With dragging footsteps, Beth went through to the kitchen to sort out the children’s tea.
Three
It was a tradition that Edna came to tea on Sundays, and as always she’d declined Nuala’s offer to collect her in the car. ‘I hope I’m capable of walking that far,’ she’d retorted, as she always did.
Today, though, she was looking older and decidedly more frail, Nuala thought anxiously. That spark that had always been so much a part of her seemed to be missing. She glanced from her aunt to her father, sitting in the chair with his Zimmer beside him, and held down a sigh.
‘I’ve a spot of news for you,’ she began brightly. ‘Guess what? I’m going to be a landlady!’
Edna looked at her blankly over her teacup. ‘I thought that was only in wartime,’ she said.
‘Not landgirl, Auntie, landlady: I’m going into the B&B business.’
Her aunt frowned, and Nuala went on quickly, ‘A couple from Marsborough were up for the weekend; the wife’s a journalist and she’s going to write about the town for the anniversary. Anyway, they were talking to Gordon in the church, and she asked him if he could recommend anywhere for her to stay a couple of nights a week, while she did her research. And he thought of me and the spare room. Wasn’t that kind of him?’
Edna looked worried. ‘But things aren’t that bad, are they, dear? Financially, I mean?’
‘They’re not desperate, no, but a little extra always comes in handy.’
Edna turned to her brother-in-law. ‘What do you think of this, Jack?’
He lifted his shoulders. ‘Can’t see the harm in it, and if it helps finances, why not? As Nuala says, it’s only two nights a week, and she’ll be out all day.’
Edna frowned. ‘I don’t like the thought of strangers in the house.’
Nuala smiled. ‘Only one, Auntie, and she’s perfectly respectable, I assure you! In fact, her name sounds familiar. Rona Parish? Does it ring a bell?’
Edna shook her head.
‘Well, anyway, I showed her the room and she seemed to like it. I’ll ask Jonty Welles tomorrow what I ought to charge.’ Nuala smiled. ‘Gordon says she’s going to dig up all the local scandal!’
To her surprise, her aunt’s face darkened. ‘I trust she’ll stick to what’s safely in the past.’
Nuala’s eyebrows went up. ‘Has there been something recent, then?’
Edna gazed into her teacup and did not reply.
‘Auntie? You know something? Come on, out with it!’
Before Edna could reply, the door burst open to admit Will.
‘Hello, darling,’ Nuala greeted him. ‘I’ve saved you some currant cake, but wash your hands first and change your shoes.’
As he went under protest to obey, she turned quickly back to Edna, but the moment was lost, and whatever her aunt might have told her lost with it.
‘More tea, Dad?’ she asked resignedly, and at his nod, went to collect his cup and saucer.
The phone was ringing as they opened their front door, and Rona lifted it to hear her mother’s acid tones.
‘You’re home, then,’ she said without preamble. ‘Did you enjoy yourselves?’
‘Hello, Mum. Yes, thanks, and what’s more, I made some useful contacts.’
‘That’s all right, then. Well, since your weekends are so busy nowadays, perhaps you can spare the time to come for supper on Wednesday? That’s not one of Max’s work evenings, is it?’
‘No.’ Rona raised questioning eyebrows at Max, who’d heard the invitation. He shrugged resignedly, and she went on, ‘Thanks, Mum, that would be fine. About seven thirty?’
‘Yes, and don’t be late, or the meal will spoil. Lindsey’s agreed to come too, since Hugh won’t be around.’
Rona pulled a rueful face at her husband. ‘Look forward to seeing you, then. Love to Pops.’
‘That’ll be a barrel of laughs,’ Max commented, as she replaced the phone.
Rona sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her. It’s as if she has a permanent grudge against us these days.’
He picked up their cases and started up the stairs. ‘Quite a social whirl we’re having; isn’t it this Friday the Trents are coming?’
‘Lord, I’d forgotten that. Yes, Barnie rang to confirm it.’
‘You’ll be off to Buckford for a rest,’ Max teased.
