The Shortest Journey Page 3

  I felt cheated. I had wanted to put the flowers into Mrs Rossiter’s hand and see her eyes light up as they always did when I brought her some small remembrance. She was pleased, of course, but gave only a polite little murmur and a shy smile.

  ‘I know how you love primroses,’ I said, hearing my voice sound too emphatic. Thelma Douglas is one of those small, slim, energetic women who make me feel like a large, ponderous, slow-thinking, unfashionable provincial. From her neat dark head (untouched by grey) to her small feet in their ridiculously high-heeled shoes she epitomised everything that was urban and elegant. It is an extraordinary paradox, I suppose, that one should feel inferior to people one really despises. Not for one moment would I ever want to be like Thelma – but still, I couldn’t help wishing that I wasn’t wearing an old camel jacket and a tweed skirt – both embellished with dog-hairs – and a pair of flat, comfortable shoes.

  Thelma came back from the bathroom with a vase full of water and picked up the primroses.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely! I adore the spring, such an exciting time of the year!’

  She tucked the primroses neatly into the vase, pausing when she had finished with the violets in her hand.

  ‘I’m afraid these won’t go in properly. I always think it’s such a pity to pick them really – they never last in water.’

  Mrs Rossiter got up from her chair and quickly took the violets from her daughter.

  ‘They’re so beautiful. Look, I’ve got this tiny glass vase – they’ll just fit nicely. And did you know,’ she smiled at me, ‘they drink through their faces, so if you turn them upside down at night they last for days.’

  Thelma laughed. ‘What extraordinary things you know about, Mummy,’ she said. And, turning to me, ‘Now do tell me what you’ve been doing – all the gossip in the town. I always think that real life is lived here and not in London!’

  This was so palpably untrue that I didn’t even bother to reply, but said, ‘Oh, nothing ever happens here – what about you? How is Gordon? Your mother tells me that the business is doing splendidly, you must both be so busy.’

  ‘My dear, it’s frantic, just a madhouse from morning to night. But so stimulating – I do feel my brain would atrophy if I didn’t have at least half a dozen problems to be solved every day! But yes’ – she lowered her voice as she prepared to talk seriously about the one thing that really mattered to her – ‘the business is doing very well indeed. We have these two new accounts.’ She mentioned brand names that we had heard of even down in Taviscombe.

  ‘Goodness,’ I said, impressed in spite of myself, ‘you must be doing well.’

  ‘We’re at a tricky stage, of course. We ought to be expanding to take advantage of big accounts like those – new offices, bigger staff – but there’s a cash-flow problem. When is there not? But it’s a difficult time to raise the finance, as you can imagine, with the City being a bit jumpy and 1992 almost upon us.’

  She held forth for some little time on this theme and then, as if deciding that it was probably all above my head, she said, ‘But I expect all this seems dreadfully mundane to an intellectual like you.’

  The fact that I have written some articles and a few books of literary criticism always made Thelma refer to me in this (to me) repellent way. But I was used to it by now and no longer protested.

  ‘I think it all sounds quite fascinating,’ I said, ‘and I shall expect to be invited to the party when you and Gordon make your second million!’

  She laughed again but looked, I thought, complacent.

  ‘What about tea?’ she said, and rang the bell. Amazingly quickly a cheerful woman in a green overall appeared.

  ‘Oh, Ivy,’ Mrs Rossiter said, ‘can you manage tea for my daughter and for Mrs Malory?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Rossiter, right away.’ She turned to me. ‘Nice to see you, Mrs Malory. How’s Mr Michael getting on then in London?’

  ‘Oh, he’s having a lovely time, thank you, Ivy. I’ll tell him you were asking for him.’

  ‘Ivy used to work for my mother.’ I explained to Thelma’s raised eyebrows when Ivy had gone.

  ‘Oh, I see. And how is Michael? I hadn’t realised that he was living in London.’

  ‘He’s at the College of Law,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, so he’s going to be a solicitor is he, like his father? There’s a lot of money in the law nowadays. I know for a fact that some of the City solicitors – tax experts and so forth – are making six-figure salaries.’

