Still Waters (47 page)

She half expected Andy to object, but he nodded thoughtfully. ‘Grand idea. But first we’ll get ourselves a cup of coffee at Lyons. All right? And later, we’ll go and have a hot meal somewhere. How about the Bell?’

‘Oh well, we’ll talk about a hot meal later,’ Tess said guardedly. She had heard things about the Bell Hotel, and suspected that nice girls didn’t go there. But she found it reassuring that Andy wanted to take her to the Bell
before
hearing about her mother because he had no idea that Leonora had been – well – unwise, so he certainly wasn’t judging Tess by anyone’s actions other than her own. Yet nothing I’ve done could possibly lead Andy to believe I’m that sort of girl, Tess reminded herself. Dear me, is it possible that boys simply hope that any girl they come across is that sort of girl? It seemed perfectly possible, judging from the things she heard Ashley – and others – say.

The bus drew in to Castle Meadow and the two of them got down. Andy tucked Tess’s hand into the crook of his elbow and led her back across the wide road and down Davey Steps, through Davey Place and on to Gentleman’s Walk. The market, looking oddly bare without the stalls, stretched before them, the city hall and the red-brick clock-tower gazing benignly down.

‘In we go,’ Andy said as they reached the imposing portals of the restaurant. ‘It’s quite empty . . . it’ll give us a chance of a chat, Tess.’

And very soon, comfortably seated in a dark corner with a jug of hot water, a pot of coffee and a couple of improbable-looking cakes, Tess began.

‘Well, I got friendly with Freddy Knox, one of the girls in my class at school, and she invited me back to her home whilst Daddy and Marianne were in France . . .’

By the time the coffee was finished and the cakes no more than a memory, the story was told, right down to the moment in the churchyard when she had fled, screaming abuse, from the hateful Ashley. Andy listened without comment but at the end of the recital he reached across the table and squeezed her hands.

‘Oh, Tess! But in a way, didn’t you find it rather reassuring? At least you knew the worst, you knew why your father wouldn’t tell you much about your mother. He would have felt he was letting everyone down – you, Leonora, himself . . . even the fellow, whatsisname . . . Ziggy.’

Tess stared at him and then found herself beginning to smile.

‘Andy, you are wonderful!’ she said. ‘I must be the stupidest, blindest person in the whole world, because I never saw it like that, not once! Of course you’re absolutely right, it wasn’t that Daddy didn’t want to talk about my mother, it was because once he started he would have had to give too much away. Oh,
poor
Daddy!’

‘That’s it. And telling you that you weren’t his little girl . . . well, it would have hurt both of you, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes,’ breathed Tess. ‘And I wouldn’t have understood when I was small, either. I might have talked about it . . .’

‘To the wrong people,’ Andy agreed, nodding. ‘Kids can be awfully cruel; your father didn’t want you called names. But Tess, you don’t
believe
your mother killed herself, do you?’

‘I – I’m not sure,’ Tess muttered, suddenly not wanting to meet Andy’s straight, golden-brown gaze. ‘Some old man who was on the beach thought she jumped . . . but that’s pretty flimsy, really. To tell you the truth, that’s the bit that hurts most – the idea that she didn’t care for me enough to stay around.’ She laughed uncertainly. ‘Is that abominably selfish and conceited of me? I wouldn’t have said it to many people, Andy, but I don’t mind saying it to you; you know me so well!’

‘It isn’t selfish or conceited,’ Andy said decidedly. ‘It’s just practical; all parents want to see their children grow up and I’m absolutely certain Leonora was no exception. And as for me knowing you well, after nine years it’s a wonder that I know you at all! You must have changed, Tess – I’m sure I have!’

‘No you haven’t,’ Tess protested. ‘You’re taller and you aren’t thirteen any more, but you’re the old Andy, really you are. Aren’t I the old Tess?’

‘Do you know, I believe you are?’ Andy said. ‘How lovely . . . my favourite little playmate has turned into my favourite young woman.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Tess said at once, feeling foolish. ‘Anyway, now you know how far my investigations went. Just far enough to frighten me off.’

‘What about Ziggy? Aren’t you curious about him?’

Tess shook her head. ‘No; how could I be? I’ve got – I had – the best father in the world, it would be disloyal to be interested in Ziggy. Why are you looking so disapproving, Andy?’

