The Diary Of Pamela D. (15 page)

This had the unintended effect of making her
feel both guilty and useless: guilty because it would very probably
affect her relationship with the staff she thought of as her own
family, and useless because she would no longer be earning her
keep.

As they left the jeweller, he removed the
engagement ring from its box, took her hand, and placed it on her
finger. ‘There,’ he said, ‘doesn’t that strike you as being a
trifle more respectable? We are now engaged. But not officially.
I’ll make the announcement when we return.’

As they walked back to the car, Pamela
wondered at her own thoughts. ‘This doesn’t feel like being
engaged. It doesn’t feel like anything.’ To her surprise, however,
before she could get in the car, he seemed to make a point of
opening the door for her. She wondered what this signified as they
got underway and began the journey home.

They no sooner entered the house when Theo
called everyone together and made the announcement. Pamela found
herself not wanting the attention, wishing she was away from
Dewhurst Manor long enough to collect her wits. Because Theo had
made no promise of love to her, because it had seemed more like a
business transaction than a proposal, she felt false, that she was
misrepresenting herself as the people she now thought of as her
family wished her well, congratulated the pair, and expressed their
hope for the couple’s future happiness. Mrs. Dewhurst wasn’t as
blind to Pamela’s apprehension, however, and soon found an excuse
to draw the girl aside for some “motherly advice.”

‘My dear, what
is
the matter? You look as
though you’d been caught committing an indecent act. Has Theo . . .
was he . . . ? Oh, my, this is so hard a thing to ask about my own
son! Was he gentle with you? Did he force you in any
way?’

‘What? No!’ Pamela blurted as Mrs. Dewhurst’s
meaning became clear to her. ‘He hasn’t touched me.’

Mrs. Dewhurst frowned.
‘You
did
sleep
together, did you not?’

‘We did, but we
didn’t
do
anything,’ Pamela said, defensively.

Mrs. Dewhurst gave Pamela
what she thought at first was a sceptical look, until the woman
said, ‘Pamela Dee! Between the two of you . . . ’ She shook her
head in disbelief. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what to think!
Considering how Theo
used
to be, he’s become a veritable . . .
vestal
virgin
.’ Taking Pamela by the arm and
leading her towards the kitchen, she said in a confiding whisper,
‘He’s changed so much since he stopped going around with that
little tramp-
Tracy
or whatever her name was.’ She shuddered. ‘That girl was a
mother’s worst nightmare! At least this time I can look forward to
having the sort of daughter-in-law I can feel good about. I always
wanted a little girl, you know,’ she said, giving Pamela a little
squeeze, making the girl smile with embarrassed affection, ‘to
offset the very naughty little boy Theo’s father and I brought into
the world.’ As she filled the kettle and placed it on the stove,
Pamela ventured a question.

‘What sort of little
boy
was
Theo. I
mean . . . I saw all his stuff out in the garage earlier this
morning.’

‘Yes, I noticed he took you
for a little spin in the MG. I don’t mind telling you, I was fully
expecting to hear the squeal of tyres the moment I heard its engine
start up. I used to get calls all the time about his driving,
usually in the wee hours when my husband and I were trying to
sleep-’ Looking genuinely worried, she queried, ‘I do hope he
didn’t drive like that with
you
in the car. If he did, just tell me and I’ll have
a word with him.’

For the first time, Pamela detected a chink
in Theo’s relationship with his mother. Mrs. Dewhurst’s reference
to his driving, especially where Pamela was concerned, carried an
unspoken but implicit threat. But Pamela replied, ‘He was perfect.
I mean, he did exactly the speed-limit whenever it was posted. He
didn’t even get angry when we got cut off a couple of times when we
were in Bradford.’

Mrs. Dewhurst quirked a disbelieving eyebrow.
‘I’m not sure how to take that. At one time, if you were to look up
the definition of “road-rage” in the encyclopædia you’d be sure to
find Theo’s picture underneath. Come, let me show you something.’
Leading Pamela to the library, she went to a locked bookcase that
was filled with pictures and old family albums. After producing a
key she opened it, rummaged through, selected one, handed it to
Pamela and waited for the girl’s reaction.

