Tread Softly (46 page)

Without speaking, he poured the tea. The cups were thick white china; the teapot lid was cracked.

‘Ralph, did you hear?'

‘If you honestly imagine I'd take your money …'

‘Look, we've been through all that already. You know I wanted you to have it.'

‘It's not what you want, it's what's right. Agnes left it to
you
.'

‘Yes, to do what I like with.'

‘Well, the same applies to me. If it's mine I can do what
I
like. I've put it in an investment fund, in your name. With your share of the proceeds from the house. Then, if anything should happen, you'll have some security. For instance, if you decide to leave The Cedars –'

‘I shan't,' she retorted.

He stirred his tea with enormous concentration.

How brusque she must have sounded, and ungrateful. Ralph had always been generous. He had never asked her for a penny; never would. And his concern about her future when that future didn't include him was genuinely unselfish. But he mustn't harbour the illusion that she might leave The Cedars. ‘I love it there, you see, Ralph. It's the perfect job for me, living in a community. And I especially like the coach-house and sharing it with Kathy. We often have friends over and …'

Enough said, or she would seem smug. ‘Ralph, thank you – honestly. It was a lovely thought, and I'm touched. I just wish you'd spent the money on yourself. And as for your giving up drinking, I'm incredibly impressed.'

Embarrassed, he started fiddling with his pipe again. After a long silence he leaned forward, frowning. ‘There's something I ought to tell you, Lorna.'

She tensed. He'd been offered a job. Up north. Abroad. He was about to say goodbye.

‘Since last night I've been debating whether to mention it or not. I don't want to land your maintenance man in trouble. On the other hand …'

She put her cup down. ‘Ralph, what are you talking about?'

‘Well, when I was mending the generator I could see that the diesel line had been tampered with. And of course that would account for the airlock. I have a strong suspicion that someone's been stealing fuel.'

‘Good God! You mean … Eddie?'

‘Yes, it looks like that. It's highly unlikely that a new generator would break down otherwise.'

‘I can't
believe
it!'

‘Well, the signs were pretty clear. And it would be easy enough to do. No one could see what he was up to in the cellar. He may be using the diesel in his car.'

‘What a shit! And to think his wife had the nerve to say he was overworked.'

Ralph banged his pipe out on the ashtray. ‘And, while we're on the subject, I noticed a few other problems. The fuse-box is far too small for a house that size. In fact the wiring looks a bit dodgy altogether.'

She grimaced. This was worse and worse. ‘But the entire place was rewired before we opened.'

‘Well, they seem to have made rather a mess of it.'

‘Bloody hell! Chris will go berserk. She spent a fortune on the conversion. And I don't know what she'll say about Eddie – she interviewed loads of people before she took him on.'

‘Staff do tend to take advantage, though. It happens all the time.'

Not at The Cedars, she thought. After their insistence on high standards, she felt deflated and betrayed. ‘Ralph, would you mind terribly if …?' She bit her lip, unwilling to ask more favours.

‘If what?'

‘Oh … nothing.'

‘What were you going to say?'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘For heaven's sake, don't start and then clam up.'

‘Well, I was wondering if you could possibly come round again some time and show me this diesel line or whatever it is. Then I can explain the situation to Chris when she's back. And you could let us know exactly what needs doing in the house.'

‘Yes, if it helps, why not? I could make it tomorrow if you like. Just tell me who I'm meant to be.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, am I your husband or an odd-job man? Have you said?'

‘Not really. Well, Kathy knows, of course, but no one else. They're not aware I'm married.'

‘But isn't that a wedding-ring you're wearing? – on the wrong hand. Whose is it?'

‘My … mother's. Agnes gave it to me.'

‘And where's the one
I
gave you?'

She flushed. She had taken it off when she went to work at The Cedars, then somehow managed to lose it – on purpose, Kathy said. In fact Kathy kept urging her to press for a divorce, since it was obvious she wanted to be free of Ralph. ‘I … don't wear it now.'

‘But you wear the bracelet.' He leaned across and touched it.

‘Yes.' Kathy was mistaken: she
didn't
want a divorce. She could never go back to him, she knew that. And yet …

‘Remember what I said to you in the hospital? – diamonds are for ever.'

‘For ever' – engraved on the ring she'd lost. A double loss, she saw now. The men she'd been out with recently were pleasant enough, but of no lasting significance. Like most of the men in her past. Tom, who had stayed the longest, was basically a good-time guy who distrusted the word commitment. Only Ralph had felt able to promise ‘for better, for worse'. She stood up. ‘Look, I … I think I ought to be going …'

‘What for? You're not still on duty, are you? At least let's have the trifle. I don't want to eat it on my own. I'll go and get it.'

‘No, let me,' she said, escaping to the kitchen. Her mind was in a turmoil: fury with Eddie and worry about The Cedars mixed up with her emotions over Ralph.

She stood leaning against the oven, a monstrosity with rusting claw-legs. On the opposite wall hung the Castles of Britain calendar they'd had in the kitchen at Queen's Hill Drive, open not at December but at May – the month she had left.

‘Need any help?' he called.

‘No, it's OK. Won't be a sec.'

