by Janet Woods
But then, nobody had ever made her feel so welcome before, nor told her she was pretty, so she wrapped her arms around Janey’s waist and cried, and she remembered when she was small – remembered love.
Drawn by the noise, Saffy waddled through from the other room and stood staring at them. Her thumb came out of her mouth, and she gave a cry of protest at the sight of two strangers touching her mother.
Three pairs of eyes turned to gaze at her, three mouths stretched in a smile. It was all rather odd and frightening. Sitting down with a thump, she screwed up her eyes and began to howl.
‘Saffy my darling. It’s all right.’
Scooped up in her mother’s arms Saffy listened to her soft, soothing voice, breathed the scent of her skin in her nostrils and felt it warm against her face. Her world became safe, her crying stopped, and she smiled at the strangers.
Later, when Janey went down to the kitchen to make tea, she approached Devlin with her request.
‘I suppose so,’ he grumbled when she asked him if her visitors could stay for a few days, even though he’d expected it and didn’t mind. ‘But don’t take too much time off from your work. The American exhibition will bring international recognition for the Mistral signature.’
‘All this Age of Aquarius stuff is driving me nuts. Dev. It’s not what I want to paint.’
‘It’s commercial. Make the most of it. Not many artists are doing as well as you are.’
‘Because they haven’t got a slave driver for a manager. I’m tired. My arms and shoulders ache and I’m running out of ideas. Besides that, I need a holiday.’
‘After the exhibition, I promise.’ Devlin sighed. ‘Look, take a week off to spend time with your family. Afterwards, I’ll hire a part-time nanny for Saffy. That will give you time to catch up on your painting. Okay?’
Devlin avoided her accusing eyes. He knew he was pushing her too hard, but cult art had a limited life. As Mistral, Janey had fluked her way into it. The rewards had proved to be greater than he’d imagined.
Had she but known it, she’d earned enough money to buy herself a house and live independently. He didn’t intend to give her that independence, not yet. He wanted more for her – wanted more for himself. He wanted her!
But her heart was still with Drifter. He could see it in her face when she looked at the sea green eyes of her child. She had a way of standing then, her head slanted to one side, her mouth a soft smile, her eyes full of daydreams.
Her lips brushed his cheek, as if she was kissing a favorite uncle. ‘Thanks, Dev.’
He caught her face between his hands and kissed her mouth, fighting the urge to throw her down amongst the sliced carrots and celery on the bench, and make love to her until his rage was spent. He kept the kiss gentle, and grinned at the faintly perplexed expression in her eyes when he finished. She didn’t have a clue about men. The corner of his eye glimpsed Susie coming down the stairs.
An odd child that one, her face closed as if zipped together with despair when she’d come through the front door. He’d have assessed her as the type of child who’d get into trouble just to lash out at the world. Yet barely half an hour later, there was an adoring shine in her eyes for Janey, and Devlin knew he’d been wrong. All she needed was to be listened to and given a sense of self-worth.
Devlin Cox. Psychologist. His mother had always said a university degree would come in handy one day, so let’s see what he could do with this one.
‘Fancy giving me a hand in the kitchen.’ He waved his hand over the vegetables like a magician.
Susie bestowed a cool glance on him. ‘I might. Can I make a cake?’
‘You like cooking cakes?’
‘Didn’t I just say so?’ She leaned on the bench, saying offhandedly. ‘I’m going to be a chef when I grow up, and have my own restaurant. Do you like cooking?’
‘Yes ... when I’ve got the time.’
An understatement, Janey thought, flicking him a grin. He had a passion for cooking.
‘Perhaps I’ll give you a job in my restaurant.’ Susie’s gaze darted around the kitchen, at the rack of copper pans, the utensils, and the cooker with the range hood to take away the smells. ‘Not bad,’ she said then inspected the vegetables. ‘What are you making?’
‘Minestrone soup.’
‘You should use shell pasta, not chopped spaghetti. It looks better.’ Susie picked up the paring knife. ‘The vegetables should be cut smaller, too.’
