‘If you give him his supper he’ll never be off your doorstep,’ Oliver told her, glad that the talk was no longer about himself and Celia.
She ladled a plateful of hotpot for him and Oliver heaped red cabbage pickle on to his potatoes, watching the purple juice soak through them before closing his eyes with pleasure as the half-forgotten taste of vinegar-crisp cabbage nipped his tongue.
‘I was going to ask you if you’d let Lizzie come to Suttonford for a few weeks once Florence is on her feet again,’ he said. ‘It’s time she met more people of her own age.’
‘Get her married off, do you mean,’ Dolly said, ‘to someone from Suttonford?’
‘No. I don’t mean that. But tell me, Dolly, why have you never let her go to work? Many young women work. There are nurses and teachers …’
‘… Aye, there might well be. I was a cook, remember? But I vowed I’d never put her time and her talent at anyone else’s disposal. Never give anyone the right to say “Do this or do that” and her have to obey them.’
She sat down opposite him and placed her elbows on the table in the battling attitude that he remembered. ‘She wanted to go to art school! I ask you. Art school? I said, “Look here, Lizzie, any drawing and painting you do, you’ll do for us.”’ Now a look of doubt crossed her face. ‘You think I was right, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘She never pestered me or anything. They’ve been good children … just grand.’
‘I don’t think you’re right,’ he told her, but kindly. ‘I believe everyone should work. Though I know some girls would rather stop at home and help their mothers.’
‘Do you know, Oliver, those two have never needed outsiders. They seemed to have found all they wanted in each other. They have never made bosom friends with anyone.’ She began to fill a pudding dish with a frothy concoction of apricots and cream, waiting for him to indicate to her when she should stop. When he nodded to stop her she continued. ‘It was me as was always the outsider with them. They didn’t need me.’
She laughed as she said it, obviously not in the least hurt at their apparent neglect. Oliver smiled in agreement with her. ‘Well, you’ve never been one to pine away unnoticed, Dolly. Would you miss her if I took her to Suttonford?’
‘Are you trying to marry her off, then?’
‘No. She should be having more fun than she does. She and Edward spend all their time together when he’s home and he’ll be going back to London soon.’
‘Edward won’t like it. Lizzie getting married. He’s a bit possessive about her,’ Dolly replied. She helped him to more pudding. ‘But he’ll maybe find himself a girl in London.’
‘Who said anything about Lizzie marrying? Don’t go saying that to her,’ Oliver told her sharply, ‘and Edward’s far too young to be thinking about settling down. He’s got years of study ahead of him.’
‘You were married at twenty-two! And you’d had your moments before then,’ Dolly said, leaping to Edward’s defence.
‘I know. But I was no good at playing a cautious game.’ He wiped his mouth on the starched white napkin, pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. ‘But I’ve got to be careful this time,’ he added.
‘You’re seeing her again, are you?’ Her mood had changed. She snapped the words out, rose from the table quickly and stood, head to one side, looking at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Can’t you wait until your wife’s finished lying-in? Have you no decency? Can’t you contain yourself?’
‘My marriage, in the proper sense of it, is over,’ he told her, without emotion. ‘Florence and I will have separate apartments until she is past childbearing.’ He leaned against the mantelshelf and looked his stepmother in the face. ‘And by that time I don’t imagine we’ll start again.’
‘Get yourself a woman with a bit of sense, then,’ Dolly said tartly. ‘Don’t get tangled up with Celia Bellman. You’re not the first you know!’
‘I thought you’d have understood,’ he said quickly and added, with a trace of sarcasm, ‘you weren’t content with a lonely life after Dad died.’
‘My life’s always been lonely,’ she retorted quickly. ‘Just because I’ve kept my side of the bargain and not looked for a man doesn’t mean I’ve not wanted one. I’ve been happy and I’ve been secure but I’ve been lonely, too.’
‘I kept my side of the bargain as well, Dolly,’ Oliver reminded her. ‘You were to have everything you needed as long as you brought my son up.’
‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never regretted it. I’ve never wanted a man more than I wanted this.’ She waved a plump arm, indicating the house and all her responsibilities. ‘I’ve loved every minute of my life since I came here.’ Her voice dropped as she added, ‘All except the lies, Oliver. I’ve never felt right, deceiving them. They should know who they are.’
She took cigarettes and matches out of her handbag and put a cigarette to her lips, sucking at the end to make it light, eyes narrowed in concentration.
‘Good God, Dolly! Don’t tell me you’re smoking now?’ Oliver tried to get her on the defensive. He’d had enough of her haranguing.
‘Never mind what I’m doing! It’s what you and Celia Bellman are doing that I’m talking about. What about Edward and Lizzie? Do you think they won’t notice? You just start being a bit more careful if you want to come here to see them.’ She blew a great stream of smoke into the room.
‘If I want to come here? What are you talking about, woman? I’ll come here whenever I want to. I bought the house. I pay for everything! You’re getting above yourself.’
‘The deeds are mine! Remember?’ she hurled the words at him. ‘I knew I’d need to say that, one day. You signed them over to me!’
She looked at him with the same scowling expression he had seen so many times before. ‘And don’t think we need your money any longer. I could marry Bert. I can take in lodgers. There’s plenty’d come for my cooking alone!’
Now she was being ridiculous. Oliver tried to calm her. ‘I’ll not stop your money,’ he said. ‘I’ll be more discreet.’
‘Edward thinks you’re the most upright and honest man in the world. He looks up to you, Oliver. He tolerates me, he knows my failings. But he doesn’t think you have any,’ Dolly said, but now her tone became sorrowful. ‘He’s had to grow up without a father, not like James, and he’s not sure how men should behave since he’s only lived with women. What’s he going to think of you if he finds out?’ She dropped on to a chair and put her head in her hands. ‘I can’t keep up all the lies,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ve told too many. Sometimes I’ve a job to remember what the truth really is.’
She began to cry. ‘We’re doing wrong by them, not telling them who they are. They ought to be told. But we’ve woven such a web of lies that there’s no way out of it,’ she said.
Oliver took her hand. ‘Keep going, Dolly. There’s no need for them to know. They’ve got birth certificates and they’ve never questioned their parentage.’
‘They have,’ Dolly whispered. ‘Oh, but they have.’
‘What?’
‘Edward asked me how it was that a quarryman, even a quarry-master, could have left us enough to live on.’
A chill went through Oliver. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.
‘I told him you’d been clever. I reminded him that you were grown up when he was born and I said you’d invested it to give us an income.’
‘Did that satisfy him?’
‘He said, “Five barley loaves and two small fishes?” and when I asked him what he meant he said, “If Dad had left only a few pounds it would have taken a miracle to invest it to bring that sort of return.”’
‘How did you answer that?’
‘I said I didn’t know how you did it. All I knew was that when their father died you took control and that we moved to Southport. I told them that my allowance is paid into the bank once a year and that’s all I know.’
‘So he thinks I’m supporting you from my own money?’
‘Yes. At the e
xpense of your family. And he doesn’t like the idea. He wants to look after us himself. He says he’ll keep us when he’s in practice.’
‘Oh God! Poor Edward. He must resent me.’
‘No. He doesn’t, Oliver. He loves you. He wants you to respect him.’ Dolly wiped her eyes with the corner of a table napkin. ‘He’s a wonderful son, Oliver. If he’d been my own I couldn’t have loved him more.’
‘It would do no good, Dolly. Telling them.’ Oliver sat down beside her and spoke earnestly. ‘Don’t you think I want him to know I’m his father? It’s not for my sake, now, that I want the secret kept. We can’t burden them with the truth – with the truth that they are illegitimate. Not when they’re happy to be who they are.’
‘Suppose they find out for themselves. What do we tell them then? That we were protecting them?’ Dolly asked.
‘They can’t find out,’ Oliver told her. ‘Who knows the truth?’
‘Iris knew.’
‘It’s fifteen years since Iris left. They’ve had no contact with her.’
