The Birdcage Read online

  Saul thought: It’s all going to come out now. All of it – but still he did not speak.

  ‘Gemma left her rug by mistake, you see.’ Marianne was talking to Tilda again. ‘After one of their intimate little moments behind the gorse bushes, or wherever, Simon very stupidly wrapped both the rugs together by mistake and put them in his car. I found them just now when we were putting our walking gear into the Discovery. “What’s this?” I ask him, all innocent.’ She began to re-enact the scene in an almost violent self-parody as if to demonstrate her disgust with her own obtuseness. ‘I said, “Oh, look, it seems we’ve got two rugs. Wherever can this have come from?” and there’s a silence, as if he hasn’t heard me, so I turn to look at him, holding up the rug.’ She seized the rug so as to demonstrate, and Tilda flinched. ‘“No idea,” he says, all indifferent. “Haven’t a clue. That picnic with the Corbetts? Does it matter? Let’s get on, shall we?” But by this time, you see, I’ve shaken it out and had a good look at it. “What’s this?” I cry. “There’s a nametape! Oh, good, we’ll be able to give it back. Now what does it say?” And there it was, large as life in blue and white, “G Wivenhoe”.’ She showed them the nametape almost triumphantly, thrusting the rug under their noses, but when she spoke again the furious self-mockery was gone. ‘This time, when I look at Simon, he’s got the kind of expression you never want to see on the face of someone you love.’ She dropped the rug again, leaning across the table, her weight on her fists, and now her voice was low; savage with rage and misery. ‘Guilt, Tilda. That’s what I saw. And fear. And shame. I felt frightened too, and sick in my stomach. So I asked him, “Want to try again?” and when he tried to bluster his way out of it I said that I was going straight down to the cottage to ask Gemma. So then he told me the truth and I went straight to the cottage but there’s no-one around and so I came up here.’

  Tilda was almost afraid to move. With her sharp white face and taut body, Marianne looked as if she might shatter: every piece of her was bone and sinew and stretched muscle. Any response would sound futile after such an outburst, and Tilda looked at Saul for assistance.

  ‘Gemma’s not here, Marianne,’ he said quite calmly. His face was expressionless. ‘We didn’t know anything about this.’

  ‘But you’re not surprised, are you?’ She gave a little mirthless snort. ‘Of course you aren’t. Why should you be? Knowing Gemma, I don’t know why I should be surprised either. I just thought she might draw the line at her friends.’ Marianne glanced almost speculatively at Tilda, who’d stretched her hand towards her, and Saul instinctively clenched his stomach muscles as if preparing for a blow. ‘Although I don’t know why I should think that,’ she added, shrugging. ‘After all, she didn’t draw the line at David, did she?’

  Tilda dropped her hand and grew still: she watched Marianne warily as if she were dangerous; as if she were weighing up what she might do or say next.

  ‘Is there any point to this?’ asked Saul desperately. ‘For God’s sake, Marianne . . .’

  ‘What’s the matter, Saul?’ Marianne was beyond sense or compassion. ‘We all know your sister’s a tart—’

  ‘Wait,’ said Tilda. ‘Please wait. What did you mean about drawing the line at David, Marianne?’

  ‘Did he never tell you about the steamy fortnight’s leave he spent with his dear friend Saul on Dartmoor? I was there too, wasn’t I, Saul, staying with Gemma? We made up a very happy little foursome. I think you were beavering away in London, Tilda.’

  At the look on Tilda’s face, Saul stepped round the table as if to catch her should she fall. She held out her arm as if warding him off, staring at him as if she were having difficulty in placing him, studying his expression, remembering her conversation with Gemma.

  Someone like David would be impossible to forget . . . God, be used to make me laugh . . . The unknown quality, that’s what we want and that’s what David had . . .

  ‘So it’s true?’ she questioned him, dazed – and turned away abruptly when he could not deny it.

  ‘You weren’t married then,’ he said urgently, ignoring Marianne. ‘You weren’t even engaged—’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Tilda abruptly. ‘Go away, Marianne. You’ve done what you came to do. Saul can give the rug to Gemma next time he sees her. Please just go away.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Marianne caught up the rug again. ‘No, I shall do that myself. I want to see her face when I give it to her. I want to spoil things for her just as she has for me.’

