Truth Will Out (26 page)

A week later she arranged a meeting with Frederick Barlowe and on Monday, 13th November, she travelled up to London to discuss the future of the Barlowe Gallery. When she arrived Jane Dyer met her with a tray of tea and some ginger biscuits she had made herself.

‘Because I remember that you like them,’ she told Maude, helping her off with her coat. ‘Mr Barlowe is late back from his bank but I’m sure he won’t be long. He asked me to apologize if he was held up.’

She looked anxious, Maude thought. The previous weeks had probably been a strain for her, too, in a lesser way. Outside the sky threatened imminent rain and Maude hoped that she and Jane would have a few moments together before Barlowe joined them.

‘I wanted to thank you for coming to Lionel’s funeral,’ she told her. ‘And the beautiful flowers. In the circumstances . . . Well, I was touched. The service was so short and unsympathetic – but then he had killed someone.’ She sighed.

Jane regarded her earnestly. ‘I expect you guessed.’

‘That you were also a little in love with him? Yes, I suspected it but . . . he could be very charming.’

‘He was so kind to me. Much nicer than Mr Barlowe. He’s a very different sort of man. Not so sensitive. My mother says it was probably the way he was brought up, but she always makes excuses for people.’

Maude finished her biscuit and reached for another one. ‘I didn’t have any breakfast,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘My aunt is not at all well at the moment and mornings can be very disorganized.’

‘No breakfast!’ Jane looked shocked. ‘My mother says that a decent breakfast ensures a decent day.’ She smiled. ‘I sometimes think she’s got a saying for everything! I never told her about my feelings for Lio— for Mr Brent. She would never have understood and it would have worried her dreadfully.’ She sipped her tea. ‘I’m glad I’ve been given this chance to talk to you. I wanted you to know that even though I was a bit in love with Mr Brent I would never have tried to . . . to take him away from you.’ She blushed furiously. ‘Not that he would ever have left you . . . Except . . . Oh dear!’ She looked at Maude helplessly. ‘What I mean is he never was . . . Oh!’ She rolled her eyes.

Maude rescued her. ‘If there’s a saying for everything, the next one must be, “If you’re in a hole, stop digging!”’ They both laughed and Maude went on. ‘I know what you’re saying, Jane, and I understand.’ She sighed. ‘I wonder how many other hearts he broke. Too many, probably.’ She shrugged. ‘We have to go on, Jane. I’m sure you’ll meet someone much nicer. Someone genuine. You mustn’t distrust all men because of what has happened.’

Before Jane could reply, Barlowe rushed in, making his apologies, and within minutes he and Maude were deep in conversation in his office and Jane, with a lighter heart, was talking to the fourth client of the day.

A few weeks later, just as Maude had begun to hope that their life was returning to normal, something happened that shocked her. She woke one morning and glanced at the clock. Ten past six. So what had woken her so early? It was early December and the sun rose much later, which meant that she slept later. This morning, however, she woke with a start and sat up, listening. Maybe the dog had barked at a passing fox . . . No. No barking. So what had woken her? Reluctantly Maude slipped from the warm bed, pulled on a dressing gown and slippers and went quietly down the stairs. At last she pinpointed the sounds. They were coming from the kitchen. She moved cautiously towards the kitchen door and slowly turned the handle.

‘Aunt Biddy!’

She could smell cooking.

Biddy, still in her nightdress but with an apron tied around her waist, was busy at the stove. She glanced up at Maude and smiled and Maude’s heart skipped a beat. There was something in her aunt’s smile – a certain vacancy – that frightened her.

‘You’re a bit early, Maudie love,’ Biddy told her. ‘Lunch will be at least another fifteen minutes.’

Maude’s startled gaze took in the pan full of sausages, the bubbling saucepan and the pile of shredded cabbage on the board on the table. Was her aunt preparing lunch at this hour of the morning? She said gently, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting lunch, of course. I thought it was about time we had some decent food. A few potatoes and some cabbage – and I’ll make some gravy, of course. You need feeding up, Maudie love, after what you’ve been through, and I said to myself—’

‘Aunt Biddy, that was months ago. I’ve put all that behind me.’ She looked around in despair. There was a sheet of rolled pastry on the board. ‘Are you making a pie? Something for pudding?’

