White Rivers

by White Rivers (retail) (epub)

  ‘Well, Nick Pengelly certainly moves fast when he wants things done,’ was all Skye could think of to say.

  Vera looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.’

  ‘I’m fine, but I’d better go. Philip’s arranged for us to go to a concert this evening with some of his college people, and then supper, and I’m not looking forward to it.’

  As she heard her own words, she began to ask herself in alarm what had happened to the self-assured young woman she had always been, when meeting new people and going to concerts had been an exciting part of her life. But that was before Philip’s mood changes and condescension had begun to crush her spirit… She was shocked as the thought entered her head.

  She kissed Vera swiftly, and told her airily to rely on good old Cornish recipes rather than try out anything new. Adam wouldn’t notice them, anyway. But she went home feeling unaccountably gloomy. However foolish it was to dwell on it, the comparison between her own marriage and Vera’s couldn’t be more marked. Skye’s had begun in wartime with a ceremony that they had kept secret from most of the family for several years. It had been dramatic and exciting in its way, and if Celia hadn’t been conceived, who knew how long the secrecy would have gone on? And if Philip hadn’t been wounded with such long-term and unanticipated results, who knew how different their lives would have been? Or how much happier they might have been…

  Life was full of what ifs and if onlys, Skye reflected. She didn’t want to think like that, but the thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. But she knew she had to make a conscious effort to resist them or they would bring her down even more. It was no way to feel before an evening out with her husband, when she was to be virtually on display to his college colleagues. And she had better stop thinking that way too.

  * * *

  Skye dressed with care, wearing a sophisticated bronze-coloured dress that was long and slim, but the supple silkiness of it accentuated her shape every time she moved. Nothing could disguise the fact that she was a sensual woman. She added a long string of bronze beads, and wore silver-edged tortoiseshell combs in her hair. Her gloves were long and made of cream silk, and a soft stole and shoes finished the ensemble.

  When they were ready to leave, she and Philip presented themselves to the children for their approval, since they always clamoured to see their parents “poshed-up”, as they called it.

  ‘You look beautiful, Mommy,’ Celia said admiringly, while Wenna breathed that she looked like an angel. Oliver simply looked at her sleepily and held out his arms to be hugged.

  ‘Don’t let him mess you up,’ Philip said sharply. ‘These are important people we’re seeing tonight, Skye.’

  ‘These are important people too,’ she murmured, but not loud enough for him to hear. It was best to let the moment pass, anyway, and when they were driving towards Truro, she covered her brief attack of nerves regarding the evening by making ordinary conversation, and telling him she had called on Vera that afternoon.

  ‘I trust the holiday was satisfactory,’ he commented.

  Good Lord, she raged silently, you were always pompous, but when did you become so damn hateful too? And yet, what had he really said that was so awful! But it was just the way he said things lately…

  ‘Of course!’ she said coolly. ‘But then, Adam’s a very physical man, so I doubt that they’d have any kind of problems. After all, it was their honeymoon, Philip.’

  ‘Please don’t make those sort of innuendoes in front of the college staff,’ he said, to her utter amazement.

  ‘Innuendoes? I did no such thing, and I’m hardly likely to talk about intimate family matters in front of strangers!’

  ‘That’s just the sort of talk I mean,’ he said.

  ‘My God, you’re insufferable sometimes,’ Skye burst out. ‘I wonder why you bothered to marry into my family at all, if you think they’re all so far beneath you.’

  ‘You know the answer to that. I loved you then, and I love you now, and the rest of them don’t matter.’

  His tone was about as romantic as telling her he loved steamed fish for Friday night’s supper, and sent her temporarily speechless.

  ‘By the way, I’ve had another letter from Ruth,’ he went on, oblivious to her reaction. ‘She and her aunt would like to visit us for a few days in mid-June, if that’s all right with you. She’s keen to see the college, and she’d like to bring a friend with her as well. Can we accommodate them?’

  ‘Why not? Let them bring the whole of south Wales with them if they feel like it!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’d like you to add your piece to my letter welcoming them. We’ll do it tomorrow.’

