Who Was Angela Zendalic (30 page)

I shook my head. ‘Sorry, Howie. It's just one of her things. She often grabbed Pa like that. He told us she was saying José – you know – the Spanish name. Someone she knew in her youth and had suddenly got confused with Pa.' Mummy had sat down, and was beginning to snivel and dribble. The moment had passed, and I rang a bell for a nurse to say we were leaving. ‘Best we go,' I said.

When I parked in front of The Hall I said little, feeling the inevitable exhaustion I always felt after visiting Mummy. Howie didn't get out of the car, but sat staring at the windscreen. ‘Twenty years ago I'd be asking you if you'd like to come in for a coffee, wouldn't I?'

‘But coffee never did mean coffee, did it,' I said.

‘I ken what it means, lassie.'

My chest and thighs tightened. ‘Howie, I'd really, really love a cup of coffee, but we're not allowed, are we. We're not even supposed to be on friendly terms.'

‘No, but I fancy you so much I can't help myself.'

I looked at him with a sly, joyous smile.

June 1972
Old Priory Hall, Monks Bottom

P
iers
and Angela sat on a wood-wormed window seat in the magnificent grand hall, whilst around them a master builder, a surveyor, and a listed buildings expert juggled extending ladders, steel rules, spirit levels, step stools, torches, screwdrivers and Stanley knives. The men walked in, and they walked out, whistling, smoking and conferring. Muttering figures, and writing on long foolscap pads.

At last, all three gathered in a group. ‘Here's the verdict, Professor Penney,' said the surveyor. ‘Basically there isn't much structurally wrong. There's no foundation slippage, one chimney-stack needs a full rebuild, and the others need repair and re-pointing. The roof timbers need replacing but the main trusses are still solid. That's because the whole of the attic is full of guano – that's pigeon droppings to you and me – and it's acting like a waterproof membrane. The tiles can be re-used, and the wattle and daub repair is no big deal.'

‘I really want to buy it,' said Piers, ‘but it's going to cost an arm and a leg to fix it up to a high standard, isn't it?'

The surveyor made a sour face. ‘An arm and a leg, and lungs and kidneys too.'

The listed building officer then contributed. ‘The Grade ll regulations state you have to restore it to its original Tudor specification, but you'll qualify for various grants.'

‘How long will it all take?'

‘If the plans are pushed through urgently we can make a start in a few weeks. I'd say to complete within seven or eight months. Bit longer if we have a hard winter.'

‘So what shall I offer,' Piers asked the surveyor.

‘An asking price of £11,000 is flying a kite on any terms, so for a cash sale I'd go for a cheeky £8,000. You'll need another six or seven to complete the job, and garden landscaping will be extra, of course.'

Piers drove straight to the estate agents in Summertown. An hour later a cash purchase price of £8,550 had been agreed, on the proviso that the house be taken off the market and the legal work started that afternoon.

For Piers, Angela's illicit residence in his college rooms had to be solved urgently. With her always coming and going through the side wicket gate unaccompanied, they were never seen together, but a week after he'd put in the offer for Old Priory Hall he was asked to the Master's Lodgings for dinner. Miles Stockton was younger than Sir Charles Warlock by a good twenty years, termed as ‘a breath of fresh air', and was proving very popular. The evening was spent discussing cheerful college ‘shop', Piers' plans for the new academic year, and a relaxed, friendly atmosphere prevailed. It was when they were winding down the evening, and swirling their brandy balloons, that the Master became a little quiet and serious. ‘Piers, there's just one thing I need to mention. I believe you and your wife are separated.'

‘Sadly, yes. I'm afraid we are. She now lives in Wales with our children and we're seeking an amicable divorce.'

The Master nodded sagely. ‘And I do believe you have a new young lady in your life?'

Piers jolted. How the hell did he know, but he fumbled a reply. ‘I do. Her name's Angela. We plan to get married as soon as I'm able to.'

‘I understand she was one of your choir girls in the past.'

