by Monica Carly
‘Neither. You simply haven’t been in a position to see it before. And I don’t think you are to be blamed entirely for what happened any more than Edie is. You were both in the grip of these subconscious forces that neither of you understood.’
‘You have a knack of putting difficult issues clearly. You’ve helped me to understand, and I’m grateful.’
‘You’ve certainly had your fair share of epiphanies recently.’
‘What are those? I don’t think I speak your language!’
‘Moments of enlightenment – when you suddenly see something that had eluded you before. A sort of ‘Eureka’ flash of inspiration. We need to remember that Edie’s worst fears of discovery were, in fact, realised. We don’t know exactly what happened, but it’s clear that Joanna did find out. Edie must have been terrified that she would tell you. Your wife was a very complex character whom few could have understood, and many of her motives were subconscious, so that she would not have been able to understand herself what it was that drove her on this path of deceit and self-destruction.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Look, you’ve been so kind in spending all this time on me. I really think it’s your turn now. I still don’t know much about you, other than a few details I’ve picked up. I know you’re very clever at understanding people, and knowing how to help them. You’re the sort of person that others feel they can trust. You’re also remarkably kind. But I would like to know something of your background, and in particular, if you can bear it, the tragedy you have recently been through. Could you tell me, do you think?’
‘I think it’s high time I did, as in all probability I shall be called back to New York any day now, and I think you have a right to know why.’
She began to outline her life history, running fairly quickly through her childhood upbringing, the problems with her brother, and his premature death. She spoke of the impact this had on her parents, and how her mother’s depression had led to her decision that when she could she would like to go into the area of supporting people whose lives had been damaged by events and crises.
Then she told him about her meeting with Martin Makoni, during her mother’s serious illness and death. She spoke of her admiration for him, how she had then come to love him, and of how good her marriage and her life in New York had been. She mentioned the counselling course she had taken, and her probationary work in the local community, followed by her job at the Mental Health Center. Then she came to the point where she had to recount the events of that fateful day.
Sparing herself nothing she painted a graphic picture of how she had heard the whole incident on her mobile phone, of trying to keep Martin talking while running to the park, finding him barely conscious and lying in a pool of blood, the race to the hospital in the ambulance, and the bitter news that it was too late – he had gone.
At this point she was fighting emotion and could continue no longer. As she broke down Fraser was moved by her sorrow, and gently laid his hand on her arm, trying to console her with words of sympathy.
Eventually she regained control. ‘The tough part now is that I have to go back to be a witness in the Court Case. Two white youths have been arrested and charged with Martin’s murder. I must go through all the facts in a Court of Law, and come face to face with the perpetrators who took my husband away from me, and deprived the community of a wonderful surgeon. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it.’ Again she wept.
Fraser asked gently, ‘Could I come with you? Would that help?’
‘It’s good of you to offer but I must do this on my own. I must keep focused on it without any distractions.’
‘We’ll be able to keep in touch, won’t we?’ asked Fraser anxiously.
‘Yes. I think the best way would be by phone texts. Partly because of the time difference, and partly because I don’t know when I’ll be free, I think it would be better to keep to that. That way we can have daily contact.’
‘Thank you. I would like that. When do you think you will have to go? I was going to ask you if you would consider coming with me to my mother’s house. You know she kept saying she had some things she wanted to show me. Sadly she never did get around to it. You were such a marvellous help with Edie’s stuff, it would be great to have your help again -- but I know it’s a lot to ask.’
‘If it were just you, then of course I would. But there’s your sister, Margaret. I don’t think she’d be very pleased not to be asked. Perhaps you ought to do that one together.’
Fraser pulled a face.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Angela, smiling. ‘Doesn’t that prospect fill you with joy?’
‘She’ll probably boss me about horribly, but I know you’re right. I need to speak to her about it. I’ll do that very soon.’
‘Anyway,’ said Angela, ‘I heard recently from the Prosecuting Attorneys, and there’s a strong possibility that the wait will be over very soon. The trial is about to begin.’
Chapter 19
Heathrow airport was heaving with anxious travellers all intent on reaching their allocated check-in desk ahead of everyone else. Trolleys collided and then veered off in opposite directions like dodgem cars. Faces scanned monitors for the information that would direct them to the right queue. Children wailed and mothers scrabbled through handbags for the vital documents without which no further progress could be made. Fraser wondered at the willing acceptance of so much stressful chaos in order to embark on a relaxing holiday. No doubt once each traveller had endured all the processes that must be completed and was actually sitting on an aeroplane with the promise of a little spot of paradise awaiting them at some distant idyllic location, it would all be worthwhile.
Angela seemed calm, walking beside him as he pushed her trolley bearing her large black suitcase. Her flight to New York was in three hours’ time, and once he had lifted her case on to the weighing machine he moved away to park the trolley while she completed the formalities.
As they were walking to the departures point Angela said, ‘Fraser, I have a confession to make.’
