Fabric of a Family

By Valerie Crandall

Fabric of a Family is set in early 1950's England. While it is a work of fiction, many of you may recognize characters and situations familiar in your own milieu. This is the story of the lives, loves, and marriages of the Woodhouse family, their five children and two eccentric aunts. There is joy and sadness, optimism and disappointment, merriment and solemnity as each makes individual choices and decisions, often detrimental to themselves and to the fabric of their family. The Woodhouses are decent people striving to lead good lives but often falling far short of their ideals. Nevertheless, you will find understanding, perception, and compassion as the lives of this family unfold.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie Crandall
• Release date: Dec 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310940286

Valerie Crandall

Val Crandall was born in 1941 in Calcutta, India. She was educated in England. In 1960 she emigrated to Canada where for many years she worked as a legal secretary in Toronto. In 1961 she married a Canadian whom she had first met at the age of seventeen in England. In 1985 the couple decided to retire to the country. They purchased 100 acres of woodland in eastern Ontario and built a home where they still reside. In 1999 she graduated from Queen’s University, Kingston, with a B.A. granted with Distinction in English. During her years of study, she won a number of awards: twice awarded the McNeil Prize; three times awarded the J. Carl King Scholarship, and her final award was The Curtis Memorial Foundation Prize.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Seated at her dressing-table, Alena Woodhouse stared at herself in the mirror. She turned her head from side to side and considered each view of herself critically. Yes, she concluded, the right side of her face was more attractive than the left. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her right ear and considered her face again. The effect did not please her. With a murmur of irritation, she flicked the offending strands back to their original position. She stood up and walked backwards and forwards across the bedroom floor appraising her image in a full-length mirror. This view of herself pleased her more, and she had every right to be pleased. She was still slim at forty-six despite having given birth to five children – three sons and twin daughters. However, she was now bored with her posturing and sat down on her bed and stared into space.

As this is the only glimpse you have seen of Alena, you are probably thinking that she is a vain woman. However, no person living is composed of a single facet. Like gemstones, the light strikes one variant of their character for a brief second, then passes on. Already the light has left this facet of Alena. She barely recalls just a minute ago playing with her hair, or gazing at her reflection in the mirror. All her gestures and observations have been made in a semi-conscious state as she considers what she has just learned. You see, despite being such a beautiful woman – and she is a beautiful woman – she has just learned that her husband of twenty-six years has taken a mistress. In fact, he has kept a mistress for quite some time.

She frowns slightly as she murmurs under her breath, Surely, you saw this coming? Small scenes go through her mind and, yes, there had been indications. For some minutes she recalls the several nebulous indications that her husband has been straying, but it is an unhappy retrospection and she finds it makes her feel worse. She goes to her dressing-table and picks up the offending letter which has so suddenly informed her of her husband’s philandering. But for a fluke, she would still be in blissful ignorance of Barnett’s infidelity. She is as conscious of this fact as if someone has put a burning coal in her hand, and she wishes again and again that she had remained in ignorance. But, as so often happens in life, some insignificant trifle is capable of upsetting the apple cart. Here the insignificant trifle is a pair of Barnett’s trousers which Mrs. Haig (who works in the house as cook, housekeeper, and general factotum), has overlooked when making up the laundry box which is weekly sent to the nearby town for washing.

Alena had got up early this morning, as was her usual habit. She enjoyed that hour just before the first rays of the sun came over the hill and changed the grey of dawn to a pale primrose colour. At this magical hour, it seemed to her that the newborn day lay untouched at her feet, offering endless possibilities. She was alone in this enjoyment because all other members of the household, with the exception of Mrs. Haig, and her husband, Archie, who acts as gardener, sleep peacefully through until their alarm clocks ring at eight o’clock.

Today, Alena had awoken particularly early – almost as if she sensed in her sleep that the dawning July day was perfect in every way. Cool air came in her open window, the sky glimpsed from her bed was a perfect wash of dove-grey turning softly to pale yellow, and the changing light in the room picked up the delicate tones of forget-me-knot and wildflower on the wallpaper. On her dressing-table, her silver brush, hand-mirror, and comb, gleam in richness; while a myriad little scent bottles glow royal blue, amber, and amethyst. As her eyes glanced about the room, she stretched out her toes luxuriously, delighting in everything around her. Quickly she rose, and as soon as she was dressed, she went to the window and looked out.

