It seemed to be reasonable that she must live close by. He’d try Bookham.
He wrote a short note to Jeff and Pat and a long one to Crispin and Oliver. He said he was sorry to have missed them, he was fine and would see them for Christmas.
He had set himself the deadline. By December 24th he would have talked to Alicia and found out if Susie really was his sister.
He did not think through what he would do with that knowledge once he obtained it but he didn’t doubt that he would find Alicia or that when he found her she would tell him the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Monday morning train from Waterloo was almost empty. Most people were travelling in the opposite direction – hurrying up to town. He’d bought a single to Bookham. He would find a bed and breakfast for the night as there was no sleeping rough in England in September. He knew he could always go back to London, less than an hour away, but in his mind he had begun his quest for a Holy Grail and he promised himself he wouldn’t return to London until he had found it.
It wasn’t a long train journey and it was only mid morning by the time he arrived at Bookham Station. He asked the stationmaster where he might find a telephone box and was directed a mile or more to the village.
He found it, complete with directory, and hurriedly leafed through. There was no ‘Donaldson, Alicia’ in the book.
Would she have reverted to her maiden name? He slid his back down the glass doors of the telephone box and sat on his haunches on the floor. “What was her maiden name?” He racked his brains. He had seen some of her paintings on the wall at Millcourt. Some paintings that she had done before she had married. What had been on them? He couldn’t remember. He tried to picture one particular painting in his mind’s eye. He could see it, it was in the Lake District, a bridge, over a small stream with a mountain in the background but what was the signature at the bottom?
He decided he must find a library and see if there were any amateur theatricals or arts groups in the area. There were so many pictures in those scrapbooks of Alicia involved in that sort of thing, she wouldn’t have given up on those.
On the library notice board in the narrow entrance there were notices about kindergartens and mother and children groups, the local church services, all sorts of things but nothing that mentioned a drama society or art classes. ‘Shit’. He stood in front of the notice board, his hands clasped around the back of his head wondering what he could do next.
He ought to go home. There must be another way of finding the truth. That’s his trouble, he told himself, he was stubborn. On the one hand he knew it was a stupid idea to try to find her, on the other, he wasn’t going to give up on the first day. And he could always try Polesden Lacey.
Then he spotted a notice about a Parish Council Election. The electoral roll. He could sit and look through for someone called Alicia. There wouldn’t be many and even if she had changed her surname she would still be Alicia. It wouldn’t take long. Yes! He punched the air with his right hand. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
He didn’t know whether he had spoken out loud but he did notice an elderly woman who had tried to get past him and who he had practically knocked over.
“I beg your pardon young man!”
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to hit anything, anyone! Sorry! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She said looking down at her bag that had been knocked from her hands. Carl leant down to pick it up and handed it to her.
“If you’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He walked quickly out of the door, not noticing the look on the old lady’s face.
He walked up the High Street, stopping every so often, seemingly looking into the shops, but really his eyes were focussed only on the wall in Millcourt and that picture. If he could only remember that name it might just give him a better chance.
He shouldn’t have expected it to be easy. He hadn’t expected it to be easy. She could be in Leatherhead or Guildford or Epsom or any other town in Surrey. Just because she had had a couple of postcards of the village didn’t mean she lived there did it? Or she could have moved. Or she could be dead. But he was going to keep looking until he found her or he ran out of time. He was not going to give up.
He looked up at a clock. 12.30. He’d go back to the pub, have a drink, calm down and get everything into perspective. It seemed like it had been a long day and it wasn’t yet lunchtime.
Shortly after he had been served and had sat down at a quiet table the woman from the library came into the bar. He picked up his pint and walked up to her.
In the voice he could put on when he was trying to create a good impression, he tried to excuse himself “I’m very sorry for my outburst earlier. You caught me at a bad moment. Can I buy you a drink to make up?”
“Of course you may, the usual please Dave. Come on, let’s sit here and you can tell me why a nice young man like you was swearing at notices about Nursery Classes.”
He felt as if she was laughing at him.
They talked for a while about nothing in particular, just as strangers do in pubs. He bought her a drink and she returned the favour. When she finally got up to go he knew she was a writer and her name was Maureen Shelton.
The name meant nothing to him.
Why should it?
Maureen had gained a lot more from the conversation.
She had thought she recognised something of Arnold in the boy at the library and had followed his wanderings around the village.
She hadn’t seen Carl Witherby for some years but there was so much similarity between him and his father that there was no doubt in her mind who he was.
He may call himself Carl Forster but she knew that this was Kathleen’s boy, her nephew. He may spin her some tale about travelling around, perhaps finding some work in the area but she had a fair idea of why he was here and who he was looking for.
As she was about to leave she asked him, almost as an afterthought “Do you need somewhere to stay? My daughter takes in lodgers. If you want I can give you her address.”