‘Who is this?’

‘That,’ said Mrs. Dewhurst, ‘is your future
husband, when he was nineteen.’

Pamela gaped in disbelief at the portrait of
a man who appeared to be at least twenty-eight. He had long
dishevelled hair, a thick moustache and sideburns, was wearing
leathers, as was the insolent and slatternly-looking blonde who
clung possessively to his arm, mugging for the camera. In the
background was a gang of similarly dressed bikers with their
sinister-looking machines arrayed behind them. She could tell
without being told that Theo was the leader.

There was the man she truly feared, the man
behind the cold eyes, at least when they infrequently were kindled
to life. He was an imposing, uncompromising, rock-hard figure,
about whom there was an unmistakable licence of casual
violence.

‘I don’t get it . . . what could possibly
have happened to change him so much?’

‘You have to understand,’ his mother said,
taking the picture and replacing it, ‘that he became that way
because of his relationship with his father.’ She handed Pamela
another portrait, that of a good-looking middle-aged man who looked
every bit as robust and daunting as Theo. No . . . Pamela took a
closer look . . . there was something different about his father .
. . something refined . . . and those eyes! They appeared at once
unfeeling, cold, dangerous.

‘Henry Dewhurst was not a good father,’ Mrs.
Dewhurst admitted, looking at once tired and obviously feeling
something akin to remorse. ‘In the end he wasn’t a good husband,
either, though he tried very hard in the beginning.

‘When Theo was a little boy,
he was in every way
my
son, due to the fact that Henry spent so much time away from
home, on business. Unlike me, however, Theo could never seem to
learn the right way to circumvent his father’s will where Henry’s
emotions were concerned. To get his father’s attention Theo would .
. . and this is just between you and me . . . he would get into
trouble, and he tried his level best to become everything his
father hated, out of a misguided notion that
any
attention was
good
attention. Oh, it’s an old story,
and a mistake that is repeated
ad
nauseam
by children vying for the attention
of parents who either withhold their affection, don’t have it, or
can’t show it if they do.’

‘His eyes look very cold,’ Pamela said,
staring at the portrait.

‘To you, perhaps,’ Mrs.
Dewhurst said with a small smile touching her lips, taking the
portrait from her. ‘But I know better. Henry was a deep-feeling
man, and very demonstrative when Theo was small, both to the boy
and to myself.’ She sighed. ‘But he lacked a certain . . .
maturity
when it came to
dealing with his adolescent son. Instead of ignoring Theo’s raging
hormones and awkward attempts to grow into an independent adult, he
bought into the boy’s feelings instead, and began
competing
with him on the
same level. If Theo threw a tantrum, which Henry should have wisely
ignored, Henry got angry. If Theo wanted independence, Henry
grounded him. If Theo got into trouble, his father, rather than
take responsibility and talk to the boy himself, would call the
police and have him arrested.

‘But you have to remember
that things were very different when Henry and I were young. There
was no such thing as a
teenager
, really. You were either a
child or an adult in those days. I can’t tell you how many times
Henry would yell at the boy, saying, “You’re either a kiddie living
at home or an adult living on your own.” But the world changed, and
for some ungodly reason Henry either couldn’t or
wouldn’t.

‘In the old days, you see, children were very
much the property of their parents, and were very much controlled
and moulded by their parents when Henry was growing up. A father
ruled the roost in those days and didn’t suffer contradiction
gladly. I should add that Henry was fourteen years older than
myself, to give you a better idea of which generation I’m referring
to.

‘Anyway, the worst fault of
men of Henry’s generation was that they almost never listened to
anyone but themselves. It was a man’s world, and being a man of his
time, he had very narrow beliefs and lived in a totally egocentric
world. But there came a day, of course, when men like Henry no
longer had everything their own way. They were forced to
acknowledge that other members of their household besides
themselves were people too, with feelings and needs and minds. That
was very possibly the worst of it . . . that men of his generation,
in the face of all reason and common sense, denied that anyone in
the family besides themselves could
have
minds.’

