Who Was Angela Zendalic (33 page)

When Ted had left, Peggy sat staring into space. Why? Why? Why, when her life had become so happy and contented did there have to be a black cloud to foul things up? The result of tomorrow's actions would result in Angela being brought back to No.56 in a dreadful state of misery. Would Edie then come barnstorming home with a self-satisfied, ‘I told you so' face, with her sleeves rolled up to take full charge? She, herself, to be elbowed out, back to her usual role of kind and loving old Auntie. On the other hand, with Angela being cheated and deceived, how could she stand by and do nothing. To let her live in ignorance and to have her heart broken in the fullness of time. After a great deal of stomach churning debate she knew she had no choice; she would have to accompany Ted on his mission to ruin Angela's life.

Angela, beaming with delight, was now carrying what the midwife declared to be a thumping great prop forward. She heaved awkwardly around the tiny kitchen, laid out cups and saucers, and produced a plate of cheese straws. ‘Let's have elevenses and we'll go over and see the house. Everything's finished and Piers has signed it off. I can't wait to show you the nursery. It's just wonderful ...' She chattered on, seeming not to notice their fixed jaws, and lack of animation from her most welcome guests, but with the coffee poured it soon became obvious they weren't joining in with happy enthusiasm.

‘Is there anything wrong?' she said, looking at each of them with a smile, and a bemused question in her eyes.

Ted nodded. ‘Thing is, love, there's actually some bad news.'

Her eyes closed. ‘Oh, no. Not mum and dad.'

‘No darling. No-one's died or become ill. It's about Piers.'

Her face fell. ‘What about Piers? I was only talking to him on the phone an hour ago. He's been up all night working on a score.'

Ted set his face in an expression of grave sorrow. ‘It's really bad news.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake, Uncle Ted. What are you talking about?'

Sucking in his bottom lip he tried to look as wise as a judge. ‘The thing is I saw Piers yesterday lunchtime in a country pub. Miles out in the sticks, so it was just by chance. He was with a woman, and I mean
with
a woman. Faces close up and holding hands.'

‘Don't be silly. It couldn't have been him.'

‘It was him. He didn't see me, though.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘I'm sorry, but it's true.'

Angela leapt to her feet. ‘This is nonsense,' she shouted. ‘Complete rubbish. All you're doing is making trouble. You're as bad as mum. You don't like him either, do you? You've just been pretending until you found an opportunity to destroy him.' With Ted and Peggy preparing themselves for a collapse into wailing tears, they were stunned to hear her strong voice, and to see her straight back and determined jaw. ‘Right,' she snapped. ‘We're going to sort this out. I'm getting him on the phone.'

Ted and Peggy exchanged looks of shock. ‘Angie, love,' said Ted. ‘I'm not lying. I saw what I saw. Why don't you come home with us? To stay with Auntie Peg. He's not worth it.'

‘Mind your own business,' she bellowed, lifting the phone and dialling furiously. ‘Good morning,' she said with a bright and normal voice. ‘I need to speak to Professor Penney very urgently. Can you put me through ...Oh, I see. What's the time now? Look, when he gets back will you tell him that Miss Zendalic is on her way to the King's Arms with her auntie and uncle. An urgent problem's cropped up that we need to discuss right away. Thank you very much. Goodbye.'

She slammed the phone down. ‘He's gone to Trinity to see someone, but he'll be back in an hour. I've made arrangements to meet him at The King's Arms. That's all of us. Get this stupid rubbish scotched once and for all. I know you thought I'd collapse in a heap, but I won't. It's all a load of phooey. Come on, then. Get your coats!'

April 2014
Monks Bottom

W
ithin
a few days of posting the letter to Michael Zendalic I received a reply, and my hands shook as I stood to read it.

Dear Sarah

It was with great interest that I received your letter. I think I might have some basic knowledge about Angela Zendalic, your mother, so perhaps I'd better explain our family situation first.

