The Judge's Daughter (22 page)

‘No idea.’

‘It’s a miracle. Not that you were ugly before,’ Lucy added hastily, ‘only now, you’re—’

‘Stop lying. There was me and my nose and the nose was bigger than both of us. The town wasn’t big enough for any of it, so one of us had to go. And it wasn’t going to be
me.’ Mags took a glass of wine from a passing waiter. ‘What’s up with old Sourpuss? Looks like he lost a quid and found a tanner.’

Lucy glanced at the host. ‘His daughter’s what’s up, that’s what. She told that scrawny-necked Taylor to bog off, then blamed her father. You could have heard a feather
drop, let alone a pin. She’s gone upstairs, dragged there by her stepmother. That’s the stepmother over there – winning smile, high heels, diamond jewellery.’

Mags looked. ‘She’s younger than his daughter.’

‘Yup.’

‘What’s he up to?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘What are any of them up to? They were cheering outside when Miss Spencer insulted her dad. I’m told that one fellow did handstands. When it was over, she looked round
the room as if she’d been sleepwalking. There’s something wrong with that woman. She could even be on mind-bending drugs. I don’t trust her – don’t ask me
why.’

Mags wondered whether the something wrong might be brandy, but she held the thought inside. ‘This isn’t exactly San Francisco, Lucy. I don’t think she’s a
pill-popper.’

Agnes returned and started all over again. She couldn’t believe the transformation. Did they do plastic surgery on gobs, could they quieten Pop? How much did it cost and had it hurt? How
long had Mags been bandaged and where had she bought the dress?

‘Enough,’ ordered Mags yet again. ‘I’ve got this carry-on at work, at home, in the street, now here. I’m still me. However I look outwardly, I’ve got the same
history as I had before London. The thing was, I could walk about in the street with a bandaged face and two black eyes there and nobody stared. London’s like that – it doesn’t
care. I didn’t dare get as far as Carnaby Street and I never saw a show, but I went for short walks and was ignored.’

‘That’s because they’re hardened,’ said Lucy. ‘Everybody gets beaten up about once a month, so you’d have fit in well with all your cuts and bruises. But
looking at you now, I’d say it’s lock-up-your-husband time, because you are sensational.’ She planted a kiss on her friend’s cheek, then wiped away the damage bequeathed by
Strawberry Glaze lipstick.

Agnes was looking at the judge. ‘He’s like a volcano preparing to erupt,’ she said. ‘No wonder everybody hates him. Imagine what it would be like to have that for a
father. No wonder she kicked up a fuss.’

Lucy thought about it. ‘She looked as if she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. Like I said before, she reminded me of a sleepwalker. There’s something wrong with
her.’

Mags swallowed a mouthful of caviar. ‘Bloody hell,’ she cursed. ‘It’s like do-yourself-good cod liver oil with no orange juice to follow. I can’t imagine what all
the fuss is about. Fish eggs? They can keep them.’ She straightened her skirt. ‘I’m going to find her,’ she announced.

‘You can’t go wandering round Judge Spencer’s house,’ Lucy exclaimed.

Mags grinned. ‘Watch me,’ she said. ‘Remember, there’s a new girl in town and she follows her nose. She does what she damned well pleases.’

The two other girls eyed each other. ‘She’s letting her hair down,’ said Lucy.

‘Yes, but her hair’s not letting
her
down,’ answered Agnes. ‘I think life’s just beginning for Mags. She has unleashed a monster. Come on – let’s
get some more wine. And we’d better warn the men that Cinderella’s looking for that glass slipper . . .’

There were many bedrooms, but Mags chose the one with double doors. After knocking gently, she turned one of the handles to find Helen Spencer staring into space. She was
seated on a sofa near a window, clearly deep in thought. ‘Louisa?’ Helen asked as soon as the door was closed again. ‘I feel awful.’

‘No, I’m not Louisa. It’s Mags. Remember? George and Lucy Henshaw’s wedding reception at the Pack Horse in June? We were planning an escape route.’

Helen tilted her head. ‘But you’re not the same woman.’

‘New nose.’ Mags crossed the room and sat next to Helen. ‘New nose, new hair, new clothes, new me. I’d saved for years and was thinking of buying myself a little house,
but vanity prevailed. I had the operation.’

‘You look wonderful.’

