Cry For Kit Part 2

'That's me,' I said. I took the receiver from her, ill-prepared for what I was to hear.

'So you're there, are you?' the hoa.r.s.e whisper said. 'You can't escape me. Be out of town by ten tonight, or die!'

CHAPTER TWO.

'What is it?' Fred asked.

'A joker. Edward, I think. Threatening me. Telling me to get out of town or else...' I put a hand to my throat and dropped the receiver. I think it was the fact that Edward wasn't speaking in his normal voice which frightened me more than anything else. If he'd just said in a matter of fact way that he found my presence embarra.s.sing, and that he'd do everything in his power to see I didn't stay, I'd have got the message.

Fred was dialling. He spoke to someone, listened for a moment, killed the call, and tried twice more. Then he beckoned me into his office, bespoke some coffee and made me sit down.

'Edward is not at the hotel, or at the Mills. I tried White Wings on the off-chance, but he isn't there either. Cigarette?' He took one, but I refused. 'Look, Kit; you'll have to tell me what this is all about.'

He was himself again, the sweetest of Billy Bunters. I told him what had been happening, and the conclusions I had drawn. He heard me out, and shook his head.

'I'm sure it's not Edward. It's true that he left very early last night. They were hardly settled at table before they were whispering together, and then Edward fetched Piers, who was with some of his own friends, and they all went off together about fifteen minutes after they'd arrived. I could tell something had happened by the look on Amy's face. You know that prune look of hers? All pursed-up mouth. But why should he a.s.sault and rob you? Why should he want you out of town?'

This was getting difficult. I hadn't told Fred about Johnny, and I wasn't going to do so.

'Scandal?' I suggested.

'Ridiculous!' said Fred. 'Any man would be proud to have his name linked with yours. If I were you, Kit, I wouldn't take any notice of...Hey! That's a thought. If you had your bracelet stolen last night, then how come then charm I gave you was returned to me this morning? It was pushed through the letterbox here. I thought you had returned it to me to show you didn't want me to presume on our old friendship, though heaven knows, it was innocent enough. It upset me, I can tell you.'

'I didn't send it back. I wouldn't have done so for the world. Whoever took it off me last night knew which charm you had given me, and sent it back.'

He didn't offer to give me the charm back, and since I'd lost all the others, I didn't ask for it.

'Edward wouldn't have bothered to send me back my charm,' said Fred. 'Such a petty action. He's not like that. He's generous with his time and his money. Yet...something is very wrong with him, I'll agree. He rang me first thing this morning before I'd left for work. He was at the Dragon Hotel, in the High Street. He said he and Amy had decided to separate with a view to divorce and he was putting White Wings on the market. It is his house, actually-nothing to do with her. I couldn't believe my ears when he said he wanted to sell it. He loves that place and is always working to improve it, putting in the swimming pool, building a studio for Piers. He said I should ring Amy to fix a date for measuring the house. He said he wanted me to find him a flat for the time being; something easy to run. Furnished, he said, because he wasn't taking anything from White Wings. So I rang Amy, and much to my surprise she confirmed what he said about putting the house on the market, although she made out that they wanted something smaller now that Piers was eighteen and wanted to set up on his own. I didn't dare ask her whether it was true about the divorce, but I did check at the Dragon, and it's true that Edward booked in there last night. Amy told me to send someone out to measure the house tomorrow, after the dance. They're having a big "do" there tonight to celebrate Piers' eighteenth birthday. Everyone's going.'

Coffee came, and Fred asked me if I wanted to phone the police. I said no, not to bother, as I'd be seeing Edward later that day, and would sort it out then. Maybe he'd been overworking and ought to see a doctor.

'Shouldn't have thought you two had a lot in common,' said Fred, 'except good looks.'

'Not much,' I agreed. Except our need for each other, which was something I couldn't explain to Fred.

Fred sighed, relaxed in his outsize chair, reached for the biscuit tin and put on the look of a man brooding on a secret sorrow. I recognised the act, which I'd met everywhere I went, as being that of The Misunderstood Husband who wants to tell 'All' to Someone Sympathetic.

