by Anna Jacobs
‘Yes to both.’
‘Oh, Paul.’
‘I’m dealing with it, Ros, all right?’ His voice was impatient. ‘Louise and I are flying out to Hong Kong together tomorrow. I’ll keep her with me there and bring her back to England next week.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘There’s another call on the line, Ros—’
She grew angry at his patronising tone. ‘Let them wait.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid I have some other news. Jenny’s here in Dorset with me.’
‘Jenny! What the hell is she doing there? Has she lost her job? My God, what have I ever done to deserve such stupid, useless children?’
Rosalind thumped the kitchen surface and shouted down the phone, ‘For once, just shut up and listen, Paul. Jenny’s ex-boyfriend has been stalking her. She’s been in danger and terrified. He tried to rape her, then he broke into her flat and trashed it.’
Silence, then, ‘Did she call in the police?’
‘Yes, of course. They haven’t been able to prove anything, so they said it was better she get away for a while. He must be deranged judging by what he did. They reckon he is, anyway.’
‘That’s all I need! How did she get the money to fly to England? Did you send it her or did Audrey lend it her?’
‘Neither. She won it on a scratchie.’
‘She what? She should have stayed there and faced him out.’
‘Are you mad?’ She explained the exact state of Jenny’s bed and the carving knife.
‘Then he’s definitely crazy. I told you he was a no-hoper. And you say the police can do nothing?’
‘Nothing. Michael has set up an alibi. She says he’s cunning.’
‘He was never clever enough to impress me. Well, it looks like we’ll all be playing Happy Families in England for a while, Ros. You should enjoy that, at least. So much for a second honeymoon.’
She ignored the gratuitous sarcasm. And she would not, she knew, enjoy having Louise around. Or even Jenny at the moment, when she was discovering so much about herself. She’d just settled into a quiet happy routine and – oh, face it, she was missing Jonathon’s company already. ‘Do you, um, want to speak to Jenny?’
‘Yes, of course I do. I’ll get the details and see if there’s anything I can do to help the police.’ He had a few contacts. Or no, maybe he’d pay someone to watch that sick bastard full time. He wasn’t having anyone thinking they could get away with stalking his daughter.
She passed the phone to Jenny, who was standing nearby looking apprehensive.
‘I’m not going back!’ Jenny hissed as she took the phone.
‘Of course not.’
‘Hello, Dad – yes, well, I—’ She rolled her eyes at her mother.
Rosalind patted her daughter’s shoulder in encouragement, then wandered out into the back garden. The grass was damp and looked very green. The next-door garden was full of trees, some with fat buds on them, nearly ready to burst into leaf, but there were only two trees here, cropped to within an inch of their lives, standing stiffly on guard at each rear corner of a square of manicured lawn which had a foot-wide flower bed all round the fence edge. Daffodils alternated with aubrietia with ruthless geometric precision, courtesy of a fortnightly gardener, who didn’t like ‘meddling’ by tenants. She really missed having her own garden.
When she went back inside, Jenny was sitting in a corner, looking upset. ‘How was I to have known Michael would turn out like this? Honestly, Dad is the most unreasonable man I’ve ever met! It’s never his fault if things go wrong, and he doesn’t have any sympathy for anyone else’s troubles. You’d think I’d encouraged Michael to stalk me just to annoy Dad.’
She jerked to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk into the village.’ She was desperate for some fresh air and she’d be quite safe here. She had to keep reminding herself of that, reminding herself to get on with her life. ‘Do you want anything from the shops?’
‘Yes, I do, actually …’
When her daughter had left, Rosalind went up to her workroom and took out the embroidery of the family. She picked up the sketch pad and began to rough out her own figure, with a few glances in the mirror. Vulnerable, submissive, too soft for her own good. She was beginning to see that now. Could she show it all in her embroidery? She didn’t know, but she was certainly going to try.