  ‘I don’t think Michael wants to work in London. I think he’d quite like to come back to Taviscombe.’

  ‘Oh, that would be such a mistake. Of course, he’s fond of you, but it never works, you know, keeping them tied to your apron-strings.’

  I bit back a furious denial and only said quite mildly that Michael would doubtless make up his own mind when he’d finished his two-year course.

  Ivy returned with the tea and I was amused to see that the tray bore a tea-pot and full tea-set, not just the single cups that usually appeared, also slices of fruit cake and a rather superior kind of biscuit. I thought I detected the hand of Mrs Wilmot. Thelma poured.

  Over tea Thelma’s monologue continued and I realised that I was not going to have an opportunity for any sort of conversation with Mrs Rossiter. When I had had a cup of tea, I got up to leave. ‘It’s been lovely seeing you, Thelma, and hearing all about how you’re getting on, but I must leave you to have a chat with your mother. You’ve come all this way...’

  Mrs Rossiter smiled at me and squeezed my hand. ‘The flowers are really beautiful,’ she said. ‘Come again soon.’

  Thelma stood up. ‘I’ll just come with you to your car.’ As we walked along the corridor and down the stairs she chatted vivaciously about life in London – the latest musical, the newest fashionable restaurant, which television actors they were using in their commercials. In the hall Mrs Wilmot, who was hovering near the front door, came over.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Douglas, you’re not going yet, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m just saying goodbye to Mrs Malory. I’ll have a word with you before I go.’

  She gave a little nod of dismissal and Mrs Wilmot drifted away, giving me a vague smile of recognition. Outside Thelma sat down on one of the benches, empty for the moment since their usual elderly occupants, who spent many long hours watching for any sort of activity on the sea-front, were all indoors having tea.

  ‘Can you spare a minute, Sheila? I just wanted to have a word about Mummy.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I sat down beside her.

  ‘How do you think she’s looking?’

  ‘Well, she’s still not quite herself,’ I said cautiously, ‘after that bout of flu, but she seems very spry to me. What do you think?’

  ‘Well, to be honest, Sheila, I’m really rather worried about her. You know I always want to do what’s best for her; that’s why I persuaded her to move out of the Manor. It really was too much for her. And she seems very happy at West Lodge.’

  This was a statement rather than a question and something impelled me to say, ‘I know she couldn’t stay at the Manor but it seems a pity, when she’s so active, that she couldn’t have just taken a flat in Taviscombe or something. I’m sure Annie Fisher would have been happy to go on looking after her.’

  An expression of distaste crossed her face. ‘Oh no, that wouldn’t have done at all. Annie was getting far too familiar – a very encroaching type of woman. It simply wouldn’t have answered. West Lodge is the best place for Mummy now. She’s settled in beautifully and has made lots of friends.’

  I looked at her enquiringly and she said impatiently, ‘Oh, that Polish woman – I can never remember her name – and I’m sure there are plenty of others. They seem a very jolly crowd there.’

  The inappropriateness of this phrase in relation to West Lodge stunned me into silence.

  ‘I worry so much less,’ she continued, ‘now that I know she is somewhere safe where she can be looked after properly. Of cour
se, you were so lucky being able to look after your mother at home. You don’t know how difficult it is, Sheila, to look after things from a distance. The responsibility is so much greater – one is always on edge wondering how things are going.’

  My mother had been an invalid for many years and I had indeed been lucky to have a loving husband who insisted that she made her home with us. I was lucky, too, that I had been able to have the kind of career (if career it could be called) that could be pursued from home. Still, I rather resented Thelma’s bland assumption that it had all been so easy. Also I was pretty sure that as soon as Thelma was on the train to Paddington (first class, tax deductible) she dismissed her mother from her mind.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I really am worried about her. She looks very frail. I’m sure she’s lost a lot of weight, although I believe the food at West Lodge is excellent. And, of course, there’s the angina. I know Dr Moore is most concerned about her.’