Your information about my relatives is correct. My grandfather Rudolph Zendalic came to the UK at the aged of sixteen, with his parents Boris and Anya, around the turn of the century, as Jewish refugees from the lower Caucuses of Russia. His elder brother died on the voyage, and the younger one soon after they arrived. The family settled in the east end of London, where all three of them worked as machinists in the clothing industry. Rudolph and his first wife Nancy had a son born in 1907, my half-Uncle Stanley, and Nancy's death in 1918 was reported to be from the famous post war 'flu epidemic. Rudolph remarried to my grandmother, Lily, in 1919, and their only son was indeed, Arthur, my father (b.1920). He married my mother Marjorie in 1946, and they emigrated to Canada soon afterwards. I was born in Montreal the year after, the eldest of three children. I came to the UK for the first time in 1962, with all my family, to attend the funeral of Granddad Rudolph, and to see something of the UK for the first time. It was at the funeral (in London), that I met my half-Uncle Stan, his wife, Auntie Edie, their daughter Brenda and her husband, Norman. Uncle Stan worked as a master printer at the Oxford University Press in Oxford, and would have been in his mid fifties at the time.

Now this is the part that will be of interest to you. The story I remember was that Stan and Edie had an adopted little girl (who was not there). I think she would have been about eight or nine at the time. I don't remember her Christian name, but she would have been known as Zendalic, so I am wondering if this little girl was Angela.

My family returned to Canada soon after the funeral, and I'm sorry to say that we didn't stay in close contact with my Uncle Stan's family. I only came to live in the UK last year, with Linda, my second wife (originally from Cumbria), who had inherited a smallholding where we now live. We'd been very successful dog breeders in Montreal, so we decided to move our business over here. I have only been in brief contact with my cousin Brenda, but I do intend to meet up with her one day soon, to catch up with news of her side of the family.

Now, it's certain that Brenda (Brown as she is) can tell you much more about her adopted sister – hopefully Angela. Stan and Edie, of course, passed away many years ago, but Brenda is now in her eighties, a widow, and she told me she lives a fit and independent life in a sheltered flat in Bournemouth. I attach her address and phone number, but if you would like me to contact her first I will pave the way for you.

I do hope that I have been of some help. Do let me know the outcome, and if you are ever this way Linda and I would be pleased to offer you our hospitality.

With very best wishes

Michael Zendalic

Adopted! Adopted! I gaped as if mesmerised. Of course! It
had
to be Angela, and that explained the mystery. She'd have been registered at birth with another surname. So how old would she be now? Eight or nine in 1962 ...that would make her ...my head was in such a stew I could hardly do the maths. Born 1954, so she'd be sixty. Hardly old at all. I
had
to find her. My sisters and I had arranged to meet up at The Hall in two days time for ‘the final big clear out', so I'd produce the letter and discuss my next move.

We'd spent the morning walking from room to room, each armed with coloured stickers, on a ‘who wanted what' mission. So far there'd been little dissent, with our strict rules being a ‘coloured balls in a bag' draw for any items in contention. Also agreeing there'd be no sulks from the losers. Carrie, with her huge Victorian pile, was happy to take some furniture, and the twins, with their London flats, were pleased to have some of the artefacts and pictures. With my share of the house sale I knew I could buy something much bigger, so I readily put my sticker on lots of things, including the baby grand and ‘
The Broad and Narrow Way'
. But I'd have much rather it all stayed exactly where it was, and Pa was in the kitchen making the coffee.

It then came to the ‘naughty nude' painting that I suspected we'd all want, but Carrie broke some surprise news. ‘Actually, Sarah, Gerry only told me this morning that Pa's left it to you. There's some provenance with the Solicitors that you'll see soon.'

‘Me? Why me?' I said. ‘I don't get it.'

