Unknown (21 page)

“Dear Anthony,

George and I have decided to get married and because, at our age, we prefer it to be as quiet an affair as possible, we are planning to get married by special licence in London later today.

I will let you know later when we intend to return to Fairhaven.

Gina Trevose."

The letter fluttered from Fenella’s hand.

“But—but it can’t be true!” she gasped incredulously. “Aunt Gina wouldn’t do a thing like that—”

“She
has
done it,” Anthony pointed out grimly. “You’ve got to accept that, Fen.”

“Yes, but
why?”
Fenella stooped, picked up the letter and read it for a second time. “I can quite understand them wanting it to be quiet—but surely Aunt Gina must have known that if she’d told us, we’d have respected their wishes. It’s almost as if she was afraid that we could have stopped them. But that seems absurd! Yet there must be some reason why they’ve—why they’ve sneaked off like this other than the one she gives—”

Neither man replied, and Fenella, looking from one unsmiling face to the other, drew the inevitable conclusion.

“That’s what you both think, isn’t it?” And when neither of them contradicted her: “Yes, but if you think that, you must surely have some idea—” her voice trailed away. “It’s odd,” she said after a moment or two. “Odd, and not very—pleasant, but all of a sudden, Aunt Gina seems like a stranger—” her voice quavered and Martin’s arm tightened comfortingly round her shoulders.

“You know, it may be the exact truth,” he suggested. “One can understand that they—and particularly Franks who is, I’d say, a singularly sensitive type—just couldn’t stand being stared at. Don’t you see, Fenella, this may not seem to you like the sort of thing Mrs. Trevose would do, but she may simply have fallen in with Captain Franks’ wishes.”

“I’d like to think that,” Fenella said slowly, “but I just can’t. You see, Martin, you don’t really know just how close the three of us have been. We’ve been a family, haven’t we, Anthony?” And when he nodded she went on: “So, you see, she must have known that being told in this off-hand way would hurt us both badly. And so I’d have expected her to say something like:
'I
know you’ll understand'
or
‘please don’t feel hurt.'
But there’s nothing like that. She hasn’t even ended up by saying:

‘with love.’
No, I’m sorry, but I’m quite sure there’s some other reason why she wanted to get away from Fairhaven suddenly like this. And though I can’t think why that should be, I can’t help feeling it was something she didn’t want us to know—”

“Or perhaps something she didn’t want Franks to know until it was too late to matter,” Martin thought, but he held his tongue. The situation was disturbing enough without him adding to its complexity.

“Well, whatever the answer to that is, we’ve got to deal with the situation as it affects us,” Anthony said gratingly. “Something to which Aunt Gina doesn’t seem to have given a thought. Heaven knows I’m no prude, but there’s no doubt about it, we’re in a bit of a spot. To be frank about it, Adair, the three of us can’t stay here in Lyon House without Aunt Gina to chaperone Fen, all the more so because of the secretive way she’s gone off. There’s bound to be gossip—and we can’t have Fen involved any more than can be avoided.”

“I’m with you,” Martin agreed briskly. “And of course I’ll do my share by going back to my little cruiser —but that doesn’t really solve the problem.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anthony said irritably. “Oh, confound it, after all the fuss Aunt Gina made about Fen going up to town with you, and now she’s deliberately let us in for this!”

“Deliberately?” Martin thought. “Is that the key to it? Was she trying to force Anthony into a position where—oh, rubbish! A determined, self-opinionated woman, but not such a fool as that!"

“Now do stop worrying, both of you.” Fenella was surprised at the coolness with which she could deal with the situation. “There’s a perfectly simple way out of this! I shall ring up Lady Lancing, tell her exactly what’s happened—no, I know Aunt Gina wouldn’t like that, but really, can we worry about that? I’m quite sure Lady Lancing will let me go and stay with them at least for long enough for us to work out something else. Now, honestly, can either of you think of a better solution than that?”

They had to admit that they couldn’t and a few moments later Fenella rang the Lancing number. Rosemary answered the phone and explained that her mother was out, though she was expected back soon.