I liked Fred, and since I had just remembered that his wife had definitely been called Sheila, I obliged.

'How is Sheila? It's three children you've got, isn't it?'

Of course, I ought to have known better. Three-quarters of an hour I sat there listening, nodding and shaking my head and saying, 'Oh, dear!' at intervals. But it did him good to talk. Poor Fred! Caught feeling up the au pair's skirt, he had bl.u.s.tered instead of pleading guilty due to temporary insanity. Proceeding to a boozy party with a sense of injury, he ended up in a bedroom with a young girl who ought to have known better, and had been discovered, of course! Sheila had taken the three children and gone back to her parents, refusing to speak to him again. That had been six months ago and, according to Fred, Sheila now had an old flame hovering around her and the children could talk of nothing but their new Daddy, who took them to the zoo and sailing, and let them drink sherry in the evenings. Fred had tried weakly at first, and then with every bit of cunning that he possessed, to get Sheila back, but she wouldn't give him so much as the time of day. He was in a bad state, aware of what he had lost and that he had no one to blame for it but himself. He apologised for not speaking to me the night before, but he'd been feeling very nervous, having seen Sheila enter in another party just before him.

He perked up when I'd finished murmuring 'Poor Fred!' and offered to take me out to lunch, or if I was engaged for lunch, to dinner...but no, of course he had to go to Pier's party that evening.

'Tomorrow then?'

I said maybe and left, glancing at my watch. I was going to be late for my appointment with Con.

I almost crashed into a light blue Mini as I drew away from Fred's place. The driver waved me on and followed me out of the city centre. He was still behind me when I reached Con's solid, creeper-clad vicarage.

Con's wife, Bet, came to the door and said not to worry about being late as Con hadn't got back himself yet, and would I care to have a sandwich lunch with him? She was a tall blonde, placid and beautiful, although her figure had thickened with the bearing of four children. I recognised her as the cousin of one of the lads I used to know. She had been Bet Hinds, hadn't she? She remembered me, of course, but she was poised enough not to resent me the way most women did. She knew my story and spoke of my problem sympathetically, adding that she had met my sister through some Women's Inst.i.tute function, and that she believed Mary was going through a difficult time at the moment, what with the change of life and all. I asked Bet if she thought I ought to feel compensated for the loss of my child by all the money which Pat had left me, and she said of course not, and that it was a pity I couldn't find some way of pa.s.sing money on to Tom, as she had heard he wasn't doing too well financially.

It hadn't occurred to me that I could bribe Mary for access to my son. I told Bet I would have to think about it.

If Bet was more beautiful now than she had been as a teenager, Con's looks had not improved. He'd been an ugly, gangling youth with a prominent Adam's apple and a beak of a nose; his hair had always been untidy, and he was constantly mislaying the spectacles without which he was unable to read. The Reverend Conrad Birtwhistle was still untidy, ugly, bespectacled, late for every appointment, and luminous-eyed. Bet set a tray of sandwiches and coffee in the walled garden at the back of the vicarage and disappeared to do some shopping.

The vicarage garden was a much-used plot of land, filled with play equipment for the boys and a jumble of flowers in deep herbacious borders.

'Edward put those roses in for me,' said Con, eyeing a fine display of rambler roses along one wall, first with and then without his gla.s.ses. 'I'm hopeless in the garden, although Bet likes to mess around with a trowel. Jack put up the swing for the boys. Fred's G.o.dfather to the eldest, and it was he who gave them the cricket bats. It's made a mess of the lawn, I'm afraid.'

'One big happy family,' I said.

'Which you are doing your best to upset.' He put his gla.s.ses back on, scrutinised me, sighed, smiled and hugged me. 'Dear Kit, forgive me for seeming churlish? I am very, very pleased to see you. You've hardly changed at all. A little older, perhaps even more beautiful. And no bracelet? Do you know, I felt as if you'd rejected me as a friend when I got the charm back this morning.'

'I didn't send it back. Someone stole my bracelet last night and seems to be returning the charms to their original owners. First Fred, and now you. It's worrying, because it must be someone who knew us very well. What is more, that same someone is trying to run me out of town. You are not the only one to disapprove of my return.'