They all shrugged. ‘Only Pa knew that one,' said Cass, 'but we don't mind. It's only one item in a thousand that we've got to deal with.' Yes. We were reminded, once again, of what we were having to do, feeling sick to our stomachs at being forced to dismantle and destroy the lives of our parents, and our lifetime of happy memories.

After lunch, over a glass of wine, I produced the reply from Michael Zendalic, followed by gasps and open mouths, with all of them pitching in with what I should do next. The universal decision was that I wrote a polite, formal letter to this Brenda Brown, carefully requesting more details of her adopted sister. ‘I'll have to be terribly careful,' I said. ‘As we've said before, I might be stirring up a real hornet's nest.'

‘Well, write it now. While we're all here,' said Cally.

I went to the computer, finding that a short letter is the most difficult one to write, but I ended up with the following.

Dear Mrs Brown

Please forgive me for contacting you ‘out of the blue' but your cousin, Michael Zendalic in Cumbria, has given me your contact details.

I am seeking information about a person called Angela Zendalic, whom I am hoping is your adopted sister. Angela is my natural mother, and I have only recently discovered this fact after the death of my father, Sir Piers Penney, the composer and conductor. It was a huge shock as you can guess. I was hoping you might be able to put me in touch with her, or hear the full story of her relationship with my father.

I would appreciate any information you have, and would very much like to be able to talk to you (and her) in the fullness of time.

Yours sincerely

Sarah Penney

I read it out and they agreed that ‘everything I needed to say, was said,' and that ‘the ball was now in her court'. I found an envelope and a first class stamp, and would post it on the way home.

When they'd gone, having made plans for a girly weekend at Champneys next month, I pedalled off home with a broad smile. A certain very lovely gardener had offered to pick the boys up from school, and to take them back to the cottage. And had we got permission from Father Crowley to associate? No, we hadn't. Surely, it was a basic human right that he be allowed to do his most generous employer/landlady a favour in difficult circumstances. I walked in to be greeted by Shea and Finn jumping up and down with joy. ‘Mummy, we're having pancakes!'

Stuffed full of pancakes, with fillings of golden syrup and lemon juice, Howie decided it was his basic human right to have a bit of fun as well, so we jumped in the car, drove up to The Hall, and played tennis racquet rounders on the long lawn. Two teams. Howie and Finn against me and Shea. An hour later two dog-tired little boys were ferried home and put to bed by both of us. And it was
he
who read the story, with great accent and actions; the latest borrowing from the school library about a gooey old slimeball called Fungus The Bogeyman, whom we both remembered from our own childhoods. The boys lazily squirming, and screaming cries of, ‘Erghhhhhh! Yuck. Gross,' at his disgusting habits, including pressing his green fingers into the necks of sleeping humans to create boils.

‘You've got green fingers, haven't you?' said Shea to Howie. ‘Granddad told me. He said all gardeners have got green fingers.'

‘Aye, I have,' said Howie, holding up a hand. But they're only green on the inside.'

‘Will you teach us how to be gardeners?' asked Finn.

‘Aye, I will,' he replied. ‘But you'll have to start from the bottom like all apprentices. How's about, if you're really good, you come up one day after school and have some turns with me on the sit-on mower. Then you can help put the grass cuttings on the compost.'

‘Can we, Mummy,' they chorused.'

‘'Course you can, ‘I said.

‘Wizard.'

‘Ace.'

With the boys already falling asleep, we walked downstairs. ‘‘Drink?'

He nodded. ‘Aye. I'm fair gagging after all that running around. I enjoyed it though. It was gae fun.'

I went to the fridge in the kitchen and he followed me in. ‘And I can tell you've done it before,' I said seriously. ‘Including the bedtime stuff.' He didn't answer. ‘Please Howie. Come on. It's time to tell me.'

‘Just leave it, will you,' he said kindly. ‘You know I can't.'

‘Please. You can trust me.'

‘It's not that. I'm just trying to be honest. To Father Crowley. To the project. I made a promise. I signed a contract.'