A Friend of the Family (32 page)

In fact, he was much as he had always been. Jon's presence allowed them to be perfectly natural together with no chances of intimacy, and the evening was a very happy one. They were able to laugh about
Polly's dreadful experiences at Lower Barton and Jon entertained them with stories of life in the Foreign Office. He and Freddie arranged to take her to the Elephant's Nest as a return run and they parted with hugs and great relief on the part of Freddie and Polly, both of whom were now convinced that they had been overreacting and that, given time, things might well work out after all.

The summer passed quickly. George and Thea came home for occasional weekends and Miranda and Tim drove over regularly for supper or a Sunday lunch. Freddie always made up the foursome and still any really intimate behaviour between him and Polly was held at bay. Because both were afraid of it they had drifted into a close affectionate relationship in which sex seemed to be entirely left out. Pondering on this, Polly found it very strange. She liked Freddie enormously but physically she wasn't interested and on the few occasions—generally when she had had too much to drink—that she decided to let the barriers down a little, she felt that his response was almost automatic: rather as if he thought she expected it rather than because he desired it. Once, when he made a voluntary approach, all her feelings of revulsion rose to the surface and she turned it away as best she could without hurting his feelings.

They were happiest in the company of others and Tim and Miranda were delighted to oblige. Polly was the only young woman of their acquaintance with whom Miranda felt that Tim could be trusted and she was always happy to go to the Old Station House and to have Polly and Freddie back to Broadhayes. Between Tim and Polly a secret, tacitly understood flirtation arose consisting of private little caresses and long looks. It was quite harmless but they enjoyed it and it lent spice to the rare moments they had alone. They exchanged no words but let each other know by glances and touching that, were things different, it would all go a great deal further. So discreet were they that not even Miranda suspected anything and Freddie saw nothing at all. Sometimes Tim dropped in on Polly and then, after a happy hour or two of relaxing nonsense and a few glasses of wine, they treated themselves to a lingering embrace, a long exciting kiss, before
Tim left. They both felt pleasurably heated and uplifted by their shared attraction and comforted as well. It allowed them to feel that, given the right circumstances, they could be happy and fulfilled and it helped them to come to terms with the failures they were experiencing in their other relationships. Neither looked further than their stolen kisses or admitted that there might be danger in their affection for each other.

In August Thea came home with Amelia to prepare for the birth of her baby. She was delighted to be back in her beloved home with Jessie and Percy and she and Polly settled into a quiet, happy period together. They pursued a gentle peaceful routine of unhurried days, tended by Maggie, who brooded over Thea like a mother and looked after all of them with an unusual tenderness. In the hot, heavy afternoons they sat beneath the shade of the old beech trees, whilst Amelia played with Jessie at their feet, and talked softly or gazed languidly into the green foliage moving and rustling above them. Sunlight dropped in gold coins on to the rug where Amelia lay, curled now in sleep, and on to Jessie's broad back. Sometimes Harriet came over with Hugh and the baby, James, and it began to feel that they would be locked for ever into this timeless enclosed world. Even Freddie did not attempt to intrude upon them, finding the atmosphere strangely distressing, the concentrated essence of woman and motherhood, almost claustrophobic.

At the beginning of September, calmly and easily, Thea produced her second daughter, Julia. George flew home for a few days and for a while there was upheaval, his voice seeming loud, his footsteps heavy, in this household of women and children, and, when he left, the four of them settled back quite gratefully again into their ordered existence. So the summer died away into autumn and Christmas approached when George would return and, after the festivities, take Thea and his daughters back to Brussels.

 

Thirty-three

 

IN THE SPRING, WHEN
Polly had been at the Old Station House for just over a year, several things happened that made her think long and hard about her life. Thus far, she felt that all decisions concerning her future could be postponed until George and Thea returned, which was still a year away, and she had settled very happily into this strange way of living with a parrot and a dog, having a boyfriend whom she did not desire and conducting a flirtation with another woman's husband. Marcus Willby dropped by from time to time and once, after a very long boozy lunch, she told him the whole story of her life. He had laughed and laughed and called it the History of Mrs Polly and she had been very hurt and then had laughed with him. She enjoyed his visits, which had none of the brotherly flavour of her relationship with Freddie or the ‘living on the edge' sensation she experienced with Tim. Marcus was so complete, so together, so relaxed. She had discovered that he was divorced, had a son at university, and that he lived in Richmond, but generally they talked about her and about Percy's growing reputation. Thea's books were doing very well indeed and ‘Percy the Parrot' soft toys, T-shirts, china and other things were under discussion.