Dew lay heavy on the lawns and there was a stillness to the air – a soft, damp stillness which weighted the flowers in the long borders, and made the roses hang their heads as they tumbled over pillars and arches. The surface of the landscaped lake lay without ripple, and the golden chains of the laburnum tree at the water’s edge, nodded half-asleep. Only the birds chattering and flitting in this still world seemed alive and awake. Their birdsong fluttered in the open windows of the several bedrooms, stirring the sleeping inhabitants but not waking them. Dimly she heard the clatter of milk bottles being deposited at the tradesmen’s entrance and knew that the milkman had made his delivery. Idly she wondered whether the swans had troubled him. Had he needed to use the water pistol to discourage their climbing the bank and flapping and hissing at him? Soon she would hear Mrs. Haig clattering the breakfast dishes.

As her mind aimlessly wandered, she saw the laundry van arriving at the front door. She turned away bent on going to wake Barnett who had slept that night in his dressing-room. While this may strike the modern ear as a peculiar habit, this was England in the early nineteen-fifties when vestiges of both Victorian and Edwardian manners still lingered on in many families. In these families, a man’s dressing-room was his male preserve since it was tacitly understood that both sexes needed their privacy, and that the decor women preferred to move around in, was not a decor comfortable to men. Furthermore, if he came home late after carousing with his male friends, he could retire discreetly without waking his wife.

One glimpse into Barnett’s dressing-room was enough to tell a stranger that this was a male preserve. Jutting out from one end of the room was a single bed, on one side of which was a small table and lamp, and on the other side, an angled armchair with a footstool. On one wall was a large wardrobe beside which stood a valet stand. Nearby was an upright oak chair with a long shoe horn hanging from it. At the other end of the room was a small wash basin with a wall mirror and a glass shelf holding shaving toiletries. The prints hanging on the walls had a distinctly Indian theme to them: A Bazaar in Pataliputra, Chitgrekote Falls, Calcutta Street Scene, and other similar subjects.

There was one print, however, which did not fit into this collection, and that was a print he had selected to hang where he could gaze at it as he lay in bed. This print had hung in his bedroom when he was an adolescent, and in those days he had looked upon it as a very risqué depiction of a young Indian girl. She was naked from the waist up and had just finished drawing water from a well. She was attempting to place the filled jug upon her head, but in the process it had spilled and the water was tumbling down her body, drenching her long dark tresses and streaming down her breasts. When, as a young man he had gone out to India to make his fortune, he had taken this picture with him. Hired by a British firm dealing in the export of Indian tea, textiles, and spices, he had signed a contract that he would not marry for five years – a normal condition in those times. As a consequence, he lived with a group of similarly contracted bachelors, and here the Water Girl hung in their living quarters. She was an admired glimpse of female perfection in an otherwise male world, and it is hardly surprising that during their five years of enforced bachelorhood, they were able to test the validity of her image, with the reality of Indian girls.

As Alena turned away from the window, she glimpsed Barnett’s trousers hanging on the back of the bedroom door. She grabbed the trousers hurriedly and ran downstairs with them. As she ran, knowing Barnett’s penchant for stuffing his pockets, she quickly searched the pockets for coin or handkerchief but felt instead a piece of paper. Retrieving the paper, she arrived at the bottom of the stairs. In the nick of time! she laughed, handing the trousers to the laundry man who was just leaving. She returned upstairs.

Inside her bedroom, she smoothed out the wrinkles from the paper in her hand. A fragrance came from it like from some exotic flower. She knew that fragrance, but she could not place it. As her senses struggled to identify the scent, she read:

My darling Barnett,

Your little Indian Water Girl embraces you with a thousand thanks. Everything went as planned. We are moved in! All the furniture arrived as promised, and as I stand here looking about me, I can scarcely believe that this will be our home and that we will no longer have to tell lies to that prying landlady. You are so sweet and kind Barnett, and I love you dearly with my whole heart and soul, and I believe you love me or you wouldn’t do this for me.

It seems such a long time ago in Calcutta that you implored me to follow you to England. Do you remember how frightened I was when you handed me my ticket? I was so afraid that you would leave me once I was here, and then what would happen to me? How foolish I was! As I gaze around me now, it is truly hard for me to express to you what it feels like to have a home, a real house of three floors. You must never say that it is humble, or not in the right part of town, or that it is unattractive… or anything against it. Oh, I can’t wait for you to get back from the country so that I can greet you at the door. I shall fling my arms around you and smother you in kisses.

