by Pam Weaver
Hazel was just about to say, ‘and mine …’ when Valerie added, ‘Odious man. I couldn’t stand him; a notorious womaniser and a drunk.’
Hazel was stunned. All her life, her mother had felt cheated out of a wonderful life in this house, but now it seemed that she had had a lucky escape.
‘I pitied the poor woman he married,’ Valerie said as they both headed for the sitting room where Susan lay on the couch. ‘He led her a dog’s life. Still, you just can’t always tell how a person is going to turn out, can you?’
*
‘There’s no need to worry,’ said Susan when they all came back into the room. She seemed a little more composed than before. Her eyes were dry and she was sitting up. ‘The doctor only confirmed what I already suspected.’
They all stared at her with blank expressions.
‘I’m pregnant.’
Hazel clasped her hands together over her chest. ‘Oh, how wonderful!’
Valerie beamed. ‘A baby! Oh my dear …’ But as she looked at Susan’s face, her voice trailed. ‘But you don’t seem very happy about it. Is something wrong?’
Susan burst into tears. After a minute or two, she could feel Valerie’s arm around her shoulder. ‘Can I … can we do anything to help?’ she asked with genuine concern.
Iris pushed a tissue into her hand and Susan blew her nose noisily. ‘I’m scared of what Jack is going to say.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Hazel sitting the other side of her. ‘Does that mean he’s not the fa—?’
‘Of course he is!’ Susan cried indignantly. She wiped her eyes. ‘It’s just that …’ She hesitated, unsure of how much to tell them.
‘We don’t want to pry,’ said Valerie, glancing at the others, ‘but I think I can speak for Hazel, Iris and me when I say that anything you say in this room will be held in the strictest confidence.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Hazel, and Iris nodded enthusiastically.
And a moment later Susan found herself spilling everything out, telling them things she’d never voiced before, not even to her own mother. She told them about Jack’s suspension from work, his frustrations and just how much of a failure he felt. She told them that he wouldn’t talk to her and that he was drinking far too much. She said he was a good man but this awful business had frightened him so badly that he couldn’t see a way out.
‘He’s been asked to attend the police station three times now,’ Susan went on, her tears flowing again. ‘They’ve never charged him or anything but the strain is becoming too much to bear. My husband is a changed man.’
‘You poor girl,’ said Valerie. ‘He’s innocent of course.’
‘Without a doubt,’ said Susan, ‘but Jack is convinced that they’re making him the scapegoat.’
Iris patted her hand again. ‘Why don’t I go and make us a nice cup of tea?’
Valerie nodded and Iris left the room.
‘What if they charge him and he ends up in court?’ Susan cried helplessly. ‘What if they find him guilty?’ She gulped for air. ‘And now that I’m expecting a baby it only makes things ten times worse.’
‘My dear, I agree you have a problem,’ said Valerie ‘but you’ve got an awful lot of ‘what-ifs’ there. It may not be the total disaster you fear.’
‘I wish I could believe you,’ said Susan, pinching the end of her nose with the soggy tissue.
Iris came back in with the tea. As she set the tray down on the coffee table, Valerie stood up and went to the drinks trolley. ‘Tea by all means,’ she said, ‘but who would like something stronger?’
Susan settled for the tea, but Hazel asked for a gin and tonic and Iris said she fancied a sherry. Valerie poured herself a stiff brandy. ‘Cheers, everyone,’ she said, raising her glass.
‘Cheers.’
‘Well now, my dear,’ Valerie said coming back to Susan, ‘let’s all put our heads together and see if we can’t help this girl, shall we?’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ Susan said miserably.
‘I think we understand better than you think,’ said Valerie.
‘If he gets sacked, we’ll lose everything,’ Susan went on. ‘And now a baby …’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ said Iris. ‘He loves you, doesn’t he?’
Susan nodded. ‘I just wish he hadn’t started drinking …’
‘I’m sure when you tell him he’ll be thrilled,’ said Iris. ‘From what you’ve said, all he really cares about is you.’
A small sound emitted from Valerie’s lips. In her head she was hearing someone else saying the very same words to her: ‘All I really care about is you.’ Not Nigel, of course. Her husband would never say a thing like that. They were Ashley’s words.
