A Whisper of Life Read online

  He crept back after a few minutes, and whispered, ‘Everything all right, Abbie?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘You didn’t. I’ve just about finished for today.’

  ‘You’ve hardly moved for over an hour. You must be thirsty. You didn’t really drink your tea before. I’ll make us a fresh pot.’

  Abbie thought to refuse but then couldn’t be bothered. What did it matter? He was going to be no more to her than a client, so she might as well accept some refreshment. No man was worth getting in a tizzy over. ‘OK.’

  She was studying what she’d done when he returned with the tray. He said, ‘Can I see?’

  ‘Not until I’ve finished. Just the finishing touches to do now.’ She stretched up her arms and rolled her shoulders to ease the accumulated stiffness. Her feet were hot inside her shoes. She would never work in anything but her usual comfy casuals in future.

  ‘That was Louisa on the phone,’ he remarked, pouring the tea.

  ‘Oh really, I didn’t hear it ring,’ Abbie replied in an offhand manner. She wasn’t interested.

  ‘Turns out she’s worried about Jonny. Says he’s been very down in the dumps for some time, which isn’t at all like him. So she’s decided to go up to him at Biggin Hill and stay locally. See if she can get him to come to terms with whatever is on his mind. Strikes me he’s a strong character. Everybody gets downcast at some time or other.’

  Abbie sensed the tension in him. Was he annoyed with Louisa for deserting him so soon in their budding relationship? ‘Jonny is a very strong character. He accompanied me on many a painting trip and he was relaxed on every occasion. And when he’s got a camera in his hands he’s really chipper. I haven’t had the chance to get to know Louisa. I’ve heard she’s very caring and only happy when she’s got a cause. I do admire people like that, never thinking about themselves. Jonny’s the only family she has. I expect she’ll always be anxious over him and want to make sure she’s always there for him.’ She hoped Mark saw Louisa as an over-fussy do-gooder, an interfering type. ‘Did she say how long she’d be away?’

  ‘For as long as it takes, whatever that means,’ Mark frowned over his teacup.

  ‘Oh, sounds like she won’t be here for the first reading of the play. I’ve had a meeting with Mr Patterson and we’ve agreed on what we want for the scenery. It should all be a lot of fun. I find the locals a friendly enough bunch.’ As far as Abbie was concerned, Louisa Carlyon leaving Mark on his own before anything really firm had been established between them meant he was up for grabs.

  ‘They are.’ Mark smiled now. ‘Will you need another sitting for Jana’s picture, Abbie?’ He looked fondly at his peaceful daughter.

  The answer was no, that was only required for unsatisfactory work or oil painting, but she said, ‘As many as it takes to get it absolutely right, Mark. When I can come again?’

  Chapter Eight

  Biddy Viant inspected the two steep slate steps that led down to the narrow passage inside her cramped home. A heavy-boned woman with droopy jowls like a basset hound, she thumped along in her slippers to the minute kitchen. ‘Can’t you do any better with them steps, Delia? Kate used to scrub ’em up fit enough to eat your dinner off.’

  ‘I do my best,’ retorted Delia Viant, three months married and five months pregnant. Her mother-in-law only cared about the state of the steps in case the neighbours looked in. Although she demanded a lot of sweeping and dusting to be done, neither she nor the Viant men bothered to keep the place tidy. They all tapped cigarette ash on the floor and their terrible table manners meant crumbs and gravy went everywhere. If Sidney hadn’t got her into trouble she would have thrown him over. He was moody and aggressive, and because his cowardice allowed his bitchy mother to rule him, the resentment had made him worse. More than once he’d said he wished his mother was dead.

  Delia despised her mother-in-law. She couldn’t draw a breath right for the sour-faced mare. What did she want out of her? Blood? She never got off her spreading backside herself to do a stitch of work. The family wouldn’t get a decent square meal if she didn’t put her own cooking skills to use, and never did she get a word of thanks. Young Kate had suffered all this before her. She had been a nice little thing, undeserving of the cruel treatment meted out to her. Whatever she was doing now it couldn’t be worse than this. Delia got on with the ironing, performed with heavy irons heated on the slab, the articles pressed on bed linen spread over the tatty blue oilcloth on the table.

