The Prodigal Wife

by Marcia Willett

  He nodded. ‘I can understand that.’

  Her mobile rang. She picked it up from the dresser, glanced at the screen, hesitated, muttered, ‘It’s my mum,’ and pressed the button. She slightly turned away from him, shoulder hunched, and he sat down at the table and began to murmur to the dogs.

  ‘Hi, Mum…Yes, actually he’s here now…Yes. I’ll call you later.’ She switched it off, looking embarrassed.

  ‘I phoned her earlier,’ she told him. ‘I’d been trying to decide who you might be after all those messages. I asked her if she knew anyone called Jo and she’d just suddenly wondered if it might be you.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked faintly gratified. ‘What’s your mum’s name?’

  ‘Cordelia Lytton. She reverted to her maiden name after the divorce. She’s a journalist; a features writer. She mainly does the big glossies, but she’s also written a series of rather off-beat factional books about the black sheep of ancient, well-known families. They’ve been very successful so her name might sound familiar.’

  ‘Of course, I know her. She did that article about The Keep for Country Life. And she’s been to some of Dad’s parties. She’s great fun.’

  ‘Oh, yes. She’s great fun,’ Henrietta agreed.

  He glanced at her, alerted by her non-committal tone. ‘I’m surprised we haven’t met then.’

  Henrietta shrugged. ‘I’m in London most of the time. In your message you said you were coming down from Bristol. Is that where you live?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m still at The Keep. That’s our house in the South Hams that Cordelia wrote the article about. It’s a funny old place but there’s plenty of room and I still like to be involved in the business I started, growing organic vegetables.’

  ‘Before you became a famous television star,’ she teased him.

  ‘Hardly a star and certainly not famous. Crazy, isn’t it? From gardener to television presenter in three easy stages.’

  Henrietta grinned at him. ‘You were a nine-day wonder that first summer. My goodness, the grapevine was very busy and Mum kept reminding me about the article she’d done about your family. And after that, Roger telephoned Susan every time you were going to be on the box so that we could get our friends in and boast that we knew you, and then we’d all sit round basking in your reflected glory.’

  ‘Oh, stop it. Honestly, it was such a fluke, but I must admit I’m loving every minute of it.’

  ‘It was amazing, though, wasn’t it? What were you doing? Showing a rare rose at the Chelsea Flower Show or something? And next minute you’re Monty Don and Ben Fogle rolled into one.’

  ‘It was my great-grandmother’s rose. She’d brought a cutting to The Keep when she got married and it thrived but we never knew what it was. It wasn’t my idea to take it to the flower show. One of my cousins talked me into it and organized it all, and then the television crew decided to do a little bit about it because of its rarity value and we got on to the history of the family and suddenly it got out of hand.’ He shook his head, still baffled by his success. ‘The surprising thing was that when we did the live interview I really enjoyed myself. The TV crew were brilliant and we were all just having a good time.’

  ‘And then the offers came pouring in?’

  ‘Not quite like that. Apparently the BBC had loads of emails about the interview we did, and then this producer got in touch and asked if I’d meet him and some of his production team. They asked me to co-present a West Country programme – homes and gardens stuff – and then it went on from there. I’ve just been up to Bristol to discuss a new project, actually. It’s all to do with shipbuilding and old harbours and we’re just beginning to research it. That’s why Dad asked Roger if I could borrow some of his books. He’s a real expert on the sort of thing we’re going to be doing.’

  He finished his cake and glanced about him, as if preparing to go. Henrietta knew quite certainly that she would be desolate when he left but could think of no way to prevent it. It wasn’t only because he was so attractive, with his thatch of fair hair and his easy friendliness; there was more to it than that. There was some quality she recognized and was drawn to, though she couldn’t quite define it. She trailed after him as he picked up the books and carried them out to his car, the dogs following hopefully. He stood for a moment, the car door open, neither of them knowing quite what to say.

  ‘Come again when you’ve got more time,’ she said suddenly. ‘We could go to the pub or take the dogs for a walk or something.’

  ‘I’d like that. Wait a minute.’ He took out his wallet and extracted a card. ‘I’ll telephone next time I’m going to Bristol but my mobile number is on this, and my home number.’

