A Friend of the Family

by Marcia Willett

  Jon looked surprised. ‘Trip?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Freddie nodded. ‘If the snowploughs have been out on the Okehampton road they’ll almost certainly have been over to Princetown. Michael’s cottage isn’t too far up that road. Getting along the lane to it might be a bit tricky but we won’t know till we try. Shall we have a go?’

  ‘I’m game if you are,’ said Jon. ‘Great!’

  POLLY BUSTLED TO AND fro collecting towels from the airing cupboard and spare clothes from Michael’s dressing room while Jon looked on. She felt that Michael would have no objection but was careful to select a rather ancient-looking pair of cords and a sweater that had seen better days. She didn’t feel up to going into the intricacies of underwear but she did find a pair of very thick socks. He’d have to make do with his own underwear and shirt, which might not be too clean but certainly wouldn’t be soaked through with the snow.

  ‘There we are,’ she said, dumping them on a chair in the bathroom.

  His face, she thought, was curiously impassive. It had a still, watchful expression that gave nothing away. After a moment he smiled at her. The smile narrowed his eyes but barely touched the corners of his mouth. ‘This is all very unexpected,’ he said.

  His voice, too, was characterless if well educated and Polly was aware that the relief she had felt at the sight of another human being was beginning to fade. It seemed that Michael’s cousin might be a bit of a stick and the thought of being mewed up for days with him suddenly depressed her.

  ‘Well,’ she said, brightly, rather too brightly, ‘you’ve got everything you need.’

  There was no doubt that he looked very tired and a fit of compunction overtook her. One could hardly expect him, in the present circumstances, to be the life and soul of the party.

  Perhaps, thought Polly, as she went downstairs having provided him with a couple of Harriet’s Bic razors, it was being in the Foreign Office that did it. She envisaged him, stuck in strange countries where people jabbered in unknown tongues, dealing with all sorts of crises—monsoons, malaria, outbreaks of typhoid, civil war. You needed the strong, silent type for that sort of thing, no doubt. Jolly, lighthearted, anything-for-a-laugh types probably wouldn’t go down very well in those outposts of civilisation. But Polly sighed a little as she opened the kitchen door. Just at the moment she would have sold her soul for a jolly, lighthearted, anything-for-a-laugh type.

  Hugh and Max both stirred as she came in and she went to pick Hugh up, holding his warm, relaxed body close to hers. She pressed her cheek against his silky hair and kissed the soft cheek, rosy with sleep. He remained for some moments lying sleepily against her and sucking his thumb. She rocked him a little, staring out of the window and wondering what on earth she was doing in Harriet’s kitchen, cuddling her child, completely cut off from the outside world and with a strange man having a bath upstairs. Ozzy stretched languidly and got to his feet. He came to stand beside her, pushing his heavy head against her thigh. He imparted a sense of strength and comfort to her and, shifting Hugh a little, she freed a hand to stroke his ears.

  ‘Good boy,’ she murmured, though she was not sure to which of them she spoke. ‘Good boy, then.’

  The movement seemed to disturb Hugh and he struggled a little. ‘Down,’ he commanded, and when Polly set him on the floor he crawled under the kitchen table where he kept his box of toys and started to rummage.

  Polly sighed, the spell broken, and gave Ozzy a last pat. ‘Shall we have some lunch?’

  Ozzy looked keen and alert and even Max stirred and opened his eyes as Polly went to look at Harriet’s list. Hugh started to converse with his toys in a low monotone and Ozzy watched with interest as Polly set the table, put the saucepan of soup on to heat and prepared Hugh’s lunch.

  Presently she heard the sound of water gushing away. ‘Come on, Huge,’ she said. ‘Time to eat. We’ve got a visitor. It’s your Uncle Jon, or is he your uncle?’ she went on, speaking more to herself as she helped Hugh out from under the table and swung him into his high chair. ‘If he’s Michael’s cousin he’s probably more your second cousin once removed or something. Anyway. His name’s Jon. Can you say Jon, Huge?’

  ‘Don,’ said Hugh obligingly, picking up his spoon. ‘Don.’ He squashed some potato into the gravy and Polly turned as she heard footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘We’re in here,’ she called and went to open the door. Several things happened at once as Jon appeared in the doorway. His gaze fell on Hugh and he stopped short. Hugh gazed back, his spoon suspended in mid-air, and Max got to his feet and gave a long, low, menacing growl. Ozzy stood up, ears pricked.