She hunted through the cupboards for some bowls. There seemed to be a minimal supply of crockery and glassware, but what she did find was the old handwritten recipe-book started in the first year of their marriage. She had laboriously copied out recipes for banana-bread, steak-and-oyster pudding, apple fritters – and of course trifle. But why had he kept it? Clearly he did no cooking and seemed to be existing on thin air …

Because he loves you, you fool, and misses you. Why else has he got those photos in his bedroom? And you love
him
– admit it. You didn't have to come here. You could have written him a note.

‘If you can't find bowls, use cups.'

‘Right. Coming!' Hastily she closed the tattered recipe-book, spooned trifle into two mugs and carried them in. ‘It looks as if you could do with a little more china,' she said, handing him a mug and a teaspoon.

‘I could do with a lot of things.'

He ate slowly, yet with unaccustomed enthusiasm, taking his time to savour every raspberry and nut, to relish the flavours in each spoonful of sherry-rich sponge. As she watched, an idea began to take shape. The Cedars needed a new maintenance man – someone honest and reliable. And Ralph needed a new job – something stable, with paid holidays, a pension scheme, a decent midday meal. It wasn't high-grade work, admittedly, but no worse than driving a van. And it would mean they'd be together again – together on
her
terms; together yet apart. She would remain at the coach-house while he lived here, or somewhere more salubrious. They'd stay married, which was important. More important than she'd realized. When she'd sat with James Tate, sipping vintage claret, she had felt nothing for the poor man. And nothing for Ian or David or Andrew, although she was flattered that they'd asked her out. She'd assumed she was becoming more like Kathy, developing a taste for being single, permanently perhaps.

But Kathy would have no conception of what she was feeling now, faced with the man she'd married: the value of continuity, the pull of memories. Nor would Kathy understand that you could love someone for what they might have been if life had treated them better; someone with whom you shared a bond because you'd both missed out on childhood; someone who'd stuck by you through panics and miscarriages. There would be no more miscarriages, and she had learned to handle panic on her own – last night was proof of that. She didn't need a protector. She needed someone special. And Ralph was special. Still.

But would he want the job at The Cedars? The long hours didn't matter – he was used to working round the clock, although being surrounded by old people wouldn't have great appeal. However, a well-dressed, well-spoken maintenance man would appeal to
them
, considerably, and since he was bound to be superior to most potential candidates Chris might agree to a higher rate of pay, maybe even create a new post for him as an on-site engineer.

‘Get real, woman! Kathy wouldn't want him within a mile of her. Anyway, what's in it for him? He'd just be your poodle and everyone else's too.'

‘Heel!' she snapped, but the Monster paid no heed this time.

‘It's all too pat – pure fantasy. You think you can have your cake and eat it. But life doesn't work like that.'

It
could
, she thought, refusing to be cowed. Ralph had changed so much that anything was possible. Even now he was gazing at her intently, whereas he used to find it difficult to look into her eyes. And going on the wagon after years of serious drinking; savouring his food, which before had been mere fuel …

‘Don't be an idiot! If you're not careful you'll end up at his beck and call again, even if he
has
changed.'

The Monster had touched a nerve. The last thing she wanted was to return to her old dependency. Besides, perhaps she
was
deluding herself that she could have the best of all worlds.

‘Any chance of some more?' Ralph asked almost bashfully.

‘Of course. You can eat the lot if you like!' The Ralph she knew had rarely finished what was on his plate, let alone asked for second helpings. How might he react if she put her arms around him? Would he savour her, like the trifle?

She took his mug out to the kitchen and stood looking at the cream-swirled custard. Although ‘Christmas' had been eaten or dislodged, ‘Happy' remained intact, spelled out in silver balls. She lifted them off with a spoon and crunched the word down. Happiness was new, and far too precious to risk losing. She would say nothing to Ralph until she was absolutely certain that she was acting from strength, not weakness. Yet already new ideas were springing to mind. She and Ralph could pool their resources and use Agnes's money to buy a share in The Cedars. That would enhance their status and security.

‘Now you're talking crap! You and Ralph are on the breadline. You can't compete with the likes of Chris.'

She did some quick sums in her head. A modest share might be possible. Agnes's cottage had sold for more than expected.

‘Aunt Agnes,' she whispered, peering up at the starlit sky through the uncurtained square of window, ‘was this
your
plan?'

Agnes had been delighted about the wedding and had invested in a new hat – pale straw, with a bunch of cherries on the brim: the only frivolous item of clothing she had ever bought. She would certainly approve of the marriage continuing, even if she were dubious about its unconventional style.

‘But you know what Ralph's like, Aunt. An unorthodox relationship might suit him rather well.'

And suddenly Agnes was
there
, her face transfigured as on her deathbed, and fixing her with the same intense and piercing gaze.

Shaken, Lorna stared into her eyes. Again, as at the moment of death, she seemed to be trying to communicate. But what was she saying? That love was imperfect but none the less precious? That, although Ralph had never been demonstrative, he had proved his love? – like Agnes herself.

She couldn't tell. The fleeting vision vanished and she was alone in the shabby kitchen again, with a trifle-spoon in her hand. She felt unnerved, yet also elated, with a sense of possibilities … Things might work out.

Maybe.

And if they didn't, well, she'd be fine. ‘Fine,' she said aloud, startled to realize that ‘fine' was no longer bravado, but true at last.

And there wasn't a peep from the Monster.

First published in 2002 by Peter Owen

This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world

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Copyright © Wendy Perriam, 2002

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