‘I thought you wanted to bake a cake.’
‘We’ll have to get this mess off the bench first, won’t we?’ She handed him the knife and selected a recipe book from the shelf under the bench. ‘You get on with it whilst I look it up. Okay?’
‘Just what I needed, an overseer for the kitchen. Thanks Janey.’
Susie giggled.
As she picked up the tray and left them to it, Janey grinned. Devlin constantly surprised her.
Justin Pitt was born exactly one year after Saffy. He was small, not very attractive, and quiet, as if the fact that his creation was an intrusion rather than a cause for celebration, had affected his development.
There were gifts. A substantial trust account from the Pitt brothers, who promptly enrolled Justin at the prestigious school Martin had attended in Milton Abbas. Teddy bears of various sizes and colors arrived, boxes of chocolates, gift baskets and enough flowers and cards to fill the private room to overflowing.
Miss Frobisher put notices in the paper on behalf of the young Mrs. Pitt, and ran herself ragged seeing to her every need.
Linda gave the chocolates and gift baskets to the nurses when she was ready to leave the hospital, dispensing them with graceful largess. As an after-thought, she kept one for Miss Frobisher, who shed tears of gratitude when she handed them to her.
Silly old cow, Linda thought.
Martin used his power of attorney to raise a small mortgage on the Renfrew’s house. He put some money aside to pay the fees of the nursing agency, then bought a second hand Morgan, a car he’d always coveted. It needed a little bit of work doing on it, but he could tinker with it himself
Linda demanded a nanny for Justin. She’d produced the heir, but had no intention of looking after him.
Martin refused. If the baby kept her totally occupied she wouldn’t make so many demands on him.
‘I intend to regain my figure, go on the pill and enjoy myself!’ she told him, her eyes narrowing. ‘If you think I’m staying at home looking after a kid and an invalid, you can think twice.’
So when Justin cried and woke them up at night, she shouted at him to shut up, and told Martin he’d have to feed and change the child himself.
After a week, Martin was so tired he gave in and hired a nanny. He was forced to renegotiate the loan on the house to pay for it, but told himself it didn’t matter. The house would eventually be theirs, anyway.
Linda smiled with satisfaction as she lifted the receiver and accepted the invitation to Sarah Wyman’s New Year’s Eve party in London. They needed to move in the right circles if Martin was to get ahead in 1969, and Sarah Wyman was just the person to help him ... and her!
* * * *
Winterbrook was just as Pamela remembered it, except for a sprinkling of tastefully designed bungalows in the grounds of the Brown’s old house.
‘They blend in nicely,’ she said as Phil drew the car to a halt so she could inspect them.
‘Aye, they’re nice enough. It’s mostly city folk who own the village now. They come down on weekends and holidays. Not many of us locals are left. Sam’s gone, a bad chest took him off at the beginning of autumn.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Pamela murmured.
Phil glanced at the child sitting quietly in the back seat. ‘The village school has closed. Mister James died two years since, and Miss Robbins has moved on.’
Susie will be going to secondary school. There’s a daily bus service now, I believe.’
‘That there is.’ Phil’s dark eyes caught Susie’s indiffere
nt stare and his face creased into a smile. Here was a child who needed to be made to feel a bit special.
‘Seems like yesterday you were born, young Susie,’ he said, his arm embracing the sky. ‘Tis said that a child born in a thunderstorm will carry the turmoil in her soul through childhood.’
Susie leaned forward, her arm resting her on the back of the seat. ‘Are you the gypsy who delivered me?’
Phil grinned when Pamela tried to shush her. This one was blunt – straight out with it? She’d believe only what her eyes told her to.
Not like her sister. Janey’s mind connected to the threads of the universe in many different ways. All feeling, all perception, all trust was Janey, however much she tried to deny it to herself. It was about time she returned to where she belonged.
