As her hand came up to slap his face into eternity, the waitress stopped scrabbling about on the floor, retreating to a safer area. The room became truly silent. Helen’s slap, fuelled by emotions for which she would never account, reverberated around the large area. She was alone with him. Echoes from the bad dream bounced around in the caverns of her brain. Helen wasn’t anywhere. She simply existed. As did James Taylor.
The man with the great future staggered back, a hand to his reddened cheek.
‘Leave me alone,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t want you near me, don’t even like you.’
Louisa dashed to Helen’s side, but although she tugged on her arm, she remained unnoticed.
‘Father chose you for me. He thought I would be grateful. Now, bugger off out of my house and out of my life. My father never got one thing right in his life, but you are the ugliest of the man’s mistakes.’
The mist began to clear. As if waking from sleep, Helen looked around at all the people in the room. Something had just happened. A burst of applause drifted through from the hallway where several lawyers had gathered to snort and chortle like honking geese. Why were they clapping? What had she missed?
Zachary arrived at her other side. ‘Go to your room,’ he snapped.
Helen began to laugh. She wasn’t five years old, wasn’t a child to be punished. ‘No,’ she answered clearly. By this time, she knew where she was. Something had happened, and she was at the core of it. What would people think? Did she care?
The gloves were off. Zachary Spencer, feet covered in caviar and face aglow with dismay, did not know what to do. Another ripple of offstage applause disturbed him even further. Who were those invisible chaps? Did they not realize that they were in the house of a judge?
James Taylor turned on his heel and left.
Louisa came to the rescue. ‘Helen, there is food on your dress. Come with me and let’s see what can be done.’
All the way upstairs, Helen whispered, ‘Something happened. What happened? What did I do?’ Yet she could only rejoice at the memory of her father’s expression of confusion.
In the bedroom she shared with Helen’s father, Louisa led her stepdaughter through recent events. ‘You told him to bugger off, but you did it very loudly. Some sort of small riot exploded in the hall – your father’s enemies were pleased. You blamed your father.’
Helen swallowed. ‘I did what?’
‘You said he had encouraged Taylor to court you. And you were very loud about the whole business.’
Helen’s hands flew up to cover her face. What was happening to her? First, she had pursued the odd-job man; second, she had disgraced herself and her father in front of company. ‘My secret world is breaking through,’ she muttered. Part of her continued triumphant, yet the idea of being out of control made her panic. It was an attack of panic that had triggered the episode . . .
‘What?’
‘When I was a child, I lived in my head. That was the secret world. I used to act in front of the mirror and speak my lines out loud. I’m doing it now as an adult and without the mirror. Am I crazy?’
Louisa stared at her friend. She probably was slightly insane after a lifetime spent in the company of a cold father, no mother to soften the impact. ‘You’re tired,’ she replied eventually. ‘This event is probably too big for you and I apologize.’
‘The room disappeared. The whole party melted away. There was just me and that horrible man. Father will force me to leave now.’
‘Don’t worry about that, petal. I can manage him, especially now – I’m pregnant.’
Helen blinked several times. This was the moment in which she should begin to hate Louisa and her child. Helen might live in the house for the rest of her life, but a son would inherit everything. ‘It has to be a boy,’ Helen said.
‘I know.’
‘Girls get locked in their room. Girls don’t count.’
Louisa knew about that, too.
Whatever the situation, Helen could not manage to hate this woman. For the first time, there was meaning to life, there was fun, there was conversation. ‘We’ll look after each other, Louisa.’
The pact was made there and then. No matter what happened in the future, Helen and Louisa were a team. There were two of them; there was only one of him. That special cleverness known only to women would need to be employed. Without any word on the subject, each knew that the other disliked Zachary Spencer. United by near-contempt, they intended to thrive in his shadow.
Louisa approached her husband. ‘She is raving,’ she said. ‘If her temperature gets any worse, we must send for the doctor. She scarcely knows what happened, bless her. The fever made her act out of character, my love.’