‘How did he die?’ Pamela asked without
thinking, but feeling now that she had the right to ask.

‘It certainly wasn’t shortness of breath!’
Mrs. Dewhurst said disparagingly. ‘Sorry, I’m being flippant. No,
he took his own life, if you must know. Oh, don’t look so stricken!
To tell the truth, when it happened I almost expected it. And,’ she
said meaningly, ‘if you haven’t guessed as much already, Theo
blamed himself. He changed almost overnight, from that,’ she
indicated the old picture, ‘to the man you now know as your
fiancé.’ Closing up the bookcase once more and locking it, she
added, ‘There’s just one thing I want you to remember, however.
Despite appearances, a man of such extremes is also a man of
extreme passions. In Theo’s case, somewhere beneath that veneer of
control is a man who very much loves and cares about you. Don’t
doubt it for a minute. It’s getting him to show his true feelings,
without provoking him to anger or driving him away, that’s going to
be your great challenge in life; a challenge, I might add, that is
well worth any heartache you might have to endure. Believe me, I
know, for Henry was such a man, and despite appearances, and for
all his faults, the twenty-four years we had together were the best
years of my life. I could have remarried several times over the
years, but when you’ve had the best, everything else is doomed to
be second-rate.’

‘But why did he kill himself?’ Pamela asked,
concerned because if Theo now walked in his father’s footsteps . .
.

Perhaps sensing the cause of the girl’s
apprehensive concern, Mrs. Dewhurst said, ‘You needn’t worry. Theo
is a stronger man than his father ever was where his own self-image
is concerned. What killed Henry Dewhurst was a changing world that
had become intolerant of the sort of mind-set he was comfortable
with. He felt like an outsider in his own country: where once he
was very much in control, the government stepped in and made him
relinquish that control. He was rather a taskmaster where his
employees were concerned, and as long as he was able to terrorize
them, things ran smoothly.

‘But labour standards put a stop to that,
which all but crippled his businesses. In the end, ironically no
one was better off. Employees got lazy and took full advantage,
forcing costs to go up, which in turn caused prices to go up, which
in turn caused the employees to grumble bitterly about the cost of
everything, though the cycle was partly their own fault . . . ’

Only half-listening to Mrs.
Dewhurst’s theoretical assertions, Pamela was still left feeling as
though she were foundering where her relationship with Theo was
concerned. Mind-painting fell far short of the actual experience of
the man, and when in his presence there was the overriding instinct
to rely solely upon the immediate impression he made, regardless
what she had been told. He was and remained closed to her. She
wondered, too,
which
Theo would surface should his attention and focus be
rekindled. Would it be the dangerous young rebel or a mature and
caring man who would be all but a complete stranger to her? Once
more she felt as though her life was on hold. And once more she
found that she was prepared to wait.

That evening, when the two were spending
their quiet-time together in the upstairs sitting room, Theo broke
his silence for the first time.

‘As I said earlier, we shouldn’t be sleeping
together at all, but as we’ll soon be married, and as I foresee no
difficulty in maintaining our respective restraint, I’m not going
to discourage it.

‘That said, as of tomorrow, you are no longer
a maid-’

‘But I
like
being a maid! I want to continue
earning my keep,’ Pamela protested. In truth, she was still
concerned about how this would affect her relationships with the
household staff. Would they still treat her the same way, or would
this create an unbroachable gulf between them?

‘As my wife,’ he said in an
unreadable tone, ‘and helpmate, you would be far more valuable an
asset to this household and to myself if you were to learn
something of the family businesses. Your secretarial and
organizational skills have not only cut my workload in half but
have left me with more free time than I could have imagined
possible. I am going to hire a young girl for you to train as your
secretary, as well, so that you can turn your attention to
actually
doing
business. Oh, and by the way, I already have a girl in mind.
One whom I think you might be acquainted with.’