Читать книгу Home is Where the Heart Is - Freda Lightfoot, Freda Lightfoot - Страница 12

If Cathie had been hoping to see jolly faces in funny hats, hear the sound of carols being sung or played on a piano, or even laughter resonating through the house as this was Christmas Day, she was instantly disappointed. There wasn’t even any sign of Christmas decorations, save for a stately tree set in a corner of the large, spacious hall, sparingly bedecked with baubles. Nor was Alex waiting there to welcome her. The door was opened by an elderly manservant, who took her coat and hat before leading her upstairs to the drawing room. Cathie trembled with nerves. This was not at all how she’d hoped to spend Christmas, nor had she imagined that Alex’s home would be so grand. How naïve of her to assume he would be happy to spend it at her own humble abode.

As she entered, the entire family, seated on leather armchairs set around a stunningly beautiful panelled room, all turned to gaze upon her in silence. No one spoke, or offered the compliments of the season. Was her Christmas rose dress too garish? Did it not suit her strawberry blonde curls, which suddenly seemed to be falling over her flushed cheeks in a scraggy mess, making Cathie feel even more uncomfortable? A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, seeming to freeze the scene in its bright light, which even the flames from the coal fire burning in the stately fireplace failed to warm. Then, springing from his chair by the window, Alex strode over to put an arm about her shoulders and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Cathie smiled up at him, sighing with relief.

‘Merry Christmas,’ she murmured.

‘And to you, sweetheart. Come and meet my folks.’

Leading her by the hand around the room rather like a dog on a lead, he introduced her, one by one, to his family, a process she found totally confusing. There were so many of them that she instantly forgot every name and relationship the instant it was given. She had no difficulty, however, remembering his stern-faced father. Doctor Victor Ryman appeared quite old, stockily built, and really rather grand, as Brenda had told her he was. The very arrogance of his stance filled her with a sense of foreboding. He offered no compliments of the season either, or even a welcoming smile, merely muttered good day through clenched teeth, giving her a brief nod.

Alex’s mother, Dorothy, a tall elegant lady, smiled somewhat coldly as she offered Cathie a slender hand sparkling with jewelled rings and bracelets. And his sister, Thelma, a perfect beauty with a sheath of glossy black hair that fell upon her bare shoulders, was wearing the kind of long stylish gown one would only expect to see worn by Rita Hayworth in such films as Cover Girl.

‘It looks as if your family have lived here for generations,’ Cathie politely remarked, admiring the range of portraits depicting Alex’s ancestors that were hung upon the silk-covered walls. She felt utterly overwhelmed and intimidated by the apparent high status of his family. What kind of home had she stepped into?

‘Not really, we’ve moved about quite a lot, and the portraits come with us wherever we go, don’t they, Pa?’ his sister said, glancing with a shrug and a smile at her father.

‘Indeed, even to India,’ he agreed. ‘They are our heritage, which confirm who we are.’

Did she have such a thing as heritage, whatever that might mean exactly? Cathie wondered. It seemed highly unlikely as her mother rarely spoke of her own family, and they tended to get through life by taking one day at a time.

‘I believe you live close to Potato Wharf, Miss Morgan?’

‘Cathie, please.’ How formal everyone sounded. ‘We live near the River Medlock actually, but in that general area, yes,’ she agreed, not wishing to be too specific considering the sad state of their street right now.

‘Poor you, so glad I wasn’t born round here.’

Her brother gave a hollow laugh, which to Cathie’s ears sounded faintly embarrassed. ‘It’s not a bad thing to be Manchester-born.’

‘How can you say that when you were born in Jaipur, as were the rest of us while Pa was working for the Rajah out there? Of all the wonderful places we’ve lived, I ask myself daily how on earth we ended up living in this dreadful city.’

‘Manchester is a wonderful city,’ Cathie bravely stated. ‘Or was before the war destroyed so much of it. As is Castlefield.’

‘What a silly name,’ Thelma retorted. ‘I don’t see any sign of a castle.’

‘I think it had something to do with the Romans who once occupied this area, so maybe they had a castle or a fort of some sort. It used to be called Castle-in-the-Field back in medieval times when even then Manchester was a famous trading port, or so my father told me. But over time the name of this district was shortened to Castlefield. I’m quite proud to be a Mancunian, actually.’

‘Brave of you to take such a stand, dear, although you didn’t have any choice on where you were born, so you have my sympathy.’ Thelma flicked her winged brows in caustic amusement before graciously moving back to her seat, leaving a cloud of Chanel perfume in her wake.

Cathie almost wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

The atmosphere over lunch was equally chilly and fraught with tension, almost as bad as the cold sleet now slapping against the stained glass windows. There were various aunts, uncles and cousins seated around the large table. Cathie smiled vaguely at everyone, but no one smiled back, or even bothered to speak to her save for his Aunt Mary, a wizened old woman with grey hair who prattled on at length about a book, For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway, which she happened to be reading. Even Alex seemed sunk in some private world.

Cathie attempted to fill the frozen silence by mentioning the success of the charity concert the other night.

‘Thanks to the Co-op we managed to raise a great deal of money for our returning heroes,’ she told Doctor Ryman, who was seated opposite her, his wife by his side. Neither responded, offering not a word of congratulations.

