A Summer of Secrets

by Lorna Peel

  Twenty minutes later, she accepted a glass of whisky from him and went to one of the library’s two armchairs. “Thank you. Was he at Mum’s funeral?” she asked. “Did you see him there?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” He brought his glass to the other armchair. “I’m sorry.”

  “My mum’s first boyfriend, bloody hell.” She sipped the whisky. “And it seems she went out with him for a while.”

  “Yes, but she saw sense in the end, and that’s the main thing.”

  She laughed. “Mum and Dad courted for six years before they got married. Six years.”

  “My father courted Lady Heaton for six weeks before proposing.”

  “Six weeks?” she echoed.

  He nodded. “I suppose he thought, what’s the point of dragging his feet if she’s the right woman? He clearly must have loved her deeply seeing as he didn’t divorce her when no children came along. There’s a wedding photo here somewhere.” He got up and went to the desk. He put his glass down and began to rummage in a drawer. “Here it is.”

  She joined him at the desk and stared at Lady Heaton. She had been a stunning bride. Her husband – actually smiling in this photo – was tall, dark, and handsome and had bequeathed his looks to his son.

  “You look very much like your father,” she said.

  “Well, as long as I don’t turn into him, I don’t mind. I’d hate for my children not to have really known their father.”

  “Lady Heaton was very beautiful,” she added.

  “Yes, she was. She could have had her pick of husbands but for some reason, she chose my father, twenty years older than her.”

  “Was her father an old father?” she asked.

  “Yes, he was getting on when she was born. Why? You think she was trying to replace her father?”

  She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. We’d better not over analyse, I think I’ve watched one too many daytime talk shows.”

  When they finished their drinks, he walked her across the stable yard to the door of the flat.

  “You’re all right?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. Thank you again.” She reached up and quickly kissed his cheek. “Goodnight.”

  There was a knock at the door while she was at her breakfast. She went downstairs and opened it, expecting Heaton, but found Stephanie on the step instead.

  “So, was it really boring?” Stephanie asked.

  “Yes and no. Come in.”

  “What happened?” Stephanie followed her up the stairs and into the flat.

  “The mayor made a pass at me. Well, more of a lunge. He threw me up against a wall.”

  Stephanie’s chin almost hit the floor. “Bloody hell. What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I couldn’t move. Luckily Lord – um – Thomas rescued me.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes in relief. “Were you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No, just a bit shocked. Usually men run away from me, not towards me.”

  “Don’t be silly. Have you been to the police?”

  “No. Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. You are going to, aren’t you?”

  Sophia shrugged, sat down at the breakfast bar, and patted the stool beside her. “I’d have to make a statement.”

  Stephanie sat on the stool. “Yes, so?”

  “Thomas threatened to kill him.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes in a ‘nice one, Thomas’ way. “Thomas didn’t hit him or anything?”

  “No, but the threat was enough. Anyway, I doubt if the mayor will do it to another woman.”

  “How come?”

  “He was drunk and getting his own back at my mum for dumping him,” she explained. “He was her first boyfriend and she left him for my dad.”

  “Wow, he’s not one to bear grudges, is he?” Stephanie asked and Sophia shrugged. “Are you still coming to Leeds on Tuesday?”

  “Yes, I’m really looking forward to a day out, actually.”

  “Good.”

  Heaton greeted her in the stable yard half an hour later as she crossed it to the house. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled. “I’ve just told Stephanie.”

  “Oh.”

  “She wanted me to go to the police,” she added.

  “Are you going to?” he asked.

  “No. It was Mum, through me, he wanted to get at.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the police?”

  She stopped at the side door. “You threatened to kill him.”

  He flushed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. If you hadn’t been there…”

  He nodded, opening the door. “I’ve borrowed the camcorder from Des,” he told her. “Shall we go and set it up in the drawing room?”

  She smiled and they went inside.

  They set the camcorder up opposite the door to catch whoever came in.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t fall over now.” She pulled a curtain to one side and began to check around the window for draughts.

  “Well, if it doesn’t, someone has to sit and watch the recording each evening.”

  “Someone?”

  “Well.” He smiled. “I could watch half and you could watch half?”

  “You’d better ask Helen to put on vats of coffee for us, then.” She let the curtain fall back into place.

  “I was wondering if you’ve time if you wanted to go to St Mary’s?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  An hour later, they walked through the graveyard in search of Thomas’ grandparents, having first made absolutely sure that it was deserted.

  “They’re over here.” She brought him to a plot under a tree behind the church and read out the inscription. “In loving memory of Thomas O’Hara. Born 1915. Died 1995. Erected by his loving wife Helen. Also his wife Helen O’Hara (neé Granger). Born 1920. Died 2000. Lovingly remembered by their children and grandchildren.”

  She wrote down the inscription then looked at him as he stared at the gravestone.

  “What would they have made of Stephanie and me?” he murmured and turned away. “There are more O’Haras over here.”

  They found three more O’Hara gravestones and one Granger gravestone, the last one being right at the back of the graveyard. Heaton sat down on the grass and gazed over at the church.

