All, however, was quiet.
In spite of his padded leather topcoat, quilted motoring cap and elbow-length gauntlets, he was cold. Freezing air did not affect his patience or his sense of purpose. He had spied on Sylvie before. Had spent several dismal hours on Sunday forenoons loitering by the church to see who talked to her or who accompanied her back to the door of the Mansions. No one ever did. Sylvie did not linger on the pavement outside the church but hopped away like a solitary little bunnikins. Same thing at the Mission Hall: no would-be beau pursued her to press his suit. As far as Gowry could make out, Forbes’s fears were groundless.
She emerged on an exuberant wave of song, hesitated only long enough to tie a scarf over her bonnet and punch her little fists into her muff; then she was off, heading north-west along Stevenson Street.
Gowry promptly tugged the ignition rod and cranked the handle. He heard the familiar groan of gases in the valve regulator and prayed that the beast would start first time. Sylvie had already passed out of sight. He cranked again, heard the engine connect and leaped into the driver’s seat. He released the brake, guided the Vauxhall slowly out of the lane into Stevenson Street and soon caught up with Sylvie who was skipping along blithe as a lark.
She glanced round only when the Vauxhall came abreast of her.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought it was Forbes.’
‘It isn’t Forbes. It’s me instead. Get in.’
She clambered on to the running board and alighted beside him. He had kept the engine ticking over and, as soon as Sylvie was secure, eased the motor-car over the broken cobbles.
‘Is Forbes not coming then?’ Sylvie said.
‘Nope,’ Gowry said. ‘Forbes won’t be coming for some time.’
‘Has he deserted me?’
‘He has to go off to work elsewhere.’
‘Where?’
Gowry thought quickly. ‘Portsmouth.’
‘Is she going with him?’
‘Nope.’
‘I could go with him. I could go to Portsmouth. Wouldn’t he like that?’
Gowry opened his mouth, changed his mind: said, ‘He’s appointed me to look after you while he’s away.’
‘Will I ever see Forbes again?’ Sylvie said.
‘Certainly you will. He’ll be back before you know it.’
‘My dada isn’t at home.’
‘I know. He’s down town, at Kirby’s.’
‘That’s where I first met Forbes,’ Sylvie said. ‘I might surprise him. I might make a trip down to Portsmouth and surprise him.’
‘It costs a lot of money for a railway fare to Portsmouth.’
‘You would give me the money.’
‘Would I now?’ Gowry said. ‘Don’t be too sure.’
‘I like this motor-car. I’ve been out into the country in it.’
‘Sylvie…’
‘Drive faster.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we’re there.’
She made no protest when he accompanied her through the tiny garden and into the close. They went upstairs together. Snowball, Mrs O’Connor’s cat, was seated on the stairs. It paid them not the slightest attention. Sylvie unlocked the front door of the apartment. Gowry followed her into the darkened hallway. He expected her to switch on the electric light, but she did not.
She said, ‘I do hope he hasn’t gone away for good.’
‘Don’t be so daft, Sylvie,’ Gowry said.
‘Then I would only have you to look after me.’
‘Would that be so bad?’
‘Bad enough,’ she said.
He did not move. He could hear the rustle of clothes, the topple of her bonnet on to the rug. She was very close to him. She seemed to be moving around him, as if he were a totem pole.
She said, ‘Did you go to Kirby’s especially to see Albert?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘About the money?’
‘You’re all paid up. Forbes took care of it.’
‘Forbes takes care of everything.’
‘Nearly everything,’ Gowry said.
He started when she caught his hand; he couldn’t help himself. He was confident, but not that confident. He would have preferred to see what she was up to, what sort of a dance she supposed she was leading him. He was not in love with her, would never be in love with her. She would never be able to torment him the way she had done his brother. He couldn’t blame Forbes for wanting breathing space.
She took his hand in both of hers and stripped off the leather gauntlet.
‘What’s this you’re doing, Sylvie?’ Gowry said.
