The Prodigal Wife (21 page)

Of course, Pen would put up a fight. She'd already said that it was best for Maria to be amongst her friends in Salisbury, where she'd lived nearly all her life. Well, Pen would say that, wouldn't she? There was no question that she enjoyed having her old friend next door – and they had some good times together, no doubt about that. Once or twice, to be honest, she'd wondered whether she'd ever do better than to be in this very comfortable little annexe with the use of the garden, demanding no effort on her part, and a couple of very good mates just a shout away. After all, they had lots of mutual friends and darling old Phil was just the kind of bossy boots who was only too happy to organize things and sort out problems. She simply had to put on a particular expression – a tiny frown, a nibble at the lower lip – and old Phil's arm would be round the shoulder, comforting, wanting to help. Of course, in these days of equality it was an absolute godsend for an old-fashioned chap like Philip to be able to defend a helpless woman. Pen wasn't having any of that kind of patronizing nonsense, thank you very much, so she knew that Phil really appreciated her own rather delicate helplessness. Adam had been just such another, and it was child's play to have them eating out of her hand. Of course, she had to be careful. She didn't want to upset darling Pen; no killing of the goose that laid the golden eggs.

Maria finished her drink. Nevertheless, Pen and Philip weren't her family. She'd explain that to them, very tactfully, and put forward this new plan. Hadn't Pen talked of going down to their cottage in Salcombe quite soon? That might be an excellent place to start: she could go down with them, have a look at the market, go and see Hal and Jo…

Her spirits flew upwards and she felt excited, quite giggly and happy. Humming to herself, Maria got up, holding on to the chair's arm for a moment, just to get her balance, and went to make some supper.

Cordelia put the car in the garage, collected the shopping and found the front door key. Great gusts of salty air poured over the headland, whisking her hair around her face and tugging at the paper bags in her basket. The sea, glassy and transparent, mirrored the majestic, swift-moving cloudscape: cream and gold and white. She stood for a moment, relishing this new sense of happiness, recalling tiny, special moments that had occurred over and over again during the last week. Henrietta had been so sweet, so warm, that it was as if a whole new side of her daughter had been revealed.

She let herself into the cottage, picked up the letters that were lying on the mat and carried them into the kitchen. McGregor came to greet her and a quick glance assured her that all was well, but she remained anxious. She was fearful lest there should be another visitation, a further development in the mystery that surrounded the events of the last few weeks. Several times she'd been tempted to confide in Angus, although she knew exactly what he'd say: call the police. It was a sensible idea yet something stopped her, though she couldn't say quite what it was: some instinct that told her that she was not actually in real danger but rather being forced to be an unwilling partner in some drama that had to be played out. Angus would say that she was a fool; that she was taking a huge risk. Perhaps she was; but after all, what could she actually tell the police that would be of any help? She'd pieced together a fragmented sequence of events: a photo tucked into her windscreen wipers; a tall figure up on the cliff watching her through binoculars; some of her work destroyed whilst she was out on the balcony with Fliss; the sharp tap on her shoulder and the man hurrying out of the deli, followed by the discovery of the koala bear in her basket; the visitor who'd left another koala bear and moved her books whilst she was down on the beach. It was all so pointless. Surely the police would think that it was simply someone playing practical jokes on her, and she was inclined to agree, but who might it be? She had thought about it endlessly and only one person fitted the bill, as far as she could see, but her suspicion seemed so preposterous that at first she could hardly admit it to herself and she'd certainly been unable to talk about it even to Angus.

Cordelia riffled idly through her letters: two bills, three catalogues and two envelopes – one handwritten, one typed. Dropping the bills and the catalogues on to the kitchen table she opened the handwritten envelope first: a card from an old friend asking if Cordelia might manage the trip to Oxfordshire to celebrate a wedding anniversary.

Janey had written: ‘…thirty years!! Can you believe it? And it seems only minutes ago we were all at Smuggler's Way in Faslane. Do you remember the drying area and how we used to puff up and down all those steps with the nappies?!!'

Cordelia smiled reminiscently – ‘
only minutes ago
' – and was still smiling when she opened the second envelope. A photograph fell out into her hand and she stared down at it, her smile fading into bewilderment. The young Cordelia beamed back at her, Simon beside her in his navy jersey with his lieutenant-commander's stripes on its shoulders; he held a small, laughing Henrietta between his hands: a happy little family, kneeling together on a patch of grass.

