I became aware of a small flashing light and someone very close, tending to me like a nurse and wiping my face, her gentle soothing voice echoing in my ear. "Richard, love, are you okay?"
I turned to see Angela looking down on me with great concern, and felt hopelessly inept.
"Well," I remarked drearily, "we could have chosen a nicer spot for a picnic."
Taking my dry humour as a certificate of good health, Angela immediately leaned over and flung her arms around my neck.
"Oh, thank goodness you're all right. You are all right, aren't you?" she added, hastily drawing back in case I had other injuries.
"I think so. How are you? Any cuts or bruises?"
"Maybe some I shan't discover till bath time," she said coyly.
"Where's Betty?" I asked, realising she was no longer with us.
"Don't worry," Angela assured me. "We're both fine, unlike today's weather. Are you sure you're okay? You banged your head on the steering wheel and blacked out. I was so worried."
I glanced in the driving mirror and saw a small cut on my forehead.
"I'd better go and assess the damage," I said, opening my door.
"Betty's doing that. Oh, please don't get out on that side, it's far too dangerous."
I sat for a moment, strangely disorientated. Was this an extension of last night's dream or horribly real?
"God bless the inventor of seat belts," I said with a sigh of relief.
But my anger was rising high. I'd already apologised to my friends for a less than exciting weekend, and now this! One thing for sure - these good ladies wouldn't forget Richard Bird in a hurry.
The rear door opened and Betty climbed onto the back seat.
"I have good news," she said, "and some not so good. There's a nasty dent all along one side, and you've got a warped boot, though by some fluke your indicators and hazard lights still work. It's my guess we're probably mobile."
"Damned lunatics!" I fumed. "Where do these clowns learn to drive? Do they read the Highway Code these days, or handbooks on ballroom dancing?"
"I think they were doing the veleta," Betty smiled. "Then someone did a neat side-shuffle and took us all by surprise. I didn't even hear the music."
"Bloody cretins, pushing me off the road like that," I continued. "And I always make a point of being careful. I'm so sorry. I wanted this to be a happy weekend for all three of us. I shouldn't be allowed to have friends, if this is how I treat them."
"Richard, stop it," ordered Betty. "We're fine, don't worry. Tell me - do you intend to sit here till the police book us for loitering, or shall we try to limp home unaided?"
"I don't feel at all confident about driving," I admitted. "I've a sickening feeling I may pass out again. Sorry. So much for Richard Bird's image as gallant helper of damsels in distress."
"I'll drive if you like," Angela volunteered. "The sooner we're away from this awful place the happier I'll be. I don't feel safe here, and the wind's so unpredictable. Something far worse could happen at any minute."
Angela opened her nearside door. I eased myself across and stepped out onto the hard shoulder where I cautiously inspected the damage. Angela followed.
"Oh, your poor car!" she cried, putting hands to her mouth. "Were you very fond of it?"
"Just good friends, that's all. If I were Lord Simon with that oversized mouth-organ he drives, I'd no doubt be yelling my head off. But for me this is mere transport, not a status symbol. It may take weeks to mend though. Do you know, I haven't ridden on a bus for years."
"Do you have to get to work tomorrow?" she asked.
"Maybe not. I'll call the doctor first and see what he says before I make any other plans. And I must also think about hiring a car."
"You're welcome to use mine," Angela offered, sacrificing her dignity to crawl ungracefully into the driving seat. "You have a regular job to go to, Richard. I don't."
Angela sat herself down and gave an involuntary shudder. She switched off the hazard lights, adjusted the mirror and looked for a suitable gap in the unending traffic, easing the car gently forward while she waited. To my relief it functioned normally.
"Right," she said, "prepare for take-off!" and suddenly we surged forward, filtering in among the thundering lorries. Angela drove with the skills of a competent rally driver, holding a steady pace in case the car should develop worse problems.