Your loving,

Dorrie

The shock was considerable. Alena’s heart was pounding. Incongruously, she thought, Of course! I recognize that scent – it’s jasmine, Indian jasmine. For a brief moment, she was back in Calcutta. The night was hot as she strolled in the garden. The heavy scent of jasmine filled the air, and light from the open verandah doors spilled onto the lawn. The sound of someone playing the piano drifted out towards her – a sentimental song. Her eyes filled with tears but she brushed them away impatiently. She must keep her head. She must be strong. She was not about to give up her husband and all the life they had shared together without a fight. And yet she saw divorce proceedings looming in front of her. For some moments she stood immobile in the room, the letter grasped in her hand as her thoughts raced, What am I to do? What can I do?

I suppose if she had asked you, you might have said, Kick the brute out! and most of us would have agreed with you. But this was England in the early nineteen-fifties when the values and conventions of society held that marriage was the main focus of a woman’s life – just as it had been in the days of Jane Austen. Equal job opportunities for the sexes might have been discussed in rare circles but did not yet exist. Even if they had existed, few women would have aspired to them believing that a woman’s role was in the home. In middle and upper class families it was considered degrading if a wife had to work. Alena remembered her close friend Betty who had been divorced and was now selling lampshades in Harrods. Her husband had taken off with a woman half his age, leaving Betty to support their thirteen-year-old daughter. No-one knew where her husband was now. Rumours had it that he had gone to America but wherever he was, Betty was the breadwinner now and she had had to swallow her pride and take a job. Alena shuddered as she contemplated the possible abyss looming before her.

Going to her small desk by the window she picked up a pen and paper. She sat down and wrote:

Personal Monies.

Divorce Settlement.

Miscellaneous Assets.

Her pen paused over Personal Monies. She hesitated. Her widowed father had left only a modest sum of money equally divided between herself, her sister, and her brother. Her share was certainly not enough to live on, and even invested in an annuity would bring in a pittance. Well, at least it’s something, she thought. She congratulated herself that through the years she had not permitted Barnett to touch her share of her father’s money, although he had asked her if he might dip into it on a number of occasions.

Next she stared at Divorce Settlement. Surely Barnett would treat her well? But she knew that although Barnett was affluent, he was not wealthy. As a young man he had gone to India to make his fortune, and he did make his fortune but, alas, lost a great part of it when India became independent and it was deemed that any money earned in India, must be spent in India. Since he had retired to England, there was only one way of withdrawing his funds from India – he must fight for them in the Indian courts. So far, each court had decided that they could not make a decision and passed the case to a higher court. On each occasion, lawyers skimmed off their legal fees, and taxes depleted substantial sums. Bit by bit the original capital was shrinking. Alena knew there was not much chance of ever getting any significant money out of India. No, she ought not to expect much by way of a divorce settlement.

Her pencil hovered over the last point, Miscellaneous Assets. Suddenly, and in a determined manner, she struck out the final s in Assets and wrote: The letter.

She took the letter and going to her dressing table pulled out the drawer containing her cosmetics. Lifting up a corner of the floral paper which lined the drawer, she slipped the letter under it and pushed it far back into the drawer. Replacing the liner, she covered it with her usual assortment of makeup items. She closed the drawer just as she heard Barnett rapping on the bedroom door.

Come in, she called, peering into the dressing-table mirror as she applied lipstick.

Good-morning, darling. I trust you slept well? He frowned slightly as he glanced around the room, Have you seen my twill trousers? He was already opening a wardrobe in which he occasionally hung clothes.

If you mean the pair you wanted Mrs. Haig to send to the laundry, I’m afraid she forgot to do so.

He turned quickly from the wardrobe and looked at her, She did? Where are they?

I imagine they’re at the laundry by now, darling. By lucky chance I spotted them hanging on the back of the door just as the laundry van was about to leave. I sprinted downstairs with them and managed to catch the driver just in the nick of time.

They’ve gone?

Yes. I must say you don’t look very grateful to me for my athletic sprint on your behalf.

Sorry, darling. I just remembered that I left something in one of the pockets.

Oh dear, I hope it wasn’t anything important?

Nothing important. Just the name of a horse running in the two-o’clock at Newbury today. I wanted to place a bet.

I wish I had thought to check the pockets, darling, but there wouldn’t have been enough time anyway, if I was to catch the van. Are you sure you can’t remember the name of the horse?

Going through Barnett’s mind was the awful thought that the laundry people would check the pockets before cleaning. He did not relish the thought of Dorrie’s letter becoming public knowledge. His mind raced as he tried to remember what, if anything, might identify him, and his heart sank as he realized that his name alone would likely identify him as there could not be many Barnett’s in the neighbourhood.

