The Twisted Way (17 page)

It was a cold and damp autumn day when Felicity arrived in Enderly. ‘Heaven help me,’ she muttered, ‘Enderly village 
looks as uninteresting as ever.’

There were a few new box-like houses with minuscule gardens that formed a small estate just where the road from Everton entered the village and the old dull grey stone Victorian school nearby had been expanded; some decent prefabricated classrooms had been erected and a well-designed playing field added at the back. No wonder Uncle James made himself scarce all those years ago, she thought. Ugh, it still looks a boring dump. A mist rose up from the grey streak in the distance that was just recognizable as a river and she had a dread of the cold dampness it exuded creeping into her bones when she reached her destination. The same tatty little village shop and post office in the centre of the small main street, same dingy window display too. She grimaced and gave it a surreptitious glance as she was driven past on her way to Primrose House, which was about half a mile out of the village on the other side. There was a SPAR notice in the door of the shop which she estimated meant some progress had been made. Separated from the shop by three old terraced cottages that had been renovated with care, stood the Green Man pub; the black and white façade had recently been painted and two large oak flower tubs, planted with a collection of bright winter pansies, had been positioned either side of the old oak door. That is one place that may be worth a visit, she told herself with a flicker of genuine interest.

She looked with increasing anticipation at the Enderly scene from the windows of the taxi. The driver had looked at her with disdain when she had flagged him down outside the Everton railway station twenty minutes earlier and merely grunted as he opened the door for her to get in. Felicity was determined to arrive in style but was reluctant to spend her money. A few days before leaving Canada she had purchased what had been described as a ‘fairly new’ camel wool coat from a second-hand shop. The coat would have been expensive but had seen better days; the cuffs were somewhat faded and worn and it had been necessary to repair a couple of small holes near the hem. To appear poor and impoverished was not an impression she wished to convey when she arrived. Her feet ached. She had crammed them into her best leather shoes that were a size too small because she could not bring herself to splash out on a new pair, despite the fact that they pinched her feet without mercy.

She heaved a sigh of relief when they arrived outside Primrose House and leaned forward from the back seat to give the taxi driver a meagre tip together with the fare. He responded with a scathing look, causing her to scowl.

‘Sorry the tip is not more, I’m short of change,’ she said in a belligerent tone, as she opened the door nearest to her and got out. She pulled her case out on to the ground, slung her cheap plastic handbag over her shoulder and wondered why the oaf of a driver had not made any effort to assist her.

‘You OKwith that bag?’ the driver asked in a broad Russetshire accent. It appeared to her to be a miserable afterthought.

‘Yeah, nice of you to ask! It’s a bit late to think of it.’ A peevish tone crept into her voice.

It was quite out of character for, the driver not to get out of the car to open the door for her. The gravel drive was quite short and from that a pitted and uneven brick path led to the front door. The gates had been left open so he had no need to get out of the car to open them. The man usually prided himself on his polite manner but something about this woman caused him to be rude. His usual courteous behaviour deserted him although he normally assisted his passengers without question. For some inexplicable reason he could not force himself to be polite. He knew Janet quite well and thought the new arrival looked like trouble. The strange Canadian accent tinged with some odd northern English tones irritated him. She has only one fairly small bag, he noted, and decided that she could darn well keep it on the seat next to her and carry the bloody thing herself. She looked brawny enough although she was no doubt getting on a bit. He guessed that she was a spiky tough old bird and quite spirited and that he did admire, but not enough to assist her.

He returned to Everton Station without a backward glance in the hope that a more lucrative and agreeable fare would present itself. What a lousy tip she had given him!

