A Week in Winter: A Novel

by Willett, Marcia

  Rooting about for another ball of wool, she was remembering Hector’s reaction to Patrick’s request for Selina’s hand. Naturally, he’d known about the younger man’s attachment to Selina and her reciprocal affection but he’d been unhappy about agreeing to an engagement.

  ‘Nice enough fellow,’ he’d admitted privately to Maudie, ‘but there doesn’t seem much to him, if you see what I mean. Still, Selina seems very fond of him …’

  Maudie had remained silent, resisting the urge to support Patrick’s suit. The thought of a married Selina, a Selina who lived somewhere else, a Selina who would no longer be able to ruin the peace by moods and sulks, was too wonderful to contemplate. Guessing that enthusiasm on her part might make Hector suspicious she’d held her tongue. To Daphne, however, she’d been much more forthcoming.

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ she’d replied at once, ‘I couldn’t agree more. Much better all round if Hector gives his blessing cheerfully. Selina is quite determined to have her way so he might as well give in gracefully. Of course, Hilda would have had a fit.’

  ‘Would she?’ Maudie had been intrigued. ‘But Patrick’s so … so spotless. He’s so utterly nice. Naturally, he’s rather cool to me but that’s because he’s been brainwashed by Selina and regards me as the wicked stepmother. Even so, he can’t help being very polite, which irritates Selina no end. She longs for him to be devastatingly rude to me but the poor boy simply cannot overcome his inherent niceness. From what you’ve told me about her I should have thought that Hilda would have loved him. His manners are so good.’

  ‘She would have approved of his being a well-brought-up young man but it wouldn’t have been quite enough. Where her daughters were concerned she was very fussy. “He doesn’t quite suit.” It was such a favourite expression of hers. She would have wanted a stronger character for Selina and she’d have probably been right. Once the first flush passes I fear that she’ll walk all over him.’

  ‘I must admit that you have a point.’ Maudie had shrugged. ‘Every time he takes his jacket off I expect to see the word “Welcome” printed on his chest. Still, there’s nothing I can do about it. She certainly wouldn’t listen to me. Hector must do what he thinks best.’

  ‘What does he say about it?’

  ‘Much what you’ve said Hilda would say. But he hates being cast in the role of unsympathetic father and Selina will soon win him over. I have to say that Patrick shows up very well when Hector’s hectoring and doing the heavy father act. He stands up to him very bravely and looks quite zealous on occasions.’

  Daphne had chuckled. ‘Young Lochinvar has come out of the West. Yes, Patrick’s exactly the sort who needs a cause, isn’t he?’

  Now, as Maudie attached the new ball of wool to her knitting an idea occurred to her.

  ‘I do begin to wonder,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘whether your father’s so-called affair isn’t little more than helping some damsel in distress. However, we won’t talk about it if you’d rather not…’ She hesitated, fearing that she was speaking out of turn, but Posy looked up from her book almost eagerly so she decided to continue a little further. ‘He’s a very chivalrous man, you know, and a very kind one. It’s possible that things might have got rather out of hand but perhaps we shouldn’t be too hard on him. Your mother has many excellent qualities but she’s probably a bit short on the kind of affection that your father needs. Poor old Patrick. It would be just his luck to be caught out in what is probably little more than an act of compassion.’

  She paused again but this time Posy seemed very ready to talk. ‘Mum did say that she wasn’t a dolly bird, this … Mary.’ It was still oddly difficult to use her name. ‘She said she was a boring nonentity with a crippled child.’

  Maudie swallowed down a sigh of relief. So her intuition was probably sound. ‘Well then. It’s just possible that they’ve got a bit tangled up emotionally. It can happen very easily, you know. Oh, I can well imagine that it horrifies you to think of your father as a man with ordinary needs but you must try to be adult about it, Posy. I’m not condoning it but a small allowance of compassion might not come amiss.’

