The Twisted Way (39 page)

‘I could cook us supper,’ she offered throwing him a gracious smile. ‘To return your kindness, I really would love to.’

I bet she would, Robbie almost said out loud, greedy wretch. ‘I have no food in the fridge for supper,’ he retorted with an unusual brusqueness, ‘and precious few saucepans in the kitchen. I usually go to the pub for my evening meal. You are welcome to join me.’

A surprised Felicity agreed but determined that she would soon change that habit. He didn’t know what was coming. She would alter his life for the better and he would not be able to manage without her. It would not be too hard to get her feet under his table, at least she did not think it would be. She had not reckoned with Robbie’s stubborn independent resolve and should have known better but even if she had she would have been determined to try. It would suit her to remain in his cottage for a while at least, possibly long term if that could be arranged and they didn’t bicker too much. That might prove to be tedious. The alternative was to rent a room from Marianne but her home was so cluttered and untidy the thought was soon abandoned. This cottage was the better option.

The next afternoon Felicity packed the rest of her belongings that remained in Primrose House. She stripped the bathroom cupboards of bath oils, shampoos and soaps. Janet always kept good stocks. Her rage welled up again when she returned to her old room. It was so unfair. She looked across the garden and fields to the familiar river view and her eyes filled with hot angry tears but that did not prevent her filling the six new cases that she had pressed Robbie to help her buy in Everton that morning. She added some oddments that she thought nobody would notice were missing, including the finely engraved silver-backed hairbrushes and a quaint tiny antique mirror that had stood on her dressing table that now belonged to Janet’s estate. She crept into Janet’s bedroom and opened the unlocked drawers of the dressing table. There was a row of cheap pearls in one. That rotten daughter can keep that rubbish, she thought. In another there were a few old photographs. She turned them over and looked at them with a scathing expression. There was one of Janet and John on their wedding day and another of a baby. She looked closely at the baby’s face. It was her, Rosalie or whatever her name was. The eyebrows were arched even then. Her aunt had kept that photograph all those years, hidden and secret. A sweet face overall she had to admit but her hands shook and she longed to tear it into tiny pieces. She placed it back into the drawer with an effort that was quite alien to her tempestuous nature. No doubt the daughter would want it. She hoped the woman would appreciate how lucky she was.

Joyce called out at that moment.

‘Can I help, Felicity?’ ‘No,’ she said hastily, ‘all done and ready to go, though I suppose I will need help lugging these cases down the stairs.’

Joyce and Robbie assisted her as best they could. The cases were heavy with her bounty but Joyce was so glad to see the back of the woman she almost shouted with joy and ignored her aching arms. Poor old Robbie stuck with that lecherous wretch! Not for too long, she prayed.

Robbie was not so sure. He did not know how long she planned to stay with him but he resolved to be firm. He would make an effort to find her somewhere else to stay, and soon.

Felicity stacked her cases of clothes against a wall in her new bedroom.

‘Hmm. It is almost like home,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll soon have everything shipshape.’

She lifted the solid silver hair brushes and mirror out of a case and spread them out on the small dressing table. She had left behind the pink plastic set she had brought with her from Canada. It was a fair exchange, she decided. On one of the silverbacked brushes a small clump of Felicity’s tinted blonde hair had stuck to the bristles on one side as though stamping her ownership firmly upon it. Nobody but Joyce will notice those brushes and mirror are missing and she will be so glad to see the back of me that she will not care Felicity guessed, and made a small grimace of satisfaction. ‘They would not fetch much in an auction,’ she muttered in an attempt to justify her actions. She powdered her nose and put a smear of shimmering Italian rose pink lipstick on her mouth, filling the top lip in first and then squeezing her mouth together to even the colour out on her top and bottom lips. It was more efficient that way she maintained. Then she brushed her hair with one of the silver-backed brushes and smiled again, looking at herself with sharp critical eyes. I’m not too bad for my age, not too wrinkled, I could be worse but it is a pity about that nose. She sprayed expensive French perfume behind her ears and began to feel at ease. She looked at her neat ruby and diamond earrings with pleasure. She had had her ears pierced in Brinton not long after she moved into Primrose House and had purchased several sets of earrings with Auntie’s credit card, good quality of course, with gold settings and real stones. Only the best for Janet’s heiress she had told herself at the time but that pleasant dream had now cracked and disintegrated like the old pink hand mirror she had left in Primrose House.