"She's a good driver, have no fear," Betty assured me from the back. "And Richard," she added, "don't keep saying you've loused up. As far as I'm concerned, it's been a truly fascinating weekend, including this bumper surprise at the end."
It was half past six when we reached Betty's house. I had thought of inviting both ladies out for an evening meal, but Betty made it clear that she was very tired and ready for bed. She lifted her case out of my buckled boot and said goodnight with an amiable yawn.
"It's only just gone six-thirty," I protested. "According to my maths your jet-lag should be clamouring for lunch."
"You're forgetting my sleepless night," she smiled. "Coming, Angie?"
Angela looked my way. "Richard's going to need transport while his car's being mended," she said. "I'm debating whether to lend him my father's car, if he's interested."
"It's a kind offer," I said, picturing the kind of ostentatious limousine that Sir George might have owned. "But I'd better first find out how long the repair's going to take. I'll run into my local garage this evening. They're open twenty-four hours."
"And how will you get home from the garage?" Angela asked.
"It's walkable," I told her.
"In this weather, without an umbrella?"
I was about to say I had an overcoat in the boot when I remembered lending it to Betty.
"Oh God," Betty groaned. "Richard, I left it at your mother's. What must you think of me, coming away in a dress that doesn't belong to me and forgetting your nice coat, just when you need it? I'm so sorry. I only wish I had something I could lend you."
"Don't worry," I said. "It'll be a good excuse for that return trip I know you're both looking forward to."
"Tell you what," suggested Angela. "If Richard drives to the garage, I'll follow in my car and take him to his front door. How's that?"
Not only was this a sensible idea. It would mean spending more time alone with Angela. After accepting Betty's long and meaningful kiss through the window, I returned to Leatherhead and left my mutilated car at the repair shop where a duty-mechanic promised it would be assessed first thing in the morning.
I rescued the remaining suitcases just as the rain began pelting down again and Angela drew alongside in a sporty white Mercedes. As I climbed aboard she gave an involuntary shiver.
"Don't mind me," she explained. "Rain always does that to me. It's not you."
Sitting beside the shivering Angela in a confined space was vastly superior to any other social activity I could think of. It might have been a good moment to offer her my comforting arms, but before I could assess the wisdom of this she started the engine and we drove off.
"I am sorry about your nice car," she said. "I'm sure the accident wasn't your fault though. You've got nothing to blame yourself for."
"I'm not so sure," I argued. "If I'd been in less of a hurry to escape Mother's cloying clutches, that idiot would have been well clear by the time we came along. I reckon she prayed all afternoon for God's vengeance."
"Well, I thought your Mother was charming, Richard. You should visit her more often."
"You didn't hear the inhospitable words she used at three o'clock this morning," I said.
"I'm sure she was only trying to protect one of her chicks from becoming too broody."
"Maybe, but she was needlessly rude to Betty who was quite innocently enjoying nothing more than a spell of insomnia."
"I think Betty might have enjoyed it far more if..."
"If what?" I prompted.
"I was going to say if you'd been less of a gentleman. Then I decided not to, so I didn't."
"I've never really understood women, Angie, that's half my problem. They claim men are all dirty animals after only one thing, yet they get equally annoyed by signs of gentlemanly restraint. How can a guy win?"
"You'll have to wait and see," she concluded with a provocative glint.
After guiding Angela to my flat I felt bound to invite her in, and was mortified to see how untidy the place was. I quickly reminded her of my emergency departure the previous morning.
"Don't worry," she exclaimed. "Most bachelors live in a pig-sty. Compared to some, yours is a show-house."
I claimed everything had been immaculate a week ago, whereupon she apologised again for the let-down, and thanked me profusely for all the help and support I'd given her during the past few days. This, I may say, combined with our cosy isolation, brought on a tremendous desire to take Angela into my embrace and kiss her repeatedly in a number of exciting places, perhaps even to carry her off to my bedroom where I might have made ungentlemanly advances. But as such a move could well have wrecked the delicate balance of an important friendship, I took care to control myself.