  He gave her the card, hesitated as if uncertain how to say goodbye, then got into the car. She waved him off and then studied the card, which had the words ‘Keep Organics’ printed on it. Juno and Pan stared despondently after him and the puppy whined miserably.

  ‘I know,’ said Henrietta. ‘I didn’t want him to go, either. Never mind. We’ll go out in a minute but I must clear up and put the cake away first.’

  It was much later when she rang her mother’s mobile.

  ‘You were right. It was Jo Chadwick.’ Henrietta paused. Her mother’s voice was muffled, as if she were laughing, and there was the sound of a glass clinking. ‘Is there someone there?’

  ‘A couple of friends have dropped in for a drink. So it was Jo. Nice, isn’t he? Did you like him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Henrietta didn’t want to talk about how she felt: it was private. ‘Yes, he’s very nice. Anyway, I won’t talk now if you’ve got friends there.’

  ‘Never mind them. Did Jo stay for supper?’

  ‘No, no, he didn’t. Look, I’m going to have a shower and wash my hair. You know how long it takes to dry. Talk tomorrow? ’Bye for now.’

  She switched off and fiddled with a strand of clean, shiny hair; she felt guilty at her abruptness but she didn’t want to discuss Jo with anyone, especially not with her mother. Familiar emotions of anxiety and resentment threatened to spoil new, happy sensations and she shrugged them away, concentrating on Jo: the way he’d laughed, his face bright with delight, and the way he’d immediately understood about Susan and Iain. She wished he’d stayed but she could understand his caution. She lugged Tacker up on to the sofa beside her and cuddled him.

  ‘I like him,’ she murmured to him, and he licked her cheek. ‘I really like him.’

  ‘I think she likes him,’ Cordelia said. ‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she? He’s a darling.’

  ‘Why did I have to be a couple of friends? Isn’t one enough?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she answered. ‘Safety in numbers.’

  ‘One day she’s going to find us out. Especially now I’ve moved down. Wouldn’t it be wiser to tell her? After all, what harm could it do now?’

  ‘No, no.’ Cordelia shook her head. ‘Not yet…it’s too soon.’

  He pulled her close against him and she slid her arms around him, head against his heart, holding him tightly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There had been Chadwicks at The Keep for over a hundred and sixty years. In the early 1840s, Edward Chadwick returned to England having spent a quarter of a century generating a considerable fortune in the Far East. He investigated a number of possible investments and decided to become a major shareholder and director in a company being formed to acquire a large tract of land in south Devon from which to extract the china clay that lay below the surface.

  Once this decision was taken, his next step was to find a suitable house. He was unsuccessful. He did, however, find and purchase the ruins of an old hill fort between the moors and the sea and, by using the stones still lying about the site, he had built a castellated tower of three storeys which he named The Keep.

  He married a pretty, well-born girl half his age, but his formidable energies were, in the main, channelled into ensuring the success of the china clay workings so that, before his death, his fortune had doub
led and redoubled.

  His male descendants, whilst maintaining a presence in the company, made careers within the Royal Navy – but they continued to preserve and modernize The Keep. The wings, two storeys high and set back a little on each side of the original house, were added by a later generation and high stone walls were built to form a courtyard, which was entered from beneath the overarching roof that linked the two small cottages of the gatehouse. Old-fashioned roses and wisteria climbed the courtyard walls and the newer wings, but the austere grey stone of the tower itself remained unadorned. The Keep and the courtyard faced south, whilst to the west stretched the garden, bounded by orchards. To the north and east, however, the ground fell sharply away; rough grassy slopes descending to the river, which came tumbling down from the high moors. From bubbling issues the cold peaty waters raced through narrow rocky beds, down into the quiet, rich farmlands. Moving more slowly then, the river surged onward into the broad reaches of the estuary where it mingled with the salt water of the sea.

  Sitting at the breakfast table in the warm quiet kitchen, Hal Chadwick folded the letter and pushed it back into its envelope, saw his wife watching him and gave a little shrug.

  ‘So, then,’ he said, rather evasively.