  The table took up a lot of space and Biddy eased past her, none too gently, to her ragged horsehair easy chair at the hearth. She flopped down and lit a cigarette. She got Tony to roll up her twenty-a-day habit each evening. Delia thought sarcastically, ‘Sure you can manage to strike the match yourself?’ She caught sight of her offended reflection in the little square mirror beside the heavy stone sink. Why had she made such a mess of her life? She had been quite pretty, there had been more young men than Sidney pursuing her, but now she was already slipping into frumpiness, the glossy dark hair she had been proud of was dull and lifeless, most of it hidden under a square wool scarf tied as a turban. She was going to end up with a brood of brats all crushed in here if Sidney didn’t have the gumption to find something to rent of their own. There was plenty of room at her parents’ smallholding but she had disgraced herself, they had disowned her and she would never get any help from them. So now she must moulder in this dark, dank and airless place.

  She didn’t wish ill on Kate and hoped she was faring well, but if only Sidney had found her and got his hands on that shoe box. He’d have rifled through it and removed any money. He might be less surly and she might have got a home to be proud of. His hag of a mother, breathing like a blocked-up chimney as she puffed away, had been suspicious he’d retrieved the money and thrown the shoe box away. It had taken a cowering and begging Sidney all evening to convince her that he’d looked all over Perranporth and had failed to find a sign of his sister. He had even asked at the other villages and hamlets on the bus route.

  Biddy was also thinking about the shoe box. It was never out of her mind. It ate away at her and tormented her. She was sure her mother had squirrelled away some savings, she’d hinted about it, crowed about it, on the occasions Biddy had pleaded hardship. ‘That’s what you get for marrying someone away from Hennaford and for abandoning me. Was a time when a daughter stayed close to her mother to look after her in her old age, but not you! Met a bloke in Truro at the fair and that was it. From that day forward I vowed I’d look after myself and that’s what I’ve done. You should learn to be thrifty like I am.’ Her mother had rarely bought new clothes and had gone without a good supply of coal and logs in winter, and rather than use the electricity installed by her landlady she had used the cheapest candles for light. So over the years she must have been putting money away. It would have amused the mean old bag to know she was sitting on a small fortune while her daughter and grandchildren were going without. Biddy cursed herself for not searching more thoroughly through her mother’s home on the day of the funeral.

  Kate must have that money, she must. She wasn’t a curious girl but she was sure to have looked through the shoe box by now. Perhaps she’d found the money the first day and rather than look for work at Perranporth she had gone there and stayed in a guesthouse or hotel. No proprietor or receptionist would have divulged that sort of information to someone of Sidney’s lack of refinement. Kate wasn’t artful, but if there had been a lot of money she might not have used her real name. She may not have actually gone to Perranporth, she might have lied about her destination. Or, if the shopkeeper in Hennaford was as unhelpful as Sidney had said, she too might have lied. Kate had seemed to be popular there. According to the shopkeeper, she would have been given a bed for a few nights. Perhaps some do-gooder had taken the girl in. She might never have left Hennaford. Sidney couldn’t be trusted to take another try at finding out the truth. It would mean stir
ring her stiffening bones but Biddy knew what she would do. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

  ‘What was that?’ Delia sighed, sweating and getting a headache, longing to get off her weary feet as she wielded another hot iron.

  Biddy barked, ‘You’re making a pig’s ear of that shirt! Do it again.’

  * * *

  ‘Why are some men so stupid?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Kate lifted her brows at Jill. It was a surprising statement to come from her. Jill loved Tom and cared for all the men in her life, including her only uncle, who lived at Falmouth.

  ‘Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud.’

