The Letter, page 15
‘But you’re in favour, love?’
Sidney thought it unwise to confide in his mother anything about him working on persuading other members of the Planning Committee to come round to Mr Chalfont’s way of thinking.
‘That’s none of your business, Mam. When we’ve considered it, we’ll let Mr Chalfont know our conclusions,’ he said pompously.
Nancy frowned. ‘There’s no need to be rude, Sidney. None of my business, indeed! Muriel Chalfont obviously thought I would be interested to know about it.’
‘Well, it’s for us in Planning to make the decision, not the Fundraising Committee.’
‘But if Mr Chalfont sponsors the clock,’ said Nancy, clearly shrugging off her hurt feelings, ‘it’ll be maintained for good at no cost to the folk of Theddleton, and very nice it will be, too, with that smart-looking crown that is the crest of the Imperial Hotel. It’s almost like they’re part of the Royal Family.’
Sidney, rolling his eyes, put down his cup and saucer and looked directly at his mother with a sigh. ‘Mam, why are you so keen on Mr Chalfont having his way? I can’t see what you have to gain by it.’
‘I’m not,’ said Nancy, ‘but Muriel is a grand girl and, well, she was very friendly – not just tea at the hotel, but teacakes, too. And the waiter was very polite, even more so than the time I was there for the fundraisers’ meeting.’
‘Well, of course he was. Muriel is Joseph Chalfont’s daughter – she’s always going to be treated grand at the hotel.’
‘But she didn’t have to ask me to tea. She’s really chatty, once you get talking to her. Well, you know that, of course. I wonder, now she’s made the first move, whether we could be friends, for all there’s a few years’ difference in age between us.’
Sidney laughed. ‘Mam, Muriel Chalfont is my age – that’s more than a few years.’
‘Well, perhaps she’s being friendly with me because she wants to get to know you better.’
‘She’s always very nice whenever I see her,’ Sidney said carefully. He’d met up with Muriel a few times in the afternoons, when he’d been on site visits and had finished early. She was a looker and a flirt, always delighted to see him. At first he had thought her interest was only in the planning application for the floral clock, but she had been so very charming that he had come round to thinking she was quite keen on being friends – or perhaps something more. He wasn’t telling his mother this, however.
‘Don’t sell yourself short, love,’ said Nancy. ‘You’re doing well at the town hall, and I reckon you could become head of Planning if you continue to work hard. Not everyone gets on with that Mr Penrose, I gather. You’d be mixing in the right circles then.’
‘Aye, mebbe …’
‘It’s always useful to know the right people, Sidney. The Chalfonts are the right sort in Theddleton. You could be aiming a lot higher than you are, you know, lad. Muriel is such a nice girl. Pretty, too. You’d be wise to get to know her better.’
‘Mam, I’m engaged to Bella.’ Sidney felt he had to remind his mother. And himself. But already there was the worm of an idea burrowing through his mind that, of the two, Muriel was undoubtedly the more glamorous, the more influential, and the wealthier.
‘Oh, aye, but you can still be friends with Muriel … see where that takes you. And, you know, it’s not too late to change your mind about marrying Bella Marchant.’
How strange that his mother had picked up on that very private and secret thought. That gave it validity: his mother definitely had his best interests at heart, and she was right about most things on which she expressed her opinion.
‘You want a wife who matches you for ambition and social standing,’ Nancy went on, when Sidney didn’t reply, primping her permed hair and brushing an invisible crumb off her pleated skirt, ‘not someone who’s as much a child as an adult, working in a toyshop, for goodness’ sake. Home-made clothes, and her hair in a plait like a schoolgirl.’
‘Give over, Mam. Bella’s all right.’ Inadvertently, his mother had reminded him of the things about Bella that were very much part of her unpretentious appeal.
‘Oh, aye, she’s all right, but do you want all right, my lad, or do you want better than that … the best? ’Cos I reckon as Muriel has worked out you’re a young man who’s going places, love, and she’s got her eye on you. And, as I say, if you know folk with influence, they can help you get on in life, Sidney. You’d be wise to bear that in mind. Certainly, I intend to foster the friendship we struck up this morning.’
