First Friends (52 page)

‘Oh, hell!' she said.

Michael raised his eyebrows.

‘Do you anticipate trouble?' he asked.

‘Not really, I suppose. But,' she looked directly at him, ‘frankly I want to put the Wivenhoes behind me. All of them,' she added pointedly.

He looked at her for a long moment.

‘You're sure?'

‘Absolutely and totally sure.'

He reached across to her and took her hand.

‘I've been an absolute idiot, Michael, but it's all over now. Really.' She moved in her chair, stretching out her feet so as to lean across the desk. They struck something warm and solid which emitted a loud grunt.

‘Michael!' She leapt up with a cry of alarm and bending down peered under the desk. ‘Oh, God, it's Max!' Relief, joy, sheer happiness overwhelmed her and she knelt to stroke him. ‘It would be you,' his injured expression seemed to say. ‘I might have guessed.' She hugged him as he emerged majestically, pausing to allow Harriet her moment of emotion before moving to the filing cabinet, against which he sat, leaning heavily.

‘Oh, Michael,' she sat down again, keeping a strong rein on her feelings, all big moments with Michael seemed fraught with danger, ‘it's nice to be back! Is Max coming with us?'

‘That was my intention. He can have a run on the moor. Well, a walk. Max rarely works himself up to actually running.'

They both laughed, relieved that Max was there to prevent the situation becoming overcharged with emotion.

Later, thought Harriet, finishing her coffee. There'll be plenty of time for that later.

K
ATE DROVE HOME FROM
the Rectory in a state of very real anxiety. She knew that Cass had not known that Charlotte was planning to stay alone in Bristol with the sole purpose of seeing Hugh. Kate had only found out because the twins had told her. The whole sixth form knew about it and when Kate had casually asked Giles which school friend she was staying with, he had been surprised and had told her Charlotte's plans. Giles had implied that Hugh had arranged everything and so Kate had not felt worried but now things seemed rather different. She and Mrs Hampton had got Charlotte to bed and when the doctor arrived he had given her a sedative. He had known Charlotte for quite a few years and knew that she was highly-strung so he had believed the story they had told him about boyfriend trouble and had advised that she stay in bed for a day or so.

Mrs Hampton had been deeply upset and shocked that Cass had let her go off on her own and Kate had been obliged to assure her that Cass had been under the impression that Charlotte was safe with a school-friend's family. Having allowed her to do a rather sketchy clean round, Kate had finally sent her off knowing that she would rather be there on her own when Cass finally arrived home.

It was Cass's reaction that had disturbed Kate. She hardly seemed able to take in Charlotte's escapade, her shock and misery. It was as if she were unable to take it seriously, as if her own problems were too great to be able to take on board the situation that had arisen. Once she'd ascertained that Charlotte was safe in bed, sedated and everything under control, she rather lost interest in the whole proceedings. She viewed the whole thing in a dismissive light and was certain that Charlotte would recover in no time. These childish infatuations were painful but part of growing up.

Kate, knowing how deeply Charlotte felt about things, was not so sanguine. For one thing, she wondered, under these circumstances, how difficult Charlotte would find it to return to school. According to
Giles, her friendship with Hugh was the cornerstone of her existence and it would be rather humiliating to have to go back and deal with the inevitable questions. Charlotte was not the type to bluff it out or even to admit it and fling herself on her friends' sympathy and understanding. She would want to die of shame. Kate, remembering what persuasive powers had been needed to get her there in the first place, wondered if she'd ever go back. These things hit the young so hard and poor Charlotte would suffer agonies.

Cass had pooh-poohed this thought and told Kate that she was over-dramatising the situation. Kate, who sincerely hoped that she was, decided that she could do no more and asked Cass how her weekend had been. Her face had taken on a look of beatific bliss.

‘It was heaven,' she had breathed. ‘Pure heaven.'