  Skye felt numb. She wasn’t jealous of Ruth Dobson in the slightest, but nor did she have any great desire to see her again. She could invite Vera and Adam for supper one evening while they were here, she thought suddenly. Both Vera and Lily had had an amazing rapport with the deaf girl when they first met, and the more people there were around, the more it would help to ease any sense of embarrassment.

  ‘If they’re coming in mid-June perhaps we could have a small family party for my birthday while they’re here,’ she said, with a flash of inspiration. ‘I’m sure Ruth would like to see Vera and Lily again.’

  ‘Are you?’ Philip shrugged. ‘I’ll be taking the visitors off your hands most of the time, anyway.’

  ‘Sometimes, Philip,’ she said deliberately. ‘You make me feel less of a wife, and more of a background accessory.’

  ‘Now you really are being ridiculous,’ he said, clearly not having a clue to what she was taking about.

  * * *

  The concert was a great success, according to everyone in their party who liked chamber music. Skye didn’t. It was far too dreary, and she didn’t enjoy the earnest, after-concert discussions into how the orchestra had interpreted the composer’s thoughts. And supper, at the currently fashionable Truro restaurant where everyone liked to be seen, turned into a loud, pseudo-arty affair of the worst kind, in her opinion.

  She spent far longer than was necessary in the ladies’ powder room, applying a touch of rouge to her cheeks and mouth in defiance of the crêpe-skinned female professors listening adoringly to Philip and the other men.

  ‘You look bored to kingdom come with all that stuffy talk,’ she heard a broad cockney accent say alongside her. ‘How d’you put up with it, gel, or d’you just turn a deaf ear? I know I would!’

  The thought was so incongruous, considering the deaf woman who was coming to stay at New World, that Skye turned stiffly to the would-be confidante, ready to snub her. And then her mouth dropped open.

  ‘Good Lord, it’s – it’s—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t expect you to remember me, ducks,’ the woman said with a chuckle. ‘After all, we were only in the same hospital in France for a few weeks before I was moved to another place, but I often wondered about you and that man you were so mad about. The name’s Fanny Webb.’

  ‘I do remember you!’ Skye said in some delight. ‘You could always make the poor boys laugh by making fun of the sisters. And the man I was so mad about is with me in the restaurant – the one I married.’

  ‘Gawd almighty, pardon my French! I expected him to be a real Valentino instead of a stuffed shirt – and now I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Put me bleedin’ foot in it, I mean.’

  Skye burst out laughing. The blowsy Fanny Webb had been a breath of fresh air to the soldiers dying by degrees, and she was a breath of fresh air now. If she dared, she would love to ask her to join her at their supper table. She dismissed the thought, knowing that Philip would disown her.

  ‘But what are you doing here? Away from London, I mean.’

  Fanny spoke carelessly. ‘I got restless after the war, and when my old mum died, I travelled round the country a bit. Cornwall’s a real graveyard, ain’t it? I shan’t stay long, but I got no ties now, ’cept my gentleman friend, and he’s only temp’ry-like, so I please me bleedin’ self what I do.�
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  ‘Oh Fanny, you’ve got to come and see me while you’re here. My children would love you.’

  ‘I ain’t so sure about that. What would your old man think? He looks a real toff – and so do you, come to think of it. My gentleman’s paying my way tonight, or I wouldn’t be in this ’ere establishment at all.’

  It didn’t take much deduction to know what kind of gentleman was paying for her supper, but that didn’t bother Skye. Fanny Webb was still the breath of fresh air she needed so badly, and hadn’t even known she did until right now.

  ‘Come to tea tomorrow,’ she said impulsively. ‘Ask anyone the direction to New World, Fanny. Take a taxicab and tell them the fare will be paid on arrival. I mean it.’

  ‘Cor blimey, you’ve come up in the world. Or maybe you were up there all the time. No, I ain’t sure about this.’

  ‘Tea. Tomorrow afternoon. Four o’clock. I’ll be expecting you,’ Skye said, blowing her a little kiss as she returned to the restaurant, smiling sweetly at Philip’s disapproving look at her rouged cheeks and lips. She didn’t know why she wanted to annoy and shock him, but she did – not least because she sensed the more than glancing approval of his male colleagues at her heightened colour and high spirits.