Barnett had often got into scrapes in his youth. These were usually commonplace temporary embarrassments such as living beyond his allowance which resulted in a complicated trail of borrowing, the knowledge of which he was most anxious to keep from his father. Similarly, his love of partying when in London. Many a night, he and his friends spent carousing in nightclubs with fast women. The dawn would find them dishevelled and hazy from too much champagne staggering back to their various lodgings. Sometimes, their bacchanalian revelries came perilously close to being reported in the morning papers, and he certainly wished to keep his father in ignorance of these activities, knowing full well that the penalties would be dire.

Originally, after one of these scrapes, Barnett would worry excessively that his father would learn of it, but when after the first, second, and third occasions, no repercussions occurred, his attitude changed. He progressed from thinking, ‘that was a piece of luck,’ to saying to himself, ‘not to worry, it may never happen.’ As very rarely something he feared came to pass, his life’s mantra soon became, ‘don’t worry, it may never happen.’ Thus, on this particular morning, it is hardly surprising that he fled to this comforting mantra, smiling at Alena and assuring her that the piece of paper was not in the least important.

Now it is time for you to meet the rest of the family – at least those who are currently staying in the house. Breakfast is just as good a time as any. So if you will follow me into the dining-room, we shall see who is there.

Chapter 2

The dining-room at Well Springs is one of the most pleasing rooms in the house. The scent from the garden drifts into the room and mingles with the scent of lavender beeswax which Mrs. Rover, a domestic who bicycles in daily from the nearby village of Halsey, polishes onto the glowing furniture. On warm days in summer, French doors stand open showing a view of manicured lawns and flowering borders. A rustic bridge at the far end of the garden spans the two channels of the stream which feed a small ornamental lake alongside the house. Red and white roses tumble over this bridge casting their reflections in the water, while a pair of resident swans glide serenely up and down. Their nest is on the overgrown banks of a second lake in the wilder part of the garden reached only by crossing this bridge.

In the centre of the dining-room is a large oval dining-table which, even in its smallest proportions, seats a dozen people. On this July morning, there are just two aged ladies sitting side by side conversing in bird-like voices as they nibble away at their cereal. They are Ettie and Ophelia, Barnett’s elderly spinster aunts who normally live together in Parsley Cottage, a medieval cottage in the small village of Chilkey, two and a half hours distant from Well Springs.

Barnett dislikes visiting this cottage. He is over six feet tall and its low doorways and ceilings continually make him stoop. Adding to his dislike of the place, are the Tudor beams which run haphazardly through the rooms and on which he hits his head regularly. He views the necessity of staying overnight torture because of the cramped quarters of the guest room. In particular, he objects to the bedroom’s ancient sloping floors, and a massive beam in the ceiling which runs right across the room, straight over the middle of the bed. This beam has been painted by the aunts in a broad black and white zebra pattern to help remind dear Barnett to watch his head. The mere sight of that beam fills him with irritation.

Now what on earth is the good of that zebra thing when I can’t see it when the lights are out? Suppose I can’t sleep and want to get out of bed? Impossible! I feel like a captive in my own bed.

Oh Barnett, don’t be so childish, Alena had often chastised him. We’ll leave the curtains open and then you’ll see it clearly in the ambient light.

Then I won’t be able to sleep! Barnett, when he was inconvenienced, found relief in acting petulantly. Mostly the family found this an endearing trait, and they made great play at provoking him further. He was aware of this gambit, and once his irritation had passed, was apt to laugh at himself. However, after a particularly bad weekend of bumping his head, he complained so bitterly it was decided that the only solution was to bring the aunts to Well Springs instead. Thus, at regular intervals, arrangements were made to hire a driver and car to pick up the aunts and ferry them to Well Springs.

On the first visit of the aunts to Well Springs, so many unforeseen complications had arisen that even Barnett began to think that a few bumps on the head were not so bad after all. Arriving mid-morning, the aunts were taken to their room by Alena who, after pointing out the various amenities of the room, left them alone to unpack. One hour later, when the sherry bottle and cocktail nibbles were languishing in the drawing-room, and the gathered family were beginning to raise questioning eyebrows at each other, Alena was sent upstairs to enquire if there was a problem. It seemed that the aunts, being unused to packing, had arrived lacking all manner of necessities, even to the extent of underwear and nightwear, items they were hesitant to mention. It was wondered how long they would have remained hidden in their bedroom if Alena had not knocked on the door. However, in the end, after whispered conferences behind the closed door of the bedroom, and much plying of a tape measure, Alena was able to provide the aunts with nightdresses, while Mrs. Haig was despatched to the nearby town of Nettingford to obtain what the aunts referred to as the unmentionables. After this inauspicious start, the aunts gradually adjusted to their visits to Well Springs, and came to enjoy the comings and goings of the household.

