Deathline Page 5

  ‘What happened about the sonnets?’

  ‘My Garland? It was so sad, Helen. Nobody wanted it. Paul had been sure Leonard would take it for the Hogarth Press; that would have got him started, back into the swing of things. But Leonard didn’t like it. Said it was old-fashioned; the sonnet was a dead duck. That was a bad day, when Paul came back from seeing him. He had walked all the way, over the downs, to cool off, he said, but he was still rigid with rage. He never told me exactly what Leonard had said, and I didn’t dare ask. But he put my Garland on the desk in the turret room and never did another thing about it. And that was the end, too, so far as Leonard was concerned.’

  ‘What did Paul do?’

  ‘Plunged back into Psycho-whatsit. He’d been starving for books in Portugal and he rushed back to the London Library like a homing pigeon. I had bought him a life membership as a wedding present – they were amazingly cheap in those days. Do you know, I sometimes actually found myself regretting it when he began to stay overnight with friends because the books were too heavy to bring home. But I was quite busy myself. The house had been requisitioned by the Auxiliary Fire Service and they had left it in a proper mess. Paul’s complaining about that didn’t do him any good locally, I can tell you. So I was hard at it getting that fixed, as best I could with few workmen and less wood. And the rationing got worse. We’d been used to the fat of the land in Portugal and it did come as a shock. To both of us.’

  ‘My mother used to say that the time just after the war was the worst of all.’ Helen reached out and took the empty glass from Beatrice’s shaking hand, glad to see that she had finished the pear she had peeled and cut up for her. ‘What time does Wendy come in the morning?’

  ‘Wendy? Goodness, is tomorrow Thursday already?’ She was drifting towards sleep again, soothed by the wine. ‘Nineish. She has to get young Clive to school first. You’ll like Wendy.’ Her eyes closed before Helen could suggest that it must be school holidays. Would the unknown Wendy bring her son? She set the alarm clock for well before eight, just in case.

  In the morning, Beatrice was pleased with herself. ‘I slept right through,’ she boasted. ‘All done by burgundy, and your cooking. I feel a new woman this morning.’

  ‘You look better.’ It was true. ‘Does Wendy have a key?’

  ‘No. I’ve kept meaning to ask her to get one cut, but she’s so busy, poor girl, with all her jobs, and Clive.’

  ‘I’d better get some cut today.’ The list of things she needed to do before Christmas was becoming formidable. And the mail, when she opened it for Beatrice, made matters worse with a stark red final electricity demand. ‘Whatever else I do, I shall have to get up to the bank today,’ she told Beatrice. ‘Pay this. Do you feel strong enough to write some cheques, and a letter to the bank?’ They must talk about money, she thought.

  ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ The doorbell rang.

  ‘You must be Wendy.’ Helen hoped she was concealing surprise as she gazed at the elegant figure on the doorstep. Tall and slim in her grey trouser suit, Wendy looked like a model off the catwalk – a black model. Her jet-black hair was cropped close to her head, showing its elegant bone structure, her dark face was challenging.

  ‘Yes, I’m Wendy. The old lady didn’t tell you? She does like her little joke. How is she?’ She was inside already, taking off the grey jacket, rolling up scarlet shirt sleeves. ‘I was dead worried about her; meant to come in at the weekend, but Clive wasn’t well, my little boy. I’m glad you’re here. Answered my advertisement did you?’ She was in the kitchen now, opening the broom cupboard.

  ‘In The Lady? Yes. Was it your idea?’

  ‘Sure was. Beatrice jibbed at first – a total stranger, all of that, but I put it to her that it looked like that or going into care. Looks like we struck lucky. What’s that?’

  ‘Her bell. I thought it would be easier for her than shouting. I expect she wants to see you. She’s had her breakfast.’

  ‘So I can start up there, while you clear down here.’ Her quick eye had taken in the dishes stacked in the sink. ‘I wish I could give her more hours but she can’t afford the money and I can’t spare the time. As it is I do the best I can in her room, then down here, hall and stairs. Do you want your room done?’