‘Making you feel at home.’
He gave her the other hand. She tugged off that glove too.
She took his hand and led it to her neck, slid it down to her chest. She had removed her coat and unbuttoned her blouse and the top of her bodice, not as far as her breasts but enough to let him touch the angular arrangement of bones above them. She pushed herself against him and, on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek and then on the lips. He reached for her, but she danced away. ‘Are you going to stay and tuck me in?’ she asked, in a tiny, unprotected voice. ‘Are you going to do that for me too, Gowry-Wowry?’
‘Sure and I am,’ he said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Just Between Friends
If Forbes had been willing to listen she might have been able to make him believe that her friendship with Geoffrey Paget was just that, a friendship and not an affair. This, though, would have been a lie, or at best a half-truth, for she had been falling in love with Geoffrey almost since the year began. Once momentum had been achieved there was no stopping it and Geoffrey and she were drawn even closer by a need to pretend that they were in fact not falling in love. The tedious paraphernalia of discretion, all the rules and regulations that they imposed upon themselves were designed to prevent friends and enemies alike from leaping to what was after all the right conclusion or, to be hair-splittingly accurate, not quite the right conclusion.
By tacit agreement they contrived never to be alone except in public places and during Geoffrey’s frequent afternoon visits to Brunswick Cresent they were always chaperoned by Miss Runciman or glowering Blossom McCulloch. Blossom was too insensitive to appreciate quite what was taking place under her very nose but Eleanor Runciman could with ease read the signs and signals. Unrequited love, unrecognised love, was not the same as an affair of the heart, of course, but it was close enough for the housekeeper to fall in with the fancy that Lindsay and the naval officer were behaving quite properly and that anyone who suggested otherwise knew nothing about loyalty.
Eleanor guarded Lindsay’s reputation. Eleanor also contrived to allow the Lieutenant Commander and Mrs McCulloch two or three unsupervised minutes just after he arrived and again just before he left, for in Eleanor’s book there was nothing in the rules to prevent a gentleman kissing a lady’s hand or bussing her cheek or even placing a friendly arm about her shoulder, provided the limb did not dwell there too long. Eleanor assumed, correctly as it happened, that in those stolen moments Lindsay and Geoffrey would also kiss lip to lip, that he would say something complimentary about her and she would say something flattering about him and, because they were trapped in virtuous necessity, they would be deluded into believing that conducting an affair of the heart was so easy that they need have no fear of its outcome.
Forbes was furious because he could not contrive a reason for denying Paget the house without accusing the officer to his face, nor could he challenge Lindsay who, he knew, would turn him aside by pointing out that Geoffrey Paget was a high-ranking naval officer who had the power to allocate contracts and bring profit to the firm in which he and she were partners. Perhaps he would have been less inclined to harsh judgement if he had not been denying himself the pleasure of Sylvie’s company. He missed Sylvie in more ways than he would have believed possible. Gowry’s reports brought no comfort. Beneath his anger there lay melancholy and
it did not take him long to transfer his guilt and place the blame with Lindsay.
‘Did Paget come today, Winn?’
‘Yes, at half past two o’clock.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Played the piano for an hour.’
‘Was Lindsay with him?’
‘Much of the time, Forbes, yes.’
‘And Runciman was there with them?’
‘It was Blossom’s turn today.’
‘What did they do afterwards?’
‘Took tea, I think.’
‘Together?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
‘Blossom would never leave them alone.’
‘When did Paget leave?’
‘About half past four o’clock.’
In course of time Forbes might have lost his temper and bloodied Paget’s nose or have capitulated with his conscience and returned to Sylvie, but a piece of unexpected news came down from Harper’s Hill and changed everything, not just for Forbes but for everyone.
* * *
Lindsay wept into her pillow. Forbes did his best to comfort her. He put an arm about her, rubbed himself against her, caressed her tenderly and poured out the dregs of his boyish charm.
‘Didn’t you know that Pappy was ailing?’ he asked.