‘Hardly. Thanks for coming with me, love. At least I’m not venturing into unknown territory, and I know I’ve a bed waiting for me.’
To Rona’s frustration, there was an entire column of Bishops in the local phone directory. Four had the initial ‘C’, but she didn’t strike lucky with any of them.
‘I’ll have to ask the vicar if he can be more specific,’ she said.
‘I thought it sounded too easy,’ Max remarked, switching on the kettle. ‘Anyway, it’s not a number-one priority, is it, seeing this woman?’
‘It would be a good way to ease myself into the project.’
‘She mightn’t want you cribbing her research.’
‘I’ve no intention of cribbing,’ Rona retorted hotly. ‘I was just hoping for a kick-start. Still, I’ll have to manage without her for now.’
Rona spent the following day devising a working outline of the articles she planned. She’d intended to start with education, but since she’d been unable to contact Mrs Bishop, turned her attention to the development of the town. In any event, the order in which she wrote the articles wouldn’t govern that in which they appeared.
She took out the photocopies she’d made at the library and reread them, finding them more interesting now she could picture the places they described. She was particularly intrigued by the history of the King’s Head pub, where she and Max had lunched. It had already been an ancient building when Charles I’s men refreshed themselves there.
The research, as always, engrossed her, and it was only when Gus whined from the foot of the stairs that she realized it was past five o’clock and he’d not had his walk. Reluctantly she put away her papers and they set off together up the alleyway to the park above the town.
As the dog romped ahead over the grassy slopes, Rona’s thoughts began to fall into shape, as they so often did up here. It was always a restorative to stride along the paths with the wind in her hair and the town laid out below, giving her a sense of distance, both physical and mental, from current problems. Down there, family commitments and a dozen responsibilities awaited her, while up here there was just herself and the dog and the wide open spaces.
Mentally, she reviewed the people she’d met during the weekend: Gordon Breen, the vicar; Nuala Banks and her dark-eyed little boy; the landlord of the pub. No doubt a few weeks from now she’d know them all better, and maybe revise her initial opinions of them. She pictured the bedroom that would be hers during her visits, its window giving on to the church and the vicarage garden with its oddly shaped summerhouse. And she thought of the sprawling school buildings near the market cross, where Catherine Bishop had compiled her own archives. Might she, as Max had hinted, resent Rona’s project? She could only hope not.
Back home again, she fed Gus and, deciding against a take-away, phoned Dino’s to book their usual table, explaining she’d be dining alone.
‘We look forward to seeing you, Signora,’ came the deeply accented voice. Lindsey maintained that Dino had been born Joe Bloggs and taken his name from Dean’s Crescent, the location of the restaurant; but while Rona conceded the name might be suspect, she was convinced the man was genuinely Italian.
Two hours later, she was duly escorted to the alcove, and Gus settled in his accustomed place under the table. Dino himself, full of effusive welcome, spread a snow-white napkin on her lap, set a small dish of olives in front of her, and handed her the menu. She had barely started to read it when a familiar voice accosted her.
‘Rona! We were wondering if we’d find you here!’
‘Magda – and Gavin!’ She stood up to receive their greetings. ‘I didn’t realize you were b
ack.’
‘We barely are,’ Magda told her. ‘We only landed this morning. I was just saying I must give you a buzz; it’s ages since we spoke.’ She glanced at the single place-setting. ‘Max not coming?’
‘No, it’s one of his teaching evenings.’
‘Then may we join you?’
‘Of course; I’ll be glad of the company.’
An extra chair was brought and places laid, and Rona watched as her friends settled themselves. They were a striking couple, both tall and thin, she just under six foot, he just over. But while Gavin’s thick hair was ash-blond, Magda’s, curving into her cheeks in a casual bob, was as black as a crow, as were her large, heavy-lidded eyes and thick brows, a legacy from her Italian mother.
The three of them went back a long way; Magda had been Rona’s closest friend at both school and university, and probably still was. Often caustic and astringent, she made a point of speaking her mind, and had lost not a few friends in the process. They’d had their spats over the years, but mutual affection always drew them back.