'I didn't say that. I said that although I could see the idea of returning might appeal to you, it might be ill-timed from Johnny's point of view, and might not be acceptable to one or two other people. As indeed seems to be the case.' He sighed. 'You are a very strong person, Kit. You are the type who can create happiness for yourself wherever you go. You loved Pat, he is dead, and you need another man to love. All right. But did you really have to come back here to look for him?'

'Why not?'

'It depends whom you want, doesn't it? I can't approve of divorce, you know.'

'You are jumping to conclusions!'

'Don't be angry with me, Kit. This whole affair has made me profoundly miserable. Everywhere I go, I meet someone who is disturbed by your return. Tears...I've never got used to coping with tears.'

'Who have I upset?'

'Jack, for one. He's been very lonely since Liz died, but he was drifting into a good relationship with Marge Lawrence, who is a brave woman. She has two children who adore Jack. He's always wanted children. A marriage between Jack and Marge would have been very suitable and might well have come off if it hadn't been for your interference...'

'Interference!'

'Jack had a row and broke it off with Marge last night. I saw him in the street this morning and he could talk of nothing but you and how wonderful it was to have you back. Jack will ask you to marry him if you stick around.'

'And that would be a disaster?'

'Wouldn't it?'

'I suppose so.' I couldn't marry Jack, feeling as I did about Edward. 'All right. I'll make sure he doesn't hope for anything that way. I expect he'll go back to Marge eventually.'

'Not now he's marked the difference between you,' said Con. 'Then what about Fred, eh? I called in on Sheila just now, and she told me you'd been to see him and that he'd asked you to dine with him.'

'How on earth did she know that?'

'He telephoned her after you left. I suppose he was trying to make her jealous of you.' He munched a while. 'She was very jealous of you in the old days, I remember. Fred didn't do himself any good, of course, but he managed to upset her. I left her in tears, coward that I am!' He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory of Sheila's grief. 'Her mother was there, and told me to go, but I really do think I ought to have stayed. I'll ring Sheila in a little while and see if she's feeling better, offer to chauffeur her to Piers' party tonight.'

'Sheila...Ferguson,' I recalled. 'I couldn't place her at first. Morton's sister? Yes, I remember her hanging around once or twice when I was going out with Fred, and looking daggers at me. Oh, dear!'

'And don't tell me you mean to marry Fred, for I wouldn't believe you. As for the boy, the ostensible reason for your return...'

'Ostensible?'

'Don't you think you are being a little selfish, or at least, very self-centred? You come back here with your million-dollar clothes, flashing jewellery, with hands that haven't been near a kitchen sink for years, and disrupt the lives of all my friends with a carelessness that is almost criminal. Don't you care what damage you do, Kit?'

'All I've done is visit some of my old friends...'

'And give them a glimpse of the unattainable, tantalise them into reaching for something they can't have. Johnny is well enough where he is. He is much loved, he is bright and cheerful and healthy and going to university this autumn if you don't throw a spanner in the works. He is the centre of Mary's life, and Tom's hope for the future. If he doesn't want to see you, then leave him alone. He doesn't need another mother, upsetting his established ideas and perhaps causing him to reject Mary because she is faded and tired and unfashionably dressed. He never asks about his father now. He doesn't seem to need him. He doesn't need your money, because it is better for his sort to make his own way in the world. He doesn't need you, Kit.'

Con ought to know. He'd been visiting Mary and Tom at regular intervals ever since I went to America. They didn't like what they termed his 'supervision' at first, but they'd grown to love him because he seemed to think of Johnny as his nephew. Con's letters to me had filled out the sc.r.a.ppy reports I had from my sister, and over the years he had been a true friend to me, and he had kept the secret of Johnny's parentage even from Mary. Even if he had not worn a dog-collar, I would have respected his judgement.

'Even if Johnny doesn't need me, I need him. I feel...forlorn...without Pat.'

'I know. But my dear girl, don't you see that in your grief and your loneliness you are reaching out for what you want without thought of the consequences to other people? Go back to America. You are strong; you can remake your life. Keep yourself busy, that's the thing. Leave Edward alone.'