When she’d cut out the paper figure, she studied herself in the mirror. Her face was more determined than the one in the sketch – but that was now. This picture was going to show how she and her family had been for all those years. If she embroidered it, she’d understand it all better. She didn’t know why, but she would. Placing the paper figure next to Paul on the embroidery, she studied the effect. Heavens, that was so like him, the best figure she had ever done. She was startled every time she looked at it.
After a minute, she frowned and moved her own figure, settling it eventually at the far left side of the embroidery. Yes. That was where she belonged. Not next to him. Not together. They hadn’t really been together for quite a while. She could see that now, as well. And she’d do herself in pastel colours, to contrast with the bold dark colours of Paul. She looked down at herself. Why did she always choose such faded colours?
She’d been far too accommodating with him. Jenny was right. He wasn’t at all reasonable.
After another thoughtful pause, Rosalind sighed. Neither were her children, not even Jenny. Had she been a bad mother, brought them up wrongly? She’d loved them all, done her very best for them, but – she had to admit it, though it hurt like hell – her love and care hadn’t been enough. Tim and Louise had both gone off the tracks, and Jenny – she gasped in horror as she realised it – Jenny had followed in her own footsteps, going out with a dominating man.
Well, everything was going to change. For both herself and Jenny. She’d think of her own needs as well as theirs from now on, and never, ever again would she fall in with others’ wishes if they felt wrong for her.
A sad smile curved her lips for a moment – Change of season, Paul had said about this trip. She’d not been able to get that phrase out of her thoughts. Change of every bloody thing, it seemed to her.
He wasn’t going to like some of the changes, but that didn’t make any difference. They had happened now, were still happening and evolving. No one could turn the clock back.
She didn’t even want to try.
Chapter Eleven
Rosalind decided she needed to do something to cheer Jenny up and take her mind off her worries. ‘Want to come and look at my inheritance from Aunt Sophie?’
‘But I thought it was at the other end of the country?’
‘It’s a small country, love. Southport is six or seven hours away by car – you can do part of the driving if you like. After all, you’ll want to see a bit of England while you’re here, surely?’
Jenny’s face brightened. ‘I’d love to see it.’
‘I’ll give Prue a ring, then let Harry know we’re going away for a few days. We’ll get back for the fête, though.’ She was picking up the phone even as she spoke. ‘Prue, just to let you know – my daughter Jenny and I are coming up to Southport for a few days. We’ll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon. My elder daughter, yes. It’s a long story. Tell you when I see you.’
And a minute later, ‘Harry – Jenny and I are heading north for a few days. You couldn’t come round and choose an embroidery now, could you? It need only take a few minutes. Yes, I’m definitely feeling better, but we’re both a bit down in the dumps, so I thought a trip would cheer us up.’
As she put down the phone, Rosalind saw her daughter’s amazed expression and grinned. ‘I’m learning to act more decisively – well, trying to.’
Jenny hugged her. ‘About time, too, Mum. You go for it!’ But would her mother remain decisive once her father arrived? Jenny doubted it. She knew from her own experience how hard it was to stand up to him.
At the other side of the village, Harry put
down the phone and nodded in satisfaction. That’d get Rosalind out of poor Jonathon’s hair for a while. He was moping around like a sick puppy worrying about her. Poor old thing. Still, the boys would be coming to Burraford soon and that’d take his mind off Rosalind.
She grabbed her raincoat and drove over to Sexton Close, humming tunelessly under her breath. She didn’t really like this part of the village. Full of newcomers. And the houses were the sort which tried to look bigger than they were. Places for yuppies, she always thought. Still, the occupants would come to her fête and spend their money with carefully calculated generosity. They always did. Liked to show themselves as part of the village. Ha! You had to be born here to be really part of it. Though some did fit in after a while. Rosalind was that sort – well, she would be if she were free to stay – which she wasn’t. Damned pity, that.
When Rosalind spread out the two embroideries, Harry beamed in delight. ‘They’re absolutely gorgeous,’ she said at last, touching one of the figures gently. ‘How can you bear to part with them?’