As for Gavin Ridgeway, he was the first man Rona had loved, and she’d been considering his proposal when she met Max. It was a memory that still embarrassed her, though the rest of them took it in their stride. As Magda pointed out, in a town the size of Marsborough, everyone had been out with everyone else at some stage.
Rona glanced across, trying to view him dispassionately. His features were too irregular to be handsome, but they had an angular virility that women – herself included – found attractive. Briefly, their eyes met and in his was the usual hint of amused speculation. Rona quickly looked away.
Magda was studying the menu. ‘Good, I see they’re still doing their affettati misti. I’ll start with that.’
They made their selections, and when the hovering waiter approached, Magda relayed them in Italian. ‘So,’ she began, turning to Rona, ‘what have you been up to? I haven’t seen any of your articles lately.’
‘No, it’s – taken me longer than I expected to get going again.’
‘After the Harvey fiasco?’ Magda had missed the drama, having been abroad on a lengthy buying trip. She owned a string of boutiques dotted round the county. ‘But you’re working now, surely?’
Her tone made Rona thankful she had plans to outline, and she told them about Buckford and the weekend she and Max had just spent there. ‘A town as old as that,’ she finished, ‘is sure to have its legends – heroes, ghosts, miscarriages of justice. All I have to do is unearth them.’ She glanced at Magda. ‘You’ve got a boutique there, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’d be no help on the history angle. My interest in the place is limited to movement of stock and sales figures.’
The drinks were brought, followed by their first courses. ‘Now,’ Rona invited, as they took up their forks, ‘tell me about the trip. Gavin certainly looks the better for it.’
Earlier in the year, he had succumbed to a viral infection that took its toll before finally fizzling out, and the holiday had been intended to put him back on his feet. Judging by his clear eyes and healthy tan, it had worked admirably.
‘It was totally wonderful,’ Magda enthused, spearing a fig. ‘Perpetual sunshine, interesting food and nothing to do but please ourselves all day, being as lazy or adventurous as the mood took us. Imagine, Ro, we actually sailed on Lake Titicaca – remember doing it in Geography? – and were lucky enough to be in Rio for one of their fiestas.’
‘Then we went on to the States,’ Gavin put in, topping up their glasses, ‘and flew over the Grand Canyon in a helicopter. It was pretty breezy, and to be honest, I was glad to be back on terra firma. The views were magnificent, though, and it was great seeing more of the country than just the usual stopovers in New York and Washington.’
‘The Yanks always sound so aggressive, don’t they?’ Magda observed reflectively.
Rona raised an eyebrow. ‘Do they?’
‘Think about it: we turn off the ignition, they kill it; we pick up the phone, they grab it; we press the bell, they punch it; we take to the road, they hit it. Not to mention that ghastly punching-the-air gesture that’s overtaken the more sportsmanlike raised arm. Perhaps they just like to seem tough. Still –’ she pushed back her plate – ‘I love them in spite of it. So tell me about the family: how’s that enigmatic husband of yours?’
Rona smiled; Max and Magda were established sparring partners. ‘Fine. He’s working on a commission for postage stamps at the moment.’
‘Gummed or self-adhesive?’
Gavin gave a bark of laughter. ‘Ignore her, Rona. It sounds most impressive.’
Magda shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’d care for black franking all over my works of art, but chacun, as they say. And twin sister? What’s she up to these days?’
Rona grimaced. ‘Dallying with Hugh again.’
‘Never!’ Magda gazed at her in astonishment. ‘I thought she couldn’t wait to see the back of him?’
‘So did we all. But he decided it was all a mistake and he wanted her back. She withstood him for a while, but then he rode to our rescue in the Harvey affair, and since then he’s been coming up every weekend and is angling to be moved back here.’
‘If she gives in, history will repeat itself,’ Magda said darkly. ‘Leopards don’t change their spots.’
They lingered over coffee and petits fours, and it was after eleven when they rose to leave. To Rona’s embarrassment, Gavin insisted on paying for her meal.
‘It’s no big deal, for heaven’s sake,’ he insisted, refusing her attempts to contribute. ‘Anyway, you added to our enjoyment, didn’t she, Maggie?’
