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The Sweetest Thing

Page 18

by Susan Sallis


  ‘I do, Mummy. I really do. Please don’t ever think of trying to find out any more about Philip – Egbert Pardoe. Promise me you won’t.’

  ‘I do promise, Connie.’ Rosemary sounded fervent. So many things seemed to be happening suddenly. She felt enormous relief as she gave her promise. She would probably see Arnold Jessup this weekend and she would tell him they could drop the idea of getting anything out of the Pardoes’ family doctor. It would have been too difficult anyway. But it would free both of them to be together without any hang-ups. There were two big hang-ups: Greta Heatherington, towards whom Arnold had an inexplicable loyalty; and Frank’s beginnings. She frequently wished she had never told Arnold about Frank. But at least now she could tell him to forget any trips to Cornwall. He might . . . he just might . . . ask her to marry him. Not that she cared. Not really. She had never felt like this about any man, not even her husband. A marriage certificate might actually ruin what they had. And meanwhile, there was another new baby on the way. As she said to Maria when they polished the church brass that same afternoon, ‘I’m not crying because I’m missing Marcus Vallender, Maria. I’m crying because I’m so happy!’ And she told Maria about the new baby. Maria smiled and nodded then said, ‘Dear Rosemary. Your memory really is bad. Marcus’s name is Challenger, not Vallender. I have to tell you every time!’

  ‘So you do,’ Rosemary said and dried her eyes. Only two more days and Arnie would be here for the weekend. The fish man came on Fridays and she planned turbot and perhaps fresh parsley sauce.

  William let Arnold in and closed the door quickly because a typical November fog was creeping across from the cricket ground.

  ‘Wait here,’ he mouthed and at that moment the ball rolled down the hall. From behind the stairs Connie laughed and applauded, and so did Frank. Then Frank appeared, shuffling on his well-padded bottom across the polished floor. He saw Arnold and lifted his arms with a shriek of delight. Arnold felt the usual rush of happiness at the boy’s recognition. It did not matter that there was a question mark over his paternity. He belonged to William and Connie Mather and he loved them and he loved Uncle Arnie as well. Arnold gathered him up and held him high and they both laughed.

  The two men put the baby to bed and Connie pulled a small table to the fire and put out bread and butter sandwiches and a cruet. Then William went for fish and chips and Connie and Arnie sat by the fire.

  Arnie said, ‘So we’re in agreement about Greta getting married, I gather?’

  ‘Well, if Archie is the only choice . . . William talks good sense as you well know, Arnold. He says second best can often turn out to be first best. Given time.’ She waited and when he said nothing she went on, ‘I would agree with him if she wasn’t still in love with her husband. And, as William says, he has doubtless been dead for ages now.’ She sighed. ‘So it looks like Archie Fielding is second best.’

  ‘Would you have settled for second best, Connie?’

  ‘Not once I knew that I adored William.’ She smiled. ‘D’you know, Arnold, I don’t think I did know even when we were engaged. And then there was that awful drowning in the cove and I knew for certain sure that he was the only man in the world for me.’

  ‘When you thought you couldn’t have him?’

  ‘That sounds awful. But yes, I think you’re right. I was just too ignorant and stupid to see the truth . . . which was, that I couldn’t be happy without him.’ She twisted round in her chair and pulled out her knitting from behind the back cushion. She adjusted the needles and began to knit. ‘I actually did not want to belong to him.’ She looked up, laughing. ‘Isn’t that the craziest thing?’

  He stopped himself from saying yes, then from saying no. Instead he said, ‘What are you knitting?’

  The door opened and William came in with an enormous newspaper parcel. She said, ‘Darling, Arnold wants to know what I’m knitting. Are we going to tell him before we eat?’

  He knew, of course. Rosemary had guessed two months ago, before the lump was visible beneath the loose sloppy joe she had taken to wearing. Rosemary had said, ‘Oh Arnie, I hope I’m right. Somehow it would make it all right for William.’ And she was correct in both cases. William was incandescent with happiness. Arnold hugged them both and kissed Connie. She tasted like Rosemary. He wanted to cry. Good God, what was the matter with him? He hadn’t cried since William’s parents had been killed by that bloody doodlebug.