"Would you like a drink?" I offered her. "I have an uncommonly wide selection from a recently postponed dinner-party."
She smiled. "Have you a glass of white wine?"
"Sweet, medium or dry?"
She asked for medium. "Oh, I must tell you," she said excitedly, "Daddy once entertained an important dinner guest who wanted a medium white which I hadn't got, so I secretly mixed half a bottle of sweet with the dry and served it in a decanter - he said it was excellent. I thought he was just being polite, but I learned afterwards he was a wine connoisseur and wanted details of the vintage."
"Tricky! Whatever did you do?"
"I confessed and told him the truth. The man forgave me at once and roared with laughter, though Daddy was furious afterwards."
"I hope one day you'll tell me a lot more about your father," I said as I poured two glasses. My remark produced a look of instant hostility, and I quickly changed the subject.
"Meanwhile, food," I said. "I can offer you eggs in a variety of shapes, cauliflower cheese in about twenty minutes, or I could do corned beef fritters or heat up a chilli con carne - Betty did say you were omnivorous."
"Yes, but she won't like chilli breathed all over her when I get back."
"That rather depends on how soon you're planning to get there," I said mischievously. "How about smoked haddock? It was to have been yesterday's breakfast."
As I attended to the haddock, Angela began to relax more, wandering around the living-room and examining my various ornaments.
"Ah, look!" she exclaimed. "Here's a picture of Mother Hen."
"That was ten years ago," I said, handing her a glass of wine. "And next to her is my younger sister."
"Is she the one in Ireland or New York?"
It was Betty whom I'd told about my sisters, not Angela. I was about to remark on the way they shared everything, when the phone rang.
"Ten to one that's Mother," I predicted wrongly.
"Richard, dear boy," said Betty's voice, "is Muffet still there?"
"Who? Oh, yes - yes, do you want a word?"
"I'd better tell you first," she continued. "There's a big tree in my garden - or there was until it got blown down by the storm."
"Not the one I tied your front fence to?" I said, alarmed that my efforts had caused further disaster.
"No," she said, "round the back of the house. It wasn't big enough to do any major damage, but it's smashed through Angie's bedroom window. I felt a draught the moment I came in, and thought the silly twit had left it open. Then I found this huge branch lying right across her bed. Then when I tried moving it, I felt a sharp stab of pain in my shoulder. It's probably just a bruise from the motorway business, but the damned tree will have to stay put till the morning. I'm ringing to warn Muffet, in case I'm asleep when she gets in. Tell her she'll have to wrap up real warm tonight."
I handed the phone to Angela who made suitably worried utterances as Betty repeated her news. When she rang off, she began shivering again.
"It's lucky I wasn't there," she gasped. "But my bedroom carpet's soaked. Betty wants to get it up to dry but she says her shoulder hurts, and she's too tired anyway, so it'll have to wait till I get back. Oh, Richard, what's happening to everyone all at once?"
"Remember that song, Angie? When you come to the end of a perfect day? Hey, it's time I phoned Mother - what shall I say about my car?"
"Remember me and my blended wine? What's wrong with the truth?"
"Everything. She'll go bananas, and brand me as a reckless driver from now till eternity. No, this calls for careful diplomacy."
I dialled the number.
"Hallo, Mother Hen," I said in a voice loud enough to convince her I was calling from Leatherhead. "Just phoning to thank you for the lovely weekend and to tell you we're now home safely."
She insisted on knowing why the journey had taken so long.
"We had some hold-ups due to bad weather, and we stopped for a break half way. Betty's gone off to bed and Angela and I are about to have some supper."
Mother rattled on about how nice it was to meet my friends, how nicely they both spoke, and had I seen the dreadful storm reported on the news? I repeated that we'd had bad weather, but the car got us safely home in one piece.
"You see, Angie?" I said afterwards. "No fibs, but Mother Hen will be at peace tonight."