‘Of course she did.’ Magda kissed Rona’s cheek lightly. ‘Love to the family, and let me know how the Buckford project proceeds.’
They separated on the pavement, the Ridgeways to collect their car and Rona, declining their offer of a lift, to walk home with Gus.
‘Magda and Gavin are back,’ she told Max when, as always, he phoned to say good night. ‘They came into Dino’s, so we sat together.’
‘Has Gavin recovered from that bug?’
‘Yes, he seems fine. They’ve had a fantastic holiday, by all accounts, in South America and the States. Do you know, Max, I’ve just worked out that I’ve known Magda nearly thirty years! Isn’t that frightening? I can still remember her first day at school; Sally Tompkins pulled her pigtails, and Magda went for her!’
Max laughed. ‘And she’s been going for people ever since!’
Rona remembered his words as she sat reading in bed, and, laying down her book, she let her thoughts drift back across the years to her first meeting with Magda, when they were both ten years old. She’d been a new girl at the beginning of the summer term, and consequently had to brave a class where everyone else knew each other. However, Rona’s initial twinge of sympathy rapidly dissipated as it became clear the newcomer could fend for herself. After the episode with Sally, Magda seemed to regard them all as potential enemies and made no attempt to form friendships. Even then, she stood out from the others, in the way she spoke as much as in her looks. Thinking back, Rona realized that her clear diction and impeccable grammar came from having learned English as a second language.
The turning point came one day when Lindsey had been kept at home with earache, and Rona just happened to walk out of the school gates alongside Magda. Among the familiar, homely figures of the other mothers was an exotic creature in scarlet skirt and white lacy top who, to Rona’s alarm, swept down upon them, catching them both up in her enthusiastic embrace.
‘Ah, cara, this is one of your friends?’ She bent down to smile into Rona’s face. ‘You will come home for tea, yes? There are some copate, which I am sure you will enjoy.’
Rona glanced wildly at Magda, whose face was as scarlet as her mother’s skirt. ‘Mama—’ she began, but her mother was already shepherding them both down the road like a mother hen with her chicks. ‘We will telephone to your mother and tell her where you are,’ she decl
ared. ‘Then she will not worry, no?’ She had said mahzzer and wahrry.
Magda, meanwhile, was in a turmoil of embarrassment. ‘Mama is Italian,’ she whispered to Rona, as though that explained everything.
And it probably did. Over the following months Rona came to idolize Paola King, revelling in her vibrant colours, her full-bellied laugh and her obvious joy in life, all of which were such a stark contrast to her own mother. The Kings’ house was a semi-detached, to a passer-by no different from its neighbours; but once inside it became, to Rona’s young eyes, an Aladdin’s cave. The furniture was subtly foreign, religious pictures and crucifixes hung on the walls, and the floors were spread with brightly coloured rugs instead of carpets. And overlaying it all was its distinctive aroma of exotic breads and pastries, rich meat sauces and succulent pastas.
It became her retreat from teenage angst, disagreements with her mother, exam nerves. With or without Magda, Paola always welcomed her, listened with sympathy to her problems, and sat her down at the kitchen table to whatever delicacy she was in the process of making. The magic always worked, and an hour or so later, Rona would return home with her equilibrium restored, able to face the world again. Looking back, she saw that those times with Paola were some of the most formative of her adolescence, and the only ones she’d not shared with Lindsey. It was only much later that she’d wondered whether Magda’s reserve had been a subconscious reaction to her mother’s gregariousness.
On that first visit she had duly made her phone call, and Avril, having established she was only in the adjacent street, had raised no objection to her delayed return. ‘As long as you do your homework,’ she’d added as an afterthought. Then Rona was seated at the table opposite Magda and given a bright-blue mug of milk and the promised copate, which turned out to be delicious little wafer-like cakes.
‘I’m so glad to meet a friend of Magdalena,’ Paola declared, joining them at the table and studying Rona with frank interest. ‘She does not make friends easily, eh, cara mia? I worry about that.’
Jigsaw Page 4
