The Angel Tree (22 page)

Today, he was as free as a bird. His run at the Palladium had finished a week ago, his radio show was on its summer break, and he didn’t need to write any new material for a couple of
months.

He looked out of the window at the bright sunshine and felt a sudden pang of longing for the countryside. Although the Hampstead garden of his pretty cottage was large for the area, he still
felt it had a synthetic feel. There was nothing rugged or dangerous about either the landscape or the climate. A man living in London was effectively sanitised, in danger of losing his basic
instincts, he thought.

Maybe he would take a long holiday this summer. He’d been invited to a friend’s villa in the South of France, but the thought of being away from Greta was not one that appealed.

He opened the French windows and stepped out into the garden. Hands in his pockets, he strolled around admiring the well-tended flower beds, with abundant roses and cascades of lobelia providing
a wealth of colour in contrast to the smooth emerald-green lawn.

He was an intelligent, rational man, but he knew his logic went out of the window when it came to Greta. In the past six years they had seen each other regularly. He would often go round to
their apartment for Sunday lunch with both Greta and his darling Cheska. Occasionally, he took Greta out to the theatre and to dinner afterwards.

Time had gone on, and he knew they had slipped into a comfortable intimacy, one that was almost akin, he thought morosely, to that of brother and sister. He was there as a sounding board on
Cheska’s career and he knew that Greta regarded him as a very dear friend. The right moment to change the basis of their relationship had never seemed to arrive. In all the years since Greta
had reappeared in his life, he still hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell her he loved her with all his heart.

David sighed as he deadheaded a wilting bloom on one of the rose bushes. At least he could take comfort from the fact that, as far as he knew, she’d had no other men. Of course,
technically, she was still married to Owen, even though they’d had no contact with each other for the past seven years. Besides, he knew that all Greta’s energy and love went into
Cheska. There was simply no room for anyone else.

Her obsession with her daughter worried David. Greta was living through her, which was not only unhealthy for herself, but for Cheska, too. Often, when he looked at the little girl’s
slight body and pale face, he feared for her future. The strange, pressurised life she led in her bubble of fame was surely not right for a child. He felt guilty for having encouraged Greta to let
Cheska undertake her first film, but how could he have known she would become such a huge star? He’d thought at the time it would just be a bit of fun that would earn them a few extra
pennies.

When he visited them at home for Sunday lunch, even when it was just the three of them, Cheska would always be in one of the formal party frocks Greta insisted she wore. She would sit at the
table looking so uncomfortable that David longed to pick her up and carry her off to the nearest park or playground. He wanted to see the little girl let her immaculate hair down, get her pretty
dress dirty and, most of all, to scream in the excited way children were meant to.

He sometimes asked Greta gently if she thought Cheska should play with other children, as she spent so much time in the company of adults. Greta would shake her head firmly and say that
Cheska’s commitments didn’t allow time for such activities.

David would say no more. He understood that despite the trappings of wealth Cheska’s success had brought, Greta’s life had not been easy, and that she was simply attempting to do the
best for her daughter. There was no doubt that Cheska was loved and looked after. Besides, he hated the look on Greta’s face when he questioned her.

He walked back towards the house, thinking that maybe he would go to the South of France after all. He did need a holiday and until he could pluck up the courage to tell Greta how he felt it was
ridiculous to run his life around her.

He heard the telephone ringing in his study and hurried inside.

‘Hello?’

‘David, it’s Ma.’

‘Hello, Ma. How nice to hear from you.’

‘Yes, well, I always say this thing is only used to bring bad news,’ LJ said grimly.

‘What is it, Ma?’

‘It’s your Uncle Owen. Dr Evans called me a little while ago. He’s been ill for some time, as you know, but there’s been a sharp deterioration in the past month.
Apparently, Owen wants to see me. He insisted Dr Evans ask me to travel to Marchmont as soon as possible.’

‘And are you going?’

‘Well, I rather feel I have to. I was wondering, if you’re not too busy, whether you’d come with me for moral support. Could you pick me up from Paddington in your car and
drive me there? I do apologise, David, but I just don’t think I could face returning to Marchmont alone.’