‘Because denying facts seems to be your long suit! Look, you exist because of two people, Leonora and Ziggy. You’ve found out a bit about Leonora – it is only a bit, sweetie, even though it’s a very dramatic bit – and nothing at all about Ziggy. Half of you is his, Tess, you should be a little interested. After all, it isn’t as if the poor bloke went off and left Leonora to manage alone, he was killed! So follow through, girl! You won’t feel at ease with yourself until you’ve discovered the full story, you know. That churchyard; was Ziggy buried there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tess muttered. She was plaiting the ends of her scarf into a cat’s cradle which would, she thought guiltily looking down at it, take her hours to unravel. ‘I was only looking for Leonora.’ She looked hard at Andy. ‘You don’t think it’s disloyal to Daddy to – to dig around a little?’

‘I think you won’t be truly at ease until you’ve got the whole story,’ Andy said. ‘You won’t understand Leonora unless you make an attempt to understand Ziggy, and I believe when you do understand her, you’ll know definitely that she didn’t commit suicide, couldn’t have done. And now, kiddo, let’s make tracks for this museum of yours!’

On the bus going home it was as if the nine years apart had never happened, as if they had grown up together, lovingly, and were just beginning to settle into a new and better relationship. Sitting demurely on the back seat of the bus, with Tess squeezed into the window corner, they held hands and talked with their heads close together, discussing how they would spend the next couple of days before Andy had to go back to France.

‘We should try the churchyard, see if we can find Ziggy’s grave,’ Andy said. ‘And talk to the oldest inhabitant . . . schoolmasters, postmen, farm hands, anyone . . . and you see, we’ll get your parents taped by the time I have to go back.’

‘I don’t believe we’ll ever find the boy I dream about, though,’ Tess said wistfully. ‘I used to think he would have the answer to all my questions, particularly whether she fell or jumped out of the boat.’

‘She wouldn’t have jumped,’ Andy said firmly. ‘Banish that thought, sweetie. First thing tomorrow we’ll go over to Blofield and start asking questions. I’ll do it if you are afraid of breaking your cover.’

‘Oh . . . Blofield! Well, yes . . . it might be awkward, though.’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake? Just because you stayed there a few years ago doesn’t mean everyone will remember you! Anyway, it’s a free country still, just about. You can go where you like!’

‘Oh yes, but . . . the Knoxes, you know. They might think me very rude to visit their village and not them.’

‘Knox, Knox,’ Andy said. ‘Now where have I heard that name before?’

Tess knew she ought to say that Ashley Knox was the bloke with the reddish hair who had been such a help at the funeral, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it; Ashley was a friend, but compared to Andy a very recent one. In fact, you could say that Ashley was just an acquaintance, her friend’s brother, she told herself. Why muddy the waters by bringing him into it?

‘You’ve heard the name because Freddy Knox is my old schoolfriend,’ she said patiently, therefore. ‘And her parents and brother were at Daddy’s funeral yesterday. Don’t you think it might be better to leave the churchyard for the time being – I mean what about death certificates and things like that? We know Ziggy died some time between . . . hmm, hmm . . . well, say three to six months before my birth. Couldn’t we . . .’

‘Find the grave and we find the dates,’ Andy insisted. ‘Tell you what, the Globe does decent sandwiches, we’ll go there and have some lunch. Sweetie, I’m only home for another couple of days, I want to get you sorted out before I leave.’

‘Oh, all right,’ Tess said, bowing to the inevitable. Besides, Ashley’s leave finished this evening so there was a good chance that she might escape detection. Not that she cared what Ashley thought, only it could be awkward. ‘Our stop coming up, Andy!’

They bundled off the bus into the chilly, windy darkness at the top of Deeping Lane. Andy, who had jumped off first in order to catch Tess, turned her neatly and put his arm around her waist and Tess was just laughing, telling him that he would do better to get out his torch, for it was a moonless night and their eyes were not yet used to the dark, when the rays of a flashlight shone full in her face and a voice spoke in her ear, frightening the life out of her.

‘What’s going on here? Let go of her at once – at once, d’you hear me?’

Andy was still fumbling for his own torch but, the first shock over, Tess knew all too well who had addressed her. Nemesis – or Ashley, rather.

‘Shut up, Ash,’ she said crossly. ‘This is an old friend of mine – if you’ll kindly shine your torch on your own face then I’ll introduce you.’

‘Old friend! With his bloody arm round your waist!’ Ashley loomed up out of the dark and caught hold of Andy’s coat collar in a far from friendly grip. ‘I’ll give the bugger old friend! Let go of her at once, you bounder!’

