Mrs Melia waved goodbye, a handkerchief mopping up her tears. Isadora, seated with Joan in one of the cars, waved back before staring deliberately forward, because the house was, for now, a part of the past. It was all horribly sad, yet it had to be done as smoothly as possible and without a show of emotion.
Like a wagon train in the wilds of America, the cars pulled out of the estate and proceeded in an elegant convoy towards Chaddington Green. Fortunately, there were no Indians about, though they did have to slow down for a few stray deer whose sense of direction was confused, to say the least.
It was fiesta time when they reached the Punch Bowl. A late lunch had been prepared for the two women, and two rounds of drinks for everyone were on Isadora. There were cheers and whoops of joy when villagers learned that she was leaving Richard at last. Bill Jenkins delivered his imitation of Richard Bellamy, a stiff, stilted and very gung-ho World War Two flight lieutenant from some black-and-white movie of that era.
Polly Jenkins proposed a toast. ‘To freedom,’ she called, ‘and the absolute emancipation of women.’
The men pretended to boo, while their female companions cheered.
Isadora stood. ‘Deadlier than the male,’ she shouted. ‘It would be in the best interests of every man to bear that in mind.’
Polly Jenkins raised her glass again. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she joked.
Isadora sat and clinked her glass against the one held by her children’s nanny, now her best friend. ‘To us, Joan. I haven’t been to – you know where we’re going – for years. We did Priestley’s When We Are Married there, I seem to remember.’
Bill Jenkins approached the table. ‘Phone call for you, Mrs Bellamy. It’s Delia from London.’
‘Thank you.’ She stood.
‘And your cases are in our dining room. My Pol thought that would save carrying them downstairs when you need them picking up. I hear you’re going to stay with Tia.’
‘That’s right.’ She would tell nobody where Tia was. Even Mrs Melia at Bartle Hall knew nothing of Isadora’s immediate plans. She picked up the phone. ‘Delia, darling. Thank you for calling back so quickly.’
‘Hi, Ma. Sorry, I was asleep when you rang. Have you run away from home at last?’
Isadora could not manage to contain a chuckle.
‘Have you, Ma?’
‘I have, but Joan and I are staying here tonight. Our belongings are taking up space in Mr and Mrs Jenkins’ living quarters, so they need to be shifted soon. When you pack the van, put the red spot cases in first, because we need to store them somewhere in . . . somewhere close to Tia. When can you come?’
‘I’ll try for tomorrow, but it’s more likely to be Tuesday. I have to be back in London by Thursday afternoon. You’re taking some stuff with you on the train, I expect.’
‘Yes. We have to get out of Chaddington very soon, because your father’s on his way home with a sore throat. Villagers brought our luggage to the inn; they all seem delighted to hear about my leaving him. Now, don’t rush, because we want no accidents.’
‘OK, Ma.’
‘Joan and I will go to our rooms now; we need to be out of sight. Can you telephone Tia and tell her I’ll be on the afternoon train tomorrow? I think it reaches its destination at about six o’clock. And if you are able, will you tell Juliet what’s happening?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘Cordelia?’
‘What, Ma?’
‘You’ve met someone. Your voice is lighter. Take that slowly, too; as I said a few seconds ago, we want no accidents.’
‘Right, Ma.’
After a few beats, Isadora spoke again. ‘Are you perchance laughing at me, Cordelia Bellamy?’
‘Yes, Ma. Good luck and God bless. He never deserved you.’
‘Oh, he wasn’t always as he is now. Or perhaps I was more tolerant, but I don’t like the way he’s treated his daughters over the past few years. So, what’s her name? Your young lady, I mean.’
‘Too early for that, Mother dear. It’s like any other relationship, and introduction to family doesn’t happen for a while. She’s pretty, she’s learning bass guitar and is a good cook. Oh, she does knitting and crochet, too, and she’s teaching me to make blankets for African children. It gets cold at night even in the tropics, or so I’m told. That’s all you need to know for now, Ma.’
‘Shhhhh,’ Isadora whispered. A sudden silence had descended on the public area at the other side of the bar. He was here. A shudder raced through Isadora’s body when a crash broke the quiet in the snug. She dropped the receiver and rushed out to find Joan Reynolds on the floor with Richard standing over her, one foot raised as if he were preparing to stamp the life out of the slender woman. ‘Where is my wife?’ he rasped.
