A Week in Winter: A Novel (40 page)

‘Hi.’ Posy stood awkwardly in the sitting-room doorway looking across at Selina. ‘I was just wondering …’

Selina did not remove her gaze from the flickering screen of the television.

‘Wondering what?’ she asked indifferently.

Posy tried to quell a faint irritation. Since her arrival earlier she’d felt a distinct lack of enthusiasm for company on her mother’s part but she was determined to try to create a cheerful atmosphere.

‘I was wondering about supper,’ she said brightly, too brightly—rather as though Selina were half-witted or senile, ‘and thought we might go round to the pub.’

At last Selina turned to look at her. ‘To the
pub
?’

She sounded so incredulous that Posy was seized by a nervous desire to burst out laughing.

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘It would save us having to cook and stuff. I’ll pay. Come on, Mum,’ she said, almost pleadingly. ‘It’ll be fun. It’ll stop you moping.’

Even as she said the words she knew she’d made a terrible mistake.

Selina stiffened. ‘I happen to be watching television,’ she said icily. ‘What makes you think that I should be moping?’

Posy sighed and rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘OK, so you’re not moping. It’s just difficult to imagine anyone watching reruns of
Steptoe and Son
if they’ve got anything better to do. But perhaps you’re actually enjoying it. So if you don’t want to go to the pub what are we going to eat? There doesn’t seem to be much in the fridge.’

‘There’s plenty to eat,’ snapped Selina. ‘I’m not running a hotel, you know. You think that just because you suddenly deign to grace the house with your presence I should be killing the fatted calf.’

‘No,’ said Posy wearily. ‘No, actually, I don’t think that. I just thought we might try to have a fun evening together. Never mind. I’ll make us an omelette.’

‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Selina. ‘I’m not hungry.’

Posy stood for a moment, holding the door handle, possessed by an urge to scream loudly.

‘Mum,’ she said. ‘Mum, why does it have to be like this? I thought we might spend some time together. I’ve got tomorrow off and we could go shopping or something, and have lunch.’

Selina sat quite still whilst her pride, which had always made it so difficult for her to give in, to accept favours, to suffer indignity or criticism, battled with a desire to break down and admit her loneliness. But how
could she admit such a thing to her daughter; to Posy who had shamed her by taking Maudie’s side and, from babyhood, had wilfully flouted her mother’s authority? This was nothing more than pity that Posy was offering; humiliating, degrading pity. She’d probably tell Maudie about it, later. And here was another grievance. Maudie had Daphne staying with her. It was disgraceful that Daphne, Selina’s mother’s oldest and best friend, should have passed through London without coming to see her. She had gone directly to Devon without so much as a telephone call. Oh, she’d called earlier that evening from Maudie’s, said that she’d be in London in a fortnight and would love to see her, but by then Maudie would have told her all about Patrick’s defection. How they would enjoy it! All this passed through Selina’s mind as Posy waited for an answer.

‘Strange as it may seem,’ she said bitterly, ‘I have other plans for tomorrow. I do
have
a life, you know, although you might find it difficult to imagine. I can’t just drop everything because you suddenly decide to come home for a long weekend. Why should I?’

‘Why indeed?’ asked Posy. ‘I can’t think of a good reason. Great. I’ll do my own thing, then. See you around.’

The door closed and Selina sat on, her hands clenched in her lap, staring at the flickering screen. Harold Steptoe and his father were playing badminton and the studio audience were shrieking with laughter. Now Harold was missing the shuttlecock, falling over, getting cross, and the laughter was increasing, growing louder whilst, all the while, Selina, locked in the prison of her insecurity and pride, was regretting her lost opportunity, swallowing down her misery, the tears trickling down her cheeks.

All the way from Oxford, travelling on the Circle Line to Embankment, walking up The Strand and along William IVth Street to The Chandos, Mike was thinking about Posy. Ever since last Saturday, she’d occupied his thoughts, coming between him and his work, distracting him and puzzling him. Camilla had been beautiful, amusing, desirable and a boost to his ego but Posy was the stuff of every day: interesting, funny, kind, bossy, inquisitive, enthusiastic. There was a
durability
about her that was enormously attractive. For one so young she’d handled the situation at Moorgate with great tact. It hadn’t been easy for either of the women, given that there were so many sensitive areas, but he’d been impressed by
Posy’s ability to deal with it without either descending into sentimentality or creating an atmosphere of false jollity. He was too experienced to be unaware of her interest, yet even the chemistry which had tingled between them had not rendered her tongue-tied or coy.

