She stood with her head on one side, regarding me. I could smell the sweet spiciness of the pinks she was holding.
‘It was good of you to ask me to come, Mrs. Truscott,’ I said. ‘There’s so much I want to know about my father.’
‘It’s a very great pleasure for me to meet dear Eliot’s daughter. I’m only sorry it wasn’t possible when he was alive. However…’
Together we strolled up the path between the colourful flower beds. I admired the display.
Ruth Truscott nodded with pleasure. ‘Are you interested in gardening, Dulcie?’
‘I guess I’ve never had a chance to find out. I’ve been rather a city girl all my life.’
‘It’s a wonderful occupation,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll take to it. That is, if you are going to stay on at Malverton.’
Inside, she waved to the open door of a sitting-room. ‘You go along in there, my dear. I’m just going to put these pinks in water, and see about some tea.’
It was a long, low room, the walls white between black exposed beams. The furniture was stoutly oak, arranged to take full advantage of the magnificent view.
I was standing at the window when Ruth Truscott came back.
‘Isn’t it a lovely view?’ she said proudly. ‘I honestly think I should pine away if I ever had to leave my hills.’
We sat down together on a deep sofa. Mrs. Truscott pulled a small round table between us, ready for the tea things.
‘Now...' She sat back and looked at me. ‘I expect it’s all been quite a shock for you?’
‘Oh yes, Mrs. Truscott, there’s such a lot I don’t understand! Why wasn’t I allowed to know my father—even to know I had a father?’
She reached out and touched my hand. 'My poor Dulcie, I always warned Eliot how upset you’d be, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He should have got in touch with you when your mother died. It would have been a shock for you even then, but better than this....’
‘But why hide from me at all? Why couldn’t I have known about him right from the beginning?’
‘Wasn’t it better, my dear, the way it was? Could a small girl have been happy—a mother in America and a father in England? And by all accounts you had a wonderful step-father, who brought you up as if you were his own.’
‘Oh, yes, indeed, Edwin was terribly kind to me. But was he my step-father? Was he really married to my mother?’
‘My dear girl, what can you mean?’
‘I mean, did Bella marry him believing my father was dead? Was she ever legally Edwin’s wife?’
Ruth Truscott was shocked, I could see. ‘But of course! She and Eliot were divorced.’
‘I’m so glad! I know that sounds odd, but I was afraid....’
She nodded, smiling. ‘Eliot and Bella should never have been married in the first place. They were both of them delightful people but they were quite unsuited to one another.’
In some surprise I asked, ‘Does that mean you knew Bella?’
‘I only met her once, at their wedding, but she made a deep impression on me. My husband was Eliot’s best man, you see—they had been friends since student days. Your mother was doing voluntary nursing at St. Mark’s, where your father was a physician. It was a whirlwind romance, as so many marriages were at that time. People were snatching at happiness while they could, not giving much thought to the years ahead. I think they both realized almost within weeks that they had made a mistake.’
‘How awful for them! What did they do about it?’
‘Oh, nothing then. It wasn’t long before you were on the way, and Eliot absolutely insisted that Bella should go into the country, away from the bombing. Of course, he himself couldn’t leave London at that time, and when eventually it was possible for them to live together again, the last spark had gone. They had nothing left to offer one another.’
‘Poor Bella,’ I said sadly. I could imagine my mother’s distress at the breaking-up of her marriage. She had always loved admiration and attention. She didn’t really have the reserves to cope when things weren’t running smoothly.
‘I think Eliot suffered just as much. But perhaps it was nobody’s fault, my dear. You must blame it on the times they lived in.’
‘So they agreed to divorce?’
‘I don’t know all the details. My husband’s regiment was sent to Scotland just about then, and we didn’t see anything of Eliot for a long time. When at last he wrote to us, it was to say that the divorce had come through, and that Bella had married an American. Her new husband had been over here on a lend-lease mission at the time, but soon afterwards he returned to the States, taking you and your mother with him.’