Bless her? He could have killed her quite cheerfully. ‘Did you hear what she said about me? Did you?’
Louisa nodded.
‘I cannot allow her to stay under my roof when she slanders me in that fashion.’
His wife walked away and asked the string quartet to stop playing. Then she raised her voice and spoke to the gathering. ‘Miss Spencer is not well,’ she said. ‘She has a fever, so I shall look in on her from time to time. She begs you all to forgive her bad behaviour, but she was not herself this evening. Carry on,’ she told the musicians.
Albert and Fred, in a corner as predicted, complained to each other. How much longer would they be forced to listen to the wailing of cats? ‘And this bloody collar’s strangling me, as well,’ moaned Albert.
Fred sympathized. ‘They call that music? I’d sooner listen to the BBC’s hurry-up-and-get-to-work programme. When can we go home?’
‘Not till Kate says so,’ answered Albert. ‘My Kate is a force to be reckoned with. I’d sooner argue with Winston Churchill, bless him.’
Fred studied the room. ‘To make a doll’s house of this, I’d need a bloody plane hangar, let alone a shed.’
Albert grasped the cue. ‘When you move to Bamber Cottage, will you give me a try as assistant? I love farming, but I’m getting on in years. I’m good with my hands.’ He held up fingers thicker than Cumberland sausage. ‘I might have big hands, but I’m good at carpentry.’
‘All right, you’re on.’ Fred spat on his right hand, waited for Albert to do the same, and sealed their gentlemen’s agreement.
Lucy and Agnes were waiting for Mags. They had prepared themselves for change, but were completely taken aback by the confident and beautiful woman who joined them just after nine o’clock. ‘Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my—’
‘Shut up, Lucy,’ said Mags. ‘And close your mouth – there’s a bus coming.’
Agnes simply stared. The nose was right. Make-up was perfect, because its wearer had been taught in London; the dress – black and sequined – fitted perfectly. Apart from her nose, Mags’s biggest transformation was her hair. Feathered into her face, it remained shoulder-length, and was now various shades of blonde and brown. ‘My God,’ she whispered.
‘Not you as well.’ Mags laughed. ‘Give God a rest and get me some food – I am starving.’
While Agnes went to fill a plate, Lucy looked Mags over. ‘Definitely a desirable residence,’ she declared after her second tour. ‘But still detached? Aren’t you going to become a semi or a link-terraced?’
‘No idea.’
‘It’s a miracle. Not that you were ugly before,’ Lucy added hastily, ‘only now, you’re—’
‘Stop lying. There was me and my nose and the nose was bigger than both of us. The town wasn’t big enough for any of it, so one of us had to go. And it wasn’t going to be me.’ Mags took a glass of wine from a passing waiter. ‘What’s up with old Sourpuss? Looks like he lost a quid and found a tanner.’
Lucy glanced at the host. ‘His daughter’s what’s up, that’s what. She told that scrawny-necked Taylor to bog off, then blamed her father. You could have heard a feather drop, let alone a pin. She’s gone upstairs, dragged there by her stepmother. That’s the stepmother over there – winning smile, high heels, diam
ond jewellery.’
Mags looked. ‘She’s younger than his daughter.’
‘Yup.’
‘What’s he up to?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘What are any of them up to? They were cheering outside when Miss Spencer insulted her dad. I’m told that one fellow did handstands. When it was over, she looked round the room as if she’d been sleepwalking. There’s something wrong with that woman. She could even be on mind-bending drugs. I don’t trust her – don’t ask me why.’
Mags wondered whether the something wrong might be brandy, but she held the thought inside. ‘This isn’t exactly San Francisco, Lucy. I don’t think she’s a pill-popper.’
Agnes returned and started all over again. She couldn’t believe the transformation. Did they do plastic surgery on gobs, could they quieten Pop? How much did it cost and had it hurt? How long had Mags been bandaged and where had she bought the dress?