She turned the photograph quickly and saw three fuzzy black patches, where it had been torn from the black page of an album. Instantly, in her mind's eye, she pictured the album: a rather expensive leather book with gold tooling that she'd filled with the best of the photographs that had been taken from the time of Henrietta's first birthday until Simon had left them. There had been other photographs, stuffed into big manila envelopes or made into montages and framed, but the album had been the place for those special recorded moments.

Cordelia picked up the envelope and shook it but there was nothing else inside. She examined the typed address but there was no clue there. The second-class stamp had missed the franking machine, although it had been crossed through in biro by the postman, so there was no date or postmark either. An idea occurred to her and with it a sense of relief: the photo was from Janey. Perhaps she'd meant to put it in with her letter, forgotten it, and sent it on in a different envelope. The photograph of the little scene, with the rather ugly concrete wall as the backdrop, might easily have been taken at Smuggler's Way, probably by Janey herself, and removed from her own album, and this would tie in with her letter. Cordelia pictured the scene: Janey arriving back from the postbox to find the photograph lying on the table.

‘Oh, Richard,' she might have said crossly. ‘I've forgotten to put the photo in,' and Richard would have said, ‘Don't worry, love. I'll print an envelope off on the computer.'

Cordelia tried to take comfort from this scenario but her relief was short-lived. It was most unlikely that Janey would be so tactless as to send a photograph with Simon in it: she knew what a painful time it had been for her friend, and all that had happened since; surely she would never just send such a reminder out of the blue. Of course they talked about the past and on these occasions Simon's name might crop up quite naturally, but to post the photo…No, no. It was simply an extraordinary coincidence that it should arrive with her letter.

She put the photograph on the table and went into her study. The big rosewood chest of drawers had travelled with her for years; it had belonged to her grandmother. She knew exactly where the album would be. It would be lying at the back of the bottom drawer underneath all the folders and envelopes of photographs that had amassed over the years. She'd offered it to Henrietta years ago, after Simon's letter had arrived, but she'd refused it.

‘I've got my own album, thank you,' she'd said stonily, accusingly. And so she had: a large unwieldy book with the photos pasted in all haphazard, and uneven writing beneath each one in coloured ink: ‘Me and Daddy at Salcombe' ‘Me and Daddy at the Boat Float'. She'd ostentatiously let Cordelia see that there were very few of ‘Me and Mummy'. Later, the entries were more sophisticated – simply a place and a date – but still very few pictures of Henrietta with her mother.

And why should there be, thought Cordelia defensively. After all, I was with her all through that time. She didn't need photos of me.

Getting down on to her knees, she pulled out the heavy drawer. Carefully she took out folders that threatened to spill their slippery contents all over the floor, and there at the back was the album. She lifted it almost gingerly, smoothing the cover with her fingers before opening it, and felt a shock to her heart. Several photographs were missing. Quickly she turned the thick, black pages, unevenly weighty with glue and photos, and packed with memories.

They'd been removed with care: on this page two were gone, on this only one, on some none at all had been taken. Cordelia sat back on her heels, fighting down a growing sense of unease. The likeliest person to take the photos was Henrietta – but why should she? And why secretly, without mentioning it? Perhaps it hadn't been done in secret; perhaps she'd simply decided one day to remove some of them. She wouldn't have needed to ask permission.

There was another person who might have taken them – and this confirmed her suspicions: Simon. Simon the Coldheart. That's what she'd called him after he'd so cruelly written to Henrietta explaining exactly why he'd left them and telling her that there would be no room for his daughter in his new life in Australia. Cordelia had written to him, addressing him as Simon the Coldheart and accusing him of inhuman behaviour. It was the title of the novel that had been left on her lectern, although the other title –
The Reluctant Widow
– was less apt. She guessed that it was the closest he could get to his new state: his wife must have died and he'd come back to England to pursue some kind of revenge. But why? Perhaps he was unhinged by grief. Simon had always been a very intense character. She remembered how resolutely he'd pursued her once Angus had gone to Australia, sending funny notes, flowers that had folklore meanings, and even, occasionally, small, strange gifts. In her state of misery at Angus's defection, she'd been touched by Simon's unfaltering love, flattered by his persistence.

It was Angus who had introduced them, and they'd both been amused by the younger man's complete infatuation for Cordelia. They took him along with them sometimes, humouring and teasing him as if he were a child or a pet; confident in their own power and happiness, graciously allowing him the crumbs of friendship from their cornucopia of love.

‘I think he'd kill me if he could,' Angus had once told her laughingly. ‘He's utterly besotted by you. He's a funny chap, old Si. Very single-minded.'

