by Anna Jacobs
The kitchen seemed a million miles away, so she unlocked the front door ready for her new helper before she started the slow trek to the back of the house. After a scrappy breakfast of cereal she went into the sitting room, grunting with relief as she eased herself down on the sofa.
Someone knocked on the front door, opened it and called, ‘Hallo-o? Alice Tuffin here. Mrs Larcombe sent me.’
‘Do come in!’
A small woman with faded sandy hair, of the body type always labelled wiry, came and stood staring down at Rosalind, head on one side.
‘I’m so glad you could come and help out, Mrs Tuffin.’
‘Call me Alice.’
‘And I’m Rosalind.’
A quick shake of the head at that Aussie egalitarianism. ‘How long do you want me for, Mrs Stevenson?’
‘A couple of hours a day for as long as it takes my ankle to get better – and Mrs Larcombe said you might do some shopping for me, as well.’
Another nod. ‘Wages?’
‘Whatever you think right.’
‘Same as what Mrs Larcombe pays me. Shall I make you a cup of tea before I start?’
‘I prefer coffee. Do you know how to use a plunger?’
‘One of them things you press down?’ Alice shrugged. ‘There’s not much to it, is there? How much coffee do you put in?’
‘Two measures. Get yourself a cup, too.’
‘I might as well try it.’
The coffee wasn’t a success with Alice, who grimaced. ‘Too strong for me. I’ll stick to my tea.’ She stared round the sitting room in an assessing sort of way.
By mid-morning, the downstairs rooms were clean and Rosalind knew all about Alice’s invalid husband and four strapping sons.
‘Eat me out of house and home, they do,’ Alice wound up fondly.
When she’d finished attacking the housework as if she had a personal grudge against dirt, she came in with another cup of coffee and lingered to stare at Rosalind’s embroidery. ‘That’s going to be a nice little picture, that is.’
‘Oh – er, thank you. It’s my hobby. Embroidery, I mean.’
‘I like that old-fashioned lady you’re doing now better than the picture on the wall there – though that’s good, too.’
Rosalind liked it, too. She hadn’t even considered working on the family portrait. Doing Paul’s figure had left her feeling bewildered about her husband and marriage. It was as if she’d never really looked at him before, as if he was a complete stranger. She wasn’t certain who to do next – in fact, was having second thoughts about finishing the picture at all. That wasn’t like her. She usually chose a subject and then forgot everything else while she worked on it.
When Alice had left, Rosalind fell asleep again and woke feeling not only refreshed but more cheerful. She phoned Prue, explained about her accident and checked that everything was all right in Southport. Prue had found a daily job, so Rosalind gave permission for her to continue living at the house.
It would be more practical to put the place on the market, but she didn’t want to. Not yet, anyway. Her great-grandparents had lived there and she was absolutely determined to show it to her children, to give them a sense of the family’s history. The house had passed to her grandfather and then to her uncle.
Her father had been the younger son and had emigrated to Australia in his early twenties, not expecting to inherit anything. When his elder brother had died unmarried and childless, the house had gone to the only girl of the family, Sophie. It made Rosalind feel strange to have the weight of family inheritance on her shoulders and she couldn’t help wondering how that sort of thing affected Jonathon, who had so much more to look after for the next generation.
In the late afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Rosalind called out that it was open and Jonathon came in, carrying a basket.
He uncovered it to show a casserole dish. ‘My sister’s famous boeuf bourguignon. She’s had to rush off to Winchester. Her daughter’s just miscarried, poor thing. Everyone in the family sends for Harry when something goes wrong.’ Even Isabel had done that last year when the boys got a bad dose of flu. Couldn’t ask the boys’ own father to help, though, could she? She was still trying to keep them apart, hated the fact that they loved not only him, but the house here.
‘It smells lovely. Um – I don’t suppose you’d care to stay and share it with me? I’d love a bit of company.’
