‘She insists it’s nothing but a recurring chest infection and she refuses to let me talk to the doctor.’
‘Refuses to let you? Paul, you’re her husband, of course you need to find out what’s wrong.’
‘I’ve tried and although he hints that things maybe worse than she’s telling me, he won’t break confidences.’
‘Then remind him you have three children!’
‘Would you look after them on Sunday? I thought I’d borrow a car and take her to the seaside. She’d like that. Somewhere quiet, down The Vale perhaps.’
‘Of course, Paul. You really do have to make her face whatever’s wrong with her and get the necessary treatment.’
‘If we can have a day together, I’m hoping to persuade her to talk.’
To Faith’s surprise, Ian offered to share the care of Jack, Bill and Polly and promised them a day to remember.
‘If Winnie is seriously ill they’ll miss out on lots of things, so if you agree, we can make a difference.’
‘Agree? I’m thrilled that we’ll do this together.’ Then she glanced at him, had she sounded too sure of him? Would the word ‘together’ give him doubts and cause him to avoid seeing too much of her? She was fond of him and guessed he felt the same, but there was always a hesitation, a wordless warning to her not to expect too much of him.
‘I thought we’d take them to Bristol Zoo, what d’you think?’
‘They’ve never been there. That’s a lovely idea. I’ll pack a picnic and we can treat them to a meal on the way back. I’ll check with Paul to make sure he agrees to us taking them so far away before I tell them.’
‘Paul trusts you, doesn’t he?’
‘I hope so.’
‘You make friends easily. He – and Winnie of course – is very fond of you.’
Was there some hidden comment in the words? She shrugged. Was she getting paranoid? But the hesitation before including Winnie sounded curious.
Both Winnie and Paul were happy for the children to go to Bristol Zoo and there was great excitement once the children were told. She was laughing as she closed the door on them and set off home. Still smiling she was startled when Matt’s cousin Gwenllian appeared and at once complained.
‘Happy are you? You’ve no right to happiness after ruining Matt’s life,’ she said.
Faith turned away and hurried along the lanes back to No 3, her expression solemn. She hadn’t replied, there was nothing she could have said to placate the woman. She wore her anger proudly, like a badge, outrage threatening to burst out whenever an opportunity offered.
Faith sighed as she went inside. Gwenllian must grow tired of her campaign eventually. She began planning what she would make for the picnic and the smile returned.
Verity was curious about the man Faith had treated so badly. Imagine giving away his child after denying he was the father. What sort of a man was he that he could cause such vindictiveness? Their new sister was obviously not as angelic as she appeared. There could never be a strong enough reason for her to treat a man she had loved like that. Verity took a couple of days off and, after telling her mother she was going to spend a few days in the north searching for new suppliers for their china and glass, she made her way to Barry and began asking for the workshop of Matt Hewitt.
A wedding and a honeymoon hadn’t distracted her from her determination to discredit Faith. There was a lot to lose. Besides, her new husband was away for three weeks on a sales trip in Belgium. With cats away the mice will play, she thought with a smile. A visit to this Matt Hewitt might be interesting.
He was easy to find as, besides his skills as a sculptor and designer of garden furniture, the notoriety of the long-ago court case and its recent revival, made his name well known to most of the residents of the town. She travelled by train, then a taxi dropped her at the corner of the road in which Matt’s workshop was situated. She walked slowly along, studying the rather untidy yard with the workshop at the far end. Above the entrance to the workshop was a statue that at once caught her eye. It represented a fairy, with a smaller figure holding her hand. It was beautiful.
As she reached the gate Matt came out of the workshop. He looked up and waited for her to approach. She didn’t know what she had expected: someone small and anxious to please? Covered in stone dust and wearing overalls? Certainly someone boring, if he’d been attracted to someone like Faith. But Matt startled her with his dark good looks and strong physique. He stared at her boldly as she smiled and walked towards him; his eyes were almost magnetic and she found it hard to look away. Forcing herself back to her usual arrogant style, she said:
‘I believe you make some high quality sculptures besides these, er, things,’ she waved an arm disparagingly at the garden benches and gnomes and planters surrounding them. ‘I do hope I haven’t travelled this far to see these cheap items.’
‘None of my work is cheap and I always make the best quality, even if it’s a flower pot for a child. Now, will you tell me how I can help, I have work to do.’
Heavens. This wasn’t what Verity had expected at all. What had Faith been thinking of, walking away from this man?
‘I run a London shop specializing in the best of modern design,’ she said. trying to recover her poise. ‘I noticed the statue of the fairies above the door, can you tell me how much it costs and whether you have anything of a similar nature to show me?’ All the time she was talking it was as though she was listening to someone else’s voice, the man had so confused her.
‘You’d better come in and look at my display,’ he said. He turned away and walked into the workshop, assuming she would follow. Again she was surprised. Not much charm about him for all his magnetism.
