Second Time Around (16 page)

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Authors: Marcia Willett

BOOK: Second Time Around
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He was rewarded by her grin and later, when they set off happily together to buy paint and brushes, Isobel realised that her depression had dissipated and she could look forward more cheerfully and with a lighter heart.
 
 
ONCE AGAIN, BEA WAS travelling west. She was grateful that she had managed to find a vacant seat next to the window; at least she wouldn't be obliged to make friendly noises at other travellers. The young man in the seat beside her sat with his eyes shut, plugged into his Walkman, oblivious to the noise around him. The train was full of people going home for Christmas and Bea tried to persuade herself that she was doing the same. Slowly and painfully during these past weeks the unpleasant fact had been borne in upon her consciousness; she had no home and no roots.
Her tired eyes looked out unseeingly on the muted colours of the winter countryside. The frosty grass was washed pale gold by a thin faint sunlight and the trees looked like iron against the lemon sky. The bright berries of a holly bush were a shock of colour in the quiet landscape. Bea was seeing none of the beauty that streamed by silently beyond the window. Superimposed over the shadowy reflection of her own face was that of Marian Goodbody—the headmaster's wife.
‘ …so Angus felt that it was only right that we should mention it. You know how fond of you we all are but we have to look to the future. Try to put yourself in Matron's place. She feels that you are undermining her position. The boys know you so well and she feels that it makes it much more difficult to relate to them whilst you are around …'
Bea sat on the stiff cretonne-covered chair in Marian's drawing
room and watched Marian's mouth moving in her large pale face. Bea's belongings, fetched down from the attic, stood beside her on the carpet whilst Marian continued to render Bea's past valueless and her future bleak.
‘ …and I do feel that it is never wise to try to turn the clock back. It would be so difficult to live on the edge of a community, not quite part of it. Of course, we shall always be glad to see you. Good Heavens! You've been part of our lives for so long …'
How triumphant Norah would be, thought Bea observing the squareness of Marian's teeth, to know that she was right. How humiliating to have to tell her.
‘ …but I'm sure that you can sympathise with Matron's feelings. Put yourself in her shoes. Children are so fickle, aren't they? So ready to play one adult off against another. She's going to find your act
quite
difficult enough to follow as it is …'
Bea stared at Marian's mouth stretched wide, now, in an encouraging smile whilst her head nodded archly as she tossed Bea this sop to her pride.
‘ …so difficult for the staff. It's a question of loyalty, isn't it? Of course, we all miss you but life goes on and we have to look forward not back …'
Bea stood abruptly. Marian stopped mid-speech, head flung back as she stared up at her.
‘If you've finished, Marian. I'll be getting on. Thank you for your little talk. Very interesting. Have you ever thought of taking up counselling professionally?'
The headmaster's wife flushed a dull and unbecoming red. ‘I'm sorry that you should take it like this, Bea.' Her mouth no longer smiled. ‘I've tried to be tactful …'
‘Have you?' Bea smiled a little. ‘Well, no doubt it's difficult to tell someone that they're superfluous to requirements. Have you any objections to my remaining in the town or will that upset Matron's delicate sensibilities too? Perhaps we should ask
her
where I should be
allowed to live? Perhaps it should be brought up at the next staff meeting?'
‘That's a very insulting thing to say.' Marian got to her feet. She looked upset and Bea felt a twinge of remorse. ‘I am merely doing what is best for everyone …'
‘I think it is quite breath-taking that you should imagine you know what is best for everyone. Shall we take the rest as read?' They stared angrily at each other. ‘I think that Pete is waiting to help me with my belongings. Shall we call him? Thank you for storing them for me.'
In silence Bea waited whilst Marian went to find the groundsman; in silence they carried the things out to his pick-up truck. When they were safely stowed, Bea turned to Marian and held out her hand.
‘I shall be away for Christmas,' she told her. ‘Thank you for everything.'
Marian took the proffered hand and held it briefly, her lips compressed, and turned back into the house without a word.
‘What's eating her?' asked Pete curiously, as Bea climbed in beside him.
Bea felt guilty; they should not have allowed their feelings to show before the staff. A tiny voice reminded her that Marian had never been popular and a sense of wicked rebellion filled her. Why should she worry about Pete guessing that a row had been going on in the headmaster's drawing room? Such things—as had just been firmly pointed out—were no longer her problem. Momentarily, loyalty deserted her.
‘She's been giving me the sack,' she said.
He gaped at her as they moved off down the drive. ‘Sack? Thought you'd gone already.'
‘So I have.' Bea pulled herself together and reassembled her ideas of duty and responsibility. ‘Just a joke. Keep your eyes on the road.'
Bea shifted in her seat as the train drew in at Newton Abbot. She watched a young woman struggling along the platform. A baby lay against her chest in a sling, a toddler clung to one of her hands whilst,
in the other, she carried a suitcase. A man and a woman broke free from a crowd of people and went to greet her. As Bea watched, the man swung the toddler into his arms and gave him a hearty kiss, the woman touched the baby's cheek, embraced her daughter and relieved her of the case. Moving as one unit, chattering all together, they moved towards the exit.
Bea found herself remembering Will's voice when she had telephoned to tell him at what time she would be arriving at Totnes. He had made her feel that nothing could have given him—or Tessa and Isobel—more pleasure than to know that she would be joining them for Christmas. Her sore heart had been warmed by his friendliness and she had spent the remaining days choosing presents for them in the town. She had warded off curious looks and questions, glad that she had somewhere to which she could escape. The thought of spending Christmas alone in her flat was a chilling one and there had been very few offers of hospitality.
During those lonely days after Marian's ‘talk' she realised how important her job had been. It had given her status, a title and a position within the community. Now she was no one; Matron no longer, nobody's mother or wife or child or aunt, just Bea. As she had stood, staring out of the flat window at the shops opposite, a thought had slipped into her mind. She had cousins, now; cousins who wanted her to make a home with them and to share their inheritance and their lives. Bea stared thoughtfully out into the gathering darkness. Once Tony Priest had issued from the bookshop across the road and raised his hand. For one golden moment she thought that he was summoning her. Almost she hurried down to meet him but, hesitating, she saw his wife emerge from somewhere below the window and cross the road to him. He made some laughing remark and she gave him a friendly push. Slipping an arm about her shoulders they vanished into the evening. After a moment or two, Bea turned back into the shadows of the darkening room and sat down. The next day she had telephoned to the house in the cove … and now here she was, collecting her belongings,
stepping over the legs of the recumbent young man and going to meet Isobel and Will at Totnes station.
 