  ‘No, it’s fine thanks, and I’m not really organized yet. I only got here on Tuesday and it seems to have been one thing after another ever since. I want to get out while you’re here; she’s a lot better but I don’t much like the idea of her alone in the house for too long.’

  ‘Still crawling to the loo, is she? You have to admit she’s a game old bird. I hope you’re staying.’

  ‘I seem to be, but we haven’t really sorted things yet. I thought I’d get her through Christmas anyway. It suits me, to tell you the truth.’ She had stopped being surprised by Wendy whose upmarket speech matched her appearance. She had meant to go up with her, but now thought it would be more civil not to. ‘I’d better get on with these dishes,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know when I go out. I have to get up to the bank and sort things there.’

  ‘That idiotic business of the phone account,’ agreed Wendy. ‘What do they think we all are? Calculating machines? I thought of trying to sort it for her, but it probably wouldn’t have worked. One must be realistic. Sex and race. You’ll manage.’ And on this note of approval she picked up the vacuum cleaner and went upstairs.

  It was a brisk twenty-minute walk to the bank, first down into Old Leyning, then across the Ley and up the long sloping High Street to the top of Leyning proper. Helen almost wished she had summoned a taxi, but felt she was getting a useful feel of the little town, noting a bookshop, three chemists and more antique dealers than she cared to count. Once at the bank, she found a helpful young personal banker who looked little older than her niece Jan, inducing the first pang she had felt about the family she had abandoned. Liking the look of this Ann Simmons she decided the best thing was to tell her the whole story, as briefly as possible. ‘The thing is,’ she concluded, ‘I want to share the expenses with her, but she’s so vague about what they are and what she has.’

  ‘Yes, I do see.’ Ann Simmons had checked Beatrice’s scrawled note with higher authority, male of course, and had it passed. ‘I think the best thing I can do for you is to get you statements of both Mrs Tresikker’s accounts for the last year. You’re ordering them for her?’

  ‘Of course. And thank you.’ While they waited for the computer to run off the information and a list of standing orders, Helen told Miss Simmons about the problem of the phone account and found her sympathetic, but unable to help. ‘It’s a separate operation you see. It’s all moving that way, towards automation. I really don’t know how people like Mrs Tresikker are expected to manage, but nobody seems to think about them. My old Gran lives out in the country. They closed her village branch last year and I have to do all her banking for her now. It’s a nuisance sometimes, but of course I do it. I don’t know what she’d do else. There, I think that’s all you’ll need. Let me know if I can help you again, but you’ll have to come in, I’m afraid. You can’t get through to us on the telephone since it’s all been centralized. Some people don’t like it much.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Helen said, rising. ‘I’m really grateful; lucky to have found you. I hope—’

  ‘Yes, so do I. But I’m getting married next year.’ It answered the unspoken question about how long she thought her job was safe.

  Emerging into the High Street, Helen looked at her watch. Nearly eleven already. She had hoped to do a big Safeway shop on the way home, but the Christmas queues there were enormous and she must get a key cut for Wendy and catch her with it before she left. Safeway would have to wait until the afternoon, though the queues would doubtless be still worse then. She was beginning to feel just slightly frantic with all the things that needed doing before the Christmas close-down and made herself slow her breathing as she had learned to do in an office crisis. How long ago that seemed.

 
She found Wendy dressed and ready to go. ‘I have to pick up Clive from a friend’s,’ she explained. ‘She goes to work afternoons and I mind hers. It’s kind of split-second timing.’

  ‘I do hope I haven’t kept you?’

  ‘No, no, dead on. Wonderful tidy you did in her room. Speeded me up no end. She wouldn’t let me. But you’ve done her good already. Have a good Christmas.’

  ‘And you. She paid you all right?’

  ‘Oh yes. She never forgets that. And a present for Clive. She likes him. In the summer he plays in the garden and it’s all much easier, but he’d go mad here, in this weather. Nothing for him to do.’ Her voice changed when she spoke of Clive. ‘I must run. See you next week.’ And ran.

  ‘So what did you think of Wendy?’ Beatrice was sitting upright in bed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Surprise you, did she?’

