A Week in Winter: A Novel by Marcia Willett Read Free Book Online Page A

vulnerable as an armadillo and about as sensitive as an ichneumon wasp? A year? Two, maybe? He shrugged, swallowing back the lukewarm liquid. What did it matter? By the time the truth had penetrated even his stubborn, resisting mind the boys had been born and there was nothing for it but to carry on, working hard, concentrating on his children, hoping for promotion.
    Now, he was over fifty years old and the children were grown up and gone. His responsibilities were surely at an end? Selina had lied to him, manipulated him and nearly beggared him with her requirement for amusement, constant entertainment and selfishness for nearly thirty years. Now it was his turn. Now there was Mary; warm, cheerful Mary who suffered bravely, coming to terms and dealing with real hardship. She had an eight-year-old child who had been paralysed in an accident, whose father had abandoned them, and elderly parents who looked to her for a great deal of support. She had worked for just over a year now at Patrick’s school as a supply teacher, on those days when her child was at the Care Centre, and friendship had grown up between them. As headmaster he was able to smooth her path a little, giving her extra hours, being as flexible as possible, and soon the friendship had grown into something deeper. It was she who held him in check. He talked of leaving Selina, throwing caution to the winds, seizing this chance of happiness, but Mary refused to let him do anything he might regret.
    ‘Let’s give it a bit longer,’ she’d insisted. ‘You must be absolutely certain. It’s such a big step and there’s so much to think about. Please, Patrick, don’t tell Selina about us, not yet. I know you think she doesn’t love you but that doesn’t mean that she’ll want to lose you. Wait a little longer.’
    ‘There will never be a right time,’ he’d said despairingly, putting his arms around her, and she’d held him tightly, anxiously.
    Patrick raised his head as the telephone receiver went down with a click and Selina came into the kitchen.
    Patrick thought: she walks as if she is subduing the earth beneath her feet. Stamp, stamp, stamp …
    ‘You’ll never believe this,’ she said, her jaw tight with suppressed fury and shock. ‘Maudie is selling Moorgate. It’s already up for sale, apparently, without a word to me. Oh, this is the end. The absolute end.’
    He stirred, straightening his back. ‘It’s her house, after all.’
    ‘Oh well, I’d expect you to be on her side.’ She sat down suddenly at the table. ‘I don’t think I can bear it.’
    He watched her dispassionately, attempting to call up some shred of sympathy. If Selina had ever really mourned the passing of her mother, any genuine grief had been buried long since beneath her almost pathological dislike of Maudie.
    ‘I expect she needs the money.’ He tried to introduce some kindness into his voice, along with some reason. ‘You haven’t been to Cornwall for nearly fifteen years so I expect Maudie feels that it can’t be that important to you. She only has an annuity, after all. Let’s face it, you and Patricia got the lion’s share. To be honest, I think old Hector was in the wrong there. He could have been fairer.’
    She stared at him. ‘We were his children. Some of the money came from Mummy’s side. Why should she have it? Even Moorgate came from Mummy’s family, not Daddy’s, and now she’s going to sell it. What right does she have to sell my mother’s house?’
    ‘We’ve been through this so many times,’ said Patrick wearily. ‘You’d have preferred Maudie to be left with nothing, wouldn’t you? After more than thirty years of marriage you’d have liked her to have been cut out of his will altogether. Good grief. What sort of man do you think your father was? He tried to be fair, despite your efforts, and you can’t complain now if Maudie needs some cash. You of all people should understand. You spend enough!’
    ‘What’s that supposed to