The Birthday Present (11 page)

For a moment Rose brightened but then, remembering the present circumstances, she said, ‘No. It wasn’t me.’

‘Well, you’re the spitting image!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Listen, dearie. Hot tip. Bright Star. Three thirty. Sure thing.’

‘Oh, er. Thank you.’

The woman tapped her nose. ‘We got this system, see. I do the tea leaves and my Bert, he interprets ’em. That’s what it’s called, see – interpreting, though some people call it reading but it’s not the same thing. I saw a sort of star this morning in the dregs of his tea cup and right off he looks down the runners and blow me down – he sees Bright Star!’ She waggled fat fingers by way of goodbye and they all watched her go.

Marcus asked him, ‘Does it work, her system?’

‘Hardly ever.’ He turned to Rose. ‘Satisfied? Now hop it!’

Marcus took hold of Rose’s arm. ‘His name’s Sydney. He’s not the one, Rose.’

Rose was reluctant to give up. ‘Does a Wilfred Todmore ever come here?’

‘I’ve never heard of him and that’s the honest truth.’ He looked at Marcus. ‘Take her away, for Gawd’s sake! She’ll get my ruddy collar felt!’

Marcus took out his handkerchief, wiped Rose’s tears and led her away. ‘We’ll find a café,’ he told her, ‘and have a cup of tea.’

Subdued by her disappointment she asked, ‘What are you doing here? I don’t want you following me around just now.’

‘I’ve something to ask you, Rose. Something exciting.’

‘Exciting?’ She shook her head. ‘No thanks, Marcus! I’ve had enough excitement for one day.’

‘Are you going to explain why the bookie’s runner was so important?’

‘No. It’s  . . . it’s a private matter.’

‘What was all that about tea leaves?’

‘Forget about it, Marcus. I’ve got too much on my mind right now.’

‘Aren’t you ever going to tell me what’s going on?’

‘Probably not.’

Wisely, he made no reply.

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in ‘Maida’s Café’ with tea and cakes and Rose was listening half-heartedly to Marcus’s offer.

‘So you want me to come with you and Marie to take her to France, to your mother? Is that right?’

‘To help look after her on the journey, yes. I thought you’d jump at the chance.’

He was obviously disappointed with the way she had received his exciting news and Rose understood. At any other time she would have jumped at the chance but now she had her career to think about and she also had to deal with her father’s arrest and the possible arrival of the bailiffs. The latter was a deep humiliation to her and she was determined that Marcus should remain in the dark about it for as long as possible.

‘I have three performances a week at Andy’s Supper Room,’ she told him with more than a hint of pride. ‘How can I let them down? It’s my big chance.’

‘I see that. Couldn’t you ask him to alter the dates – let you start later?’

‘But I need the work. I have to live!’ Already she had worked out that she would have to leave the house where she was born. With half the furniture missing and no contribution from her father – legal or otherwise – she was going to have to move out and Connie’s place beckoned. If she went to France she might come back and find that someone else was renting Connie’s spare room.

‘But we’d pay you for your time,’ he told her. ‘Didn’t I say that?’

‘No you didn’t.’ Just like rich people, she thought bitterly. Money was of no interest. Even now he wasn’t telling her how much they would give her and she would have to ask.

He said, ‘It would be wonderful if you could find a way to do it, Rose. Marie seems to have set her heart on you coming with us – and you could meet my mother and Gerard. Marie wrote about you to them and I’m sure they would love to meet you.’

Rose tried to imagine herself sailing away from all her troubles for a few days, meeting pleasant people and enjoying an adventure. And helping poor Marie, of course.

‘How long would we be away?’ she asked cautiously. ‘I can’t just disappear.’

‘Maybe a week, maybe a little longer.’

‘And will she come home with us?’

‘That hasn’t been decided yet. It depends on several things – her health mainly – but if she wanted to stay longer we could come back together.’

Rose regarded him keenly, aware that he was holding something back. Just as she had with him. ‘And Letitia won’t go?’

‘No.’

With a grin, she echoed his earlier question to her. ‘Aren’t you ever going to tell me what’s going on?’

He laughed. ‘I suppose I asked for that!’

‘With Letitia and her mother, I mean.’

