The Birthday Present (12 page)

There was a knock at the door and Bernard came in with the damp cloth his mother had promised.

‘I have a sick headache coming on, Bernard.’ Hastily swinging her feet to the floor, Letitia stood up. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to go straight home—’

‘No wait, dearest. This is all my fault! I was going to tell you, Letitia – not that there is anything to tell. We didn’t know she was coming and I was on my way out at the time. She—’

‘Bernard, stop. I don’t want to hear anything about it. My head aches. It’s nothing to do with Carlotta. If you want to see her, you are free to do so. I have a sick headache and talking like this is making it worse.’

He regarded her helplessly – or, she wondered, did he look guilty?

‘Letitia, there is no reason at all for you to imagine—’

‘I’m not imagining anything. You told me you never felt anything for her other than affection but your mother spoke of a “young romance” and says Carlotta was “devastated” when you met me! Is it any wonder if I’m a little confused? Is it any wonder that I now have a thumping headache  . . . and as for Rose!’ With horror she realized that her voice trembled and she was on the verge of tears. She had said so much more than she intended. Whatever would he think of her? She risked a glance at his face, saw that her wild words had disconcerted him and hastily looked away.

‘What on earth has Rose got to do with this?’ he asked. ‘We were talking about Carlotta. I’m trying to explain how it was between us. We grew up as children together and were very good friends. I had no idea that her feelings towards me had changed because she said nothing to me.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I was naive but I didn’t realize that the parents were hoping we would one day marry.’

‘And you had given her no reason to think you loved her?’ It was intended as a plea for reassurance but it came out like an accusation. Letitia took another sniff at the sal volatile
.
She must stay calm, she told herself. Calm and reasonable.

‘You’re saying I led her on? Really Letitia, I never thought to hear you say such a thing.’ His tone was indignant.

She looked at him desperately. This was turning into their first ever quarrel, she realized, and she could not bear it. If only he would understand how much she needed reassurance. First Rose seemed to be a threat waiting ‘in the wings’ and now it was Carlotta! She was panic-stricken. ‘So what did you decide on?’ she asked. ‘When Carlotta came to ask for advice about what she should give us?’

He looked puzzled and then his face cleared. ‘Oh nothing, really. We just talked about this and that.’

‘And I suppose she asked if you were happy?’

He considered. ‘She did, as a matter of fact. How did you guess?’

Letitia drew a long breath. ‘Because if I loved you still I would want to know if there was the smallest chance that you were regretting your decision. I would make a last desperate attempt to change your mind – even at this late stage.’

She saw then, with a sickening clarity, that he recognized the truth of what she was saying.

‘What does it matter what she wanted or  . . . or why she came? She had her answer.’

‘Are you sure you convinced her – that you loved me?’

‘I’m sure.’

She could not read his expression. ‘What exactly did you say to her?’

‘That we were very much in love and that we had never exchanged a cross word.’ He looked at her reproachfully. ‘I may have added that we trusted each other.’

Frozen with a mixture of relief and regret, Letitia stared at him wordlessly – relieved that he had convinced Carlotta that he had never loved her but full of regret that she had revealed her own fears of rejection. For a long time neither spoke. She thought that if Bernard turned from her and walked from the room she would know that she was not forgiven. It would be all over.

Instead he held out his arms and she stepped into their familiar warmth and clung to him. But in spite of his belated words of reassurance Letitia’s heart raced and the panic refused to subside. It felt to her at that moment that something had changed between them and a shadow had been cast over their once bright future.

That evening, several hours after Letitia had gone home after a very subdued lunch, Bernard looked up from the evening paper to see his mother bearing down upon him. He had expected it and folded the newspaper and set it aside.

‘We have to talk, Bernard,’ his mother began, settling herself on the nearest sofa. ‘Your father and I need your reassurance about your forthcoming marriage. I am not insensitive, Bernard, as you know, and I sense that all is not well. Talk to me.’

A large tabby cat had followed her in and now jumped up on to her lap. Alicia picked it up, said ‘Not now, Tabsy!’ and dumped it ceremoniously on to the floor. ‘Shoo!’

Offended, the cat ran from the room and Bernard wished he could do the same.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ he began. He had spent hours wondering how much he dare tell his mother and he had come to no conclusions.