It was only when he began talking about the various pieces that his voice softened. The work was mostly statues of beautiful women designed for elegant gardens, or statues of small children in beguiling poses. Outside were the small, popular ornaments for small back gardens, but in here was where he gained his pleasure. She touched a model of a child holding up a shallow basket in which water would attract wild birds, and he smiled at her obvious delight.
She said very little, just allowed him to talk as he explained that some of the ideas came from poetry, or books he had loved as a child. ‘Some of my happiest memories are from when I was young,’ he said. When she left she had arranged to buy three statues for a startlingly high price and, having seen photographs of some of his previous work, promised to return for more.
‘It has been such a pleasure meeting you,’ she said. ‘An artist with the heart of a poet.’
‘Please come again,’ he said. ‘It’s wonderful talking to someone who understands.’ He laughed after she had stepped into her taxi, and went to tell his mother. Fingering the cheque, he kissed it and said, ‘Idiotic woman. It’s so easy to win them over with a bit of flattery and a hint of a tormented soul.’
When the statues were delivered Verity’s mother was doubtful, but to their surprise they were sold within two weeks. Verity offered to go back to see if there were any more available.
‘He’ll probably have a book of sketches,’ her mother said. ‘Look through it and order what you think we can sell. Your choices were exactly right so I’ll leave it to you. Although perhaps I could go and meet him sometime. It’s always good to have some details about the artist to give the buyer. Makes it more personal.’
When she asked Verity how she had heard of the man, Verity was vague. ‘Word of mouth, you know how it is. That’s why I didn’t say anything in case he was a disappointment.’
She wrote to Matt and told him when to expect her. When she arrived, he was in a smart suit. ‘I thought we could talk over lunch,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll come back and you can see the few quality items I have for sale. I’ll bring my sketch book, so you won’t be bored,’ he said with a quirk of an eyebrow.
There was nothing pretentious about his choice of venue; in fact Verity at first thought it was some kind of joke. They ate at a small caf
é near the newsagent’s shop and the choice was what to have with chips. Verity wasn’t impressed but she ate a little of the fishcakes and baked beans. The place was full and very noisy, making conversation impossible and she concentrated on looking through the sketch book.
The variety showed his willingness to create small pieces as well as large imposing ones like the fairies over his door. There were concrete gnomes and small animals, which she guessed were regular sales; some illustrations showed them painted. She tore up a paper napkin and marked several pages before they finished the dark-brown tea and left.
Apart from the nude designed to sit beside a garden pond, the statues were suitable for any situation. She noticed for the first time the fine busts of Romanesque men set on plinths. They represented years of work in between making the cheaper items that sold easily to local people and the occasional tourist who managed to find the place. And he had doubted they would ever sell. He set the prices high and Verity agreed without discussion. The nude to sit beside a pond was going to be a centrepiece for their window display.
‘Do you have to go back immediately?’ he asked when the business was done.
She looked at him and smiled. ‘Do you have in mind dinner at another greasy spoon?’
‘My mother will have a meal ready and you’re welcome to share it.’
She knew she ought to leave and get the train she had planned to take but instead she found herself agreeing to share their meal. Newly wed or not, it was difficult to refuse this man.
Carol fussed a lot – obviously flustered by their elegant, some what haughty visitor with her upper-class voice – anxious to please, but Matt seemed quite relaxed, even when his mother brought on eggs and chips. Verity looked up and saw he was smiling.
‘This looks lovely, Mrs Hewitt,’ she said. ‘I love chips, don’t you?’
‘Would you like beans with it?’ Matt asked, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
Holding back laughter, she agreed that, ‘Baked beans would be perfect. It’s so long since I had any.’
They were laughing as Matt walked her to the bus stop, insisting that a taxi was a waste of money. He took her arm as they crossed the road and slid his hand down until he was holding hers. At the railway station he pulled her towards him and kissed her. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Today has been good.’
Her heart was racing as the train moved off. She looked back at the platform expecting him to be waiting for a final wave, but he was gone.
It wasn’t until the new order had arrived and her mother was pleased with her purchases that Verity told her who the sculptor was.
‘These were made by the man Faith ran from? Why didn’t you tell me? This could be most embarrassing.’
‘That’s why I said nothing. I wanted to see for myself who he was. We only have Faith’s version of what happened and you need all the facts before you can judge.’
‘And what have you decided? That Faith is lying to us?’
‘There are always two sides, Mother, that’s all I’ll say. Why don’t you come and meet him?’
‘One day maybe, but not yet. Be careful, Verity. In this instance hearing one side is enough to convince me that he’s a dangerous man.’
Joy and her husband visited No 3 the following week. It was Sunday afternoon, Faith was alone in the house and she welcomed them with delight. The day was dull but they wandered around and admired the garden then sat in the overcrowded living room.
Simon was an architect and he talked about the work he was engaged in. ‘Joy and I met in college,’ he said.
On being told that both Joy and Verity had been to art college to study design, Faith waved an arm around the cluttered room. ‘Do you fancy practising your skills by telling me what to do to improve this room?’ she said with a laugh.
Joy said, ‘I decided to teach, so Simon is the best to advise on design, although it looks a comfortable and friendly room and I can’t think how you could improve it.’ Faith smiled encouragingly at Simon.