“Oh dear,” Fenella said flatly, at something of a loss. “Something wrong?” Rosemary asked sharply. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Well, yes,” Fenella said uncertainly. “At least, if I tell you, you could explain to your mother.”

As briefly and unemotionally as possible, Fenella told her what had happened, and heard Rosemary’s gasp of astonishment.

“You mean she’s gone off without the least bit of warning to Anthony or you?” she demanded. “But it doesn’t make
sense
! I mean, neither of you would have tried to stop her, would you?”

“No,” Fenella agreed painfully.

“Well then—” Rosemary began, and paused. “Wait a minute, Fenella, I think Mother’s back. Yes, she is,” with evident relief. “Hold on !”

Fenella heard the confused sound of two voices in the background. Then Lady Lancing spoke.

“Yes, of course you can come here, Fenella,” she said in her clear, pleasant voice. “And stay as long as you like! ”

“That’s awfully good of you, Lady Lancing,” Fenella said gratefully. “We really are in a difficult position—”

“So I understand.” There was no particular emphasis in Lady Lancing’s voice, no suggestion that she was criticising Mrs. Trevose. Simply, she was telling Fenella that she appreciated her predicament and was glad to be of use to her. “Would it suit you to come over about tea-time? Yes? Well, bring Anthony and Mr. Adair over as well, if they’re free. Ask them if they’d like to stay to dinner and ring me back, will you?”

“They’re here with me,” Fenella explained. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment—”

She passed the invitation on to the two men and was . able to tell Lady Lancing that they both accepted it. Then she rang off.

Anthony went off to tell the kitchen of the change of plans. Fenella went over to the window and stood staring blindly out into the sunny garden. It was such a familiar scene. The chairs under the big tree, just as usual. And lying on Aunt Gina’s chaise-longue was the newspaper she must have been reading that morning. Any moment, one felt, she would come out of the house and take her place there again. Only she wouldn’t. Fenella’s world had turned upside down and it was impossible to imagine that it would ever turn right way up again.

“Fenella—” Martin had crossed the room and was now standing close behind her. Her only answer was a choked sob and once again, Martin put his arm comfortingly round her shoulders. “My dear, don’t take it so hard !” he said gently. “There must be some reason—”

“Then why didn’t she tell us what it is?” Fenella said in a stifled way. “Don’t you see, quite suddenly, she’s a different person. Someone who doesn’t really care for either Anthony or me the way we thought she did—we just don’t matter—”

Martin hesitated. Then he said slowly:

“Look, Fenella, I don’t know if I’m right or not, but I do think you ought to try to see this from Mrs. Trevose’s point of view. Do you remember, when Anthony told us what had happened that you said the three of you had been a family? Well, was that really true in the sense that my parents and I are a family? Don’t you see that it was really only make-believe? Anthony gave her a home here and she had a lot of freedom of action—but it wasn’t hers by inalienable right, was it? And the same over you. You took the place of the daughter she never had, but in fact, you weren’t her child. Don’t you think perhaps there came a time when she felt she must have her own home, someone to share life with in a way that she couldn’t share it with either you or Anthony?”

“Perhaps,” Fenella said listlessly. “But even if you’re right, it doesn’t explain the way she’s done it. You can’t say it does, Martin! ”

“No,” he admitted, “I can’t. But there is one other thing you must remember, Fenella. It isn’t fair, just because someone is a generation older than one is oneself, to take it for granted that they’ll never be anything else but wise and unselfish and far-sighted. No matter what age a person may be, they’re still human, Fenella. And that means they’re liable to make mistakes. Try to remember that, because if you do, you’ll hurt yourself less. And it is true, you know.”

“Yes,” Fenella admitted, “it is.” But she sighed. Martin was being very sweet and very generous, seeing how clear Aunt Gina had made it that she disliked him. But it was no good. Aunt Gina had stood for all that was good and reliable in Fenella’s life. She’d felt secure and loved and wanted. Now all that had gone. She’d had to realise that she didn’t and never would come first with Anthony—and somehow, the sharpest pain she had felt on that score had faded. But this was new. She wasn’t essential to Aunt Gina either. And it hurt all the more because there was nobody at all now to whom she mattered above all others—no explanations, no finding of excuses could alter that.