Throughout the meal his mother, Dorothy, frequently cast curious glances in Cathie’s direction while conversing quietly with her husband. Were they discussing her? They certainly seemed to be examining her in excruciating detail. Cathie felt as if she were on show in a shop window, the entire family watching the way she lifted her glass, held her knife and fork, and chewed upon her food. At one point, she slid a hand beneath the table to clasp Alex’s knee, needing the reassurance of his presence beside her. Even that brought little response beyond a small sideways twist of a smile.

Striving not to appear offended at being so ignored, Cathie concentrated on eating the Christmas turkey. ‘This is so tender,’ she said at last, unable to bear the awkward silence any longer. ‘We were going to have goose, unfortunately …’ She stopped in her tracks, not wishing to explain how her selfish mother had given it away, despite the curious glances directed her way.

‘What? You didn’t know how to cook it?’ Thelma asked with a laugh.

Cathie’s cheeks flushed bright red. ‘Well, yes, actually, I did, although my cooking is nowhere near as good as yours, Mrs Ryman.’

‘Then perhaps you should take lessons from the WVS,’ Dorothy remarked coolly. ‘Particularly if you are soon to be married.’

‘Oh, I’d never thought of that. Not that I could afford to, nor have I the time.’

His mother gave a wintry sort of smile that did not reach her cloudy grey eyes. ‘Such classes are free. Besides, you have all the time in the world to make your husband happy. That will be your job from now on, so long as you feel up to the task, that is.’

Cathie felt a strong urge to dispute this remark, but fortunately her sense of caution won out and she kept silent. The conversation around the table again reverted to personal matters, which she allowed to drift over her head, making no attempt to listen, let alone join in. Alex was likewise ignoring her, exchanging a few words with his father. Perhaps, she thought, when lunch was over, there would be the opportunity for them to be alone at last and have time to talk. Till then, she’d button her lip and say nothing more.

But his mother’s next question, directed specifically at her, changed everything. ‘I perfectly understand why a young girl such as yourself would be eager to quickly tie the knot, but you need to remember that my son has only just returned from the war, so must be allowed some time to recover before you rush him down the aisle.’

Cathie let out a little gasp. ‘I wasn’t planning on doing any such thing.’ The joy she’d felt in anticipation of Alex’s homecoming, and their wedding, had now quite deserted her. ‘We haven’t even fixed a date yet, have we, Alex?’ she said, turning to him for confirmation.

‘It’s none of your business, Ma. We’ll marry when we choose,’ he announced firmly.

‘Don’t speak to your mother in that manner,’ ordered his father. ‘She is only showing concern for you.’

‘I don’t need her concern. I’m perfectly well. No injuries, no loss of limb, not blind or deaf. Nor am I any longer the young boy I was when I joined the army back in ‘39, but a grown man who makes his own decisions in life.’

‘You are most certainly not the man you were, darling boy,’ she insisted. ‘You don’t even seem happy to be home, behaving ridiculously tetchy and bad-tempered one minute, and sunk into silent gloom the next.’

‘You won’t even tell us where you’ve been stationed, or what you’ve been up to these last years,’ his father growled. ‘Nothing about your role or rank in the army, let alone what you hope to do in the future.’

‘We were shelled, bombed, friends killed, intimidated and attacked by our enemies. Why would I wish to speak of any of that?’ Alex snapped.

‘You could share some of your agony with us. It might help.’

‘I have friends who don’t care to remember painful times either,’ Cathie hastily put in, anxious to offer Alex her support.

‘Quite!’ he grumbled, slapping down his knife and fork and pushing aside his half-eaten meal, his tone harsh with anger.

Dorothy cast Cathie a furious glare, as if the fault were hers that he’d abandoned his dinner, before turning with a gentle smile back to her son. ‘Then it’s even more important for you to take time to rest and recuperate. Landing yourself with the hassle of organising a wedding and finding a home as well as a new job is not a good idea right now. It’s not as if this girl is in the family way, which would be the only reason to rush headlong into marriage. At least I assume that to be the case?’ she caustically remarked.

Shocked by the question, and feeling the food clog her throat, Cathie took a quick sip of water to stop herself from choking, an attack of nerves making her shake. Was this the moment to reveal all? She was struggling to find the rights words to explain her position when the butler, who had quietly entered the dining room, whispered something in Mrs Ryman’s ear. The woman seemed to freeze as her narrowed eyes glowered at Cathie with a flint-eyed glare.

‘There’s someone at the door asking for you. She has apparently brought your baby in a pram, and the child is crying for her mummy!’

All around the table knives and forks dropped, conversation halted and every pair of eyes fell upon her like daggers.

‘Good God,’ Alex said. ‘You have a child? So who’s the damned father? It certainly isn’t me?’

They were seated in the conservatory, Cathie quietly sobbing into her handkerchief. ‘I know I should have told you before now, Alex. I truly meant to. I tried on numerous occasions to summon up the courage to mention it in a letter, but was always put off by my mother. She insisted you had enough to contend with fighting a war. Also, I was still grieving, and couldn’t bear to keep going over Sal’s death.’