Ettie is tall, extremely thin, and slightly round-shouldered with age. She powders her face thickly to disguise the tracery of spider veins on her cheeks. To-day she is wearing a dress of old-fashioned cut in a startling shade of violet. She looks fragile and delicate but Ettie has a decided character which brooks no interference from others. Nevertheless, she is tolerant of what others do, although it is often unwise to ask her opinion because she will give it without the balm of tact. This sometimes causes what the family calls atmospheres. However, these atmospheres generally dissipate quickly in the constantly changing family scene.

Ophelia is shorter and plumper than Ettie, and she wears no make-up. There is something childlike in her mannerisms, as if she has never fully grown up. She is still the young girl at the ball determined not to be a wallflower and thus overly anxious to please. Rarely have the young greeted her arrival at the house without receiving a shower of compliments offered in her timid and apprehensive voice. I regret to say that they have often found these compliments highly amusing and have mimicked her when alone, tumbling around in gales of laughter. Yet each of the young have also sought her out for consolation when squabbles or disagreements have broken out between them. Her generous compliments are a known cure for bruised feelings. To-day, she is wearing a lacy beige dress which gives off a faint odour of camphor wood as if it has just been pulled from storage. As both women sit at the table, it is hard to miss the ghostlike traces of the previous century lingering about them.

Now they break off their whispered tête-a-tête and look expectantly towards the door as they hear someone approach. Mrs. Haig enters carrying a large platter of scrambled eggs surrounded by sausages. She sets it down on the buffet and turning towards the aunts says, I’ll be sounding the gong if they don’t come down soon.

You wouldn’t dare. Ophelia looks shocked.

Wouldn’t I just! Mrs. Haig looks indignant. The eggs are all finished, so I can’t be making any more scrambles if these go cold.

Mrs. Haig is a tall, thickset woman with a no-nonsense air about her. She has been with the household since its return from India, and she wields a certain measure of authority. She and her husband Archie live in the small flat next to the kitchen. Here they have a sitting-room, bedroom, bathroom, and another small room which contains an ironing board and a treadle sewing machine. In this last room, Mrs. Haig does any of the ironing not sent out to the village laundry and will, on occasion, but grumbling profusely, make minor repairs to clothes on the sewing machine. Now she gives Ophelia an appraising look, You think I wouldn’t dare strike that thing, Miss Ophelia?

Before Ophelia can answer, Ettie says, Go on, Mrs. Haig, bang it then! Ettie has harboured a secret urge to hear the huge gong struck ever since her first visit to Well Springs. One big bonk on it would be very exciting!

Mrs. Haig spins on her heel and leaves the room. She returns with the gong paddle and waves it at Ettie, Why else is the thing hanging on the wall if not for summoning everyone to meals? So saying, she once again leaves the room.

Looking anxious, Ophelia turns to Ettie, You shouldn’t drive her on, Ettie dear. You’ll get her into trouble and she might even lose her job.

Lose her job for banging a gong? I’ve never heard such nonsense! Nevertheless, Ettie feels slightly uneasy. She rises hurriedly and goes after Mrs. Haig. She is relieved to find her doing nothing more worrying than standing at the bottom of the stairs thumping the gong paddle silently into the palm of her hand and staring up the stairs.

Mrs. Haig is embarrassed at being caught in this posture and defends her actions, No need to strike it – I hear them coming now. Quickly she hangs up the gong paddle and disappears into the kitchen.

Ettie returns to the dining-room, You see, Ophelia, I knew she wouldn’t dare. She sits down.

The gong had come from the family’s Calcutta home where Ajit, the Head Bearer, had beaten it ceremoniously before every meal. That house had been very large and the tremendous sound it made dissipated easily up the long staircase, down the many corridors, and into the myriad rooms throughout the house. Barnett, enjoying the gong’s thunderous boom, had insisted on bringing it back to England as a souvenir although Alena had strongly objected, saying that Well Springs was nowhere near large enough to justify a gong of that size. As so often happens in a marriage, this minor disagreement had become something of a bone of contention and thus gained more importance than was its due.

