The Lady on my Left (The Mists of Memory) Read online

  ‘I will. That’s a promise. You can be sure I will.’ They laughed together like old friends, and then she was away, down the drive towards the main road.

  He was a nice boy. She thought of him as a boy. But what a set-up to live in. Poor soul. She paused before entering the main road, then seeing the road clear she swung to the left, only to apply the brakes as a hand came out from a parked car and waved at her to stop. After pulling into the side of the road she assumed a stiff expression and watched Bill Tapley crossing towards her.

  ‘Hello, there. You haven’t been long after all.’ He leant his hands on the window frame.

  ‘What do you mean, haven’t been long?’ She looked at him coldly.

  ‘Well, I expected you to be there for a couple of hours.’ He grinned at her. ‘They’re on the sell again, aren’t they?’

  ‘Since you know, why do you bother to ask? And why put yourself to the trouble of waiting for me?’

  As soon as she had said this she regretted it, for she had given him a lead.

  He now put his head in through the open window, ‘Paul say anything to you about me last night?’

  She edged back along the seat to get away from the close proximity of his face and lied glibly, saying, ‘No, why should he?’

  ‘Oh.’ He moved his head in small jerks, then looked down at his hand where it rested on the frame, before saying, ‘I somehow thought he might.’

  ‘Look, I’m in a hurry, I want to get back. Moreover, I’m in need of my lunch.’

  ‘That can soon be rectified. Come and eat it with me.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Paul did say something about me last night, didn’t he? He told you why I popped round to see him yesterday…Why don’t you give me a chance, Alison?’

  ‘Chance!’ She screwed up her face at him, and at this his pleasant expression vanished and he said stiffly, ‘Come off it. Don’t play the sophisticated miss. It doesn’t suit you. You might have gatecrashed into the male world but you’re still Little Miss Demure under it all … and a bit of a prig too, aren’t you?…Oh, for God’s sake!’—He wagged his head in desperation—‘There I go putting my foot into it again. I always get off on the wrong foot with you. I’m a fool…Look, Alison, the fact is I’ve had you in mind for a long time and I want you and me to get pally. If Paul didn’t tell you last night then I will now.’ He laughed at her and again shook his head. ‘It’s a funny place to propose with my head sticking through the car window…Move over.’ He withdrew his head and made as if to open the door, when Alison said abruptly, ‘No, no! I can give you your answer now. It’s…it’s no.’ She had to bend forward to look up at him for he was now standing straight, his thick body spreading beyond each side of the car window. And although she disliked him, she felt she must soften the blow, so she added, ‘Your interest in me has come as a surprise.’

  ‘That’s a lie. You’ve always known I’ve had a liking for you.’ His round, plain face had a stiff, dull expression about it, yet he smiled as, bending down to her once more, he said, ‘This is only the beginning. I don’t give up easily. Do you know, I’ve been as far as Edinburgh in the depth of winter after some little thing I was interested in? Little things are often precious. I appreciate this fact and am prepared to work hard to get them, understand?’ She did not answer, and so he said, ‘Well, you can go on your way; I won’t detain you any longer. Only tell Paul I proposed and was rejected, will you? See what he says.’

  She stared at him for a moment before restarting the engine, letting out the clutch and accelerating away. What did he mean, tell Paul and see what he says? It was a funny thing to say and he had said it in a funny manner; she was disturbed by it. Oh, what a morning! She wished she were home.

  As she entered the shop, Nelson was vigorously polishing the top of a Welsh dresser, and he turned to her, saying without any preamble, ‘It’s been a good mornin’. I’ve sold the tub armchair, the one in the blue silk damask. An’ the Sutherland table. An’ the four-tier whatnot. I asked fifteen for that…’

  ‘But it was only marked at twelve!’

  ‘Aye, I know, but she was one of these wives who gets a kick out of a bargain. You know I can tell them a mile off. So her and me had a nice half-hour. When I asked her fifteen she acted as if she was goin’ to have a fit. But I knew by the gleam in her eye she was ready to bite, so we had a nice little game. She beat me down to thirteen pounds ten. What do you think of that?’

  Alison bit on her lip, then burst out laughing. ‘You are the limit, Nelson! You know he doesn’t like it, don’t you?’