  ‘Stop it!’ cried Tilda. ‘Just think about what you’re saying. Think of Guy and the twins and all the hurt. It won’t do you any good, Marianne, and there are the children. If it makes you happy to spoil someone’s life then you can congratulate yourself on spoiling mine. Now go away.’

  Above their heads, Jake began to cry, a high thin wail. The rage passed from Marianne’s face and her shoulders sagged a little. She looked away from Tilda, confused.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Sorry, Tilda. I thought you knew. Look, it wasn’t like that . . .’

  ‘I’m going upstairs to fetch Jake,’ Tilda said. ‘I should like you to go before I get back, Marianne.’

  She went out of the kitchen and Marianne hesitated for a moment before dropping the rug on to the table. She and Saul looked at one another, neither could think of anything to say, and finally Marianne turned away. He stood quite still until the sound of the engine had died in the distance, then he folded the rug very small and put it out of sight, on the seat of one of the chairs, just as Tilda came in carrying Jake. Sitting down at the table, holding Jake on her lap as if he were a shield, she stared at Saul accusingly.

  ‘You knew,’ she said, ‘and you never told me.’

  Anger began to stir inside him, tightening his muscles. ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘I never told you.’

  ‘I still can’t quite take it in,’ she said. ‘David and Gemma . . . and all this time I never knew. Even then, down at the cottage when she was saying those things about him, I never guessed. You all knew and I was like some silly kid . . .’ A spasm of humiliation passed over her face. ‘I suppose David asked you not to tell me?’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Saul said wearily. ‘Let’s not do this. Think about it, Tilda. Would you really have wanted me to tell you that David and Gemma got a bit carried away one summer? At what point do you think I should have broken the news? And how? Remember that I didn’t know you then and, even if you felt that you were committed to David since playschool, he might not have felt quite the same until you were engaged. Perhaps I should have announced it at the engagement party.’

  ‘But I don’t know that, do I?’ she asked angrily. ‘I mean how do I know that he didn’t play around after we were engaged? I can’t ask him, can I? I can’t see his face or look into his eyes and he can’t reassure me. Can’t you see how awful this is for me? He can’t explain so that we can laugh it off together and then go and make love. He can’t tell me that she was nothing to him, that he only loved me. That’s what I always believed, you see. We were always so . . . together.’

  ‘Of course you were,’ agreed Saul impatiently. ‘No-one’s denying that but, for heaven’s sake, Tilda, David wasn’t a plaster saint. You know he wasn’t. He lived by his own rules, as if there was never going to be enough time for all the things he had to do, and he was likely to simply take off at any moment on some crazy stunt. There was always that unknown quality about David. It’s one of the reasons you loved him.’

  Tilda hugged Jake more tightly. It was as if Gemma was there beside her, smiling that sideways smile, smoking her cigarette: The unknown quality . . . that’s what David had . . . Jealousy and hurt gripped her and she closed her eyes against the picture of Gemma and David together. God, he used to make me laugh . . . It seemed intolerable that it should have happened and that Saul had known about it all this time. She wondered what had David said to him about it? ‘For Christ’s sake don’t tell Tilda. After all, it was just a bit of fun but she might not see it in the same light
and life’s too short for misunderstandings . . .’ She could almost hear his voice.

  ‘I think you ought to go, Saul,’ she said with difficulty. ‘I can’t . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Please just go.’

  ‘OK,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ll go. But just listen for a moment, Tilda. It wasn’t I who was unfaithful, and I refuse to be David’s scapegoat because he isn’t here to answer your questions. I can see that I was a fool to remain in David’s shadow all this time, waiting while you got over your grief and being around in case you needed a shoulder to cry on or to listen while you talk about David, and I’m coming out of that shadow right now. Either we’ve got a real relationship ahead of us, which will stand and fall on its own merits, or there’s nothing but a card at Christmas and my role as Jake’s godfather. You have to look at me, Tilda, and see me, Saul, not David’s friend who might make a tolerable second best.’

