A Friend of the Family

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Hang on. What is all this about a spade? What spade?’

  ‘Hugh and I were making a snowman.’

  ‘I can’t believe this! When did Jon arrive?’

  ‘Just before lunch. He’d had to abandon the car and had been walking for hours.’

  ‘Well, if he was here then, when did . . . ?’ He broke off as the doorbell pealed and Max started to bark. ‘That’ll be Freddie and Jon,’ he said. ‘Now I can get to the bottom of this.’ He went out looking rather grim, not noticing that Polly had turned pale.

  ‘. . . met the Land Rover at the end of the lane,’ she heard Freddie say. ‘Gave the fuzz a bit of a turn.’ He came into the kitchen and smiled at Polly. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘What a perfectly dreadful experience. Thank God we were in time. Sorry we rushed off and left you like that.’ He went to her and put his arm round her, uncaring of what anyone might think. ‘All over now.’

  Polly stared at him and then looked past him as Michael appeared with Jon, who smiled at her. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  She smiled mechanically at him but turned to Michael. ‘I thought you said . . . ’ She paused. ‘Where is he?’ ‘Who?’

  ‘Jon!’ said Polly, looking scared.

  Michael frowned, puzzled. ‘But this is Jon. My cousin Jon.’

  ‘What! But that’s not Jon,’ said Polly.

  As all three men gazed at Polly, the door opened and Chris ushered in Saul, whose arm now reposed in a very professional-looking sling,

  ‘That’s a bit better,’ said Chris. ‘Let him sit down comfortably. Got that tea ready?’

  ‘No.’ Michael looked distractedly at the boiling kettle. ‘Hang on a minute. Polly, what do you mean? This man is my cousin Jon. Isn’t he the man you said came before lunch, told you his wife and child died in an accident and threatened you with a spade?’

  Everyone now stared at Jon, who looked quite nonplussed.

  ‘No, it wasn’t him,’ said Polly, her voice rising with panic. ‘It was the man you chased.’ She looked at Freddie. ‘You saw him. He was going to hit me with the spade.’

  Freddie nodded. ‘That was the escaped murderer,’ he said gently. ‘Got out of Princetown last night. Sheer luck we turned up when we did.’

  Polly opened her mouth once or twice but no words came. Her lips framed the word ‘murderer’ and Michael pushed her gently into a chair by the table. He began to make the tea.

  ‘You obviously didn’t know about the escaped prisoner,’ he said, keeping his voice level. ‘He got out last night and his car went off the road at Merrivale. Do I take it that the man Freddie and Jon chased was the man who turned up here?’

  Polly nodded. The five men watched her in silence.

  ‘He was standing at the gate,’ she said at last. ‘The phone and electricity had gone off. I thought you might come, if you phoned and couldn’t get through. And I thought it was you. It was snowing and I couldn’t see that clearly. I called to him.’ She paused and swallowed, her eyes grew huge with terror. ‘Dear God! I actually asked him in!’

  ‘But what made you think he was Jon?’ Michael placed a mug of hot sweet tea in Saul’s good hand but he was too riveted by Polly’s narrative to even thank him.

  ‘He said he was!’ cried Polly. ‘He said his car had gone off the road and he’d been walking for hours.’

  ‘And he actually said he was my cousin Jon?’ Michael put Hugh’s beaker of tea on his tray and gently ruffled his hair. Hugh looked up from his colouring and smiled; Michael gave him a tiny wink and nodded reassuringly.

  ‘Yes!’ cried Polly. ‘No.’ She shook her head, making a terrific effort to remember. ‘I called to him and when he wasn’t you I said . . . Oh, my God! Yes. I said you must be Jon, or something, and he seemed quite surprised.’

  ‘He probably was,’ put in Chris. ‘His name actually is John. John Middleton, I think. Must have given him quite a turn.’

  ‘That was it!’ Polly was remembering now. ‘Only, you see, I thought he was surprised to see me here. So 1 immediately explained that you and Harriet were in Plymouth and I was all on my own.’ She shut her eyes and shivered. ‘Jesus! I dragged him in and made him have a bath!’

  All five men reacted simultaneously. She opened her eyes and stared at them. Michael pulled himself together and put a mug of coffee beside her.

  ‘Drink up,’ he said quietly. ‘What happened then?’

  Polly obediently took a great gulp of coffee and stared at him tragically. ‘I gave him your clothes to wear,’ she said.