He looked at her in surprise, and said, ‘Whatever can you have done?’
‘Before I admit to my sin I want to ask you a question. Could Edie have had access to your mother’s personal papers?’
‘Oh, yes, quite easily. She would have seen where Mother kept them the last time she came with me on a visit. I remember now that while I was outside doing a few bits and pieces in the garden Mother apparently said she wanted to show Edie some photos. They went upstairs, and Edie told me afterwards she kept everything precious and personal in a couple of shoe boxes under the bed! It seems Mother had wanted her to see a picture of the father-in-law she had never known. My guess is she also wanted to show her some of me as a baby, and boast about what a beautiful baby I was!’
‘And would it have possible for Edie to take something from those boxes without your mother knowing?’
‘I imagine so. She could easily have gone upstairs while we were both in the lounge, on the pretext of using the bathroom, and removed something from the box without my mother having the slightest idea. Why do you ask?’
‘When we were going through the bureau, or rather, when I was, and then telling you what I had seen, there was a letter at the bottom of the “Official Documents” drawer which attracted my attention. It was addressed to your mother, and was written in September 1943. It came from the German Guard Headquarters in Warsaw, and stated that your father had tried to escape from the ‘protection zone’, and had therefore forfeited his life. It gave details, including the name of the SS Guard who was responsible for his death.’
‘Really! That’s very interesting, but where’s the sin?’
‘I made a quick decision, thinking that it would pain you to see these facts in their bald English, and I removed it without telling you. It seemed a good idea at the time, but now I don’t think I can go away and embark o
n all I have to do without clearing my conscience.’
‘You acted in what you believed to be my best interests, as you have done several times before, and I can only go on being deeply grateful. I see only thoughtfulness – certainly not something warranting the confessional. Nevertheless, I think I might like to have it, so that when I feel strong enough, I can read it.’
‘That’s the thing,’ said Angela. ‘I tore it up and disposed of it.’
‘Then that’s the end of the matter, and there’s absolutely nothing more to be said. So please don’t give it another thought. Go and focus completely on your own affairs. How are you feeling? You’re looking quite at ease.’
‘Don’t be fooled by my outward appearance,’ she replied. ‘Inside is a seething cauldron. For a start, I am not particularly fond of flying, especially by myself. I could manage it alright when …’ She stopped.
‘I wish I could help. I really wish I could do something.’
‘You are a kind man,’ she replied, ‘and you have helped me already. Thank you for bringing me to the airport, and for seeing me off. You do have a comforting presence. I believe you must have given Edie a lot of stability – my guess is that without you she would have been a very unhappy person.’
He smiled. ‘Thanks. I must say you seem to know how to make me feel more comfortable in myself. Well, I shall be thinking of you – and I only wish you did not have to go through all this.’
‘There it is – I must be brave. And I shall think of you also, as you still have some more discoveries to make before everything is done.’
‘Whatever they prove to be, I think nothing can compare with what I have already found out.’
By now they had reached the point where the passenger controls began, and they must part.
‘Well, goodbye,’ she said, leaning forward to brush his cheek with a light kiss. ‘Thanks, again, for bringing me here.’ Impulsively he put both his arms round her and enveloped her in a bear hug. He felt her respond a little as she relaxed against him momentarily. Then she drew away.
‘You will keep in touch, won’t you?’ His anxious, boyish look went straight to her heart.
‘Of course. We will exchange texts, as we agreed.’
‘Have a safe journey! Come back soon.’
She smiled, and then, turning once to wave, she was gone.
Chapter 20
‘I don’t know why Mother told you she had things she wanted to show you but she never said anything to me about it,’ grumbled Margaret. She and Fraser were driving down to Marjorie’s cottage, for what might well be the last time. It was soon to be put on the market, and Fraser had arranged for the contents to be cleared the following week. Today they were going to bring back any personal items they wished to keep.
‘You know how old-fashioned Mother was,’ replied Fraser. ‘She probably thought the firstborn son should be the one to take charge of these things.’
‘It’s not that at all,’ snapped Margaret. ‘It’s because you were her favourite. You always were, right from the start. I came into the world knowing the sun shone out of your eyes, and I could never compete. And in recent years it was painfully obvious. What was so unfair was that I did heaps more for her than you did. When I went to see her, which was frequently, I would tidy everything up, see to personal things for her like wash her hair, cut her toe nails, sort out her clothes for washing, go through any correspondence and see that bills were paid, and endless other things, for which she was not the slightest bit grateful. You just went and chatted to her, and she couldn’t stop enthusing about your visits.’
‘That’s not strictly accurate,’ replied Fraser gently. ‘I did things, but they were more in the DIY line. I’d change fuses, and light bulbs, cut her tiny patch of grass, tend her garden, and so on. But yes, I did talk to her quite a lot – she seemed to want that.’
‘Sometimes she got quite cross with me when I was there – once she even told me to go away – did she ever tell you she’d done that to me?’