‘A pie? No. I’ve made a rice pudding the way you like it.’ She smiled, turning the sausages as she spoke. Moving nearer, Maude saw that they were burnt. ‘Aunt Biddy, it’s . . .’ She stopped. Her aunt was obviously totally confused. Was it helpful to draw her attention to the fact that she was preparing a meal at least six hours too early?

Aunt Biddy wiped her forehead with a corner of her apron. ‘I hate this climate. Summer is so humid!’

With a sinking heart, Maude sat down, her mind working overtime, but it was hard to see a way out of this without upsetting her aunt. For a moment she found herself longing for Alice’s comforting presence, but that part of her life was over, she reminded herself. Perhaps they should sit down and eat the meal when it was ready . . . But it might happen again. Biddy needed medical help, she admitted to herself reluctantly. She had suspected this was coming for some weeks but had not wanted to face the truth. The traumatic episode with Lionel and Alice had exacerbated her aunt’s earlier vagueness and tipped it over into serious confusion.

She said, ‘I was thinking of popping in to the doctor’s, Aunt Biddy, just for a check-up. I thought we could both go. We’ve rather been through the mill, over the last six months.’

Her aunt added the cabbage to the pan of boiling water and put the lid on, half tilted to let the steam escape and stop it boiling over.

Biddy glanced up. ‘I’ll come with you if it makes you feel any better.’ She smiled. ‘Poor Maudie. You always were a worrier.’

The following afternoon Derek Jayson arrived with an invitation. ‘We’d love you both to come to the Romilees for Christmas Day and Boxing Day – as our guests. We don’t like to think of the two of you rattling around here on your own. You’ll be surrounded by unhappy memories and we can’t have that.’ He looked at her eagerly. ‘What do you say Mrs— Oh sorry! You’re not Mrs Brent, are you? I never know what to call you these days.’

‘You can call me Maude if you wish,’ she suggested.

His eyes widened. ‘Really? Oh, that’s wonderful . . . Maude!’ He positively beamed. ‘Then please call me Derek.’

Maude smiled but then hesitated. ‘Certainly I will, but as to your kind invitation . . .’ Briefly she explained the problems that Biddy was experiencing. ‘She has become rather unreliable in her behaviour and I certainly wouldn’t want to give you or your sister any more problems. The doctor has suggested that I employ a nurse to keep an eye on her and I’m looking for someone. He thinks it might be the beginnings of senile decay made worse by the trouble we have been through, which caused her great anxiety – but, of course, I cannot bear the idea of Aunt Biddy going into a nursing home. Not while I can care for her here, where she feels safe.’

Disappointment was etched in his face and Maude felt for him. She sensed that he was possibly becoming fond of her but could not respond in any way while her feelings were still so raw. She grieved for so many things – the loss of Alice’s affection, the shock of losing her way of life as a married woman, the depth of the deception and the sense that she had been diminished by what had happened. The truth was that currently two strategies dominated her life – one was the concern for her aunt, and the other was a fierce desire to forget Lionel and the callous way he had played havoc with her emotions. The latter depended on her own efforts and Maude tried hard to close her mind to anything that threatened to remind her of Lionel Brent, and that included Alice. The former strategy was more complex; Maude had discussed Biddy’s prognosis with the doctor and knew that if the disease continued its rapid rate, the vagueness would become a serious problem as Biddy’s grasp on reality grew less. Her behaviour was already more erratic and the doctor warned that in the worst scenario, Biddy might even become violent. Maude’s heart ached for her but she knew there was little to be done to arrest the progress of the illness. There was no cure for the condition but Maude was determined that her aunt should stay at
Fairways
for as long as possible and while it was still safe for her to do so.

‘I have to decline your kind offer,’ she told Derek, ‘but if you and Alison wish to pop over to Folkestone – maybe for an hour or so on Christmas Eve – we should be delighted to see you and it would give us an excuse to open a bottle of wine. Aunt Biddy will almost certainly bake something for us to nibble. When she is cooking I can still see the real Biddy Cope!’ She smiled at him. ‘Do come. It would be something to look forward to.’

It was agreed.