  ‘Max!’ cried Polly reproachfully, aware of some tension in the atmosphere but unable to see what it was. ‘Really, Max!’

  Max flattened his ears and waved his tail a little but as John took a step forward he growled again.

  ‘Honestly, I’m really sorry.’ Polly hurried over to stroke Max and remonstrate with him. ‘He’s usually the gentlest of animals but he’s always very protective of Hugh and, of course, with Michael and Harriet away he probably feels especially in charge.’

  ‘Quite right, too.’ Jon had remained where he was at the second growl but his pale grey eyes were still fixed on Hugh. ‘Is he likely to do more than growl?’ He stayed quite still.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Polly, but rather doubtfully. ‘I’ve never seen him quite like this before. I should think that if you don’t come near Hugh it’ll be OK. I’m awfully sorry.’

  ‘Perhaps you could put him outside?’

  For some reason, the quiet suggestion put Polly’s hackles up almost as far as Max’s. The thought of poor old Max, who, after all, was only doing his job, shut out in the cold utility room was rather too much.

  ‘Easier said than done.’ Polly gave a light laugh. ‘You’ve obviously never tried to make a Newfie do something it doesn’t want to do.’ She pretended to tug at Max, who stood firm and uttered another rumble although turning his head to give Polly a quick lick as if to imply that it wasn’t directed at her.

  Polly shrugged. ‘Nothing doing,’ she said. ‘You’d better sit down at the end of the table and we’ll eat. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He just needs to get used to you. Ozzy seems to be OK.’

  Jon edged his way to the chair indicated and sat down. Polly continued to stroke Max for a moment and then went to fetch the soup. Jon’s curiously light eyes were still fixed on Hugh. Hugh stared back. Polly felt that she wanted to do something violent to break the tension and distract Jon’s attention.

  ‘Food,’ she said loudly. ‘You must be starving. Bread?’ She banged things on to the table and smiled at Jon determinedly. ‘Eat up and after lunch we’ll persuade Hugh to do you one of his pictures.’

  ‘THE LEAST WE CAN do is try to get to a telephone,’ said Tom. ‘The whole village is off so the best thing is to strike across to Yelverton. We could try going via Meavy in case they’re on. This sort of thing can be very local and they may be luckier there. We can at least warn the police that Polly is alone with a small child. They can probably get someone out to her.’

  ‘It could take you hours to get to Meavy, let alone Yelverton, in these conditions,’ said Cass, who was filling two flasks with hot coffee. ‘Oh, how dreadful it all is. You don’t think it would be better to let the two boys go and you stay here?’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ Tom pulled a heavy sweater over his ordinary clothes. ‘I’ve agreed that Saul can come because I think he might try something silly if I leave him behind. But I’m damned if I trust him not to try something off his own bat if he’s only got Oliver with him.’ ‘You’re probably right.’ Cass began packing the flasks with some sandwiches into a knapsack. ‘Oh, do be careful, darling. I shall be out of my mind. It’s so awful to be totally cut off. I shan’t know where you are.’

  ‘Well, at least you’ll have Oliver if there’s some sort of drama. Let’s hope he can cope if there is!’

  ‘Have no fear, dear Father.’ Oliver had c
ome into the kitchen unheard. ‘I’m quite up to a psychopathic killer, should one turn up on the doorstep, and, although I haven’t done the Ten Tors and won the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award like dear old Saul, I shall probably cope with carrying some logs in and keeping the home fires burning.’

  Tom snorted. ‘Ten Tors! He’ll probably break his ankle going down the drive! Have you dug out those waterproof trousers, Cass?’

  ‘They’re all here.’ She indicated a pile of garments on the table. ‘Thank goodness I’m tall. Saul should be able to wear mine quite comfortably.’

  Tom, having put his waterproofs on, was sitting tackling his walking boots when Saul appeared, looking white and tense, dressed in some sort of camouflage boiler suit, black laced-up boots and a woollen hat pulled on over his dark hair.

  ‘Heavens!’ remarked Oliver. ‘Where are you going? Are they filming the siege of the Iranian Embassy? You look just like an extra!’