‘She said you kept telling her what to do, and I think she was rebelling against that, as many old people do. They like to think they’re independent when they’re not at all.’
‘So when did you get so philosophical?’
‘Look, Margaret, you gave her very valuable help and support, and I’m sure she couldn’t have gone on living alone without your help. She didn’t realise it, I know, but she did have every reason to be grateful to you.’
‘She really shouldn’t have been still living there – she should have been in a care home for the past year. It wasn’t really right expecting all that support just so that she could have her own way. It was selfish of her, because look what demands it made on us – particularly on me!’
‘Margaret, she would have hated a care home – and you know it. How could we push her into something like that against her wishes? I had to oppose you – I couldn’t bear the thought of it. In fact, after Edie died, I realised it would be possible to have her to live with me, and I was going to suggest it that day I drove down and found her …’
‘How on earth would you have managed? You couldn’t have done the personal things for her – and you’re no housekeeper! I suppose you’d have continually been asking me to come and help!’
‘You sound so bitter, Margaret. Didn’t you love her? I don’t know how you can accuse her of selfishness when she gave up everything to bring us up single-handedly. She had very little money, yet we never went without. She gave us the whole of her time and attention. I don’t understand why you’re speaking in this harsh way.’
‘You’ve no idea, have you? Because you basked in the sunlight you don’t know what it feels like to be always in the shadow – to be the also ran.’
Fraser glanced at her and saw she was dabbing at her eyes. He was shocked by the vehemence of her feeling, and suddenly realised the burden she had carried through life.
‘Let’s stop for coffee,’ he suggested, and spotting a small wayside café he drew in.
‘This isn’t a good idea,’ Margaret sounded defensive. ‘I think we should press on – we’re going to have a lot to do.’
‘I think it’s rather important to talk,’ insisted Fraser, ‘and I don’t want to be distracted by driving.’ He led her to a table, and ordered coffee and pastries.
‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ began Margaret. Then she thought better of it and went quiet.
‘I wish,’ said Fraser, ‘I had realised before how you felt. I should have done, because it was plain for anyone with a little bit of sensitivity to see, but I’ve learned recently that I’ve been going round with my eyes shut all my life, oblivious to anyone else’s needs and inner feelings, and failing to understand the cries for help which I should have picked up. Margaret, may I ask you something? Did you like Edie?’
‘Not particularly. But she was your choice, and you thought she was amazing, so I tried to accept her.’
‘Why not? What was it that you didn’t like?’
‘Oh Fraser, how can I say without upsetting you? Why are you asking these questions?’
‘It’s important, because I’ve been learning things recently that I didn’t know, or simply wouldn’t face, before, and now I’ve had to face them. I know I wouldn’t listen to a word of criticism of Edie before, but now I want to know.’
‘What’s come over you? I’ve never heard you talk like this. Are you sure you’re not going to bite my head off if I say what I think?’
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘Well, I thought she was a play actor. I felt that I never really knew her. Sometimes you’d talk to her and her eyes would be looking at you but without making any connection – you knew her mind was miles away. She seemed to be going through the motions – pretending to be an affectionate sister-in-law – when in all probability she hated my guts. So I generally kept my distance as much as pos
sible. I don’t think Mother liked her too much either, and that was, I’m sure, mutual. After all, she stopped going with you to visit Mother, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, I think there must have been some disagreement, but Edie always brushed that aside if I asked, and just made excuses not to come. If I mentioned Mother she always spoke about her warmly, as if she loved her very much too. Which is exactly what you were saying about play acting. That was very clever of you to pick that up. You see, Margaret – and I find this very difficult to say – Edie was acting up to the hilt. I’ve now been through her private papers, and I’ve found out, not only did she spend most of the Savings Account I set up for her, not only did she falsify her origins because she wasn’t Dutch as we all thought – she was born in Berlin, of German parents – not only all that but …’ His voice trailed off, and he put his head down. Then he looked up, straight at Margaret, and said, ‘She had affairs. She slept with other men. She even went on cruises with them – and recently she went on a cruise with John Stanton!’
Margaret was speechless. Visibly shaken, she finally said, in an unusually gentle voice, ‘Oh, you poor man! Oh Fraser, I’m so sorry.’
‘You had to know,’ said Fraser agitatedly, ‘and I had to tell you. But one reason I’ve done so now is to show you that I’ve failed, miserably, throughout my life to see things as they really are. I’ve taken the line of least resistance, and seen only the good things I wanted to think were there, and refused to face what I didn’t like. Now you’ve been honest enough to speak to me as you have, and tell me how you’ve really felt, I can see that’s why you’ve always been rather brusque in your manner. You’ve felt inferior, in Mother’s eyes, and you covered how you felt by being a bit defensive, a bit hard. I’m glad I know that now. I’m glad I understand. Perhaps now you know what a mess I’ve made of my life you may see me in another light.’