Now, Cordelia shivered. She wondered if Simon had been out there on the cliff, watching through his binoculars, on the occasions when Angus had been with her. Quite suddenly she remembered the photograph tucked beneath the windscreen washer: had it been of her and Angus?
I think he'd kill me if he could
. Closing the drawer, she stood up and went back into the kitchen. She seized her mobile, scrolled to Angus's number and waited.

‘Dilly.' His voice was warm. ‘How are you?'

‘Worried,' she said briefly. ‘Something I need to talk to you about. Could you come over?'

‘Yes, of course.' He sounded anxious now, and puzzled. ‘I'll be with you in half an hour.'

Typically, he asked no questions and she was grateful, but while she waited she wondered if she should have gone to him instead. If it were Simon out there, watching, then Angus's presence might inflame him further. These strange happenings had begun just after Angus had moved to Dartmouth and she imagined Simon watching them both, following her when she went shopping and even farther afield, and making a note of her movements and routines. Perhaps he'd been in Mangetout when she and Angus had had coffee together, and had slipped the Australian koala bear into her basket whilst she waited to be served.

She began to put away her shopping, glancing at her watch from time to time, listening for the sound of the car. When she heard the engine she slipped into her study and looked out of the window but there was nobody on the cliff path and she opened the front door with relief and hurried Angus inside.

‘What's up?' he asked, following her into the kitchen. ‘Is it Henrietta? Nothing's wrong, is it?'

‘No,' Cordelia answered, turning to look at him, folding her arms across her breast. ‘It's me. It sounds crazy, Angus, but I think I'm being stalked.'

‘I can't believe you didn't tell me before,' Angus said for the third time. ‘And to think you've been here all alone. Anything might have happened. For God's sake, Dilly!'

‘It seemed so silly,' she said wearily. ‘Just foolish little things. And I've got McGregor, don't forget. I thought you'd want me to go to the police and I simply can't face it. I can't, Angus.'

‘So what do you plan to do?' he asked angrily. ‘Wait till you get a brick through the window? Or he jumps you one dark night when you're getting out of the car when you haven't got McGregor with you? And what if he goes after Henrietta?'

She stared at him fearfully. ‘But why should he? He always adored her.'

‘Dilly, these are not the actions of a sane person. If you really think it might be Simon then you must take precautions.'

‘Do
you
think it's him?'

He stared at her white face and his expression softened. ‘My poor darling, it's very likely, isn't it? Who else fits the bill? The koala bear signifies Australia, and the book titles seem to be a serious clue to his name and state. And then there are the photographs…'

He paused and she nodded. ‘You see? It's not much to go on, is it?'

‘But who else would do such things? And why?'

‘How should I know? It's so utterly weird.'

‘One thing is certain. You mustn't be alone here. Honestly, Dilly, when I think of these last few weeks…'

‘I know, but where can I go?'

‘You can come to me. Or if you won't do that then tell Fliss what's going on and ask if you can stay at The Keep.'

‘But for how long? I have work to do. And I don't want to leave my home empty and unprotected. The point is, how will something like this be resolved?'

Angus took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders. ‘How the hell do I know? Well, I'm not leaving you alone, Dilly, so don't think I will. And I'm anxious about Henrietta, all on her own, too.'

Cordelia pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘What shall we do? I never thought of Henrietta being at risk. It almost seemed like a silly game.'

‘Silly games can turn nasty,' said Angus grimly, ‘and Simon was always a very intense kind of man. We need to speak to the Chadwicks. If necessary, Jo will have to move in with Henrietta for a few days while we decide what to do. I think we shall have to go to the police, Dilly.'

‘On the strength of two koala bears and a couple of paperbacks?' She held up a placating hand at the expression on his face. ‘OK, OK, sorry. But it's just so silly. They'll simply say that it's a practical joke. And it's going to mean another black mark against us from Henrietta, isn't it?'

‘Better a black mark than something much worse. I'm sorry, I know you think I'm overreacting, but I just don't like this, Dilly.'

‘Neither do I,' she said miserably. ‘OK. Let's talk to Fliss and Hal, see what they think and go from there. Henrietta's got a friend from London staying for a couple of days but it might be wise to alert Jo.'

He looked at her curiously. ‘I think I'm surprised that you're not more frightened.'

‘I have moments of real terror,' she admitted, ‘but deep down some instinct tells me that this is more a war of nerves than something more serious.' She shrugged. ‘I know it sounds crazy but that's how it feels.'

‘But what's the point?' Angus asked, baffled. ‘What is it that Simon hopes to achieve?'

‘I don't know.' She shook her head. ‘Could it be that he hopes it might come between us somehow?'

‘Well, if he thinks that then he's certainly crazy.'

