The Tallow Image

by J. T. Brindle

  ‘Wrong.’ He eased himself on the bale beside her and draped an arm round her small shoulders. ‘We’re not going to Devon.’

  ‘Jersey, then?’ He shook his head. ‘France?’ she asked. Again he shook his head, and her patience snapped. Lunging at him, she pushed him backwards into the hay, her two hands plunging into his pockets in search of the envelope.

  ‘Want to play rough, eh?’ he teased, drawing her deeper into the soft bed of hay. His mouth found hers, and now there was no turning back. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame,’ he told her, unzipping her dress. ‘You’ve riled me, and I can’t muck out stables when I’m aching to make love to you.’

  She struggled, but not too much. ‘Mrs Leatherhead will be here in half an hour. You’d best feed and groom her horse. You know what the old battleaxe is like if her horse isn’t champing at the bit by the time she arrives.’

  ‘I pity the poor horse. Fancy having that great lump hoisting itself up on you!’ The thought horrified him.

  Cathy smiled. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s any different than you hoisting yourself on me!’ she teased, fighting with him.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, smiling back and slyly removing her dress. ‘How about if I lie here and you get on top? I’m not fussy either way.’

  ‘Show me the letter first.’

  ‘Take it.’

  First she kissed him, then she opened his shirt and undid the zip on his trousers. Taking the folded envelope from his pocket, she quickly opened it, shivering with delight when he toyed with her nipple.

  When she read the contents of the envelope, her delight erupted in a scream. ‘Australia!’ She stared at him through shocked grey eyes. ‘Oh, Matt! Are we really going to Australia for our honeymoon?’ She could hardly believe it.

  ‘Only if you put me out of my misery, and let me have my wicked way with you right now,’ he murmured, grabbing her to him.

  ‘You deceitful devil!’ she cried. ‘You must have known for ages and you kept it from me.’ Lying down, she kissed him full on the mouth. Then she tossed the letter aside and lovingly opened herself to him.

  Neither of them realised that Laura had returned to collect a harness from the tack-room. As she came in the door, she heard the rustling noises coming from the hay bales. When she saw that it was Matt and Cathy deep in the throes of making love, she tiptoed out. Going to the farthest barn, she took a harness from there and hurried to the top stable where the grey was ready to be taken to the field. She thought of Matt and Cathy, and their forthcoming marriage. ‘You’re a fool!’ she told herself. There was nothing here for her. And the sooner she realised that, the more content she would be.

  Cathy’s father was thrilled. ‘Australia, you say?’ Bill Barrington had been invited to dinner at Matt’s home. The occasion was to tie up any loose ends with regard to the wedding arrangements. But Cathy was so excited about the honeymoon that she couldn’t wait to tell her father. Bill Barrington was a tall well-built man in his mid-fifties, not handsome, but possessed of strong, homely features and a warm smile. His light brown hair was beginning to recede from the front, though his neatly trimmed beard was thick and bushy, and his kind brown eyes could still sparkle with youthful enthusiasm. They sparkled now as he addressed Matt. ‘Mind you, I shouldn’t be surprised you chose Australia for your honeymoon. You have links with that country, don’t you?’ It did his heart good to see this young couple so excited about their future together; especially when he could see no future of his own.

  Cutting a piece of steak, Matt left it lying on the side of his plate. Bill’s words brought back a multitude of memories. ‘There are things I need to find out about myself,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘and there are other things I’ve never told a living soul.’ He cast his eyes downwards, staring at the pattern on the lace tablecloth. Even now, after all this time, it was still too painful for him to remember.

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it, Matt.’ Cathy reached out to cover her hand over his. The tragic death of both his parents was well known hereabouts. Matt was an only child and it was natural that he was devastated.

  ‘No. I need to get it out in the open.’ He squeezed her fingers affectionately, then took his hand away and clasped his fists on the table. ‘I know I’ve been reluctant to talk about it before, but now that we’re to be man and wife, I don’t want to keep anything from you.’ Glancing at Bill, he added, ‘From either of you.’ When Bill nodded sympathetically he went on, ‘You both know how my parents died… everyone knows how they died. Most people have forgotten now, and rightly so. But I can’t forget.’