Biddy sat up in bed with a pencil and tried to bring her diary up to date. She had said her prayers, kneeling by the bedside, had brushed her greying hair fifty times and had carefully rubbed cold cream into her hands. These lifelong habits gave her bedtime ritual a feeling of order which she increasingly craved. The disastrous events concerning Lionel and Alice had played havoc with her mind and sometimes she realized this with something approaching dread. Now she frowned, trying to concentrate on the task in hand, while her cup of Ovaltine grew cold on the table beside her.

December 15th. I think. Maude will know. So nearly Christmas. We had a shock today and it has upset poor Maude. Alice is having a baby. At least she says she is. I don’t trust that girl. It doesn’t matter. DC Fleet came in person to tell us the shocking news and we all give thanks to God, amazed at how well he is recovering from his injuries. But his news has upset me. That Alice is having Lionel’s baby even though he is dead and buried! Yes. It is definitely the 15th because it is Friday and we are having fish for lunch. And poor Maude is not at all strong and so she is going to find another companion with nursing experience . . .’

In the next room Maude reread the application letter from a woman called Ivy Benn who had trained as a nurse, worked in the Buchanan Hospital in Hastings for seven years and then given up to care for her mother who had recently died. It was the third application but the previous two were from younger women and Maude felt that as her aunt deteriorated, an older, more experienced woman would be preferable.

She had pretended that her own health was causing her concern. That way she felt sure that her aunt would not protest about the intrusion into their lives.

Maude was trying hard not to think about Alice and the child she might be expecting and outwardly maintained an air of disinterest on the matter, but secretly she wondered how Alice felt about it. Was she delighted to be carrying Lionel’s child or sickened by it? The defence lawyer was trying to negotiate an early release on compassionate grounds and Maude hoped that, if granted this release, Alice would have the sense to leave Hastings and take her child away to a part of the country where she was not known. A fresh start. Maude had wondered whether to write a letter to Alice pointing out the advantages of such a move but after some reflection she had changed her mind. A letter might invite a reply and she had no desire to begin a correspondence.

‘Leave well alone, Maude!’ she had counselled herself and was satisfied she had behaved sensibly.

TWELVE

Thursday, July 3rd, 1930

A
s the taxi drew to a halt outside the Barlowe Gallery, Derek reached for the door handle and stepped out on to the pavement. As arranged the taxi driver helped him to carry three paintings into the gallery where a smiling Mrs Thomas Marley, once Jane Dyer, held the door open for them.

It was becoming obvious, he thought, that she was expecting a child and no doubt she would soon be giving up her job to become a full-time mother.

‘I’m sure you have time for tea and biscuits, Mr Jayson,’ she said with a smile as they rested the paintings against the wall. ‘Mr Barlowe’s on the telephone but I’ll make a tray for three.’

She had grown in confidence, he thought with pleasure, and was already wondering what sort of replacement they would find for her.

‘How’s Mrs Jayson?’ Jane asked. ‘And your daughter?’

Derek hesitated. ‘My wife is well enough but her aunt’s death just before Christmas has depressed her. It’s depressed all of us, in fact. Our little Amy is still very quiet. Biddy was a very important member of the family.’ That was an understatement, he thought ruefully. Their daughter, never very outgoing at the best of times, had retreated further into her shell with the trauma of her great-aunt’s death. ‘She adored Biddy and sobbed her heart out at the funeral. I wish now that we had refused to let her attend but she wanted to be there and we thought . . .’ He shrugged. ‘She’s nearly five and she understands death and, since it was her wish, my wife felt we should allow her to be there.’

‘I think you were right, Mr Jayson. Tears shed are healthier than tears repressed. My mother has always believed that. She says that children worry more about what they
don’t
understand and shouldn’t be kept in the dark.’

At that moment Frederick Barlowe came out of his office and made his way slowly down the stairs. He now suffered from rheumatism when the weather was damp and 1930 had produced a rather disappointing summer.

The two men shook hands as Jane hurried to put the kettle on. A client came in and chatted to Mr Barlowe for a few minutes then left, promising to bring his wife back after lunch to see the three newly arrived paintings.

Derek wandered round the gallery inspecting the works of art but his mind was elsewhere and his face was set in unhappy lines. Amy had almost died at birth after a difficult delivery but Maude’s devoted care had ensured that she survived. She was a fragile child, however, and very shy. Maude had been convinced that she needed a brother or sister but the longed-for second child had never materialized.