Everyone went back to Kenny’s parents’ house for the wedding lunch, and his mother – with the help of friends and family pooling their rations – did them proud. There were several small children for Joy to play with, and the afternoon sped by, before everyone waved the couple off to their hotel on the sea front where they were spending the night.
On the train home, Joy fell asleep on Caleb’s lap and Esther sat with her head on his shoulder. She wouldn’t have admitted it to a soul, and she felt more than a little ashamed of her feelings, but she had found the day bittersweet. She was thrilled for Priscilla and dear Kenny, and didn’t begrudge them one drop of their happiness, but their wedding had brought home how far-off her own to Caleb was, and the battle that lay ahead with Monty, and probably Theobald too.
Caleb’s voice rumbled softly above her head as he murmured, ‘Are you awake?’
‘Yes, I was thinking about the day and how happy everyone was. Especially Cilla and Kenny, of course.’
‘Me too.’ There was a pause before he added, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, because I couldn’t be more pleased for Kenny. He’s a great bloke and he deserves someone like Priscilla who is head over heels in love with him and not afraid to show it. But . . . well, I was as jealous as hell too. I want to ask you to be my wife; I want to give you a ring, and for us to be man and wife and be together all the time.’
‘I’m so glad you said that.’ She sat up so that she could see his face. They had been fortunate enough to secure a compartment to themselves, and now she reached up and kissed him. ‘I’d been thinking the same sort of thing, and I felt horrible for being so mean.’
‘Then we’re mean together.’ He grinned at her. ‘But our day will come, sweetheart. If I have to bump Monty off so that you’re a widow and the way is clear, so be it.’
He was joking, but Esther had thought more than once that if Monty had died in the war, everything would have been so much simpler, and she felt awful about that too. But it wasn’t as if she actually wished him dead, she hastened to reassure herself for the umpteenth time. She didn’t. It was just that everything was such a tangle . . .
Caleb walked her home from the train station, Joy still fast asleep in his arms, but as they turned the corner into Ripon Street, Esther stopped dead. Caleb had taken a step or two before he realized she wasn’t at his side, and as he turned saying, ‘What is it?’, Esther couldn’t answer for a moment. A car was parked outside Mrs Birch’s house – an unusual event in itself – and in the thick twilight it looked very much like Monty’s. Her heart began to pound like a sledgehammer.
Caleb’s gaze followed hers. ‘Is it his?’
‘I think so.’ Monty would have received the divorce papers by now, and it had to be about that. Her face had lost its colour and when she said, ‘Give me Joy and you go home. It’s better I see him alone,’ Caleb shook his head.
‘If you think for one moment I’m going to let you do that, then you don’t know me very well.’
‘He’s quite capable of dragging you into all this and trying to blacken your name.’
‘My name, such as it is, can withstand anything he throws at it, sweetheart. Now listen to me’ – he smiled at Esther – ‘and don’t look so tragic. This was always going to happen sooner or later. I knew Monty wouldn’t give up without a fight, and so did you. Whether Theobald is urging him on is neither here nor there. We face this together, as we are going to face everything in the future, all right? You might not wear my ring yet and have the protection of my name, but in my heart you have both.’
‘Oh, Caleb.’
‘He won’t threaten or bully you, with me around. Or at least he’d only attempt it once,’ Caleb added grimly. ‘He might still legally be your husband, but he lost every moral right to call himself such, the day he abandoned you and Joy. Keep that clear in your mind, whatever he says.’
Esther nodded, but silently she was praying there would be no unpleasantness. She and Joy were settled in Ripon Street for the time being, and Mrs Birch had turned out to be a good-natured woman and a fair landlady. But one of the things Mrs Birch often mentioned was that she was a respectable woman and ran a respectable house. Her eyebrows had lifted the first time she had seen Joy, but Esther’s quiet demeanour and the fact that she obviously came from a privileged background had won the landlady over. ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ she had said, clucking Joy under the chin, ‘and I dare say you were taken advantage of. Them GIs had silver tongues, all right.’
Esther had not disabused her, merely saying that she was in the process of getting a divorce from her husband, but that Caleb was prepared to marry her, and be a father to Joy, when she was free.