  ‘Well, of course you can’t, sweetheart,’ Cathy was quick to reassure him. ‘I don’t suppose you ever will.’

  He smiled at her. ‘For months after, I couldn’t get it out of my mind… the manner in which they died. That day, when my father plunged to his death from the train… eyewitnesses said there was no weight on that door to make it fly open… no one near it but my father, waiting for the train to stop, just as he had done many times before. One man said it was “almost as though a hand reached inside and plucked him out”.’

  ‘Some people have vivid imaginations.’ Bill had seen how the memories were affecting him.

  Matt smiled, but it was a sad smile. ‘It seems such a waste, to die like that. At first, it broke my mother’s heart. But then she rallied round and seemed to be picking up her life. Then all of a sudden she suffered a breakdown and was dead within weeks.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t help but feel it was all too quick… too evil.’

  Cathy couldn’t bear to think of him still hurting inside. ‘I can’t pretend to know how much you miss them,’ she told him softly. ‘But what do you mean when you say their deaths were “evil”?’

  ‘God only knows!’ He laughed cynically. ‘It’s just that one minute they were healthy and enjoying life to the full. Then one is sucked out of a train to a grisly end, and the other is struck down by some illness the doctors couldn’t seem to agree on. In the end, they said my mother had simply lost the will to live.’

  Bill spoke then. ‘It has been known to happen,’ he revealed, ‘partners who are devoted to each other. Sometimes, when one dies, the other can’t face life alone.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Matt reluctantly conceded, ‘but I still think the way they died was “evil”.’ For months after his parents’ deaths Matt had wondered about it. None of it made any sense.

  ‘There’s something else on your mind, isn’t there?’ Cathy sensed there were still things left unsaid.

  Turning to her, he smiled. ‘It’s a pity you never knew my father, sweetheart. He would have adored you.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered what he was like, but you’ve never spoken about him.’ She wanted to know everything about his family, but she respected his grief, and knew the time would come when he might confide in her. It seemed the time had come now.

  ‘Abel Slater was a good man. Fifty years old when he died,’ he began, glancing at Cathy’s father. ‘You remind me of him, Bill… hard working and respectable.’ Pushing his plate away, he folded his arms and relaxed. Suddenly he felt more at ease with himself. At last, he was able to talk about his family without experiencing that crippling pain which had clawed his insides for so long. ‘He was thirty-five when he came to England, full of ambition, he was. He’d always loved the land, he told me that.’

  ‘He came from Australia, didn’t he?’ Bill asked.

  ‘That’s right. Perth… had a parcel of land there.’

  Cathy was intrigued. ‘You never told me your father came from Australia.’

  Bill interrupted. ‘I saw the report on the accident, but they never mentioned he was Australian.’

  ‘That’s because I never told them.’

  ‘So that’s, why you want to go to Australia for our honeymoon?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to, sweetheart.’ He wished now he hadn’t sprung it on Cathy like that. ‘I’ll cancel it if you like? We could go to Devon… or a cruise. W
hatever you want.’

  Cathy knew now – he really needed to retrace his father’s footsteps, in order to lay the ghost. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather go,’ she said simply.

  ‘It would be wonderful to see where he grew up,’ Matt admitted, ‘but there are other reasons for wanting to go. Reasons I’ve never told another living soul.’

  ‘Go on?’ Cathy inched her chair nearer to him.

  Matt was silent for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. ‘I have to go back to my father’s beginnings, to try and discover more about him. You see, he was brought up in an orphanage. As soon as he was able, he made extensive enquiries about his background. When he came to England he was following a clue that led nowhere. For years he never gave up, until, in the end, he was exhausted. Right up to the day he died, his one regret in life was that all his enquiries had come to nothing. He was driven by the need to know his roots: who were his parents? What was his background? He had to find the answers.’

  ‘Were there no records?’ Cathy could understand why Matt needed to go to Australia, and now she, too, was keen to uncover the truth.

  ‘Apparently not. But when he first started making enquiries, he did discover that he had a rich aunt somewhere.’

  ‘How did he find that out?’ Bill was fascinated.