  ‘It’s just,’ Posy cast her book aside and drew up her knees, ‘like, you know, it’s not as if he’s young or anything. It makes him look pathetic’

  ‘Lack of dignity in the old is so shocking to the young,’ murmured Maudie. ‘It’s their prerogative to be shocking or outrageous or even simply sexy. We’ve all felt it. That’s why your mother hates me, of course.’

  Posy stared at her. ‘Hates you?’

  Maudie raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t pretend that it comes as a surprise.’

  ‘No, well, perhaps “hates” is a bit extreme but I just meant that I can’t see the relevance.’

  ‘Can’t you? Well, think about it. Selina was nearly thirteen when her father married me. Her mother was not long dead and she was obliged to face several uncomfortable facts. First of all, she felt a sense of betrayal, which is probably exactly how you are feeling now. It was a shock to learn that Hector was not satisfied with being merely a father, that he needed other company and stimulation. Secondly, she had to confront his sexuality. He was a little younger than Patrick, not much, but as far as Selina was concerned he was old. To have to think about him like that in conjunction with me was appalling for her. Naturally, she didn’t want to have to blame him so I became the scapegoat. I didn’t mind to begin with because I thought she’d grow out of it but she never did. She waged a continuous, exhausting war and I became thoroughly tired of it. Poor Hector was caught in the crossfire.’

  ‘I’d never seen it like that,’ said Posy slowly. ‘It was like she had an obsession about you and I could never see why.’

  ‘Well, now you can understand it. Supposing Patrick brought—what did you call her, Mary, was it?—Mary then. Suppose he brought her home. How would you feel?’

  ‘But Mum’s not dead,’ protested Posy. ‘Grandfather wasn’t committing adultery.’

  ‘That’s what I kept saying,’ sighed Maudie. ‘But it made no difference to Selina. The difficulty was that she felt I had supplanted her, as well as her mother. She was jealous. She didn’t feel her father could love all of us and she was afraid.’ She looked at Posy’s downcast face. ‘Sound familiar?’

  ‘I do feel like that, I suppose,’ she admitted at last. ‘I feel hurt. As if he’s risking his family for this woman which means he must love her more than he does us.’

  Maudie was silent for a moment, feeling herself on delicate ground. She had already risked a great deal. She had no wish to lose Posy’s love or respect but nor did she wish to watch the child suffer.

  ‘Try to see it his way, just for a moment,’ she said gently. ‘Patrick adores you, you know he does, but you’re grown up now. You’ve very nearly left home, you’re making new friends and soon you’ll be gone. The boys have already flown the nest. Without wishing to condemn your mother I think you’d agree that she’s not a very comfortable person to live with. This Mary probably makes him laugh, makes him feel good. He’s probably been able to help her in some way and he feels valued, important. Selina isn’t too bothered about making people feel special. The danger is to think that he’s weak in needing any kind of affection outside his home. Well, perhaps that is so, but we have to remember that he’s human. It’s fine being lofty and high-minded, condemning people who need affection, kindness, attention, especially if the high-minded one is surrounded by friends and his life is interesting and fun. It’s easy to judge someone who isn’t coping, who is lonely, ignored, taken for granted, and who is suddenly offered love. It’s possible, you know, to feel invisible. I suspect that your father has probably been feeling invisible for quite a while and it’s a pretty heady experience to be noticed, admired even. You may think that Patrick’s well past his sell-by date but I promise you he’s still an attractive man. And he’s a very kind one. I’m not condoning adultery, Posy, but let’s not be too harsh on him. Selina will sort it out, I have no doubt of that. As to
his loving Mary more than he loves you, I think you’ll find that Patrick is capable of a great deal of love. It isn’t on ration, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Posy mumbled, ‘but it’s like I don’t know him any more. He’s become a stranger.’