‘Thank you.’ This poor creature looked far from wonderful, thought Mags. She looked absolutely worn out and disappointed with life. ‘Your dad remarried, then?’

‘Yes. She’s Louisa and she’s already pregnant.’

‘Ah.’

‘But that’s not why I became . . . upset. I seem to have had some sort of episode – I think I’ve had one or two before. Were you there tonight?’

‘No. I arrived late, but I heard about it.’

‘I think I forgot where I was and gave James Taylor both barrels. Now, I can remember some of what I said, but I scarcely understood what had happened while I was downstairs. And I
insulted my father. He is not a man who takes insults. Louisa is a good woman – she helped me up the stairs and said she’ll take care of everything, including him.’

‘Hardly a wicked stepmother, then?’

‘The opposite. She’s kind to me. I feel I have let her down, too. She so desperately wanted this party to be a success. I ruined it for her.’

Mags took Helen’s hand. ‘Please don’t be offended – are you drinking?’

‘No. I have scarcely touched a drop since Louisa came. She’s fun. I don’t want to lose her. He’ll send me away, make me live elsewhere. You don’t know him . .
.’ The nightmare knew him. How could she not have realized that the dream contained her father? She remembered few details of the almost nightly torment, yet she knew he was part of the
plot.

Mags didn’t know what to say. It was suddenly apparent that her own solution to life’s problems had proved an easy option; a new nose was not the answer for Helen Spencer. A new nose
was easy. It was money and pain, no more. Helen’s difficulties were more radical. How might a person acquire a new soul, a centre of self cleaned of scars from the past? How could anyone help
in this case?

‘I am so miserable, Mags.’

‘I know.’

‘He’s quite nasty without being angry. Once he loses his temper, my father becomes one of Earth’s elemental Forces – I swear the sky darkens. He may even be one of the
four horsemen come to warn us of the end of the world.’

‘Leave home.’

Helen shook her head. She was her father’s daughter, and she recognized in herself the stubbornness displayed by him when he was cornered. He was going to have to force her out. Louisa
would fight Helen’s corner. But why should Louisa be upset, especially in her condition? ‘I haven’t the backbone to start all over again, Mags. In truth, I don’t feel steady
enough to live the isolated life.’

‘These turns you have – what form do they take?’ Mags chided herself inwardly – she sounded like a bloody doctor.

Helen shrugged. ‘I am – well – I imagine myself in love with a married man. At the worst point in that scenario, I chased him, told him I loved him – I was all over the
place. Tonight? Oh, I don’t know.’ Tonight had been much, much worse, because a piece of the bad dream had broken through. ‘There was a noise,’ she whispered. The noise had
been a part of the dream. ‘I don’t know,’ she repeated.

‘Yes, you do,’ Mags urged gently. ‘Tell me. The noise was a waitress dropping plates and trays. Why did you turn on the balding eagle?’

After taking a deep breath, Helen relived all she remembered of her real world. She spoke of phone calls, of persistence, of politeness. ‘After half a dozen refusals, any man should accept
that a woman isn’t interested. Tonight was his big chance – or so he believed.’

‘And?’

‘And he collared me. I avoided him successfully for well over half an hour, but he would not be denied. Then it happened.’

Mags waited.

‘It was as if I were alone with him after the noise happened. I knew my father had chosen him for me, because he told me so at that wedding. James Taylor almost became my father tonight.
He was yet another piece of damage inflicted by a man who has never forgiven me for being female. There are many witnesses to the rest of it. I screamed at him and I think I hit him. The thought of
hitting him makes me sick, because I can’t stand the idea of any physical contact with him. It isn’t just his appearance. Inside, he’s a damaged person – it takes one to
know one. He bolsters himself, brags about a big future. He is his own favourite topic and that’s my father all over again.’

Mags stroked Helen’s hand.

‘My biggest fear is that I, too, am my father all over again. I am so angry, Mags. Anger is all that sustains me. The only time I get anywhere near happiness is when I am with Louisa. If I
lose control, then I lose everything. My small amount of control is all I have and I can’t afford to have it disappear.’

‘Helen?’

‘What?’

‘You need other friends close at hand.’

‘There is no one.’

‘But there is someone. There’s Agnes. She is the best and most loyal person you could wish to meet. She’s funny, clever, supportive and just at the bottom of the
Rise.’

