CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
After several false starts and screwed-up sheets of writing paper, Piers managed to compose a letter with which he was fairly satisfied. Because he didn’t want Lizzie to feel embarrassed he began by offering all kinds of reasons for her sudden departure, excuses for her hurrying away without leaving any means of communication, but this began to be so complicated that it finished up by reading as a veiled condemnation. In the end he decided to play it straight.
Dear Lizzie,
We were all so sorry that you had to dash away early on Sunday morning. It was such fun having you here and I’m sure you must have realized exactly how much you’ve done for my father and me. When he and I talked at the party I knew for certain that your coming to Dunster had made it possible for us to break down the barriers of misunderstanding built up over the years and start a whole new relationship. How can we thank you for all that?
The sad thing is that later that morning, once he’d gone back to the flat, my father had a slight stroke and a nasty fall and is now in hospital. I’m assured that he’ll make a good recovery in time but you can imagine that the shock of it put an end to the party mood. He looks very frail, poor old boy, and I’m hoping that when he’s ready to leave hospital he’ll agree to come back to Michaelgarth until he’s strong again. As far as I’m concerned I should be very happy for him to make his home here, and now – as a result of your visit – it might just be possible that he’ll consider it.
I hate to break this news to you out of the blue like this but I feel that you’d probably like to see him, and anyway I think you have the right to know. In your rush you forgot to leave us an address or a telephone number but I found an old postcard with your address on it in Father’s flat, stuck between the bars of the birdcage, and it seemed to be a kind of message as if you’d left us a means of contacting you, so I hope I haven’t breached any etiquette in writing to you.
I hope the filming goes well and I’m also hoping that you’ll be back in Bristol soon so as to pick this up. It would mean such a lot to me to visit you at the Birdcage and fit in the last pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. I couldn’t be away long at the moment, for obvious reasons, but if you feel that you could put up with me for an hour or two I would be very grateful. You could drop me a line to the address above or ring on my mobile or on the house telephone, both numbers at the head of the letter.
Yours ever,
Piers
He read it through critically but, before any more misgivings could persuade him to destroy it and begin yet again, Tilda put her head round the door.
‘Supper’s ready,’ she said. ‘Or is it a bad moment?’
He smiled at her, folding the sheet of paper in half and pushing it into the envelope.
‘A very good moment,’ he answered and looked at her again, more closely. She blushed rosily, failing utterly in her attempt to look casual, and his eyebrows rose in that familiar facial shrug. ‘Looks like you’ve had rather a good moment yourself.’
She grinned. ‘I’ve just been talking to Saul,’ she said airily, shrugging a little. ‘Making a few plans. You know?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said feelingly. ‘I know.’
‘Look at Lion,’ she said, still feeling shy, trying to distract him. ‘He’s recycling your waste paper.’
Lion lay on the hearthrug, surrounded by tiny shreds of the rejected letters and thoroughly enjoying himself, whilst Piers watched him, thinking of other dogs, hearing his grandfather’s voice: What’s up? Where’s the fire?
Tilda slipped an arm through his, touched by the expression on his face, feeling a huge affection for him.
‘Supper,’ she reminded him – and he nodded and they went out together, with Lion trailing them, across the hall and into the kitchen.
Lizzie picked up her letters from the small table in the lower hall and climbed the stairs wearily, sorting through the envelopes as she went. Nothing from Sam, but she was hardly expecting a letter from him. He’d left a text message earlier in the week: ‘I’m sure you’re right. I shall miss you like hell.’ Now it was all down to the lawyers. She puzzled over the envelope with the unfamiliar handwriting and peered at the postmark – Dunster!
Slamming the front door behind her, dropping her case, she went into the big room, ripping open the envelope. Her eyes raced across the written lines, her hand clenched unconsciously against her heart; relief and gratitude showed themselves on her face – and then it reflected the sudden shock.
‘Oh, no!’ she murmured. ‘Oh God! Poor Felix.’