  ‘She certainly did. I liked her so much, but it’s awful she’s just a cleaning lady. You feel she ought to be running her own show somewhere.’

  ‘Clever of you,’ said Beatrice. ‘Her grandfather was an African chief, got himself killed in a revolution. Luckily for her father he was at the London School of Economics at the time, learning how to run a country, and marrying Wendy’s mother, who was white.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘They were both killed in a motor accident when Wendy was small. She’s had a hard time since. And illegitimate Clive is hardly a help when it comes to discrimination. He’s white as you or me, would you believe it. I think it’s meant all kinds of trouble for the two of them. I’ve always thought they’d be better off up in London, maybe a more tolerant society, but the father’s here, you see.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘She won’t say. Married, naturally, no children. He dotes on Clive. No wonder. He’s a delightful little boy, well brought up, too. There’s no nonsense about Wendy. How did you get on at the bank?’

  ‘Better than I expected. I found such a nice helpful girl. I think she bent the rules a little for us. I hope I’ve got all the information we need.’

  ‘Then pour us a glass of sherry and let’s have a serious business conversation.’

  Helen’s heart sank. There was so much to be done before Christmas. But this was more important, and she knew she must seize the moment when Beatrice felt up to it.

  ‘You’ll have to do the thinking.’ Beatrice took her first sip of sherry. ‘If you show my mind a set of figures, it goes blank, and the darkness begins to creep in around the edges. I don’t much like it, and it gets worse each time, or at least I think it does. It frightens me, Helen, not knowing whether it’s worse or not, because of having no memory to speak of. I imagine you’ve noticed that.’

  ‘Well, a little.’

  ‘I’m glad you admit it. It makes things easier. Because if it goes altogether; if you see me turn into one of those poor old vegetables who nod their lives out dumped in front of a television set, or worse still, into hospital, blocking beds the young need … If that happens to me – and I think it will – I want you to put me out of my misery, Helen. Please?’

  ‘But how?’ Helen took a steadying draft of sherry and went straight to the point.

  ‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? Hugh Braddock won’t help. Can’t help, he says. Not that he doesn’t sympathize. I think he does, dear man, but he’d be defrocked, or whatever they do to doctors who misbehave. And of course that murderous Dr Shipman has made it all worse, brought out the do-good interferers in force. I’ve given up even asking Hugh Braddock so I’m afraid we just have to work it out for ourselves. I rather think an overdose of paracetamol would do it. Braddock warned me against overdoing that a while ago so solemnly that I wondered if he wasn’t trying to tell me something.’

  ‘But are you sure, Beatrice?’ This was going too fast for her.

  ‘Very sure. If my mind goes; only then. I’m ashamed now. I used to think, when I first got ill, that just being unhappy and lonely and in pain was reason enough, but I see now that it isn’t. I worked it out sitting on the loo, when I crawled there for the first time. I mean, why crawl – why not just let oneself lie there and die? But one can’t. If one’s still got a mind, I think one shouldn’t. At least, I seem to be still here.’

  ‘Very much so. It’s good to see you so much better. No need to think about dying now; let’s apply our minds to how we are going to live.’

  ‘Thank you for using the word. And promise, please. If my mind has gone, you’ll help.’

  ‘If it really has. Yes, Beatrice, I promise.’ Was she mad to do so?

  ‘Thank you. And now for our dreadful figures.’

  When the friendly financial discussion was over and she was making a quick, late lunch, Helen began to realize just what she had done. After twenty-four hours acquaintanceship, she had tacitly committed herself to Beatrice Tresikker for the rest of her life. And worse still, to helping, if the occasion should arise, in a suicide that might well be treated as murder. She ate her lunch very soberly.

  ‘Regretting it, are you?’ asked sharp Beatrice, when Helen went up for her tray.

  ‘I don’t quite know. I’m a little scared, that’s for sure. And what I do know is that I must go out shopping right now, or we’ll starve.’

  ‘That would never do,’ said Beatrice, composing herself for sleep.

  Driving back from Safeway in a loaded taxi, Helen was surprised to see a car parked outside the High House. ‘Looks like you’ve got a visitor,’ said the driver.

