot scraper, ancient and reassuring, was placed to one side of the door. A door knocker in the shape of a stag’s head was quite mundane but the ordinary little black and white Russetshire cottage with its dark oak wooden window sills appeared to welcome her. The small front garden was crammed full of brightly coloured scented flowers and had been edged with pretty black iron railings very like those that had been removed from Robbie’s London home when he was a child and which he was told were to be melted down for the war effort.

‘Dear Robbie,’ she said in an almost calm voice, ‘it is so good of you to take me in, I won’t be any trouble. It will only be until I can find somewhere of my own.’

As he opened the front door and led her into the sitting room Robbie hoped that would be very soon.

‘Sit down on the settee and rest,’ he mumbled solicitously, and turned to lug her cases into the cottage.

‘I’ll put your luggage into the spare bedroom,’ he said, his arms aching with the weight of the damned things. He really should not be lifting them he told himself. He was feeling tired all too often these days, in fact he would be glad to give up the gardening job at Primrose House. He had worked there far too long.

Felicity did not answer. She was busy looking with a burning curiosity around the spacious lounge. She sank into the luxurious thick cushions on the large three-seater settee and felt comfortable and immediately at home. She eyed the walls, neatly whitewashed brick, and the large wood burner in the hearth. That should be cosy in the winter, she told herself with a spurt of interest. Antique brass firedogs rested in the fireplace and a shiny brass-topped box containing logs was placed strategically on one side. The hearth was composed of warm red quarry tiles. The longest wall in the lounge was covered with oak shelves and these were crammed with academic books. Oh goodness, she thought, a clever man, I have a lot to learn about him. She gazed at the pictures that hung on the walls. They are almost as fine as Aunt Janet’s, she surmised, if not better. There were some elaborate hunting scenes painted in delicate watercolours and a couple of old oil paintings, one of cattle, huddled together waiting to be milked, in a farmyard and another of a black and white border collie with her pups. There was an original oil painting of Robbie’s dog Nap who had died two years previously. Delicate china filled a fine mahogany display cupboard, Coalport figurines and other fine ceramics were in abundance. She moved closer to get a better look. What a good collection, much better than Auntie’s, he obviously knew more about such things although she had understood that the Lacey family had been keen collectors. What an odd print though on one wall ... pearly kings and queens, what a strange choice. She liked it. It reminded her of her early childhood in London.

‘Would you like to see your room?’ Robbie’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘Love to,’ she said pertly. That didn’t take long, Robbie thought. She seems to have recovered from her shock and tantrums. What can be going through her disturbed mind now?

Felicity looked with care at the small bedroom. Old oak beams straddled the ceiling and there was a tiny window with pretty flowered curtains through which she could see the neat garden, enclosed and private, behind the cottage.

‘Oh hell, blue walls,’ she muttered under her breath. Well that could be changed. Beggars cannot be choosers. I may not be here long flitted through her mind and ... well ... I might manage to settle in here for a while. Oh, the bed is not bad, quite comfortable – she stretched out a hand to feel the firmness of the mattress – though there is hardly room for all my new clothes in this room. One fitted wardrobe will never accommodate the collection of gladrags I’ve bought with Auntie’s money. She smirked. Ah, there is room for another in the corner. I could offer to cook him a meal sometimes, hmm, I could make myself indispensable. I’ll need somewhere to stay until I get my £10,000 and that pittance won’t get me far in the property market. Her mind raced ahead, things may not be too bad after all. What a nice little cottage it was.

‘Make yourself at home,’ Robbie forced himself to say, hoping that she would not take that suggestion too literally though he feared she would need little encouragement. ‘I’ll get us a cup of tea and some biscuits.’ Felicity perked up at the suggestion of food.

‘I’ll help,’ she responded with alacrity. She moved swiftly, her legs carrying her with determination towards the kitchen in which she found, to her satisfaction, nice new units of solid oak and a large range cooker. Oh, this is quite modern, she thought. I like it. She noted the smart new washing machine and dryer. Her mind went back briefly to some of the old equipment she had struggled with in her youth. There was none of that old rubbish here, thank goodness.

She soon found the biscuit tin and an expensive attractive Worcestershire plate which she loaded with Robbie’s precious favourite chocolate biscuits. He normally rationed himself to one or two a day.

She carried them into the lounge and placed the plate on the coffee table, munching one as she went, sticky chocolate crumbs dropping down on to the kitchen floor Robbie’s cleaning lady had mopped earlier in the day. Robbie carried in two steaming mugs of Indian tea. Lovely, she thought, not that Earl Grey rubbish.

They sat down together on the settee to enjoy their tea and biscuits. A strained silence cloaked them at first but was ignored by Felicity who was too busy crunching Robbie’s biscuits to care. They disappeared down her throat with amazing speed. She hesitated. What am I doing? I’m being selfish, she thought and felt a glimmer of remorse, alien to her nature, and a slight cold sweat on her brow. She showed unusual self control by refusing a further biscuit.

Robbie on the other hand felt uncomfortable. Oh hell, he thought, is this the pattern of things to come? He was tired because he had missed his afternoon nap. His illness was under control with medication but he was now exhausted.

Felicity looked slyly at Robbie out of the corners of her eyes which she could turn oddly to one side whilst keeping the main part of her face facing forward. Grey hair curled over Robbie’s ears and his fine gold-rimmed glasses made his deep hazel eyes look larger than they actually were. She warmed towards him, her recent shock forgotten for a short while. What a nice man, I wish I had met him a long time ago. He would have suited me I think. An intelligent man who probably has more money than some of those losers I lived with. He looks tired. She surprised herself once again with that solicitous thought. I must try and help him.