A Friend of the Family (10 page)

 

Ten

 

AS SPRING PROGRESSED SLOWLY
into summer, Tim was not the only person to realise that Thea was very unhappy. He was, however, the first person to take positive action. George found himself at a loss. At last he had managed to shake himself free of Felicity—hadn't seen her for weeks—and suddenly Thea was behaving most strangely. She seemed to be evading him in some subtle way that he found difficult to analyse. She had lost that openness that he had loved and he began to be afraid. It had occurred to him that, if he were to be no longer available to Felicity, she might well turn her attention to Thea but how was he to find out if this were, indeed, the case? So upset was he, however, by Thea's distancing herself from him that he did actually manage to bring himself to the point.

‘Seen anything of Felicity lately?' he asked in what he hoped was a light casual tone.

They were sitting on the platform reading the Sunday papers in the warm May sunshine and Thea lowered the Review pages to give him a look of such serious intensity that he almost quailed in his chair.

‘I haven't seen her for months.'

She seemed to stress the word ‘seen' and his mind flew about wondering what she was implying.

‘Neither have I,' he protested quickly. And realised that in making it a protest he had admitted some form of accusation.

She raised her eyebrows a little as if indicating indifference and this detachment was so unlike the warm impulsive girl he had fallen in
love with that he couldn't keep back a low inarticulate cry or from stretching a hand to her.

‘It's time that you went to fetch your mother,' Thea said quickly, ignoring the gesture. ‘She gets so anxious if you're late. I must get on with the lunch.'

She laid her paper aside and went indoors and George sat for a moment, shocked by her rebuff. It was so unlike her, so studied an evasion, that he realised he must take some positive action. It was clear that now was the time to tell her what had happened in the past and in London and to lay Felicity's ghost to rest once and for all. Something had happened to do away with her trust in him and he couldn't afford to lose it—or her. The mere thought of it brought him to his feet and carried him into the kitchen.

‘Thea,' he began, his voice loud with fear and hastily summoned courage, then paused.

She was talking to a short thickset man who was making a fuss of Jessie and admiring Percy, who danced excitedly up and down on his perch. She turned to him and the man straightened up and smiled expectantly.

‘George, this is Freddie Spenlow. Jessie's breeder. I asked him to pop in and have a drink and run an eye over Jessie. He's going to stay to lunch. Isn't that fun?' She was talking quickly as if to avert or avoid some interruption. ‘You must go and get Esme,' she added to George, as the two men shook hands and murmured politely. ‘I'll get Freddie a drink.'

She gave George a light kiss and he found himself going out and getting into the car and was halfway to Tavistock before he let himself face the fact that had been apparent from the first moment he'd entered the kitchen. Freddie Spenlow was in love with Thea. George swore under his breath as he drove through the narrow lanes and wondered if this could be the reason for the change in Thea. Had she suspected or been told the truth about Felicity and turned to a younger man? George swore again and struck the wheel with the
palm of his hand, cursing himself for not telling her the truth right at the beginning. She had been so loving then, so generous. Why, oh why had he let it all get so out of proportion, let Felicity get her foot in the door? Now, looking at it in retrospect, it all seemed very simple and straightforward and he felt despair that he should have taken risks with Thea's love by behaving in such a dilatory and pathetic way. He pondered on that slightly emphasised word ‘seen'. Had Felicity written to Thea? Or telephoned her in her rage and told her everything? It was the risk he'd taken when he'd moved without telling her that he was going. It had been a premeditated rejection and all he could hope was that Felicity would finally accept that the affair was over. He should have known better. He felt quite certain now that, to spite him, Felicity had told Thea about the past affair and her visits to London and probably other things; other things that were not necessarily true but that Thea might believe.

Suddenly George realised that he was sweating and that his palms on the wheel were sticky. Just suppose that Thea, believing whatever calumnies Felicity had chosen to invent, had turned to this dog-breeder, this Freddie? George took a deep breath and made an effort to control his rampaging thoughts. The clear cold calculating part of his brain told him that Thea would never deceive him and, if she were seriously attracted to Freddie, she would hardly invite him to drinks or lunch. Freddie might have fallen in love with Thea but it by no means followed that Thea returned these feelings. Somehow he must put the matter right, tell her the absolute truth about himself and Felicity, explain his fears and failings and then all would be well. Thea w as not the sort to love lightly or to throw away all that they had for no good reason. It was his job to make absolutely certain that she knew there was no good reason, no reason at all.

He swung the car into the cul-de-sac where his mother now lived and watched her come hurrying out of the small bungalow. He rejected the thought of unburdening himself to her. It wasn't simply that he felt she shouldn't be worried. He couldn't bear the idea that she should know he'd made a mess of things. He'd been handed
heaven on a plate and had practically lost it, given it away. He could imagine her expression and the few well-chosen remarks she would employ and knew that he couldn't cope with them. It was enough to know that he was a fool without other people telling him about it. George straightened his shoulders and arranged a smile on his face as his mother peered at him through the windscreen. Lunch was going to be hell.

 

TIM, ON THE OTHER
hand, was moving into action. He had visited Thea and George and found himself puzzled. George seemed very much the devoted husband and it was Thea who was uncharacteristically brittle, holding them at arm's length, chattering brightly. When she thought herself unobserved her eyes were bleak and Tim could only assume that things must be as his grandmother had written to him but that George and Thea had no intention of letting the outside world see the cracks in what had apparently been a happy relationship. Nevertheless, Tim came away quite sure that George was still in love with Thea and that it was the ‘other woman' who was causing the problems. Felicity must be removed. He had no doubts at all about Thea. He could feel her unhappiness behind the facade and he knew her well enough to know that once she loved nothing would change her. And he knew that she loved George. She had written to him in the early stages of the courtship, describing George in glowing terms and her own feelings with an authenticity that had made Tim almost envious. Hermione had confirmed it all in later letters. No, it was Felicity who was causing the rift and she must be dealt with before the damage became irreparable.