  ‘Bit soon?’ he suggested.

  ‘Just about a year.’ William grinned like a damned Cheshire cat. ‘We thought about a cricket side. In which case it will have to be one a year.’

  Arnold knew it was a joke but he thought that by then Connie would be thirty-four and probably look ten years older. William would be almost fifty. And Arnold himself would be an old man.

  William said, ‘What’s up, Arnold?’

  ‘Goose walked over my grave. Let’s get on with the fish and chips. That new baby needs sustenance.’

  They ate them straight from the greaseproof paper and talked about Greta and then babies and then Mrs Flowers, who was going to Australia to see her daughter . . . and then babies again.

  ‘Girl this time?’ Arnold asked, already feeling better for the food.

  William nodded. ‘We thought it would be May last time, so it’s bound to be this time.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the medics were able to identify the sex of an unborn baby one day.’ Arnold wiped his hands on one of the paper towels which were everywhere in readiness for Frank.

  ‘Lord forbid.’ William was definite. ‘It’s the best surprise in the world. Who would want to spoil that?’

  Connie laughed and gathered up the greasy newspapers. She went into the kitchen, put them in the bin and washed her hands. She sensed Arnold’s mood with some surprise. He was the steadiest, most urbane man in their world – except for William of course – yet she could feel some kind of turbulence going on behind his dark, narrow face. He was anxious for Greta. Should he be quite so anxious? Especially when he was sleeping with her mother. She frowned, anxious herself now. She had thought he would be happier with their own news about the baby but after that first hug and kiss he had simply gone along with whatever William said. And was he getting at something when he suggested that soon the medical profession would be able to foretell the sex of an unborn baby? Did he think such knowledge could extend to foretelling any congenital defects? She stared at the dark glass of the kitchen window and shivered. It surely was not possible that her mother had . . . said something to him? Something about Frank? Was her mother besotted enough to confide such a terribly precious secret to William’s boss?

  She made coffee and put everything on to the three-tier trolley, which was a new acquisition because William was afraid she might fall over Frank. Arnold got up and held the door wide and admired the trolley. He was always satisfyingly interested in their domestic arrangements. And her mother had told her that he was always making tea at her house. Connie felt her face warm at the thought; she had had enormous difficulty in accepting the idea of her mother and Arnold Jessup in the big bedroom overlooking the golf course. Sometimes she wished her mother had never told her about it. She had begged her not to tell Arnold that she and her mother ‘shared everything’, as Rosemary blithely put it. But Arnold referred to Rosemary so often it was obvious he thought it was an open secret.

  He said now, ‘I was just saying to William – I had to give Greta my blessing in the end. She knew I didn’t mean it. She wanted me to say I would be there for her if anything went wrong. I can’t do that any more.’

  The implications behind his words were enormous. Connie felt her face grow warm again and she busied herself with the coffee cups. Did her mother realize that his commitment to Greta Heatherington went back to the days of Greta Gainsborough? And was he trying to reassure them – and perhaps himself – that he intended to be faithful to Rosemary Vickers? Connie overfilled one of the cups and dabbed with a paper towel.

  ‘Here. Let
me.’ He took the coffee pot from her and she sat down willy-nilly. He patted the trolley as if it were a horse. ‘I’m glad this thing is good and strong. You realize it will in the future become a train, a bus, a Wild West stagecoach . . .’ He laughed and passed her a cup and William took it and put it on the little table, then took her hand and held it in his. She smiled at him. He knew exactly how her mind was working. She felt his understanding flow through her like balm.

  They settled again. She picked up her knitting. William said, ‘She’s a pretty resilient woman, Arnold. She may well make this work. And if not . . . you are probably not the only man in her life who has helped her to pick up the pieces in the past.’

  Arnold looked up from his cup, momentarily surprised. Then he said soberly, ‘Of course not. She is such an idiot when it comes to men. Trusting. Much too trusting. Forgiving too. Archie has beaten her up in the past.’

  Connie stopped knitting and William said quickly, ‘There might be something we could do, you know. I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to you, Arnold.’

