A Week in Winter: A Novel (6 page)

She stared at him. ‘We were his children. Some of the money came from Mummy’s side. Why should she have it? Even Moorgate came from Mummy’s family, not Daddy’s, and now she’s going to sell it. What right does she have to sell my mother’s house?’

‘We’ve been through this so many times,’ said Patrick wearily. ‘You’d have preferred Maudie to be left with nothing, wouldn’t you? After more than thirty years of marriage you’d have liked her to have been cut out of his will altogether. Good grief. What sort of man do you think your father was? He tried to be fair, despite your efforts, and you can’t complain now if Maudie needs some cash. You of all people should understand. You spend enough!’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, take it any way you like. Your father left you well provided for, one way and another. Let Maudie do as she pleases with what’s legally hers.’

‘You know how I feel about Moorgate …’

‘Do I not!’ He got up abruptly. ‘I’m going down the pub for a pint. Don’t wait up.’

The door closed behind him but Selina remained seated, her face blank, distracted for a moment from her grievance. This going down to the pub after some small scene or other was becoming a regular occurrence. A trickle of suspicion wormed its way into her mind and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Patrick had been touchy of late; unsympathetic, uninterested in her problems. Now, with Posy away at college, it was as if something—some commitment, perhaps?—had reached its end and he’d become withdrawn, indifferent. It might simply be that he was missing Posy, of course.
She’d always been his favourite and it was odd—and certainly very quiet—without her. Nevertheless … Suspicion, once roused, was not to be too easily dismissed. Patrick had always been careful, alert to his wife’s moods, anxious to placate, to soothe. Selina frowned. There had been precious little soothing this evening. Patrick knew very well that Moorgate was her own vital link to the past; the place of happy holidays with her parents.

She shifted restlessly, folding her arms beneath her breast, hunching her shoulders. It was thoughtless of him to leave her at a time like this when he might have guessed that she’d want to talk. Patrick had once been very sympathetic; very ready to try to understand what it must be like for a girl, hardly out of childhood, to lose her mother; and then to have her replaced by a sharp-tongued woman with no maternal qualities or sensitivity. Since there was nobody to observe, to react, Selina saved herself the trouble of tears. Her thoughts were with Maudie again, with Moorgate, and her face grew sullen. Somehow the sale must be prevented. She would speak to Patricia, to the boys; surely, between them, something could be done? If everyone contributed then maybe they could buy the place themselves. Selina brightened, picturing the scene. What fun it would be to own the old house; to use it for holidays and to invite the gang for weekends. Of course it was rather a long drive from London but it could be managed—and how impressed they’d be. It was a pity that Patrick had insisted that part of her share of the house in Arlington Road must be used to pay off their mortgage but there was a little left, enough to put down as a deposit perhaps.

A sound of whining, a scrabbling at the back door, broke into these pleasant plans and her face grew surly again.

‘Shut up,’ she muttered. ‘Bloody animal.’ She raised her voice. ‘Be quiet!’

The whining ceased for a moment, to be replaced seconds later by a deep-throated bark which rang round the courtyard and echoed up the quiet suburban street.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ She hurried across and opened the door. Polonius barged past her, padding into the kitchen and through to the living room, looking for Posy. He ignored Selina’s shouted order to sit until, satisfied that Posy was not at home, he subsided on his rug in the corner, his mastiff’s wrinkled face sad.

‘You’re for the chop,’ Selina told him furiously. ‘If Posy doesn’t come up with something soon, you’re going.’

At the sound of his mistress’s name Polonius’s ears cocked hopefully but, realising that she was not going to appear, he settled, groaning. Meanwhile, Selina had given herself an idea. Posy loved Moorgate. She, too, would be devastated to hear that Maudie was selling it. Perhaps Posy could influence Maudie, persuade her to drop the price, bring pressure to bear.

Selina thought: I must be subtle. Posy loves Moorgate but she also loves Maudie. Perhaps I’ll give her a buzz. Tell her that Maudie’s put it up for sale.

She went to the telephone, her mind busy preparing phrases, Patrick quite forgotten. She found her address book and leafed through the pages, looking for Posy’s Winchester number. Presently she lifted the receiver and dialled.

Patrick was also speaking on the telephone, wedged against the coats which hung in the narrow passage which led to the men’s loo, hunched so that he might be as private as possible.