  She indicated the upstairs rooms with a lift of her head, and to this Nelson replied, ‘He’d be better off than he is the day if he stuck out for a bit more.’ He stabbed his finger towards her. ‘An’ if he didn’t let you have all them choice pieces for them rooms up there. Bit soft in the head that way, he is, I think.’ His harsh words were accompanied by a twisted smile and she turned from him, still laughing, and went upstairs.

  When she entered the drawing room Paul, fully dressed, was standing in the archway to the garden room. He had been gazing out towards the sea but turned swiftly to meet her, asking, ‘Well, how did it go?’

  ‘It didn’t.’

  ‘What do you mean? You didn’t state a price and shake them, did you?’ His tone held an unusual note of criticism, to which she replied swiftly, ‘No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t get a chance. Let me get my things off and I’ll tell you…How are you feeling?’ She turned an eager face towards him, but he shook his head, saying, ‘I’m all right. But go on, tell me what happened.’

  So, sitting herself down in an armchair to the side of the fireplace, she went over the whole procedure from the beginning, omitting only Mrs Gordon-Platt Junior’s interest in him. She did not ask herself why she was withholding this, but she knew that if she were to mention it at this point it would be crowded out by other things and would lose its significance; perhaps give him the opportunity to pass it over without any explanation at all. She didn’t want that. Of all the things that had happened that morning, she wanted one thing made clear: how well had he known Mrs Gordon-Platt all those years ago? Because some part of her was worried with the knowledge that they had at one time been acquainted. But by the time she reached the episode concerning Bill Tapley’s proposal, she saw, with some annoyance, that Paul’s attention had gone from her. He was sitting with his legs crossed and his elbow on his knee, systematically biting around the top of his thumbnail. She said sharply, ‘Did you hear what I said, Paul? Bill Tapley told me to tell you that he had proposed.’

  ‘What?’ He uncrossed his legs and sat upright. ‘Oh…Bill Tapley. What did he say?’

  She said slowly, ‘He told me to tell you that he had asked me to marry him and…asked what had you to say about my refusal.’

  ‘Oh, he did, did he? And you refused him. Why?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Paul. What’s the matter with you? I told you last night. I also told you why he wants me.’

  Paul was once more standing in the archway looking towards the sea and he didn’t answer her for some seconds, and then he said, ‘You say you saw the younger Mrs Gordon-Platt?’

  She stood up and stared at his broad back, and after a moment she answered flatly, ‘You know I did. I told you everything that happened.’ And now she put her question. ‘How friendly were you and Mrs Gordon-Platt years ago, Paul?’

  The silence was heavy on the room. It was as if he hadn’t heard her; although he had, and when he answered, his voice was quite even. ‘Well enough to be engaged to marry.’ When he turned to her, the corner of his mouth indicated some amusement, and he said, ‘Stop gaping. You look like a flat fish.’

  Alison closed her mouth and swallowed. She had just received a shock that was making her heart race. All of a sudden she was frightened. Quite plainly she could see the pale woman sitting writing at the table near the fire in that cold drawing room, and she realised now that the picture had about it a certain appea
l, even to her. What effect would it have had on a man to see a widow, lonely, trying to manage that great place with the help of a mere boy. Mrs Gordon-Platt had wanted to see Paul for a purpose, and Alison now thought she knew that purpose, and it wasn’t concerned with the sale of any silver or glass. As the old lady had said, there were other auctioneers and valuers. Why, if they had been selling stuff for the last year or so, hadn’t they contacted Paul before?

  Alison felt a desperate urge to fling herself on Paul and cry, ‘You’ll not go and see her, will you? You won’t take up with her again, will you?’ She could see the woman standing beside Paul, the same height, the same age, with similar ideas because of a similar generation…Definitely similar ideas. If they had been close enough at one time to almost marry…She suddenly felt sick.

  ‘Come on.’ He dug her gently in the shoulder. ‘Come on, have some lunch; you look both cold and hungry. I’ll give Nellie a shout.’

  ‘I don’t feel like any lunch.’