We’ll all have to wear ear-plugs if that thing is struck! Alena had declared.

How would you notice over the usual noise the children make rushing to feed?

That’s not kind of you, Barnett. The children are just high-spirited and you certainly can’t complain of their manners when they are with outsiders. Besides, you’re just shifting the argument away from the impracticality of taking that thing to England. And there were many such other little exchanges, all with an undertone of I will have my way, on both sides. Eventually, however, Alena had capitulated on Barnett’s sworn promise that the gong would be hung as decoration only and never struck. Thus a truce was called on the marital tussle, but the stubbornness with which each had defended their position, resulted in the family being called together and a complete ban placed on the ringing of the gong. No matter how ridiculous this ban appeared to the children, the look in their parents’ eyes made them believe something truly important lay behind the ban and they did not question its efficacy, although each in their own way longed to strike the dashed thing.

No sooner has Ettie seated herself than Lucian and David arrive. They are the second and third sons of Barnett and Alena. Lucian is twenty-two and has already completed his National Service. He has been hired by a wine merchant in Nettingford making it possible for him to live at Well Springs. He is just starting his summer holidays. David at eighteen is close to finishing boarding school. They are quickly followed into the dining-room by Gillian and Selena, the Woodhouses’ fifteen-year-old twin daughters. Aidan, their eldest son, is in London. He is twenty-four now and has been working in London for the past two years. He is believed to have a steady girlfriend, but as he never brings her down to Well Springs there is much conjecture that he is keeping her hidden for some incomprehensible and possibly worrisome reason. Lucian, who is closest to Aidan, keeps silent when the topic of Aidan’s girlfriend comes up. He knows that Aidan does not have a steady girlfriend but goes out with several different girls. Just the weekend before when Lucian had visited Aidan in London, Aidan had confided to him the enormously worrying information that one of his girlfriends was pregnant. Lucian’s heart had sunk at the news for this was trouble indeed. Pregnancy before marriage not only contravened the moral code of the time, but was sure to bring shame on the family.

Are you sure the child is yours?

Pretty sure.

Do you love her?

She’s not really my choice.

Oh god, Aidan, what are you going to do?

I don’t know. Nothing for the moment. There had been a long pause, and then Aidan had added, It’s early days yet.

Yes, I suppose it is. Lucian had tried to sound optimistic. Then had followed a conversation as to the likelihood of the girl being mistaken in her belief, and that everything might yet be put right. The conversation had ended on Aidan eliciting a promise from Lucian not to mention a word to their parents.

But I may mention it to David, mayn’t I?

Yes, but for heaven’s sake, don’t let him breathe a word to the girls. They’ll never keep their mouths shut.

Lucian had nodded. There was an unspoken agreement amongst the three brothers that what went on in their world remained amongst themselves. It was their private code of honour. Returning to Well Springs, a worried Lucian had immediately confided Aidan’s secret to David. David, like Lucian, had felt his heart sink. This was not the first time Aidan had brought troubles upon them. There had been that incident of borrowing a friend’s car without permission and then rolling it in a ditch. The difficulties of keeping this knowledge from their parents while trying to raise the money for repairs, had involved the three brothers in a series of deceits which still left a disagreeable taste in David’s mouth. Once more, they were to spin stories to protect Aidan. David feared his summer might well be spoilt and he secretly cursed Aidan.

Nevertheless, the two brothers had agreed to foster the belief that Aidan was working hard – most weekends, in fact – and thus could not possibly come down to Well Springs to introduce his girlfriend. They invented a story that his long-term girlfriend spent her weekends at her parents’ home in Kent where her mother was ailing. They then added so many embellishments that it became difficult to remember the additions and deletions. In the end, neither of them were very clear as to whether the girl’s mother was senile, had met with an accident, or was suffering some terminal ailment. Their story was still in this confused state when they arrived for breakfast on this morning.

No sooner had Barnett and Alena arrived in the dining-room and were helping themselves at the buffet, than Barnett called over his shoulder, Lucian, when you saw Aidan in London, did you ask him why he never brings his girlfriend down here? Surely, we’re not intolerant people? If he’s been going out with her this long, we ought to be introduced to her.

Lucian shot a frantic look at David, I think it’s rather complicated. I mean Aidan is working very hard – most weekends, in fact.

I should hope he is, said Barnett, sitting down and beginning his breakfast. But surely he’s not working every weekend? Surely he can free up one weekend to bring her here?