  ‘It’s always difficult seeing people we know really well in a different light,’ mused Maudie. ‘It’s like seeing a social acquaintance at her office or a workmate in the bosom of his family. We have all these complex sides and we respond to each one differently. This is what makes growing up so painful. We have to learn to adapt, to be generous. I’m afraid I haven’t been generous with Selina. I tried for a while but when she refused to make any effort to meet me halfway I gave up on it. Between us we made Hector’s life hell. It’s more difficult for you because you stand between Selina and Patrick. If you can walk a fine line between them it will be a very adult thing to do. You’re older than Selina was when I married her father so there’s a very good chance that, once you’ve recovered from the shock, you’ll be able to deal with it.’

  ‘I don’t want to take sides,’ cried Posy, dragging back her hair, ‘but it’s not that simple. I can understand that Mum’s asked for it, in a way, but I can’t just say, “Oh, great, Dad. Cool. I think it’s fab.” I know what you’re saying sounds right but I can’t just go along with it.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting that it’s simple or that you go along with it. I’m simply asking that you don’t condemn and reject him out of hand. You might say that by not condemning it you are, in fact, tacitly approving it, but that is very black and white. There are so many shades of grey. Try to detach yourself emotionally. Try to see that it needn’t be your problem, that it needn’t affect you. Remain affectionate and friendly to them both.’

  Posy shook her head. ‘It’s impossible,’ she said wretchedly. ‘It’s this feeling that I don’t know Dad any more. I can understand about the invisible bit. He was just there, in the background. But he made me feel safe and now I can’t feel that any longer. I can’t just pretend nothing has happened, Maudie. I can’t!’

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Maudie. ‘That would be too much to ask after such a shock. I was just suggesting that you might try to think about your father less harshly. Sorry, Posy. I shouldn’t interfere. Talking about things isn’t always helpful. I just suddenly remembered when I first met Patrick. Selina was about your age and your grandfather was concerned that Patrick might not be tough enough to look after her.’

  ‘What was he like when he was young?’ Posy was interested, despite her own unhappiness.

  ‘He was a nice-looking young man with very good manners. We all liked him. He overcame your grandfather’s anxieties by sheer will and determination. You see, he felt that he was rescuing your mother from her wicked stepmother and her unfeeling father and he was absolutely determined that he would win her. That’s what I meant about him being chivalrous. Patrick has that streak in him and this young woman has probably given him a cause to fight for again. Perhaps it is to do with her crippled child, or he might have found her some work or accommodation, and she’s been grateful. Gratitude can be so dangerous if the recipient is a bit lonely.’

  ‘You make him sound really sad,’ said Posy irritably. ‘I don’t want to think about him like that.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t want to think about him as a person in his own right. You want to think about him as some nice, solid, dependable shadowy figure who is always there when you need him but can be put on hold when you don’t. That’s very nice for you but where does it leave Patrick?’

  ‘He’s my father,’ cried Posy. ‘That’s what being a parent is all about. I’d want to be there for my children.’

  ‘Of course you would,’ said Maudie remorsefully. ‘That’s always been my problem, you see. I’ve never been a parent so I see it from the other side. It seems to me that being a parent can preclude you from being anything else—which is a bit unfortunate. Or perhaps it’s simply that, not being a parent, I can’t fully enter into that particular obsession which often goes with it. Either way I shouldn’t have interfered. Shall I make a pot of tea? And perhaps a piece of Christmas cake?’

  In the kitchen she stood watching the kettle, cursing quietly to herself. It was too much to expect the child to be able to take such a detached view: too much and probably quite wrong. Maudie smiled wryly. After all, disliking Selina as she did, it was hardly likely that her own point of view would be totally unbiased and she’d had no business to attempt to exonerate Patrick. The kettle boiled and she began to make tea.

  Staring at the fire, Posy was brooding. It was odd to imagine her mother feeling about Maudie as she, Posy, was now thinking about Mary; odd and unsettling. Upsetting, too, to believe that her father had needed to look outside the family circle for affection. The tape finished playing and clicked into silence; Polonius yawned, stretched mightily and sat up. When Maudie came in with the tray Posy was putting logs on the fire, teasing Polonius with his new toy. She smiled rather shyly at Maudie and hurried to clear a space on the table for the tray. As she put some books away, the envelope from the Scotch House was dislodged from between the pages and the woollen squares drifted to the floor. Posy bent to gather them up.