‘Then answer me this. Why
did
Carlotta call in the other day? Was it only about the wedding present? My intuition says it wasn’t. I thought it odd at the time but let it pass.’

Bernard ran anxious fingers through his hair.

‘Bernard! Talk to me!’

‘No, it wasn’t only that. She  . . . Carlotta wanted to know if I really was in love with Letitia.’

‘And you told her  . . . what exactly?’

He avoided her gaze. ‘I hesitated and she at once—’

‘You
hesitated
?’ Appalled, she sat up straighter, clutching her necklace. ‘Good heavens, Bernard. Have you taken leave of your senses? A hesitation speaks volumes! How could you have been so foolish? The poor young woman must have thought that you had doubts! Don’t you see that? What did she say?’

‘That she still loved me and  . . . and that it wasn’t too late. She would forgive me for everything and we could make a fresh start.’

‘Oh Bernard!’ She fell back in the chair, staring at him. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. Only weeks before the wedding and everything arranged. Your father will be furious when he knows.’

‘Why does he have to know? Why can’t it stay between the three of us?’

As his meaning became clear, hope shone in her eyes. ‘You didn’t tell Letitia all this?’

‘No. I lied to her. Does that please you?’

Alicia thought about it, a hand to her head. At last she said, ‘What did you say to Carlotta  . . . exactly?’ He hesitated and she groaned. ‘Oh Lord! You didn’t give her hope, did you?’

‘Of course not. I said that it was much too late to change things and that I do love Letitia but  . . . but that I hoped she would always remain my dearest friend. My closest friend.’

His mother now had one hand protectively across her throat. She was shaking her head slowly from side to side. ‘Tell me you didn’t say you hoped she and Letitia would become friends!’

‘Why ever not, Mother?’

‘You
did
!’

‘You are being melodramatic!’ he said irritably. ‘You know how I hate it when you do that!’

‘And you are being extremely optimistic, Bernard, not to say foolhardy. Answer me this question with total honesty – did you tell Carlotta that you still loved her?’

He jumped to his feet and stared down at her, his face reddening. ‘I may have said something of the sort but  . . . I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. I think I said I loved them both in different ways. Something tactful like that. I’m not a complete idiot although you obviously think I am!’ He was glaring at her now. ‘What the hell does it matter what I said to her? I’m marrying Letitia and that’s the end of it. Carlotta understands that. She was very reasonable about it. Now I really can’t take any more of this  . . . this inquisition. Excuse me!’

He turned and almost ran from the room, through the house and out into the garden. He headed for the summer house where he threw himself down into one of the faded chairs. ‘Well Bernard,’ he told himself, ‘that didn’t go so well, did it! First Carlotta, then Letitia and now Mother! You’ve upset everyone except Father but Mother will now upset him!’

The cat appeared and looked up at him warily. Bernard stared down at him. ‘Where did we go wrong, Tabsy?’ he asked shakily.

The cat blinked and, with a deep sigh, Bernard leaned down and picked him up. At once the cat settled down in his lap and began to purr and as he stroked it, Bernard wondered enviously if he would ever feel that happy.

As soon as Rose had sent Marcus back to his family, she set off in the direction of Garret Street where the landlord lived at number seven. To her surprise she was invited in by an elderly lady who led the way to an ornately decorated sitting room, severely shaded by heavy curtains in faded brown and only one gas light which flickered and spluttered as if it was on the verge of going out. On the mantelpiece a large mahogany cased clock showed the time to be three minutes to one although Rose knew it was much later.

‘My son will be with you in a moment,’ the old lady announced. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘Er  . . . I’m very well, thank you.’

‘You’ll never regret the lessons, you know. Everyone says that. It’s quite an asset in later life.’ She clasped her mittened hands and nodded encouragement.

Rose began to think that she had come to the wrong house. ‘I’ve come to see Mr Granger, the landlord of number twenty-three Albert Street.’

‘Ah! A landlord, is he? Nothing surprises me. I always said he could turn his hand to anything. He was only eleven when I said to my husband, that boy has the potential to  . . . Oh, here he comes.’

Footsteps sounded in the passage and the door opened to admit a tall, thin man. He regarded Rose with surprise.