He hesitated, sniffed the casserole with exaggerated relish and nodded. ‘All right. There’s supposed to be enough for two days, but if I bring round a takeaway tomorrow evening, perhaps that will make up for my eating half of this now?’
‘It certainly will.’ She fumbled for her crutches. ‘Look, come into the kitchen. I have some vegetables and rolls in the freezer and we could do some jacket potatoes in the microwave.’
‘You can sit and give orders, but you’re not doing anything yourself, milady. I’m not the world’s best cook, but I can follow instructions and I have a very stylish way of heating frozen vegetables.’
When the meal was ready, Jonathon slapped his hand against his forehead in mock anguish. ‘Oh blast! I am an idiot! I should have brought some wine with me. A red to complement the beef.’
‘Don’t panic. I have some. It’s in the dining room inside the sideboard. We ought to have opened a bottle earlier to let it breathe, but there are a few nice Australian reds there and I don’t mind drinking one that hasn’t breathed if you don’t. Choose any you fancy.’
She hauled herself across to the table. She definitely wasn’t going to win a gold medal for crutch-hopping. Her body seemed to get heavier every time she moved. Her foot was still swollen, though not as badly as it had been yesterday, and she didn’t think it wise to put any weight on it yet.
As she subsided into a chair, she banged her ankle on the table leg and let out a muffled whimper.
He was there kneeling beside her in an instant. ‘Let me help you.’ He pushed her and the chair carefully into position, brought a footstool for her from the living room, then carried over the plates of food. ‘Start without me while it’s hot. I’ll just open the wine.’
But she didn’t start without him, of course she didn’t. She hoped she had better manners than that. In fact, she wasn’t all that hungry and although the food was good, she put down her knife and fork when the plate was half-cleared and looked at him apologetically.
He smiled. ‘It’s all right. You won’t get spanked if you don’t eat up. Besides, you’re not doing much to work up an appetite at the moment, are you?’
‘I feel guilty, though. Such lovely food. And such good company, too.’ She stared at him. He stared back at her. The silence lasted too long and the very air between them seemed to tingle.
‘I’ll take your leftovers home for Dusty,’ he said at last. ‘He much prefers human food.’ He studied her with a sympathetic expression. ‘It’s getting you down a bit, isn’t it, being an invalid?’
She nodded.
‘And you were weeping when I found you yesterday. Your other troubles won’t have gone away overnight. I don’t mean to intrude, but if you ever want to talk about it – well, I’m here.’
‘Thank you.’ But confiding in him would seem disloyal to Paul. She’d intended to confide in Sophie, but had left it too late. So she would just have to work through things herself.
‘Come on! We’ll have dessert in the living room.’
‘I couldn’t possibly eat anything else.’
But he brought in a packet of fancy chocolate biscuits, laughing at his own weakness for them, and she found herself taking one and nibbling it while he ate four or five.
As the evening passed she found herself chuckling quite often over his nonsense. Jonathon was uncomplicated and fun. She could feel herself relaxing, laughing, expanding somehow in the warmth of his company, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much. She supposed she was quite a simple person, really – or at least, Paul always said she
was – and she liked doing quiet, companionable things best of all.
And even when Jonathon had gone, the house seemed full of warmth still, as if the laughter they’d shared was clinging to the walls and wafting round the rooms.
The following afternoon, Jonathon came round to make sure Rosalind liked Chinese food and to let her choose from the takeaway menu. It seemed quite natural for him to stay and make her a cup of coffee.
When the phone rang, he called, ‘Shall I get it?’
‘Yes, please.’ She’d forgotten to bring the portable phone in with her.
‘Hallo?’
A voice bristling with indignation said, ‘Who’s that?’
‘Jonathon Destan. And you are …?’
‘Paul Stevenson. I was trying to contact my wife.’
‘She’s here, but she’s hurt her ankle. Hold on for a moment and I’ll take the phone through to her.’ He walked into the living room, rolled his eyes at Rosalind and mouthed, ‘Your husband.’