Well, yes. I mean, no. I think she has an ailing mother in Kent, or something, and she spends her weekends with her. Yes, that’s right… or was it an ailing father? Oh dear, I can’t remember what he told me, and he kicked David under the table – a kick that definitely said, ‘help me out.’ Isn’t that right, David? he added.

Um, mumbled David with his mouth full of cereal, looking at his plate.

Barnett sighed, You mean to say you found out nothing about the girlfriend?

Barnett, must we hold an inquisition on Aidan’s girlfriend? asked Alena.

Barnett looked at her, It just seems to me that now would be an excellent time for him to bring her to Well Springs. After all, I’m just starting my holidays and we could get to know her a bit.

I’m sure when he’s ready, we’ll be introduced to her, said Alena. In the meantime, he’s old enough not to enjoy being cross-examined by his father.

Bah! I still think it very odd that we haven’t met her yet. Barnett returned to eating his scrambled eggs.

Alena thought for a moment. I tell you what, Barnett. I’ll go up to London and see him. I’ve been meaning to visit Betty for some time now, plus I have some shopping I need to do. I’ll stay at your flat.

Barnett was dismayed. He had not told Alena that he had given up the lease on his flat and that he had invested in a townhouse. His mind was racing, But… the flat is so cramped, darling. Surely you’d be more comfortable staying at your women’s club?

But I’ve never objected before, have I? Don’t worry. I’ll find out about this mysterious girl. Alena poured herself another cup of tea, I must remember to tell Mrs. Haig what an excellent pot of tea she has made this morning.

But the flat isn’t very close to where Betty lives, objected Barnett. You’ll have all that nuisance of finding taxis, etcetera.

Darling, you know I don’t generally take taxis because I love riding on the top of a double-decker bus. I can see so many interesting sights as we bounce along. It takes me right back to my youth when I was living in London with my father. Besides, as you know, the buses run every few minutes from right in front of your flat.

I have the perfect solution, said Barnett. Why don’t you ask Betty to put you up?

Darling, that’s inconsiderate of you. Have you forgotten that Betty works and she doesn’t have any help in the house? She has to take care of her daughter, Penelope, who is a teenager now, and Jinnie, her mother, who must be – oh, at least ninety-seven now. No. I prefer to just drop around for a visit. I’ll give her a call after breakfast and set it up. Anyway, why are you so anxious that I shouldn’t stay at the flat? What’s going on, Barnett, darling?

Barnett kept his eyes on his plate and pushed his food around, I hadn’t intended telling you this quite now, but I’m in the process of terminating my lease on the flat and I’m looking around for another place. He glanced up at her, The flat is too depressingly dark and it’s not that convenient for the office. Besides, I can’t stand that dreadful landlady. I’ve been meaning to find something better for quite some time and I’ve finally set the wheels in motion.

Oh Daddy! cried Selena, Please find something big enough so Gillian and I can stay with you and see something of London. Oh, p-l-e-a-s-e! We wouldn’t be any trouble.

Barnett scarcely heard her words. I’m not made of money! he snapped. His thoughts were in turmoil. The lease was already terminated and the flat vacated. He wondered if Mrs. Jones, the landlady, could be prevailed upon to renew the lease temporarily for another month, until he had figured out how to explain the purchase of the townhouse to Alena. He feared that the flat would already be re-leased.

Well, I’m quite taken aback, said Alena. I had no idea you had so many plans afoot.

Barnett made an attempt at humour, I told you when I proposed to you, darling, that if you married me, your life would be full of surprises, and you told me that you liked surprises. Well, here is one now. However, let’s finish our breakfast. We can discuss this later. He turned to the others at the table, What are your plans for the day?

The boys said they were cycling into Halsey, and the girls said they had been invited to play tennis with the Burtons who lived down the lane at Endicott Hall. Alena said she and the aunts had things to pick up in Nettingford and would Barnett care to join them? Barnett quickly declined, saying that he had brought office papers with him from London and must work in his study.

Chapter 3

Barnett’s study was sacrosanct. It harked back to an earlier era when such a room was set aside for the master of the house and an invitation into it was infrequent. The door to the study was never left open even when he was not in the room. When he was in the room, it was obligatory to knock and wait for his Come in! before entering. Even Alena followed this rule and thought nothing strange of it for so it had been in her father’s house. Their children, however, disliked a summons to the study for it generally meant a reprimand for some wrongdoing. They especially feared it at school report time and referred to the room as the Headmaster’s Study, quizzing each other anxiously when they knew the postman had arrived with the school reports, Do you think you’ll be summoned to the Headmaster’s Study? If they were summoned, they knew that their siblings would be awaiting them afterwards to administer consolation. Inevitably, the consolation took the form of an exaggerated re-enactment of the interview by the one summoned, or a highly imaginative evocation of what the others surmised to have occurred. Gales of laughter would follow, and humorous references made of so-and-so receiving a raspberry from father.