  ‘When my father reached the age of eighteen, he received a letter from a solicitor, instructing him that he had inherited a trust fund. Apparently, it was set up for him when he was an infant.’ Leaning back in his chair, Matt mentally pieced together the story his father had told him. ‘The solicitor gave him as much information as he could. My father learned that a wealthy aunt had put him in care, and it was she who had set up the trust fund for him. There was a letter, in her hand, stating that the boy’s name was Abel Slater, and that his parents had perished in a bushfire.’

  ‘Was that all he knew?’

  Matt nodded. ‘Apparently the solicitor who actually met with the aunt had died long since. The letter and the trust fund details were kept safe in the firm’s offices.’ Scraping back his chair, he went to the Welsh dresser and took out a long brown envelope.

  ‘Here it is,’ he explained, ‘everything that’s known about my ancestors is in there… in my great-aunt’s handwriting.’ Giving it to Cathy, he told her sadly, ‘Not much to pass on to our children, is it?’

  Opening the envelope, Cathy read it aloud:

  To whom it may concern. This child is my kin, and recently made an orphan. Sadly, I am unable to keep him, and regretfully commit him to the authorities.

  His name is Abel Slater, and his parents perished in a bushfire. Being his only living relative, I have set up a trust fund for him, to mature when he reaches the age of eighteen. Beyond that, I want nothing more to do with the child. As I intend to make my home in England and do not yet know what my address will be, it is better to sever all ties now. To this end, I do not wish to be kept informed of his progress, and require that my identity remains unknown.

  The letter ended abruptly. Cathy was shocked. ‘No wonder your father was driven to find her. She’s probably the only one who knows the entire story, then?’

  ‘Did he never find her?’ Bill could imagine how desperate Abel Slater must have been.

  Matt shook his head. ‘At first he stayed in Australia, trying every which way he knew to find her. He tried to trace her through the trustees of the fund, but they knew very little. Every enquiry drew a blank. It was just as though she had vanished from the face of the earth.’

  ‘She meant what she said in that letter,’ Cathy remarked. ‘It was obvious she didn’t want to be found.’

  ‘Anyway, in 1968 Dad sold his farm in Australia and came here to England with me and Mum. He tried everything to contact his aunt, but he never did find her. Eventually, he conceded defeat and abandoned the search – just as she had abandoned him so long ago.’

  ‘Then, of course, there was always the possibility that she might not be alive,’ Bill suggested. And, of course, Abel Slater had also been forced to consider that same possibility.

  The meal was ended in subdued silence, each deep in their own thoughts: Matt feeling that he had done the right thing in explaining his reasons for wanting to go to Australia; Bill putting himself in Abel Slater’s shoes, and thinking how that man must have sometimes been driven to desperation. And Cathy, loving Matt for having confided in her and, as much as she enjoyed her father’s company, aching to be alone with her future husband.

  It was eleven p.m. when Bill nosed his van out of the drive. Cathy had decided to stay over for another night. She and Matt stood by the gate arm in arm, waving to Bill as he went away down the lane. Afterwards, they strolled back to the house where they sat beside a log fire, sipping chocolate and talking of things closest to their hearts. Cathy had never felt closer to him than she did then.

  5

  The sound of organ music reverberated through the old church. Today was Cathy and Matt’s wedding day. As she came to the altar, all eyes turned to look at the bride. Dressed in a simple white gown, she looked stunningly beautiful. The gown was fitted at the waist, with a straight skirt and sweetheart neckline. Cathy had chosen a garland coronet, studded here and there with tiny pink rosebuds. Her bouquet hung with carnations and lilies, and her veil touched the ground as she walked.

  Bill Barrington made a splendid sight as he walked beside her, his arm linked with hers, and the smallest hint of a smile on his face. Conscious of the admiring glances, he felt as though he would burst with pride, while at the same time he was filled with bittersweet regret that Cathy’s mother was not here to see this day.

  As she approached the altar, Matt turned to smile on her and Cathy’s heart skipped a beat. This day had seemed so long in coming. She had been nervous and worried that it might all go horribly wrong. But now that it was here, she felt incredibly calm and relaxed, almost euphoric. Soon she would be Matt’s wife. It was all she had ever wanted.