  “We’ll have a look at the 1901 Census on the net later and see where those second O’Haras fit in,” she told him. “If at all.” She sat beside him and he turned to her.

  “Where did she go?” he asked. “Danielle? Where did she go when she was pregnant? Pregnant twice? Where did she live before her marriage?”

  “Just before she got married she definitely lived in Leeds, and when she was working she definitely lived in Leeds. Mum was working in Connolly’s and Danielle went to work there after doing a secretarial course after leaving school. They worked together for four years. Whether Danielle stayed on in Leeds when she was pregnant I have no idea. She and Don then went to London when they got married.”

  “She met Don in Leeds?”

  She nodded. “Yes, as far as I know.”

  “What about her brothers or sisters? The gravestone said ‘children’.”

  “Danielle has a brother called John,” she told him.

  “Where does he live?”

  “In town, in Campion Street.” She flipped through the pages of the notebook. “I’ve been writing this down as it’s come back to me. His wife is Fiona and they have two children Barbara and Kevin. Kevin’s wife is Sarah and they have three children – Yasmin, Chloe and Jack. Barbara is married to John Tarrant and they have two children James and Simon.” He sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll put them all on the laptop for you.”

  “Thanks.” He gave her a weak smile. “I don’t suppose you have any other photographs?”

  “I have some school photographs with Michelle in. I also have some old school yearbooks somewhere with photos of the various years in. Michelle, Peter and
I went to the same school but the others went to St Michael’s. They’re in the boxes in the flat. We’ll have a look on the internet. Maybe oldschoolfriends.com will come up with something more? The next time I’m over at Dad’s, I’ll have a look and see if there are any photos of Mum and Danielle,” she promised. “I’d be amazed if there isn’t.”

  “Thank you. You would tell me if you’re finding this very boring?”

  She smiled. “I would, honestly. But I’m not. Tell me if you want to stop.”

  “I don’t. Shall we get back, then, so we can digest all this?”

  A search in the 1901 Census placed all the O’Haras in the town on census night. Two O’Hara brothers were miners but whether one of them was Thomas’ great-grandfather was yet to be determined.

  “They’re miners,” he murmured. “They worked in the Heaton Mine.”

  “You want to be descended from a miner, don’t you?” she asked him bluntly.

  He turned to her and she met his eyes. “Yes. It sounds daft, but I feel so isolated sometimes. I just feel that I have nothing in common with anyone here. I want to feel connected.”

  “Your family has been here for nearly five hundred years.”

  “And not one of them did a proper day’s work in their life,” he told her.

  “I think you’re making up for that, don’t you?”

  That raised a smile. “I think so.”

  “We’ll have to go to the County Record Office sometime and look at the church registers. Let’s have a look on oldschoolfriends.com then call it a day.”

  At the flat, she brought up the page for St Michael’s School and scrolled down the page for Barbara and Kevin O’Hara but sadly there were no notes and no photos. They called it a day.

  Chapter Eight

  Stephanie talked all the way to Leeds, not caring if anyone was listening. Two rooms had been given over to the exhibition and when Sophia was three-quarters of the way around the first room, she noticed that Stephanie had disappeared. Heaton was walking towards her with an irritated expression.

  “A friend of Stephanie’s rang her. They’re going to meet up and go shopping. She’ll take the train home. I couldn’t stop her.”

  Oh, Stephanie! “This was too interesting for her?”

  He smiled. “It wasn’t the word she used. What do you think of this photograph?”

  She glanced again at the miners emerging from the pit. “My grandfather started working in the mine in 1903. He probably knew some of those men.”

  They continued on into the second room.

  “What do you think of this one?” She pointed to a photograph of Heaton Abbey House.

  “There’s one very similar to that at home somewhere.”

  “Want to see what’s on across the road?”

  He nodded. “Then I’ll buy us lunch somewhere.”

  They crossed the road to the shop being used as a temporary exhibition space and she pulled an embarrassed expression. It was a display of corsets and crinolines. Still, it was better than ‘dirty’ photographs.

  “This should be interesting,” he said dryly as they went inside.

  “You should have seen the things my grandmother used to wear. No, actually, you shouldn’t, they were horrendous.”

  “The ones that look a bit like straitjackets?”

  “Exactly. Poor Grandad. Look at this one,” she pointed. “No wonder they used to faint all over the place.”

  “I must show you some photographs of my great-great-grandparents. My great-great-grandmother’s waist is hideously tiny.”

  “Worse than this?” She motioned to a mannequin.

  “Much worse. It must have been agony.”

  They wandered around separately. She put her head around a screen and came face to face with a man dressing a headless mannequin. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. “We’ve only got the one room.”

  “Well, I’m impressed. Where did you get them all from?”

  “Some were donated and some are reproductions. You ever worn a corset?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

  “No, never.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to try?” he offered.

  “You cheeky git.”