As he went up the steps and into the upstairs bar of The Chandos he was prey to a sudden attack of nerves. Perhaps, today, she might be different; perhaps his judgement had been clouded by the extraordinary circumstances. He was early, so he bought himself a pint and went to sit in one of the window seats, thinking about Melissa. No doubt there were many sensible explanations for that strange, magical influence which had informed the whole day at Moorgate. He’d wondered if his creative instinct, the novelist’s sense of the dramatic, had provided that happy, peace-pervading quality. Melissa had been so much in his mind that it had been a terrific shock when Rob had announced that he didn’t want to stay at Moorgate. His own reaction had been one of anxiety lest Melissa should be hurt. It had been her great consolation, that Rob should have Moorgate; it had been her way of making restitution for misleading him. Yet, on reflection, it was easy to understand how he must be feeling. To be at Moorgate alone, to attempt to create, on his own, the home they might both have shared, was a heartbreaking concept. Melissa had not taken into consideration the essential fact that, without her, Moorgate would be a reminder of all that Rob had lost. That brief week in winter was not enough on which to build sustaining memories, yet her impact had been too great for him to be able to start a new life at Moorgate.

So far, Mike was in agreement—yet to buy Moorgate himself was a big step to take. It was a large house, fairly isolated, and a long way from London and Oxford and his friends. On the other hand, it was exactly what he’d been considering: a place in the country where Luke might grow up in a rural community. As he’d walked over the moor with Rob his own creative juices had begun to flow freely, excitingly, and he’d felt rejuvenated. After all, he need not fear isolation. His friends would be delighted to spend weekends in Cornwall and he’d have Rob nearby to ease him into the community.

Once he’d adjusted to Rob’s announcement, one level of his consciousness was telling him that this was quite right, that all the pieces were falling into place. Perhaps this was what had been intended all along. Given Rob’s decision, surely Melissa would have been delighted to think that Mike and Luke were at Moorgate, with Rob near at hand. As for
Posy … He was convinced that Melissa would have approved of Posy. In some ways they were alike: enthusiasm, inquisitiveness, an easy companion, these were qualities they both shared. Yes, Melissa would have liked Posy …

He turned, sighing, and saw her standing in the doorway, looking faintly anxious. As he stood up he saw her expression warm into eagerness and instinctively he held out his hand to her. She came quickly towards him and took it in her own, beaming at him, noticing his half-empty glass.

‘You’re early.’

‘Oh, that was quite deliberate.’ He grinned down at her, releasing her hand, pulling out a chair for her. ‘I needed to get a quick pint in to steady my nerves.’

‘Excellent,’ she said, pleased. ‘I like to see myself as a scary character. How’s Luke?’

‘Fine. I have a very motherly lady next door who comes round for the day if I really need her. She’s great.’

‘And does she mother you too?’

‘If I let her. I’m not really the mothered kind. Now what will you have to drink?’

She watched him go to the bar, his fair hair gleaming under the bar lights, his easy stance, the way he laughed at something the barman said. Once more a teasing memory flickered at the back of her mind; his resemblance to someone who had laughed just like that, with that same relaxed posture and in-built confidence. He came across to her with her glass and the menu and went back for his own drink.

‘This is fun,’ he said. ‘Now, what shall we have to eat?’

‘So now,’ said Maudie, on the Tuesday evening after Daphne’s arrival. ‘What about these photographs? We’ve been meaning to look at them ever since you arrived.’

‘The time has flown so fast,’ said Daphne, ‘and it’s been such fun,’ but she looked suddenly tired.

‘It seemed such a pity to waste the weather,’ said Maudie cheerfully. ‘I think we’re in for a wet spell now, though, and it’s quite chilly again. I think I was right to light the stove up only it seems such a luxury when it’s nearly June.’

‘Polonius is enjoying it,’ said Daphne, looking with affection at the recumbent figure. ‘He must be exhausted after that long walk this morning. I know I am.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Maudie, ‘which is why a nice, quiet evening looking at photographs is just what we need.’

There was a silence. After a moment, when Daphne had made no move, Maudie glanced at her in surprise. Daphne’s eyes were closed and her face wore a concentrated look, as though she might be praying. Maudie felt a spasm of fear. She leaned forward and touched her friend’s knee.

‘Are you all right?’