  Her thoughts ran on. Naturally, Philip would violently disapprove of Fanny, but if he could have his friends coming for a visit, then so could she. Not that she was inviting the woman for anything more than afternoon tea and a sharing of old memories. They hadn’t been close friends, except for the quick and easy friendships that occurred in wartime.

  But compared with Fanny Webb and her colourful vocabulary, Skye realised she was becoming as pale and chaste in spirit as the purest china clay that formed the White Rivers pottery.

  Far from pleasing her, it was an irritating thought. She was in a rut, however comfortable it was. And the only way out of a rut was to jolt yourself onto a different pathway. She could almost hear old Morwen Tremayne telling her so.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Mommy, who is that funny lady?’ Wenna whispered, as they saw the taxicab depositing Fanny Webb at New World the following afternoon.

  ‘She can’t be a proper lady,’ Celia put in before Skye could answer. ‘Daddy says ladies don’t wear bright colours in the daytime because it’s common, and you should leave all that to the birds.’

  Skye felt herself bristle at the child’s imperious tone; her father to the life. As Fanny stood arguing with the taxicab driver, she saw the housekeeper hurry outside to pay the man, as she had been instructed to do. Skye turned to her daughter and spoke firmly.

  ‘Now you just listen to me, Celia. I met that lady in France during wartime, and she did a great deal to help keep up the poor soldiers’ spirits when they were very ill, so you just mind your manners. I’ve invited her to take afternoon tea with us, and we must all make her feel welcome.’

  Even as she spoke, she knew what Philip’s interpretation of the extra services Fanny did in France would be. And she wasn’t at all sure in her heart that he wasn’t right. There was more than one way to boost a soldier’s spirits. But that was Fanny’s business, not theirs.

  The housekeeper showed her into the drawing-room with a slightly incredulous note in her voice, and Skye had to hide a smile at the garish costume Fanny wore, together with the fake ocelot fur stole slung over her shoulders.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Arden,’ Skye said. ‘You may serve tea now, and would you ask Nanny to bring Oliver downstairs when he wakes up, please?’

  As the housekeeper went out of the room with an ill-disguised sniff, Fanny spoke in some awe.

  ‘My Gawd, Skye gel, you fell on your feet and no mistake. Did you marry a bleedin’ millionaire or what?’

  The girls gaped at this free and easy talk, while Skye answered as coolly as she could. ‘As a matter of fact, this is my house, Fanny. My grandmother left it to me.’

  Fanny stared, settling herself down on the silk-covered sofa, smoothing its luxurious surface with red-tipped fingers, and exuding a strong whiff of cheap perfume.

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell,’ she said at last, recovering herself. ‘Well, it’s like I always said. When it’s wartime, and everybody’s wearing the same uniforms, you never know who you’re rubbin’ shoulders with, do you? Nor nothin’ else, if you gets my meanin’!’

  She gave a snigger, and Skye remembered at once just how coarse she could be. She had forgotten after all this time, and although she prided herself on not being a snob, the last thing she wanted was for the girls to pick up any of Fanny’s favourite expletives or snide remarks.

  ‘How long are you planning to stay in Cornwall, Fanny?’

  ‘Oh, don’t fret yourself,’ she said, laughing. ‘I ain’t thinkin’ of movin’ in. My gentleman’s taking me back to London tomorrow, and we’re going to see some shows.’

  Tea and cakes were brought in then, but the vision in their drawing-room was of far more interest to the girls, and to Celia in particular. Skye could see that she was absorbing everything about Fanny to report to her father. Last night it had been a mixture of defiance and a whim on Skye’s part to invite Fanny here, but now she wasn’t sure it had been so clever after all.

  ‘So how old are these little charmers?’ Fanny said, when she had slurped her tea to the fascination of both girls, with her little finger held at an impressively high angle.

  ‘I’m six and a half and Wenna’s five,’ Celia told her importantly. ‘Our brother’s only two, and he’s a crybaby.’