Even with Rosemary and her brothers with their families staying there, there was still plenty of room for Fenella at Poldean House and she had no need to feel that she was making it uncomfortable for the Lancings.

And while, naturally, she hadn’t a sitting room of her own, her bedroom was big enough for her to have a table there so that she could get on with her drawings for Martin’s book. And even in strange surroundings, she became completely absorbed in the work. And that was just as well because, out of the blue, Martin was asked to give a series of lectures in America.

“It sounds a crazy idea to me,” he told Fenella frankly. “After all, I’m a writer, not a lecturer.”

“But you could do it?” Fenella asked.

“I suppose so. As a matter of fact, I’ve done something similar on a smaller scale before—” he paused, frowning.

“You don’t sound very keen,” Fenella commented. “Fm not, in one way,” he explained. “As you know, I've got a feeling that things are blowing up for the grand finale here, and I don’t want to miss it, particularly as I also feel—” he grinned sheepishly, “that it won’t be such a satisfactory
denouement
if I’m not here! Such vanity! ”

“Oh, I don’t know so much,” Fenella said consideringly. “I've begun to notice that things
do
happen when you’re around, Martin. It may be no more than chance— but there it is! ”

Martin raised his eyebrows.

“You’re bestowing far greater occult powers on me that I’d ever dream of claiming,” he said quizzically. “Sure you’re not afraid that one of these days I might utter an incantation—and you’d find you were somebody quite different from what you’d thought?”

Fenella laughed and shook her head.

“No! I think that would be going a bit further than even you could manage. But about America—?”

“Ah yes, America.” He rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his chin. “Well, the other side of the picture is that, as Thoms, canny soul, has pointed out, it’s first-class publicity. Also dollars are dollars. To be quite honest, except for this hunch of mine—and perhaps one other reason, I’d accept without hesitation. Or am I wrong about that? Is it only my hunch? Apart from that, it might be even better—” his voice trailed away, but it was clear that he was thinking deeply for, quite suddenly, he must have made up his mind, since he said, very emphatically: “Yes, I’ll go!”

A week later, that was just what he did, and very quickly Fenella realised how much she had come to rely on him for companionship. Even more surprising was the fact that she missed him far more than she did Anthony, of whom she was seeing very little. Indeed, it seemed to her that he was deliberately keeping away from Poldean House. Of course, he was rather busy. With neither Aunt Gina nor Fenella at Lyon House, the need to make different domestic arrangements as quickly as possible had been thrust upon him at a time when he would have been busy in any case.

But Fenella was convinced that some other reason kept him away, for on the few occasions when he did come, he had so little to say for himself and, she thought, he looked thinner. That might be because he wasn’t being so well fed as he had been with Aunt Gina in control, but it could be because he had something on his mind. If that was so, he took good care not to give so much as a hint what it was, and because of all that had happened recently, Fenella was too sensitive to the need for keeping one’s own counsel at times to be able to break through his reserve. And so, in a way, it was almost a relief when he stayed away.

Much of her spare time she spent with the Lancing grandchildren, and their nannies, either in the big garden of Poldean House or on the little beach that side of the estuary. She enjoyed that, particularly as Rosemary was disinclined to seek her company or, indeed, that of anyone else. That spark of animation which Fenella had thought she had seen in her old friend seemed to have faded again and Fenella could sympathise when she saw the anxious look in Lady Lancing’s eyes whenever she looked at her daughter.

Then, one day, when Fenella was working in her room, Rosemary came in and after a few desultory remarks came to the point for her visit.

“Fenella, there’s something I want to ask you,” she said abruptly. “And I’d like us to go somewhere where we won’t be interrupted. And now, if it isn’t inconvenient for you to break off working?—”

“No, I’ll be quite glad to,” Fenella replied, refusing to take any notice of the panic Rosemary’s request had brought. Just what was it she wanted to ask? And why the need for secrecy? Still, one could hardly refuse— Fenella flexed her right hand several times. “I was thinking I'd have to stop. One’s hand tends to get a bit cramped sometimes. Besides, I want to get a few more details for the sketch I'm working on. So would you mind if we go to Pay-Off Gove?”