He was surprised at her kindness but didn’t think too hard about why she was giving him her friendship and trust.
“But I haven’t got any references or anything and you don’t know me from Adam.”
“You seem to have a trustworthy face.” was all she said, writing an address and phone number on a slip of paper and giving it to him.
“If I can’t find anything I may just call her. Thank you.”
“Now I must go. It’s been very,” she hesitated as if trying to find the right word “interesting, meeting you, Carl. Now I must go. Things to do. People to see.”
“Well well well” Maureen smiled to herself as she left the pub.
“You aren’t going to believe who I met today.”
“I’m not in the mood for games Maureen. Of course I won’t be able to guess. You’ll have to tell me.”
Alicia was lying in her hospital room, tubes attached to both arms. She had been in hospital for several weeks now and was tired of it. She wanted to go home. It was weeks since the operation and they still wouldn’t dscharge her. Maureen, sitting at her bedside had visited her almost daily, but her patience was wearing thin as all Alicia did was complain.
“A young man you haven’t seen for some time.”
“Not Charles?” She didn’t sound excited by the prospect.
They both knew that Charles lived a very quiet and uninteresting life in Sandhey, he sent her birthday and Christmas cards dutifully signed “With love from us both; Charles and Monika.” Occasionally he would include a newspaper cutting or some note from a magazine describing a talk he was giving or a programme he was contributing to. Apparently he was getting quite a name for himself in the world of ornithology. Alicia thought it would be nice to see him again, she hadn’t seen him since his sister’s wedding and that seemed a lifetime ago though it was only three and a half years or so.
She always th
ought of Susannah as Charles’ sister, never as her daughter.
“No, sorry to disappoint you, but this is slightly more interesting. He calls himself Carl Forster.”
“Carl?” She was disappointed “Why’s he turned up, he’s been missing for years.”
“Not really missing. Ted’s always known how to get in touch with him if anyone had wanted to bother.”
“Oh Ted, he always knows everything doesn’t he? Always knows things he shouldn’t. The trouble is, people talk to him – they think he’s so – inoffensive, so harmless.”
“Well he’s always had an address where he could reach Carl if anyone had to, so Carl’s hardly been ‘missing’.”
“So what’s so great about him turning up here – when we could have reached him anyway if we’d wanted to.”
“Alicia. This is not about what you want or what Kathleen or any of the others want. It’s about what Carl wants and why he’s here.”
“What on earth do you mean why he’s here? in that tone of voice, you speak as if it is some great mystery.”
“It could be. I think he’s looking for someone, undoubtedly you. Perhaps he’s doing that because he wants to know the truth about his family and his parents.”
Alicia pressed the buzzer for the nurse and, saying she was tired, asked Maureen to leave her in peace.
Carl hadn’t called Maureen’s daughter about a room. He found that the Bull really was an Inn in the old sense as it had rooms and so booked in there for the night. Maureen was not like Sandie, he hadn’t felt the need to unburden himself to another stranger in the course of a few days – and there was something about the way she looked at him. She seemed to know more about him than she had let on. Why else would she have given him her daughter’s address?
He hadn’t wanted to ask Dave, the barman, about Maureen, she obviously knew him well and he would know where she lived, but he thought it better not to show too much interest. Instead he had found Maureen’s address easily – she was in the telephone directory – and with the help of the map on the wall of the bar he realised she lived in a flat above a shop just opposite the pub.
The next morning was spent sitting in his room waiting for her to leave her flat.
He didn’t think following someone would be very difficult – people appeared to manage it in films and on TV without too much aggravation. As long as she didn’t go into too many quiet places he felt he would be able to follow her.
She may not lead him to Alicia directly, but he may find out the reason for that ‘knowingness’.
It was after 12 o’clock when he was just about to give up his vigil and go down to have a drink when he saw her locking her front door and turning right, down the hill, towards Leatherhead.
For an old lady she walked pretty quickly but he managed to keep her in view. He reckoned they must have walked a couple of miles, when she turned into the driveway of a large Victorian building. It was a hospital.
He hung around outside the gates. Should he follow her in to try to see where she headed? Was she visiting someone or was the appointment for her? He felt awkward and very silly standing there.
Minutes dragged on and he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go. He stood by the gates kicking his shoes against the pavement, playing mind games about the moss between the paving stones until, perhaps an hour later, his thoughts were interrupted by Maureen, laughing “Hello. I thought I’d find you here!”
“You knew I was following you?” He was disappointed.
“I’m afraid so. Though I have to say you didn’t do too bad a job of it.”
“When did you spot me?”
“About when you came out of the pub.”
“That’s not fair – you couldn’t have!”
“There aren’t that many tall, good looking, deeply tanned young men in the village you know! And also you must remember that people of my generation went through the war and we weren’t all sitting at home knitting socks for prisoners!”
“I never thought that!” He was indignant that she should think he was that patronising.