‘I had to speak to you.’ He pressed the receiver hard against his ear so as to shut out the noise of the busy pub. ‘I just had to. I’m missing you. How are you? … I wish I could be with you … I know. I’m trying to be patient but I’m not certain what we’re waiting for … OK, OK, but I need to see you … No, I don’t mean tomorrow at school, I mean properly … Really? For a whole weekend. Oh God, that’s absolutely wonderful … Of course I want to, you idiot. Oh, that’s fantastic … Let’s go away somewhere, shall we? You get so little chance with Stuart, as a rule, and if he’s being well looked after and having a lovely time, too, you won’t feel guilty or anxious … I don’t care much, do you? As long as we’re together … Not too far out of London, though. We don’t want to waste too much time just driving … Oh, must you go? Is he? OK then. I love you, Mary. See you tomorrow.’

Maudie replaced the telephone receiver and went into the kitchen to pour herself a drink. She needed something a little stronger than tea or coffee after her conversation with Selina, and there was some Chablis left;
more than half a bottle in the pantry. She poured a glassful, shocked to see that her hand was trembling a little.

‘I’m getting old,’ she muttered. ‘I’m getting old when a run-in with Selina can really upset me.’

She took her wine and went back to the sitting room. A series of chill, damp evenings had made up her mind to light the wood-burning stove and the room was cosy and welcoming. The curtains made of heavy Indian cotton, double-sided in rich blues and faded red, were drawn against the dark, and the carved wooden wall-lights, with cream, parchment shades, glowed warmly. Maudie’s passion for fabric was evident. The faded, comfortable sofa was partially covered by a velvet, tasselled, garnet-coloured shawl, and a plaid rug in soft lambswool hung on the back of the fireside chair. On the stool beside the chair a mass of multicoloured wool spilled out of a rush basket. Several skeins were rolled together, whilst two sturdy wooden needles were stuck, points first, into a huge ball of the nubbly, hand-dyed wool which had been partially knitted up.

‘But will you ever wear it?’ a friend had asked, looking cautiously at the first results.

‘Oh, no.’ Maudie had been amused. ‘I knit for fun, for the feel of the wool and the glorious colours. I shall give it to a charity shop when it’s finished.’

Books lined the shelves either side of the fireplace whilst the wall opposite was almost covered with paintings, sketches, watercolours which Hector had collected from all over the world. Thick, silky rugs from India were thrown on top of the plain, fitted carpet, and a French clock, delicately painted with pastoral scenes and edged with gilt, ticked throatily from its shelf above the fire.

Maudie sat down and stared at the flames which flickered behind the wood-burner’s glass door. It was foolish to be upset. She’d guessed that the news would rake up Selina’s grievances from the past, would bring down upon her head the familiar accusations, yet she felt unsettled. It was odd that now, when for the very first time she was in a position to call the tune, there should be no true pleasure in it. Moorgate was her own, to keep or dispose of, as she wished, yet any sense of power was absent. There had been none of the usual pleasure in irritating and annoying Selina; none of the satisfaction in being the victor; only this rather empty, weary depression. Her eye was caught by Posy’s card, standing on the shelf beside the clock, and she remembered the plea that she should give Polonius
a home. She was filled with horror at the thought of his great form, lumbering about, but she also knew that Selina would carry out her threat of rehousing him. Selina’s great strength—and it was this which made her a formidable opponent—was that she never hesitated to implement threats.

Sipping her wine, Maudie knew that it was impossible, now, to offer Polonius a refuge without it being partly a guilt offering. She knew that Posy cherished a dream that one day she might live at Moorgate with some gorgeous man and a brood of children and, however reasonable and adult Posy might be about the sale of the house, Maudie felt sad that she must be the one to shatter her dream. She feared the possibility that Posy might think that the relenting in her refusal to give Polonius a home was a sop to her own conscience. She’d had her own dream—that she’d be able to leave Moorgate to Posy—but the cost of living dictated otherwise and at least she’d be able to invest some money for Posy to help her later on. Meanwhile she could help her out with Polonius and if Posy detected some hidden agenda, well, there was nothing to be done about it. Anyway, she had to be told about Moorgate. Sheer courtesy had obliged Maudie to tell Selina about it before she spoke to Posy but the idea of Selina getting in first with her version sent Maudie hurrying to the telephone again. A breathless Posy answered.

‘Hi, babe,’ she said warmly. ‘Great timing. I’ve just this minute walked through the door. How are you? Did you get my card?’