It will soon be time for another cup of tea she told herself, and after that I’ll have a nice nap on this comfy bed before a good evening meal in the pub, followed by a game of bridge. She smiled. She was a match for Robbie. He would not find it easy to get rid of her. She could be on to a good thing. She would certainly try to make the best of things.

Mrs Connolly, Robbie’s cleaning lady who came in to tidy up for him twice a week, turned up the next morning and eyed the new resident with some distaste.

‘’Ow long is she staying Mr Barker? I can’t get into the spare room, it’s crammed full of cases and other rubbish. I can’t clean it.’

Robbie squared his shoulders and braced himself. ‘Not long,’ he said, hoping that was the case but fearing the worst. ‘Just until Mrs Brown can find somewhere suitable to stay.’

‘Well, I needs to get on, lot to do in a short time. I ’ope she’s not going to get in my way.’ She grabbed a mop and some dusters from the hall cupboard and, sniffing loudly, made an effort to get on with her chores.

The days slipped by and Felicity made herself comfortable.

‘Have you made any plans yet Felicity?’ Robbie ventured at the end of the first week. His voice sounded dead. Hope for a swift departure of his unwanted guest was fast fading.

‘No, Robbie, I cannot find anywhere. Marianne does not want to let me have a room.’ She had not asked her and did not intend to.

Felicity turned her face towards him, her small eyes expanding with fear for the future, mirroring his own. He wondered if he was verging on madness. It was a like a nightmare from which he hoped he would be able to wake up soon and she would be gone. His spirits at times rose for a second or two then plummeted once again. He was kidding himself. She was digging in for the long haul. He found himself waking up in the middle of the night tossing and turning in his bed whilst a deep feeling of disquiet gripped his body ensuring restful sleep was impossible. His mouth felt dry most mornings when he woke up and his neck stiff with tension as he gazed around his comfortable masculine bedroom that he had chosen with such care when he first moved in. There were antique pine cupboards and a dressing table to match with cream bedcovers and curtains, plain and simple. He had had a new shower cubicle installed in one corner, now proving to be quite a boon as he was able to leave Felicity to use the bathroom, which she soon made her own and cluttered with bottles of scented bath foam and various creams and soaps which were alien to him and quite objectionable. Thick green fluffy bath towels were crammed onto his recently installed chrome heated bath rail and a luxurious towelling bathrobe, also green, hung with dogged prominence on the hook on the bathroom door.

After several weeks they settled into an uneasy routine. They had most of their meals, paid for by Robbie, in the Green Man, and if they did not play bridge would return to the cottage and sip a cherry liquor or make a cup of coffee and chat, or rather Felicity babbled on and he more often than not just listened. They discovered that their London background was similar and an uneasy truce settled upon them. Robbie’s home that had been bombed in the war was only two streets away from the house that Anne and Richard had moved into when they had first married. An odd companionship started to develop. Some afternoons when it was sunny they would sit out in Robbie’s small garden and sip a cup of fine Indian tea. There were no sandwiches but Felicity decided that she did not miss them. Her waistline was trimmer and she felt healthier. Robbie began to relax and his sleep patterns improved. Acceptance of a no-win situation settled upon him.

He woke up one morning a month after she had moved in to discover that the smell of fresh toast and coffee was filling the cottage. The small pine table in the kitchen diner had been set for two. He smelled the hard-boiled eggs, just the way he liked them; his daily newspaper was folded carefully and placed next to his plate. Until that day they had helped themselves to breakfast and tried to ignore each other in the mornings.

‘I must pull my weight.’ Felicity hesitated. ‘I’ll get the breakfast for us in future Robbie, it will be much more companionable.’ She looked at him and waited.

‘Well, yes ... well ... um, good idea,’ he stammered. He felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web but admitted to himself that it was good to be waited on for a change.

