MAGGIE TABB, THEA’S CORNISH cleaner, emptied the contents of the red plastic bucket into the sink and turned the taps on full. Thea, sitting at the kitchen table trying to read her letters, wished that she’d use the sink in the utility room but knew she’d be wasting her breath suggesting it. When Maggie was in voluble mood nothing stopped the spate. Somehow, since the spring-cleaning, Maggie had continued to come and Thea found that she liked having her around. It was a strange alliance but Thea knew that Maggie was on her side and Maggie knew that if she needed help to fill in official forms or someone to back her up with those in authority, the ‘missis’ would help her. She poured out her problems to Thea and listening to them helped Thea to keep her own troubles in perspective.
Having filled the bucket, Maggie lifted it with strong muscular arms and stood it on the floor. She pushed back her improbably red, wiry hair, showed Thea her crooked teeth and took breath for the second instalment.
‘So I ses to Normin, “Yewer still me ‘usbin, never mind thet yew’ve gone off wiv that ol’ surfboard chin.” An’ now ‘e wants me FIS, see! So I tells ‘im, “ ‘Twas fer wen ‘ee wadden earnin’ much,” an’ I ses, “ ‘ten’t fer ‘ee, ‘tes fer me an’ ower Wayne, ‘tes fer wives an’ kids, not fer ‘usbins who’ve gawn off wiv some tart.” If et ‘adden bin fer me an’ Wayne ‘e wudden ‘ev bin edible fer it, see? If ‘e don’ wanna ac’ like a faither an’ a ‘usbin any moer ‘e don’ get no FIS! See!’
‘I should think not.’ Thea, who had been distracted for a moment by the imprint stamped on one of the envelopes, smiled quickly at Maggie lest she should feel that she wasn’t concentrating. That worthy, sensing that she had temporarilv lost her audience, smiled back unresentfully.
‘Mister’s gone, ‘n? Well, I’ll do the baffroom ‘n’ clear out ‘is dressin’ room. What do ‘e fink o’ this vere lil ol’ burd, ‘n?’
‘Oh, I think he likes Percy very much, actually. I’m hoping we’ll teach him some new sayings.’
‘’E’s right priddy, en ’e? Percy, ’n? ’Tis a funny ol’ name fer a par-rit.’
‘I suppose it is. I must admit I hadn’t thought about it, I’ve known him for so long. What would you call a parrot, if you had one?’
‘Dunno.’ Maggie stared in at Percy, who stared unwinkingly back at her.
‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ he asked her suddenly and Maggie burst out laughing.
’ ’E’s a real laugh, ‘n? ‘Oo’s a priddv boy, ‘n? ‘Ere! ‘ev anuvver grape !’
She passed one through the bars and, collecting dusters and polish, went out leaving Thea to open her letters in peace.
Barely able to contain her excitement, she tore open the envelope that bore her agent’s imprint and drew out a letter. She had to read it three times before she took it in and when she had she fled with it to George’s little study, shutting the door behind her. She quickly checked the number, dialled and heard a click and then the sound of Marcus Willby’s voice. After a moment Thea realised that she was listening to one of the new answering machines and slammed the receiver down in a panic. Feeling that she would burst if she didn’t speak to someone, she tried Polly’s number, but there was no reply and she replaced the receiver. She read the letter again.
They loved her stories and the drawings, wanted to publish them and asked if she had any thoughts for further work in this direction. She felt a mixture of excitement, terror and a strange new sensation. It was as though a new part of her were emerging, a hitherto un-known Thea, a Thea who could produce something that was viewed with admiration by a body of professionals. The letter implied that she had a future, a career, and that she might become important to them. It was such a revelation that she couldn’t take it in and, in the end, was obliged to go outside and walk up and down the platform. She longed to tell George but something made her wait until the thing was finalised. She wanted to produce it as a fait accompli, knowing that it would give her extra strength in the fight against Felicity. She felt quite sure that George had no intention of leaving her for Felicity and, lately, that he had been trying to make an opening to discuss the situation. So far she had held him off. Once she would have welcomed the opportunity to have it all out in the open but that was at the beginning when she felt strong and safe in George’s love and had thought that the affair was over. When she realised that he was seeing Felicity again she had felt a terrible fear. If she couldn’t hold him at the beginning of the marriage, how could she hope to later? Her confidence was badly dented and, with G.A. ‘s death on top of it all, she had felt herself lost. Felicity’s telephone call had been the last straw. Yet George was behaving as though the whole thing was over. He seemed more relaxed than he had for some while and it was very clear that he still seemed to love her, to need her.