'I haven't contacted him. He's contacted me.'

'I know. He rang me this morning to tell me what he'd done. But, Kit, it's not too late to save him. You mustn't let him destroy himself.'

'You're talking nonsense!'

'Kit, my dear, I realise everyone doesn't feel as I do about the sanct.i.ty of marriage. In some cases it is wiser, I agree, for husband and wife to separate, but divorce...no. You've lived too long in a climate where a frequent change of partners seems to be the norm. Edward and Amy have been married for nearly nineteen years; they have much in common, and they have a son who is to succeed to the Coulster empire one day. I didn't know Edward too well in the old days, but we are good friends now. He has worked at his marriage, and he has worked at his job. Is he to throw it all away for a pa.s.sing whim?'

'Why blame me for everything? You don't know what he did last night, do you? He...'

'Let me finish. You and Edward both seem to confuse s.e.x with love. When you let your desires take over before, you brought tragedy upon yourself, and this time the tragedy will hit Edward. He doesn't love Amy that way-all right! But he chose to marry her. I agree that there was a lot of pressure put upon him to do so, but there is little doubt in my mind that she loved him. Their marriage has endured. He has been faithful to her. Is she to be thrown aside after nineteen years of marriage, because she can't compete with you in the beauty stakes? And there is Piers; an intelligent lad, but nervy. He needs careful handling. His father understands and loves him. Piers is eighteen years old today and in the middle of a row about his future. Will you deprive the lad of his father at this crucial juncture? And what of Edward's home? White Wings means more to Edward than a house usually means to a man. Early and late he walks round the lake with his dog, tends his roses, potters in his greenhouse. He has achieved contentment. He delights in inviting his friends' children to play tennis on his courts, and punt on his lake. Four times a year he opens his grounds for charity. He is very active in the Boys' Club that he's started down by the Mills. He has grown into his setting.'

'I didn't expect material arguments from you.'

'Here's another. Amy and her family own Coulsters Mills. Edward has some shares-I don't know how many, but not enough for control. He has a contract as managing director, which means they could throw him out if he displeased them. How will he make a living if he divorces Amy? He is used to a Rolls-Royce, hand-made shirts, and servants by now, remember! You are going to destroy him, Kit. You want to take away his reputation, his son, his, home, and his job.'

I cried out. He held my hand, suffering with me.

'All right,' I said at last. 'I'll go away again. I was to have seen Edward this afternoon, but I'll leave a message at the hotel to say I can't keep the appointment. As for Johnny, will you see him for me and find out if he really wishes me to leave him alone? I'm not even sure that Mary has told him whose son he is. I asked her to do so on his eighteenth birthday, but she was so evasive when I saw her...it would be like her to refuse him the information and it is only fair that he should know. Fair to Edward as well as to Johnny. Will you do what you can for me, too? I could come back here...no, not here! I could manage a visit to London at Christmas, say. Johnny could meet me there without upsetting Mary. Oh G.o.d, give me some hope for the future!'

He held me tightly until I was in control once more. Luckily when I cry it doesn't make my eyelids puff up. I got out my powder compact and dabbed at my nose. Con mopped his eyes and blew his nose, blaming his hay fever. He'd mislaid his gla.s.ses by that time, and I had to help him find them.

Although I managed a smiling farewell, I was shaking so hard I found it difficult to put the key in the ignition of my car, and my driving was somewhat erratic. I'm afraid I gave one or two drivers cause to curse women before I got back to the Square, in particular a man in a pale blue Mini, who nearly rammed me at one intersection. I thought I recognised him, and therefore raised my hand in greeting, but when he scowled at me I realised I must have been mistaken. I parked in the Square opposite the hotel, and the Mini parked nearby. A fawn-coloured Rolls with an ES number plate stood in front of the hotel; Edward had arrived. The windows of the hotel lounge overlooked the Square, so he must have seen me. I could find a public phone box and ring the hotel with a message for him to the effect that I couldn't make our date. I could, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't run away, and besides, I wanted my bracelet back.

He rose as I entered, and indicated a chair beside him. He had been sitting in the bay-window overlooking the Square, reading The Times. Coffee for two was waiting on a table for him. He looked very big and well-groomed; exactly the way I liked a man to look.