"I doubt if I shall. I'll have the most dreadful nightmares, trying to sleep in that cold room surrounded by leaves and branches."
"Like a partridge in a pear tree? You don't have to," I said quietly. "You're welcome to stay here if you prefer. I can accommodate visitors very respectably."
She didn't decline straight away, so I let the thought simmer while I served the haddock. Angela continued to wander, sipping her wine and peering at my record collection, as if to assess what kind of a lonely life I led.
"You've got loads of books on steam trains, Richard."
"Not only books," I said. "Videos too."
"I don't understand the fascination, Richard, but at least trains are harmless. Some men get drawn into much more bizarre interests. Oh, do you want any help?" she asked, hurrying over. "Sorry, I should have offered sooner."
My kitchen is small, and with Angela standing so close, I'll admit to gaining some randy ideas from the warmth of her presence. But the gentleman in me handed her some cutlery and invited her to set the table.
"Please understand, Angie, this isn't a patch on the meal I prepared a week ago, but it's less nerve-racking. I know you a whole lot better now."
"I'm afraid there's a lot you still have to learn about me, Richard."
Other matters kept me from pursuing this until we were both seated at the table. Just when the moment seemed most suitable, I leaned across to refill Angela's wine glass prior to toasting mutual friendship, and we were plunged suddenly into absolute darkness.
"Oh God," she yelled like a frightened child, "what's happened?"
"Power cut," I said needlessly. "Sit still."
I fumbled my way to the kitchen, found a decorative candle and brought it to the table. It shed a warm amber glow onto Angela's face giving extra radiance to her complexion as I voiced my inevitable compliments.
"You'll be saying next I look perfect in the dark," she laughed. "It was lucky you couldn't see me that night when I first phoned. I looked dreadful."
"But not this evening," I said. "You have sparkling eyes, like that song from The Gondoliers. You also have a very pleasant singing voice, Angie. I was admiring it in church this morning."
She looked glum. "Sorry I made an ass of myself towards the end," she confided. "It was that last hymn. It reminded me of something sad."
"Then I'm glad you weren't on your own."
"Me too," she agreed. Her cinnamon eyes shone intently as if pleading to me for something she couldn't express in words.
"I still maintain you are very attractive," I repeated.
"Maybe that's why you've just blown a fuse?" she giggled.
We finished eating, and I went to the balcony to look outside. The only lights visible were from vehicles in the road. Everything else was black, apart from a few windows of flickering candlelight.
"I wonder if Betty's all right?" Angela shivered as she joined me. "Must be that storm! I hope it doesn't turn into thunder tonight. I hate thunderstorms."
"Have you decided where you'll sleep tonight?" I asked, hoping my question didn't sound like a corny come-on.
She nodded, and slipped her arm around my waist. "Yes, please. May I help wash up?"
I told her there was no need. "When the power comes back we'll run the dishwasher. Meanwhile let's have another glass of wine and exchange a few quiet thoughts."
"Should the candle stay on, or shall we blow it out?"
I suggested saving it for emergencies, as long as she wasn't afraid of the dark.
"Only when I'm alone," she said. "I feel I can trust you."
"What did Betty say on the phone about her shoulder?" I asked as we adjourned to the settee. "She thinks she may have twisted it in the accident. Poor girl, I feel so guilty. I hope she's all right."
"I'll drive over as soon as it's daylight. And you can borrow Daddy's big Bentley if you like."
"I'd be terrified of scratching it," I said, "especially after today. I'll phone the doctor first, and then the garage to see what they recommend. I'd better phone the office too."
"Where would we be without telephones?"
"Betty wouldn't have a sore shoulder, for a start."
Angela thought about this for a moment, then asked pointedly:
"Do you like Betty?"
"Of course," I said at once. "Doesn't everybody?"
"Her husband didn't."
"Well, he's got a problem."