Nevertheless, there was something, some indefinable obstacle that prevented absolute oneness and Thea knew that it must be done away with completely. Now she felt that this could be achieved only when she and George could approach each other on equal terms. At the very beginning Thea had felt that love was the only criterion and that by giving all she had she would automatically defeat any attempts to destroy or undermine their happiness. She had come to believe that this was no longer the case and that she was fighting some shadowy battle with a very clever opponent who never showed herself clearly. But now Felicity had declared herself with all the strength of a twenty-year relationship with George behind her and Thea had only herself, unformed, untried. It was important that she waited until she was in a stronger position before she struck back and now she had something more, something positive to add to her inner strength and faith, and she intended to use it. She stood for some moments, the letter still clutched in her hand, watching the swallows wheeling and diving above her head, and a great feeling of power surged in her. She felt that she had been given her weapons, good weapons: self-worth and achievement added to love and understanding, and she could begin to feel the ground sure and firm beneath her feet.
She went back into the kitchen where Maggie, now employed in dusting the kitchen dresser, turned to look at her enquiringly. Thea grinned at her. She longed to tell Maggie the news but didn’t feel that she should mention it to anyone until she had talked to Marcus. However, she couldn’t help the happiness that welled inside her overflowing a little and her grin widened. Maggie waited expectantly. Thea shook her head.
‘Sorry. Just a letter with some good news. Don’t mind me. I’ll make some coffee.’
She pushed the kettle on to the hotplate of the Rayburn and assembled the necessary materials, singing to herself in her rich contralto voice.
‘ ’Er’s ’appy,’ observed Maggie to Percy, whose cage stood on a bamboo table alongside the dresser, ‘Nice, innit?’
‘The nicest child 1 ever knew was Charles Augustus Fortescue,’ said the parrot in roundly modulated tones and gave a loud squawk.
‘Thet ol’ auntie o’ yewers musta bin a right caution.’ Maggie took down a bone china handpainted cup and cradled it tenderly in her large red hands as she dusted it.
‘She was.’ Thea smiled at Maggie. She had no fears for her precious things; nothing could have been gentler than those unlikely-looking extremities and Maggie cherished the things as if they were her own. ‘1 feel that she’s here with me at times. Percy says things in her voice and it’s quite uncanny. 1 think that he really brings me good luck. Things are beginning to get better since he arrived.’
Maggie, who knew a great deal about Thea’s affairs one way and another, replaced the cup and smiled at Percy. ‘Ear thet, bwoy? Right lil ol’ drop o’ sunshine yew be, ‘n?’
When Maggie had gone home and Thea had once more, without success, tried to speak to Marcus Willby, she began to gather her belongings together, watched by Percy.
‘I can hardly believe it,’ she told him. ‘It’s unbelievable. And it’s all because of you, Percy.’ She passed him a peanut through the bars. ‘You’re my good luck mascot. I feel I can do anything with you around! I must dash! I’m going to have lunch with Harriet.’ She hurried out.