  He had their attention and wished he hadn’t started this. It was ridiculous; worthy of a romantic novel. But he had to go on with it now.

  ‘Connie and I . . . we know that the only man she has ever really loved is her husband. I don’t even know his name.’ He smiled, mostly at Connie. ‘Mr Heatherington,’ he said portentously. They both managed a laugh and he tried to lighten things further. ‘Apparently that was literally a one-day affair. And then he disappeared. Went to . . . where was it, Connie?’

  ‘Rangoon,’ she supplied, and remembered that night when neither of them had known – or really cared – where Rangoon was.

  ‘That’s right. Rangoon.’ He exchanged a special smile with her and went on. ‘Arnold, it will be your job to find out what Mr Heatherington’s first name is. Then we can get in touch with Rangoon and see how he is fixed.’

  Arnold stared at him. ‘Fixed?’

  ‘Married. Single. Able. Willing.’

  ‘You sound like Aunt Agatha,’ Arnold said, naming a well-known agony aunt in their local paper. ‘They’re both twenty years older. And he ran away from her in the first place. Probably because she was promiscuous. She hasn’t changed in that way. And he’s probably dead.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Arnold.’ William returned his stare meaningfully. ‘Greta is a romantic. And so are you. Otherwise why did Connie get a job as a filing clerk? Why am I now a solicitor? Why does Greta Heatherington love you? And why is Rosemary Vickers ecstatically happy?’ He turned to Connie and smiled their special smile. ‘Sorry, my love. But you must see that she is. And it’s all down to this romantic reprobate here. And surely it is easier to put up with the slight awkwardness of it all if you recognize that your mother is very happy indeed.’

  ‘Oh William. I do love you so.’

  He changed his smile to a grin and said briskly, ‘Then that’s all right because I love you so too.’

  Arnold said disgustedly, ‘Oh for God’s sake.’ He stood up. ‘So I have to see Greta again and get her to tell me her husband’s name. And then how do we start finding out whether he is alive or dead?’

  ‘Leave that to me.’ William stood up and held out his hand as if they were sealing a bargain. ‘I don’t know how to go about things yet. But I’ll do my damnedest. And I’m not doing it for Greta. I’m doing it for you and Rosemary.’

  They shook hands and Arnold left, smiling as he unlocked his car. Smiling because William had grown into the man who had just taken command of a silly situation and Connie was still the girl she had always been – a peacemaker – but made into a woman who could stand aside and let someone else take over.

  ‘Delegation,’ he murmured as he started the engine and moved off down the road. And then, quite suddenly, he did a U-turn and took the old Worcester road towards the Lickey Hills.

  Rosemary was delighted to see him but anxious too.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  She led the way into the living room, where a fire was burning and the radio was delivering the ten o’clock news. She helped him out of his coat, put her arms around him and buried her face in his shirtfront.

  ‘Tell me. Tell me now.’

  He said, ‘I’m old and I’ve done nothing with my life. If only I’d met you twenty years ago, Rosie. We could have conquered the world.’

  ‘My husband might have had something to say about that.’ She breathed in the smell of him. ‘We could conquer the world twice over if you can stay the night.’

  ‘Listen to you. You wouldn’t have said that before you knew me.’

  ‘You set me free. I mean that, so don’t laugh.’

  ‘Was I laughing?’

  ‘No. No, you weren’t.’ She lifted her head and looked into his face. ‘What is it, darling? A trouble shared. Et cetera.’

  ‘I’ve had supper with William and Connie. No . . . she didn’t cook and neither did he. We had fish and chips. It was all very informal. But they seized the chance and told me about the new baby. They are so happy . . . I was frightened. How absurd, Rosie. I was actually scared stiff. They’re going into everything as if they haven’t got very long! Can’t they see what sort of world it is?’

  Rosemary pushed him into an armchair and sat on the arm, cradling his head against her shoulder. He said, ‘I’m not crying.’ And she said, ‘Shut up. It’s me sitting here, for goodness’ sake. D’you think I don’t know exactly – exactly – what you mean and how you feel?’ He started to speak and she repeated, ‘Just shut up, Arnie. Let’s cry together.’