‘Who is this, Tess?’ Andy said. His voice was cold, insultingly so. ‘If it’s a friend of yours, tell him to stop making a complete ass of himself. Unless, of course, the pair of you are secretly married, I see no reason . . .’

Ashley swung out, a vicious punch which whizzed harmlessly past Andy’s head as he ducked. Tess screamed, then swung her gas-mask case as hard as she could at Ashley’s middle. It landed with a
wump
and Ashley grunted, then came on again, trying to grab Andy, trying to push Tess behind him . . . It was impossible to know just what he was trying to do, save that it was aggressive.

‘Secretly married, is it? I’ll give you secretly married . . . she’s my girl, isn’t she? We’re going to be married, of course we are, so you can keep your filthy, thieving paws off her . . . go on, bugger off, go back to whatever slum you crawled out of!’

Tess couldn’t believe it. This was Ashley the urbane, Ashley the sophisticate! He went for Andy again and she swung her gas mask harder, this time catching Ashley a resounding blow round the ear.

‘Ouch!’ Ashley grabbed for the gas-mask case, then seemed to decide that attack was not, perhaps, getting him very far. He abandoned Andy and seized Tess by one arm. ‘Come along, my girl,’ he said breathlessly. ‘We don’t want to hang around here, whilst this – this blighter tries it on. Let’s get home.’

Tess tried to wrench herself free, but finding this impossible, she grabbed a handful of Ashley’s hair. She tugged hard, Ashley released her arm and grabbed a handful of her hair and Andy suddenly started laughing.

‘Dear God, what’s all this about?’ he said, between snorts. ‘Who is this madman, Tess? We’ll
all
go home, that’ll be best.’

‘Let – go – of – my – hair,’ Tess said between gritted teeth. ‘Or I’ll never speak to you again. Ashley, do you hear me?’

It was difficult to see in the dark, with the torches swinging madly, but Tess fancied Ashley was shamed into letting her go. At any rate let her go he did, and he didn’t try to grab her again as she set off along Deeping Lane at a cracking pace. Instead, he hurried along beside her, now and again snarling some expletive in Andy’s direction but not attempting to lay hands on her.

They reached the Old House and Tess pushed open the back door and almost collapsed into the kitchen. Uninvited, Ashley followed. Andy was close behind.

Marianne was standing at the stove, stirring something in a large pan. Cherie was sitting at the kitchen table, probably doing her homework – at any rate she had books spread out and a pencil in one hand. Both looked round as the back door opened; two mouths fell open, two pairs of eyes rounded with astonishment.

‘Hello . . . what on earth . . .?’

‘This – this
person
got off the bus with your daughter, Mrs Delamere,’ Ashley said. His hair hung over his forehead and his face was red and at some stage in the argument he had apparently trodden on his scarf, which was extremely muddy and hung round his neck by a whisker. ‘I don’t know what he’s doing in your kitchen but he followed us . . .’

‘Rubbish,’ Tess said briskly. ‘Ashley followed
us,
Marianne. We got off the bus and he started shouting – I really do believe he’s taken leave of his senses at last. He was most abusive to Andy, he grabbed hold of me . . .’

‘Am I or am I not in love with the girl, Mrs Delamere? I’m about to ask her to be my wife, I’ve hung around the house all day waiting for her, and then she comes off the bus with this . . . this wretched youth and shouts at me for daring to – to tell him he’s not wanted!’ Ashley swung round and glared at Andy, then addressed Tess in a softened tone. ‘Darling, you know how I feel about you . . .’

‘And you know how I feel about you,’ Tess shouted, absolutely furious with Ashley and no longer wanting to hide it. ‘You don’t bloody well own me, you’ve never asked me to marry you in your life and if you did you’d get a dusty answer! And now, to paraphrase you, would you kindly
bugger off
and let me and my friend have our supper in peace?’

Cherie’s gasp was one of sheer astonishment; Tess, who never swore, could guess what the younger girl was thinking but when she looked at her, Cherie’s eyes were sparkling, her mouth smiled.

‘Tess . . .’ Marianne murmured, clearly as surprised as Cherie, but less amused. ‘What is all this? Who . . .?’

‘It’s me, Mrs Delamere; Herbert Anderson. Remember?’

‘Andy!’ Marianne’s smile was genuinely welcoming. ‘How lovely to see you after so long. You really have grown up!’

‘I remember you,’ Cherie put in. ‘You used to come over the Broad in a row-boat. You and Tess got lost once, Daddy had to get the car out and go searching . . . my, there was trouble!’