Fraser's Line

by Monica Carly

  Title Page

  FRASER’S LINE

  by

  MONICA CARLY

  Publisher Information

  Fraser’s Line published in 2010 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Monica Carly

  The right of Monica Carly to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Prologue

  He ran from alleyway to alleyway, ducking and weaving to escape the artillery fire. It was more than two weeks since the uprising had begun and somehow he had managed to stay alive. On the first day of the resistance two boys had succeeded in climbing on to the roof of the headquarters in Muranowski Square and raising both the red and white Polish flag and the blue and white flag of the Jewish fighting organisation. These flags had fluttered in the breeze for four days, an act of defiance which had brought a brief glimmer of hope to the suffering prisoners before the Germans were able to remove them. In a desperate attempt to resist deportation and certain death he and his fellow prisoners had tried to breach the ghetto walls but against such military might they had failed. Armed with only a few pistols and some homemade explosive devices the brave attempts of the insurgents were doomed to failure and thousands had already died.

  Now he knew he had little hope. It was said that there was an escape route through the sewers and he had decided to make an attempt to reach them. Every renewed effort to run cost his weak, malnourished body unbearable pain. Sheltering briefly in a doorway, he undid his breast pocket and took out, for the hundredth time, a photograph of a beautiful woman and two tiny children. He gazed at it once more, his heart aching with longing. Then he returned it to his pocket and gathered his strength to drive himself on once more, but this time his moving figure was seen. From his vantage point on a rooftop just outside the wall SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Karl Baecker unleashed a shower of bullets which abruptly ended the fugitive’s progress. His shattered body lying in the dust, Ahron Cukierman, unsung hero of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, could fight no more.

  Chapter 1

  Spluttering angrily in the frying pan, the charred sausages split open with sudden force, disgorging their pink contents before Fraser’s bemused glare. Why on earth did they do that? Whenever Edie had put a plate of his favourite dish in front of him the sausages were succulent, cylindrical, golden brown delights – moist and tender inside, with a heavenly aroma that set his mouth watering. Crowning this feast would be a mountain of soft, fluffy, mashed potato, topped by a glistening knob of butter caught in the act of melting, little golden rivulets starting to run down, destined to join the surrounding pool of rich, onion gravy below.

  How well two such different items blended, forming a perfect union! The nebulous, white cloud danced gaily in the air above, in apparent mockery of the earthy objects below, which nevertheless provided an essential solid foundation. A marriage made in heaven, you might say. But now half the dish was missing, and what remained lacked vitality. Fraser had little appetite for the burnt offerings on his plate.

  He pondered on the irony that for years he had successfully designed and sold kitchens – but put him to work in one, and he was useless. Because Edie had been a wonderful cook who revelled in the role it had seemed natural to leave everything to her. How he had enjoyed her meals! Perhaps there had been one or two disasters at the beginning, but they had turned into humorous memories and become something of a long-standing joke between them. Shall we have the chicken cooked or almost raw today? Would you like your potatoes with salt or sugar? But that had only been when they were first married – the natural errors of a new and slightly nervous young bride. In no time she had become confident, and her culinary skills surpassed his hopes and expectations. Every evening he had come home happy in the certain knowledge that his hunger pangs would be satisfied in an appealing and exciting way.

  But marriage to Edie had been about much more than her appetising dinners – she had transformed his life. From the first moment he saw her he had been captivated by her looks, her charm, and her lively, fascinating personality. What she had seen in him he had never fathomed, but he counted himself amazingly fortunate that he had found her, and persuaded her to marry him. It had been thirty-one bewildering, tantalising, wonderful, heart-stopping years that suddenly ended seven weeks ago when, without warning, she fell, and died. It was, he was told, an aneurism, something totally unsuspected, and in a matter of seconds she was gone.

  Now he had to live with an aching void which never left him in peace. People tried to make comforting remarks. The passage of time, he was told, would prove a wonderful healer. No one could suggest how you coped with the present, before that future time arrived when apparently the pain would have subsided. Edie had been everything to him, and his marriage a gift for which he had never ceased to be grateful.

  Fraser tipped the sausages out of the pan – three blackened, distorted shapes against a white plate, looking miserably incomplete without that light topping of creamy mash. He’d have to get a slice of bread as an accompaniment. Fumbling in the bag for a piece he could hear Edie saying, ‘Men cannot multitask. They have never learned how to think about several jobs at once.’ She was quite right – he should have got that ready while the frying was going on; the sausages were already cooling down.

  The telephone rang. Fraser cursed and picked up the receiver. Before he could say anything an urgent female voice said, ‘Hello! Fred?’

  ‘No,’ replied Fraser, ‘it’s not, it’s…’

  ‘Well where is he?’ demanded the unfamiliar voice.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Fraser, reasonably.

  ‘This is most annoying,’ said the woman. ‘I need to speak to him.’

  ‘Perhaps you could try ringing him.’