‘I’m here,’ Isadora answered, her voice low and threatening. She knelt beside her friend. ‘Did he throw you to the floor, Joan?’
Joan nodded.
Men leapt forward and dragged Richard Bellamy to the outer door.
‘Keep hold of him, please,’ Isadora begged. ‘Joan, stay where you are.’ She returned to the phone, said a hurried goodbye to Delia and dialled the three nines, asking for police and ambulance at the Punch Bowl, Chaddington Green. When she walked back into the bar, her husband was tied to a chair. Three large farmhands stood over him, while Polly Jenkins squatted near Joan. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken,’ she told Isadora, ‘but I’m no expert.’
‘Keep her on the floor in case there is something broken,’ advised Polly’s husband. ‘Don’t move her. He was so quick coming in, Mrs Bellamy, that we didn’t realize what he was up to until it was too late. I’ve never seen him move so fast. Being ill must suit him.’
The farmhands began to translate Richard’s hoarse whispers. ‘He says you’ve left him with no furniture. He says you can’t go away while he’s ill.’
‘He’s made me sick for years,’ was her response. ‘And I’m not going away; I’m leaving him.’
‘She’s an alcoholic,’ the prisoner said hoarsely.
‘No, just a good actress,’ Isadora snarled. She looked down at Joan. ‘We’ve plenty of witnesses to what happened here today. Bill, do you have a camera? Will it do indoor shots?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘Good man. I want a couple of him tied to the chair, and a couple of poor Joan on the floor. Let’s give next week’s newspapers something to chew on.’
By the time the snaps had been taken, a locum doctor had rolled up. He examined Joan, shining a light into her eyes, asking her for the day, date, month and year, asking had she banged her head and did she feel sick. He placed her in a chair, said he was satisfied, but that the ambulance folk should have a look anyway. He then spoke to Richard. ‘Your wife acted like an alcoholic so that she wouldn’t need to work with you. It’s all in Dr Heilberg senior’s records.’ He left the scene muttering darkly about people who didn’t appreciate others, and raising his voice to wish Isadora and Joan good luck when he reached the doorway.
The ambulance arrived next, and Joan was once again declared out of danger.
‘She wouldn’t have been if Mr Bellamy had followed through,’ said the biggest of the farm labourers. ‘He was going to stamp on her till Mrs Bellamy stopped him.’ During this accusatory declaration, the police entered the scene. They questioned Joan, Isadora, Polly and Bill before talking to other witnesses. Richard had little to say due to his damaged throat. He was taken away to the police station while villagers cheered raucously.
Exhausted, Isadora and Joan went up to their rooms. Once again, Richard Bellamy had managed to wear out his wife simply by being there, on the attack and . . . and breathing. ‘No,’ she muttered, ‘it isn’t that I want him dead. I just want him away from me.’ And how could he pick on Joan after all she’s done for us? She’s such a small woman, so breakable, so loving and kind. Without her, I could not have worked; without her, I would have been in poorer financial health. She made the partnership possible, a
nd I carried him as far as I could. Once the idiot started to believe the publicity machine, he became too big for his boots and too small for his co-performers. He’s earning so little, has never saved . . . but he’s no longer my problem.
Exhausted, and chilled to the bone in spite of the warm day, Isadora drifted into sleep, dreaming of happy days when children played in Bartle Hall’s grounds, when rain drove them inside and hide-and-seek with its accompanying shrieks and footfalls echoed through the ancient building. Plays written by Portia and Cordelia were performed in the great ballroom to an audience of people from the village, and Christmas had always been wonderful.
At about nine o’clock that evening, the extension telephone rang. She woke, temporarily disorientated, taking a few seconds to remember where she was and why. It was Bill from downstairs. ‘Mrs Bellamy, I have Tia for you. Polly came up to see you a few times, but you’ve slept for hours.’
‘Thank you, Bill.’
‘Ma? Is that you, darling? Did I wake you? So sorry if I did. Mr Jenkins told me just now about Pa’s behaviour. Is Nanny hurt? Oh, Delia asked me to call you, by the way.’