‘Enough,’ ordered Mags yet again. ‘I’ve got this carry-on at work, at home, in the street, now here. I’m still me. However I look outwardly, I’ve got the same history as I had before London. The thing was, I could walk about in the street with a bandaged face and two black eyes there and nobody stared. London’s like that – it doesn’t care. I didn’t dare get as far as Carnaby Street and I never saw a show, but I went for short walks and was ignored.’
‘That’s because they’re hardened,’ said Lucy. ‘Everybody gets beaten up about once a month, so you’d have fit in well with all your cuts and bruises. But looking at you now, I’d say it’s lock-up-your-husband time, because you are sensational.’ She planted a kiss on her friend’s cheek, then wiped away the damage bequeathed by Strawberry Glaze lipstick.
Agnes was looking at the judge. ‘He’s like a volcano preparing to erupt,’ she said. ‘No wonder everybody hates him. Imagine what it would be like to have that for a father. No wonder she kicked up a fuss.’
Lucy thought about it. ‘She looked as if she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. Like I said before, she reminded me of a sleepwalker. There’s something wrong with her.’
Mags swallowed a mouthful of caviar. ‘Bloody hell,’ she cursed. ‘It’s like do-yourself-good cod liver oil with no orange juice to follow. I can’t imagine what all the fuss is about. Fish eggs? They can keep them.’ She straightened her skirt. ‘I’m going to find her,’ she announced.
‘You can’t go wandering round Judge Spencer’s house,’ Lucy exclaimed.
Mags grinned. ‘Watch me,’ she said. ‘Remember, there’s a new girl in town and she follows her nose. She does what she damned well pleases.’
The two other girls eyed each other. ‘She’s letting her hair down,’ said Lucy.
‘Yes, but her hair’s not letting her down,’ answered Agnes. ‘I think life’s just beginning for Mags. She has unleashed a monster. Come on – let’s get some more wine. And we’d better warn the men that Cinderella’s looking for that glass slipper . . .’
There were many bedrooms, but Mags chose the one with double doors. After knocking gently, she turned one of the handles to find Helen Spencer staring into space. She was seated on a sofa near a window, clearly deep in thought. ‘Louisa?’ Helen asked as soon as the door was closed again. ‘I feel awful.’
‘No, I’m not Louisa. It’s Mags. Remember? George and Lucy Henshaw’s wedding reception at the Pack Horse in June? We were planning an escape route.’
Helen tilted her head. ‘But you’re not the same woman.’
‘New nose.’ Mags crossed the room and sat next to Helen. ‘New nose, new hair, new clothes, new me. I’d saved for years and was thinking of buying myself a little house, but vanity prevailed. I had the operation.’
‘You look wonderful.’
‘Thank you.’ This poor creature looked far from wonderful, thought Mags. She looked absolutely worn out and disappointed with life. ‘Your dad remarried, then?’
‘Yes. She’s Louisa and she’s already pregnant.’
‘Ah.’
‘But that’s not why I became . . . upset. I seem to have had some sort of episode – I think I’ve had one or two before. Were you there tonight?’
‘No. I arrived late, but I heard about it.’
‘I think I forgot where I was and gave James Taylor both barrels. Now, I can remember some of what I said, but I scarcely understood what had happened while I was downstairs. And I insulted my father. He is not a man who takes insults. Louisa is a good woman – she helped me up the stairs and said she’ll take care of everything, including him.’
‘Hardly a wicked stepmother, then?’
‘The opposite. She’s kind to me. I feel I have let her down, too. She so desperately wanted this party to be a success. I ruined it for her.’
Mags took Helen’s hand. ‘Please don’t be offended – are you drinking?’
‘No. I have scarcely touched a drop since Louisa came. She’s fun. I don’t want to lose her. He’ll send me away, make me live elsewhere. You don’t know him . . .’ The nightmare knew him. How could she not have realized that the dream contained her father? She remembered few details of the almost nightly torment, yet she knew he was part of the plot.