I sat down, or rather my knees bent and deposited me on the chair. I clasped my hands over my handbag so that he wouldn't see I was trembling. My conscience was warning me that I ought to keep this interview short and formal, but my heart was saying, 'Take him-he's yours!'

'Will you pour out?' said Edward. 'Half and half for me.'

He seemed to be feeling the strain, too. He fidgeted with his paper, laid it on his knee, removed it when it threatened to slip to the floor, and finally sent it skimming at an empty chair nearby. It missed and fell on the floor. We both looked at it, but he made no move to pick it up.

'I'm sorry I'm late,' I said. It was just after two.

'I was early.' He cleared his throat. Far from threatening me, Edward was as nervous as I was. He fidgeted with something in his breast pocket, withdrew it and laid it on the table in front of me. A deposit account book for one of the larger building societies.

'Johnny is not with you?' he asked. 'I hoped he might be. I asked at Reception, but they said you were alone. I suppose he's at one of the excellent summer camps they run in America?'

I didn't reply. Conflicting notions rushed through my mind; that Edward was not behaving as he would have behaved if he had attacked me, that he had no idea I'd left Johnny behind when I'd gone to the States, and that his hair was not fairer than it used to be, but fast turning grey. Suddenly I was as convinced of his innocence as I had been sure of his guilt before I saw him.

'Well, never mind that,' he said. 'Would you arrange for him to get this money? I'll give you a cheque for it. I believe you are fairly well off, but a boy of eighteen can always do with some extra money. I started putting it into the building society as soon as I heard about him.'

I opened the book and looked at the total, which was startlingly high. It occurred to me that this was exactly the sort of thing which Pat might have done under the circ.u.mstances. It also occurred to me that Edward was now forty-two years old, which was the age Pat had reached when I met him.

'Does he know about me?' said Edward. 'I would like him to know, if you don't object. Does he take after you? I don't even know what he looks like. Con wouldn't...'

'Con! It was he who told you my married name, and he who has been giving you information about me?'

'Only since I found out. He made me promise not to contact you, and in return he gave me news of you and the boy, twice a year. Just that you were both well, or that Johnny had had measles. I kept my promise, but I asked a business contact of mine to check up on your husband for me, to find out if he was in a good position financially. I thought you might be in need, even though Con said you weren't. My friend goes over to the States three or four times a year on business. He said he'd made enquiries about your husband, and you were all right. I didn't learn of your husband's death until last week. Thursday. I've already told Con I consider that absolves me from my promise not to contact you.'

Something didn't add up. The first entry in the building society's book was for three years after Johnny's birth and my departure.

I said, 'But I phoned your old home when I knew I was pregnant. Your father took the call and promised to tell you I wanted to speak to you urgently.'

'My father had a vested interest in my marriage. He said nothing to me about your call.'

'I wrote.'

'I found the letter three years later, when I was sorting through some old papers.'

'But I got a letter from you enclosing money.'

'So Con told me. I didn't write it. You've never seen my writing, have you?' He took some papers from his pocket and fanned them out on the table. 'Can you identify the handwriting from these?'

I pointed to one. 'That's it, I think.'

'That's mine,' he said, pointing to another sample. 'Have you got that letter with you?'

'No, it's in a safety deposit box in New York. I suppose your father intercepted my letter, and wrote to me, signing your name. He said horrible things.'

'He's dead. But if you'd only waited, and contacted me in person...phoned me again...'

'What would you have done? Thrown over Amy for me? I'm not a fool, I know you wouldn't.' I lifted the coffee-pot and tried to pour out. My hand trembled so much that I spilt coffee on the tray. I put the pot down, on the verge of tears.

'You are right, of course.' His voice was as harsh as his words. He inspected his right hand, which was also shaking. Setting his jaw, he steadied his hand, picked up the coffee-pot, balanced it, and poured out for both of us, filling both cups to the brim.

'Triumph of mind over matter,' he remarked, and then, comically, 'I forgot to leave room for the cream! Can you drink it black? I don't think I could pour it back!'