‘Well – it is a very comfortable and welcoming room, but there’s an awful lot of furniture in here if you really want my opinion. All these big armchairs against the walls are not the best idea. It’s only an illusion but it makes a room appear larger if you can see into the corners. And colour, changing this crimson and using a lighter colour will also give the impression of more space, as will avoiding putting heavy furniture like that couch in front of the window, blocking the light. But there, I expect you know all this.’
The door opened at that moment and there was a chorus of shouts as Jack, Bill and Polly burst in followed by Paul. ‘Sorry, Faith, we didn’t know you had visitors,’ he apologized. ‘Come on you three, we’ll call another day.’
‘Nonsense, Paul. Sit down and I’ll find drinks for you all.’ She heard the door open again and asked, ‘Is Winnie with you?’
‘No. We came out so Winnie can have a rest,’ Paul explained.
Kitty and Gareth walked in and were encouraged to stay. Ten minutes later, Mrs Gretorex arrived with her husband. Introductions were made and before Faith had supplied them with lemonade, a neighbour called with some Brussels sprouts from their garden.
The seats were full, the children found stools and Simon laughed. ‘I take back all I said about redesigning this room,’ he said. ‘Better if you talk to someone about building an extension!’
That was the first of many visits by Joy and Simon, and Faith knew they would get even closer as time passed. She heard from her mother by letter but there was no word from Verity. She had no idea that her younger sister had been to see Matt and would have been alarmed if she had.
Winnie’s condition continued to cause alarm and she spent several more days in hospital. Apart from the hours in the shop, much of Faith’s time was spent caring for the three children. Ian called often and she valued his support.
One evening Ian and Faith were about to eat a meal she had prepared when Paul arrived. It was clear from his expression that something was seriously wrong.
‘Faith, I hate landing this on you, but can you come and stay the night with the kids? Winnie is in hospital and she is quite ill. I want to be there.’
‘Where are the children now?’ she asked.
‘Outside, in the car.’
‘Bring them in,’ Ian said. ‘We’ll take them back later and Faith can put them to bed and stay. That way they’ll think it’s an evening out and not a panic.’
‘Thank you.’ Paul ushered the children in and, abandoning her meal, Faith found food for them and produced drawing paper and pencils to amuse them for the time before bed. Ian put aside his meal too and they concentrated on entertaining and calming the three anxious children.
It was four days before Winnie came home, pale and subdued. Ian was away on one of his long trips so Faith was on her own. She slept at Paul and Winnie’s house and sent the children off to school before going to the shop. Mrs Palmer willingly allowed her to leave early to meet the children from school. Just as the shop was closing for lunch each day, Ian rang to ask for the latest news. It was a great comfort to know he shared her concerns. On Friday she was able to tell him that Winnie was home and she was no longer needed. She missed him and looked forward to his return the following afternoon.
As soon as the shop closed at four, she went straight to see Winnie and as Paul was seeing her out he hugged her and kissed her rather emotionally. She pulled away, embarrassed, and at that moment Paul looked up and said, ‘Hi, Ian. Back from your travels, I see. Your Faith has been marvellous.’
Ian stood with a hand on the gate not attempting to come inside. ‘Mrs Palmer told me where you’d be,’ he said and he avoided looking at her.
‘I just called to see Winnie, to reassure myself she’s all right.’
‘D’you want a lift back? I haven’t been home yet and Mum will wonder where I am.’
‘Thank you.’ She poked her head through the gap of the door and called ‘Goodbye,’ to Winnie and the children. Aware
of the colour rising in her cheeks, she slid into the car and said. ‘Paul sometimes kisses my cheek and insists it’s from the children,’ she said. It sounded weak.
She chattered about her week but there was little response from Ian. Irritation began to rise. He had never so much as kissed her, at least not with any feeling, so how could he be upset about the peck from Paul? Only this time, she admitted, it had been more than a peck. His joy at having Winnie home had given the wrong impression altogether. She decided to ignore Ian’s subdued mood and chattered on as though she hadn’t noticed.
Olive found the darkness along the lonely lanes a trial as she returned to her caravan in the farmer’s field. She hid her fears when her sons visited, joking about bumping into the occasional tree and getting lost in the wrong field. She rarely met anyone after darkness had fallen, and when she did the person always called out to reassure her, their country eyes coping better with the poor light than hers.
Both of her sons seemed settled and wrote to her regularly to tell her about their jobs. With growing confidence she put the fear of another call from the police out of her mind. It seemed that life was going to be all right. She was content living in the cosy caravan and was happy with the friends she had made in the cottages close by. Dealing with orders from her catalogue had also widened her group of friends and increased her feeling of belonging and being valued.
She wasn’t aware that her sons had guessed that she was less than happy walking through the dark hedge-lined lanes at night and that they were discussing how best to deal with it.
‘Pity is, I think she loves living there and, apart from the problem of walking in the intense darkness of night time in the country, she is happy.’
The Runaway Page 22