  He laughed. “Well, it was worth a try. All we’ve had in here so far are grannies cooing over the Old Age Pensioner section as I call it, going, ‘Oh, do you remember those?’” She laughed. “What do you think of this one?” He held up a gorgeous black lace corset. “Suzie will give you a hand with it?”

  “Why me?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Because I’m a cheeky git and because I need a couple more photographs of gorgeous curvy women in corsets.”

  “You have got to be joking,” she laughed. “People I know could come here.”

  “It would only be the corset, not your face, I promise.”

  “But I’m with someone,” she added.

  “Boyfriend, girlfriend?”

  She smiled. “Boss.”

  His eyes widened. “Your…no, I’d better not ask.”

  “He is, honestly.”

  “Which one is he?” He peered around the side of the screen.

  “The tall man in the black jacket.”

  “Bloody hell, that man could scowl for Great Britain at the Olympics.”

  “He’s a bit shy and hides behind that.” She looked at the beautiful corset then across the room at Heaton. “I suppose I’d better tell him that I’ve just gone mad.”

  Heaton saw her approach and the scowl was exchanged for a smile. “I thought you’d nipped off to Harvey Nichols, too.”

  “Can’t afford to. Look, um, I hope you don’t mind but I’ve just been asked to model a corset.”

  He stared at her in astonishment. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

  She smiled comically. “If you want to go home, I can get the bus back.”

  “You really think I’m going to go off and leave you with a complete stranger? Where is this person?”

  “Behind the screen.”

  He crossed the room and walked straight behind the screen. “I’ll be watching you,” he warned.

  “Oh, yeah?” the man retorted. “You going to dress her, too, are you?”

  Heaton flushed scarlet. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, neither am I. I’m not a bloody pervert. My name is Peter Wilson. Suzie, there, is my wife and is going to help.”

  “Actually,” Sophia began. “I’m not sure whether this is such a good idea.”

  “Because your boss doesn’t like it?” Peter asked and she squirmed. “I take the photographs, you can see the previews, and if you don’t like them they get wiped. Deal?”

  “Okay,” she replied and, without looking at Heaton, went behind a dressing screen.

  “He’s really your boss?” Suzie whispered as Sophia began to undress.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, boss or not, he fancies you like mad.”

  “I know,” she replied miserably.

  “Leave your jeans on,” Suzie told her. “This can show that corsets can be just as fashionable these days. Now, tell me when to stop pulling. Hold onto that door frame.”

  Feeling like Scarlett O’Hara, she held on as Suzie pulled the strings at the back. “Oh, there. Stop.”

  “Can you breathe?” Suzie asked.

  “Just about.” She turned around and Suzie grinned.

  “That’s quite a cleavage, his tongue will be hanging out.”

  “Shh.”

  “You want him to notice you, don’t you?” Suzie asked. “Show him what’s on offer?”

  “Yes. But this is really teasing him.”

  Suzie just gave her a wink and they stepped out from behind the screen. Heaton stared in disbelief then flushed.

  “Wow.” Peter whistled and nudged Heaton knowingly.

  All Heaton could do was stare so she had to make a point of not looking at him.

  After taking the photographs, Peter brought her over to the
camera. He had been true to his word, even though the photographs looked like those unintentional headless shots her grandmother used to take.

  “You wouldn’t consider doing a spot of modelling sometime?” Peter asked Heaton cheekily.

  “No, I bloody wouldn’t,” he snapped and Sophia went back behind the screen to remove the corset.

  “I think that worked a treat,” Suzie whispered, untying the strings. “Bloody hell, all that passion. Get him into bed, girl.”

  “He’s my boss,” she replied miserably.

  “That didn’t stop me. Life’s too short for all that crap.”

  “Hmm.” She held the corset out but Suzie shook her head.

  “We can’t afford to pay you. Just put it to good use, eh?”

  “I’ll try,” she said, getting dressed. “Thank you.”

  “Will it fit?” Susie asked as Sophia put the corset in her bag. “Yeah, good. Surprise him soon.”

  She saw Suzie wink at Peter, and him return one.

  “Well, you can be nosey again here anytime,” he called after her as she and Heaton left the shop.

  Out on the pavement, she awkwardly did up her jacket.

  “Lunch?” Heaton asked simply.

  “Oh. Oh, yes please.”

  They walked along the street in an uncomfortable silence until he stopped outside an Italian restaurant.

  “Do you like Italian?”

  “Love it, yes.”

  “Good.” He opened the door for her and they were seated at a window table. “Mrs Fields’ culinary skills are excellent but very English. The tagliatelle is very good here, by the way.”

  “Oh. Good. I’ll have that.”

  He nodded and ordered two tagliatellis and a jug of water and they lapsed into silence once more. She glanced at her bag. With the corset inside, it had only just zipped closed. She stole a glance at Heaton’s face but it was unreadable as he watched life go by outside.

  “Do you think Stephanie’s bought most of Harvey Nichols?” she asked eventually and he turned back to her with a weak smile.

  “Not too much, I hope. She still has to get it all either to her apartment here or home on the train.” He poured them a glass of water each.