‘Your reasons for keeping it a secret are much more basic than that,’ he snarled. ‘You were obviously reluctant to admit that you’d had a baby.’

Alex was striding back and forth, fists clenched, fury etched upon his handsome face. Cathie felt as if he were a commanding officer and she was one of his men, whom he was reprimanding for some alleged misconduct. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she whispered, ‘You aren’t listening to me, Alex. I’ve just explained that the child is my niece.’

His glance was scathing. ‘Do you have proof of that fact?’

‘Such as?’

‘A birth certificate.’

Cathie shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Sal hadn’t got around to registering the birth before she was killed.’

‘How very convenient.’

‘Heather is most definitely the daughter of my sister Sally and her husband Tony, who, as you know, were both tragically killed. The poor child is an orphan and I’m the only relative she has left in the world, save for her useless grandmother. I love her, and rather hoped you would come to adore her too. Look at what a sweetie she is.’

Watching her aunt weep had earlier brought a rather sad expression to the baby’s round face. Now Heather was smiling as she sat happily on Cathie’s lap, rubbing her little head into her neck, obviously feeling the need for a loving cuddle. How Cathie longed for Alex to take her into his arms and offer the same sort of comfort, to somehow overcome this distance growing between them.

‘That child’s behaviour is appalling. I’ve never seen such a fusspot. She seems to be a right little madam.’

‘Heather was upset, that’s all.’ It was true the baby had been screaming and kicking quite hysterically, in something of a tantrum when Cathie had dashed to the door. Davina had looked equally distressed. Holding the teddy bear in her hand, her friend had explained how the baby had refused to eat a thing, and wouldn’t stop crying.

‘I swear that I would not have brought her to you otherwise. I know you didn’t want Alex to know about the child yet,’ she said, adopting a woeful expression.

Only too aware that he stood hovering close behind her, a shocked expression on his face, and must surely have heard this remark, Cathie had hastily gathered the child in her arms and offered reassurance to Davina. ‘Don’t worry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left her.’ She paid little attention to the smile of satisfaction on her friend’s face as she’d cuddled and kissed the baby’s hot head. But she was deeply aware of the tension bristling within Alex, and still was as her efforts to explain the situation to him did not seem to be working.

Determined to do right by her late sister and the baby she already loved as if she really were her own, Cathie tried again. ‘You need to understand, Alex, that because of the neglect I suffered as a child myself I wish to do my best for little Heather by adopting her. I did hope that you would agree.’

‘You think I’m some sort of idiot that I’d believe such tripe? How many times have women pretended to adopt a long lost cousin or niece? The child might call them aunt in public, but everyone knows she’s really the mother. Or else she gets her own mother to take the child on and makes out the child is her sister. Why don’t you ask Rona to do that?’

Cathie almost laughed out loud. ‘Absolutely not!’ she spluttered. ‘Not all women are natural mothers, and mine most certainly isn’t. Besides, I’ve just explained who Heather is. Why won’t you believe me?’

He glared at her, lips curling with disgust. ‘Because I know when I’m being lied to. Were this child really your niece then someone else could easily adopt her. Someone who can offer the child a proper home and a father. Why should it be you, unless the child really is yours?’

Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve already told you that Sal and I were very close, so I feel that I owe it to my late sister’s memory to take good care of her baby.’

‘Stuff and nonsense! I assure you that I’ve no intention of taking on another man’s child. Why would I? It’s that Steve fellow, isn’t it?’ he shouted, wagging a furious finger in her face. ‘I saw you with him the other night, giving him a kiss. You could have told me all about this child then.’

Devastation hit her that Alex should imagine for one moment that she could love anyone but him, let alone engage in an affair. ‘That’s not true, Alex! Steve and I are just old friends, nothing more and never have been. We don’t even get on terribly well, constantly falling out. And that was simply a thank you peck on the cheek for all the work he’d done. I’d been helping him run that charity event, as you know full well.’

‘Don’t take me for a damn fool,’ he shouted, in the kind of dismissively stern voice that denied argument. ‘Who else would it be, if not him? Some Yank perhaps? You did say when we were at the Ritz that there were plenty stationed near Manchester, and who attended the dances, so that’s a definite possibility.’

‘I also made it very plain that I was not involved with them in any way.’

He shrugged. ‘Whoever the father is, like many other young women parted from their man by this dratted war, you’ve behaved like an absolute slut and betrayed me. Not even bothering to send me a “Dear John” letter. My mother was right. This is the reason you wished to rush me into marriage, to find a father for your child.’

Cathie felt herself start to shake, with anger now rather than nerves. Why wouldn’t he believe her, or even listen to a word she said? ‘I’m no slut! And it was you who said you were in a hurry to marry, the moment we met at the station. I didn’t at all mind waiting a little while, as it’s a job I’m most urgently in need of. You weren’t very sympathetic about that either, saying I wouldn’t even need one now we were about to marry.’

‘Well, I was wrong there. We aren’t going to be married, so it will indeed be necessary for you to find yourself employment fairly quickly, so that you can afford to feed this bastard child of yours.’

At which point Cathie stormed out of the house.