‘Miss Tillard didn’t mention Miss Pauline.’ A hint of coolness now in Theresa’s tone. ‘I think it would be better if there weren’t too many visitors at the moment. And I know Saturday morning is very busy for your wife at this time of the year.’
‘Very well then, I’ll see you in about an hour.’ When he had replaced the receiver, he sat for several seconds frowning down at the carpet, then he stood up abruptly and went over to his desk, pulled open a drawer and searched rapidly through its contents. ‘Ah!’ he said aloud a few moments later as he found what he was looking for. He sat down, picked up a pen and began to write.
‘Mr Godfrey not going into the works then this morning, madam?’ Bessie Meacham asked with casual interest when Pauline went into the kitchen at a quarter to eleven in search of coffee.
‘No, I don’t think he is. I believe he said something earlier.’ Pauline dragged her mind back from its preoccupations. She had never set foot inside the works, it had never occurred to either her or Godfrey that she might do so. She made regular conventional inquiries about the state of affairs at Barratt’s and received brief reassuring reports of progress.
‘I noticed his car still in the garage just now.’ Bessie opened the oven door and gazed critically inside. ‘That’s why I asked.’ An appetizing smell of roast lamb drifted out into the kitchen.
Pauline took down a tray from one of the crowded shelves. ‘I expect he’s in the study. I’ll take him a cup of coffee.’ She glanced at Bessie who was carefully basting the meat. ‘How’s the cooking going? Everything under control?’
‘Yes, thank you, madam.’ Bessie continued to ladle hot fat over the lamb. I do wish she wouldn’t address me as madam, Pauline thought with the flick of irritation that still sometimes stung her.
She poured out the coffee and took it along to the study. Godfrey was sitting at his desk, sorting through a bundle of papers. He wore a look of intense concentration, and it appeared to take him a moment or two to realize that his wife was in the room and that she was putting a cup of coffee down on the table beside him.
‘Better not let it get cold,’ Pauline said gently. He glanced up with an abstracted look and then his gaze focused on her. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
‘I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t hear you come in, I was deep in documents and figures.’ He had said not a word to her about his fears over Osmond’s, would continue to say nothing until the very last moment – there was still a chance that the moment might never arrive. He picked up the topmost papers, scrutinized them, slipped a couple into his breast pocket and returned the others to the desk. ‘By the way, Theresa Onil phoned just now.’ He closed the desk and locked it. ‘It seems Aunt Elinor is not very well this morning, Theresa’s sent for the doctor.’
Pauline set down her cup with a little clatter. ‘How bad is she?’
Godfrey began to drink his coffee. ‘Don’t be alarmed, I dare say it won’t prove to be anything very serious, probably just another gastric upset. I know it can’t be very pleasant for her, but I should think in a week or two—’
‘She’s seventy.’ Pauline walked over to the window and looked out at the nodding roses. ‘Do you think we ought to phone Marion?’ she asked in an unemotional voice. ‘It’s quite a long time since she’s seen Aunt Elinor. I feel perhaps she should be told she’s ill.’ She turned round suddenly. ‘Does Aunt Elinor want to see me? Did Theresa say?’
‘I did ask but Theresa thought it would be better if you waited till tomorrow or Monday. Aunt Elinor wants me to go up there this morning, and then there’ll be the doctor, Theresa thought that would be enough visitors for one day.’
‘Theresa Onil takes it on herself to think rather too many things that are not strictly her business. She’s scarcely one of the family.’ And that ridiculous name, Pauline thought with unreasoning prejudice, she can’t even have a sensible name like everyone else. Forty years ago Theresa’s mother, walking gracefully along a rutted track on the edge of the Ashanti forests, had stopped and given directions to a young Irishman, a mining engineer newly arrived in the Gold Coast. The engine of his car was overheated, he was tired and thirsty, he could see no sign whatever of the cluster of buildings he had been assured he couldn’t miss. The girl was young and slender, shyly smiling. Yes, she knew the mine buildings – he had taken the wrong road some miles back; yes, she would come with him in the car and point out the way.
Three months later young O’Neill died swiftly and terribly of blackwater fever and the girl went back to her village. When her daughter was born she called her Theresa after a nun at the mission hopsital; there had never been any need for a surname until years later when the baby had grown into a tall, rather silent girl anxious for education. Onil, her mother had said, standing by the desk in the school office, casting her mind back with difficulty to the young Irishman with his black hair and blue eyes, an improbable figure from a brief, incredible time.
‘Come now,’ Godfrey said with mild reproof. ‘Theresa looks after your aunt as devotedly as if she actually were a member of the family.’ He finished his coffee, patted the papers in his breast pocket and glanced at the clock. ‘I won’t take the car, I’ll walk up to the bungalow. Young Nightingale’s looking in at about half past eleven, I’ll have a chat with him after he’s seen your aunt.’
‘You haven’t said yet whether we ought to phone Marion and Stephen.’ Pauline gave him a steady look. Marion was her sister, three years older than Pauline, married to Stephen Lockwood, a business executive. They lived some way off, in Barbridge, an industrial town markedly lacking in charm; it was a considerable time since visits had been exchanged between the two families.
‘You can phone if you think it necessary,’ Godfrey said after a short pause. He was silent again for several seconds. ‘Yes, I suppose you’d better.’
Pauline’s manner grew suddenly brisk. ‘I’ll suggest they stay for a week or two. Stephen might be able to take a little holiday, I’m sure Marion would like to see all the old haunts again.’ Something rather forced about the brightness of her tone. She picked up the coffee cups and placed them neatly on the tray; her eyes didn’t meet Godfrey’s.
‘Will you be able to fit them in all right?’ he asked, a little surprised at the determination in her manner.
‘The boys will be going off to camp in another week.’ She glanced at the photographs on top of the desk. Her sons looked out of the frames with self-conscious smiles, two sturdy boys, tall and fair like Godfrey. They were due home on Tuesday from the school which had been their father’s and their grandfather’s. ‘Their rooms will be free,’ she said. And she always tried to keep one or two bedrooms unbooked for casual holidaymakers looking for overnight accommodation.
‘I very much doubt that Stephen will be able to get away for more than a day or two,’ Godfrey said. ‘And in any case, don’t they always go abroad for their holidays?’
Does he really not want them to come? Pauline asked herself with such a fierce stab of the old jealousy that she raised a hand and pressed it to her side as if the pain had a physical cause. Godfrey had been wildly, passionately in love with Marion; they were never actually engaged but everyone had been certain they would marry. And then Stephen Lockwood had taken it into his head on a sunny, idle Saturday morning to go back to Chilford, to his old school, where they were giving a garden party to launch an appeal fund for the building of a new science block. The Tillard girls had gone to the garden party with their father, an old boy of the school. Marion was then twenty years old, at the height of her beauty; Pauline was seventeen, only just liberated from the classroom, still afflicted by adolescent spots and plumpness. Stephen had been coming out of the refreshment marquee where he had been making himself useful handing round glasses of iced lemonade, he had looked across the emerald lawns and seen the two girls coming towards him. Easy enough to find someone to introduce them; six weeks later he and Marion were engaged, in another couple of months they were married.
‘They went to Malta at Easter,’ Pauline said.