  Fliss looked amused. ‘You mean “How do we solve a problem like Maria?”’ she suggested lightly. When he frowned she grew alert, bracing herself. Ever since Hal’s ex-wife had been widowed earlier in the year there had been an unusual flurry of cards and letters from her. ‘What does she want?’ Fliss asked. She didn’t add ‘this time’ but it was implicit in her tone and he responded to it at once.

  ‘Oh, come on, love,’ he said. ‘It must be tough for her, all on her own.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Fliss, spreading honey on her toast. ‘I can understand that. It’s horrid for her, Adam dying so suddenly, but she’s got lots of friends in Salisbury, hasn’t she? What I want to know is why, suddenly, are we so popular?’

  Hal looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, we are family, I suppose.’

  Fliss suppressed a sharp retort. ‘So what does she want?’ she repeated.

  ‘She’s asking if she can come for Jolyon’s birthday.’ He sounded defensive. ‘She wonders if she could stay two nights.’

  ‘I suppose it would be uncharitable to ask why, after how many years – fifteen? – his mother suddenly wants to celebrate his birthday with him? What is he going to think about it?’

  ‘I think she’s sounding me out first.’ Hal wore a placatory look, willing Fliss to be agreeable. ‘She says she so enjoyed that weekend when she came down after Adam’s funeral and she’d love to see us all again. She’s suggesting that Jo’s birthday might be a good time to begin “mending bridges”, at least, that’s how she puts it.’

  Fliss thought: And I shall sound like a real cow if I object.

  Aloud, she said calmly, ‘Well, I think it’s up to Jolyon, don’t you? He might have other plans.’

  ‘Well, of course.’ Hal’s relief was palpable. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘He dashed in for some breakfast and then took the dogs out. He’s probably still out on the hill or in the office. Do you want some coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ He watched her pour it. ‘Look, it’s not my fault that Maria’s lonely. But what can I do, Fliss? She was so dependent on Adam.’

  ‘Yes, she was. Maria is a dependent sort of woman and I don’t want her swapping us for Adam, that’s all. She left you fifteen years ago and we’ve hardly ever seen her in all that time. Now, suddenly, we’re flavour of the month and I’m worried about it. Apart from anything else, it’s not fair to Jo. Ed was always her favourite child – she made no attempt to hide that – and now he’s suddenly gone off to the States and Adam’s dead and, hey presto, you and Jo are back in fashion.’

  ‘But what can we do?’ he asked again. ‘We’re so lucky, Fliss, aren’t we? Can’t we spare something for Maria?’

  She was silent; he’d made her feel guilty and she felt a very deep sense of resentment.

  ‘I expect so,’ she said at last – and turned away from him with relief as Hal’s mother came into the kitchen.

  Prue Chadwick, eighty-three and looking seventy, assessed the situation (H’m, a bit of a chill in the air) and kissed first Fliss and then Hal, as she did each morning and evening. ‘Because,’ she’d say, ‘at my age, I never know when I might pop off when I’m not expecting it. Nothing worse than not saying goodbye.’

  They received the light, dry touch of her lips and felt better for it. Fliss smiled at her.

  ‘I’ll make you some toast.’ She poured coffee into Prue’s big Royal Worcester cup with its pretty wreaths of flowers. ‘Did you finish your letters last night?’

  ‘Oh, darling, I never seem to quite finish. I always think of something else I need to say. Do you do that?’

  ‘No,’ said Hal, taking his coffee. ‘But then I don’t have this feminine urge to communicate in the first place.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to answer this one.’ Fliss flipped the corner of the envelope. ‘A letter from Maria,’ she said to Prue. ‘She wants to come for Jolyon’s birthday.’

  Prue sipped her coffee: so this was the cause of the cool atmosphere. A sense of anxiety and guilt seized her. She had been partly responsible for breaking up the boy-and-girl affair between Hal and Fliss – how foolish it seemed now, that very real fear of first cousins marrying – and she’d been delighted when Hal had married Maria. How could she have known it would finish in separation and divorce, or that Jolyon would be rejected in favour of his younger brother, Ed? Of course, Jolyon had come back to live at The Keep with Hal, and now he seemed really to have found his niche – but would his mother’s reappearance unsettle him? Prue’s hand shook a little as she replaced her cup in its saucer.

  ‘It’s because she’s lonely,’ she said, not wishing to defend Maria but hoping to engage Fliss’s sympathy. ‘It’s early days, isn’t it?’