She waited till Jonathon had closed the door behind him before she spoke. ‘Paul?’
‘Who’s that fellow?’
‘A friend. He and his sister have been helping me. I’ve sprained my ankle. If he hadn’t found me when I fell, I’d have been in serious trouble, because I couldn’t walk and I was miles from anywhere.’
‘Did you have it x-rayed?’
‘Jonathon took me to a doctor. It’s just a sprain.’
‘Who exactly is this fellow? One of the locals?’
‘The lord of the manor, actually. And his sister lives here in the village.’
‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then.’
She could feel herself bristling. ‘What do you mean – that’s all right?’
‘I just wondered what a man was doing answering your phone.’
‘I don’t like your tone, Paul. If you don’t trust me by now, there’s something wrong between us.’ She could hear him breathing more deeply, as if restraining anger, so changed the subject. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’
‘I rang to see how you are, of course.’
‘I’m well enough, apart from the ankle.’ And apart from feeling depressed. And apart from worrying about Tim, for some reason she couldn’t fathom.
‘I’ve been thinking about your aunt’s money. That house of hers should be worth a nice little sum. We can sell it and—’
‘I told you – everything’s in a trust. I get the income from it, but I can’t touch the capital without the trustees’ approval.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure you’ll be allowed to sell the house. And anyway, I’ve been thinking about it all. I know a good lawyer. We’ll set him on to see if we can overthrow that trust.’
‘I don’t want to do that.’
‘Look, Ros, you know you don’t understand financial matters. Nor did your aunt. She was probably senile towards the end. She seemed completely dotty when I saw her, the things she said. Should be quite easy to prove that. Leave me to—’
Rosalind slammed down the phone on him for the second time in her life and when it rang, she didn’t pick it up. Jonathon opened the door and found her glaring at the phone, making no attempt to touch it.
‘Get cut off, did you?’
‘No. I put the phone down on him. Sometimes my husband can be very infuriating. Will you take it back into the kitchen, please? And – and don’t answer if it rings. I shan’t speak to him again tonight.’
When Jonathon came back with the coffee he said nothing about the phone that was ringing again and she was grateful for his forbearance. ‘Tell me about your children. What are they called?’ She could imagine him as a father, teasing, joking, throwing little children up in the air.
‘Giles and Rufus. They’re old family names. Rufus hates his, but it’s a tradition in our family, so he’ll jolly well have to put up with it.’
As he talked, she thought how unfair it was that he had so little access to his sons, but not once did he say anything against his wife.
He smiled as he finished his tale. ‘The boys are coming down to Destan for the fête. I’ll introduce them to you.’
Jonathon was the easiest person she’d ever met to be with, she decided later as she slid into bed. Unlike Paul. What had got into her husband lately?
What had got into her, too?
Darkness rustled and whispered outside as the wind teased the branches near her window into a lazy ballet. She lay watching the shadows on the curtains and it was a while before she faced the truth and answered her own questions. There was nothing really different about Paul lately, but her perception of him had altered.
And she had changed since her arrival in England, was still changing.
She would get the embroidery out in the morning, study it, think about the other figures. It had taught her so much about her husband. Perhaps it would do the same about herself.
She was a little worried about where all these changes were leading. Only – whatever became of her, she couldn’t wish them undone. She felt better inside herself than she had done for years. Much better.
EMOTION
Much intricate and ingenious stitchery is used for foliage, flowers, birds, fountains and buildings on seventeenth century raised embroidery, but the whole is brought to life by the small human figures and the stories they represent. Humour, pathos, anger and many other emotions are depicted …
(Hirst, p.38)
Chapter Eight
Paul slammed the buzzing phone down and stood glaring at it, breath rasping in his throat. What the hell had got into Ros? He paced up and down the hotel room, chewing one fingertip and trying to work out how much money the old witch would have left her. He was itching now to get back and sort it all out. What a time to be away!