She hesitated. ‘We weren't very kind to him, I suppose, were we? When we were young, I mean. We were a bit high-handed, allowing him a few crumbs from the rich man's table. Perhaps he wants to punish us for the way we patronized him.'

Angus shrugged. ‘He got you in the end, didn't he?'

‘Well, you didn't want me,' she flashed. ‘It was you who went away.'

He was silent for a moment. ‘I was a callow youth,' he said reluctantly, ‘who didn't know what he wanted until it was too late. But it was Simon's decision to leave, wasn't it? You didn't throw him out. He knew you were prepared to stay with your marriage.'

‘But he knew that it was you I loved,' she answered sadly.

‘Darling, I'm sorry. Perhaps you're right and this is some silly payback for his hurt and humiliation all those years ago. Look, telephone The Keep and see if we can go over sometime today. If you won't let me call the police at least we can have another point of view, though I think I know what Hal will say.'

‘So do I,' said Cordelia glumly. ‘I think I'm going to be outnumbered.'

‘I've got another idea,' Angus said. ‘We could simply tell the police that someone's been in the house. No mention of koala bears and books but just enough to get them round here, and that might frighten Simon off. If it is Simon.'

‘It's a possibility.' Cordelia struck her hands together with frustration. ‘It's just the timing, Angus. I don't want to upset Henrietta just now. It's all going so well and she was so sweet this last weekend at The Keep…We were all so happy together.'

Angus was shaking his head. ‘Sorry, love,' he said. ‘But we can't take risks. Nothing's worth it. There's a pottiness about all this that I don't like. I don't understand it.'

Cordelia sighed. ‘I'll phone Fliss,' she said, resigned. ‘But it's going to sound very odd.'

 

There were two telephone calls whilst Hal and Fliss were having lunch with friends at The Sea Trout in Staverton. Prue took both messages and waited anxiously for their return. Cordelia had sounded quite calm although it clearly wasn't just a friendly call.

‘No, no,' she'd said. ‘It's nothing to do with Henrietta and Jo. No, just that I rather wanted Fliss and Hal's advice about something.' There'd been a little pause and Prue had heard another voice, a man's voice, in the background. ‘Could you ask Fliss to phone me, Prue?' Cordelia had asked. ‘When she gets in?…Great. Are you well?…Yes, I'm fine. 'Bye for now.'

The second call had been even more unsettling: Maria this time – also asking for Hal or Fliss.

‘Just to say,' she'd said, once she and Prue had exchanged pleasantries, ‘I've been thinking that I might look at some properties in Devon. A friend of mine is coming down to her holiday cottage in Salcombe for a few days at the weekend and she's offered to bring me with her. I'd love to see you all but I can't quite say when. I'll phone again once I'm down, to make a date to come over. Perhaps you could tell Hal and Fliss?…Thanks. See you soon, then.'

Prue replaced the receiver, feeling anxious: this would put the cat among the pigeons. She clasped her hands together, staring from the hall window, waiting for Hal's return. Perhaps it would be wise to tell Hal first and plan how they might break the news to Fliss. Prue shook her head distressfully; Fliss had been so happy since the news of Jolyon's engagement. All those little anxious worry lines had been smoothed away; her fears laid to rest.

‘It's wonderful, Prue,' she'd said. ‘Oh, I feel so happy I don't know what to do with myself. I've been so anxious, deep down, that Jo would never take the final step. I believed that between us, Hal and Maria and me, we'd made him emotionally incapable of committing to anyone. He's always been fearful that he'd never be able to sustain a relationship and then there would be all that mess and muddle over again. And when I knew Maria was coming down, I thought she'd undo all his confidence once more. Isn't it a miracle? I feel that he's won through all his insecurities and now he's safe.' She'd laughed at herself. ‘I know it's silly but that morning, d'you remember, Prue, when Maria's letter came, I was so fearful that something awful was going to happen.'

Prue went to sit by the fire that Hal had lit before he and Fliss had gone out. She sat staring at the flames, remembering Fliss's relief and joy, and trying to think what it reminded her of, and Lizzie found her there when she came into the hall, followed by the dogs, who settled in front of the fire.

‘I'm going to make a cup of tea,' Lizzie said. ‘Jo's holding the fort in the office and I need a break. Would you like one?' She paused, struck by Prue's immobility. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Maria has phoned,' Prue answered without preamble. ‘She's coming down again this weekend to stay with friends at Salcombe. She's decided that she wants to come and live down here.'

‘You're kidding?' Lizzie came closer, staring down at her. ‘Down here? Where down here?'

