Cathy shook her head, her eyes troubled. ‘I keep thinking of Dad and how much he meant to me,’ she said. ‘I was so lucky to have had him all the time I was growing up. All Paul has is this image he’s built. How can I shatter that?’
‘What about your images, Cathy? You believed in Gerald, didn’t you? He was a hero to you too once. You gave your life to him, and you had to find out the hard way. And what about me? My mother did her best to poison my memories of my father. I knew he wasn’t perfect but it didn’t make any difference. I loved him the way he was.’ She touched Cathy’s arm. ‘Even with all Gerald’s faults he was a musical genius. Paul can still be proud of that.’
‘I know that what you’re saying is right,’ Cathy said. ‘I just don’t want to be the one to tell him.’
‘Because you think he’ll hate you for pulling down his dream? And having him hate you is the last thing you want?’
For a long moment they stared at each other. Rosalind had interpreted Cathy’s thoughts with uncanny accuracy, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face them. ‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘It would be better to wait until the three of us are alone. Today we’ll just relax and enjoy ourselves.’
‘Okay, only don’t bury your head in the sand,’ Rosalind warned. ‘Don’t spend the rest of your life throwing away chances of happiness. They don’t come along so often that we can afford to waste them.’
The four of them spent the day pleasantly enough. The weather was fine again and over breakfast Paul suggested a drive inland.
‘Might as well make the most of the car while I’ve got it,’ he said. ‘See a bit of Suffolk. I’m really keen to take a look at these ancient Brecklands I’ve heard so much about.’
Although he asked Rosalind and Matthew to go too, they declined. Matthew had telephoned some married friends in nearby Woodbridge to tell them about his new job and they had invited him to take Rosalind along to lunch. They left soon after eleven and Cathy and Paul set out soon after. As they drove along the lanes in the winter sunshine Cathy was quiet. She felt stupid and tongue-tied and the more she searched her mind for some intelligent topic, the blanker it became. For a while Paul struggled to make conversation.
‘I think I might buy myself a car to use while I’m here,’ he said. ‘It’d be cheaper than hiring and it would certainly help me to see more of the countryside in my spare time.’ He glanced at her. ‘I could always sell it when it’s time to head for home again.’
‘Yes. That sounds like a good idea.’
‘If I do that will you come out in it with me?’ he asked, glancing at her.
She looked at him. ‘If you do what?’
‘Buy a car. I’ll need someone to show me the way around.’
She sighed. ‘Look Paul, there’s something I should tell you. I’m planning to go into partnership with Rosalind and run Cuckoo Lodge as a small hotel.’
‘That’s a great idea.’ He looked slightly puzzled. ‘You’re not still worried about my crazy idea for the place, are you?’
‘No. What I mean is that I won’t be living in London any more. We — you and I will be a long way apart.’
‘So what’s new?’ He drew the car into the side of the quiet country road and turned in his seat to look at her. ‘We’ve been a long way apart ever since we met, Cathy. And it seems to me that’s the way you want it to be.’
‘You’re wrong. I don’t, not really. It’s just with you being Gerald’s son. It makes things — difficult.’
‘I don’t see why. I know you and he weren’t happy together, but that has nothing to do with you and me. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t get along.’ When she didn’t reply he reached out to cup her chin, turning her head towards him so that she was forced to look at him. ‘Well, is there?’
‘No. No, of course not.’
‘Then why do you hold me at arm’s length like this?’
‘I think you’ve already made up your mind about what kind of person I am,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘Okay, so maybe I’m wrong about you. I don’t happen to think I am, but I’d like the chance to find out. Can’t you at least give me that?’
She opened her mouth to start to tell him, then closed it again. If she were to tell him the truth — the whole truth — not only must she indict Gerald but herself as well. She had been far from blameless, and suddenly she knew that Rosalind was right: she could not bear Paul to be disillusioned about her. She sighed and shook her head.
‘It’s no use. I’m sorry but I don’t want to have this conversation with you, Paul,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we’d better go home now.’
His face was dark with angry frustration as he started up the engine again. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want it,’ he said tightly. ‘I think I finally got the message.’
For a while they drove in silence, then in a vain attempt to put things on to a friendly footing, she said, ‘When we get back to London I’ll arrange for the piano to be moved and put into storage. Is that all right?’
‘Do what you like with it. It’s not important,’ he said raggedly. ‘I don’t give a damn any more.’
For the rest of the way back to Melfordleigh Cathy was rigid with misery. Paul sat silent and stony-faced beside her, clearly hurt and bewildered by her attitude. Sending him away like this, giving him all the wrong ideas, was the last thing she wanted to do. But what other course was there?
*
After tea they locked up the house and set off on the journey home. Cathy announced that as Matthew was going to spend a few days with his mother she would travel with him.
Rosalind drew her aside. ‘Have you and Paul had a row?’ she asked.
‘No, but I just can’t face being alone with him any more this weekend.’
‘Well, you can’t let him drive back on his own. It looks so rude,’ Rosalind admonished, clearly shocked at her behaviour. ‘I’d better go with him if you won’t.’