Another jolt of amazement. ‘She was. A most exceptional mezzo-soprano, and I hope she'll be developing a professional singing career.'

‘Quite.' The Master nodded again. ‘Just a tip, Piers. You and me are men of the world. We live in liberal times, so please don't think anything I say is at all personal, but there's been a bit of – how can I term it – disapproval from some quarters. The essence is that it's not the done thing for someone of your high office to have a relationship with a young girl, especially a previous member of your youth choir.'

‘But she's eighteen now, Master. Freshman age. Hardly a child.'

He shrugged. ‘I really do agree with you, but the most serious flack comes from the Doctors of Divinity; the gas and gaiters squad. Unfortunately there's a bit more gravitas there. To do with your representation of the chapel corporate and their own pastoral integrity.'

Piers sat stunned. ‘I see.'

‘And I also believe she's currently sharing your rooms.'

Piers lowered his eyes. ‘A temporary measure, I assure you, Master. I've just bought a house in the country that needs complete renovation, but I'm urgently looking for somewhere
pro tem
until we can move in. I was hoping college might have a small flat.'

‘I'm afraid that won't be possible, Piers. Your personal life and college duties must be kept strictly separate until you and your young lady ...'

‘Her name's Angela, Master.'

‘Until you and Angela tie the knot, that is.'

‘Of course, Master.'

The Master beamed. ‘Good man. Now I'm sure you'd like another brandy so pass me your glass, dear boy. We'll say no more on the subject, and I look forward to meeting her in the fullness of time.'

So how could Piers tell Angela that their love story had already become tarnished with college scandal and disquiet? He couldn't, but a few days later he took on the rental of a tiny flat; a converted stable in the village of Fair Cross Green, three miles from Monks Bottom.

P
ART
S
IX

July 1972
Jericho

6
th
July 1972
    My darling Angela,

I called in at Tavistock, hoping to talk to Piers, but the porter told me that ‘Professor Penney' was in the country for the long vac and he didn't have his address. He said if I dropped in a letter he'd put it in his pigeon hole for when he popped in. So if you are reading this it must have got to you.

I have wanted to see you ever since I heard the whole sad story from your mum and dad, but I thought I'd better let the situation calm down first. Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Everything must seem as if it's gone wrong, but I'm thinking about you every minute, and want to know where you are, and how you are.

Your mum won't talk to me about it. She really thinks that Piers is a bad lot, and had led you astray. Your dad is less convinced, but he has, of course, to support your mum. She's in a very nervous state over it all, so he decided to take his retirement package a year early. He left last Friday with a wonderful ‘do' at the Institute, and the usual gold watch (for thirty-nine years' service, with only a break for the war). Yesterday they went down to Bournemouth to stay with Brenda and Norman for a bit, so I'm hoping that when they get back your mum has calmed down and we can start some sort of reconciliation. It must happen. It's just madness the way things are.

Angela, I want you to know that if you're happy, I'm happy. You might think I'm only a dull old woman, with a very boring life, but you'll be surprised to know that I was very much in love myself in the past. Yes – me! It's a magic that makes you walk on air, and I hope that you and dear Piers will be really happy together for the rest of your lives.

I've always liked Piers very much. Such a refined man, with lovely manners, who can't possibly be the monster your mum thinks he is. It's sad that his children are so far away (in Wales with their mother and grandparents, I believe) but it's a part of life that ‘it happens' and I'm sure he (and you) will be a big part of their future lives.

Darling, please can I come and see you? I told your mum before she left that I'm going to contact you, and it's put a bit of an atmosphere between us, but we both know she's over-reacting and will come round in the end. Time is the most wonderful healer there can be.

Uncle Ted sends his love, and he's sensible enough to think like me; that if Piers is making you happy, and treats you like a lady, which I'm sure he is, then all will turn out well. He also asked me to pass on the latest news of Garvie, just in case you hadn't heard. All charges against him were dropped on the understanding that he went into the Warneford Hospital as a voluntary patient. His mother sent a cheque (Charlie Wright's estimate of £10!)) and a letter of apology, so it seems that the matter is now at an end.