It was Marcus that Polly thought of first on the sunny May morning when she opened the letter that came from Paul asking her for a divorce. He told her that he wished to marry Fiona and suggested that they should meet to discuss the situation: perhaps she would like to come to Exeter for the day? Her heart jumped and bumped in alarm as she stared at the letter. She folded it, pushed it back into its envelope,
took it out again and reread it. Divorce! Well, it was hardly a surprise. She had never thought that Paul would want her back and even if he did she wouldn't want to go. Nevertheless, it made her face the future, wonder what would happen to her when Thea and George came back and needed her no longer. She went out on to the platform and sat on the seat where Thea had sat six years before wondering if George would go back to Felicity. Jessie wandered out behind her and pottered off down the track. Polly felt a great sense of loss. It occurred to her at that moment how desperately she would miss the Old Station House, her chats with Percy, the comforting presence of Jessie's considerable bulk and Maggie's friendship. She was overwhelmed by a stab of jealousy. How lucky Thea was to have all this as well as George and two beautiful daughters! Why should some people have good fortune thrust into their hands and others continually miss the boat? Striving to be just, she remembered how Thea had fought Felicity, holding on to all that she held dear, and remembered how easily she, Polly, had surrendered Paul to Fiona. She, too, had had a home and a husband and could have had children if she had so wished. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't the same but suspected that she envied all these things simply because they belonged to someone else and if suddenly, magically, they became hers, they would lose their charm.

So what did she want? She thought about Freddie, wishing that she could find him as physically attractive as she found Tim, and sighed heavily. First things first. She must see Paul and talk about divorce. Her stomach churned nervously as she imagined the scene. Where would it take place? Would Fiona be there? At the mere thought of it Polly rose to her feet and began to pace the platform. She wished it were a Maggie morning. Maggie would display solidarity and lend support but Maggie could not show her a future. Where would she go and what would she do? She attempted to stop this flight into panic by reminding herself that it was another year before George and Thea would be home for good. The important thing was to take advice regarding this proposed meeting but whom should she ask? Freddie
would be at the clinic or out on call at this time of the morning but it might be possible to talk to Tim. He had given her the number of his business line as well as his private number and she decided that she would try to have a word with him without involving Miranda. He answered at once, sounding so preoccupied and businesslike that Polly floundered a little. As soon as he realised who it was his voice changed and became much more intimate. Somewhat incoherently she explained her dilemma.

‘Don't go to the house,' said Tim at once. ‘You must meet him on neutral ground, just the two of you. And don't let him talk you into things. Look, we can't discuss this over the telephone. I've got to come down to Plymouth tomorrow afternoon. I'll come in on the way back.' He hesitated for a moment. ‘I shan't say anything to Miranda,' he said. ‘See you tomorrow. Fiveish.'

He hung up and Polly was left wondering whether he meant that he wouldn't tell her about Paul's letter or the fact that he intended to visit the Old Station House, although she knew perfectly well in her heart that by ringing him on his business line she had tacitly indicated that this was between her and Tim. She felt strangely nervous and found herself unable to relax, wandering to and fro, up and down, until she could bear her own company no longer and telephoned Freddie, who had just got in. She told him about the letter without mentioning Tim and he agreed at once that she should have some plan before she met Paul. He asked if she would like him to come over but she felt so jumpy that she decided a walk would do her good and she arranged to be with him in an hour or so.

Freddie replaced the receiver and stood in a brown study. He felt as if something momentous had occurred and that he now stood at the edge of a precipice. But why a precipice? He loved Polly, he was sure of it. So why these feelings of terror? Perhaps they would both be happier if they were committed to each other instead of continuing with this rather odd relationship they'd drifted into during the last year. He swallowed once or twice and took several deep breaths. He must offer her the support she would need now to face divorce proceedings
and her own future. Freddie hurried into the kitchen, went to the cupboard and poured himself a large Scotch. He gulped it down and poured another, watched with interest by Charlie Custard.

‘It's all right for you, old man,' muttered Freddie. ‘God, wish I was a dog!'

 

WHEN TIM ARRIVED THE
following afternoon, Polly was still reeling from her session with Freddie who, fortified with several large Scotches, had proposed to her in ringing, positive tones and implied that if she didn't accept he would know that she'd been leading him on and playing with his affections. After several drinks she had found herself agreeing with him and only when he put his arms around her and, puffing great breaths of whisky in her face, attempted to kiss her did her old fears return. The ν were both rather relieved when Charlie Custard, assuming that Polly was attacking Freddie, started to bark so excitedly that they were obliged to draw apart. Polly, fearing further approaches might be forthcoming and seeing that Freddie was in no fit state to give her any sensible advice, said that she must get back and promised to telephone in the morning. When the morning came she lost her nerve and was pacing restlessly up and down the platform when Tim arrived.

He came towards her looking vital and alive, gave her a hug and then caught her close and kissed her. Ever since she had telephoned an idea had been growing in his mind. A different man might long since have followed up Polly's readiness to flirt with him and the unspoken acceptance of mutual attraction with a suggestion that they become lovers. It would have been easy enough with Polly alone at the Old Station House. Tim, however, was no philanderer. Nevertheless, he was so infatuated by all the qualities about her that were so un-Mirandalike that he felt suddenly inclined to throw caution to the winds.