They said their farewells at the gate and Cathy climbed into Matthew’s car, acutely aware that she was upsetting everyone’s arrangements. Noticing her pensive silence Matthew kept glancing at her and after a few miles asked if she was all right.
‘Not regretting your decision to go in with Rossie, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Then why are you so fed up?’ He glanced at her. ‘Come on, Cath, we’ve known each other too long for play-acting. Does it have something to do with Paul?’
She nodded, swallowing hard at the lump in her throat. ‘He seems like a good bloke.’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘No.’
Matthew glanced sideways at Cathy’s pale stricken face. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it. He gave up trying to work out what had gone wrong and concentrated all his attention on the road ahead. Although he had grown up in a house of women he’d never been very good at understanding them. Cathy especially had always been hard for him to puzzle out. He congratulated himself that Rosalind seemed less complicated.
Rosalind was suffering a silent travelling companion too. Paul’s face was grim as he gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, staring at the empty road with unnecessary concentration.
‘Did you enjoy seeing your father’s house?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘We were lucky with the weather.’
‘Yes.’
‘Apart from the shower yesterday.’ She looked at him. ‘Did you know that East Anglia has the lowest rainfall in the country?’
‘No. Really?’
‘Look, Paul — about Cathy … ’
He turned to stare at her. ‘If you’re going to tell me to lay off, I already got the message,’ he said bitterly. ‘She thinks I’m a creep.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Well, whatever, she doesn’t want to know.’
‘You’re wrong there too. She likes you v
ery much.’
‘Oh, really? You could have fooled me! What’s she like with folks she doesn’t like?’
‘It’s just that she’s had a bad time. Maybe it’s all a bit too soon for her.’
‘I only wanted to see her again, damn it … for us to get to know one another,’ he said bleakly.
‘I know. And I’m sorry.’ Rosalind sat in silence, struggling with her conscience. What had happened between these two people was nothing to do with her. Or was it? Cathy was her best friend — soon to be her business partner. She was unhappy and so was Paul. If she were to tell him the truth about what held Cathy back, would she be interfering in what didn’t concern her? He might take it badly in which case she would make matters worse. On the other hand … Should she keep her mouth firmly closed and mind her own business? Yes, she should. She really should mind her own business.
‘Paul — would you pull over and stop, please?’ She glanced at him, her heart thudding dully in her chest.
He looked surprised. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Something is very wrong,’ she told him. ‘But with Cathy, not with me. I’ve decided that I’m going to try and put it right — even if it’s none of my business. Someone has to.’ She looked at him apprehensively. ‘And, Paul, I’d better warn you — you may not like what I’m going to tell you, so be prepared.’
*
When Paul dropped Rosalind off at Blake’s Folly she was surprised to see most of the lights blazing. It was unusual. Normally when Don was alone, he ate in the kitchen and sat in the little breakfast room which was easy to heat. Taking her weekend case from the back seat, she thanked Paul and ran up the path, opening the door with her own key. Inside the front door she stopped short. At the bottom of the stairs various pieces of luggage were strewn carelessly around, and as Rosalind closed the front door she heard Una’s voice. She sounded upset.
‘Why don’t you just go ahead and say it? I told you so. Serves you right. You’d have every right to.’
‘I shan’t say anything of the kind,’ Don replied mildly. ‘I’m just grateful you’ve come home.’
The voices came from the sitting room and through the half-open door Rosalind could see her mother, her hair awry and her mascara running unheeded down her cheeks as she stood facing her husband.
‘Oh, Don. I don’t deserve a husband like you,’ she sobbed, fumbling for a handkerchief in her handbag. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything. I can’t tell you how awful it was. Those horrible coarse audiences! They talked and laughed all through my act, then complained that they couldn’t hear me! In one place they actually threw things!’
Don pulled out a large white handkerchief and put it into her trembling hands. ‘Poor love,’ he said, taking her tenderly in his arms. ‘What things? Were you hurt?’
‘Well, no. Not hurt. It was mostly bread rolls, but it was so humiliating. Imagine — me, Una Blair — a West End star being pelted with bread rolls!’
‘Nevermind. It’s all over now,’he said soothingly. ‘You’re home where you belong and I’m glad.’
Una nestled her head against his chest. ‘Oh, Don, so am I. I’ve been such a silly vain fool.’ She looked up at him with brimming eyes. ‘Where is Rossie?’
‘She’s gone away for the weekend with her friend Cathy,’ he told her. ‘I thought the break would do her good. She’s a good girl, Una. One of the best. She’s worked really hard since you’ve been away.’
‘Oh, well, I’m glad she made herself useful.’ She looked up at him with appealing brown eyes. ‘You won’t tell her my tour was a failure, will you?’ she begged.
‘Of course I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to.’
‘And, Don — do you think we could still go on that cruise you were planning? I’m so tired.’
Rosalind tiptoed back to the front door, opened it and closed it again with a bang.
‘Hello!’ she called. ‘I’m home, Don!’
He and Una came out into the hall together, smiling and hand in hand. Rosalind put down her case and affected surprise.
‘Mum! How are you?’
‘I’m fine. Exhausted of course after the tour. Had a nice weekend have you? Don told me you’d gone away with Cathy.’