  Kate chased after the direction of Jill’s eyes in the Methodist social rooms, where there was a gathering for the first reading of the play. Jill was glaring at Mark Fuller, who was taking measurements for scenery. He was up on the stage, a platform three steps high and permanently in place, with Abbie Rothwell. She was holding the end of a builder’s tape measure in place for him several feet away. Kate and Jill had parked a couple of canvas iron-framed chairs as if sitting at the back of an audience. They had brought two shopping bags, one filled with Thermos flasks of tea and the other with mugs. ‘Has Mr Fuller done something to upset you?’

  ‘Not him,’ Jill replied grumpily, folding her arms.

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘It’s her, Abbie Rothwell. Haven’t you noticed the way she’s all over him? He’s courting Louisa, but the minute she left to be with Jonny, madam there has been trying to dig her hooks into Mark.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kate watched the pair on stage. The instant Mark Fuller had taken the measurement and was jotting it down on a scrap of paper Miss Rothwell shot to him as if drawn by a magnet. She stayed very close to him, gazing into his eyes, smiling and smiling, hanging on to his every word. Kate knew little about romance but it was obvious the artist was hankering after the builder. It was also clear that he was oblivious to her ploy. She recalled Jill mentioning that Miss Rothwell had spent a ridiculous amount of time painting little Jana Fuller and was now painting Keresyk. Now they knew why. ‘Doesn’t look as if it will come to anything.’

  ‘No it won’t, she’s wasting her time, but Mark’s going to be so embarrassed when it finally dawns on him what she’s up to. Look at her, she’s like a vamp. I only hope she doesn’t come between him and Louisa. Louisa will back off if she feels compromised in any way, which would be a terrible pity, she and Mark are perfect for each other.’ Although Jill was grateful to Abbie for coming to her rescue, she didn’t approve of her behaviour. Abbie was only after excitement and sex, she enjoyed the chase. She had soon had enough of Jonny and had moved her sights on to Mark. She could prevent an ideal marriage and all for nothing.

  ‘What are you two looking so glum about?’ Emilia asked. She was there with a script of the play in her hand.

  ‘We’re not. We were just saying it’s a bit cold and musty in here,’ Jill replied, circling her toe on the planked floor, which no matter how tirelessly it was swept always looked dusty.

  ‘Well, it always is. Big buildings tend to be if they’re not often used. Put your cardigans on. We’ve got nearly all the cast members here. I’ll place some chairs in a circle and we’ll have the reading. Kate, would you like to help me? Jill, you stay put. If Tom finds out you’ve been lugging chairs about he’ll tell us both off.’

  ‘I’ll turn my chair, then stay still like a good girl.’ Before she did so Jill aimed a look of reproach at Abbie, who was stepping down off the platform. Abbie had full make-up on, something she only did when in the vicinity of Mark.

  Abbie was startled to be the recipient of such frostiness and she paused on the spot. Jill had been off-hand with her recently and she had put it down to depression after the loss of her baby. But now she saw that Jill actually disapproved of her, and Abbie knew the reason when Jill transformed her annoyed glance to Mark. So, she’s noticed I want Mark and doesn’t like me stepping on goody-goody Louisa Carlyon’s toes. What a silly attitude to take. Wouldn’t she have gone after Tom, who she loves so much, in the same way? If such an occasion had arisen and she had held back and lost him, too bad. And too bad for Louisa Carlyon if she didn’t fight to keep hold of Mark. Louisa couldn’t mean that much to Mark anyway. After the first sitting with Jana he hadn’t mentioned her. Abbie gave Jill an expressionless smile and decided to ignore her.

  Mark was waiting to follow Abbie down the steps. He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Artistic moment?’

  ‘What?’ She was thrilled to feel his touch. She wanted to close her eyes and revel in it and fool Jill they had a closer relationship. If only they did. Mark was friendly and polite but no more. She didn’t even know if he found her attractive. This was a hopeful sign.

  ‘Have you seen something in these rather bleak surroundings to give you inspiration or have you had a brilliant idea about the scenery?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to be ambitious with the scenery and I was just thinking that I can’t do it all alone. I’ll draw the outlines and fill in the details but I need someone sensitive to help who wouldn’t just slap on the paint. Is there anyone here I could trust?’