‘Aunt Lilias assured us it was only the remnants of a winter cold.’
‘He stayed up in Strathmore much too long, if you ask me.’
‘I think he wanted to hide his illness from us.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘So that he could settle all his affairs without interruption.’
‘He didn’t look so bad, not last time I saw him,’ Forbes said.
‘I called in a week ago,’ Lindsay said. ‘He was resting in bed but he came downstairs and joined us for tea. Oh, it’s such a shame that he won’t live to watch Harry growing up.’
‘That’s the way of life, sweetheart,’ said Forbes. ‘He’s a tough old fellah, though. He might surprise us all yet. I mean, he might pull through.’
‘He’s dying, Forbes. Dying. The doctor has told us so.’
‘Doctors! Who believes what doctors tell you?’
‘Pappy’s eighty-two years old.’
‘Yes.’ Forbes stroked her shoulder. ‘I suppose Hough’s been around long enough to recognise a dying man when he sees one.’
She brushed his hand away. Her cheeks were pink and tears glistened on her lashes. She leaned against the bed-head. ‘You’re wondering how much we’ll get from him, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, now, how can you…’
‘You’re wondering how the property will be divided.’
‘Pappy’s a wealthy man. Linnet. I wouldn’t hardly be human if it hadn’t crossed my mind. I’m his grandson, remember.’
‘And so is Gowry.’
‘What?’
‘And Winn is surely entitled to a share. And Blossom. And all those others back in Ireland that you refuse to discuss.’
‘They mean nothing to Pappy. They’re strangers. I doubt if Winn and Blossom have clapped eyes on him more than half a dozen times. And the others, pish on the others.’
Lindsay was silent for a moment then she said, ‘Why do you never touch me, Forbes? Why do you never tell me that you love me?’
‘So that’s it?’ he said thinly.
‘Is there someone else?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Do you have another woman, a mistress, that you prefer to me?’
He shifted away from her and leaned against the bolster. ‘Who put that notion into your head? Has some one been slandering me? Who was it? Cissie? Pansy? You really shouldn’t listen to idle gossip, Linnet.’
‘Answer my question.’
He tried to make light of it. ‘When, just tell me, would I find time for another woman?’
‘When you go out with Gowry.’
‘So it’s Gowry who’s been filling your head with this nonsense.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Lindsay told him. ‘I asked a question, Forbes, which you haven’t answered yet.’ She leaned on to her elbow and stared at him. ‘Is there another woman? If you tell me there isn’t then I will believe you.’
‘There isn’t. Jesus, of course there isn’t.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Then I believe you.’
‘I haven’t been attentive enough, Linnet. There! I admit it. But that’s going to change as soon as you’re well again.’
‘Forbes, I am not ill,’ Lindsay said. ‘Since Philip was born you haven’t come near me. Do you no longer find me attractive?’
He folded his arms across his chest, fists bunched under his armpits. ‘Is that why you’ve encouraged Paget to come creeping round? Because he finds you attractive? Is attention all you want from him, Lindsay? It isn’t all he wants from you. God, no: that bloody sailorman’s after a lot more than attention.’
‘Geoffrey’s a friend, that’s all.’
‘Huh!’ Forbes exclaimed. ‘I’ve heard that tale before. God, but you do have a damned nerve, Lindsay, accusing me of taking a lover when you’re up to something behind my back. I can guess what goes on here in the afternoons.’
‘Nothing goes on.’
‘Piano-playing! Bloody piano-playing! Do you take me for a fool?’
Her eyes were glistening again but not with tears. He had riled her at last. He had more to go on, more, as it were, to work with than she had when it came to accusation. He would have to be careful, though, careful not to push Lindsay too far, not with the old man dangling at death’s door. He thanked his lucky stars that he had had the sense to break off with Sylvie when he did and wondered what Gowry had been saying or what snatch of conversation Lindsay had overheard. He didn’t doubt Gowry’s loyalty, only his discretion. He would have a word with Gowry first thing tomorrow morning. And he would not see Sylvie again, at least not until everything had settled down and he was able to gauge just how much Lindsay and his marriage were worth.