Rosalind shrugged. ‘I have plenty more. They only sit in the attic at home. And besides, it’s in a good cause. But you’ll need to have whichever one you choose framed. I’ll pay for that, of course, part of my contribution. Sarah at the craft shop will get it framed for you. I hope it can be done before the fête.’ She gestured towards the paintings on the wall. ‘Something like that for a frame – you can take it with you, if you like, to show her.’
Harry nodded, but her attention was still on the embroideries, which had surprised her with their beauty. She had wondered if the two on the walls were the best of the crop, but these others seemed just as good to her untrained eye, and showed how skilful her new friend was. Her friend George Didburin was going to be very interested in them indeed, she was sure. She picked one up to examine the details more closely, fingering the figures and backgrounds. ‘I don’t know how you have the patience to do this, but they’re fine efforts, damned fine.’
In the end she chose a picture in sepia tones of some slum children of Edwardian times, who had a little dog leaping about beside them. Bare feet, ragged clothes, with that hollow look that long-term poverty gives sometimes, and yet still full of mischief. ‘How did you get the dog to look so alive and frisky?’ she marvelled.
‘Not easily. That’s the third dog figure I made. The other two were rather wooden-looking. But this one seemed OK.’ Rosalind sneaked a surreptitious glance at her watch. ‘Is this the piece you want, then?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Take it.’ She had expected to feel upset at losing it, but she didn’t. Jenny’s troubles were serious, worth getting upset about. These embroideries were simply a hobby, well a bit more than that, but she was the only one who truly cared about them. It’d be nice to know one had found a good home with someone who loved it enough to bid money for it. If anyone did bid. She saw Harry looking at her in concern and dragged her attention firmly back to the present.
‘Yes, we will be back in time for the fête. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’
Harry nodded. ‘It is pretty popular.’ In fact, her fête was getting a solid reputation, because she focused on quality, not silly bouncy castles and such rubbish. Old-fashioned country games like skittles, which she’d played in her youth. The tourists loved them. And the local kids loved to run them, which convinced the outsider kids that they weren’t – what was that word young Jim Tuffin had used the other day? She’d forgotten it again. She was out of touch with this modern slang.
‘Jonathon opens up his home on fête day, too,’ she told Rosalind, ‘donating the entrance money to our charity, plus there are a few houses in the village with rather nice gardens which are also open. We run horse charabanc trips from the fête to Destan House. Take one lot of people over, dump them and fetch the previous lot back. No hanging around or wasted journeys. The trick is to offer the grokkles lots of things to do, so that they don’t have a chance to be bored.’
‘Grokkles?’ Jenny queried.
Harry grinned. ‘Tourists.’
‘I love the word. And the fête sounds good,’ Jenny said. ‘If I can help out in any way, just ask.’
Harry looked at her, decided she meant it, then looked at her watch. ‘Look, I’m sorry to take the picture and run, but I have a few million things to do. And thank you, Jenny. I’ll definitely take you up on that offer. Be prepared to work hard on the day.’
When Harry had left, Rosalind smiled at her daughter. ‘Let’s set off now and stop somewhere overnight on the way up. The Wye Valley is supposed to be lovely – we could find somewhere to stay in Shrewsbury. Brother Cadfael country.’
Jenny beamed at her. ‘Wonderful. I’d love to see Shrewsbury.’ She and her mother were both Brother Cadfael fans – and even Louise didn’t scorn those books, though she usually read novels with more modern themes than a medieval monk who was also a detective.
What was her younger sister doing now? Jenny didn’t envy her spending time with their father when he had one of his snits on.
Paul listened to the phone ringing out again. ‘Where the hell is she?’ He opened his office door and the secretary assigned to him looked up enquiringly. ‘Keep trying this number, will you?’ He rattled it off. ‘I need to speak to my wife.’
There was no reply by the time he was ready to go back to the hotel. Nor had Louise and her minder returned. He paced up and down his office, fretting. What the hell had got into his family? Why were they doing this to him?