  ‘Jill would be a good choice but she mustn’t do anything too physical yet. There’s Mrs Em, but she’s already got enough to do. There’s Tristan Harvey. And me, of course.’

  This was what she was hoping to hear. ‘You’d help me?’

  ‘Certainly, be happy to.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she smiled to herself. ‘That’s settled then.’

  More than a dozen people took seats in the circle, most rustling scripts. Kate was discomfited at who had parked on her side. Alan Killigrew, the adopted son of the Killigrews, a manly twenty-one-year-old. She was shy and uneasy with men of this age group. She’d heard him referred to as a ‘wag’, and according to the noise he’d made as he’d larked about and the laughter he’d evoked he certainly liked to joke. She kept her eyes down but knew he was looking at her, and a hot path of scarlet burned up her neck and face. She wanted to die when he said close to her ear, ‘Aren’t I the lucky one to be sitting next to the prettiest girl in the room?’ Thinking he was mocking her, she wanted to disappear for ever.

  Putting an arm behind Kate, Jill poked Alan and hissed, ‘Pack it in, you.’

  ‘I was only telling the truth,’ Alan muttered, manoeuvring to produce his rolled-up script from his trouser pocket.

  Kate feared she was about to combust. Alan Killigrew must hate her now. She wanted to go back to the farm and cry out her shame and degradation and never leave it again.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ Jill whispered to her, putting her arm round her waist for a moment. ‘Alan’s harmless.’

  ‘Right then,’ Elena began the formalities. ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming this evening and working so hard to start to get this show on the road, and I’d like to offer my particular thanks to Miss Rothwell who has kindly volunteered to do the scenery. The play will have a really polished look this year. We’ve got nearly a full cast here to begin our first reading of Maid Marian’s Secret, the secret being that Maid Marian is really a good witch and it’s she who gets the better of the Sheriff of Nottingham with her magic, rather than Robin’s guile and brawn. Martha, my daughter, sends her apologies. I’m afraid she can’t come this evening. Now I’ll hand over to Mr Patterson who wrote this splendid play for the village.’

  Dale Patterson, of decisive features, with a deep resonating timbre in his voice and the habit of leaning back with an arm hooked round the back of his chair, got stuck straight in. ‘Let me see if I’ve got the cast list right. Alan Killigrew, Robin. Martha Killigrew, Maid Marian. Mrs Bosweld, lady- in-waiting. Mr Bosweld, the Sheriff. Mr Tristan Harvey, Little John. Myself as Friar Tuck. Mrs Louisa Carlyon, she’s not here, is she? A peasant mother.’ That’s about right for her, Abbie thought maliciously. ‘The schoolchildren will play the piskies, et cetera. We’ll have a goodly number of Merry Men, soldiers and peasants, but we have no one for Will Scarlett. Any t
akers?’ His sight homed in on Mark.

  Mark shook his head. A part in the play would take too much time away from Jana.

  ‘What about me?’

  No one had heard two people steal in, Jonny and Louisa.

  Mark shot to his feet and was on his way to Louisa. ‘Darling! What a lovely surprise.’ He kissed her cheeks and she did the same to him. They followed with a peck on the lips. Abbie folded her arms in poor grace. Jill smirked at Kate. Kate was glad to have the newcomers take everyone’s attention, she had been sure they had all been staring at her.

  Tristan had risen at the same instant. ‘Jonny, what are you doing here? I’m pleased to see you of course, but I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you later, Dad.’ Jonny, in civvies, appeared the exact opposite of how he’d been before, effervescent, his handsome face a healthy colour, and Tristan was content to wait for the promised explanation. ‘Sorry to interrupt everything, Mr Patterson. I’ll fetch a couple of chairs and we’ll squeeze in.’

  ‘So you’ll be Will Scarlett, Squadron Leader, excellent!’ Dale Patterson jotted down his name in the cast list. ‘Right, we’ll begin. Scene one, Robin and Maid Marian in – will someone read in Miss Killigrew’s place? How about you, young lady?’