"Actually, I was surprised how nice he was. I had a lovely long chat with him after the funeral, and he was very good to us. He just happened to meet someone else who pushed Betty out of the way, that's all."
"It was unforgivable to separate her from little Jonathan," I said.
"That was the court's decision. I guess we've none of us any right to pass judgement on Alec without knowing all the facts."
I told her she was a very generous and warm-hearted girl.
"Not really," she denied. "As I said, you don't really know me. I've been case-hardened, so Betty tells me."
I said it didn't show.
"That's because I've learned to hide my true feelings."
"You needn't hide them here, you know."
Instead of discussing the matter further, Angela sat with her head nestled against my shoulder. To show some understanding, I took her hand and pressed it gently.
"You okay?" I asked, and she merely nodded. Further comments weren't forthcoming, and I felt a growing need to break into her silence.
"When I was young," I said quietly, "I used to believe if two people sat together with nothing to say, it was a sign they were bored with each other. But I don't feel bored, I just enjoy being with you. There's something special about you, Angie, that opens up my heart and makes me feel very contented - yet at the same time a bit frightened."
The cinnamon eyes glanced up. "Why frightened?"
"In case I become too emotionally dependent. I'm scared you might suddenly disappear, leaving an aching hollow I can't easily fill."
"Can anyone ever fill an aching hollow?" she asked slowly.
"You still have one that needs filling?"
She nodded sadly.
"Betty again? Oh, poor lamb," I said, "I simply don't know how to help you. I wish I could."
"I know," she said.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
"How? There's no electricity."
"Angie, really! You stood in my kitchen and didn't notice I was using gas? You must have had your mind on other things," I teased. "But you will ask for anything you want, won't you?"
She didn't answer. Instead she began crying like a lost child. Holding her I felt more like a mother than someone who loved her sexually. She needed a mother, she had always needed one, a mother who had never been there. Was that the root cause of her aching hollow? Even if I couldn't fill it, I could at least be kind and loving, ready for when I was needed.
The lights came on again, and I felt Angela's nervous start at the sudden brightness. She blinked several times, then looked at me with a sheepish grin.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Content," she murmured. "What's the time?"
I looked at my watch. "Nearly ten."
"Soon be bedtime."
"I expect Betty's fast asleep by now," I said.
"Yes, or she could be lying awake, cursing me for not being there. Do you think I ought to go back now?"
"That's up to you," I said. "But don't forget that gaping hole in your window, and the twigs all over your wet carpet."
"I wonder if I'd be any good as a nurse?" she remarked. "I need to start planning how on earth I'm going to earn a living."
"I think you'd make a marvellous nurse, sweetheart. I think you'd be an excellent secretary too - except Betty tells me you can't type."
"I can," she said, "but only with two fingers. I did act as Daddy's secretary for a while, after he grossly misbehaved himself with the one he had. He was like that, I'm afraid. He needed things he had to get from someone, and he wasn't fussy whom. He took on secretaries for their erotic potential, not their efficiency. And when he couldn't find a suitable playmate in the outside world, that's when he turned to me."
"To you? Oh, Angie, no!" I made it sound as if it were all news. "You mean, he used to abuse his own daughter?"
She nodded. "Not that he saw it as abuse, any more than it's an abuse to ask me to put out dustbins on a Thursday. It was all a romp to him. But I had no-one to turn to, you see? No referee."
"And how old were you when this happened?"
"The first time he did anything strange, I was about eleven. He pretended it was just a game - forfeits, he called it. Silly things like making me climb a tree wearing my short netball skirt. He wasn't as polite as you were when we went up to see your railway."
"That's Mother Hen's upbringing."
She giggled. "Why do you call her Mother Hen?"
"Short for Henrietta. Say Henrietta Bird and it sounds daft, so she likes people to use her middle name, Mary. But Mother Hen seemed very apt when we were young."
"I wish I'd had a mother."