‘Portia, Joan is well, sweetheart. Is it convenient if we come tomorrow? Delia can definitely bring our luggage on Tuesday.’
‘Of course. There are complications . . .’ Tia told her mother about the murder, the abused child, the attempt at suicide by Rosie’s gin-dependent mother, and about Maggie. ‘Teddy got permission to bring Maggie out of hospital today and she and Rosie are staying with him. They could go home now, because Sadie’s in a coma and no threat at present, but he feels they need a break. Rosie doesn’t know everything about her mother’s condition, you see. Maggie does. We can only hope that this latest tragedy won’t leave Rosie’s nana open to further health problems.’
Isadora listened carefully. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that evil spread its tentacles across the whole of society, missing no sector, rich, poor, or middle of the road. Had Richard stamped his foot, Joan would now be in hospital or in the morgue, and that would have been a huge blot in the pristine copybook of a great acting family. No one was immune when it came to the nasty streak in the human animal. ‘I am so sorry, Portia,’ was all she managed to say. ‘You seem to have been through the wars, and you haven’t even started work yet.’
‘I’m using Teddy’s phone, Ma. I’ve ordered my own line, but goodness knows when it will arrive. As for what’s happened, I’m sure this sort of thing goes on in Manchester, London and Birmingham. Most people here are wonderful.’
Isadora heard Mr Quinn in the background. He was telling Portia to talk for as long as she needed, and he awarded her the full name. The mother of Tia smiled. Teddy was falling in love; it was etched into every syllable he spoke. ‘Tell him hello from me, darling.’
‘He’s wandered off, Ma. I think he’s a nomad at heart. He’s probably looking for his camel.’
‘He sounds pleasant.’
‘He is. He’s a half-American lunatic. I’m waiting for him to build a totem and do rain dances.’ She lowered her tone. ‘He’s lovely, Ma.’
‘Delicious voice, Portia.’
‘Hands off, Mother. He’s also halfway in love with you, and he’s the only name on my maybe list. There isn’t one of your films he hasn’t seen, but he’s too young for you.’
‘Darling, no man is too young for me.’
‘But I saw him before you will, so I get first dibs. You can’t go around picking up innocent young men just because you’ve ditched Pa.’
Isadora smiled into the phone. ‘You’re falling in love, my darling.’
‘Perhaps. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the lone ranger on the definitely interesting list. See you tomorrow, Ma.’
‘Be careful,’ Isadora warned. ‘Don’t jump too quickly into a relationship. I did that, and look at the state of me now, on the run from home.’ She paused. ‘How is the little girl?’ She listened while her daughter delivered the rest of the tale. What she said and the way she said it betrayed the affection Tia had developed for the child, too. She had always been an open-hearted girl, but she now seemed to be offering bits of herself all over the place.
‘I love Liverpool,’ Tia said.
‘You love Liverpool, Teddy and Rosie, don’t you?’
‘Perhaps I do.’
‘I hope they deserve you, my precious girl. Though I must say, that poor child has had a very rough introduction to life. How could a mother decide to take her own life and leave a daughter behind? That’s what I can’t understand. I suppose the drink addled her brain. Oh well, we’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Is Pa in jail, Ma?’
‘I haven’t the remotest idea. Good night, Portia.’
Tia replaced the receiver. She heard him entering the hallway, knew he was standing very near to her.
‘What’s your father done now?’ Theo asked.
‘He’s just being a pillock.’
‘Pillock? That’s a new one for me, Portia.’
She faced him. ‘It’s a hillock with a P on it.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded gravely. ‘So he’s been done for depositing a pee on a small hill? Surely he’s not so undignified as to urinate in public? Isn’t that a breach of the peace?’
She grinned. ‘How are you spelling that, P-E-A-C-E or P-I-E-C-E?’
‘Mind like a sewer, Miss Bellamy.’ He sat in a Victorian rocker. ‘Maggie’s telling little Rosie now. Unfortunately, it will have to be the truth, because it will be all over the Lady Streets, and children are cruel.’
‘Shit,’ Tia mumbled.