In the short silence that followed, each woman was left with her own private thoughts.
As Valerie sipped her brandy she was reflecting over her life with Nigel. It was hard to believe that they’d been married for twenty-eight years. The boys were all grown up now. One was a dentist, living in the States; the other a solicitor who had married a lovely girl and lived less than five miles away. What would they think if they knew her guilty secret? To them, she had always been a pillar of society, a woman who never put a foot wrong, totally reliable, unchanging, upright and honest. What would they say if they knew about Ashley?
She had met Ashley at her son’s wedding. A distant relative of her new daughter-in-law. As always, Valerie felt her heart quicken just at the thought of him. What had begun as a light-hearted flirtation had eventually become a stomach-churning need. It had taken her a long time to break the rules but she didn’t regret it. Not now. He meant too much to her. This wasn’t some hole-and-corner affair, some sordid sexual scandal in hotel rooms far from home. This was beautiful, wonderful, passionate and meaningful.
The first time he’d told her he loved her, she’d wept for joy. He was so caring and considerate. He’d thought of everything. The flowers, the candlelit dinner, the soft music. But a couple of weeks ago he’d dropped a bombshell.
‘The firm is moving to New York,’ he’d told her. ‘Come with me.’
‘I can’t,’ she’d sighed.
‘But I have to go and I can’t bear to be without you. Please my darling, come with me and let me make you happy for the rest of your life,’ he’d pleaded.
With a heavy heart, Valerie had tried to explain. People expected … it was her duty … her husband needed to keep up appearances …
‘You funny old-fashioned thing,’ he’d smiled. ‘Don’t you deserve some happiness too?’
She’d almost said yes then, but it was too hard, too much against everything she’d been brought up to believe. She simply couldn’t do it. Amazingly, he didn’t get angry, or shout at her. He’d simply held her in his arms and told her he would wait for her. In that moment, and for the first time in her life, Valerie had felt truly loved. He didn’t want her for any other reason than that he loved her.
Still thinking about Ashley, she turned towards Susan and smiled.
‘Excuse me,’ Valerie said. ‘I have to make a phone call.’
*
‘You know, I used to dream about living here,’ Hazel suddenly said to Susan as Iris left the room with the tea tray.
‘I’m not sure I’d like it,’ whispered Susan. ‘I love old things, but being stuck in this great barn of a place must be like living in a museum. Would you really give up your lovely cottage to live here?’
Hazel looked around the room. ‘It looks beautiful,’ she nodded, ‘but you’re right, my place is much cosier.’
Susan stood shakily to her feet. ‘I’m dying for the loo.’
‘Shall I come with you?’ Hazel asked. ‘You still look very pale.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Susan shaking her head. ‘Just point me in the right direction.’
The toilet was down the hall and to the left. Susan could see Valerie on the telephone in a small office opposite the sitting room but it wasn’t until she came out of the toilet that
she noticed a shadow by the kitchen door. Iris was listening in to Valerie’s conversation behind the door. Puzzled, but not exactly surprised, Susan made her way back to the sitting room.
*
A few minutes later, Valerie came into the room. ‘Susan, I’ve just phoned my son. He’s a solicitor. Do you think your Jack might agree to speak to him?’
Susan’s jaw dropped.
‘Close your mouth, Susan,’ giggled Hazel.
‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t think we can afford …’
Valerie waved her hand dismissively. ‘My son says he’ll do it as a favour to me; first appointment, no charge.’
Susan’s eyes filled with tears. ‘That’s very generous,’ she began.
‘Good, then that’s settled,’ said Valerie. She crossed the room to her writing bureau and pulled out his business card.
The door burst open and Iris came back into the room. ‘Have I missed something?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘Valerie’s son is a solicitor,’ said Hazel, ‘and he’s going to make sure Susan’s husband is being treated fairly by his employers.’
‘That’s good,’ said Iris sitting back down.
Susan frowned. ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ she said, fishing around in her handbag. ‘Iris, you remember last time we were together we talked about the typhoid epidemic in Worthing?’