Helen dropped her chin. How could she be a friend to someone whose husband she had tried to seduce? She continued to want Denis, although the feelings for him no longer consumed her. ‘I
don’t know.’

‘Think about it. You could do a lot worse than Agnes Makepeace. She hasn’t had it easy, you know. Her mother died when Agnes was born, so the grandparents raised her. When they got
old, she looked after them. Her nan died of cancer, her granddad is a handful – she nursed him after a stroke – yet Agnes manages to see the best in life. We’re all hurt, Helen. A
person would need the hide of a rhino to get through this world without pain.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

Forced to be content with a half-promise, Mags left Helen to her own devices. Descending the staircase deep in thought, she decided that Helen was probably ill. The self-effacing librarian had
been kept down for too long, and the inner woman was fighting for her place in the world. It was understandable; it was also rather unnerving, because Helen was not thinking in a straight enough
line.

Agnes joined her at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is she all right? I still can’t get over how brilliant you look.’

‘She needs a doctor. A head doctor. That bloody father of hers has messed her up to the point where she doesn’t cope with life at all. Agnes, I want you to help her.’

Agnes swallowed. ‘That’s all I need. Thanks a lot, mate. If she needs a psychiatrist, what the hell can I do?’

‘You can listen.’

Agnes thought about that. The woman upstairs had recently made a beeline for Denis. Denis worked at Lambert House – must Lambert House claim an even bigger portion of his life? There was a
baby coming, Pop and Eva would move into the village soon, and Denis had had quite enough of Miss Helen Spencer. Agnes decided to hang for the full sheep – Denis would understand.
‘She’s been making passes at my husband, Mags.’

‘Ah.’

‘What do you mean by “ah”? She’s more than three sheets to the wind, is that one. Glenys Timpson heard her trying to get off with Denis – and you want me to help
the damned woman? Not on your flaming nelly.’

‘Agnes—’

‘Sorry, love. She was walking round in a nightdress for days, windows wide open, playing the music he loves. He’s fond of her, feels sorry for her, but she wanted more. A bloody
sight more.’

‘She can’t help it, Agnes.’

‘Can’t she?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I can help it. I can help her stay away from my husband. You’re asking too much of me, Mags.’

‘She’s aware that she’s done wrong, but she’s . . . Oh, I don’t know. It’s like she’s two different people. Something triggers her and she changes. Take
tonight. She lost herself. I can’t explain it, but she becomes something else and all hell lets loose in her head. It’s that bugger’s fault.’ She inclined her head in the
direction of their host. ‘Helen was born a girl, and to him that’s unforgivable. He’s a nasty creature.’

The nasty creature led his new wife into the office. Determined to be careful because of her condition, he sat her down before beginning his homily. Helen had never shown him
any respect. He had supported her, sheltered, educated and housed her, but he had never received any thanks.

‘All children take their parents for granted,’ came her swift response. ‘Every father in the world would agree with you, darling. But you must not throw her out. She is too
frail to become a wanderer. Let me deal with it.’

He carried on passing sentence. His daughter had always been wilful and difficult. She had taken poor advantage of her education and was content to follow the lazy path via the library. She
never spoke to him. She made up stories about other lawyers and how they hated him.

Louisa kept a poker face during this section of the monologue. The cheers in support of Helen still echoed in her mind; this was, indeed, a much despised man.

With fat fingers gripping lapels, he strutted up and down like the great prosecuting counsel trying to convince a jury. While she was the jury, Louisa would never be won over. ‘She’s
lonely.’

‘Her own fault,’ he boomed. ‘There’s a perfectly decent and successful man chasing her, but is she satisfied? No, she is not.’

‘She’s lonely for friends, not for a husband.’

‘Then she should make friends. God knows she meets enough people in her silly little job.’

Louisa groaned inwardly. Were it not for the likes of Helen Spencer, literature would be available only to the precious few. It was not a silly little job – it was a vital service. He
rambled on, warming to his subject with every inch of the carpet he threatened to render threadbare.

She rose to her feet. ‘I have no wish to be contentious, sweetheart, but if Helen is forced to leave this house, I shall have to accompany her and stay with her until she is settled. She
is unwell.’

‘What?’ he roared. Had he made another huge mistake? Was this one going to be like the first wife, a moaner and a bolter? Not that the first had actually left, but she had threatened
. . .