‘I did,’ said Maudie, who still found it difficult to get used to the idea of being addressed as ‘babe’, ‘and I’ve decided to give Polonius a try.’

She winced as Posy shrieked at the other end of the line, smiling despite her heavy heart.

‘That’s so great!’ she was saying. ‘Oh, that’s really cool. Oh, Maudie, I’m just so grateful. Mum was being really mean last time we spoke. Listen. Can I bring him this weekend?’

‘Well.’ Maudie blinked, taken aback. ‘Well, why not. But how?’

‘Jude is coming down to the West Country for the weekend to see friends in Exeter. I told you about Jude, didn’t I? He’s doing the drama course too. Well, he’s got an old estate car for carrying props about and stuff. We’ll be able to fit Polonius in the back. Oh, this is so fab. We can get up to London to fetch Polonius on Friday morning and be with you by about teatime. Jude can pick me up on his way back on Sunday. Is that OK?’

‘That’s fine.’ Maudie swallowed and took a firmer hold on the receiver.
‘Listen, Posy, I’ve got some disappointing news. I’m having to put Moorgate on the market.’ Silence. ‘I know how you feel about it, my darling, but I simply need the money. I promise you I’ve done my sums and thought about it long and hard, but The Hermitage needs a new roof and there are other things … I’m so sorry, Posy.’

‘Oh, Maudie.’ It was clear that Posy was struggling to come to terms with it. ‘Oh, how absolutely bloody.’

‘I know. Don’t think I want to do this, Posy. If there were any other way …’

‘I know. Of course I know that, Maudie. You love it too. Oh, hell… Hang on a sec. What?’ Maudie could hear muffled voices in the background. ‘Oh, OK … Look, Maudie, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Friday and listen, babe, don’t worry too much about Moorgate. We’ll talk about it then. Bless you for Polonius. Love you lots. ‘Bye.’

In tears Maudie sat down again by the fire.

‘Oh, Posy,’ she murmured. ‘I love you too.’

It was only after Posy and Jude had left, driving away after tea on Sunday afternoon, that Maudie fully realised the true benefit of having Polonius to live with her.

‘I’ll get down as often as I can,’ Posy promised, hugging her goodbye. ‘Honestly. Oh, if
only
I had a car then I could get down midweek sometimes. I don’t have any lectures on a Wednesday so I could come down on Tuesday night. That would be really fab. Maybe Jude will lend me his car.’

Jude, a small, slight boy with a sweet smile, shook his head. ‘No chance.’

Posy glared at him. ‘He’s so selfish, Maudie,’ she grumbled. ‘Don’t be taken in by those old-fashioned good manners. He’s as tough as cow-hide and wily as a serpent.’

Maudie looked at Jude, eyebrows raised, and he winked at her, jingling the car keys, waiting good-humouredly for Posy to make her farewells.

‘You forget,’ he said, ‘that I saw you arrive at Hyde Abbey Road in your mother’s car. I watched that little scene which took place when you attempted to park it and I sympathised utterly with the poor man whose motorbike you crushed.’

‘I did
not
crush it!’ cried Posy indignantly. ‘I barely touched it. Only enough to knock it off its silly support thingy. It wasn’t even scratched.’

‘She drew a crowd,’ Jude said to Maudie. ‘Thirteen manoeuvres it took, everyone helping her on with word and gesture, solo and chorus, and even then she managed to bash the bike.’

‘Shut up,’ said Posy, grinning unwillingly. ‘I was planning to ask if I could borrow Maudie’s car and now you’ve ruined everything.’

‘Nobody borrows my car,’ said Maudie firmly. ‘It’s too old and capricious.’

‘Very wise.’ Jude nodded at her. ‘Hold fast to that decision. Posy has no sympathy with mechanical things and no patience at all with inanimate objects. She’s broken the video, dented Jo’s wok, and the microwave will never be the same again since she attempted to cook spaghetti in it.’

‘Kill!’ said Posy grimly to Polonius, pointing at Jude. ‘Kill. Lunch. Go on, savage him.’

Polonius wagged his tail, tongue lolling, and Jude laughed. ‘But she’s great with dogs. Sorry to break up the party but we really ought to be going.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be OK, Maudie?’ Posy looked anxiously at Polonius. ‘I’m certain he’ll be good.’

‘Oh, he’ll be good,’ said Maudie cheerfully. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Off you go. It’s been lovely to see you.’