The Birthday Present (26 page)

Now Letitia said, ‘I thought I heard the telephone earlier, Miss Evans. Who was it? Anyone important?’ She spoke casually but Rose knew at once that she had hoped it would be Bernard even though she had insisted that she would not speak to him.

Miss Evans looked flustered. ‘No. It was a foreign gentleman and I’m sorry but I couldn’t make head nor tail of what he was saying so I put the telephone back on its rest.’ She set out cups and saucers. ‘Why do foreigners speak so fast? It’s impossible to catch their meaning most of the time. And there were crackles on the line, as though someone was walking on dried acorns.’ She shook her head. ‘If there’s one thing I hate it’s newfangled gadgets. I daresay the telephone has its place but it will be the end of good letter writing, you mark my words.’

‘A foreigner?’ Rose said. ‘A wrong number, probably.’

Letitia looked anxious. ‘I hope it wasn’t bad news from Wissant. Could this man have been French, Miss Evans?’

‘French? I daresay he might have been –’ she tossed her head – ‘but he might also have been German or Chinese or double Dutch!’

Rose said soothingly, ‘If it was important he will certainly ring again.’

No sooner had she spoken than another ringing sound echoed through the house but this time it was the front door bell and Miss Evans snatched up the tray and hurried to answer it.

What happened next startled both women as a man erupted into the garden room without invitation. He carried a bottle of what looked like champagne which he set down on the table. No one spoke and for a long moment he stared fixedly at Letitia then held out his arms.

‘At last! My beautiful daughter!’

Rose stammered, ‘Gerard? But what on earth  . . .’

Letitia had risen from her chair. ‘Gerard  . . . ?’ She stared at the stranger – a handsome man with olive skin and dark brown eyes; a man with hair as dark as her own and a manner that brimmed with confidence. Before she knew what was happening he stepped closer, put his arms around her and kissed her passionately.

‘No! Don’t!’ she cried, shocked.

She struggled to free herself and he at once took a step back. Still holding her at arms length, however, he was undeterred by her reaction. ‘So beautiful!’ he murmured. ‘
Mon dieu!
’

Letitia pulled herself from his grasp. ‘I don’t want  . . . that is, you have no right to  . . .’ She cast a desperate glance in Rose’s direction but received no help from that quarter.

Rose could see how delighted Gerard was to see his daughter and felt instinctively that probably this was his only chance to win her over. Letitia’s self-confidence was at a low ebb after Bernard’s rejection of her. Could her father save her from the despair she felt?

Gerard turned to Rose, his dark eyes shining. ‘Is she not beautiful, my daughter? My lovely Letitia?’

‘Yes, she is.’

Letitia was still shaking her head but words had failed her. Gerard released her but took hold of her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

He said ‘That man – this Bernard – ’e is an utter fool! First I make ’im pay for ’is disrespect and then  . . .’ His stern face broke into a smile. ‘And then I take my daughter ’ome to see her mother. Back to France,
ma petite
, where you belong. With Mama and Papa!’

Rose had also risen and she watched breathlessly as Letitia struggled with her confused feelings. She was obviously hugely impressed by her father’s unexpected arrival and his dramatic announcement, but from lifelong habit she wanted to reject him.

Rose, the memories of the farm at Wissant still fresh in her mind, was willing Letitia to give in gracefully to her father and take the chance of a new life.

Letitia hesitated. ‘Gerard, I  . . . that is  . . .’

‘Not Gerard!’ He scolded. ‘Papa! I am your father.’

Various expressions darted across Letitia’s face and Rose could only guess at the struggle going on in her mind. As she searched for words her father returned her to her chair and then, determined to stay close to her, pulled another alongside for himself. He gave Rose a brief smile and she hesitated, wondering if she should retreat and leave father and daughter together, but at that moment Miss Evans appeared, red-faced.

To Letitia she said, ‘I’m sorry but he pushed his way in!’

He turned to her at once. ‘Forgive me, Madame  . . . ?’

‘Miss Evans,’ she corrected him primly.