  They were silent for all of five minutes then he whispered, ‘May I speak now?’ and when she nodded he said, ‘I think you are crushing my skull, Rosie.’ And she laughed and slid down on to his lap, kissed him extravagantly, pulled his shirt up to dry her own eyes then mopped at his.

  He said, ‘Time for bed.’ And the front door bell ping-ponged from the hall.

  It was Maria and in tow was the dreaded Marcus. Maria was twittering like a starling, Marcus looking very solemn. Rosemary went back into the sitting room and they all caught Arnold tucking in his damp shirt.

  Rosemary said, ‘Arnold. Let me introduce the Reverend—’ For the life of her she could not remember his dratted name. Luckily Arnold stepped forward immediately and held out his hand.

  ‘We’ve met, Rosemary. Don’t you remember, Marcus christened baby Frank last July. The Reverend Challenger, I believe?’

  Marcus stopped looking pompous but only for a moment. He waited while Maria twittered about their outing to Cheltenham Spa. ‘It was so good to see you were still up, Rosemary. And Mr Jessup with you too. I wish Connie and William were here as well. You are the closest I have to a family, you know that. I would have loved all of you to hear our news.’

  Marcus cleared his throat and literally stepped in front of her.

  ‘As you know, dear Mrs Vickers, this is not my day off. Mondays are my days off. This day is very special leave. We have, just this afternoon, driven to Cheltenham Spa. To make a purchase.’ He turned, took Maria by the hand and drew her forward. ‘I think you should make the announcement, my dear. Come along, I will help you out. Why did we go to Cheltenham?’

  ‘To look round the shops, Marcus.’ Maria was laughing so much she had difficulty in getting out her words. ‘To look round some very special shops.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He held her to his side and took over. ‘We have purchased an engagement ring. We are, in fact, engaged to be married.’

  Rosemary looked wildly from one to the other and then at Arnold. He stepped forward and held out his hands. Marcus tried to extricate his right hand to shake Arnold’s but Arnold forestalled him, grabbed his left hand, then Maria’s right and stood there shaking them and himself in a gallant effort at offering congratulations. Rosemary thought it looked as if they were all suffering a fit; she gathered herself together and put her arms around her neighbour and wept anew.

  For a few moments, emotional pandemonium reigned supreme.
Maria’s twittering escalated into sobs and then floods of tears; Arnold and Marcus talked at the same time, Marcus practically shouting above Arnold so that the words ‘happiness’ and ‘ideally suited’ shot like bullets from the melee. And then Arnold released his hands and retreated to the chair where his overcoat and jacket had been so casually flung by Rosemary, and collapsed. Marcus looked at the two weeping women now clutching each other and moved to the chair by the window where he had sat once before. Carefully he adjusted the closed curtains, probably recalling how easily he had spotted Rosemary that summer afternoon; then he too sat down. He ran a finger around the inside of his dog collar then felt the radiator next to him, which was red hot; and Rosemary had a fire going too, which he felt was sheer extravagance.

  Arnold leaned forward. ‘Let the girls have their moment then we’ll drink to your happiness, old man. Meanwhile, many congratulations. The two of you will have many wonderful years together, I am sure.’

  ‘I have waited all these years . . .’ He let the words settle into the overheated room and make ‘the girls’ pay attention, then visibly drew himself together and went on in an optimistic voice. ‘. . . and then dear Rosemary introduced me to Maria and I knew instantly I had found my soulmate.’

  Rosemary sat Maria down and went to the cabinet. ‘The day of the christening,’ she said, looking over Arnold’s head directly at Maria. ‘Let me see . . . four months ago?’

  ‘We watched the two of you,’ Maria said, suddenly calm and horribly honest. ‘You were so happy. Instantly. And it went on and on. And after we had been to the Remembrance Sunday service at the cathedral, we came home and talked about it. And darling Marcus explained to me that neither of us would be hurting another living soul. And then we prayed together until past midnight. And the weather was so awful I couldn’t let him drive home then.’ She smiled at him so lovingly that Rosemary felt her heart melt all over again, but differently this time. Perhaps this really was a meeting of twin souls.

 

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