Daphne opened her eyes and smiled but her face was strained. ‘Yes,’ she said, but with a kind of sadness. ‘Quite all right. I’ll get them, then.’

‘Shall I go?’ Maudie was still concerned. ‘I can fetch them if you tell me where they are? Or would you rather leave it?’

‘No,’ she answered, quite firmly. ‘No, I think you’re right. The time has come. It’s been put off quite long enough.’

She got up and went out leaving Maudie staring into the fire, puzzled. Daphne’s choice of words held an almost ominous tone and Maudie was still frowning when Daphne came back holding several folders. She sat down again, holding them on her lap, looking preoccupied. Maudie watched her curiously. Presently Daphne shook her head and sighed.

‘Very well,’ she said, as though she had come to a decision. ‘Where shall we start?’

‘With young Tim,’ said Maudie unhesitatingly. ‘I’ve been saying for ages that I never see a decent photograph of him. He’s always blurred or has his back to the camera. I hope you’ve brought some good ones, Daffers.’

Quite spontaneously, Daphne began to laugh. She laughed so much that Maudie began to feel uneasy. It reminded her of another occasion when Daphne had laughed like that, years and years ago … after something Maudie had said about trusting her although she’d been Hilda’s oldest friend …

‘Sorry,’ Daphne was saying. ‘It’s simply so typical of you, Maudie. You always did go straight for the weak spot. It’s what makes you so formidable. Very well.’ She shuffled through the photographs, found one, held it for a brief moment and then offered it to Maudie. ‘That’s young Tim.’

Reaching for it eagerly, Maudie did not see the almost anguished expression on Daphne’s face. She scanned the photograph, looking intently at the young face which stared out at her.

‘What a nice-looking boy,’ she said approvingly. ‘How dark he is! Not a bit like the other two, is he?’ She frowned a little. ‘He reminds me of someone. Not Emily, certainly … Oh, I’ve got it. How extraordinary.’ She peered more closely, turning it to the light. ‘It’s Posy. He looks just like Posy when she was this age. She was so like Hector. In fact this reminds me of a photograph taken of him at just about this age. Isn’t that amazing?’

She glanced briefly at Daphne, still absorbed by her discovery, not taking in the consequences, until her friend’s silence, her utter lack of reaction, caught her attention. Still holding the photograph, Maudie looked again at Daphne. Her words seemed to hang deafeningly in the silence. Daphne raised her head at last and their eyes met in a long look: Maudie’s frightened, questioning; Daphne’s compassionate, desperate. Silence stretched
between them. Polonius yawned and shifted, settling himself more comfortably, and the clock wheezed out eight tinny chimes.

‘Hector?’ whispered Maudie. The fears and doubts of the last year crystallised into terrible certainties. Suddenly she was an old, old woman. ‘Hector and
Emily?

‘No!’ cried Daphne strongly. ‘Good God, Maudie. No,
of course
not Emily. Forgive me, Maudie. It was me.’

‘You had an affair with Hector,’ said Maudie slowly, painfully. ‘And Emily is his child.’

‘It had finished long before he met you,’ said Daphne quickly. ‘I swear to you, Maudie. There was nothing between us then. It happened after Selina had scarlet fever. She took a long time getting over it and Hilda and both girls went home to Hilda’s mother for a while. Hector was alone and … Well, it just seemed to happen.’

Maudie watched her bleakly. ‘You were in love with him.’

‘Yes,’ said Daphne, after a moment. ‘Yes, I was in love with him. Philip was a dear but he was so terribly dull. And then, you see, we couldn’t have children. Philip never wanted to discuss it. He was afraid it might be his fault, although I never accused him. After all, it might just as easily have been mine. I simply didn’t know although, by then, I’d quite given up hope of a baby. We both had. He was so delighted when I became pregnant. Hector was furious when I told him. I pretended that it might be Philip’s child but I knew it wasn’t and Hector knew it too. But I was so happy, you see, and Philip thought it was some kind of miracle, so we agreed to take the chance. I was terrified it might be a boy and look like Hector but I couldn’t have done anything else. A baby, after all those years of longing! But Hector was never in love with me, Maudie. He never pretended to be. We’d known each other for years, I was Hilda’s best friend, and there was an easy, careless intimacy between us. But just that once it toppled over into something more. It was crazy, a sudden madness. We both needed it, if you can understand what I mean. Hilda and Philip were good, upstanding people but oh, the joy of being with someone who liked to laugh and have fun!’