He felt a vague tweak of desire for her but the time was not ripe to soothe and pacify his wife in that way, not unless she asked for it; then, charitably, he would salute and do his duty.
She said, ‘Geoffrey is not my lover, if that’s what you’re thinking. If Winn or Blossom have told you that he is, or have even suggested that he might be, then they do not know me – or Geoffrey for that matter – very well. I’m your wife, Forbes, for better or for worse, though sometimes it’s difficult to remember what that means.’
‘Well,’ he said, not harshly, ‘we’re going to have a lot more on our minds than Geoffrey Paget in the next few weeks.’
‘Pappy, you mean?’
‘Yes, Pappy.’ Forbes drew her head down on to his shoulder. ‘Poor old fellah. I wonder how long he will last. I hope he doesn’t suffer, that’s all.’
He held her, patting her gently, until she began to cry again and then, snuggling against him, eventually fell asleep.
* * *
Kay said, ‘I’m sorry to see you like this, Daddy. I’m just glad I got here in time.’
Owen could no longer rouse himself to speak. He had heard that she was on her way from Dublin, but the conversations that took place around his bed were filtered through a mist of the medicines that the doctor had administered to take away his pain.
If he had been less strong, less stubborn, he might have let go, but he had no control now, no choice but to suffer and be silent. His memories occupied him during his waking hours. Memories smoked within his brain like the coal piles on the flanks of Franklin town, after which he had been named. When he sipped a little of the soup that Lilias or Pansy brought him, for instance, he remembered the soup that old Hugh Pemberton had made all those years ago on the sooty black stove in the back room of the iron yard overlooking the canal. How he had loved the taste of that soup, soup filled with beans and lentils and tasting of the ham bone that Hugh made the stock with, stock that, as day succeeded day, became richer and thi
cker until you could spread it upon your bread like a marmalade. He had told Kath about the soup. She had laughed and had tried to manufacture it for him but something was missing, some ingredient that could not be duplicated: the hunger of his youth, perhaps.
When he thought of Kath it was as if she were a ghost long gone away from him, gone long before his boyhood had even begun. He too was fading now, the struggle too much for him. He welcomed the effects of the sweetish grass-green liquid that Lilias fed him when the cough denied him sleep. He would be asleep soon enough, asleep like the little boy in the song, asleep in his daddy’s arms. He wondered if his daddy would cry when he saw him. If, in the brilliant bright light of reawakening, his daddy would be there to greet him, his mammy too. How old would they be? How old would he be? How would he recognise them when he had never known who they were?
He did not care about the future. He longed to cling to his past, not to have to shed his memories. The ships, the children – he would give anything to be able to carry the past on with him, all its mistakes and regrets intact, for surely he would be man enough to stand before the Lord and defend himself and whatever he had achieved. Memories of the manner of that achievement were coming home now, coming back now, one by one in the grass-green hours after the medicine eased his body into a state that Lilias mistook for sleep.
He had summoned Gammon to Strathmore, old Harrington too. The lawyers had done what he had asked them to do, had offered him efficiency not sympathy, for they were not so far from the end themselves. Then they had gone away and he had been left with Giles, the views of the hills, the worsening cough, breathing that was like breathing nails even before he had left Perthshire for the last time and had journeyed home to wait for the end.
‘Is it not better if you sit up, Daddy?’ Kay said.
‘He no longer has the strength to sit up,’ Lilias said.
‘Dear God! I can’t be doing to see him so reduced.’
‘No,’ Lilias said, out of his sight. ‘No, it’s sad, so sad.’
He wanted to tell them it was not sad at all, not so bad as they, in their prime, imagined it to be. But he was too weary and too stubborn to sleep, too restless in his mind to care about them, to give anything of himself to children to whom he had already given everything.
The Piper's Tune Page 33