‘Please, Mam, just don’t interfere with owt to do with this floral clock. It’d be embarrassing if you, my mam, and on the Fundraising Committee, said one thing and it looked like some kind of promise, and the Planning Committee decided on summat else. Leave it to us, please.’ He looked hard at his mother.
Nancy went a bit pink, and she looked away. ‘No need to take that tone, Sidney. Embarrassing, indeed!’
‘Oh, c’mon now, Mam. I only meant we have to make the decisions and I don’t want you to be caught in any crossfire between Planning and Mr Chalfont, that’s all. And I don’t want to be caught in any crossfire myself.’ He gave his mother a meaningful look.
‘All right,’ conceded Nancy. ‘But I reckon Muriel Chalfont’s a lovely lass.’
Having had the last word, she got up to take her cup to the kitchen and begin cooking their tea, but turned at the door as if a new thought had just at that moment occurred to her.
‘You know, Sidney, love, you don’t want to be rushing into that wedding Bella’s so keen to be planning and find it was all a terrible mistake, do you?’
‘Give over, Mam. I’m rushing into nowt.’
‘You see, love, I know better than anyone how special you are – how exceptional – and I don’t want you finding out you’ve not done as well as you might. I’m beginning to wonder if Bella Marchant is really right for you.’
Sidney opened his mouth to tell her he’d had enough of this conversation, but Nancy held up her hand as if she were stopping traffic and continued: ‘Oh, I’ve tried to like the girl, but she’s a gift for misjudging things. To organise your wedding around pleasing her employers at the toyshop, for instance. I ask you!’
Sidney’s conscience was pricked by now, and he wasn’t ready to give up on his fiancée completely. ‘She is keen on September, right enough. But, Mam, you know what a good sort Bella is. She likes to oblige folk, which is to her credit, and she does get along grand with Mr and Mrs Warminster.’
‘Well, I don’t see her obliging me, and I’d have thought I’d come above anyone … except you, of course. And I’ll tell you what else I’m bothered about, Sidney. Now she’s got that young cousin of hers in tow, despite what Bella says, you could just find yourself supporting that lass as well as Bella. Keeping them both! She may have told you that this Millie, or whatever her name is, is stopping with her dad and that sister of hers, but what if the cousin has a different idea? Or Alice and their dad do? Or Bella changes her mind and wants to bring her with her? Bring her here. I reckon you’d be wise to hold off marrying for a bit, until you see how things shake down.’
She went to cook their dinner, with a look on her face that said she thought she’d made her point.
Sidney threw the newspaper onto the chair she had vacated and then sat staring into his tea. He’d better warn Muriel off trying to butter up his mother. Her interfering would only muddy the waters, and he was pretty confident that, if he was discreet, he could work the decision about the floral clock Mr Chalfont’s way, which would be in his interests, too. Mr Chalfont had made that clear.
As for Bella and her cousin, Bella had been at pains to assure him that Millie would continue to live with Alice and their father, but what if Mam was right?
Bella was extremely disappointed that Mrs Hailsham had proved unreliable over her commission for Millie to paint her beach hut. Millie had been so excited, and she’d shown Bella her wild-flower design with such pride. Not only was it very beautiful, it was astonishingly accomplished. Millie had thought of all kinds of special little touches: ladybirds and bees among the flowers, and bindweed and dog roses trailing up around the windows. It was a very ambitious plan for so young an artist to have designed.
Bella was then torn between thinking she should help Millie by offering the Marchant beach hut up to her to use as a shop window for her skills, and not wanting it painted at all because it was so comforting to keep it exactly as it had been when she and Alice were little and they had first picnicked there with their mother.
Bella and Alice discussed what to do on their walk home from work together one evening.
‘I love the beach hut for all its associations with Mam and our childhoods, but it will still be ours, even if it’s got a bright new look,’ reasoned Alice. ‘Mebbe it needs painting after all this time, and why wouldn’t we let Millie do it if it helps her, too? It would be almost symbolic: we’re sharing our hut with Millie now she’s in our lives. And her design is very impressive.’