‘And my father was prepared to let me go, just like that?’
‘I know it must be hard for you to understand, Dulcie, but you see you were only a tiny little thing. Perhaps babies never mean quite as much to a man as to a woman—I don’t know. But I do know that Eliot agreed because he thought it was the best thing for you. He was a sensitive man, but strong-willed too. He would always do what he thought was right, whatever it might cost him.’
‘But did he think what it would cost me? To deny me like that, to put me out of his life?’
‘Did it do you any real harm? Wouldn’t it have hurt you more to have known he was alive. You didn’t suffer financially. Your step-father was a well-to-do man, and very willing to provide for you. You had a full and happy childhood.’
‘But all the same...'
‘I think the whole point is this, Dulcie, and you must face up to it. Your father was a very fine man, but that doesn’t mean he never made mistakes. Above everything else he was a dedicated man, dedicated to his science—and such men are a law unto themselves. It’s no good questioning his motives too deeply. You must take my word for it that to him they were above reproach.’
There was a light tap on the door, and a young woman came in with a tea tray. She started to lay out the cups and saucers, but Mrs. Truscott stopped her. ‘I’ll do it, Phyllis, thank you. Just leave it there.’
The interruption gave me time to gather my whirling thoughts. I guess I had been expecting the picture of my father to come out white or black—all good or all bad. But what I was discovering was a man with ordinary human failings, a man struggling to do his best in a difficult world.
Surprisingly, I found myself smiling in relief.
‘Did you know he knew about me? I mean, knew that I was an actress? I found my picture in his desk—a clipping from the Radio Times.’
‘He was always so proud of you, Dulcie. He got news occasionally through an old friend of your mother’s—the ex-matron of St. Mark’s, and it was through her that he heard of Bella’s death. Eliot very nearly got in touch with you then, but as you seemed settled he decided against it in the end. But after that he kept a closer watch on you, so that he would be able to help if you ever got into difficulties. He used to go out of his way to see everything you appeared in on television. He never would have a set of his own—I think he regarded them as infernal machines—so he’d ask if he could come over here.’
I felt quite heady with relief. No more mystery, but a situation I could understand and handle. But there was one thing I still didn’t get.
'If he had decided to let me go on thinking he was dead, why leave everything he had to me? He knew I was bound to learn the truth in the end.’
‘Yes, of course he did, and that always worried him. But here it is again, you see—the way we’re all of us such mixtures. On the one hand he didn’t want you to know about him, and on the other he couldn’t bear not to leave his possessions to you. It didn’t seem right to him that his own child shouldn’t inherit what he had left behind him. He made that Will quite recently, after Bella died.’
‘But if he knew I should find out eventually, why didn’t he get in touch with me at that time?’
‘I think he was afraid to.’
‘Afraid?’
‘Yes, afraid you might reject him.’
<
br /> I was filled with pity. Pity, and impatience too. To think my own father could imagine I would reject him! I had learned so much about him in the last two days—most of it in the past half-hour. He had been a man capable of earning the deepest respect and even devotion. Mrs. Cass and Dr. Hamilton were evidence of that. And yet his only child had not been privileged to know him.
‘How I wish things could have been different,’ I cried out.
Ruth Truscott smiled sympathetically. ‘That is life, Dulcie my dear. Don’t spend too much time regretting what might have been. It’s such a universal occupation, and so utterly without value. It is all right to allow the past to shape your future, but beyond that, you must cherish it and put it in its place behind you.’ She took my cup to pour more tea. ‘Oh dear, what a solemn lecture. I do assure you I’m not usually so serious.’
What she said added up. ‘I’ll try to take your advice,’ I told her.