Felicity struggled up to the front door with Roberto’s battered leather case and stood for a few moments looking around. The view of the River Brinton stirred memories of walks along the reedy banks when she was young. The mist was deepening and threatened to cover the surrounding fields with long damp fluffy fingers. It was possible to make out the outlines of the old willow trees, still in need of pollarding, as they bent their droopy branches over the low banks. Orchards of apple and plum trees were just visible, the trees arranged in neat rows like regimented crooked fence posts. Their dark twisted branches were now mostly bare, but there was still unpicked fruit amongst the yellowing leaves. Beyond them the narrow grassy fields which once contained plump Herefordshire beef cattle swept down to the edge of the river. The mist was now becoming thicker and would soon hide the fields from view. She remembered that a public footpath straggled from Primrose House to the river bank and then turned along the edge of the river until it reached the other end of Enderly village. It was difficult to see through the mist in the fading light and she wondered if it was still there.

‘What a bleak old place this house is,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘but it must be worth a penny or two now.’ Her spirits rose. Money was her god, to obtain it was her greatest aim in life, and there could be some here if she played her cards with care. Her excitement mounted. The windows, she noted, had been replaced with double-glazed units. Well that is interesting, she thought. The old draughty sash windows were neck stiffeners when one had to sleep near them as she had soon found out as a small child. The trees had grown. Good heavens, huge birches and firs had sprung up, tall and imposing, and large branches creaked in the slight wind, stirring a vague memory of a young Aunt Janet planting small wispy saplings and bushes. The old oak front door was the same, grainy and scratched, but boasted a proud new black iron knocker in the shape of a lion’s head and an electronic bell at the side with a notice above it –
^{PRESS HARD}
. Felicity sighed audibly and pressed the bell. The journey to Enderly from Canada had been long and she was tired. Her back ached and her neck was stiff following her efforts to sleep in an awkward position during the long flight.

She heard some brisk steps approaching the door which was opened with caution by a thin sharp-looking woman who did not look more than fifty. The housekeeper or maid, Felicity surmised. What a miserable looking biddy, she thought. Gracious, what a rotten welcome after all the years I have been away.

‘What do you want?’ asked the woman, her tone exuding suspicion as her glance swept over the stranger with obvious dislike. ‘If you are selling something …’

Felicity bridled. ‘I’m Felicity Brown and I’ve come to stay with Mrs Lacey. I’m her niece. Aren’t you expecting me?’ The wretched woman’s face would crack if she smiled, Felicity thought.

The woman’s nose wrinkled with disapproval. ‘Of course, madam,’ Joyce Skillet responded with difficulty and almost choked on on her words. ‘Come in, I’ll tell Mrs Lacey you are here.’

Joyce ushered Felicity into the spacious hallway. ‘Leave your case in the hall, we can see to it later.’ She gave it a derisory glance and emitted a loud disapproving sniff.

What a mean old cat, Felicity thought. It’s not as though my case will make a mess anywhere.

The woodwork, painted a wishy-washy eggshell blue, just as it had been when Felicity was a child, looked faded. The wallpaper with the strange gooseberry pattern had been removed and the walls covered with a pale blue emulsion to match the woodwork. The floor was covered with a good imitation wood patterned vinyl and an expensive looking Persian rug had been deposited with aplomb in the centre. A large elegant crystal chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling.

Huh, Felicity thought. I don’t think much of the decor. With all her money, too! The only decent thing is that rug, though the chandelier is not bad, it was probably expensive. I’ll get rid of that dreadful blue if the house is mine one day, and it could be with some luck. A good oak floor would be much better than that vinyl. Her mind started to race as she considered the possibilities.

‘Mrs Lacey will see you now,’ cut across her thoughts and Joyce led her into the large dining room at the back of the house where Janet had her bed installed under an imposing double-glazed picture window. Janet sat in an armchair supported by well-stuffed soft velvet cushions. Her grey hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her head and she was dressed in a fine pink cashmere twin-set and well-cut black trousers. A heavy expensive-looking gold necklace hung round her thin neck and the imposing large links caught Felicity’s eye. The thick gold necklace glinted and for a moment Felicity was mesmerized.

Janet took pride in her appearance and liked to look chic and smart, even if she was over eighty years old. She could afford to look elegant although she could not always remember the time of day or what happened yesterday. Joyce would help her dress and make up her face with expensive cosmetics, including the soft pale Italian lipstick she liked, purchased in her favourite chemists in Brinton. Good well applied make-up was a habit she had developed and maintained over the years.