FELICITY WAS AT HER wits’ end. The trip to London, which had led to a complete stranger opening the door of George’s flat and telling her that Commander Lampeter had moved without leaving a forwarding address, had been such a shock that she was still trying to recover from it some weeks later. It had been rage, humiliation and sheer fear that had made her telephone Thea and say that unforgivable thing which she hoped would destroy Thea’s peace of mind. As for herself, she felt completely adrift and she spent the days once more in endless wanderings: out into the garden, back to the house to make a cup of coffee, upstairs into little-used rooms, staring mindlessly out of the windows. She went on unnecessary shopping trips to Tavistock and telephoned one or two friends, hoping to pass some time in someone else’s company. It was unfortunate that so many people were away on holiday and others were tied up with their children home from school. Felicity remembered Cass’s look of compassion and her spirit seemed to shrivel within her. One morning, having had a telephone call from Book Stop to say that the book she had ordered had arrived, she decided to drive into Tavistock to collect it and to pass an hour or so.
Felicity’s garden gate opened on to a nearly disused track where, having no garage, she parked her car. To her surprise a man was seated to the side of the track with an easel before him and the paraphernalia of the artist around him. He rose to his feet and smiled at her.
‘Good morning. I do hope that you don’t object.’ He gestured at the easel. ‘It’s such a lovely setting that I simply couldn’t resist.’
Felicity nodded rather ungraciously and went to her car, noticing that he’d parked his own car as unobtrusively as possible. She was used to cars slowing in the lane to admire the charm of the cottage, which was an old Devon longhouse set in a background of tall beech trees. There was none of the usual cottage prettiness about it, instead there was an uncompromising austerity about the stone walls and heavy thatch. Felicity had had the good taste to keep the cobbled yard as unadorned as possible and had resisted the hanging baskets and tubs that her friends assured her would ‘liven the place up’. The enclosing walls were covered with pennywort and ivy-leaved toadflax and at the back a small lawn, hedged with fuchsia and escallonia, made a perfect, private spot for sunbathing.
Tavistock was fairly quiet on this sunny morning. Felicity collected her book, stopping to browse a little in the bookshop, bought a few things in Crebers and turned her steps to the Bedford Hotel for a cup of coffee. Her heart gave a little plunge when she saw Kate sitting in the corner but she gave her a nod as she went up to the bar to order. There was nothing for it but to join her and Kate smiled welcomingly enough. After all, she and Kate had always been friendly until Kate’s marriage had broken up and George had begun to show an interest in her. It had come to nothing but Felicity had never totally trusted her since. The real obstacle to the friendship had always been the fact that Cass and Kate were so close.
Kate had dressed with her usual indifference to style or fashion and Felicity gave an involuntary little click of the tongue, signifying her disapproval.
‘How’s it going?’ Kate, moving her tray so that Felicity could share the table, registered the click with amusement.
‘Oh, not too bad. You?’
‘Struggling on. Thankful that the boys have taken their finals and might be able to get out and earn some money.’
Felicity looked at her. It had never occurred to her to wonder how Kate coped, all alone except when the boys were home or her brother Chris, who used the house as a base, was in the country. After the divorce, Mark Webster had gone to live in Canada, leaving Kate to fend for herself and the twins, and, quite unexpectedly, Felicity found herself remembering a time when they had all been young together.
‘Remember the house in Solent Way?’ she asked impulsively and Kate looked at her in surprise.
‘I do indeed. You helped me find it. It was like paradise after that ghastly quarter in Eastney.’ Kate shook her head and smiled reminiscently. ‘It was a good summer, that one.’
‘Yes.’ Felicity poured herself some coffee. She felt the oddest sensation and one she wasn’t at all used to. She wasn’t one for looking back or glamorising the past but just for a moment those shared times seemed infinitely precious. She looked at Kate, experiencing again the feelings of that younger Felicity, strong, positive, grabbing at life which seemed, in those days, to be so full, so exciting, not the defeating empty existence that it was now.
Kate was watching her. ‘It’s the music that gets me,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘Pop music. You switch the radio on and they’re playing something that takes you straight back. Smells, feelings, pain, joy, whatever. It’s all there. Noël Coward was right when he said there was nothing so potent as cheap music. It doesn’t happen with Mozart or Brahms. I heard Paul McCartney singing “Yesterday” a few days ago and found that I was crying my eyes out.’