His expression changed. ‘Father was a very difficult man to live with. If he didn’t like you, you were made aware of it. He married Mother for her family’s money and then never forgave her. He made her very unhappy and one summer, in desperation, Mother took off for France where her French mother lived and took me with her. There she met Gerard Feigant.’

‘Who was kind to her.’

He nodded. ‘They fell in love and  . . . the inevitable happened. Mother and I had to come home so that Father would think that the child was his.’ He fell silent, allowing her to work out the consequences of what he had told her.

Rose stared at him, her eyes widening. ‘You mean that  . . . Letitia is Gerard’s daughter.’

‘Yes, but you mustn’t let her know that I’ve told you. That is why she hates him. Because she is not entirely ‘one of us’. That’s why she hates them both. Not that she has ever met Gerard. She hasn’t.’

‘But what about Steven and Marie?’

‘They are father’s children, as I am. But eventually, during a major quarrel, the truth came out and Father walked out of the house and never came back. It was a terrible time. Mother thought he might have killed himself and alerted the police, but then divorce papers arrived. It was in all the newspapers! After the turmoil died down, Mother went to live with Gerard and her aunt came to run the household here. She died some time ago but by then we were old enough to look after ourselves.’ He threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Not a very nice story, is it?’

Rose’s reaction was one of gratitude. She was grateful that his family, too, had their share of ‘skeletons in the cupboard’, so to speak. Weak with relief she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek which made him blush.

‘Right then,’ she told him, pouring them both a second cup of tea, ‘I shall now tell you about
our
shady dealings, past and present, but first please order some more cakes!’

Letitia and Alicia da Silva sat at the large table in the morning room, surrounded by lists, address books and diaries, and Letitia had rarely felt happier. Her wedding was almost upon them and nothing had happened to cast a blight on their plans. Mrs da Silva, although not exactly enamoured of Bernard’s choice of a bride, had bowed graciously to the
fait accompli
when Bernard asked his parents for their approval. There had been a young woman by the name of Carlotta Todd with whom Bernard had been involved for many years, the daughter of close friends of the da Silvas, and it had almost been taken for granted that she would be Bernard’s choice. Unhappily for her but happily for Letitia, the latter had swept Bernard off his feet when they met and Alicia had been forced to hide her disappointment at the sudden change of plans.

Carlotta, plain but warm-hearted, came from a well-connected family, but Letitia had dazzled Bernard with her glossy dark hair and challenging brown eyes. At least, thought Alicia, they would produce handsome children.

Letitia handed over her neatly written list and sipped her lemonade, arranging her features into a serene expression while she waited with churning insides for any adverse comments. They weren’t long in coming.

‘Oh my dear! I don’t see your mother’s name here, Letitia. It will arouse some comment, don’t you think? I know you are not on the best of terms but we must surely invite her and her husband.’ She looked at Letitia with raised eyebrows.

‘She will have to refuse the invitation,’ Letitia told her. ‘My sister Marie is going to stay with them and, as you know, she is seriously ill and it’s very likely that none of them will be able to attend.’ She had rehearsed the little speech and delivered it with what she hoped was genuine sounding regret.

‘How very sad. You must be heartbroken but it is quite understandable. They must all be sent an invitation – it’s simply etiquette  . . . and they must write back and explain. Now let me see who else you have invited. Jane Coldwell?’

‘I was at school with her. We’ve remained friends.’ In fact, Letitia had lost touch with her but Alicia need not know that. ‘She is always travelling so I shall use her most recent address.’ It would be useful if they
did
manage to reach her because then Jane could tell everyone how popular and how clever Letitia had been at the exclusive boarding school both girls had attended.

‘I see  . . . and Mrs Bray and daughter?’

‘Our very devoted housekeeper.’ Even to Letitia’s ears it hardly sounded impressive but she hoped it sounded compassionate.

‘Oh how kind of you, Letitia  . . . And the Wentropps and Henry Bennley (uncle) and Marion Tant. Let me guess! Marion Tant is your godmother?’

‘No, my godmother is dead, sadly. She was a great friend, actually, and would have loved to be present. I wish  . . .’

Alicia glanced past her and smiled. ‘Oh good, here comes Bernard! He can help us out. I’ve made out a list but he has a better memory than I do.’ She beckoned him with a wave of her hand. ‘Do come and join us, dear. Important decisions are being made.’