  ‘I just did, but you answered!’ The female voice was becoming irritated.

  ‘The thing is …’ Fraser was still trying to be calm. ‘I answered because you rang me.’

  ‘Well who are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Fraser Coleman.’

  ‘Who? Why would I ring you? I don’t know you!’

  ‘Look,’ said Fraser, beginning to lose his cool, ‘I answered because you rang me. I am Fraser Coleman, and you rang me. This is my house, and my telephone line, and you rang it. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know anyone called Fred. And what’s more, my sausages are going cold. Not that I actually want to eat them,’ he admitted honestly. ‘They look burnt and they’ve split open.’

  ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ replied the voice indignantly. ‘All I asked you was why you answered instead of Fred. A civil answer never hurt anyone. And you had the heat up too high.’ With that she banged the receiver down.

  Slightly shaken by this unexpected exchange Fraser sat down and started work on his supper. After one mouthful, the telephone rang again. If it was another call from that mad woman he would find it difficult to restrain himself, but instead it was his elder daughter, Sarah.

  ‘Hi Dad! Well, what’s happening? Have you said anything to him?’ Always so charming and deferential to her clients, Sarah seemed to consider it unnecessary to engage in any s
ocial niceties when addressing her father.

  ‘Have I said what to who?’

  ‘To whom.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s “whom” after “to”.’

  ‘I’m grateful for the grammar lesson, but mystified about the point of this call. One extraordinary telephone conversation is enough for one day.’

  ‘What extraordinary conversation?’

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ sighed Fraser. ‘Let’s just start at the beginning. What are you asking me?’

  ‘You haven’t forgotten I told you I was worried about the temperature in my fridge, have you? I spoke to you about it two days ago. I feel almost certain it’s not running quite cold enough, and if that’s so then the stuff in it must be going off, and I’m feeding my family suspect food! You said you’d ask John to come and test it, and you could get me a replacement if it was faulty.’

  ‘I’m sorry,” said Fraser. ‘I’m afraid it slipped my mind.’

  ‘You promised, Dad, and nothing’s been done about it! We might all die of food poisoning!’

  Fraser had a sudden vision of Sarah, Michael and the twins all keeling over, clutching their stomachs – and it would, of course, be his fault. Sarah had a knack of making him feel responsible for any unfortunate events.

  ‘All right, I’ll come round myself first thing in the morning. Scout’s honour.’

  ‘Oh well, thanks. And by the way, are you managing all right?’

  It was a bit of an afterthought, but at least she had asked.

  ‘Since you mention it, I’m finding everyday life pretty difficult. Apart from missing your mother dreadfully, I can’t cook. My sausages are revolting. They’re all burnt on the outside and pink inside.’

  Sarah softened. ‘Look Dad, since it’s Saturday tomorrow and we’ll be at home, why don’t you come for lunch? I’ve got a Shepherd’s Pie in the freezer ready to cook, and I’m sure it’ll stretch. I’ll expect you at 1 o’clock. By the way, you had the heat turned up too high.’

  By now the sausages were slowly congealing on the plate and Fraser pushed them aside. It was more than he could stomach. He might have to go and get fish and chips. Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea. On his way to the door he heard the telephone ring again.

  ‘Fraser, dear!’

  ‘Hello Mother! How nice to hear from you. I was going to ring you.’

  ‘Were you dear? Well, I just wanted to ask you how you were.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right, thanks. Look, I was going to come and see you tomorrow, but I have to go and see Sarah instead, so shall I come up on Sunday?’

  ‘Thank you, dear, that would be nice. I don’t suppose Edie will come, will she?’

  Fraser’s heart gave a lurch. ‘Well, no.’ Should he remind her? Poor Marjorie was getting so forgetful. ‘Actually, Mother, perhaps you remember – Edie died a few weeks ago.’ His voice trembled slightly as he said it.

  ‘Oh, my poor boy!’ She was mortified. ‘How could I forget that? I’m so sorry. Are you coping with things?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Don’t worry, Mother. I’m fine, really I am. And I’m looking forward to seeing you. Don’t forget to line up any jobs you’d like me to do.’

  ‘You are a good son. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Sunday, you said? By the way, I don’t know whether I asked you before, but are you still doing your kitchens? Isn’t it time you retired? I worry about you – you seem to work so hard.’

  His mother was not the first person to tell him he ought to consider retiring. Edie had been trying for some time to get him to cut down. She seemed to think he would do less if he reverted to a one-man band, as he had been at the beginning, before he joined forces with John. He had been with John for over 20 years now, and it worked so well he was loath to change the arrangement. Anyway, what would John think? It had made a good living for both of them, and on the whole was still doing so. What was the point of changing? He was touched by her argument that he should put in less effort, but he wasn’t sure this would result from reverting to sole ownership. Now, of course, he wished he had taken her suggestion seriously – it was too late to try and please her on this matter.