Oh, Polly,' he said. ‘I've been thinking and thinking. If there were some way round it without hurting Miranda too much, d'you think you might marry me? She's been so strange lately that I'm beginning to wonder if she wishes that we'd never met. I know she isn't happy
and nothing I do can seem to put it right. I'd have to talk to her, of course. I've thought of nothing else since you telephoned. You don't have to answer now. You'll have lots on your mind for the moment. I just wanted you to know how I feel.' He kissed her again whilst she stood limp and unresisting in his arms. ‘Poor Polly. You're exhausted. Let's talk about this meeting with Paul and how you must approach it. You haven't got a drink somewhere, have you?'

Stunned by Tim's declaration, mesmerised by his concise explanations and instructions on how she must approach Paul and having drunk almost a whole bottle of wine, she agreed to everything and it was only when she crawled into bed that she realised she had now agreed to marry both Tim and Freddie as soon as she had obtained a divorce from Paul.

The next morning, after a night spent in sleepless anxiety, she did what she had meant to do in the first place. She telephoned Marcus Willby.

‘What shall I do?' she wailed, having poured out the whole sorry tale. ‘I've got to meet Paul and talk about divorce without letting him bully me and now I've agreed to marry Tim and Freddie.'

His roars of laughter, even at such a distance, comforted her. ‘You're lucky that it's a Friday,' he told her. ‘I'll drive down this evening. I'll book a room at the Bedford and be with you in the morning. And don't speak to anyone else until I get there.'

Polly replaced the receiver feeling comforted. She wasn't quite certain what Marcus would do but she felt much better and decided to spend as much of the day as possible out of the house.

‘I shall go and see Kate,' she told Percy. ‘I like Kate.'

‘Plain Kate and bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst,' quoted Percy glumly and gave a loud squawk.

‘It's no good, Percy. I daren't stay in. Tim or Freddie might telephone and I don't want to speak to either of them at the moment. I promise I won't be too long and Maggie'11 be here in a minute.'

She telephoned Kate, who told her to come straight over, and, fearing that talking even to Maggie might confuse her further and that
it was wise to take Marcus's advice, she collected her things and hurried out to the car.

 

WHEN JON TELEPHONED EARLY
on Friday morning and asked if he could come for the weekend, Freddie felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He could barely remember what he had said to Polly, having decided to finish the bottle of Scotch after her departure. He woke the next morning feeling terribly ill and with the strong presentiment that he was a doomed man and wondered what the next step would be. He spent the day with a hangover and in the evening took the dogs for a long walk while he tried to sort out the appalling jumble in his head.

The thought that Jon was coming enabled him to struggle through the day and when he saw the now familiar car pulling in through the gate he hurried out accompanied by Charlie Custard.

‘I can't tell you how glad I am to see you,' he said, relieving Jon of his overnight bag. ‘Come on in. Kettle's on. Or would you prefer a drink?'

‘I'd kill for some coffee,' said Jon, pausing to give Charlie Custard a hug. ‘You sound a touch fraught. What's been going on?'

‘Oh well.' Freddie put Jon's bag down on a chair and shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. ‘It's been one of those weeks. You know.'

Jon looked round the cluttered friendly kitchen and smiled a little. ‘I do indeed. I can't tell you how nice it is to be back. It's very good of you to let me escape to you like this. Makes London possible.'

‘You're always welcome,' began Freddie, making coffee, and then paused.

It struck him that if he married Polly and brought her here, his weekends with Jon—lazing about, endless chats, going for long walks, evenings at the pub—would be a thing of the past and he suddenly knew that he would miss them dreadfully.

‘What's the trouble?' Jon was sitting at the table with Charlie Custard leaning heavily against his leg.

Freddie continued to make the coffee, his movements slow and heavy. ‘I've been an idiot,' he said at last. ‘I've proposed marriage to Polly and I've just realised that it's a ghastly mistake.'

‘Has she accepted you?' Jon's voice was calm and he continued to stroke the great dog beside him.

‘I think so.' Freddie gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘I had to get myself tanked up to do it and I can't remember much about it. I shouted a bit so as not to lose my nerve.'

He put a mug of coffee beside Jon and shook his head in despair.

‘Poor Freddie.' Jon reached for his mug. ‘You are in a muddle, aren't you?'

‘I thought I loved her,' explained Freddie, sitting opposite with his own mug, ‘but when it comes to anything physical it doesn't seem to work. I'm just not very good with women. And don't tell me it's because I haven't met the right one.'

‘I wouldn't dream of telling you anything of the sort. It's much simpler than that.'

‘Is it?'

Freddie looked up and across at Jon and suddenly it all became very simple indeed. He flushed a dark red but kept his eyes on Jon, who continued to smile at him. The world shifted a little and clicked into place. They sat quite still looking at one another and Freddie felt a great tide of peace and happiness slowly engulfing him.