  ‘Aha,’ she said, attempting her usual manner. ‘Goodies from the Scotch House, I see. Are you ordering a new skirt?’

  ‘I’m thinking of it,’ answered Maudie cheerfully, grateful for a complete change of subject, remembering that it must be at least six weeks since the samples had arrived, along with Posy’s card begging her to give Polonius a home, and the letter from Ned Cruikshank about Moorgate. ‘Do you know I’d quite forgotten about them. They came ages ago. Let’s have a look at them and you can give me some advice.’

  Part Two

  Chapter Fifteen

  Passing through the hall of the narrow terraced Georgian house in Jericho, Melissa bent to pick up the envelopes which lay scattered on the doormat. She wore an ankle-length bouclé wool cardigan, over narrow jeans and a long tunic, and her feet were tucked into soft leather bootees. The effect was medieval, an image accentuated by the short, curly, fox-red hair, bound back from her thin, pointed face with a plaited silk scarf. She passed down the hall into the kitchen where her brother and his small son, Luke, were eating breakfast.

  ‘Bank statement,’ she said, flourishing the letters in front of his eyes. ‘House details. And someone telling you that you’ve won six hundred thousand pounds.’

  Mike Clayton continued to spoon the soggy, milky mess into Luke’s mouth, clearly unmoved by the treats in store for him, and Melissa sat down at the end of the table, poured herself some orange juice from the jug and twiddled her fingers at her nephew. He beamed gummily at her, crowing loudly, so that the cereal ran down his chin. Patiently Mike spooned it back into Luke’s mouth and took a quick swallow from his own mug of black coffee.

  ‘You might as well open it,’ he said indifferently. ‘You can tell me how much more I have to order before I can really win anything and then only if I send back the winning number. I refuse to buy anything I don’t want and if it says “If not ordering see the rules on the back of the page” you can bin it. I’m convinced that they don’t bother to look at anything that isn’t in the official envelope.’

  ‘I fear that you’re right.’ Melissa was busy opening the bulky communication with the butter knife. ‘Ah, here we have it. “Your name was among more than one million names scanned and identified by our IBM computer,” blah, blah, blah. Oh, this is it. “If you are not ordering this time do not use the pre-paid envelope and see the rules on the back of the official letter.” ’

  ‘Chuck it,’ advised Mike. ‘I refuse to be blackmailed.’ He held a feeder to Luke’s mouth, tilting it gently as Luke gulped back his milk. ‘I have a feeling that we’re not the get-rich-quick kind.’

  ‘You’re not doing too badly,’ said Melissa, pushing the sheets of offers and bargains back into the envelope. ‘The book’s doing well and you’ve got some goo
d ideas for the new one. Just think yourself lucky that you managed the transition from playwright to novelist so painlessly.’

  There was an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of Luke’s gulping. Melissa reached for the house details, aware of her tactlessness, whilst Mike, frowning thoughtfully, watched Luke. He’d met Luke’s mother during the staging of his second play and, passionately in love with her, had re-written her part with loving, brilliant fervour. She’d received such rave notices once it moved to the West End that hundreds of offers for work had rolled in and, eventually, even Hollywood had taken an interest in her. It continued to be a bitter reminder to Mike that, had he been a little less clever, a little less besotted, his wife might still be here with him, looking after her child, instead of abandoning them both for a glittering career in America. He’d attempted a novel whilst looking after Luke, when Camilla had first begun filming in the States, and was delighted and surprised by its reception from one of the major publishing houses. At the same time that he’d learned that Camilla would not be coming back, he’d been offered a two-book contract and was relieved that the very respectable advance enabled him to concentrate on his second novel. He was glad to be done with the stage, and the permanent reminders of Camilla, but he had by no means recovered from his wife’s defection.

  Mike wiped the milky bubbles from Luke’s chin and glanced at his sister. She was absorbed with whatever it was she was reading and when she looked up at him her face wore a rapt expression.