  She fell silent, understanding how Fliss might feel but knowing, too, her son’s generosity of spirit and his readiness to offer hospitality. He would not see that there was anything to fear from this poor woman, bereaved and lonely, simply needing the comfort of old friends and family. Prue guessed that Fliss’s fear lay in the knowledge of Maria’s neediness and dependency on those closest to her, and that this sudden change of heart towards Jolyon might make him resentful. Looking up, she saw that Fliss was watching her and she smiled at her, silently acknowledging her fears.

  ‘After all,’ Hal was saying, ‘at times like these, old friends are the best, aren’t they?’

  ‘Were we her friends?’ asked Fliss coolly, putting the toast into the rack and moving the honey towards Prue. ‘You were her husband and Jo is her son, and the rest of us were simply just your family, as I remember it. I don’t think Maria was particularly close to any of us, was she?’ She appealed to Prue rather than to Hal, and Prue shook her head.

  ‘Not particularly but I think I can guess what Hal means. No, no,’ she added quickly to Fliss, seeing her expression, ‘I’m not taking his side. Really, I’m not. It’s just that, at times like this, a shared past is important. I know that Maria and Adam were together for fifteen years, and that her marriage to Hal was a very bumpy ride. Nevertheless, she’s known us since she was a girl and she probably finds us some kind of comfort, especially with Ed in America. After all, her own parents are dead and she has no brothers or sisters. I’m afraid that she may well feel that she is closer to us than to some of her friends.’ She glanced helplessly between the two of them. ‘That doesn’t mean that we have to feel responsible for her. I’m simply trying to explain how Maria is probably feeling.’

  ‘Exactly,’ exclaimed Hal with a kind of triumphant relief. ‘That’s what I was getting at.’

  ‘However,’ said Prue sharply, ‘I don’t think she should be allowed to intrude on Jolyon’s birthday unless he is quite happy about it. That is quite a different case.’

  ‘Well, of
course.’ Hal finished his coffee. ‘I’m going over to the office. I’ll see if he’s there.’

  He went out and there was a short silence.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Prue gently, ‘that Hal’s been so happy with you that he’s quite forgiven all the pain she caused him. That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Fliss answered rather bleakly. ‘It’s good. It just makes me feel even guiltier for feeling so…ungenerous. I don’t want her here every time she’s feeling lonely.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. That’s perfectly natural. Shall we see what Jolyon thinks? He’s a generous, kind boy, but Maria hurt him very badly and he might have something to say about it.’

  Fliss stood up and began to load the dishwasher. ‘I’m going into Totnes later,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Prue never refused an outing. ‘You mustn’t worry, Fliss.’ She saw the little frown between her daughter-in-law’s brows and smiled reminiscently. ‘You’re so like your grandmother, you know. She was a worrier.’

  Fliss smiled back reluctantly. ‘I’ll try not to,’ she said. ‘But I feel…helpless.’

  ‘Maria can’t hurt you now.’

  Fliss stood still, her hands full of plates. ‘I have a premonition. Silly, isn’t it? I feel that something momentous is about to happen. Sounds a bit fanciful, but I know what I mean.’

  Prue watched her soberly; she had no inclination to make light of Fliss’s prophecy. ‘Perhaps it is. But need it be a bad happening?’

  Fliss was silent for a moment. ‘Jolyon was in a strange mood last evening,’ she said at last. ‘It was as if a light had been switched on inside him. Well, you know Jo. He’s kind and gentle, and rather reserved. And then, when we saw him on television that first time, we were all amazed, weren’t we? There was old Jo, our dear boy, brimming with confidence and authority, and we were all spellbound. And you said – do you remember? – “Well, he’s found his niche at last and now the real Jolyon’s come to life, and about time too.” Something like that. But when he’s here, he’s still the quiet, self-contained reliable Jo, checking up on Lizzie to make certain the business is still running properly, and taking the dogs out. Well, last night he was just like he is on the television. He came in positively brimming with this…magic. He was funny and affectionate and terribly attractive – you can see why he gets all those emails and letters from adoring fans – and I had this premonition that something was going to happen. Maria’s letter underlined it somehow.’