“My God! You are so like your father!” she laughed gently
“You know my father?”
“I do indeed. I recognised you the moment we ‘met’ in the library. Anyone who knew your father would know you.”
“So you’ll know why I’m here.”
“Not necessarily. There could be any number of reasons but my guess would be that you’re trying to find Alicia.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Of course I do. I have just been visiting her. She’s very ill you know.”
“No I didn’t. I haven’t had anything to do with the Donaldsons for years.”
“Or anyone else from the Wirral as I understand.”
“How much more do you know about me?”
Instead of answering directly she said “Come on, let me buy you some tea or something.”
They walked in silence back towards the centre of the town, Maureen far more comfortable than Carl who was wondering what it was about this woman, she must have been the best part of 60 but she still seemed very young. She seemed always to be laughing at him.
They walked into the café and Maureen sat down at a window seat. Carl sat opposite her.
“Two teas please.”
She had taken control.
“I know you and your family quite well.” She spoke matter-of-factly but he recognised the affection behind the voice.
“Even though you call yourself ‘Forster’ you are Carl Witherby, son of Kathleen and Arnold.” It was not a question.
“Yes, but my father....”
“Yes I know, your father was not Henry Witherby, it was Arnold. Very sordid at the time but I believe Kathleen was in love with your father even though he was married to Alicia and these things happen. Arnold had some sort of hold over Henry and it was all arranged. Kathleen wouldn’t get rid of you, you know. Obviously she’s a good Catholic and wouldn’t do that.”
He sat stunned by the easy way she had discussed the tragedy that was the beginning of his life.
“Am I supposed to be grateful?”
“Probably not.” She continued after a pause “Anyway, you were born and Henry loved you as his son.”
“He didn’t know?”
“No I’m absolutely certain he didn’t know. He was – how do I put this – not a very strong man. He was rather swayed by whatever wind happened to be blowing at the time.”
“He was not my father though.”
“No. Arnold was definitely your father, though in many ways I do think that Henry was more of a father to you. He certainly loved your mother, they were together for 12 years or more. You must remember that.”
“You’re sure he wasn’t in on it? He didn’t know he wasn’t my father?”
“No. Everyone who could know is pretty sure he didn’t, though maybe he guessed something was wrong – towards the end that is.”
“Do you think that’s what made him....”
“kill himself” she finished the sentence for him. “No. I think that was money. He had worked for your father for years, he had been under Arnold’s thumb for 20 years or more – he wanted something for himself that was not decided for him by Arnold. I think he was embezzling money from the business, I think he was up to his ears in debt. He was afraid that he would be found out. I’m really sorry to say this, but I am afraid he was not a clever man. He was going to be found out.”
“So he killed himself.”
“Yes. I believe he did.”
“How do you know all this about us?”
“I have family in the Wirral, they keep me in touch.” Maureen was not going to tell this young man the truth of their relationship.
He was hesitant, but he had to ask “Do you know how Susie is? Is she OK?”
“Susannah Donaldson, yes.” She said thoughtfully “What an odd girl! Do you really want to know?” She sat stirring her tea for a few moments “If I tell you there
is no going back you understand.” She paused, suddenly serious. “You must forgive me, Carl, I am an actress and an artist, I see things in a dramatic way. I love words and I love to express myself clearly and unambiguously.”
She paused, and it was some time before she continued. “I think this conversation could be a turning point in your life Carl. If I tell you what I know you’ll never be the same person again. Does that sound melodramatic? Probably. But sometimes life does have its pivotal points. Whatever you do you’ll regret it, you will undoubtedly want to have done the opposite of what you are going to do. If I tell you about Susannah you’ll wish you didn’t know and if you choose not to know you’ll wish you did, as you have imagined worse. Whatever you choose you’ll have to live with the consequences for a very long time. It’s up to you.”
She waited for a few minutes and eventually added in a sad voice “Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked the question.”
“You make it sound so portentous, all I did was ask about Susie – and whether she was OK.”
“No you didn’t, Carl, you were asking whether you should re-enter her life. You were asking whether you would be good for her, whether you could love her again – or should I say ‘still’, whether she could ‘still’ love you. You were asking a lot more than just how she is.”
“You are playing with me.”
Carl was aware he was out of his depth. Maureen knew things he didn’t, she was holding this power over him and toying with him, as if he were a dog and she had a ball she wasn’t sure whether to throw into the distance for him to chase and retrieve.
“No Carl, I am not playing with you, It’s just that I make sure that you understand the importance of the question you ask. I will answer it truthfully and completely ‘the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth as far as I know it’ but I must know that you can deal with the answer.”
He thought for a few minutes, drinking the tea, nibbling at the scone. He decided to change the direction the conversation was taking – perhaps then he could regain the initiative, at least gain some time before making his decision.
The Last Dance Page 25