  ‘You must put on some waterproofs, darling,’ said Cass, holding up the remaining trousers, ‘you’d be soaked through in five minutes dressed like that.’

  ‘I know.’ Saul took them from her and prepared to put them on.

  Tom shrugged himself into his waterproof jacket. ‘Saul can take the rucksack,’ he said. ‘I want to find a good stout stick.’ He went out into the hall.

  ‘Real Boys’ Own Paper stuff,’ observed Oliver, attempting to lighten the atmosphere a little. ‘You’ll have to watch him, Saul. Thinks he’s Bulldog Drummond, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Saul stepped into the trousers and sat down again to deal with his boots.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ Cass asked Saul, concerned by his silence.

  Saul, wrestling with his laces, nodded and then glancing up at her gave her a quick grin. Cass saw at once that, besides his concern for Polly, he was filled with a blazing excitement. This was all his fantasies, the old war films and James Bond rolled into one and he was loving every minute of it. Cass, taken aback for a second, had a strong feeling that there was more in Saul’s mind than merely going in search of the nearest telephone. She had a terrible twinge of misgiving.

  ‘Saul,’ she began but, as she spoke, Tom could be heard shouting from the hall.

  ‘Come on, Saul. We really must be off!’

  Saul stood up, hauled on the jacket, swung the knapsack on to his back and gave Cass a quick kiss. ‘See you, Ma,’ he said and he was gone.

  MICHAEL STOOD LOOKING DOWN at Harriet, asleep in her hospital bed. This birth had been easier than Hugh’s but she looked tired and pale.

  No more, thought Michael. Two is more than enough. She’ll be forty in a year or two and Hugh’s a handful on his own without this new one. He sighed. His thoughts moved to Polly. He’d just heard that there’d been a breakout from Princetown and that the prisoner’s escape car had been abandoned at Merrivale. It was a chance in a thousand that he would turn up at Lower Barton but Michael felt that he must try to get back. He wondered whether to tell Harriet the truth, although it would worry her, or pretend that he wanted to get back to check on Hugh and pick up some stuff for himself. As he debated with himself, Harriet’s eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ He’d made up his mind. ‘Do you think you could cope if I went home to pick up a few things? I’d love a bath and some clean clothes and I could say hello to Hugh and tell him about his new brother. What do you think?’

  Harriet turned dreamy eyes to the window. ‘Would you make it in the snow?’

  ‘Oh, that’s no problem,’ said Michael easily. ‘The snowploughs have been right through but you mustn’t panic if you don’t hear from me at once. The telephone lines are down.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Harriet looked concerned and started to struggle into a more upright position. Oh, in that case you’d better go. Poor Polly will be so worried.’

  ‘No she won’t. At least, not yet. I’ve already spoken to her this morning, remember. But it might be a good idea to check up on things. I’ll try to get back this evening.’

  ‘No, no. Don’t do that. I’m perfectly OK and so is the baby. We’re quite safe here. I’d rather you were with Hugh. If the telephone is off, the electricity may be off, too, and poor old Polly will be in a right two-and-eight. I shall be happier knowing that you’re there. I don’t want you driving back here in the dark.’

  ‘OK. But you must promise not to worry if you don’t hear from me. I’m sure I shall get there quite safely but I shan’t be able to tell you that I have.’ He bent to kiss her. ‘I’ll be in bright and early tomorrow morning. Might even bring Hugh.’

  Oh, that would be lovely.’ She reached up to return his kiss. ‘But only if it’s absolutely safe.’

  Of course. Don’t worry, I shan’t take any risks.’

  POLLY WAS FEELING ILL at ease. It was, as much as anything, Max’s behaviour that was beginning to unnerve her. He barely took his eyes from Jon and when Hugh, after lunch, went to sit in the armchair beside the Aga, Max got up, too. He sat in front of the armchair with Hugh’s slippered toes digging into his big furry neck and continued to stare at Jon.

  ‘He’s always been like this with Huge,’ lied Polly, trying to laugh. ‘It’s rather touching, really.’ She wanted to go and check the fire in the sitting room but for some reason felt afraid to leave them. Ozzy, sensing Max’s antagonism, was watchful and alert without being openly hostile. This is silly! she said to herself. He’s Michael’s cousin, for goodness’ sake! But still she sat on at the table, cradling her coffee mug in her hands.