Letitia greeted him with a bright smile as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. ‘We’re going through the wedding lists,’ she told him, somewhat unnecessarily, but her hopes plummeted. He was sure to notice that Rose Paton’s name was missing whereas Alicia would probably have been none the wiser.

Alicia patted the seat beside her so that he sat down opposite his bride-to-be. Peering over her spectacles, she continued to study the list. At last she said to her son, ‘What was that young woman’s name, dear? The singer that performed at Marie’s birthday party.’ To Letitia she said, ‘My son was very impressed. Said she brightened up the evening.’

‘That was Rose, Mother. I forget her other name.’

They both looked at Letitia for enlightenment. ‘I’m afraid she won’t be able to attend, either,’ she told them firmly. ‘Marcus has persuaded her to accompany Marie to France. A paid companion. Really, the timing is unfortunate but poor Marie is so much worse.

‘Send her an invitation anyway, Mother. Even if she doesn’t come she will like to know she has been remembered. Such a lively soul. Full of that hard to find
joie de vivre
!’ Turning to Letitia he said, ‘You found her quite charming, didn’t you, dearest?’

‘I did indeed.’ She forced the words out. ‘Very  . . . theatrical.’ She turned to her future mother-in-law. ‘All fluttering eyelashes! In the best vaudeville tradition!’

Alicia’s eyebrows went up. ‘Really? Bernard thought she was very modest and quite charming considering her chosen ambition.’

‘She was certainly talented.’ Letitia’s mouth was dry. She longed for a change of subject but when it came it shocked her.

Bernard said, ‘We’re inviting the Todds, naturally. Simon and Nora Todd. Old friends of ours. I mentioned their daughter, Carlotta.’

Letitia felt a sudden coldness and her smile faltered. Not Carlotta! Bernard had assured her that the friendship was almost platonic except in the minds of the parents, but she suspected that Carlotta must have felt more for Bernard than she ever admitted. Or that Bernard admitted to
her
. There were photographs in the da Silva albums of the two as children growing up together and as young adults with their arms draped around each other. Childhood sweethearts.

Alicia gave her a sharp glance. ‘You don’t mind, I hope. The young romance died, Letitia, the moment Bernard met you! Of course Carlotta was devastated but she’s young and will find someone else eventually. These things happen.’ She sighed. ‘We haven’t seen her for ages but she appeared on Monday, quite out of the blue, which I take to be a good sign.’

And Bernard had not said a word about the visit! Letitia stared down at her hands which rested on the table but, seeing that they shook slightly, she put them in her lap instead while she tried to find something casual to say. She knew without looking at him that Bernard had deliberately not told her that he had spent time with his former sweetheart. For whatever reason. Had they been alone together? It was ironic, she thought, that while she, Letitia, had been uneasy about Bernard’s admiration for Rose, he had been keeping from her a meeting he had had with his former soulmate.

While she struggled to hide her emotions every second felt like an hour and the thought of a protracted lunch with the da Silvas was more than she could bear. She became aware suddenly that both Alicia and Bernard were staring at her anxiously.

‘Is something wrong, Letitia?’ Alicia was looking at her with concern.

Unable to speak, she shook her head and then, changed her mind and nodded. She would pretend to be unwell and would ask to be taken home.

Bernard understood only too well what was wrong and said, ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you. It was nothing, Letitia. She came to see Mother because she wanted to know what to buy us for a wedding present. You know what they say about “too many toast racks”!’

Letitia nodded, then put a hand to her head. He laid a hand on her shoulder but she flinched at his touch.

Alicia said, ‘You’re very pale, my dear. You must come upstairs and lie down. No, I insist. I shall bring up a damp towel for your forehead. Come along, Letitia.’

Too upset to argue, she allowed herself to be led upstairs and settled on the bed in one of the guest rooms. Alicia closed the curtains and placed a bottle of sal volatile on the bedside table.

As soon as she was alone, Letitia sat up and snatched up the restorative, removed the stopper and sniffed gently at the pungent fumes. Almost at once her head cleared and she thought quickly. She was not going to faint but she would remain there for ten minutes, claiming the approach of ‘a sick headache’, just to satisfy Alicia’s curiosity and maybe  . . .