‘Your father’s death made quite a hole in my life,’ Mrs. Truscott went on ruefully. ‘For years he visited us every Sunday, and when my husband died, Eliot still came. I valued his friendship even more when I was alone, and I like to think I added something to his life.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ I said, and I meant it sincerely. ‘I suppose Father’s health was never any too good? I mean, being diabetic…’
‘Nobody would have known. Eliot was very well-adjusted—stabilized, as they call it. He was an active man, you know, very fond of walking. Always on Sunday mornings before coming here for lunch, he would tramp over the hills for miles with old Jenner. And as for the discipline that’s necessary in diabetes, it never did bother him unduly. In fact, for a man as forgetful as he was, Eliot was surprisingly fond of routine.’ She gave a puzzled frown. ‘That’s why I just can’t understand…’
‘How he came to forget his sugar that day? It is surprising, isn’t it? Mrs. Cass told me that he used to keep a little packet of sugar in every jacket, so he wouldn’t get caught out.’
We were both silent for a moment. We had been discussing a man I couldn’t picture in my mind. It was possible that Mrs. Truscott could help me out there, so I asked her if she had a photograph of my father. ‘I’ve had a good search round at Malverton, but I can’t find a thing.’
‘I’m not surprised. Eliot wasn’t at all the sort of man to have himself photographed. Wait though!’ Ruth Truscott put down her cup and jumped up. ‘I’ve got an idea I may have a snap after all.’
She went over to a bureau and searched in the drawers. ‘A young nephew of mine was staying with us two or three years back. He’d just been given a new camera, and snapped everything and everybody in sight. I have a feeling....’ She pulled out a black album and was flicking through the pages. ‘Ah yes, here it is, though not very clear, I’m afraid.’
She slipped the snapshot from its mount and handed it to me. Rather indistinctly, it showed two men, and I felt embarrassed that I had to ask which one.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear, I should have said. Eliot is the one on the left. The other one is my husband, of course.’ She bent over me, looking at the picture critically. ‘It’s really quite good of Eliot. That is just the way he would sit.’
I saw a heavily-built figure, lounging easily in a basket chair, a large pipe in his hand. I couldn’t make much of the features, but I could see his glasses were the plain, dark-rimmed kind, and that he had thick bushy eyebrows. He was looking directly at the camera, a half-smile on his face, though his lips were closed.
‘Mrs. Truscott, do you think maybe I could borrow this for a few days, to have another print made? As far as I know, this is the only photograph of Father there is.’
‘You keep it, my dear. I shall be glad for you to have it. It’s little enough.’
Before taking my leave, I spoke a bit about my plans. I mentioned that I had half a mind to make my home at Malverton, and take a hand in the business. What I had heard here this afternoon made me more inclined to do this than ever.
The elderly woman clapped her hands together in delight. ‘I do hope you decide to, Dulcie! Oh, I do hope so. How pleased Eliot would have been if he had known.’
She pressed me to come again, often. ‘And bring Jenner with you. The poor old thing knows this house so well.’
I was sitting in the car, all set to go, when I found myself asking a question I hadn’t reckoned on.
‘Have you ever met Dr. Hamilton?’
‘Ian? Yes indeed. When he first came to Malverton Eliot brought him here occasionally. And he has never abandoned me—he still looks me up from time to time. What made you ask?’
I was embarrassed to find he was quite friendly with her. I mumbled something about finding him rather moody.
‘How strange he should give you that impression. I have always found him charming, and I know Eliot thought the world of him.’
I made a horrible mess of driving away. The gears crashed and I let in the clutch too fiercely.
Why had I boiled over? Was it pique because Ian Hamilton had been so close to my father? Was it anger that everyone seemed to find the man so likeable?
But he didn’t charm quite everybody. Max Tyler found him boorish. Perhaps I should, after all, tell Max about the rifling of my father’s desk. He might be able to suggest an explanation of this mystery.
I checked my flow of thought. I had to get myself out of the habit of regarding Max as such a bosom friend that I could ask his advice in all circumstances. I had to remember that as well as being my partner, he was also the man who was after buying me out. His interests and mine didn’t entirely coincide.