  Jon made no attempt to approach Hugh or even to speak to him. He just continued to watch the child who, always cautious with strangers at the best of times, ignored him completely. He sat now, surrounded by stuffed animals, thumb in his mouth, absorbed in a picture book.

  ‘Do you think he’s like Michael?’ asked Polly. ‘He’s dark, of course, but then both Harriet and Michael are, too. I forget whether you’ve met Harriet?’ Jon shook his head, his eyes still on Hugh. ‘He’s got Michael’s brown eyes and he’s a very quiet child . . . ’ She stopped speaking, listening to her voice dying away in the silence. ‘More coffee?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘Thank you.’ Jon pushed his mug towards her.

  Polly got to her feet. She filled a jug with water and topped up the heavy Aga kettle. Whilst she waited for it to boil, she turned and rested against the rail of the Aga and looked at Jon. She thought that she had never seen a man sit so still. He’s like one of those waxwork figures in Madame Tussauds, she thought, lifelike enough for you to go up and ask where the loos are but with an inhuman look. Or, she thought, letting her imagination have its head, like a robot from a Star Trek movie: on the outside a real human being but on the inside nothing but a machine.

  ‘Are you married?’ asked Polly, unable to stand her thoughts and the silence another moment. ‘Have you any children?’

  For the first time since he had entered the kitchen, Jon turned his light gaze upon her. ‘My wife and child are dead,’ he said. ‘They died in an accident.’

  Polly’s hands gripped the Aga rail and she found herself quite unable to utter even the conventional words of regret or sympathy. She swallowed once or twice and shook her head slightly. Jon watched her. After a moment, that change of expression which passed for a smile touched his eyes. It had a chilling effect.

  ‘How . . . how ghastly,’ she stammered and turned with relief to make the coffee. Perhaps, she thought, her hands shaking slightly as she measured the coffee granules into the mugs, perhaps that’s why he stares so. Perhaps his child looked like Hugh. Oh, God! What on earth does one say or do now?

  That problem was answered for her by Jon himself. ‘I need a leak,’ he said, and stood up. So did Max. Ozzy raised his head from his paws. Polly put the mugs of coffee on the kitchen table and went to Max.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, in as light a tone as she could manage. He’s being a pain, isn’t he?’
She ruffled Max’s hair.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Jon, in the same light tone. ‘He’ll need to go himself some time, won’t he?’ He slipped out of the kitchen while Polly was still taking in what he’d said and she heard him going upstairs.

  He reappeared a few minutes later. ‘ Come and have your coffee,’ she said in her ‘bright’ voice, ‘and then, since you must be exhausted after all your traumas, I was wondering if you ought to go and have a sleep? I’m sure it would do you good.’

  They both sat down again at the table and Max resumed his position in front of Hugh’s chair.

  ‘I might at that,’ said Jon. He took a sip of coffee.

  Presently his glance slid round until it rested once again on Hugh.

  Twenty-eight

  AT THE BOTTOM OF the drive—which Saul negotiated without breaking his ankle—they met William Hope-Latymer in his Land Rover.

  ‘Just coming to see if you’re OK,’ he called, keeping the engine running. ‘Jack Halliwell’s been out with the tractor, taking some feed out, so I thought I’d chance it. I imagine you’re cut off, too? Jack reckons the worst’s over.’ Suddenly he took in their dress and Saul’s rucksack. ‘What are you two up to? Off to do the Ten Tors?’

  Saul grinned but Tom took charge. ‘Did you see that there’s a prisoner on the run?’ he asked. ‘That girl we had staying—you know? Polly?—is over at Harriet’s all on her own with their kid.’ Too late he remembered Cass’s injunction that Saul should not know the details and he prayed that William wouldn’t know them either.

  ‘Christ!’ William looked shocked. ‘I saw it on the news just before we lost the juice. They said he killed his wife because she went out leaving their kid on his own and he got up and set the house on fire, or something. Died of burns. Only three years old. I gather that he took a hatchet to his wife and he’s got an obsession about kids and hates women. Bloody hell! And they found his car off the road at Merrivale. That’s not far from their place, is it?’