Mrs Birch had pursed her lips slightly at this. A Catholic, she didn’t hide her displeasure at the way society was going. ‘It’s as easy to get a marriage licence as to buy a dog licence, these days,’ she’d commented stiffly, ‘and even easier to get a divorce.’
Esther had bitten her lip and remained silent, and the moment had blown over, but she knew if there was a ruckus of any kind between Caleb and Monty, Mrs Birch would not be so tolerant.
Esther opened the front door with her key and then stood, hesitating, in the hall. Mrs Birch had made it clear when she had taken the room that no gentlemen callers were allowed over the front doorstep, come hell or high water, but she could hardly ask Caleb to wait outside, in these circumstances. The next moment the door to Mrs Birch’s kitchen opened and the landlady said, ‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Grant’ and instantly Esther knew Monty had been working his charm on the woman. ‘Your husband’ – Mrs Birch placed a slight emphasis on the last word – ‘has called to see you.’
As she spoke, Monty appeared behind her in the open doorway, a mug in his hand and with no overcoat or hat on. He had clearly been made very welcome. Fighting back her resentment, Esther said composedly, ‘Thank you, Mrs Birch. I saw the car.’
‘Hello, Esther.’ And as Caleb stepped into the hall, with Joy in his arms, Monty added, ‘Caleb,’ and nodded at him.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. What was this? Monty was too affable, too friendly. He was up to something.
Mrs Birch, who had well and truly made up her mind on which side of the fence she sat in this ménage à trois, cleared her throat. ‘I think perhaps it would be better if Mr McGuigan left, Mrs Grant.’
Esther looked her landlady straight in the eye. ‘I don’t, Mrs Birch.’ Blow the rules; she would find somewhere else if she had to. She wouldn’t have Caleb treated like this.
‘Oh.’ Clearly affronted, Mrs Birch turned to Monty. ‘Mr Grant . . . ’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Birch,’ said Monty smoothly, before looking at Esther. ‘I’ve come to tell you that your father has had a stroke, Esther. A bad one. And he is asking for you.’
Esther stared, wide-eyed, and for once she did not correct Monty about the form of address. ‘I don’t want to see him.’
‘He’s very ill – very ill indeed – and he wants to make his peace with you,’ said Monty, so reasonably and gently that Caleb wanted to punch him on the nose. ‘Would you deny him the comfort that would bring?’
It was a trick. Caleb’s jaw worked. Ten to one, this was a ploy to get Esther back into the fold and away from him, but she wouldn’t fall for it, would she? Not his Esther.
‘He wanted nothing to do with me, or Joy; you know that yourself. You heard him – you were there. If . . . if he could have struck me dead when the baby was born, he would have.’
‘That was then, and shock played a big part in his behaviour. Surely you can appreciate that?’
‘What I appreciate is that it has been three years, and he has never tried to see me.’
‘Now that’s not quite true, is it? I told you some time ago that he was willing to let bygones be bygones.’ Monty handed the mug to Mrs Birch and came to stand in front of her. ‘He’s dying, Esther,’ he said softly. ‘Surely you can find it in your heart to see him one last time? If you refuse, you may regret
it in the future and it will be too late then.’
‘Enough of that.’ Caleb spoke for the first time, his voice harsh. ‘Don’t blackmail her. That man has never been a father to her, in the true sense of the word.’
Monty turned his gaze on the man he saw as his rival, and his manner was autocratic as he said coolly, ‘I disagree, and I feel I am in a better position than you to make a judgement. Theobald gave her everything from the moment she was born, and denied her nothing.’
‘Everything money can buy, you mean. What about love and support and understanding when she needed them most?’
Monty shrugged his shoulders, his eyes diamond-hard as he looked at the other man. ‘I would be very careful about throwing the first stone,’ he said evenly. ‘You haven’t met Theobald, so I repeat: I am in a better position than you to judge his motives. He wants to see his daughter and granddaughter. Is that too much of an extreme request to deny a dying man?’
Esther felt she wanted to be sick. The thought of going back to her childhood home was stomach-churning; seeing Theobald again was ten times worse. And yet, if he really was dying, could she refuse? It was true what Monty said: like it or not, Theobald had given her a privileged upbringing and, although that had been by default, nevertheless she had benefited from it. ‘Are . . . are you sure he wants to see me?’ she murmured, her head bowed.