‘Oh, now I feel mean,’ sighed Bella, wringing her hands. ‘I don’t want to exclude Millie, but she didn’t know Mam. Mam’s hut was left to us – you and me – and it has a history and place in our lives that it never can have for Millie.’
‘All right …’ said Alice, slowly. ‘It’s no to the mural, then?’
Bella nodded sadly. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’m probably standing in Millie’s way when she needs some help, but I don’t think I can bear to have the old white walls painted over with flowers Mam will never see, however pretty. Some things are too precious to be spruced up and made over.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Bella,’ said Alice. ‘You’ve made your feelings clear, and you’ve a right to your opinion. The hut stays as it is. You’ll only be upset and regret it if Millie decorates it, however brilliant it looks, so let’s think of summat else for Millie to do.’
‘We’ll go down on Sunday and see if anyone’s around and wants their hut painted,’ suggested Bella.
The Sunday visit, with picnic, proved to be another disappointment, however. When the girls arrived at their beach hut, they saw that the windows to Mrs Hailsham’s, next to it, had been smashed and the wind had got in and rent the curtains, which were hanging raggedly, limp with damp sea air.
‘Oh dear, I wonder if she knows,’ said Bella. ‘It’s a shame if her hut is falling into disrepair and she isn’t aware of it.’
‘Also,’ said Alice, practically, ‘it does make the whole row look shabby. We may not be bright and new, but at least we’re not derelict. I think I ought to go along and tell Marjory Hailsham, in case she isn’t aware. We’ve never had a problem with vandalism before now, but I can’t think what else would be the cause, or why it’s just Mrs Hailsham’s hut that is damaged.’
‘Maybe some stones got blown up off the beach and it was just bad luck they broke the windows,’ suggested Millie.
Alice gave her a long look. ‘Millie, you don’t know owt about it, do you?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because you have a bit of a history with stones and windows, if I remember rightly.’
‘If I want to throw stones, I skim them into the sea, like you showed me,’ said Millie. ‘If I want to make trouble for the Hailshams, I can think of bigger ways to do it than smashing up their stupid beach hut.’
Alice and Bella looked at each other. Millie was clearly still angry about Mrs Hailsham reneging on the painting commission.
‘Don’t be cross, sweetheart,’ said Bella. ‘No one wants any trouble. Put it behind you and let’s think of summat else for you to paint.’
As they set up the deck chairs on the wide path, Bella noticed how the blue paint was peeling on the doorframe, and she suddenly had an idea.
‘Why didn’t I think of it before? Millie, I know you like to create pictures and you’re not a painter and decorator, but if you were to repaint the outside for us, matching the old colour of the stripes, it would be as it ever was, only better.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Alice agreed. ‘It would be more weatherproof and summat for you to do that might very well lead to commissions, although probably not for the kind of painting you really want to undertake, I’m afraid. Still, it would keep you out of mischief as you seem not to be having any luck finding a job.’ She looked at Millie carefully to see how she might take this remark, but Millie didn’t react to it.
Instead, she brightened. She had been furious about Mrs Hailsham’s ‘betrayal’, as she saw it.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It would do to be going on with. People will come past and see your hut is the best, and then they’ll want theirs doing.’
‘That’s the idea,’ said Bella, ‘but there are no guarantees, remember, so don’t get your hopes up too high.’
After they had eaten their picnic and sat gazing out at the sea and breathing the scent of spring on the fresh air, Alice said she’d go and see if Marjory Hailsham was at home.
Bella and Millie declined to go with her, and Millie became very absorbed in sketching the view over the beach.
Alice looked up at the imposing façade of Mrs Hailsham’s house. The place really was huge for just two women to live in, although perhaps a little sad-looking, a little bit neglected, now Alice could look more closely.
She hoped she wasn’t intruding, coming here on a Sunday afternoon, but Miss Hailsham needed to know about the damage to the hut. There was no sign of anyone about. At least, thought Alice, she probably wouldn’t be interrupting the Hailshams entertaining visitors.