‘I WONDER WHY SHE'S coming,' mused Isobel for the fiftieth time as she and Will drove through Harbertonford.
For the present, they were sharing the Morris. Will had managed to sell his own car whilst he was in Switzerland and was now looking around for something to replace it. Isobel had suggested that, instead of spending money on a hired car, he should use the Morris until he found what he wanted. Will readily agreed. For one thing it meant that he and Isobel did so much more together. It was sensible to make joint journeys to go shopping or to the library and, on the days when Isobel was at the bookshop, Will was more than content to potter in the cove. Slowly he was pulling the house together, unobtrusively giving it a face lift, and, as he worked quietly and happily, he thought about Isobel. He was surprised at how strong his feelings were for her. He remembered that it had taken him quite a while to approach Bierta; not because of shyness but because he was cautious.
Will had inherited the Rainbird qualities of self-sufficiency and the ability to live alone, as well as a low physical drive. He, like Mathilda, was not cut out for passion or dramatic scenes; jealous rages and extravagant reconciliations were unknown to him. Bierta had charmed him but the qualities which he attributed to her had been, very largely, in his own imagination. Isobel was so different in almost every way to Bierta and he had loved her as soon as he had seen her on the beach. ‘No fool like an old fool,' he told himself. This was very different from his love for Bierta and he had no intention of declaring it. For one thing he must be at least twenty years older than Isobel and for another he knew that she was unhappy. Quite soon she had begun to tell him about her marriage and how she had left Simon and had an affair. Gradually she told him how it had come to nothing but that it had destroyed her marriage. Her husband had found another woman and was now seeking a divorce.
‘I still love him, you see,' Isobel had said, staring away from him, looking out over the sea. ‘That's the whole bloody irony of it. I threw it all away.'
Will had remained silent. Everything he thought of to say sounded trite or inadequate. Presently she had looked at him and shrugged.
‘Do you think happiness is important?' she'd asked him.
There had been an earnestness in her voice and she had watched him eagerly while he thought about it. He felt ill-equipped to answer such a question and that odd tenseness about her made him nervous.
‘I suppose it all depends on what you mean by happiness?' he'd said slowly at last and she'd given a great cry, covering her face with her hands. ‘What is it?' he'd asked. ‘What's the matter?' He felt almost angry with her, as though she was making him play a game without telling him the rules.
‘Nothing,' she'd said, shaking her head, but she'd looked distressed. ‘It's just that you're so like Mathilda. You even speak like she did. She always used to say that. “It all depends on what you mean …” That's how she always answered.'
‘I'm sorry,' Will said helplessly. ‘I don't think I'm being much use.
‘Yes, you are.' She'd jumped up and gone to the window. ‘It's a lovely afternoon. Come on. I'll show you Bolberry Down. It'll be glorious up there. We'll watch the sunset.'
Her words struck a chord in Will's memory. He'd taken Bierta to watch the sunset on the lake once, early on in their relationship. Afterwards she'd been cool and evasive and years later he'd heard her say rather bitterly to a friend, ‘Will's the kind of man who takes you to see the sunset and then actually expects you to sit and watch it!'
He'd realised that she'd thought his invitation was an excuse to get her alone in a romantic setting and he'd wondered how often he had failed her in that area of their lives together. Luckily, Isobel had expected him to watch the sunset and afterwards they stopped for a drink
at the Cricket at Beesands and had come home to one of her delicious casseroles. She treated him with the ease and affection of a long-standing friend and he was grateful. He had no intention of rocking the boat with presumptuous declarations but he wished that Isobel had been his first love rather than his second.
When Bea telephoned, Will had sensed that all was not well with her and he hoped that she was not coming to tell them that she'd changed her mind and wanted to sell the house after all. If that were the case then he and Tessa would have to fall back on his plan to sell some of the furniture. James had confirmed his suspicions that some of it was very valuable and had agreed that, if Bea changed her mind, then it would be wise to sell some of the pieces and buy her out.
Now, as they drove through Harbertonford, Will shook his head at Isobel's question. He had not voiced his fears, no point in panicking unnecessarily. Anyway, Bea hardly needed to come for Christmas to tell them that she wasn't prepared to wait after all.
‘I thought she was sharing a house with a friend,' he said. ‘Perhaps they've fallen out.'
‘Fatal, I should have thought.' Isobel pulled her scarf higher round her neck. The Morris's heater was extremely inefficient. ‘Fraught with difficulties.'
‘Don't say that.' Will glanced at his watch. ‘Plenty of time. Like some coffee?'
‘Oh, yes please. But why do you say “Don't say that,” in that tone of foreboding?'
‘Because,' he said, turning into Cistern Street and heading for the car park, ‘it is what we are all attempting to do. Well, me and Tessa and probably Bea as well, by the sounds of it.'
‘Well, it
will
be fraught with difficulties,' said Isobel frankly. ‘No good pretending. Bound to be. You'll manage.'

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