Caleb saw the flash of satisfaction sweep over Monty’s face, before the gentle mask came into play again. If he hadn’t been holding Joy, he knew he would have had Esther’s husband by the throat before now. ‘Esther, you can’t seriously be considering doing what he wants? What either of them wants? This is a ruse of some kind, you must see that?’ He glared at Monty. ‘You’ve had the divorce papers, haven’t you? That’s what this is really about.’ If Esther went back with Monty, somehow she would be persuaded to stay and take up her old life, he thought desperately.
‘Caleb, I need to go home, just this one time,’ she whispered. ‘Please try to understand.’
Home. She had used the word ‘home’. Already the tentacles were tightening. Fear made his voice cold as he said, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. You owe Theobald nothing.’
‘If he’s dying—’
‘If.’ He cut off her voice harshly. ‘That’s the thing, isn’t it? You’ve only got his word for it.’
‘You can telephone the house,’ Monty interjected smoothly, ‘and ascertain the facts, or Dr Martin. You would trust him to tell the truth, wouldn’t you?’ he said to Esther.
‘Shut up!’ Caleb’s face was burning with fury.
‘Caleb, please.’ Esther turned imploring eyes to him. ‘I . . . I believe Monty. He wouldn’t lie about something like this.’
Caleb stared at her, terror making his insides tremble. He was going to lose her. What could he offer her, compared to the kind of life she would have as Monty’s wife and Theobald’s daughter – the kind of life she had been used to, until the last few years? It was familiar to her, far more familiar than existing in one small room and working all hours, and the pull of it would be strong, he knew that. And Monty wasn’t stupid; he would point out every benefit in his oily, silky voice, using Joy as a lever too, no doubt, and listing the advantages that wealth and social standing would open up for Esther’s daughter in the future. ‘Don’t go,’ he said softly now. ‘Please, Esther, don’t go back.’
‘I have to. I’m sorry, but I have to. But it won’t be for long, I promise.’
Monty knew what was going on in Caleb’s head, and felt a deep satisfaction in watching him squirm. Theobald’s stroke couldn’t have been more opportune if he’d planned it deliberately, but it was genuine enough, and it had had the effect of reinforcing in the old goat’s mind his obsession with carrying on the family name. That, and the divorce papers, which had arrived a little while ago. From Theobald’s reaction to them, Monty had realized that his father-in-law had never really expected Esther to go that far, and it had been a shock to him. In fact Theobald hadn’t really been well from the morning they had arrived, but it had been his desire for young flesh that had tipped him over the edge.
Monty thought back to the early hours of the morning when he had been woken out of a deep sleep by one of his father-in-law’s regulars pounding on his bedroom door. His initial reaction had been that it was the final straw, and he would follow through on his desire to find alternative accommodation. But when he’d opened the door, the girl had been in hysterics, saying that Theobald had ‘gone all funny’. He had paid her and the child – because the second girl had been little more than a child – and got them out of the house before calling Dr Martin, and then made Theobald as comfortable as he could until the doctor arrived, but several times he had thought Theobald had breathed his last. Thinking of this now, he murmured, ‘Time is short, I fear, Esther.’
Caleb stared at Esther for a moment more, without looking at Monty again, and then thrust Joy into her arms. ‘Do what you want to do,’ he said flatly. ‘I can’t stop you.’
‘Well!’ Mrs Birch’s voice trickled like petrol on naked flames into the taut atmosphere. ‘What an attitude, I must say.’
Caleb shot the landlady a glance of such venom that she shut her mouth with a little snap, and then he turned and stepped down into the street. He didn’t bang the door behind him, but left it wide open, and as he walked away part of him was waiting for Esther to call him back. But she didn’t. He didn’t pause or slow down until he had turned the corner of the street, and then, when he was out of sight of the house, he began to shake. Leaning against the brick wall of a butcher’s shop, he ran his hand over his face, cursing Monty under his breath.