She knocked on the front door and stood back. After a minute or two, Miss Hailsham, looking pale and worn, opened the door a fraction, peering out nervously.
‘Yes?’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Hailsham. I’m Alice Marchant.’
‘Oh … yes, of course. I recognise you, Miss Marchant.’ Marjory Hailsham sounded very tired. She opened the door wider. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I notice Mrs Hailsham’s beach hut has been damaged – the windows broken – and I thought you should know.’
The wan look on Miss Hailsham’s face disappeared then, to be replaced by a mixture of both anger and anxiety. ‘That wretched beach hut! It’s been just one thing after another lately – in fact, since some urchin appeared here, claiming to have been asked to paint it.’
Alice stepped back. She was inclined to shrug off the woman’s rudeness and go. After all, she’d only come out of consideration to the Hailshams, and whatever was the matter here, it wasn’t her fault. She understood ‘some urchin’ to be Millie, and she resented her cousin, who had been let down and disappointed by Mrs Hailsham’s lack of focus, being referred to in this way. She turned to leave.
‘Well, I’m sorry to have bothered—’
‘It’s an absolute nightmare. Since the very day of the mix-up about the beach hut, my mother’s been claiming she’s being visited by dead people in the night. She’s terrified to go to sleep, and when she’s awake she’s so nervous, she’s continually shaking. I can’t seem to reason with her. She’s become a complete nervous wreck.’
Alice backed away further in embarrassment. The woman was far from calm and obviously at the end of her tether, otherwise she would never be telling all this to a mere acquaintance. ‘I’m sorry to hear Mrs Hailsham is ill, but—’
‘And now I’m beginning to think it’s catching. How can delusions be catching?’
With every passing moment, Alice was wishing more and more that she hadn’t come here. She had nothing helpful to say, but Miss Hailsham seemed to be waiting for an answer.
‘Er, I think, Miss Hailsham, that I had better go,’ she said. ‘I’m very sorry to have troubled—’
‘I was sure there was someone – or something – with a lantern the other night, standing in the garden. Just standing there, waiting. I know it was just a trick of the light but, in those strange, dark hours, I was … well, I was frightened. Then, last night, I heard footsteps outside. There was someone coming to the house, slowly getting nearer and nearer. I distinctly heard their footsteps on the gravel. I hardly dared look – I was filled with dread – but when I did find the courage to peep out, there was no one.’
‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ said Alice bracingly. ‘You wouldn’t want there to be anyone.’
‘But I heard someone, I’m sure of it. Then, when the footsteps had abruptly stopped, right outside the door, where you’re standing now, Mother suddenly started screaming. I nearly died of fright. It was just a bad dream, but … oh, Miss Marchant, I’m so tired, and Mother’s getting worse. She has a little, er, fondness for a sherry sometimes, and I don’t know if it’s the’ – she lowered her voice – ‘the drink that’s causing her madness or her madness that makes her drink. I don’t know what to do …’
Marjory Hailsham started to sob noisily, her eyes red and her face contorted and ugly, and Alice gathered herself and decided she couldn’t leave the woman like this, however much she wanted to.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I think what you need, Miss Hailsham, is a visit from the doctor. He’s the person to help you and your mother. Would you like me to call him for you?’ Alice had already noticed a telephone line running from a pole in the street to the house.
‘Yes, please,’ said Miss Hailsham in a broken little voice.
‘And if he can come out to you straight away, I’ll make you and Mrs Hailsham a pot of tea and wait here until he arrives. How does that sound?’
The distraught woman nodded. ‘You’re very kind, Miss Marchant.’
Oh, thank goodness, thought Alice. They were back on safe social grounds: a pot of tea and the doctor. She just hoped he was at home and would be able to visit at once.
‘Alice, you’ve been ages. Were they in?’ Bella asked, still sitting in her deck chair, knitting.
‘They were in, all right. Both as mad as fish. Where’s Millie?’
‘Mrs Cook’s lad, Edwin, came by and said hello. Millie’s gone to look at his mother’s boat with him.’