  ‘But I thought he said that it was only a mild condition and that she’d be fine if she didn’t do anything too strenuous. At least, that’s what she told me.’

  ‘Isn’t that like her? Always making light of things. But I assure you that it really is serious – she could go at any time. Or at least, she might have to be moved to a hospital at a moment’s notice. And have you noticed how she can’t remember things from one minute to the next?’

  ‘Well, no, I haven’t. She always seems to me to be very much on the ball! I only wish I were half as alert as she is. My memory’s shocking these days. Do you know, I often have to go all the way downstairs and come back up again just to remember what I went upstairs for in the first place!’

  Thelma seemed uninterested in my problems. ‘Of course she always has been very vague.’

  ‘Oh, not vague’ I protested.

  Thelma ignored my interruption. ‘And you know how these things get worse in old age. I don’t say that she’s actually senile...’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘Well, not yet, but as she gets older it’s going to get more difficult. There is, you know, a great deal of money involved.’ There was real concern in her voice now. ‘Things were left in a very unsatisfactory way when Daddy died. There was this stupid Trust – something my grandfather set up – and, as things stand, Mummy and her sister Maud have control of what amounts to a small fortune.’

  ‘Well,’ I said provocatively, ‘it’s marvellous to think that your mother needn’t worry about money. I know West Lodge is frightfully expensive.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Thelma brushed this consideration aside. ‘But you see if she should get really senile, then it would be very difficult. That’s why I want her to give me power of attorney.’

  So that was why Thelma had paid a birthday visit to her mother.

  ‘Have you mentioned it to her yet?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, today. But she’s being rather silly about it. I mean, it’s for her sake; I’m not trying to swindle her out of her inheritance or anything. After all, I am her daughter!’

  ‘So what did she say?’

  ‘That she’d have to think about it and talk to Mr Robertson. That stupid old fool – do you know he doesn’t even have a computer in that dreary Dickensian office of his! I can imagine what his advice would be!’

  ‘What does Alan think?’

  ‘Oh, Alan!’ she said impatiently. ‘He’s no use. I tried to ring him at that Ecology Centre of his – it’s somewhere near Harare – but they said he was on his way back to England for some conference or other. Anyway, he’s not here, he hasn’t got to cope. Typical of him to go swanning around the world and leave me to do everything for Mummy. He just about sends her a card for Christmas and that’s all! Gordon thinks I’m absolutely right – you know what a good business head he has and we’ve got Simon (he’s our lawyer and an absolute charmer!) to do the paperwork. All she has to do is sign.’

  ‘I can see how she would feel,’ I said. ‘I suppose we would all like to look after our own affairs while we can.’

  ‘But that’s so selfish,’ Thelma said vehemently. ‘It will just leave us with a dreadful mess to clear up after she’s gone. Look, Sheila’ – she lowered her voice persuasively – ‘she thinks a lot of you. I’m sure you could persuade her – that it’s all for her own good. You really would be helping her in the long run, and I know you’ve always been fond of her.’

  I was amazed and horrified and said rather formally, ‘I don’t think I could do that, Thelma. It’s something she must decide for herself.’

  She was obviously furious with me and, remembering how she used to vent her temper when she was a child by pinching my arm, I instinctively drew away from her. Controlling herself, she smiled at me and said, ‘Well, if she does discuss the matter with you, do try and make her see sense.’

  She got up abruptly from the seat. ‘I must get back. I want to have a word with Mrs Wilmot before I go and I’ve got a taxi coming at four thirty. I must get the five thirty-five from Taunton – we’re having dinner with some clients at the Dorchester this evening and it’s going to be a hellish rush. Still’ – she gave me her rather saccharine smile – ‘I simply had to pop down for a birthday visit.’

  ‘I’m sure she appreciates it,’ I said, getting up (rather more stiffly than Thelma). ‘It was a lovely surprise to see you. Please give my regards to Gordon.’

  She gave me the smile again and a little wave and went back into West Lodge. I had left my car up by the harbour and was walking towards it when I ran into my friend Rosemary. Well, actually, she nearly ran into me since she was being pulled along by two large dogs, her own black Labrador and a brindled boxer which belonged to her daughter Jilly.