Lizzie sat down at the table, staring at nothing, small scenes playing before her inner eye. Even now she wasn’t quite certain what impulse had driven her to leave the postcard with Felix, thrusting it through his letterbox on her flight to Bristol. She’d taken it with her to Dunster as a kind of talisman and now it seemed, after all, that there had been a further part for it to play in this odd drama. Lizzie read the letter again, hearing Piers’ voice through the words, wishing that she could be there with them at Michaelgarth.
She knew that before she could see any of them again, however, they needed to know the truth. Although she stared at the carefully printed telephone numbers for several moments she simply couldn’t bring herself to ring him: how would she begin? What would she say? Much easier – if more cowardly – to write to him, explaining her own situation. Once he knew the truth he could decide if she would still be welcome. Thinking anxiously about Felix, frightened lest she should lose her nerve, she went to Pidge’s bureau and found some writing paper. Back at the table she sat down, thinking furiously. Presently she began to scribble.
My dear Piers,
Thank you so much for writing to me. I can’t tell you what a shock it was to read about Felix! I am so sorry. I hope that he is getting better. I wanted to telephone but then I lost my nerve. The trouble is, Piers, I ran out on Sunday morning because I was feeling guilty. I did have to go to Manchester, that was true, but the thing is that I’d let you all imagine that I was a widow and things got out of hand.
The truth is that my husband is having an affair, one of a long series over the whole of my marriage, and the girl is pregnant and he wants her to have the child. You might remember that I told you that I couldn’t have children and somehow this was just so unbearable, so terribly painful. I felt that I’d really lost him this time, and those were the words I used to Felix. He assumed I meant that Sam was dead and I let him go on thinking it.
That evening when I sat watching you at the party I suddenly felt that I was a fraud; that I’d come among you all under false impressions and I felt very ashamed. You’d all been recently bereaved and here was I playing a part and deceiving you all. It was especially awful since Tilda had been so sweet to me, thinking that we were both in the same boat. When I went upstairs I saw the message from my agent reminding me about the filming on Monday but also saying that Sam was on his way to Bristol, and I panicked.
It has meant so much, Piers, to see Felix after all these years and to meet you too. I used to think about you so much when I was little. Felix was there when I really needed the comfort of a father and I shall never forget his kindness and the love he showed me. But it was obvious from the way he talked about you that you were so special to him and I always longed to meet you. It’s been a little miracle, this Dunster week, much more successful than poor Angel’s was back in the fifties! I can’t get over you finding the postcard like that. It was coming across that card in a book that set the whole thing in motion for me and I’m so glad that I decided to leave it for Felix.
Of course I should love to see him, of course I would, but only after you’ve told him and Tilda the truth about me. Sam was here at the Birdcage when I got back on Sunday morning and I somehow had the strength to say that it was all over between us. He’s gone back to the States now. If you feel that you can all still trust me I should very much like to see you, Piers, any time over the weekend, although I shall be dashing back to Manchester again on Monday.
I’ve put both telephone numbers; the mobile should get me almost anywhere.
Love to you all,
Lizzie
She copied his address on to the envelope, went back to the bureau to find a stamp and, seizing her bag, she went hurrying downstairs, out of the front door and round the corner to the postbox.
She had a telephone call from him early next evening: short and to the point but his voice was warm and she knew at once that she’d been forgiven.
‘He’s regained consciousness and we’ve been able to talk, though not for long,’ he reassured her at once. ‘I’m just going to see him. If it’s OK I could be with you late on Sunday morning, just for an hour or so.’
‘For lunch?’ she asked quickly. ‘You’ll stay for lunch?’
She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Lunch sounds good,’ he answered. ‘Everybody sends their love and we’re all looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘I’m looking forward to that too,’ she said, truly meaning it, and then didn’t quite know what to say next.
‘I must dash away to the hospital,’ he said, as if understanding her dilemma. ‘I’ll give Felix your love, shall I?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Piers. See you on Sunday.’