  ‘Whether you feel like it or not you’re going to eat it and I refuse to talk about anything until you have.’ He pulled a face at her. ‘That should give you an appetite, Miss Read, if nothing else will. Your curiosity will choke you if it is not appeased soon, won’t it?’

  ‘Oh, you!’ She rushed at him and hung on to his arm and laughed now in spite of herself. But at the same time a part of her was crying in a desperate way, Oh, dear God, don’t let anything happen to disrupt our way of life together.

  Lunch over, Mrs Dickenson brought in the coffee and as she placed it on the side table she stated flatly, ‘That Nelson says he’s got to go out and fetch them things from the auction room and would you take over, Miss Alison?’

  It was some seconds before Alison replied, ‘All right, Nellie, tell him I’ll be down right away.’

  No sooner had the door closed on Mrs Dickenson than Paul, dropping onto the couch, began to chuckle; then, shaking his head towards Alison standing there surveying him, he laughed outright as he said, ‘Fate is against you, my little inquisitor. We were to settle down and have a glorious rake into the past, weren’t we?…And then old Nelson puts his spoke in.’ The laughter subsided into a rumbling chuckle as he went on, ‘Being the wise miss that you are, you know that an opportunity lost is never regained, and it will be more difficult to get anything out of me after the iron has cooled, so to speak, and after a couple of hours in the shop. How on earth will you lead up to it?’

  Swiftly Alison picked up a cushion and heaved it at him. It missed his head but knocked his pipe out of his hand. The pipe bounced off the coffee table onto the tiled hearth. There was a gentle snapping sound and the bowl was severed from the stem.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Alison was all contrition now. She held the two pieces in her palm and looked at them, and Paul looked at them, his face solemn. Yet the fixed corner of his mouth belied his tone as he said, ‘I liked that pipe; you get used to a pipe. Pipes are like people; you don’t want to part with them.’

  Taking his words seriously, she said, ‘I know…I know.’ Her lips began to tremble and her head was drooping, when suddenly her hands were grasped firmly and she was pulled down to the couch, and Paul, shaking her gently, said, ‘Don’t be a silly little clot. What is a pipe? Now stop it. What’s come over you?…Look’—he put his finger under her chin—‘Look at me. Are you worrying about something?’

  She shook her head and blinked in an effort to keep the tears back.

  ‘Well, what’s the matter, then?’ Without waiting for a reply he gave her the answer, saying, ‘Now look here. Forget everything that happened at that house this morning. It’s a pity I sent you there. I wouldn’t have done, but I thought the letter was from…well…Freda and Florence both begin with an F…that was my mistake.’ He gave a toss of his head. ‘Let’s finish it. No more talk of Beacon Ride or its inhabitants. They are all in the past, and the past is dead and buried.’ He pressed with his finger and lifted her chin further. ‘I mean that. And also’—his voice sank low—‘I’m going to ask you not to mention it again. I’ll do no business with the Gordon-Platts. I must have been mad even to think about it. There it is. As I said, it’s the past, and I don’t want it revived. Understand?’ His eyes were holding hers, but she made no response. She didn’t understand. The very fact that he had been disturbed to learn that Mrs Freda Gordon-Platt was now living at Beacon Ride, and then had made light of the whole thing, proved to her that the business went deeper than he would have her believe. Of course it went deep. If he had almost married her it was bound to have gone deep. Added to which, that he now wanted to close the matter finally did nothing to lessen the strange anxiety that was filling her. But Paul, taking her silence for assent, nodded at her as he said, ‘Well, that’s that. Now let’s have coffee, then go and relieve Nelson, that’s a good girl.’

  ‘Oh, don’t call me a good girl. You stopped doing that years ago.’

  His eyes widened while they remained fixed on her, and now he pursed his lips and said with mock sternness, ‘Very well, Miss Read … You little stinker. with a temper like a vixen! Take your coffee, get out of my sight and go and relieve Nelson, for if he doesn’t get that stuff moved they’ll start filling up the sale room again and pushing it around, and we’ll have it chipped, top, bottom, middle and sides. That’s assuming the pieces weren’t all stuck with glue when you bought them. Likely they’ll drop to bits when he tries to load them.’