I will now say goodnight and God bless, my sweet. Please will you let me know if and when I can see you? Uncle Ted will drive me over to wherever you are, and of course he can't wait to see his ‘darling girl' as well.

With all my love

Auntie Peggy

The letter lay in Angela's hands, becoming greasy and worn after so many readings. Dear, sweet Auntie Peggy. She deserved so much love and gratitude for the kindness and generosity she'd always given so free on demand, especially with her investment in Bevington being completely wasted. Angela was now eaten up with guilt. The night Uncle Ted had turned up at Aston Street he'd asked her to write a personal letter to Auntie Peg, but she hadn't. Just a mention tacked onto the one and only note she'd sent to mum and dad. Too full of her own self-importance to care. So confident in the devotion of her dear Auntie, that she couldn't be bothered. Of course, she wanted to see her, and Piers was really pleased that an olive branch had been offered with so much understanding and affection.

She lay back in bed hearing the sounds of village life around her. The hum of Piers' car pulling off, en-route for Oxford, the barking of an excited farm dog and the grinding of a tractor. Happiness had consumed her. Her love for Piers, which she'd never thought could have become more intense was, as Auntie Peggy said, a magic that was making her walk on air. And now ...and now ...the bitter-sweet discovery they'd realised together. The something that she'd tried so hard to prevent. Just a broad beam from Piers that it was going to happen sometime, so why not now. He'd lain his face on her belly, kissed her navel, and spoken to their unborn child. ‘Are you listening to me, little baby. You really are a surprise, but the best surprise in the world. I love you already. And I love your mummy.'

It was due the first week in March. A perfect time when the house – no, their lovely new home – was due to be finished. A nursery would be created in the small room that led off the huge one at the front they'd chosen as their own. It would be decorated, with a bright wallpaper of teddy bears and clowns she'd already bought from Habitat, and maybe, as a mother and having her own baby, she might – she just might – be able to get to know the dwarves. They might not really be evil. They might even be quite sweet, but she would try.

31st July 1972 Stable Cottage

Folly Farm

My lovely Auntie Peggy

I was so thrilled to hear from you, and so was Piers. He has bought a truly beautiful house for us in the village of Monks Bottom (between Watlington and Henley) that needs total renovation, so we are living in a small rented cottage nearby while the work is being done. We are so happy. I can't tell you how happy we are. We are so much in love, and I know what you mean when you talk about ‘the magic of walking on air'. Of course I knew that you'd been married and widowed in the war but (selfish girl that I am) I'd never really thought about how broken-hearted you must have been when your husband died. One day you must tell me all about him.

I also want to apologise for leaving Bevington. I know you must be very disappointed with me, but I was in such a muddled state at the time it was just something I had to do. Please forgive me for wasting your money, but Piers still wants me to train as a classical singer, and I will do everything to make you proud of me ....But not yet! See below!

Now I have some news that is probably going to break mum and dad's hearts even more. Piers and I are going to have a baby. It wasn't planned, but all the same it's a wonderful surprise. It's due at the beginning of March, and we're both really thrilled.

I'm sorry to hear that Garvie needs treatment, but I'm not surprised. He's a very, very talented artist, but his head's in a terrible mess, so I hope The Warneford helps him to recover and become a happier person. I won't be contacting him. I want him to forget me, and I just don't trust him not to go psycho again. Piers and I have enough on our plates for now, what with him preparing to take up his new position (the Regius Professor of Ancient English Music, no less), the building works, and the baby coming. Marriage IS on the cards, as soon as his divorce is finalised. Oh, and by the way, Merryn's illness and the divorce is nothing to do with the fact that he's with me. Their marriage was over long before we met up again, and I'm not ‘the other woman'. We can just hope that when our wedding day comes we can all be reunited, with mum and dad there to celebrate with us.