Iris frowned. ‘Did we?’
‘Yes,’ said Susan. ‘I mentioned it because Maude has depicted it so beautifully on her square and you said you’d been there at the time.’
Iris nodded. ‘Oh yes, yes of course I did.’
‘Well I found a newspaper cutting all about it,’ Susan said innocently.
She handed the flimsy brown piece of paper to Iris and the older woman stared down at it. The picture was of a man drawing water from a tanker parked on a street corner and the caption underneath went on to say that a hundred and eighty-six people had died during the epidemic.
‘I remember it so well,’ Iris said in a sad voice. ‘It was shocking, absolutely shocking.’
Susan gave her a long stare.
‘What?’ Iris said accusingly.
‘I don’t think so Iris,’ said Susan. ‘That took place eighty-four years ago and if you were old enough to remember it, you must be well over one hundred years old.’
As the others turned towards her, Iris’s face flamed.
‘I think you’ve got all dressed up and come here for some other reason,’ Susan went on.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Iris said haughtily.
‘What on earth are you saying, Susan?’ Valerie blurted out.
‘For a start,’ Susan continued, ‘I don’t think that’s her own hair. It’s a wig and her hands give her away.’
‘What’s wrong with her hands?’ Hazel asked.
‘Do they look like an older woman’s hands?’ Susan asked. Iris quickly put her hands behind her back. ‘In fact, I’d hazard a guess that Iris is no more than twenty-something. Am I right Iris?’
Iris lowered herself onto a chair and slumped forward. She put her hand to her forehead and as she rubbed it, the whole of her hair moved.
‘It is a wig!’ cried Valerie. She hesitated before adding, ‘But I don’t understand.’
‘She was listening in on your phone call,’ Susan went on.
‘Okay, okay,’ Iris cried, her voice completely changed. She pulled off the grey wig to reveal her own flattened down blonde hair, and began to scratch her head vigorously. ‘I knew I wouldn’t be any good it this. I should never have allowed my brother to talk me into it.’
‘So what exactly is going on?’ Hazel said sternly.
‘My brother is a private investigator,’ Iris began. ‘Your husband,’ she added, looking directly at Valerie, ‘wants a divorce. He feels sure you’re having an affair and I was sent here to see if I could find any evidence.’
‘Well that’s rich coming from him,’ Valerie cried indignantly. ‘I’ve lost count of number of flings he’s had over the years.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Iris, looking contrite. ‘I feel dreadful now. When I came the first time, you were so nice to me that I tried to get out of it, but my brother kept on and on. I won’t let it happen again. I hated doing it. It’s a sordid and deceitful business.’
‘The stupid thing is,’ Valerie said with a grimace, ‘I’ve always put up with his infidelities to spare his good name. How ironic is that? And now I find out that he’s planning to throw me to the wolves.’ She paused. ‘So who exactly are you?’
‘My real name is Deidre Abbott,’ said Iris, ‘and I’m at drama school training to be an actress.’ She looked around helplessly. ‘Not very good, am I? The story of my life I guess,’ she added without bitterness. ‘I never was much good at anything.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Valerie. ‘You certainly had me fooled.’
‘And me,’ said Hazel.
‘And I only twigged because of your lovely hands,’ said Susan, anxious to be generous. ‘No wrinkles, you see.’
Deidre smiled wanly.
‘I’ve got a skeleton in my cupboard too,’ Hazel suddenly announced. Every head turned in her direction as she took a deep breath. ‘My mother used to work in this house.’
Valerie beamed. ‘Did she really?’
Hazel nodded. ‘She was a kitchen maid at the beginning of the thirties but she got the sack.’
‘Got the sack?’ Deidre echoed. ‘But why?’
‘I think I can guess,’ said Valerie, lowering her voice. ‘If she was here in the thirties she would have known my husband’s father, Thomas.’
‘She did,’ said Hazel, her gaze on Valerie’s face. ‘And she had a baby – and that baby was me.’
‘So Thomas was your father?’ said Valerie incredulously. ‘No wonder you were looking so intently at his portrait.’ She suddenly looked stricken. ‘Oh Hazel, I’m sorry I said all those things about him. If I had known I never would have mentioned it.’