‘Wilf knew.’
‘He’s dead.’
Dolly looked bewildered. ‘Has nobody asked at Suttonford?’ she said.
‘No. It’s twenty years since you left there. There’s nobody but you and me who knows the truth.’
‘And your blackmailer,’ Dolly said.
‘And the blackmailer,’ Oliver echoed and it seemed that the threat of exposure was gathering force. He pulled himself together quickly. ‘No more of this talk,’ he said. ‘I’ll find out who it is before long.’ He lifted his jacket from the back of the chair and pushed his arms into the sleeves. ‘I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, Dolly,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ll go upstairs and say farewell to Edward and Lizzie.’ He would have to keep it from her, the fact that he intended to return to Celia tonight.
It was a hot July morning, the last day of Edward’s summer leave. They had gone early to the beach and paddled in the shallow water.
Lizzie felt the sun burning into her arms through the fine cotton sleeves of her white blouse. She shifted her position where she lay on the sand and turned her head to look at Edward.
He was staring out to sea, lost in his thoughts, his strong profile outlined against the blue expanse of sky. He had taken off his jacket and unfastened the top button of his stiff-necked shirt. His sleeves were folded back to his elbows and his slender brown fingers idly lifted and sifted handfuls of trickling sand.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said.
‘You know exactly what I’m thinking.’ Edward continued to stare at the waterline.
‘It’s impossible.’ Lizzie sat up quickly. ‘You know I can’t go with you to London.’
‘Yet you can go to Suttonford!’ Edward’s hands were clenched now. ‘It will be months before I see you.’
‘You know why I have to go,’ Lizzie spoke softly. She could not bear to hurt him.
‘Because I love you?’ Edward turned to look at her and she saw hurt and pain in his eyes. ‘Going away won’t make me love you less,’ he said.
‘We have to try.’ Tears had begun to well up behind her eyes and she made a determined effort to hold them back. ‘Other girls don’t feel this way about their brothers, Edward,’ she said softly. ‘All the girls I know think their brothers are hell.’
‘I don’t care, Lizzie. I don’t care tuppence for other girls and their feelings. Only you.’
‘I know,’ Lizzie pleaded. ‘Please help me, and yourself. We’ve got to learn to live apart. What we feel is infatuation. It can’t be love. It will die if we will it.’
Edward put both hands on her shoulders and shook her gently until her head came up and their eyes met.
‘I love you, Lizzie. Can’t you accept what we feel for one another?’ His warm brown eyes searched her face for an answer. ‘There will never, never be another girl in this world for me.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You are all I want and I know you love me too. You won’t say it but I’m certain that you do.’
Tears sprang to her eyes. Lizzie pulled herself from Edward’s hold. ‘I must go to Suttonford,’ she said, ‘and stay until Christmas as Oliver suggests. We have to spend time apart.’
Edward stared out to sea again. ‘We already do,’ he said. ‘I spend months at a time in London and it hasn’t cured me of loving you.’
‘Then you must only think of me as your sister,’ Lizzie whispered, ‘and I of you as my brother. We must. We must, Edward.’
There were children on the sands, playing at the water’s edge, splashing and jumping just as they used to do when they were children. There was a strong, salty smell of cockleshells in her nostrils as Lizzie tried to concentrate on the children’s antics, tried not to think of anything.
‘Have you ever thought that we might not be?’ Edward was saying quietly.
‘Not be what?’ she answered.
‘Brother and sister.’
‘Don’t be silly, Edward,’ she replied. ‘What else could we be?’
‘Listen, Lizzie,’ Edward said and the anxious note had returned to his voice. He propped himself on an elbow and faced her again. ‘We’ve known for years that there is something hidden from us, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, but that …’ Lizzie began to say.
‘We’ve known there was something strange about our births,’ Edward went on insistently. ‘Mother and Oliver won’t answer reasonable questions. You can see panic in Mother’s eyes when we ask for information.’
‘I know that. But haven’t you thought that the memories might be painful for them?’ Lizzie asked.