  He thought back to those early days. It was the time when fitted kitchens had suddenly become all the rage, and every wife up and down the country was putting pressure on her husband to have the new Formica worktops. Fraser had originally worked for a big kitchen company, but soon found their inefficiencies irksome. He’d visit a client, design the kitchen according to their preferences, and arrange a fitting. Then the client would be on the telephone, wanting to speak to him, because the company had let them down over the date, or some items were missing from the delivery, or something was damaged. He discovered he had the ability to diffuse difficult situations, and he always tried his best to make things right, often going far beyond the role of his design job. He had been known to drive over to the client with the missing cupboard, or set of drawer runners, in the evening, so that the job could be finished. The idea began to surface that if he ran the show himself he could make sure the whole process went as well as was humanly possible. He liked things to run smoothly.

  So Coleman’s Kitchens was born. He found a supplier of good quality fitments in Germany, and at first he worked from home, ordering and fitting the units himself. By the time he married Edie he could afford to take on a small office, and he preferred not to have his work intruding on their private life.

  One day he went to an exhibition of kitchen furniture, and by sheer chance fell into conversation with a man there who seemed to have had some similar experiences. Both had worked for national companies and had hated dealing with irate customers who had been disappointed by the service. Over a cup of coffee they had talked of this and the exorbitant prices these companies charged, and it appeared that doing a good job for clients at a reasonable price was as important to John Stanton as it was to Fraser. They exchanged details, and after some thought Fraser rang him. How would he feel about coming into a partnership? And so the arrangement came into being. Fraser dealt with the clients initially, and did the ordering. John undertook the installations. Fraser was delighted to find that John’s standards matched his own. John was never happy unless he had done a perfect job. Sometimes at the beginning this did mean that the schedule was put out, as John would never rush a job, but when Fraser explained to the waiting client how much it mattered to them that everything was done to the client’s total satisfaction the complaints usually died away. Fraser had a way of calming down anyone who was getting impatient and annoyed.

  The partnership with John had been a success. Over the years they had become friends. Latterly Edie had started suggesting they did an outing as a foursome – such as go out for dinner, or perhaps visit a theatre. Fraser wasn’t wild about this development since he had to spend time with Sadie, John’s wife. Edie and John obviously hit it off easily, and could often be heard laughing and chatting away together, but he found Sadie heavy going. She had little conversation and looked rather morose much of the time. Each time they came home he had been on the point of saying he didn’t think these occasions were very successful, when Edie would forestall him by enthusing about what a good evening it had been, and what good company the Stantons were. As usual, he had bitten his tongue and let things continue.

  John appeared to have been badly affected by Edie’s death. He had called round to see Fraser, and the memory of that visit still left Fraser feeling uncomfortable – he did not like such a show of emotion. John had stood there awkwardly, looking moved – his eyes were moist – and he was wringing his hands.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Fraser,’ he had finally said. ‘I don’t know what else I can say – I’m so very, very sorry.’

  ‘Thanks, John.’ Fraser was fairly perfunctory, anxious to get rid of him.

  ‘It doesn’t make anything right, but I had to come and say it. I’m bitterly s
orry.’

  ‘So am I.’ Fraser wished John would stop talking and go away.

  ‘It should never have happened. Never. I can’t begin to imagine how you must have felt. I’d give anything for it not to have happened.’

  Fraser was beginning to feel embarrassed. He couldn’t understand why John was labouring the point, and he found it disturbing.

  ‘I wish we could go back in time,’ continued John, ‘and things could be as they were, when we were all happy.’

  “Well, we can’t. What’s happened has happened. Now I must learn to come to terms with everything. I don’t have any other option.”

  ‘You must be so angry.’ John hung his head.

  ‘I’m devastated by it all, and I miss Edie every moment, but getting angry hardly helps. If you don’t mind, John, I think I’d like to be on my own now.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. But look, Fraser, don’t worry about the business. I’ll put in all the hours it needs to keep things going for the time being – it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘I’m better working,’ said Fraser. ‘I need to have something to keep me busy – otherwise I’ll just sit here and mope. But thanks, anyway.’

  To his relief John had finally shuffled off, leaving Fraser to wonder why Edie’s death had hit him so hard. He knew John had a very soft heart, and was touched that his own loss had had such a deep effect, but the emotion seemed excessive. After that conversation the two men didn’t speak of personal things any more. They kept strictly to work issues.

  There was to be one more phone call before Fraser was able to go and buy his supper. It was his sister, Margaret. She had, it seemed, a very bright idea. Her friend Marion was giving a party on Saturday, and she would be thrilled if Fraser would come. There wouldn’t be very many people, and most of them Fraser would probably not be acquainted with, so he wouldn’t have to put up with people not knowing what to say to him. Margaret was of the strong opinion that he really could not go on hiding away by himself. It was, according to his sister, high time he tried to go out, and this would be the ideal occasion.