Her old dog Jack sat at her feet. His hackles rose when he saw Felicity and a low rumbling sound emerged from the back of his throat.

Felicity was surprised. She thought that old Auntie did not look too bad and probably she had got a year or two of life in her yet, though that might be remedied if need be without too much effort.

Felicity stepped forward quickly and gave Janet a warm hug but avoided kissing her. She shuddered when she saw the deep wrinkles on her face and a couple of large hairy moles on her chin. She made a determined effort to ignore the low growling and showing of Jack’s unhygienic yellow teeth. I would like to give you a swift kick, she thought, but it might upset Aunt Janet. That would not be an auspicious start. What a dreadful dog you are!

‘So lovely to see you Auntie,’ she gushed. ‘It’s been too long but I’m here now and I’d like to stay a week or two if it‘s all right with you?’

She felt Jack’s muzzle brush dangerously close to her leg and cringed.

Janet looked at her niece, or rather, James’s niece, with some misgiving. She hardly recognised her after so long. She looked at the short plump woman with unattractive pepper and salt hair and made an effort not to shudder. Felicity had crows’ feet, reminding Janet of the blue veins in gorgonzola cheese, that radiated from flecked blue-grey cold emotionless eyes. The once attractive mouth that Janet remembered was now thin and stringy and drooped at the corners. A bumpy roll of fat circled her waistline and bulged over her ample hips and thighs. Janet thought for a moment about Anne, and wondered what she might have looked like at sixty if she had lived that long, though she could only recall her as being tall and slim. Felicity did not look a happy individual, and although she had been pretty in her youth, she was no longer attractive.

Janet struggled to think back to the days when Felicity had stayed with her when she was twenty, a disturbed young woman who had been difficult to understand. The same restlessness showed on her face and she feared that it could be just as uncontrolled, but with any luck she may have mellowed. She hoped so. Although Janet was getting old and forgetful she could still understand that. Felicity smiled and for a moment Janet saw an unwelcome resemblance to her first husband James. She had the same cold expression in her eyes that James had in his when he left Primrose House. Shivers flickered along her back and she made an effort to cover up her disquiet.

‘Of course, you must stay dear,’ she said too quickly. ‘Joyce has prepared the blue room for you. It’s at the back of the house and there are lovely views of the river from the windows. Please make yourself at home. There is a bathroom next to the bedroom you can have for your own use. It is so lovely to see you after all these years. We have a lot of catching up to do. I look forward to that.’

Felicity heaved a sigh of relief. Getting her feet under the table here was going to be easier than she had anticipated. The old girl was obviously becoming gaga and suffering from arthritis. It must be bad if she has to sleep downstairs. I should be able to wheedle my way in here easily enough, she thought in her cold and devious way. I could offer to keep her company in the evenings when her housekeeper is not here. She had heard from her old acquaintance Pattie in the village that the housekeeper did not live in. I’ll make myself useful and hopefully indispensable. She suddenly felt more cheerful than she had for months. She was sick of poverty and with any luck if she could inveigle her way in she would one day inherit her aunt’s fortune. She must find out who the beneficiaries were in her aunt’s will, assuming she had made one, and her calculating mind ran this idea over with pleasurable anticipation.

‘I am so looking forward to getting to know you again, Auntie, and talking about old times.’ She smiled in the most ingratiating way she could manage. She stepped forward once again and this time, with eyes shut, kissed Janet on the cheek. Janet was startled and managed to avoid showing her distaste. Her skin prickled and shivers ran down her spine once again. The feeling was mutual.

‘You were so kind to me when I was a child,’ Felicity continued, oblivious to Janet’s trepidation.

‘Joyce will show you to your room. I hope you will be comfortable,’ Janet said.

‘I’m sure I will Auntie.’ She turned. Joyce was hovering in the doorway, her face set and grim. She was not going to worry about her. She was only a servant.

Joyce carried her suitcase up to the blue room and turned down the luxurious cream silk bedspread.