  She stared at him, shocked, whilst Jake kicked and gurgled in her arms, and he picked up the rug from the chair and turned away. Even if she’d been able to make any conciliatory offering, the sight of the rug closed up her throat with a rush of conflicting emotions. The shock was too raw for her to be able to deal with the pain and humiliation as well as taking in the things that Saul had said. She had no idea how long she sat in that state of numbed confusion but suddenly she heard voices in the hall – Saul and Piers talking together – and in a moment of panic she stood up, hoisting Jake firmly into her arms, and hurried past the still sleeping puppy and out into the garth. The covered way outside the hall offered a certain protection and she sat on the bench in the shadows watching for Saul to emerge.

  She was certain that he would look round for her and see her sitting there, at the back of the garth in the little cloister, and then he would come over to say goodbye. It was a kind of test: if he saw her then she would speak properly to him, try to explain. He and Piers were in the kitchen now, she could hear their voices through the open window and could see Piers moving about. Presently Saul came out through the scullery, carrying his bag, and she tensed expectantly, seized with a sudden longing to call out to him. She remembered how, earlier, she’d longed to rest against his strength whilst resenting him because he wasn’t David, but now, as he walked with long strides across the cobbles, she saw him for the first time as his own person, without the shadowy figure of David beside him, and she felt a clutch of terror at the thought of losing him. He’d already slung his bag into the car and had climbed in by the time she called out to him. The sound of the engine drowned out her voice and by the time she’d risen to her feet, the small hatchback had reversed at high speed out of the barn and shot away down the drive.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  As they travelled together into Dunster, Teresa’s conversation was mostly about Tilda. Felix listened patiently, perfectly content with contributing very little to what was threatening to become a monologue, thinking about Lizzie. Deep down he feared that there was something more than a pre-arranged rehearsal behind her flight and he felt a very real sense of dread at the thought that he might not see her again. Surely, after this meeting, which had brought so much joy, he simply couldn’t lose her again as once, so many years ago, he’d lost Angel? She’d hugged him tightly at the end of the party.

  ‘Oh, Felix,’ she’d said, ‘don’t you find all this utterly bizarre?’

  He’d known exactly what she’d meant: that she should be here at Michaelgarth as a guest at Piers’ birthday party, befriending his family, bringing with her those echoes from the past.

  ‘Bizarre,’ he’d agreed, smiling down at her, ‘and wonderful,’ and he’d seen the tears brimming in her brown eyes. ‘And thank God,’ he’d added, ‘that Angel bequeathed me the birdcage, otherwise I might never have found you again.’

  ‘It was so many things all coming together that began it,’ she’d sighed, ‘but the birdcage set me searching and then I found the card. Oh, Felix,’ she’d looked suddenly distressed, her voice grew urgent, ‘I’ve been such a fool . . .’

  Someone had interrupted at that point, wanting to say goodbye to Felix; Lizzie had drifted away and he hadn’t seen her again. He swallowed in a dry throat, his hands clenching on his knees, remembering how he’d walked away from the Birdcage, nearly thirty-five years before, and never seen Angel again . . . To his surprise he realized that Teresa was still talking.

  ‘The trouble is, Felix, that mourning can become a habit, a kind of means to its own end, if you see what I mean. I’ve noticed that if it goes on too long, some mourners are able to delude themselves that grief lends a nobility to the extent that anything else is almost indecent . . . Well, nearly. Of course Tilda misses David – good grief, we all do – but I can’t bear the thought of her wasting herself at Michaelgarth . . . Not that I don’t think that it’s wonderful of Piers to have offered her and Jake a home – it absolutely saved her life, I’m sure of it – but it would be so easy for her to sink back and not bother. After all it’s nearly a year since David died and she’s only twenty-six . . . Oh dear, Felix, I can hear myself sounding utterly heartless and it’s not a bit like that, really. I adored David, and I can see that he’ll be a difficult act to follow, but she needs to be able to move on . . .’