  ‘Oh, Sheila, I wanted to have a word about the Red Cross Bring and Buy. Can you come along while I just put these two in the car? I can’t possibly talk while they’re rushing along like this. Dusky’s fine on her own, but Alpha simply eggs her on. Do you know what the little monster did yesterday? She ate a whole hairbrush, bristles and all! I was frantic – I rushed her round to the vet – just left the supper to burn on the stove – but he said she was all right.’

  ‘She certainly looks all right now,’ I said, as Alpha leaped up at me and tried to lick my face lovingly. Dusky rushed round in circles barking her approval and winding the leads around Rosemary’s legs.

  ‘Here,’ I said, ‘you give me Alpha’s lead.’

  Somehow we got to Rosemary’s car and bundled them into the back.

  ‘Goodness!’ Rosemary slammed the door on them quickly. ‘They’re so strong.’

  After clambering back and forth across the front seats they suddenly collapsed on top of each other and went to sleep.

  ‘Do I gather that Jilly and Roger are away?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. The baby’s due quite soon now so they thought perhaps a long weekend while they still can.’

  ‘You could have done without Alpha just now,’ I said.

  Rosemary’s mother had just had a slight stroke. With her iron constitution she had got over the effects very quickly, but she had seized the opportunity to tighten her hold over poor Rosemary, whom she kept running around obeying a multiplicity of largely contradictory commands.

  ‘Well, she is being particularly awkward at the moment. She’s decided she wants a stair-lift put in. She’s never thought of it before but apparently a crony of hers has got one and told her that you can get a grant for it. You can imagine the chaos that will cause!’

  Mrs Dudley, though well off, was not one to pass up anything that might be going free, whether she really wanted it or not.

  ‘And, of course,’ Rosemary went on, ‘there’s no hope that she’ll let me deal with it; you know how she always insists on doing everything in her own way. She’ll get the cheapest possible builder – actually there aren’t many left in Taviscombe that she hasn’t quarrelled with – and the job will be done badly and I’ll have to clear up the mess because by then she’ll have convinced herself that it was a
ll my fault in the first place.’

  ‘If there was any justice,’ I said viciously, ‘she’d fall off the wretched thing and break her neck!’

  Rosemary giggled. ‘Not with my luck. She’d just fracture a wrist or something and need constant attention. I wouldn’t mind if she’d just occasionally say thank you or make some sign of appreciation, but she’s always going on about how nobody ever does anything for her. She was furious when Jilly and Roger left Alpha with me.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said. ‘She said that you were looking very tired and that you did too much for other people.’

  ‘How did you guess!’

  ‘Talking of doing things,’ I said, ‘what about the Red Cross thing?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We can’t have the Church Hall that day, so we must either change the date – and you remember what hell it was trying to get a time that suited everyone – or we must find somewhere else.’

  ‘Oh, Lord! I suppose we should have booked it ages in advance. Spring Fayres proliferate almost as much as Christmas Fêtes nowadays. What about the Methodist Hall in Harbour Road?’

  ‘No good – they’ve got the Ramblers’ AGM.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, why aren’t they out rambling instead of cluttering up the only other possible hall! Leave it with me and I’ll see if I can persuade the Hon. Liz to let us have it at the Dower House. We’d probably get a better crowd there – people always like to go and gawp.’

  The Honourable Elizabeth Clough was the relict of our local lord of the manor and could sometimes be bullied – or flattered – into letting us hold the occasional event in the great hall of her stately home.

  ‘Oh, bless you, Sheila, that would be a weight off my mind. I wish to God I could get Mother to go into West Lodge for a couple weeks, just till after the baby’s born. I do want to be with Jilly then. But you know how stubborn she is.’

  ‘I went to West Lodge today,’ I said, ‘to see Mrs Rossiter. And guess what, Horrible Thelma was there.’

  Rosemary pulled a face. ‘I haven’t seen her for ages. Is she as Horrible as ever?’