Mags didn’t know what to say. It was suddenly apparent that her own solution to life’s problems had proved an easy option; a new nose was not the answer for Helen Spencer. A new nose was easy. It was money and pain, no more. Helen’s difficulties were more radical. How might a person acquire a new soul, a centre of self cleaned of scars from the past? How could anyone help in this case?
‘I am so miserable, Mags.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s quite nasty without being angry. Once he loses his temper, my father becomes one of Earth’s elemental Forces – I swear the sky darkens. He may even be one of the four horsemen come to warn us of the end of the world.’
‘Leave home.’
Helen shook her head. She was her father’s daughter, and she recognized in herself the stubbornness displayed by him when he was cornered. He was going to have to force her out. Louisa would fight Helen’s corner. But why should Louisa be upset, especially in her condition? ‘I haven’t the backbone to start all over again, Mags. In truth, I don’t feel steady enough to live the isolated life.’
‘These turns you have – what form do they take?’ Mags chided herself inwardly – she sounded like a bloody doctor.
Helen shrugged. ‘I am – well – I imagine myself in love with a married man. At the worst point in that scenario, I chased him, told him I loved him – I was all over the place. Tonight? Oh, I don’t know.’ Tonight had been much, much worse, because a piece of the bad dream had broken through. ‘There was a noise,’ she whispered. The noise had been a part of the dream. ‘I don’t know,’ she repeated.
‘Yes, you do,’ Mags urged gently. ‘Tell me. The noise was a waitress dropping plates and trays. Why did you turn on the balding eagle?’
After taking a deep breath, Helen relived all she remembered of her real world. She spoke of phone calls, of persistence, of politeness. ‘After half a dozen refusals, any man should accept that a woman isn’t interested. Tonight was his big chance – or so he believed.’
‘And?’
‘And he collared me. I avoided him successfully for well over half an hour, but he would not be denied. Then it happened.’
Mags waited.
‘It was as if I were alone with him after the noise happened. I knew my father had chosen him for me, because he told me so at that wedding. James Taylor almost became my father tonight. He was yet another piece of damage inflicted by a man who has never forgiven me for being female. There are many witnesses to the rest of it. I screamed at him and I think I hit him. The thought of hitting him makes me sick, because I can’t stand the idea of any physical contact with him. It isn’t just his appearance. Inside, he’s a damaged person – it takes one to know one. He bolsters himself, brags about a big future. He is his own favourite topic and that’s my father all over again.’
&
nbsp; Mags stroked Helen’s hand.
‘My biggest fear is that I, too, am my father all over again. I am so angry, Mags. Anger is all that sustains me. The only time I get anywhere near happiness is when I am with Louisa. If I lose control, then I lose everything. My small amount of control is all I have and I can’t afford to have it disappear.’
‘Helen?’
‘What?’
‘You need other friends close at hand.’
‘There is no one.’
‘But there is someone. There’s Agnes. She is the best and most loyal person you could wish to meet. She’s funny, clever, supportive and just at the bottom of the Rise.’
Helen dropped her chin. How could she be a friend to someone whose husband she had tried to seduce? She continued to want Denis, although the feelings for him no longer consumed her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Think about it. You could do a lot worse than Agnes Makepeace. She hasn’t had it easy, you know. Her mother died when Agnes was born, so the grandparents raised her. When they got old, she looked after them. Her nan died of cancer, her granddad is a handful – she nursed him after a stroke – yet Agnes manages to see the best in life. We’re all hurt, Helen. A person would need the hide of a rhino to get through this world without pain.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Forced to be content with a half-promise, Mags left Helen to her own devices. Descending the staircase deep in thought, she decided that Helen was probably ill. The self-effacing librarian had been kept down for too long, and the inner woman was fighting for her place in the world. It was understandable; it was also rather unnerving, because Helen was not thinking in a straight enough line.
Agnes joined her at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is she all right? I still can’t get over how brilliant you look.’
The Judge's Daughter Page 17