Barnett’s sternness, however, was a front and he only got away with it because of the children’s youth. They did not know that he had feared his father and a summons to his father’s study had filled him with the same apprehension. He did not inflict this punishment on them out of cruelty but because he was attempting to replicate the behaviour of his father who, he knew, had been guided in all his actions by love for his children. Barnett believed his father’s hand on him had been exemplary, and any successes he had achieved in life were due to it. Thus, when he was called upon to take part in the shaping of his own children’s characters, he invariably replicated the actions of his father.

Barnett’s father had worked hard to put himself through medical school. He had married late and once established devoted himself to raising his family. He had two sons and a daughter – the elder son dying during the war and the daughter in childbirth, leaving Barnett the sole survivor. Barnett’s father had taken the formation of his children’s characters as a serious responsibility and had done all he could, along with his wife, to bring up well-rounded individuals. He had tried to instill in them the values of honesty, integrity, and hard work, repeating frequently that a job worth doing is worth doing well. An affectionate father, he nevertheless exacted obedience and conformance to what he called a gentleman’s code of honour. In its simplest form, he believed that a gentleman’s word was his bond, and a mere handshake between gentlemen could be considered as binding as any sealed document. Barnett now tried to instill these same values into his children but he was too lax and inconsistent in his demands to be steadily successful. Years of living in India where servants had administered to all his wishes had made him self-indulgent, and what remained of his early training was too often forgotten in the pleasant living of the day.

While he tried to instill his father’s code of honour in his children, unlike his father he did not believe he could influence their inherent character. His father had painstakingly paid as much attention to the formation of his children’s character as he did to the instilling of values. He believed that a good father helped shape his children’s characters. Barnett believed that character was set in the genes and could not be moulded. Thus, when any of his children exhibited traits which he did not like, he thought of it as something inherently unfortunate in their genes and totally divorced from any connection to him. The consequence of this notion resulted in his belief that there was nothing he could do to correct flaws in his children’s characters. As a result, he was more than happy to let Alena be the disciplinarian, preferring to play the fun-loving parent, open-hearted and somewhat chummy. As he disliked intensely playing the strict parent, when Alena determined that a father’s rebuke was necessary, he was inclined to balk and become irritable. When she stood firm and he was forced into issuing the summons to his study, he was usually in a temper himself and so overplayed his role – often with unhappy results.

Barnett’s study was a small room on the ground floor of the house overlooking on one side a green lawn sloping up to a shrubbery, and on the other side, the main driveway which swept around its central flower bed. His desk was angled into one corner so that when writing at his desk, if he should look up, he could see the comings and goings at the front door or, if he wished a quieter scene, he could gaze at the peaceful lawn sloping up to the shrubbery. There were two large leather armchairs, one with a footrest, and each with a table and lamp. Against one wall was a tall glassed bookcase which had once been in his father’s study. It still contained his father’s medical books in their thick old-fashioned bindings but there was an air of neglect about them. On a shelf above the small fireplace lay his binoculars, racing cards, and some trophies won during his school days. A small table and a well provisioned drinks’ trolley stood against another wall. On the windowsill close to his desk lay a silver cigarette container and several boxes of matches together with an ashtray.

Barnett entered his study. The rest of the family had already departed to their various activities. For a moment he stood in the middle of the room, and then flung himself into the armchair with the footrest and put his feet up. He was forty-nine years old and still in the prime of his life. He had gone to India at the age of eighteen, and after spending twenty-seven successful years there had retired to England four years ago at the time of Indian Independence. Being only forty-five years old at retirement and with a large family to support, it was necessary for him to look around for another job. With his Indian experiences and the successes he had achieved there, it was not difficult for him to land a job in London where his knowledge in the tea and textile trades could be utilized. He was also on the Board of several distinguished companies which had connections with India. The income derived from these several undertakings made it possible for him to maintain his comfortable lifestyle, despite the fact that the majority of his savings were still locked up in India.

Well Springs was located a good three hours by train from London, and so Barnett soon established the routine of spending his working week in London,