As far as my father was concerned, I felt pretty sure that I knew as much about him now as I ever would. I couldn’t much longer excuse myself from making a decision about the future. Should I stay and help run the firm, or should I sell out? The third alternative, the one suggested by George Leeson, I didn’t take seriously. The idea of sitting back and drawing an income for doing nothing might sound attractive to some people, but in this case it just wouldn’t work. I had seen enough of the trading figures to know that the business couldn’t afford to carry passengers.
One thing I was sure about. It wasn’t a bit of use imagining I could try joining the firm for a few months or even a year or two, and then pull out if I didn’t like it. I couldn’t afford to play fast and loose with my acting career.
Now that I’d been pushed a rung-and-a-half up the showbiz ladder, hard work was needed to keep me there. Producers soon forgot a face, and there are always plenty more actresses waiting in the wings.
I’d hardly been aware of the journey. When I passed the track leading up to Woolcombe Beacon, I realized I was nearly home.
Home! Was Malverton that to me already?
I decided I would take a quiet, undisturbed look into the firm’s affairs this evening. I would carry what account books I needed back to the house, and browse. I could then determine just what it was that I’d be letting myself in for if I stayed.
It had been soon after five when I left Ruth Truscott’s. I glanced at my watch as I swung in at the Malverton gates. I was barely in time.
All at once it seemed vitally important that I should catch Miss Fenders before she left. I had to get down to work right away. Tomorrow just wouldn’t do.
I swerved the car round to the side of the house, and pulled up by the laboratory entrance. I burst into the office just as the secretary was putting the cover on her typewriter.
‘Thank goodness I’ve caught you, Miss Fenders. Could I please have the company books, to look through this evening? Sorry if I’m holding you up.’
‘Oh no, Miss Royle, that’s quite all right.’ She opened the safe in the corner, and started pulling big leather-covered books out.
‘What’s the excitement, Dulcie?’ Max had come up behind me.
I turned to face him, for some reason not feeling pleased that he had stayed late for once. I explained what I wanted, making light of it.
‘Is something wrong
, then?’
'No,’ I said quickly, ‘nothing like that. It’s just that I’d like to be a bit more in the picture when we’re discussing the business.’
‘Is it to do with my offer? If you doubt whether it’s fair, why not get an accountant’s opinion? He’ll tell you.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ I was getting confused. I didn’t know myself just what I was after.
‘Shall I stay and give you a hand?’ Max offered. ‘I’ve nothing all that special on this evening. I can always give Val a ring.’
‘No,’ I cried sharply. I checked myself and went on more calmly, ‘No, there isn’t the slightest reason to interfere with your plans. It’s sweet of you, Max, but really....’
I spent a busy evening. The methods worked out by Miss Fenders struck me as quaintly old-fashioned. They made good sense in the end, but it took some digging out.
When at last I decided to quit for the night, I had a better all-round understanding. The business was founded entirely upon a scientific development of my father’s. Its future success depended on the continuing technical control of an extremely tricky manufacturing operation. Max might be a nice guy—the kind of man it would be easy to get on with.
But it was useless blinding myself to the fact that Ian Hamilton was the lynch-pin of Drysdale Pharmaceuticals, now that my father was dead. And he was not the get-on-with kind of man at all. Ian Hamilton had been ill-mannered and prickly. Yet if I were to stay on here and make a success of it, I would have to break him down. Somehow I’d have to find a way to get on with that sorehead.
I stacked the books neatly, ready to take back to Doris Fenders in the morning. I was tired, and wanted to get to bed.
Still I hesitated. All right Ian Hamilton, I thought, I’ll play along with you just so far. I’ll dig out those figures you want, and see what you make of them.
I reached again for the book which recorded the stock of raw materials, the deliveries, and the withdrawals for use in the factory. I took a clean sheet of paper, and made a list of the figures relating to the last couple of years.
A Cotswolds Legacy Page 6