‘It was very nice. Well, you’ll be wanting to talk. I’ll go up now then.’
She was almost ready for bed when there was a tap on the door and Una slipped into the room. ‘Just thought I’d come and have a chat,’ she said, sitting down. ‘Don and I have been making plans. As soon as he retires next month we’re off on a long cruise. Don says you’ve been a great help to him while I’ve been away. As you’ve nowhere else to go you can stay on here and mind the house for us while we’re away.’
‘That won’t be possible, Mum. I’m going into business with Cathy. We’re planning to start almost immediately.’
Una sat up very straight and stared at her daughter. ‘Business? What business?’
‘You must have heard that Gerald Cavelle was killed in a plane crash.’
‘Yes, I heard. Dreadful of course, but I don’t see … ’ ‘She and I are going to run her house in Melfordleigh as a hotel.’
Una smirked. ‘Oh, is that what you mean by business? You’re going to work for her — as a domestic.’
‘No. We’re going into partnership.’
Una sighed patiently. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve always understood that to go into partnership you have to put up some money?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So where will you get that money, may I ask?’
‘Dad left me his cottage. The one he bought in Northamptonshire. I sold it for quite a good price.’
Una’s face turned bright pink. ‘Ben left — left you that cottage?’ she spluttered. ‘But — but what about me? I was his wife!’
‘No, Mum. You’re Don’s wife.’
Una sprang to her feet. ‘Don’t be so insolent, you devious little bitch! You’ve had all that money ever since Ben died and you said nothing to me about it. How could you?’
‘I was working at the Queen’s Head when I found out. We hadn’t been in touch. I didn’t think you’d be interested.’
Una paused, her eyes narrowing. ‘I’d have thought that a celebrity like Gerald Cavelle would have left his wife well provided for,’ she said. ‘Why does she have to take in lodgers?’
‘She’s not taking in lodgers, she’s turning Cuckoo Lodge into an hotel,’ Rosalind said patiently.
Una laughed. ‘What’s the difference? It could hardly have a better name, could it?’ she said scathingly. ‘You’re the cuckoo if you ask me. You’re getting taken for a ride if you could only see it. Know what they say — a fool and his money … ’
‘The partnership is all being drawn up legally,’ Rosalind said, swallowing down the anger slowly mounting inside her. ‘It’s being done tomorrow. It’s all going ahead, Mum, whatever you say. And it’s going to be a success.’
‘I see. So you’re walking out now that you don’t need free board and lodgings any more?’
‘I had a good job, Mum. You forced me to give it up because it suited you. And I think I’ve worked quite hard for my board and lodging, as you put it.’
‘It was a tuppeny-ha’penny job and you know it,’ Una said unrepentantly. ‘Which reminds me — what would Cathy Cavelle say, I wonder, if she knew that her prospective business partner was a common thief?’
‘She knows I took the Meissen. She also knows that I took it out of sheer desperation — when no one else would help me when Dad was ill.’
Rosalind saw the door open quietly and Don appeared in the doorway. Una, who had her back to the door, went on, ‘I can see now why you were so keen to be at your father’s bedside. Still, he left you the cottage anyway, so it hardly matters any more, does it? I suppose I should be thankful that scheming Morton cow didn’t get her hot greedy little hands on it. That must have been a blow for her.’
‘Will you come downstairs now, Una?’
‘That is painfully obvious.’ His face was dark as thunder. ‘Come downstairs, I want to talk to you. I think it’s high time you and I had a little chat. If you’re really planning to stay this time, I’m going to need to lay down a few rules. And if when you’ve heard them you don’t agree, I suggest that you take the luggage that’s still down in the hall and leave again before you create any more trouble.’
The colour drained from Una’s face as she stared first at Rosalind and then at Don. Her eyes bulged and her mouth worked as though she was about to let loose a stream of invective. Rosalind braced herself, but the tirade never came. Instead Una walked meekly to the door and through it on to the landing.
Before he closed the door behind him Don turned to Rosalind and, to her surprise, closed one eye in a triumphant, conspiratorial wink.
Rosalind unpacked her weekend case and put her things away. Would Don really succeed in taming Una? Somehow she thought he would. Una must know by now the elusive stardom she had longed for would never be hers and Rosalind thought she was wise enough to settle for what Don had to offer.
It wasn’t until she was in bed with the light out that Rosalind allowed herself to think back over the journey home and the revelations she had made to Paul about his father. When she first began to speak his reaction had been distinctly cool. He had refused to look at her and as she stumbled on her blood had chilled with misgivings.
‘He should never have married Cathy,’ she told him. ‘I don’t suppose you know that when he was killed he was on his way to meet another woman — the woman he intended to marry? He had already left Cathy. He’d sent this other woman to ask for a divorce. And that wasn’t the only way he had betrayed Cathy. He — wasn’t a real husband. He shut her out in every possible way. He made her very unhappy.’ She paused. She had already said too much. Far too much. Yet there was so much more she could have told him about Gerald’s coldness and his betrayal — its disastrous consequences. When she looked up again she saw that Paul was looking at her.
The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood Page 47