Prue shrugged helplessly. ‘I don't know where. She didn't say. But I gathered that she'd suddenly decided that it might be nice to be closer to us.'

‘Nicer for whom?' asked Lizzie bluntly. ‘Sorry, but you know what I mean. Is she thinking this through properly?'

‘I doubt it,' answered Prue. ‘I believe it's true that she's had an epiphany with Adam's death, and I believe that she sincerely wants to try to repair the damage she's done. But Maria is still Maria. She'll act first and think about it afterwards, and her view will be particularly biased towards her own needs. I think she'll believe that simply because she wants something to happen, and that it is ostensibly a good thing for everyone, then it's simply a matter of will. Rather like Mr Blair,' she added obscurely.

‘But it's one thing mending bridges gradually over a period of time and from a distance, and quite another coming to live on the doorstep,' said Lizzie, ignoring the political aside. ‘Fliss'll have a fit.'

‘Oh, I know,' cried Prue. ‘And things were going so well. She's been so much more relaxed since Jo's engagement. I've just remembered when I last saw her so happy and that was when Hal told us they were getting married. We were all here together in the hall. Oh, it was such a wonderful moment.'

‘And that's another thing,' said Lizzie thoughtfully. ‘Maria's going to think it's a bit odd that Jo and Henrietta are engaged when they were so casual together when she was here last, isn't she? Jo said he planned to break it to her very gradually, assuming that she wasn't going to be around much. Oh hell. Will she be over this weekend, d'you think?'

‘That seemed to be the purpose of the call.' Prue sighed miserably. ‘And we were all so happy.'

‘I think someone should be honest with her,' said Lizzie robustly. ‘She needs to know that miracles don't happen overnight and that she should give Jo some space.'

Prue looked up at her. ‘And who do you think should tell her?' she asked. ‘It would have to be done very tactfully. Would Hal do it, or would Fliss be more…kind, d'you think?'

Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don't think either of them should do it,' she said. ‘I think Jo should do it. He's a big boy now and he should deal with it himself. I'm going to make that tea.'

She turned to find Jo standing behind her at the end of the sofa. She gave a squawk of surprise and Prue turned quickly, peering to see who had come in.

‘Deal with what myself?' asked Jo. He had his hands in his pockets and he looked wary and rather grim. ‘You're quite right, Lizzie. I'm a big boy now. What do I need to be dealing with?'

Both women stared at him. Prue's heart pounded alarmingly; Jo looked extraordinarily like Hal and with that cool, measuring expression she suddenly saw quite clearly why her son had risen so high in his career. She felt quite frightened. Lizzie was made of sterner stuff.

‘Maria's just phoned,' she said. ‘She's suddenly taken it into her head to move to Devon. She'll be down at the weekend and Prue and I were just wondering how surprised she'll be at your engagement to Henrietta, given the way you were both behaving when she was here. We were saying that it's great that she wants to mend bridges and all that stuff but she should be a bit more intelligent about it and give you some space. And that perhaps someone should say so. You know? Point it out in words of one syllable. And I was saying that, if anyone were to do it, it ought to be you.'

Prue felt quite weak with anxiety; never a confrontational person, she was always full of admiration for anyone who approached a problem directly. She stared at Jolyon, praying that he would understand Lizzie's forthrightness.

‘I think you're right,' he said calmly. The wariness had vanished and he now looked simply very serious. ‘Now that Henrietta and I are engaged I don't have a problem with that. She can't harm us now.'

Prue heaved a silent gasp of relief. ‘Of course she can't,' she said warmly. ‘She no longer has any power of that kind. But she needs to realize that mending fences takes time, and living on the doorstep might make things worse, not better. But how could anyone tell her that? I genuinely believe that she wants to make up for her behaviour in the past, don't you?'

She looked pleadingly at her grandson, who smiled at her. ‘Don't worry, Granny,' he said. ‘I shan't deprive her of her good intentions but I think it's time we talked properly. I feel ready for it now. So she's down again this weekend, did you say?'

‘Staying with friends at Salcombe,' said Prue quickly. ‘Not here. But she's hoping to come over.'

Jolyon nodded. ‘Fair enough. It works in very well, actually. Henrietta's got a girlfriend staying until next Monday so I shan't be seeing much of her. It's a bit tricky keeping it a secret but she wants to tell Susan herself and she's trying to decide whether to write to her or ring her up. It's going to come as a bit of a shock and Henrietta's a bit sensitive about it. Anyway, I'll have plenty of time to sort things out here. I came over to say that you're wanted in the office, Lizzie.'

‘Blast,' said Lizzie.