"I wish you'd had a proper father too, Angie, one who treated you decently. Do you want to tell me some more about him?"
"Not really. If I did," she said, "I wouldn't be able to sleep. Wherever I go, I get reminders - in the bathroom, for instance. He had a favourite game, making me wear a loose bath-towel to play burglars, and tying me to a chair so I was helpless. Then he'd playfully tug at the towel till it came away, and he'd snigger with glee. It was horrible."
"Oh, Angie. He shouldn't have done things like that, not to you."
"But why would anyone want to do such things?" she protested. "It's disgusting!"
"In those circumstances, yes. I can understand married couples perhaps needing a more adventurous love-life, but a daughter's a precious responsibility. It's a father's duty to treat his daughter with respect. If I had a daughter, I'd never dream of harming her. I'd sit and look after her, like I'm looking after you right now."
"It got worse when I left school," she said. "He was horribly hairy. He used to like crawling all over me with nothing on, and I couldn't do anything to stop him. He was so heavy, and I was helpless. But I knew if I complained I'd have nowhere to live. I didn't want to end up in care like Betty. Of course, Daddy was terrified of bad publicity. The contrast between his pompous public image and the perverted gorilla at home was something the press would have feasted on for weeks. I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't destroy my own father. I could only fend him off with words, hoping to try and shame him. But it ruined any normal feelings I might have had. Now I can't bear to look at a man who reminds me of him. With Betty, you see, I feel so different. So much safer."
"One day, Angie, I'd like you to feel equally safe with me."
"I do. You're a lot nicer than most men. I like talking to you."
"Then please realise that men aren't all repulsive brutes. It's the difference between me needing to give you my love, and him wanting to take it, do you understand?"
"I understand much more than my feelings will let me," she said. "It may seem irrational, but my fears are still very real."
"Of course, and I'll always respect that. Now I'd better show you where your room is, if you still want to stay?"
Angela allowed herself to be led into my small spare room. It contained a single bed used by my Mother or anyone else who came to stay, such as the occasional dinner guest who drank too much and wasn't fit to drive home.
"I'll go and get your bag," I offered. "In fact, let's both go."
We collected everything we needed from Angela's car. Then I showed her the bathroom, and left her in privacy while I cleared the table and stacked the dish-washer. Suddenly she was beside me in the kitchen wearing that same cuddly dressing gown.
"Good night," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Thank you for being the nicest man I've known for a very long time."
"I hope you never find anyone nicer," I whispered, preparing to return her kiss. "Good night, my darling."
She backed away suddenly with a look of utter revulsion, her eyes full of fear and plainly hostile.
"Oh, please," she begged, "don't ever call me that."
I apologised in total confusion as she retreated to the doorway, her face hidden behind trembling hands.
"It's my wretched father's ghost," she wailed. "I hate that word, even from someone like you. It was always a warning of something horrid."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I truly am sorry. I'll try never to say it again. You'd better warn me about anything else that might upset you."
"I'll try to do it more gently next time. I'm sorry, but... ugh!"
She gave a wild shudder as if to shake off evil spirits, then came and folded her arms around my neck.
"Dare I call you Precious?" I asked. "My lovely, delightful little friend?"
She nodded. I kissed her on the lips as one might kiss a girl at an office Christmas party. She allowed this several times before saying:
"Remember - I did say this morning it wasn't hopeless."
"One more kiss then," I whispered, "and this one's for Betty too."
Was it my imagination, or did she give a warmer response this time? Was I merely standing in as her absent friend?
She broke away and looked at me for a moment, pausing to make some parting comment which never came, staring as if in a trance.
"Don't worry," I assured her. "If you want to talk some more in the night, there's no need to phone. You know where I'll be. Otherwise I won't disturb you unless it's an emergency. Good night, my lovely friend. Sleep well."
With an appreciative smile she turned and disappeared into the spare room, while I finished the necessary chores, switched off all lights and retired quietly to my own bed.
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