  The service was short but moving, and as the newlywed couple came out of the church, they were showered with confetti.

  ‘You look lovely.’ Laura’s eyes were bright with tears as she kissed Cathy on the cheek. She merely smiled at Matt, saying, ‘We’ll all miss you while you’re away.’ But she would miss him more than most.

  The guests numbered twenty in all. Cathy’s only relative was her father, and Matt had none, other than his new wife. But the stable staff were there, as were Edna the housekeeper, and Joseph, her husband, who was also manager of the stable yard. Edna cried buckets, and Joseph couldn’t wait to get to the Bedford Arms in Woburn, where the reception was being held. He had a thirst that only a pint of beer would satisfy.

  In no time at all the photographs were taken, and the sun shone as though to order. Amidst laughter and yet more showers of confetti, Cathy and Matt left the delightful old church in Ridgmont, and were carried in style to the ancient inn by means of a very costly but sleek black Rolls. The guests followed, some in hired cars and others in their own transport.

  The distance from Ridgmont to Woburn was five miles. Matt held Cathy’s hand all the way. ‘Happy, sweetheart?’ he murmured.

  ‘You can’t know how much,’ she answered. Her heart was full of love, and, not for the first time, she realised how very lucky she was.

  The manager welcomed them into the banquet room. ‘I hope you approve?’ he said anxiously, gesturing towards the long white-clothed tables. They looked a splendid sight, bedecked with flowers and groaning with the most wonderful spread of food. There were several hams, beautifully dressed with pineapple slices, enormous salmon, pink and plump, and laid in beds of various salads. The cake stood in the centre, a two-tiered creation, with the bride and groom standing in pride of place on top. Altogether it made a splendid sight. ‘It’s lovely,’ Cathy told him, and his face beamed from ear to ear.

  The festivities began and the time seemed to fly away. ‘If we’re to catch our plane, we’d best make a move.’ Matt had been watching the cl
ock like a hawk.

  With the farewells over, they travelled back to the farm, where Cathy and Matt quickly changed. Bill went with them, and in no time at all the three of them were on their way to the airport in Matt’s car. The arrangement was that Bill would bring the car back and collect them on their return.

  The motorway was unusually quiet, so they arrived at the airport in plenty of time. ‘Take care of yourselves,’ Bill told them, ‘and mind the spiders don’t bite,’ he teased.

  Cathy laughed. ‘You’re the one who’s afraid of spiders, not me!’ she reminded him.

  When their flight was called, Matt shook Bill’s hand. ‘See you in a fortnight.’

  Cathy hugged him. ‘Thanks for everything, Dad,’ she whispered. ‘Love you.’ Choking back the lump which had risen in her throat, she realised that these men were all the family she had. And she could not imagine life without them.

  Bill watched them go through the departure gates, and for the briefest moment he was afraid. Australia was a long way – the other end of the earth. ‘God bless,’ he murmured as they disappeared from sight, ‘and bring you safely home.’

  Emily manoeuvred the wheelchair through the doors of the Golden Egg café. ‘A cup of tea and then we’ll make our way home,’ she told the old lady. It was Saturday afternoon and Bedford High Street was teeming with traffic. The market had been packed with shoppers, and it was difficult winding a way through the crowds and trying to balance bags of shopping on the handles of the chair. She was hot and tired, and her feet were throbbing. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she sighed wearily, ‘but I won’t be sorry to get back to my own kitchen.’

  Maria appeared not to have heard. She had seen how other customers were staring at Emily, curious about her slight limp and attracted by the mark on her face, a dark meandering blemish which, after years of consultations and tiresome examinations, all of Maria’s money had failed to remove. The ugly stain curved in a long thin line from her right ear, and upwards over her cheekbone, to within an inch of her eye. Emily was pretty, but without that mark – which had plagued her for many years – she might have been exceptionally lovely. She had a small heart-shaped face, with clear skin, good white teeth and the brownest eyes; her short bobbed hair was the same deep-brown colour as her eyes and, for a woman of fifty, her skin was remarkably unlined. Dressed in a blue blouse and floral printed skirt, she made a pleasant sight, attractive in spite of the imperfection that marred her face.