Tim was a straightforward young man who disliked muddle. He was by nature a communicator and liked everything open and above-board, preferring to sit down and discuss a minute difference or disagreement rather than let it get out of hand. He knew that Thea was like him in this respect and was surprised that she had let things go so far. He considered having the matter out with both of them , bringing it all into the open, but rejected the idea on the grounds that he did
not know the background well enough. The fact that he had just fallen in love himself made him rather more sensitive than usual and he decided on a more circuitous route. On his return from London he sent Mrs Gilchrist—who had agreed to stay on to look after him—on a long, well-deserved rest to her sister and sat back to await his guests.

A few days later, David Porteous climbed stiffly out of the little car and stood gazing appreciatively at the small granite manor house that was Tim's inheritance.

‘Delightful!' he cried to his daughter, who was emerging from the driving seat. ‘Absolutely charming!'

The words could easily have applied to David himself. Not overtall and a little on the rotund side, he exuded an air of cheerful expectation that life was going to be good to him and if it wasn't scheduled for today, well—you could almost see the shrug, the rueful smile—tomorrow would do just as well. From the top of his silver head to his well-polished shoes he looked ready for action and as Tim hurried out of the front door to greet them his heart lifted almost as much to see David, dressed as usual in very old flannels and an even more ancient navy-blue guernsey and waving enthusiastically, as it did to see Miranda.

‘Tim!' David crossed the gravel to shake Tim's hand. ‘What a generous invitation! I'm delighted to be here. And what a delightful house!'

‘Isn't it? I'm so glad vou agreed to come, David. I'm really going to need you to help me sort out this problem I've been left with.'

‘My dear chap!' David opened innocent blue eyes. ‘Sounds most exciting.'

‘He is not to be excited or overtired.' Miranda received Tim's welcome coolly. ‘He's had a very bad strain of flu and he must rest.'

David drew' down the corners of his mouth in mock gravity at Tim, who winked back.

‘Of course he must!' Tim picked up two suitcases which Miranda had produced from the car. ‘I've lit the fire in the library in case you find the house cold. These old places never seem to warm up even in
the hottest weather. Come on in. I'm sure you're both dying for a drink.' He headed for the front door, followed with alacrity by David.

Miranda shut the car doors and, carrying other pieces of luggage, followed more slowly. Her face wore a troubled expression. She had none of her father's tolerance and optimism and tended to see life in black and white with very few shades of grey. She had fallen quite desperately in love with Tim but was behaving in a very restrained manner towards him until she was absolutely certain of his intentions. She knew that her extremely moral Scottish mother had had one or two problems with her easy-going father and she had no intention of suffering in the same way. Yet it was Tim's very eagerness and enthusiasm, his thick untidy fair hair and twinkling eyes, that had attracted her. What he saw in her she was not yet sure.

In fact, Tim had fallen in love with them both. He added David's charm, generosity and kindness to Miranda's ethereal, fair, fine-boned prettiness and they made a most attractive whole. He had hardly been alone with her as yet and this visit was designed to let everyone get to know each other. However, Thea's problem was verv much at the forefront of his mind and, being Tim, he wanted to get it out of the way before he settled down to his own affairs. By the end of the weekend very little else but Tim's idea had been discussed and after supper on Sunday they went into the library to try to finalise it.

‘Well, what about it, David? Think you can handle it?' Tim leaned back in a huge armchair, covered with a shabby, faded chintz, and stretched his long legs out to the fire. ‘As I see it, we need someone on the inside to find out the exact situation.'

David, sitting forward in a similar chair, had drawn his feet well in, ankles crossed, knees apart. His forearms rested along his thighs and his eyes were fixed on the brandy glass which he turned thoughtfully in his fingers.

‘It seems easy enough,' he admitted, ‘the way you put it. If somewhat drastic. But I wonder, dear boy, whether you have too much faith in me. Don't get me wrong! I'm flattered. Very! But, you know . . . don't want to let the side down, d'you see?'

‘Rubbish!' exclaimed the redoubtable Tim, leaning forward to top up David's glass from the decanter. ‘That's quite out of the question! You're absolutely the right man for the job. Isn't he, Mirry?' He appealed to the small figure curled up on the sofa amidst well-worn silk cushions.

‘I think that it's all nonsense.' This had been her uncompromising attitude from the start and she had refused to join in with the conspirators. ‘You have no right to interfere with other people's relationships, whatever you may suspect.'

‘But I've told you umpteen times it's not a question of suspicion or hearsay. Thea actually told Grandmother what was happening. They hadn't been married a year when this woman was trying to get him back. Come on! Surely you have some sympathy for the poor girl!'

‘And I've told you, Tim, that it's not a question of sympathy. You're so dramatic. OK. So Thea told your grandmother these things and you, being fond of Thea and being her cousin and all that, automatically assume that she's totally in the right and George is totally in the wrong. Why did George hurry back to his mistress so quickly? If Thea is so delightful and charming why should he go back to a woman who, according to our evidence, is a raddled old cow? You shouldn't interfere. You might do even more damage.'