‘No, no,’ said Hazel raising her hand. ‘It’s fine. You only told the truth.’
‘And what might that be?’ Deidre wanted to know.
‘That he was a complete rotter,’ said Hazel. ‘My mother was only a child, fourteen, and she was utterly taken in by his charms.’
‘Hazel, I’m truly sorry,’ Valerie repeated.
‘Don’t be,’ said Hazel. ‘Talking about it has been immensely freeing. All my life, my mother passed her bitterness over to me. Now that I know the truth, I don’t like the man but I understand what happened.’ She held out her hand and Valerie came towards her, but instead of simply shaking it, she put out her arms and embraced Hazel.
They all sat down again and Valerie offered them all another drink but it was politely refused.
There was a knock on the door and Stan walked in. ‘All the visitors have gone, madam,’ he said to Valerie. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
Valerie glanced up at the clock. ‘Anybody fancy putting in one more hour’s work?’
The others nodded enthusiastically and Stan held the door open for them. As they filed out of the room, his attention was suddenly caught by Iris’s apparently altered appearance and his mouth dropped open.
‘Don’t worry, Stan,’ said Hazel giving his arm a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll explain everything when you drop me home.’ She hesitated for a second. ‘The offer of a lift is still there, isn’t it?’
‘You bet,’ he beamed.
Back in the sewing room, Deidre pulled back the white sheet.
Susan leaned over Hazel’s patchwork. ‘What does that writing say?’
‘Better you don’t know,’ said Hazel. ‘It doesn’t belong there now.’
‘So what will you put in its place?’
Hazel looked thoughtful. ‘This quilt is supposed to be about life in the village at the time of the Queen’s jubilee,’ she said. ‘Well, I live in Periwinkle Cottage, so it has to periwinkles.’
‘There’s some lovely ki
ngfisher blue in the material box,’ Susan suggested.
‘I’m changing something in mine too,’ said Valerie. She laid a piece of blue material onto the sky above the outline of the house, under the Melcham coat of arms. ‘There’s no life in this picture. It’s cold as stone. I shall have a swallow flying over it.’
‘Mmm,’ Hazel agreed. ‘A hovering bird will make all the difference.’
‘Not hovering,’ Valerie added mysteriously. ‘My bird is flying away to freedom.’ She sat down and smiled at Susan. ‘Have you made up your mind about what else to put in front of the school?’
Susan held up a piece of soft black shiny material. ‘How about a woman with a pram?’ she said. ‘A few more babies like mine will give this village a real future.’
Valerie began stitching.
‘You’re not going to start that bird now, are you?’ Hazel asked.
‘I’m going to finish it now,’ said Valerie. ‘I shan’t be here much longer. I have a plane to catch. I’m going to New York.’
‘What, leaving the village?’ cried Susan. ‘But I thought you loved it here.’
‘I do,’ Valerie said giving her an enigmatic smile. ‘But today all of you have helped me to realise, I love someone else much, much more.’
*
The day of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee dawned bright and sunny after a night of heavy rain. The celebrations began the evening before with the queen herself lighting a beacon at Windsor Castle. As soon as that was done, a chain of beacons from John o’Groats to Lands’ End lit the night sky right across the country. By Worthing pier the mayor and councillors, together with a small crowd of people, gathered to light their beacon.
On the day itself, a million people lined the streets in London to watch the royal procession to St Paul’s Cathedral where nearly three thousand guests, including heads of state from all over the world, had gathered for a service of thanksgiving. Millions more watched it on television. Afterwards, up and down the country roads were closed while friends and neighbours held street parties where excited boys and girls in fancy dress took part in a competition for the most original costume.
The celebrations in Goring were a little more modest. They began in St Mary’s with a church service and the dedication of the Goring Silver Jubilee quilt. A reporter hovered around talking to local dignitaries and officials as choir boys sang. Among the congregation were the women who had worked on the quilt including Deidre, Hazel and Susan. They sat together. Most of the guests were in the older age bracket and included Susan’s parents. The quilt itself was magnificent. Everybody said so.
