Alison uncurled and stood up. Problems were building up like storm clouds, but there was no way to avoid in the inevitable cloudburst, or even postpone it.
She held her head high as she went downstairs.
‘Well, I think the sooner we leave Ladymead, the better,’ Alison spoke with quiet determination.
‘But where can we go?’ wailed Mrs Mortimer. Alison noted with compassion that her mother’s hands were shaking. Yet during that long painful confrontation in the study, she had behaved with amazing control and dignity, listening without comment as the situation was outlined to her by a clearly embarrassed and unhappy Alec Liddell.
Nicholas Bristow had had little to say too, she recalled, his dark face almost sombre as he listened. She wondered if he had been feeling any kind of compunction.
She said, ‘I’ll talk to Simon when I go back to work on Monday, and see what he suggests. I know there’s nothing very suitable on the books at the moment, and he might advise renting somewhere for a time.’
‘Rented property?’ Mrs Mortimer couldn’t have sounded more anguished if Alison had suggested a tent in the middle of a ploughed field.
She sighed. ‘I don’t see what other choice we have. You surely don’t want to remain here on Nicholas Bristow’s charity?’
‘I can’t imagine what he wants with a house like this,’ her mother said bitterly. ‘It’s far too large for a bachelor.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s going to be a bachelor for much longer,’ Melanie, who had been sitting staring listlessly into the fire, roused herself to say. ‘There’ve been heaps of stories in the papers lately about him and Hester Monclair. They reckon when her divorce goes through, they’ll be married. She’s divorcing her husband for unreasonable behaviour, and he’s considering cross-petitioning for adultery, citing Nick Bristow.’ She giggled. ‘That’ll stir up this village!’
‘Melanie!’ Her mother spoke with sharp disapproval, her mind diverted momentarily from her own troubles. ‘Where in the world did you learn all those distasteful things?’
‘One of the women who cleans the dormitories brings in her Sunday papers for us,’ Melanie said promptly. ‘She says it’s only right we should know what wickedness there is in the world.’
‘Well, I think I shall write to Miss Lesley when you return to school.’
‘Don’t you mean “if"?’ Melanie muttered, but in too low a voice for her mother to hear. Alison shot her a warning glance.
‘Mr Bristow’s personal affairs are no concern of ours,’ she pointed out. ‘The least we can do is leave him in peace to conduct them. And that means finding somewhere else to live as quickly as possible.’
‘But where are we going to find with sufficient room to accommodate us?’ Mrs Mortimer demanded. ‘There’s the grand piano to consider, for one thing.’
Alison controlled a swift surge of impatience. ‘None of us plays the piano, Mother,’ she said gently. ‘I think it would be better to let it go to auction.’
Mrs Mortimer’s back straightened in outrage. ‘May I ask, Alison, if you’re determined to make me live in squalor?’ she demanded.
‘I’m not making you do anything, I hope—except maybe face a few facts,’ Alison said wearily. ‘We have to accustom ourselves to things being very different in future.’
Mrs Mortimer’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Aren’t you beeing a little insensitive, Alison? I’m sure I need no such reminder.’ She pressed her handkerchief to her lips, while her daughters exchanged despairing glances. After a pause, she went on, ‘Hugh and Beth have very kindly asked me to stay with them, while I consider my future. I may well take them up on their offer. Now, I’m going to lie down for a while, and try to recover some of my strength. I presume dinner will still be served in this house this evening, Alison?’ And on this, she swept from the room with a certain majesty.
‘Mummy’s brought making people feel guilty to a fine art,’ Melanie remarked dispassionately when they were alone. ‘I think that’s probably why Daddy never confided in her about the mess he was in. He knew she’d make it a hundred times worse.’
‘Don’t say that, Melly.’ Alison gave her a wry look. ‘This must have been the worst week of her life. She loved Daddy very much, you know.’
‘Yes, but she never helped him.’ Melanie put another log on the fire. ‘If he’d asked her to economise, she wouldn’t have known what he meant. He couldn’t—lean on her when the going got rough. I don’t suppose she even knew he’d been having chest pains for months.’
‘No, but then neither did I,’ Alison said quietly, wincing a little.
‘He probably thought you had enough on your plate already.’ Melanie began to fiddle with the handle of the poker. She said suddenly, ‘This is going to be my last term at Mascombe Park, isn’t it?’
‘The honest answer is, “Probably”,’ Alison admitted after a pause.
‘I guessed.’ Melanie’s face was mournful. ‘I suppose I could try and get a place in the local comprehensive, although the course will probably be different. Or would it be more help if I tried to get a job?’
‘No.’ Alison shook her head positively. ‘You’re Oxbridge material, Mel. You can’t give that prospect up without a struggle.’
‘I don’t want to.’ Melanie gave a faint grin. ‘But something tells me that if we can’t manage the fees, Miss Lesley will give me up without a struggle all right.’
‘There used to be bursaries and things,’ Alison frowned. ‘I suppose we could enquire.’
‘Mm.’ Melanie gave a slight grimace. ‘It would be hateful, though, going cap in hand. I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather leave.’
‘Well, don’t let’s make any hasty decisions,’ said Alison. ‘Mr Liddell’s coming back tomorrow to talk over a few things, and I’ll see what he has to say.’ She hesitated. ‘I would have mentioned it earlier, but I don’t want to discuss personal family things in front of Nicholas Bristow.’
‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ Melanie gave a little sigh. ‘I think he’s amazing! I wish I was Hester Monclair, lucky bitch. Of course she’s gorgeous-looking, and sophisticated, and she probably knows exactly how to turn him on in bed …’
Alison was surprised into unwilling laugher. ‘Mel, for God’s sake! Don’t let Mummy hear you.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ Melanie put her head on one side. ‘But don’t you fancy him, Ally? If you’re honest, in your heart of hearts, just a little? You can’t really prefer boring old Simon.’
‘Simon is neither boring nor old,’ Alison said calmly. ‘And I wasn’t aware that my sexual preferences—or Nick Bristow’s for that matter—were on the “A” level curriculum. Stick to Eng. Lit.—it’s safer.’
‘What’s safe?’ asked Melanie, getting restlessly to her feet. ‘We’re all going to be living dangerously from now on.’
With