  ‘I can’t think who.’ She saw a dark figure approaching the house, caught for a moment by the taxi’s headlights. ‘Must hurry.’ She paid the man quickly. ‘I don’t want her disturbing my friend.’

  ‘Old Madam Tresikker? Don’t fret about her, love; she’s indestructible, I reckon. Thank you.’ He took her tip and got out to help her up the steps with her load.

  ‘That’s kind,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the woman who stood there. And then, ‘Jan! What in the world?’

  ‘Aunt Helen! Glory be. I was beginning to think I was on a wild goose chase.’

  ‘A wild aunt chase? Not very flattering.’ They were hugging each other, and Helen felt deep inner shaking in her niece. ‘What’s the matter, love?’

  ‘I’ve left home. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He was just awful when he heard you’d gone like that.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Yes, and Mother not much better.’

  ‘Oh dear, I did hope they wouldn’t find out till after Christmas. I never thought they would. And by then I’d have decided whether I was going to stay or not, made up my mind about things a bit.’ She turned the key in the lock. ‘But come in, Jan, take your coat off, you look shattered.’

  ‘I am a bit.’ Jan picked up the Safeway bag the taxi driver had dumped on the doorstep. ‘But all the better for finding you, Aunt Helen. Kitchen this way? What a wonderful house; how on earth did you find it?’

  ‘The Lady. My mother always used it in a crisis. I suddenly thought of it, after that awful funeral.’ She had followed Jan into the kitchen and they were both unloading groceries on to the big, scrubbed table.

  ‘Wasn’t it ghastly?’ agreed Jan. ‘Tell you the truth, I was worried about you. You looked pretty grim.’

  ‘I felt it. The steak goes in the larder, over there. What a blessing he cut me such a big piece. You’re the answer to prayer, Jan, actually. I was really beginning to wonder if I’d be able to cope. And the car too!’

  ‘Won’t they just be furious when they find I’ve taken the spare one,’ said Jan with satisfaction. ‘Luckily I’d been doing errands for Mum all morning and had the keys in my pocket. She’d gone to bed; Dad had stormed off to the office the way he always does, so I just packed a bag and left.’ Upstairs, Beatrice’s bell rang. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Beatrice Tresikker. I’m looking after her. A remarkable old lady. But how did you find me, Jan?’

  ‘Oh, Dad had done that, raging and cursing and making that poor Miss Jepson
give him your address. I really believe he thinks you’ve run away with a boyfriend, Aunt Helen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Funny, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not very,’ said Helen. ‘Call me Helen for goodness sake.’ The bell rang again, much louder this time. ‘I must run.’

  ‘Don’t run; walk. May I fetch in my suitcase?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Hurrying upstairs, Helen found Beatrice bolt upright in bed, scarlet with rage. ‘You didn’t come! What the hell’s going on down there? Who are you talking to? I didn’t reckon on followers!’

  She was frightened as well as angry, Helen realized, and blamed herself bitterly while she bowed before the same storm of outrageous language that she had endured before. At last the note changed. ‘And who the hell are you?’ asked Beatrice.

  ‘Helen’s niece.’ Jan stood in the doorway. ‘Jan Dobson. And you’re shocking my aunt. It’s not good for you either, to get so angry, and I’m truly sorry I upset you by coming. Thing is, like, I’m an asylum seeker; run away from home, see, and if you’d met my father you’d know why. He’s why Aunt Helen’s here, really, and you need her, don’t you? Please, mayn’t I stay too? I’ll earn my keep, I promise. You likely haven’t noticed, why should you? But Aunt Helen’s looking kind of flaky. She’s been having a hard time with my dreadful Pa too. Perhaps she’s told you. Oh, please don’t start again—’

  But as the old woman opened her mouth to speak, a tremor ran through her, and Helen and Jan, moving swiftly forward, were just in time to catch her as she keeled over and fell sideways from the bed. She was breathing stertorously and the scarlet patches on her cheeks were surrounded by an ominous white. ‘How’s your first aid?’ asked Jan as they settled her back against the pillows.