‘Of course, Ma. I’ve nothing on for the next few weeks, anyway.’

‘Thank you, David. I’m most awfully grateful. Can you possibly make tomorrow? From what the doctor says, Owen doesn’t have much time left.’

‘I see. Should I tell Greta?’

‘No.’ LJ’s voice was sharp. ‘Owen hasn’t asked to see her. Best let sleeping dogs lie.’

The two of them discussed train times and David arranged to meet his mother at half past ten and drive on to Wales from there. He replaced the receiver and sat down at his desk, deep in
thought.

He felt that Greta should be told about Owen’s illness. After all, she was still legally married to him. However, he didn’t want to upset any apple carts, when his mother was
obviously distressed at the thought of returning to Marchmont and seeing Owen. And as he rose from the desk, he wondered just what Cheska had been told about her father.

The long drive to Wales was made easier by good weather and negligible traffic. David and LJ chatted comfortably together on the way.

‘It feels awfully odd going back, doesn’t it, David?’ she said, as they navigated the winding valley road flanked by lush sloping fields on the last leg of their journey to
Marchmont.

‘Yes. It’s been over ten years for you, hasn’t it?’

‘Amazing how one adapts, though. I’ve become quite a pillar of the Stroud community, and an adept bridge player to boot. If you can’t beat ’em, join them, that’s my
motto,’ she added drily.

‘Well, it certainly seems to suit you. You do look well.’

‘When one has time on one’s hands, it seems to do the complexion good, if not the psyche.’

A silence fell between them as they turned off the valley road and began to climb the narrow lane towards Marchmont. As they passed through the gates and the house came into view, LJ sighed in
sudden remembrance of its beauty. On this warm June afternoon the windows glinted in the strong sunlight, seeming to welcome her home.

David pulled up in front of the house and turned off the engine. Immediately, the front door was opened and Mary came running out.

‘Master David! Lovely it is to see you after all these years! I never miss your radio show! And not a day older do you look,
bach
.’

‘Hello, Mary.’ David gave her a warm hug. ‘It’s kind of you to say so, but I think I’ve put on a few pounds since those days. You know I was never one to refuse a
biscuit or a piece of cake.’

‘And look you, it suits you, with your height,’ Mary replied.

LJ stepped out of the car and walked round to greet her. ‘How are you, my dear?’

‘Very well, thank you, Mrs Marchmont. All the better for seeing you back where you belong.’

The three of them walked towards the front door. Stepping into the hall, David could feel his mother’s tension.

‘It’s been a long drive, Mary. Could you organise some tea before my mother sees Mr Marchmont?’

‘Of course, Master David. Dr Evans is with him at the moment. He had a bad night. If you’d like to step into the drawing room, I’ll tell the doctor you’re here and bring
you that tea.’

As Mary disappeared upstairs, David and LJ walked across the hall and into the drawing room.

‘Good God, it’s musty in here. Does Mary never air these rooms? And the furnishings look like they haven’t been cleaned for months.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought she’d have much time for housework, what with caring for Owen, Ma.’ But she was right: the graceful room, which he always remembered as
immaculate, its furniture beautifully polished, now looked tatty and neglected.

‘Of course not. She’s been a brick to stay with him at all.’ LJ went to one of the French windows, unlocked the latch and opened it wide. They both stepped outside onto the
terrace and breathed in the fresh air.

‘Give me a hand, will you, dear boy? If we dust these chairs down, we can drink our tea out here. It feels so terribly gloomy inside.’

LJ was heaving a rusty wrought-iron chair into position when Mary brought out the tea a few minutes later.

‘Just put it down and we’ll help ourselves, Mary dear,’ directed LJ.

‘Very good, Mrs Marchmont. I’ve told Dr Evans you’ve arrived.’

‘Thank you. Will you suggest he joins us for a cup of tea?’

‘I will, ma’am,’ Mary said and went inside.

The two of them sipped their tea in silence.

‘How could I ever have left this?’ LJ murmured, gazing at the idyllic view. Below the woods that covered the gently sloping hillside the sunlight glittered on the glassy surface of
the river as it meandered lazily down the summer-green valley.