  Concentrating on listening to her, interjecting encouraging noises here and there, he thought about his grandson with the usual pang of sadness and loss mixed with a sense of waste at his early death. From babyhood David had lived at top speed, as if he’d known that a great deal of living must be packed into a very short time. Felix hadn’t seen much of him as a child – Sue had been too busy to accompany him on visits to his grandfather and Felix had always been morbidly conscious that he mustn’t wear out his welcome at Michaelgarth – and, as a young man, it seemed that he’d never stopped still in the same place for more than five minutes together. He’d drop in at the flat from time to time, staying long enough to drink a cup of coffee or a glass of whisky before he’d be up and away again, calling farewells as he raced back down the stairs, waving up at his grandfather from the street below. Felix was always grateful for these visits, delighted to see the boy and to feel that energy revitalizing his own old bones, but he was careful not to make demands and, given the time David had spent at boarding school and then in the army, they’d never had the chance to become really close.

  ‘I have to say that I’m very fond of Saul,’ Teresa was saying now, as they drove up The Steep, ‘and I think Tilda is too – fonder than she realizes – but one has to be so careful with the young. They tend to snap one’s head off at the least thing . . . Now I shall come up with you, Felix. No, I insist. You’re looking very tired and I shall feel more comfortable if I see you settled in your chair and resting before I leave you. I can just squeeze in here if you get out first.’

  Felix, who had intended to pay a visit to the receptionist at the Luttrell Arms, decided to go along with her plan. He knew that she would question him and he had no intention of telling her that Lizzie had left neither address nor telephone number. Her kindness was rather a nuisance because now he would have to climb the stairs twice – and he felt alarmingly weary and his hip was hurting – but he eased himself out of the car and went to open his front door, waiting for her to lock up and join him.

  The envelope was lying on the mat and she picked it up for him before preceding up the stairs. She looked round the sunny room approvingly, put down his case, which he’d forgotten, and suggested that she should make him a cup of coffee before she went on her way.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said firmly, ‘but I shall be fine now’ – and then wondered guiltily if he should have offered her some kind of refreshment.

  ‘I must get on,’ she was saying, ‘if you’re absolutely certain there’s nothing I can do. Get some rest, Felix; you look as if you could do with it. It was a good party, wasn’t it? No, don’t come out.’

  She went down the stairs and, once he’d heard the front door close behind her, he sank back into his chair, grateful to b
e alone at last, closing his eyes for a moment. He dozed for a few moments and woke suddenly, realizing that he still held the card in his lap. His name was scrawled on the envelope and he opened it without curiosity, guessing it to be from someone in the town: an invitation or news of some forthcoming event.

  He drew out the card with its black-and-white picture of the Yarn Market and stared at it for a moment before turning it over to read its message.

  Darling Pidge,

  So here we are and the cottage is sweet.

  Lovely weather but it’s rather a trek to the beach for poor little Lizzie’s legs. Dunster is the most gorgeous village but – you’ll be relieved to know! – not a sign of F. I haven’t given up hope, though!

  Love from us both. Angel xx

  Shocked, he reread the words, his dazed brain fumbling towards an explanation. The only reasonable one was that Lizzie had put it through his door earlier that morning. Was this the card Lizzie had spoken of: the starting point for her journey to Dunster? Had she found it in a drawer, or between the pages of a book, and so begun to examine the past more closely? He remembered Piers’ question – Why now? – and suspected that the card had been the real catalyst. But why had she left it for him, pushing it through his letterbox on her flight back to Bristol? Examining the black-and-white picture he saw that barrels were stacked inside the Yarn Market whilst a horse with a cart waited patiently beside it, but otherwise the village was remarkably unchanged. No sign of F.

  Smiling now, touched by the poignancy of the card and its power to re-create the past, he imagined Angel writing it: dashing it off with that blend of wickedness and vulnerable hope that so characterized her. No, no sign of F, and her spirited attempt at adventure had brought the whole flimsy structure that supported their love crashing about their heads. The smile died from his face as, turning the card restlessly between his fingers, staring up at the birdcage, he relived the painful scene that followed.