Even more alarmed, Kate said that Harriet had rung briefly to say that Tom had gone back to sea and that she had no idea when he might be back. Also, she had added rather cryptically, she didn't expect to see him again, but Cass didn't appear to have much interest in Tom or Harriet either. She was completely distracted and glanced at her watch from time to time as if she were waiting for someone. Some sixth sense told Kate that she was waiting for a telephone call—probably from Nick—and when the telephone rang and Cass leapt from her chair and ran to answer it, Kate felt her suspicions were confirmed. It was Abby checking that Cass was back and when she returned to the kitchen it was obvious that she was disappointed.

Kate decided that there was no more that she could do and decided to leave her to it. She told Cass what directions the doctor had given for the medicine and said goodbye. Perhaps if Cass had seen Charlotte, crying and distraught and finally hysterical, she might have taken it all more seriously. Kate realised that she should have taken Gus back with her but decided that it gave her a good excuse to call again tomorrow, to see how things were progressing.

As she pulled into the drive, she realised that she was afraid. She tried to analyse it but could come to no conclusion. If only she had someone she could talk to. She thought automatically of the General
but knew that in this particular situation she could not have enlisted his help.

She sighed and got out of the car. She'd go again tomorrow and see how things were.

O
N
T
UESDAY, AFTER
K
ATE
had gone, Cass went up to check on Charlotte. She looked down at the sleeping face. In repose she was startlingly like Tom; the same blunt features, the heavy brows and hair and stubborn mouth. At this time, in her mother's eyes, this was not particularly to her advantage.

Cass left the room and closed the door behind her. She stood for a long minute in thought, her hand still on the door handle and then, as if having made up her mind to something, she went to the telephone table and, taking out the Plymouth directory, hunted through the
M's
. Presently, she dialled a number.

She waited for it to connect, her free hand clenched into a fist and pressed against her heart which seemed to be most irregular in its behaviour, beating now fast, now slow. There was a click.

‘Murchison Marriott. Good afternoon. Can I help you?'

‘Oh, yes. Hello.' She felt as though she were suffocating. ‘Could I speak to Mr Farley, please?'

‘One moment. I'll check. Who's calling, please?'

Cass hesitated for a second.

‘This is Mrs Wivenhoe. Yes, Wivenhoe. That's right.'

‘One moment.' There was a long pause. ‘You're through.'

‘Hello? Nick?'

‘I'm sorry. This is Mr Farley's secretary. Can I help you?'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. I thought . . . Yes, please. I'd like to speak to Mr Farley. It's . . . well, it's rather important.'

‘If you'll hold on one moment, I'll see if he's free. He may have gone to lunch.'

Lunch? thought Cass. He can't have gone to lunch. Please let him be there.

‘Hello.' Nick's voice in her ear took her off guard and she sank into the chair beside the telephone table, weak with relief.

‘Nick, oh, thank God! I was terrified that you might not be there.'

‘Good morning, Mrs Wivenhoe. What can I do for you?'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake, Nick! Do we have to be so formal? Is there someone there?'

‘I'm afraid that's quite correct. I agree it's tiresome but there's very little we can do at present.'

‘Nick, please! I've got to see you. It's terribly important. Can we make some arrangement, I don't care where, but it must be soon. Later on today.'

‘It's so difficult at present, though I quite see your point.' His voice changed suddenly and became low and cross. ‘We did agree, Cass. No calls to the office. I just can't risk it.'

‘Oh, please don't be angry. I'm at my wit's end, darling, truly. I had to speak to you and I can't phone you at home. We should have made some definite plan yesterday. Don't be cross, I miss you so much.'

‘My darling girl, I'm not cross, but we've got to be careful. You know, a lawyer has to be like Caesar's wife. I just can't take risks. Now, I've got a few minutes. What is it?'

‘I can't explain on the phone. I must see you.'

‘Don't you think I long to see you, too? But it's not that easy.'

‘Couldn't we meet somewhere, on your way home from the office, by chance, as it were?'

There was a silence and she knew he was thinking. Her whole body strained towards him.

‘Very well. Do you ever go to the Skylark at Clearbrook? So they wouldn't be surprised to see you there alone? Good. Now I often, well, once or twice a week, pop in for a drink on my way home. We'll meet there at about, say, six. I might be a bit later. Depends on the traffic.'

‘I'd wait for ever, Nick, you know that.'

