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

mean?’
    ‘Oh, take it any way you like. Your father left you well provided for, one way and another. Let Maudie do as she pleases with what’s legally hers.’
    ‘You know how I feel about Moorgate …’
    ‘Do I not!’ He got up abruptly. ‘I’m going down the pub for a pint. Don’t wait up.’
    The door closed behind him but Selina remained seated, her face blank, distracted for a moment from her grievance. This going down to the pub after some small scene or other was becoming a regular occurrence. A trickle of suspicion wormed its way into her mind and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Patrick had been touchy of late; unsympathetic, uninterested in her problems. Now, with Posy away at college, it was as if something—some commitment, perhaps?—had reached its end and he’d become withdrawn, indifferent. It might simply be that he was missing Posy, of course.She’d always been his favourite and it was odd—and certainly very quiet—without her. Nevertheless … Suspicion, once roused, was not to be too easily dismissed. Patrick had always been careful, alert to his wife’s moods, anxious to placate, to soothe. Selina frowned. There had been precious little soothing this evening. Patrick knew very well that Moorgate was her own vital link to the past; the place of happy holidays with her parents.
    She shifted restlessly, folding her arms beneath her breast, hunching her shoulders. It was thoughtless of him to leave her at a time like this when he might have guessed that she’d want to talk. Patrick had once been very sympathetic; very ready to try to understand what it must be like for a girl, hardly out of childhood, to lose her mother; and then to have her replaced by a sharp-tongued woman with no maternal qualities or sensitivity. Since there was nobody to observe, to react, Selina saved herself the trouble of tears. Her thoughts were with Maudie again, with Moorgate, and her face grew sullen. Somehow the sale must be prevented. She would speak to Patricia, to the boys; surely, between them, something could be done? If everyone contributed then maybe they could buy the place themselves. Selina brightened, picturing the scene. What fun it would be to own the old house; to use it for holidays and to invite the gang for weekends. Of course it was rather a long drive from London but it could be managed—and how impressed they’d be. It was a pity that Patrick had insisted that part of her share of the house in Arlington Road must be used to pay off their mortgage but there was a little left, enough to put down as a deposit perhaps.
    A sound of whining, a scrabbling at the back door, broke into these pleasant plans and her face grew surly again.
    ‘Shut up,’ she muttered. ‘Bloody animal.’ She raised her voice. ‘Be quiet!’
    The whining ceased for a moment, to be replaced seconds later by a deep-throated bark which rang round the courtyard and echoed up the quiet suburban street.
    ‘For Christ’s sake!’ She hurried across and opened the door. Polonius barged past her, padding into the kitchen and through to the living room, looking for Posy. He ignored Selina’s shouted order to sit until, satisfied that Posy was not at home, he subsided on his rug in the corner, his mastiff’s wrinkled face sad.
    ‘You’re for the chop,’ Selina told him furiously. ‘If Posy doesn’t come up with something soon, you’re going.’
    At the sound of his mistress’s name Polonius’s ears cocked hopefully but, realising that she was not going to appear, he settled, groaning. Meanwhile, Selina had given herself an idea. Posy loved Moorgate. She, too, would be devastated to hear that Maudie was selling it. Perhaps Posy could influence Maudie, persuade her to drop the price, bring pressure to bear.
    Selina thought: I must be subtle. Posy loves Moorgate but she also loves Maudie. Perhaps I’ll give her a buzz. Tell her that Maudie’s put it up for sale.
    She went to the telephone, her mind busy preparing