The phone rang and he picked it up. ‘Ros?’
‘No, Liz. Watch broken down, has it?’
He glanced at his wrist. ‘Oh, hell, I’m supposed to have picked you up ten minutes ago, aren’t I? Sorry. I was talking to Ros on the phone. That old aunt of hers has died and left us all her money, but it’s the most idiotic will – she’s set up a trust fund and no one can touch the capital. And when I suggested contesting the will, Ros hung up on me. I don’t know what’s got into her lately.’
‘She’ll be upset. She was very fond of Aunt Sophie.’ Liz waited for a response to that, an acknowledgement of Ros’s grief, but clearly her words hadn’t even penetrated. Heavens, he might be a good lover, but he was the most selfish man she’d ever met, even worse than she’d thought. How had Rosalind put up with him all these years? She’d rather have Bill any day.
Rather have Bill!
That realisation shocked her rigid. Bill wasn’t as good-looking as Paul, wasn’t nearly as good in bed and was an unfaithful bastard – but he was infinitely nicer to live with. Well, she thought, one decision made. We soldier on. ‘Sorry, what was that you said?’
‘I said Sophie Worth was senile,’ he repeated.
‘I don’t know what you’re worrying about. Rosalind still benefits, even if the money has to go through a trust fund. I shall enjoy having a rich friend. Now, why don’t you meet me downstairs? I’m famished.’
He went straight down and stood in the lobby waiting for her. When she came out of a lift, he watched her walk across towards him, admiring the vividness of her colouring and the energy of her stride. ‘You keep yourself in damn good trim, you know.’
‘I work out at the gym.’
‘Ros could with toning up a bit,’ Paul mused, still looking at Liz. ‘Perhaps you could persuade her to go to a gym when we get back?’
‘I’ve enough on my plate keeping my own body in order, thank you very much. And I think Rosalind is just right for her height. The scrawny waif look wouldn’t suit her at all. Now – are you intending to eat or not?’
‘Of course I am – and after dinner I’ll apologise properly for keeping you waiting.’ His voice was husky with innuendo.
‘I shall insist on that.’
But she was beginning to wonder if this affair was really worth it, and guilt was beginning to creep in.
She didn’t have to psychoanalyse the man, for heaven’s sake, just enjoy his rather dishy body and his company. Given the circumstances, he wasn’t likely to tell anyone about their affair – which was a good thing, because Paul Stevenson definitely wasn’t worth losing her best friend for.
Paul waited three days before ringing his wife again and this time kept the conversation carefully neutral, making no reference to the fact that Ros had put the phone down on him last time. Liz was right. She would have been upset and perhaps he had been just a tad tactless. ‘How’s the ankle?’
‘Getting better now, thank you. The swelling’s going down nicely.’
‘Good. Good.’ She still sounded miffed, probably not liking being on her own in England. ‘So what have you done about the house? Is it ready to entertain in yet? We can start thinking about our first house party, if you like. I can phone people up from here and invite them, set it up for my first weekend back, perhaps.’
‘The house is all right, but I’d rather not plan anything until after you get back, if you don’t mind – after all, I am fairly immobile still, and anyway, you may only be with me for a couple of days.’
‘Ouch! I really upset you there, didn’t I?’
‘You’ve upset me in a few ways lately, Paul. But I dare say we can talk it through when you come back.’ She was absolutely determined to get their relationship on a better footing before they did anything else.
When he put the phone down, Paul grimaced. Talk what through?
Then he smiled. Ros was one of the best hostesses he’d ever met, a good listener who drew people out and made them feel interesting, exactly the sort of wife he needed for the next stage in his career – but he wouldn’t tell her about the other changes that were on their way for a while yet.
It’d taken a lot to get her to move away from Western Australia temporarily, and it’d take more to move her permanently, so he’d have to plan his campaign rather carefully.