‘That’s right, Susie. Janey and I brought you into this world, and a pretty sight you were too though squalling fit to bust. You swallowed the storm, all right ... swallowed it down in one gulp. Now, I reckon you’ll be spitting it out bit by bit till you’re grown up enough to handle it.’
‘I am grown up enough to handle it.’ She sat back in her chair and stared out of the window as the car jerked forward again.
Pamela stared at Coombe Cottage as they passed. Smoke curled out of the chimney, staining the lemon sky with grey. The flowerbed had been dug over, and turned into a flourishing vegetable patch. Tamed now, wisteria arched twisted bones over either side of the windows. Odd to think spring would cascade fragrant blue blossoms all over the windows.
It looked neat with the dormant flowerbeds set into the lawn.
She experienced no sense of nostalgia at seeing her former home. She’d never experienced any happiness living there ... except perhaps, the birth of Susie.
‘Someone called John Smith bought it. He’s a quiet sort of chap. He doesn’t go out of his way to make friends, but pleasant enough to talk to if you run in to him.’
‘He’s done a lot to the garden.’
‘Oh, aye.’ Phil snorted. ‘He’ll have his job cut out in spring. Nature has a way of ignoring such neatness.’
‘Which room did Janey sleep in?’ Susie asked suddenly.
Surprised, Pamela gazed at her. ‘It’s the one on the right, and under the eaves. Why do you ask?’
‘She talked about it in her sleep. She said there was a shadow in her room, that it was hurting her. She was crying out so I had to wake her up. She looked terrified.’
‘I expect it was a nightmare.’
‘That’s what she said, but I had the feeling ...’ Susie bit her lip and shrugged. ‘I thought something awful might have happened to her there, that’s all.’
Pamela exchanged a glance with Phil, both remembering the night Janey was attacked.
‘I’ve heard Jack Bellamy’s coming back to the village,’ Phil said a few moments later as the gates of the big house came into view.
Pamela nodded. She and Janey had chatted about Jack Bellamy when she’d been in London. Janey was convinced he hadn’t attacked her now, but she wouldn’t let on who had.
‘Let sleeping dogs lie,’ was all she would say.
Susie was a overawed by the welcome they received at the big house. The cook, whose name was Ada, was as round as a tennis ball and quite old. But she was sprightly, and fussed and clucked when she asked her how the sponge cake she’d set on the table had turned out so light.
‘It’s in the beating, my dear. Next time I make one I’ll show you.’
‘Susie’s very interested in cooking,’ Pamela remarked.
‘Good. I was telling Mister Wyman the other day. I could do with an extra hand in the kitchen on Saturday. Perhaps he’ll take you on if I ask him nicely. I daresay you wouldn’t mind earning a bit of pocket-money for yourself?’
Susie tried not to flinch as her cheek was pinched between a thumb and finger.
‘Eh, who would have thought it. The last time I saw you, you was a bonny little baby. I hope you can settle down in the country after the bright lights of Bournemouth.’
Susie would have liked to live near Janey, but her mother had been offered a job in the village and they needed to support themselves. But Janey had promised to visit her next month – and Devlin had said she was welcome to visit any time.
Her main fear was that they’d go back to live in Bournemouth with their father. She’d run away if they did.
That night, she slept in a small room high in the house. Out of habit, she jammed a chair under the doorknob in case someone came in while she was asleep, and touched her – like her father had once done.
Putting the finishing brushstroke to a painting, Janey stretched, and then sighed with relief.
She was one big ache; every muscle, every finger felt old to her. For the past month she’d done nothing but paint. Now it was done, and Mistral was no more - whatever Devlin said.
A long walk was what she needed. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the dark woods of Winterbrook and the track over the hill to the beach. There, the salty wind would blow the London grime from her lungs.
She heard the postman, and raced down the stairs to scoop the letters from the mat. The house had an empty feel as she made her way through to the kitchen.
Devlin was at the gallery, and Saffy walking with her nanny in the park. She pulled a face. Her daughter had never been so clean and tidy. Still, the girl Devlin had hired was nice natured, and didn’t mind that it was just a temporary job. She’d explained that she’d just finished training, and at least she’d have a reference.