  She knew she was being ribbed, but she made no attempt to retaliate. She did not want to be jocular, she did not feel jocular and she suspected Paul’s manner was merely a cover for something…something, but what? She remembered the expression on his face when she told him she had found two Mrs Gordon-Platts at Beacon Ride. He had been startled, jolted, and he hadn’t been quick enough to hide his reactions to this news.

  She picked up her cup of coffee and left the room without saying goodbye. When she reached the shop Nelson said, ‘Sorry, Miss Alison, but Aa thought you might have forgotten and planned to go out, like. You know what it is if they start bringing fresh stuff into the rooms—our stuff gets pushed to the back.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it’s all right, Nelson, I hadn’t forgotten.’

  ‘Aa’ll go and get me coat. Will Aa take the cheque or will you see to it?’

  ‘I dropped it in this morning when I was passing.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  Nelson went into the back room to get his coat, and Alison placed her cup of coffee carefully on a pad that rested on a Chippendale tray-top wine table. She looked about her, then decided she would polish the Empire escritoire, take the drawers out and give them a good clean. She was lifting the box of dusters from a cupboard when the bell tinkled as the shop door opened and, raising her head above the level of the cupboard to see who had entered, she remained stationary in a bent, half-crouching position as she exclaimed, ‘No! Oh no!’ The woman was now moving towards her.

  ‘Good afternoon. No doubt you are surprised to see me again so soon. I’ve called to see Mr Aylmer.’

  ‘He’s…he’s not well. I told you this morning. He’s got ’flu.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of germs.’ The lips moved into a cool smile. ‘Perhaps you will tell him I’m here, and ask if I could see him. I won’t stay long, I promise you.’

  ‘Well, here I am, miss, all ready to—’ Nelson stopped and stared at the woman, and from her to Alison, and then back to the woman again. And he remained staring at her even when Alison said, ‘Will you wait a minute or two, Nelson? I’m going upstairs.’ She did not look at the woman again but went stiffly across the shop and through the door. Then she seemed to fly up the two flights of stairs and she was gasping as she thrust open the drawing-room door.

  Paul’s head turned towards her in surprise as she closed the door, and then without moving from it she hissed, ‘She’s downstairs.’

  ‘Who’s downstairs?’ He swivelled round on the couch.

  ‘Mrs Gordon-Platt. Mrs Charles Gordon-Platt. She wants to see
you.’

  He was on his feet as if he had been kicked with a spiked stirrup, and he stared at Alison for a full moment before, his eyes moving from her, he said, ‘I can’t see her now. Tell her I’m not well; I’ve got ’flu.’

  ‘I’ve already told her that. But I’ll tell her again. Perhaps she’ll believe me this time.’

  She had opened the door and was almost in the hall when his voice halted her. ‘Wait! Wait a minute. Come here. Close the door.’ She did as she was bidden and stood waiting for him to speak again. Her heart was racing painfully. And she was filled once more with that strange fear of impending loss and loneliness attending the loss. Paul was standing with his shoulders and head bent now, and it was from this position that he said, ‘Send her up.’

  ‘But Paul!’

  ‘Alison!’ He lifted his head but did not straighten his back as he looked at her, and his tone was one that would brook no argument. She had heard it once or twice before. ‘Send Mrs Gordon-Platt up.’

  Without another word she turned from him and went down the stairs and into the shop.

  Mrs Gordon-Platt was examining a French carved, three-fold, dwarf screen with panels painted after the manner of Vernis Martin.

  She brought her glance from it as Alison spoke. ‘He will see you for a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ A smile slid from the lips up over the face, and as she came forward she said, ‘You have a lot of nice pieces here. That’s a lovely little screen.’

  Alison made no comment, but led the way through the door and up the stairs. And when she reached the hallway her heart was beating so loudly the sound was reverberating through her head. She hadn’t felt like this since the day the housekeeper had told her her Uncle Humphrey had died. She opened the door and made way for the woman to pass her, and then she was looking at Paul, who was looking at the woman. He was standing opposite the door waiting for her. Alison watched the woman pause and gaze across the distance towards him. She saw her face soften and a smile take up each feature. It was a different face from the one she had seen for the first time that morning. And it was a different voice that said, ‘Hello, Paul.’