‘Silly girl. You won't have to do that. But remember, Cass! We're just friends, OK? A lot of people know us around there and I'm right on my own doorstep. So no histrionics.'

‘You do sound fierce. Not like the Nick I know at all. You don't sound as if vou love me a bit.'

‘Would I be risking this if I didn't?' It was the old familiar caressing voice and Cass shivered with pleasure.

‘Oh, darling, if only you knew how I love you . . . '

‘Then that's all arranged, Mrs Wivenhoe.' His voice cut her short. ‘We'll do the best we can in the matter. Goodbye.'

The receiver went down with a click and Cass stood for a moment, bereft, weak with love for him. At last she replaced her own receiver and glanced almost automatically at her watch. It was after one o'clock. She would be seeing him in less than five hours from now.

T
HE NEXT DAY
, C
HARLOTTE
sat in bed, propped up by pillows, trying to summon up the energy to go to the bathroom. She felt weak and apathetic and, although she was constantly aware of Hugh's perfidy as she might have been of a toothache, it was as if the pain of it was deadened slightly; not by indifference but rather by a lack of energy to concentrate on it.

She gathered up her willpower and pushed back the quilt. If she didn't get up she'd wet the bed. Pulling a large and rather smelly Peruvian shawl around her shoulders she padded to the door and opened it. At once she heard her mother's voice. Something, perhaps the hurried muffled tones punctuated by lengthy pauses, warned her that Cass was talking on the telephone and wouldn't want to be overheard.

Silent as an Indian, Charlotte moved across the landing and, crouching, stared down between the banisters.

Cass was perched on the chair in the hall, hunched over the telephone. Even from this distance Charlotte was aware of the intensity emanating from her which seemed to charge the very air of the quiet hallway. The voice rose and sank.

‘No, but, darling . . . I know, I lost my head, but this time . . . honestly . . . it's really important . . . '

Charlotte watched her. She was talking to a man, no doubt about it, and it was not Tom. If it was Daddy, thought Charlotte, she would have been standing up, gesticulating theatrically, watching herself in the mirror that hung over the telephone table. Charlotte had seen it many times before and listened to the conversations. ‘Hello, darling, how marvellous to hear you . . . where are you . . . oh, don't say you're not going to make it . . . what a pity . . . oh, yes, fine . . . the usual chaos . . . absolute trauma yesterday . . . well, of course, we'll miss you terribly . . . ' And afterwards she'd go upstairs humming, not in the least put out, and later, after another phone call she'd be off, all dressed up, in the car.

Charlotte shut her eyes, resting her forehead on her knees, as a futile anger possessed her. She wanted to hurt Cass, to punish her. It seemed to her confused mind that everything that had gone wrong was directly or indirectly Cass's fault. She hadn't been there when Charlotte, having got herself back from Bristol by train and out from Plymouth by taxi, had finally arrived home. The house had been shut up, cold and empty, and she'd spent the night there all alone, waiting for her mother to come home. And now she was home, she didn't really care about how Charlotte was suffering. She was still more concerned with making assignations with her latest lover.

Charlotte stood up abruptly and Cass glanced up sharply and bent lower over the receiver for a moment, cupping her hand about it before she replaced it and stood up.

‘Is that you, Charlotte? Are you OK, darling? Anything you want?' She peered upwards into the shadows.

‘No, thanks. I'm fine.' Charlotte moved into view at the top of the stairs. ‘I'm just going to have a bath.' As if you cared, she added silently.

‘Would you like some breakfast now you're up?' Cass came halfway up the stairs. ‘Is there anything that you feel you'd really enjoy?'

‘No,' said Charlotte, unwilling to relinquish the idea of Cass's indifference to her misery.

‘Just a cup of coffee then?' Cass advanced a few more steps and smiled at her. ‘Feeling a bit better?'

‘Not really.' Charlotte felt a weary indignation at the suggestion that this could be hoped for under the circumstances.

‘Oh, well.' Feeling nonplussed. Cass looked at her daughter and then shrugged. ‘I'll make some coffee anyway. Enjoy your bath.'

She turned away and Charlotte went into the bathroom and slammed the door.