Splashing orange juice into a glass she spread the letters out over the shining blue counter top. There were two for Devlin and three for herself. Tim, Mary Yates, and ...? Her face paled as she stared at the postmark. ‘USA,’ she whispered, and feverishly tore it open.
It was from the art gallery in America, saying how much they were looking forward to her exhibition. She gave a short, sharp, angry laugh as she screwed it up and threw it across the room.
Why am I trying to kid myself? Drifter is never coming back.
She felt shut in and restless. She’d ask Devlin for some money, and go away to the country. He’d promised her she could have a holiday.
Why should she have to ask Devlin? It was her money, wasn’t it? He’d taken over her finances, and hadn’t even told me how much she had saved.
She went through to his office, and then hesitated. It wasn’t right to go through his desk, even if her bank-book was in it. She rang him at the gallery, determined to ask.
‘Devlin ... I ...’
‘Is something the matter?’ His warm friendly voice brought a rush of guilt. How could she even contemplate not trusting him? Devlin was the best friend she’d ever had. He’d given her a home, guided her career.’
‘Janey ... are you all right?’
‘Of course ... I’ve completed the painting for the exhibition, that’s all. I wanted to tell you.’
‘Great. We’ll have a bottle of champagne to celebrate when I get home. See you later, angel’
‘Devlin?’ she said quietly into the receiver.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing ... nothing ...’ Quickly, she hung up.
She hated this feeling of limbo she got when she finished something. Somebody had once told her it was a form of grieving, that she should start a new project.
Jack Bellamy had said it. Instantly, anger rose in her. Why had he deceived her? He should have told her he was her father right from the beginning. She imagined him penned up for all those years in prison and pressed her fingers against the pain that knotted her temple. ‘I wasn’t to blame – I wasn’t!’
But she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and presently her body became heavy, and the floor drew her down to its shining surface and held her prisoner. Through the light came a shadow, creeping closer and closer, and she couldn’t move a muscle.
It was Eddie Renfrew. As he smiled at her she tried to scream, but it burned in her throat and her skin fused togethe
r. She began to cough and cough, and she couldn’t stop.
‘No ... don’t, daddy. You’re hurting me! I’m choking!’
‘It’s okay, Janey. It’s me, Devlin? Open your eyes, angel. You’re safe.’
She was lying on her bed. He must have carried her up because the last thing she remembered was being in the kitchen.
She clung to him for a long time, and then when her heart settled down she managed a smile. ‘Thank God you came home.’
‘I thought you sounded odd.’ Anxiety clouded his eyes and she knew she wasn’t being fair to him.
‘Did you want to know about it?’
As his eyes engaged hers, he said gently, ‘Only if you want to tell me. I’m not stupid, Janey and I’ve got a good idea already.’
She tried not to cry or sound self-pitying as she told him what she remembered. ‘The awful thing is I don’t know what to do about it. My fa ... Eddie Renfrew has had a stroke.’
Devlin drew her close, and his fingers walked caressingly through her scalp. ‘It’s going to bug you for the rest of your life if you do nothing. Perhaps we can sort something out when I come back from America.’
‘Yes.’ She was so tired, and his fingers felt great against her scalp. Closing her eyes, she sighed. ‘That feels wonderful.’
His lips touched hers, and his mouth was a provocative exploration. She should have stopped him, but didn’t have the will. He made her feel loved and loving, and she needed to give him something in return.
So she didn’t protest when he began to make love to her. Once, she detected a little spark of response inside her. But it surprised her too much, and because she thought about it for too long, she sighed with regret when it faded.
He gazed at her then, his eyes dark. He cursed, and rose from the bed, his body taut and defensive, like a beautiful golden puma being cheated of its prey.
‘Why didn’t you stop me sooner?’ He was harsh ... accusing, and she desperately wished she could give of herself what he desired.