He hadn’t meant to leave Esther that way. He straightened, turning to retrace his footsteps, before stopping once again. Should he go back? He took a step forward, paused and swung round in a semicircle as a maelstrom of different emotions had him groaning out loud. He didn’t know what to do, for crying out loud. If he went back to the house there was a damned good chance he would punch Monty in the face, and he had enough sense left to know that would play directly into the other man’s hands.
And she had made her choice. He shut his eyes. He knew that. But he didn’t want her to think he didn’t understand.
Did he understand? he asked himself in the next moment. And when the answer came, he muttered, ‘So why go back, then? What good will it do?
How long he stood there he didn’t know. It was dark now, the May night cool but not cold, but he was oblivious to his surroundings as his mind whirled and spun. And then, faintly, he heard the sound of voices and a car starting up. Walking to the corner again, he looked down the street just in time to see Mrs Birch hand Joy to Esther, who was clearly sitting in the back seat of Monty’s car, although he couldn’t make her out very well.
She was going right now. For a moment he almost ran down the pavement, but checked himself just in time. What a fool he would look, with his awkward gait and hobbledehoy bearing. Why give Monty more ammunition with which to prove to Esther that he was the better man?
Mrs Birch shut the car door and stood back on the pavement, and the next moment the car was drawing away. And in that second Caleb bitterly regretted not calling out or trying to see her. He stood in the shadows, calling himself every name under the sun, his hands bunched into fists at his side and his body tense. And then the sound of the car faded, the street became quiet once more and he was alone. In fact he had never felt so alone, not even when he was lying in a rat-infested trench in France, with his body lacerated with shrapnel and his best friend’s body, minus its head, stretched out at the side of him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Theobald lay back against his heaped pillows, watching Dr Martin pack his black bag after the doctor had examined him. He wondered if the doctor was aware that he wasn’t as ill as he was pretending, but he rather thought not. The man was a fool, he thought dismissively. All quacks were. So full of their own importance it was easy to pull the wool over t
heir eyes. And of course he had had a stroke; it just hadn’t incapacitated him as severely as he was making out.
It had frightened him, though. He shut his eyes as though he was too weary to keep them open, but behind the closed lids his mind was racing. And it was a warning to get his house in order, and that meant Esther returning to live as Monty’s wife. He found he didn’t want to leave this earth childless, and although Esther wasn’t his, with Monty’s agreement the Wynford name would be carried on. He wouldn’t simply turn to dust and be forgotten in a few years – not with his name alive. For a moment the panic that any thought of dying brought was strong, and as his heart began to race he silently told himself: steady, steady. He intended to live for a good few years yet.
‘I understand Mr Grant has gone to fetch your daughter, Mr Wynford.’
Theobald opened his eyes and nodded at the doctor, saying weakly, ‘I feel the need to be reconciled to her.’
‘Well, that’s good, that’s good.’ Dr Martin smiled briefly. ‘If there’s one thing the war’s taught us, it’s that life is too short to hold grudges, and family is all-important. I shall tell your housekeeper the correct dose of tincture, and so on, and I’ll return tomorrow morning. Try and get a good night’s sleep, Mr Wynford.’
Once he was alone, Theobald sat up straighter. The stroke had affected his left side, with the corner of his mouth slightly stretched upwards and the skin around his eye dragging a little, but he had more movement in his left arm, hand and leg than he had let on to Dr Martin. He wouldn’t put it past Esther to check with the doctor how serious his condition was. He felt rough, he told himself, in justification of what he was doing, but not like some of the poor devils he’d seen who had been taken by a stroke. The doctor had wanted him admitted to hospital, but Theobald was having none of that. He could string Dr Martin along; the hospital specialists were a different kettle of fish. His speech had been slurred initially, but already that was improving, so he’d have to remember to be careful about the way he spoke. All in all, it could have been a lot worse. He inclined his head at the thought. He’d got a mite too excited about what he was doing to Mabel’s little sister, that was the truth of it. It wasn’t often he got his hands on one as young as her: nine years old, but already being coached very ably by Mabel. He understood there were two more sisters – twins, of seven years old – and he’d promised Mabel a small fortune if he could be the first. The parents didn’t care, according to Mabel, not as long as their offspring brought home the money for their drink and drugs. Scum, the lot of them.
The Colours of Love Page 28