She, too, seemed fascinated by him, thought Rose, amused. Her own hopes were rising as Letitia had so far made no effort to send Gerard away. Rose could see the strong likeness between father and daughter, now that the two of them were together. The drama of the moment was not lost on Rose and it grieved her a little that she herself was not playing the main part. She envied Letitia this dashing father who had appeared from nowhere, eager to carry her off to France. Did Letitia know how lucky she was? she wondered enviously.

Letitia said faintly, ‘This is my father, Miss Evans.’

‘Your father?’ She stared from one to the other, grappling with the significance of the remark. Confused by her deductions she said ‘Oh  . . . should I bring another cup and saucer then?’

He said, ‘
Mais non!
We ’ave champagne! Please bring us three glasses, Miss Evans – and another glass for yourself! We will all celebrate, no?’

‘Oh!’ Flustered, Miss Evans withdrew.

Letitia murmured, ‘Champagne? Oh! Yes  . . . that is  . . . I don’t know  . . . Rose?’

Rose said quickly ‘Congratulations are in order! This is so exciting, Letitia!’

Before Letitia could change her mind and spoil the moment, Rose said, ‘I’ll give Miss Evans a hand.’

‘Thank you, Rose.’ She looked shocked by the speed of events but her face was flushed and Rose thought she saw what might have been the beginning of hope.

After Rose had left the room, she and Miss Evans lingered outside the door and heard him say, ‘You will love the farm, Letitia, and one day it will be yours. All of it. For you and your ’usband  . . .’

As Letitia stammered her doubts he said, ‘
Mais oui, ma petite! Certainement
. You will find a better man in France. Frenchmen know ’ow to appreciate a woman! The English  . . . !’

Rose imagined a Gallic shrug as he continued.

‘This Bernard is weak! Pah! I spit on ’im! If I meet him, I knock him down!’

‘Oh no!’

It was rather unconvincing, thought Rose.

‘
Mais oui!
I am your father. I should do this! Who else will defend you, eh?’

Rose rolled her eyes, imagining just how soothing his words must be to Letitia’s wounded pride, and she and Miss Evans exchanged delighted grins as they tiptoed further down the passage, the latter in search of four glasses.

Reaching the stairs, Rose rushed up to her room to tidy her hair and add a discreet touch of colour to her cheeks and lips.

It was Letitia’s big moment, she told herself cheerfully but she, Rose, should at least look presentable.

Two days later only Marcus and Steven remained at Victoria House as Gerard had whisked his daughter away and Rose was invited to go with them. Marcus could have gone with them but he knew they were safe with Gerard and he wanted to make sure that Steven kept his side of the bargain and, if invited, turned up for the interview at the Royal Military Academy in Woolwich.

Marcus had finally completed his project for Swan Lake and made arrangements to take the designs to the theatre the following week. A letter arrived for him later in the day and he read it carefully before taking it along to Steven who was lounging on the sofa in the garden room, reading an account which Colonel Fossett had lent him, about the only Royal Artillery battery to be involved at Lucknow. Marcus was pleased to see that as the time drew nearer, Steven’s interest in the army was growing and his arguments against enlisting no longer dominated their conversations.

Steven glanced up. ‘You ought to read this, Marcus. All about the regiment. Widen your horizons! This chappie who won the Victoria Cross – he was only a captain. Captain F.C. Maude from the Royal Artillery. His was the only Royal Artillery battery at Lucknow. Colonel Fossett was there – all those years ago. He was a very junior officer then. It was a good show! Damned good!’

‘I’ll have a look through it,’ Marcus told him, ‘but at the moment there’s some news from closer to home.’ Marcus handed him the letter he had just received. ‘It’s from the da Silvas. I don’t know what Letitia would make of it. I’d like to know what you think?’ He sat down opposite his brother and watched as Steven began to read aloud.

Dear Marcus, Please forgive us for not being in contact before now but as you can imagine, life has been very difficult here  . . .

Marcus said, ‘As it has here!’

 . . . and after the terrible business in the church we felt unable to face the rest of the world. Now, just as we hoped life might one day return to something akin to normality, we have to face another shock. Our son did not come down to breakfast this morning and we found a note on his bed. He and Carlotta have eloped without a word of warning  . . .

He glanced up at Marcus. ‘Good God! Is Bernard quite mad?’