‘He didn’t do that as well, did—’
‘Shut up, Teddy.’ She gazed at him. ‘Do you always talk rubbish when you’re nervous?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he replied. ‘Is your mother coming tomorrow?’
Tia nodded. ‘And she’s gone silly, too. She likes your voice. I’ll sit next to you on the floor. No, no, don’t stand up, I prefer the floor. If I’m on the floor, I can’t fall.’ She slid down the wall. ‘Do you think Maggie will have told her yet? Will she know how to tell her? I feel a bit wobbly.’
He left the chair and sat next to her on hard oak floorboards. ‘This is not comfortable, Portia. And there’s no right way to tell a child that her mother wants to be dead. Telling her that Sadie almost died by her own hand will be hard, but it has to be done before Rosie hears it at school in September.’ He shifted. ‘My backside’s already defunct on this floor.’
‘It’s not supposed to be comfortable. Maggie won’t be comfortable telling Rosie that her mother’s critically ill. And Maggie has all the gossip to face. They both do, I suppose, because Rosie will suffer, too.’
‘And my butt will go gangrenous if we sit here much longer.’
Tia took hold of his hand. ‘Pretend you’re Catholic and think of it as penance.’ A pleasant tremor travelled up her arm, her neck, her face and into her hair. Had her crowning glory been less abundant and shorter, it would probably have stood on end. But she said nothing. This might be the right time for distracting jokes, but romance was off the cards. Rosie was learning one of life’s sadder lessons, so flirtation would be inappropriate. But Tia propped her head on his shoulder. ‘You should go in, Teddy. Take them a drink or something and see if you’re needed.’
‘You think?’
‘Ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.’
‘You go in,’ he suggested. ‘You’re female.’
‘Glad you noticed,’ she said drily. ‘But why should the task fall to a woman? Would I be better at dealing with bad news just because of my gender? You’re the experienced teacher.’ Then she remembered – his mother had been murdered in America. ‘Sorry. I didn’t forget; I just wasn’t thinking while this is going on. Someone had to give you similar news, I expect.’
‘No.’ His fingers tightened their hold on hers. ‘I was there. I heard her screams and saw the flames, breathed in the smoke, watched my father trying to claw his way through hot metal to get to her. His han
ds were bandaged for weeks.’ Theo turned his head and looked at her. ‘No one else knows that, not from me, anyway. I can trust you, yes?’
She nodded and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. He still hadn’t told her everything – of that she felt sure. ‘Always trust me, Teddy. I’ve lived in a war zone for long enough to know unhappiness.’ She told him about Ma and Pa, the former having nurtured and improved her talent, the latter continually neglecting his and becoming lazy. ‘Father was dragging her down, so she pretended to be unfit for work due to alcoholism. He became righteously indignant, and she turned into a mess, stinking of gin and saying little that was sensible. We had no trauma like yours, of course, but it was hard, especially on Juliet, who’s the family’s token Christian.’
‘Your mom was sober?’
‘Oh, yes, though we discovered that only recently. She and Nanny fled to the local inn, and he came in and threw Nanny – Joan Reynolds – on the floor. The police took him away.’ She awarded him a rueful smile. ‘You have a comfortable shoulder, Mr Quinn.’
‘My ass is dead.’
‘Poor creature. Do you mean arse?’
‘Probably.’ He paused. ‘I heard you telling your mother that I was a nomad and a half-American lunatic.’
Tia wagged a finger at him. ‘Eavesdroppers hear no good about themselves.’
‘I heard good,’ he whispered. ‘Did you mean it? Because if you did, we shouldn’t work together.’
She shrugged. ‘Get rid of me, then.’
‘I can’t. You know I can’t, and you know why.’
‘Do I?’
The front door opened quietly, and both turned to see Simon in the porch. He stepped into the hall and apologized, explaining that he had tried Tia’s bell first. ‘I came to tell you I’ve cancelled the appointment for Rosie at Alder Hey tomorrow. The poor child will have been through enough, I imagine.’ He studied the pair on the floor for a few seconds. There had been other men in Tia’s life, and he knew it, though he’d never met any of them. Something was happening here, and he felt as if he had been kicked hard in the belly. Oh well, she had warned him often enough, so he could blame only himself.
Meet Me at the Pier Head Page 17