‘I know what you mean.’ David sighed and patted his mother’s hand. ‘The sound of running water always reminds me of my childhood.’

They both turned as they heard footsteps behind them. ‘Please, don’t get up. Laura-Jane, David. Thank you for coming so quickly.’ Dr Evans, his hair now streaked with grey,
smiled at them.

LJ poured him a cup of tea as he sat down. ‘So, how is Owen, doctor?’

‘Not very well at all, I’m afraid. I know you’re both aware that for some years Mr Marchmont has had a serious drink problem. I’ve told him time and again he ought to
stop but, unfortunately, he’s ignored my advice. He’s had countless falls over the years and now his liver is letting him down, too.’

‘How long has he got?’

David watched his mother closely. Her face betrayed no hint of emotion; as always, she was being practical. But he noticed her hands twisting round and round on her lap.

‘To be honest, Mrs Marchmont, I’m amazed he’s lasted this long. A week, perhaps two . . . I’m sorry, but there it is. I could move him to a hospital, but there’s
little they could do. And besides, he refuses point-blank to leave Marchmont.’

‘Yes. Well, thank you for being so honest with us. You know I prefer it that way.’

‘He knows you’re here, Laura-Jane, and would like to see you as soon as possible. He’s lucid at present, so I suggest you go in sooner rather than later.’

‘Right you are, then.’ LJ stood up and David watched her take a deep breath. ‘Lead the way.’

Minutes later she stepped into Owen’s bedroom, which was in shadow, the thick curtains half drawn. Owen was lying in his large bed, a frail, shrunken old man. His eyes
were closed, his breathing shallow. She stood by the bed staring down at the face of the man she had once loved. She thought how, in the past, she’d always imagined a time in the future when
they’d have a chance to put things right between them; apologies would be made, feelings of hurt exorcised. Now the finality of the situation horrified her. For Owen, and for the two of them,
there was no future left.

LJ’s hand went to her mouth as she choked back tears. Owen’s eyes flickered open and she watched as he tried to focus. She sat down on the edge of the bed and bent her head forward
so he could see her.

He lifted one of his hands shakily and touched her arm. ‘For— Forgive me . . .’

LJ grasped the hand, put it to her mouth and kissed it gently but didn’t reply.

‘I . . . must explain.’ He seemed to be struggling not only physically but mentally to voice the words. ‘I . . . love you . . . always have . . . loved no other.’ A tear
trickled from his eye. ‘Jealousy . . . a terrible thing . . . wanted to hurt you . . . forgive me.’

‘Owen, you silly old fool, I thought you detested the very sight of me! That’s why I left Marchmont,’ she replied, stunned by what he’d just said.

‘Wanted to punish you for marrying my brother. Wanted to ask you to marry me when he died . . . but pride . . . couldn’t, you see.’

LJ’s throat constricted with emotion. ‘Oh God, Owen, why didn’t you tell me? All those wasted years, years that could have been so happy. Was I the reason you went away to
Kenya?’

‘Couldn’t bear to see you with my brother’s child. Must apologise to David. Wasn’t his fault.’

‘Don’t you know I went through hell when the letter arrived from the War Office telling me you were missing in action? I waited three long years, praying you were alive. But everyone
told me I must get on with my life. Your family wanted me to marry Robin. What else could I do?’ said LJ despairingly. ‘You know I never loved him the way I loved you. You must believe
me, Owen. Good God, if only you had come home and asked me to marry you when Robin died, I would have agreed immediately.’

‘I wanted to but—’ Owen’s face contorted in pain. ‘I faced death many times in the war, and yet now I’m scared, so scared.’ He gripped her hand.
‘Stay with me until the end, please? I need you, Laura-Jane.’

Were these last days enough to make up for the lifetime they had missed?
Never, but this was all they had.

‘Yes, my darling,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll stay with you until the end.’

Greta was in the bath when the telephone rang.

‘Drat!’ She reached for a towel, hurried out of the bathroom and into the sitting room to pick up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said.

‘It’s me, David. Did I disturb you?’

‘No, I was in the bath, that’s all.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. I’m calling from Marchmont. Owen died an hour ago.’

‘I’m sorry, David.’ Greta bit her lip, not knowing what else to say.