Free The Birdcage by Marcia Willett Page A

Felix thoughtfully. He makes the facial shrug that Piers sometimes copies: the mouth turns downward at the corners whilst the eyebrows lift and the eyes roll a little. It’s not a dismissive expression but more one of consideration.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know,’ he says, after a moment. ‘It’s not a bad place. Of course, you can’t have an open fire, and it’s not what you might call cosy, but it’s quite a nice little flat. And it must be rather a pleasant change to see some decent shops. We could go to the cinema . . .’
    â€˜It’s all right for you,’ says Marina rather defensively, feeling that both men are now ganging up on her. ‘You’re working most of the time. I can’t spend all day shopping.’
    â€˜Absolutely not,’ agrees Felix at once. ‘I see that. Perhaps when it’s warmer . . . ?’
    David cannot decide whether Felix is being very clever or if his fears are simply unfounded; and, after all, if Felix is able to manage his marriage more happily, does it matter why? He has no right to interfere, he tells himself, but still he watches him; seeing that fleeting smile, the far-away look in his eyes, as if his son-in-law is hearing other voices and looking upon other scenes. Surely the ever-vigilant Marina would have guessed if there were something? David Frayn shivers involuntarily and moves back into the room, nearer to the fire.
    It is extraordinary, Felix is thinking, how quickly he has become a part of the little family in the narrow house near the university. His monthly visits are settling into a natural routine and he is welcomed as readily by Pidge and Lizzie as he is by Angel. They are a tight-knit little group; the bond between Pidge and Angel is strong and he is confirmed in his belief that they have no secrets from each other.
    â€˜You’re quite right,’ Angel agrees when he suggests this to her, ‘we don’t. We’ve shared a lover, you see, and as soon as we discovered that, well, it changed everything for us. It broke down any barriers and brought us very close.’
    â€˜I can believe that,’ he says sincerely; by this time he’s been often enough to the Birdcage to realize that there is nothing ordinary about either Pidge or Angel. There is an atmosphere of warmth and ease that has a healing quality; he is able to laugh and tease the two women without the fear of those misunderstandings which, with Marina, result in long, arctic silences.
    â€˜We were both mad about him,’ Angel tells him. She is curled on the sofa, curtains drawn against a cold, wet Sunday evening in March; Pidge has disappeared downstairs and Lizzie is tucked up in bed. Angel wears one of her favourite long wrappers, belted tightly, bare legs tucked beneath her, a cigarette in her fingers. She looks unusually serious, the lighted lamp lending a glowing lustre to her pale hair and skin as she reflects upon the past, and Felix feels a sudden, piercing sense of exclusion.
    â€˜He must have been pretty special,’ he says lightly.
    â€˜Oh, yes.’ She glances at him, tapping the cigarette ash into a small enamelled bowl. ‘He was. His wife had had a riding accident not long after they married and was not only crippled but suffered some kind of brain damage. It was terrible. Mike loved her so much and there was absolutely nothing he could do but keep her comfortable and well cared for. Pidge met him towards the end of the war – she was his driver – and then someone found out about them and Pidge was transferred. He owns quite a bit of property and when the war was over he got in touch with her to say that the flat downstairs had been vacated and she could have it for a very reasonable rent. Pidge got a job at the library and moved in. No,’ she shakes her head at his expression, ‘there was no ulterior motive. He just wanted to help her.’
    â€˜And where did you come