Marcus shrugged. ‘This Carlotta seems to have her claws in him. It all seems a bit hasty. Thank heavens Letitia is miles away. The details will leak out as they always do and everyone will be talking about it. Another juicy scandal!’

Steven read on.

We have no idea where they are and I suspect it will be some time before we hear from them. Suddenly we have lost our son and the realization is hard to bear. Our world appears to be falling apart and my husband is in a state of collapse. I am at my wits’ end. I’m sure this news will not make your own difficulties any lighter but I thought you should be aware of the latest development. Sincerely and with deep regrets, Alicia da Silva  . . .

Steven whistled with exasperation as he handed back the letter. ‘I feel for them.’

Marcus nodded. For a while they were silent.

At last Marcus said, ‘Do you think he really preferred her to Letitia?’

‘Who knows?’

‘Maybe Gerard was right and he
is
a weak man. Maybe Letitia is better off without him.’

Steven frowned. ‘They may well disinherit him. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. I wonder what Carlotta’s family think about it. Damned awkward for them, too.’

‘The question is, Steven, what shall we do about the letter? Letitia will have to know eventually.’

Steven frowned. ‘Yes, but is this a good time? It might upset Letitia and Marie only has a few weeks left.’

‘I think maybe we should save it until later – but only if you agree.’

Steven gave it some thought and nodded. ‘You’re right. I agree. Let’s do it.’

As Marcus stuffed the letter into his pocket it dawned on him that this was the first time he had consulted with his brother on anything important to the family and that Steven had handled it well. As he turned to go he said impulsively, ‘Thanks, Steven.’

‘For what?’

‘Oh  . . . you know. A problem shared  . . .’

Steven’s face lit up. ‘Two heads are better than one – remember?’

‘I’ll remember.’ Marcus grinned and was suddenly aware that a weight of responsibility had lifted from his shoulders. Steven was going to make it in the army, he decided. Somewhere, somehow, a corner had been turned.

Across the Channel, Letitia and Rose had risen early, because Jean-Philippe had decided to show them his village and this needed to done before he took his boat out for the afternoon’s fishing. The village of Wissant was small but compact and centred round a large square where the fishing boats were parked between trips. Jean-Philippe did his best with very little English but Letitia had learned some French at her expensive boarding school many years earlier and somehow she now managed to translate Jean-Philippe’s rapid conversation for the benefit of Rose.

‘Launching the boats is difficult off this stretch of shore,’ she told Rose, ‘especially when there is a wind like today so the boats are wheeled into the sea on the trailers, and because there is no safe place to leave them between trips, they are wheeled back up the slope to the square and parked there until needed again.’

As she spoke, Letitia was trying, tactfully, to withdraw her hand from Jean-Philippe’s. Rose didn’t know whether to be amused or jealous. She was so accustomed to being the star attraction with her blonde curls, blue eyes and pretty features that it was a shock to realize that Gerard’s friend had eyes for no one but Letitia. Mortified, she found herself trailing round in their wake as he hurried them through the main street which contained several small shops.

‘
Boulangerie!
’ Jean-Philippe pointed to it.

‘Bakery,’ Letitia translated for Rose’s benefit.

‘
Boulangerie
– bakery.’ Rose nodded.

Jean-Philippe said, ‘
Hôtel!
’

‘Hotel,’ Rose echoed. ‘Even I can understand that one!’

They stood by the river and stared across the millpond, listening to the rush of water as it was scooped up by the large wheel and returned, splashing and gurgling, to the river.

Letitia took a deep breath and said, ‘
Est-ce que c’est le moulin?
’

Jean-Philippe nodded, beaming with pleasure at her grasp of his native tongue.

Letitia rolled her eyes at Rose. ‘I asked “Is that the mill?” and it is.’

‘
Moulin
– mill.’ Safe in the knowledge that their guide spoke so little English, Rose added, ‘I think he has taken a fancy to you, Letitia.’

‘Oh no!’ She blushed. ‘I am done with men. All men!’

They came to a parked boat from which the fisherman was selling his catch to a small queue of local people who, hearing an unfamiliar language, were watching the foreigners with cautious interest. They greeted Jean-Philippe with ready smiles and willingly made way for him as he bought some mussels and a crab. These he presented, roughly wrapped in a cloth, to Rose with rapid French which almost defeated Letitia.