‘Don’t!’ said Felicity fiercely. She swallowed hard several times and her lips trembled.
‘Sorry.’ Kate covered the thin hand with her own. ‘But you can’t deny the past, Felicity. It’s part of us. It’s helped make us what we are. How’s George?’
The question pulled Felicity together as nothing else could. She and Kate stared at each other.
‘It’s over,’ said Felicity and she pressed her lips together and tears filled her eyes as she continued to stare at Kate. ‘Don’t tell Cass,’ she said desperately and covered her face with her hands as she heard her pathetic plea ringing in her ears.
Kate looked with compassion on the bowed black head and leaning forward topped up the coffee cups.
‘It’s the last thing that Cass would be thinking about,’ she said gently. ‘Tom’s been appointed to Washington. Captain of British Naval Staff. You knew he’d been promoted? He’s off in a couple of weeks. Cass is hanging on to get Gemma off to boarding school and then she’s following him out. She’s trying to let the Rectory.’
Felicity blotted her eyes carefully and felt an enormous relief. ‘You must think me an absolute fool.’
‘Of course I don’t. Do you realise that we’ve known each other for twenty years?’ Kate smiled at her and, after a moment, Felicity smiled back. ‘Must count for something. If you can cope with the twins you’re very welcome to come back for lunch. They’ll be here in a minute.’
‘I’d love to come. But not today. Thanks. Perhaps I could phone.’
‘I wish you would. I get lonely, too, you know.’
‘Yes.’ She accepted Kate’s admission, suspecting that it had been offered to help her over that awful moment of weakness earlier, and was grateful. ‘Thanks. I’d better be on my way.’ She stood up, picked up her bag and the shopping and hesitated. ‘Thanks, Kate.’
‘Don’t forget to phone.’
‘No, I won’t. I really won’t.’
‘See you then.’
As she went out she passed a tall dark young man on the steps. He gave her an indifferent glance and Felicity’s heart gave a great bump. It was a few moments before she realised that what she had thought was a reincarnation of a youthful Mark Webster must be one of Kate’s twins. What must it be like to have such a constant reminder of a not very happy past?
As Felicity parked her car at the end of the track, she saw that the artist was still there. She regarded him more closely this time, noticing that the cord trousers and navy-blue guernsey were good quality, if old, and that he had donned a floppy linen hat to keep the sun off. Their earlier exchange had already elicited the fact that his voice was that of a gentleman and he had charming manners. He seemed to be in his late fifties. He was sitting, now, on his little collapsible chair with his arms folded across his chest, staring at the scene before him. He had evidently made a start although, at this angle, she couldn’t judge the results. She had to pass in front of him to get to her gate set in the low stone wall and decided to smile at him pleasantly, if not absolutely welcomingly. His response was gratifying for he raised the hat and made an attempt to rise.
‘Please don’t get up,’ she said at once. ‘I don’t want to disturb you but I do have to come in and out, you know.’
She was rather surprised at her effort at good humour. She was still feeling very emotional after her meeting with Kate and all she wanted to do was go inside and put her thoughts in some sort of order. She realised that the artist was smiling at her and making some reply to her remark and suddenly she felt afraid of being alone, of brooding, of confronting her future.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she asked abruptly. ‘You must be getting rather hot sitting there?’ Am I mad? she asked herself. Inviting a perfectly strange man in for coffee! He’s probably a homicidal maniac! Well, who cares?
‘How extraordinarily kind!’ He was looking at her in gratified amazement. ‘But I really mustn’t trespass on your hospitality. I have a flask, you know.’
‘Oh, a flask!’ She dismissed his flask contemptuously. ‘Flask coffee is abominable. Come on in and have a fresh cup. Mind you, I shall demand a look at the finished work!’
He bowed. ‘I shall be delighted for you to see it. Perhaps I should introduce myself.’ He fumbled in his back pocket, produced a card and handed it to her. She studied it and her eyebrows shot up.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I am honoured. Come on in and we’ll have that coffee.’