Breakfast together became the norm and conversation became easier. They discussed the latest news from the bridge club and various village activities, for example the local fete and the possible fate of Enderly Post Office which had been under threat of closure for some time.

Felicity was looking more refreshed and relaxed. She dressed carefully in neat navy or black trousers and fine pastel-coloured jumpers most days. The strain of moving from Primrose House had, it seemed, almost disappeared. They did not mention Janet or her daughter. It was as though the whole affair had been brushed under a carpet and although Robbie continued to make plans to get rid of Felicity as the days passed his ideas became nebulous.

Robbie had installed a fairly large fish pond in one corner of the garden shortly after he moved in to his cottage. He had planted a lilac tree a short distance from the pond and the bright purple blooms in the springtime reminded him of his early childhood in London. Several cherished goldfish shimmered in the pool and, unlike his one pet when he was a child, enjoyed space and numerous pond plants to shelter under. The fish grew large, multiplied, were well fed and admired by visitors. A metal heron was placed on guard at one side of the pond in an effort to deter predators and wire netting fixed with care over the top. Robbie sometimes closed his eyes and attempted to visualise the small backyard, the Anderson shelter and the minute fish pond with his one small pet fish swimming manically round and round. One day in an unguarded moment he told Felicity about the London fish pond. He expected that she would scoff but to his surprise her face expressed genuine interest and she smiled in a way that was almost sympathetic.

‘I like fish,’ she said. ‘I always wanted some when I was a child, but I was not allowed to keep any. My mother hated them. I enjoy watching these, it is quite soothing.’

A few weeks after moving in to Robbie’s cottage she bought some good quality Indian tea and several packets of Robbie’s favourite biscuits, using some of her savings, and offered to pay for some of their bar meals. Robbie felt wary about her motives.

Primrose House was put up for sale. Felicity was not so disturbed about the prospect of strangers living there as Robbie had expected.

‘Good,’ she had said. ‘I will soon get my £10,000. Things are moving. I will be able to pay my way then.’

Pay her way, Robbie thought. That can only mean one thing, she means to stay here for some time. His mind once again became embroiled in turmoil. He must think of a way to solve the problem and soon. As a confirmed bachelor he had grown to value his own company. There was no place for any female who wished to organize and meddle in his life. At least that was what he told himself but he was in fact beginning to have doubts. He was developing a taste for being waited upon at breakfast and teatime.

Felicity continued to be impressed when she looked at Robbie’s academic books that were crammed into the bookshelves, hundreds of them pushed close together. She lifted one or two down when Robbie had gone out one day to visit old Pat who had not been well, and perused them with genuine interest. Some he had written; Professor Robert Barker was printed clearly on the covers. She felt in awe. She had obtained very few paper qualifications except those for typing and cookery. Her restless and turbulent nature as a child had not allowed her to follow any academic course of study. She had once thought that in some ways she was quite clever but self-doubts and sobering truths had lately crept into her mind. Ronald’s attempt to kill her had been a shattering experience. She had been an awful person, she now understood. She had knifed that boyfriend in Canada, though she consoled herself that act had been one of self-defence, drifted from one job to another and eventually let Matthew Mace die. Yes, she could have helped him, and a glimmer of conscience and remorse pierced her once tough hide. She told herself there was no way she could have saved him, after all she could not swim. But the fact remained that she could have gone to seek help. She vowed to mend her ways and try to make up for some of the evil she had strewn around in the past. Robbie, dear Robbie, would be the first beneficiary. What a kind man he was and he deserved some pampering. He had worked as a humble handyman in order to look after Aunt Janet, even if, as she strongly believed, his motives had been misplaced, and now he himself needed care. She would look after him. It would be a pleasure and her mission in life. A new set of dreams took over.

The weeks continued to slip by and turned into months. Felicity made excuses when the subject of finding accom
modation of her own was broached. Robbie did not bring 
the subject up so often but continued to be concerned about her obvious reluctance to leave his cottage. She was procrastinating and he was weak and lazy, he told himself. Yes, he was far too weak. That interfering vicar had a lot to answer for.