When the minder eventually brought Louise back, the woman was obviously annoyed and his daughter was wearing her sulky look – though that tarty blonde patch had been redyed to match Louise’s dark hair, thank goodness.
‘What happened?’ he demanded, cutting through the polite phrases.
‘Your daughter wished to go elsewhere. We had a small – disagreement.’
Louise let out a long, aggrieved sigh. ‘I only wanted to go on the harbour cruise.’
‘Your father wished you to do otherwise,’ the woman said quietly, but her face had a steely look to it, which was why she’d been hired.
Paul suppressed a quick memory of Liz, laughing beside him on one of the cruises, then lying under him in bed. He was having a lot of trouble getting Liz out of his mind. She was some woman. That wimpy Bill didn’t deserve her. ‘You’re not here to go touristing,’ he told his daughter curtly.
‘But it’s such a waste if I don’t see anything!’
He turned to the minder, whose official title was personal trainer. Bloody expensive, but sharp enough to read the agenda behind the overt reasons for hiring her. ‘Did she do her exercise after you’d been to the hairdresser’s?’
‘Yes, sir. We kept active.’
He grinned. He intended to make sure Louise was so tired every night that she slept soundly and thus didn’t give him any trouble. Last night she’d nearly fallen asleep over dinner.
As if to reinforce his satisfaction, Louise yawned and sagged against the wall. The minder gave her a poke. ‘Good posture, Miss Stevenson. We’ve already discussed its importance.’
Louise’s scowl deepened, but she straightened up.
Back at the hotel Paul gave his daughter ten minutes to get ready for dinner and smiled at the look of panic on her face. He got through his own ablutions with his usual speed and tried the phone again. Nothing. And the answering service wasn’t even on, though he’d told Ros to fix one up. But that was Ros all over. Dreamy and impractical. Heaven knew what she’d have done without him.
The thought of someone else managing her money was still worrying him. The sooner he got back to her and sorted that out the better.
The lawyer he’d consulted hadn’t been too optimistic about overturning a trust when the money from it went straight to Ros. But Paul wanted to know what she was doing with all that income. When she’d told him how much it would be approximately, he’d felt sick. She was probably wasting it.
She’d always spent
far too much on books and embroidery equipment. As if he didn’t know what she got up to while she was away. He’d seen those pictures of hers stacked up in the attic. How many hours had she wasted on that old-fashioned rubbish? He intended to clear them out when they got back, give them to some charity. If any charity wanted them.
And when they moved to the States, embroidery would definitely not be on the agenda. He’d get her to join a health club, get her body into shape. Firm. Like Liz’s.
He pressed the redial button and the phone rang again, on and on. Dammit, where was she?
The day of the fête dawned cool but fine. They’d got back the previous day after a golden interlude in Southport and Rosalind was feeling in need of exercise. She peeped into her daughter’s room, but Jenny was still asleep, curled up into a tight ball like a child, with her long fair hair spread out on the pillow. She was looking so much better now, thank goodness, though she was still a bit jumpy after dark.
From the look of the early morning sun, it was going to be fine for the fête. Good. Rosalind grabbed an apple and set off, intending to pick up a newspaper. There were people bustling about the village already and an air of expectancy everywhere.
When she got back, Jenny was sitting frowning over a cup of tea.
‘Something wrong, love?’
‘Dad rang. Woke me up.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was in a foul mood. Why does he have to be so – jarring? You and I were away for four days and we didn’t have a single cross word. Anyway, he says you’re to ring him the minute you come in.’
‘Oh, does he!’
Jenny looked at her in surprise. ‘Aren’t you going to?’
‘No. Why spoil a lovely day?’ Paul never rang unless he wanted her to do something, and what she intended to do today was go to the fête.
‘He’ll be furious.’
Rosalind shrugged.
After breakfast Jenny came down in jeans and a shirt, with a sweater tied round her waist.