‘No.’ Edward began to push his hands into the sand, to feel its resistance. ‘I’ve never thought that. Mother and Oliver aren’t the kind of people who refuse to face painful things. They are hiding something; hiding it from us; hiding it intentionally – and I mean to find out what it is.’
‘What makes you think so?’ Lizzie said. ‘How can you say, “There is some mystery”? What makes you suspicious?’
‘A hundred little things, Lizzie, that I sense rather than know.’ He turned his face to her. She knew that she could not hide her feelings from him, that he would see that his talk was upsetting her, but she let him go on.
‘It’s in Oliver’s manner. He’s far too protective and I don’t know who he’s protecting. Himself, us or Mother? And Mother … you can see her flinch when we ask questions. Flinch as if she’d been struck. We’re afraid to question her in case she dies of fright.’
‘Perhaps all women who’ve been left widows, so young, are like Mother. Maybe they don’t want to be reminded.’
‘No, no, Lizzie. There is a whole area of their lives – Oliver’s and Mother’s – that they don’t want to talk about. There are missing years, Lizzie. They talk freely about Joe Wainwright until Oliver was about ten. Then – there is nothing. There is a whole chunk missing.’
‘Perhaps – perhaps they just led normal, quiet lives, Edward.’
‘People don’t marry, have two children, then have fifteen or so childless years, leading normal, quiet lives, Lizzie. There are no memories – nothing. Then suddenly, just before the man dies, this busy couple go on and have two more children.’
‘What do you think happened?’ she asked him.
‘I think they separated. I think Mother left. Perhaps Joe Wainwright was not a good man. Perhaps Mother was not a faithful wife.’
‘I don’t want to know if there’s anything dreadful hidden,’ Lizzie told him fearfully. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’
‘I’m sorry, Liz.’ He reached for her hand and held it firmly. ‘It’s too important to me not to ask for the truth. I don’t believe I would want you so much. I don’t think I could feel so passionately about you if I felt it was unnatural. I’m going to ask Oliver to tell me everything. I’ll choose my moment. I’ll wait until I see him in London, away from Mother.’
‘You’re not going to tell him that you – that we – that we want to—?’ she asked.
‘No.’ He touched her face tenderly. ‘I promise I won’t let him suspect. And, Liz …?’
‘Yes?’
‘See what you can find out when you’re at Suttonford. There must be someone who knows what happened. Someone must remember a rich quarryman called Joe Wainwright. It’s only twenty years since he died.’
Lizzie stood up and began to beat the sand out of the folds of her linen skirt. ‘We’ll take a tram back, shall we?’ she said. ‘Oliver and I have to catch the two o’clock to Manchester.’
Edward shook his legs to release the sand from his turned-up trousers. He reached for his jacket and slung it across his shoulder before putting out a hand to drag her up the steep, cobble-sided slope of the beach wall.
Lizzie glanced quickly at him. The brooding look had gone from his face and he was grinning broadly now, making her long to give way to the surging feeling of love that so often overcame her. ‘It might be a test of endurance, Lizzie – living under the same roof as James,’ he reminded her. ‘Do you remember what a rude little beast he was? He flaunted his wealth and possessions in front of his poor relations from Lancashire when he was only ten years old. I hope time has improved him.’
‘So do I,’ Lizzie said. ‘Florence sounds nice. It was a lovely invitation. She says she’s always wanted to meet us and can’t wait until I join them.’
‘And I can’t wait until I see you again,’ Edward told her, but he had laughter in his face and would not make her feel distress again.
Dolly was angry. Oliver had not seen her so angry for years. Hands on hips, head cocked to one side, she faced him in the drawing room.
‘I don’t give a damn what excuses you make! You can lie till you’re blue in the face but don’t tell me you aren’t seeing Celia Bellman.’ She paused for breath for a second and lowered her voice. ‘The girl’s been on at the Variety three weeks on the trot and you’ve been to every bloody weekend performance.’
Oliver answered her. ‘I’m not making excuses. I’ll not explain myself to you.’
The Runaway Page 33