  ‘Well, when you’re only two you’ve got a right to be, I dare say,’ Fanny said with a grin. ‘And where’s your pa today?’

  ‘At the college,’ Celia continued in her best voice. ‘He’s a professor, and he’s very, very clever.’

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell!’ uttered Fanny, her scarlet mouth dropping open in surprise.

  The arrival of Nanny with Oliver stopped any more discussion about Philip, and the infant and the visitor eyed each other with mutual unease. Fanny didn’t care for babies, and Oliver didn’t care for strangers. As she leaned towards him, clucking inanely, he let out a howl of alarm, and she leapt to her feet.

  ‘Gawd almighty, I didn’t mean to scare the kid, but I’m no good with babbies. Anyway, I should be going. This place was farther away than I thought, and my gentleman will be wond’ring what’s become of me.’

  ‘You won’t stay and meet my husband then?’ Skye asked, praying that she wouldn’t, and yet half hoping that she would. Philip would absolutely hate her, and why that should make Skye feel so mischievous, she didn’t even know.

  ‘I ain’t no good with professors, either,’ Fanny said, edging away. ‘Just point me in the right direction for St Austell, and I’ll start walking back to the hotel.’

  ‘You can’t walk all that way in those shoes,’ Skye remarked. ‘I’ll drive you there in my car.’

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell,’ said Fanny.

  * * *

  She didn’t take the children, and when she had deposited Fanny at her hotel, Skye breathed a deep sigh of relief. She opened the car windows to let out the strong scent of Fanny’s perfume, and decided to call on Betsy while she was in the area. She was in no mood to go back home just yet.

  ‘What on earth’s that smell?’ Betsy said at once, wrinkling up her nose. ‘Have you been in one of those places where Theo gets some of his orders, Skye?’

  Skye laughed as she passed off the innocent question with a light reply, but she felt decidedly uncomfortable at guessing the kind of places Theo frequented, if he came home wreathed in cheap scent. And Betsy didn’t deserve it.

  ‘I thought I’d just call in to say hello and see if Justin’s recovered from his cold,’ she invented. ‘Theo said he was a little under the weather.’

  ‘Oh, ’twere only a little sniffle. Theo’s taken the boys for a drive, so you’ve missed ’em. He’ll be sorry about that.’

  No he wouldn’t be, and neither was she, Skye thought silently, and she wondered again how this nice, or
dinary woman could be seemingly so content with her boorish husband, who played away from home more often than not, if the rumours were to be believed.

  ‘Do you want some tea?’ Betsy asked now. ‘I’ve got fresh-made scones and jam in the parlour.’

  ‘You’re a love, Betsy, but I’ve just had a visitor at the house and had tea already. No, this was just a brief call, and I didn’t realise how the time had run on. I won’t stay, or Philip will be home before me.’

  Even as she spoke, she felt a small surge of alarm. Before Philip arrived home, she needed time to brief the girls on their language. They might have been reluctant to say very much while Fanny was there, but they would have taken it all in. In particular, Celia was a fine little mimic, and Skye could just imagine Philip’s reaction if…

  The moment she reached home and heard the shouting, she knew the worst had happened. Celia was Philip’s pet, but as with any close relationship, when they clashed, it was as fiery a ding-dong battle of wills as that of any two folk in the Tremayne dynasty.

  ‘I only said what she said,’ Celia was yelling. ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, you’d think it was something terrible!’

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell,’ Wenna said, clearly just as charmed by the colourful phrase as was her sister.

  ‘I want you both to listen very carefully to me, and to take very good notice of what I’m about to say,’ Philip bellowed on, his voice near to exploding. ‘What you have just used is gutter language, and the only people who use it are either wicked or common, because they don’t have the gumption or the capacity to use a better vocabulary. If the language of this woman didn’t make her lack of class clear enough, then you can tell the type of person she was by the stink she left behind.’

  ‘Mommy said the lady did a lot of good work for the soldiers’ spirits in the war,’ Celia yelled back at him.

  ‘And we all know what kind of good work that was,’ Philip almost spat out the words.