‘I’m Rose Paton, the daughter of your tenant at twenty-three Albert Street. My father  . . .’

‘Oh yes, of course. Arrested for receiving. I remember you – you’re his daughter.’ He regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity. ‘You take after your mother, I assume.’

His mother interrupted eagerly. ‘She’s come for her lesson, William. I was just telling her that playing the piano is an asset you will always appreciate. I started to play when I was six years old  . . .’

He shook his head. ‘Mother, that was William. He taught the piano, not me. He died. Do try to remember.’

‘William died?’

‘Yes. I’m Herbert, your other son. Now please go and give Mrs Lake a hand in the kitchen while I sort out this little problem.’

Although he spoke kindly, the old woman looked at him fearfully. ‘Herbert?’

‘Yes, Mother.’ He held the door open for her.

She said, ‘How silly of me.’ To Rose she said, ‘I get a bit muddled these days.’

Rose smiled. ‘Life can be a bit of a muddle for all of us.’

‘Off you go, Mother.’

‘Yes, dear. I’m going.’ She smiled at Rose and whispered, ‘Good luck with the lesson. You’ll be fine.’

Rose, already feeling fraught, fought down an urge to cry for the second time that day. Was there anyone in the whole world who was not feeling lost and bewildered, she wondered, and began to consider her visit here a mistake.

Herbert Granger said, ‘Sit down, Miss Paton. You’ve come about the rent arrears, I assume.’ He waited for her to sit, then followed suit. He chose a high-backed chair and crossed his legs. ‘The bailiffs are due at your house at eleven tomorrow morning. If you are in you will be able to discuss with them which furniture they remove. If not they will have a key and will remove  . . .’

He speaks nicely, thought Rose, and he dresses well. Reluctantly she was impressed, both by his appearance and his manners. His trousers were well cut from good quality cloth and his high-collared white shirt was spotless. His shoes shone and his fingernails were neatly manicured.

She heard herself ask the all-important question. ‘How much do we owe?’

‘In monetary terms it’s sixty shillings, which is three pounds.’

‘I can’t pay it. You know that my father has been arrested? He may be  . . . away for some months.’ He nodded, his face stern. ‘I have an idea, Mr Granger. I shall have to find other accommodation – a rented room – and will not be needing any of our furniture. Neither will my father for the foreseeable future.’

He raised his eyebrows and Rose felt that he was impressed with her little speech and she at once felt a small surge of confidence. ‘This is my suggestion, Mr Granger. If you work out the value of
all
the furniture, you could deduct what we owe, keep all the furniture – since I have nowhere to store it – and give me the difference.’

If he was surprised he hid it well. ‘And why should I do this?’

‘Because then you could rent out the house as furnished instead of unfurnished and I could use the money to start paying the rent for a furnished room somewhere.’ She had Connie’s spare room in mind. ‘It would be to your advantage as well as mine.’

He was watching her closely without giving any clue as to his possible answer. At last he said, ‘What do you do for a living, Miss Paton? When you are not negotiating financial deals, that is.’

‘I’m an artiste, Mr Granger. My stage name is Miss Lamore and I sing. If you want to find out more come to Andy’s Supper Room Monday, Wednesday or Fridays.’ She added untruthfully, ‘I’m something of a favourite, although I say it as shouldn’t!’ It wasn’t exactly a lie, she assured herself, because she certainly
would
be a favourite before long. She rather hoped he would check up on her one evening. It would be fun to spot him in the audience. He might even call out to her during the applause. ‘Well done, Miss Lamore!’

His eyes widened. ‘An artiste? A
favourite
artiste! Well, well!’

While Rose was trying to decide whether or not he was mocking her, the door opened and his mother came in.

She said, ‘Oh sorry, William. I was looking for  . . .’

He said, ‘Miss Paton is a singer, Mother, in a supper room. Isn’t that exciting?’

‘Oh yes, dear, very exciting. Mrs Lake says to ask you  . . . ?’ She frowned.

Rose jumped to her feet, unwilling to watch any further confusion. She would be old herself one day, if she lived long enough, and this glimpse into old age was not encouraging. ‘I have to go,’ she told the landlord. ‘May I have your answer, please?’