  This was too much for Michael. He put his hands over his face and then he began to laugh. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said, still laughing, ‘but you’ve got to admit it’s got its lighter side. You are the only woman of my acquaintance who would drag a convicted murderer in, run him a bath, give him your host’s clothes and then cook him lunch. You did give him lunch?’

  Polly nodded glumly. ‘Soup. Soup and bread and cheese. And coffee.’ But, somehow, Michael’s laughter had taken much of the horror out of the story and the colour began to come back into her face, although when she told them about the spade she still shuddered. ‘Max hated him. I couldn’t understand it. He growled and growled. But it was Ozzy who went for him. Max would have done but he was slower.’

  Everyone looked at Max, who yawned in a casual manner and looked rather deprecating.

  Thirty-one

  TOM SAT BY THE drawing-room fire, his bandaged ankle resting on a footstool, and wondered what had happened to Saul. He was feeling a little less touchy than he had been on his return, which had been humiliating to say the least. After his denigrating observations regarding Saul’s abilities, it was too embarrassing that it had to be he, rather than his son, brought home on a tractor having sprained his ankle. Tom felt a measure of irritation returning as he recalled his reception. The tractor driver had driven up the drive and jumped down from the cab to press the front doorbell before going back to help Tom out of the link box. Cass and Abby had opened the door brandishing, respectively, a poker and a shotgun and had dissolved into fits of giggles when they saw Tom with his arm round Dave’s neck. Unfortunately, Tom had left his boot, together with his walking stick, in William’s Land Rover and had been obliged to hop, supported by Dave, into the house.

  The two women, taking over from Dave, helped him into the drawing room where they deposited him in an armchair. Cass went in search of bandages whilst Abby, still giggling, sloshed large quantities of gin—and an infinitesimal spot of tonic—into a glass which she pressed into his hand.

  ‘Drink up,’ she urged. ‘You’ve got lots of catching up to do. Cass and I were too frightened to move so we’ve just been sitting here getting pissed. I’ve lost William, you see, so I came down here for company and now I’m too scared to go back. Oliver’s gone to leave a note for William to tell him where I am. He’s been gone for hours.’

  So whilst Cass bandaged his ankle, Tom explained what had happened and where William was and, shortly after, William arrived and took Abby away, leaving the others to worry about Saul.

  Tom, still smarting from the unseemly levity and unguarded and unflattering remarks surrounding his homecoming, was half inclined to get his own back by hinting at accidents and disasters of numerous varieties to increase Cass’s anxiety. However, having survived variously the traumas of the death of her eldest child, three children away at school and a husband almost continually at sea, Cass was hardened to minor disasters and not easily stampeded into panic. She was still concerned for Polly but didn’t seriously consider Saul to be in any great danger from the prisoner and more than capable of looking after himself in any other situation that might arise. She had gone off, accompanied by wafts of gin, to cook some supper, giving thanks for the Aga yet again, and Oliver had disappeared on a candle hunt.

  Tom sat on, nursing his glass and wondering if Saul had found a telephone and where he could be. Despite his occasional antagonism to both his sons, he dearly loved them. However, they could never take the pla
ce of the daughter he’d lost. Charlotte—who had looked so like himself, who had loved him so much—would always take first place in his affections. The dead have advantages over the living. Their faults are forgotten or bathed in an attractive light and they do not irritate and annoy us. Tom imagined a pretty, loving, attentive daughter, surrounded by admiring men but looking always to him first. She would not have tested and challenged him as the boys did. As for Gemma, she had always been so self-contained, so poised for her age, that he was almost frightened of her. Blonde and beautiful like Cass, she had never shown a need of him as Charlotte had. His life was saddened and diminished by her death and he suddenly felt old and tired.

  He glanced out of the window. The short winter day, brighter now with gleams of golden light from the west, was drawing in, Tom thought of Saul alone on the moor in the dark and grimaced. No, best not to frighten Cass who, when the effect of the gin had worn off, might realise the dangers for herself. He stirred uneasily. Where the devil could he be?

  SAUL WAS SITTING IN the armchair by the Aga waiting for his fate to be decided. The euphoria of his journey, the excitement of catching the prisoner and the sweetness of Polly’s admiration and gratitude were all beginning to fade in the face of pain and exhaustion. Michael, having noticed this, was firm in his decision that Saul should come with him back to the hospital. He could be checked over, stay the night there and, if all was well, be taken home the next day. Michael’s real dilemma was whether to take Polly and Hugh to Kate’s, leaving Jon in situ, or to leave all three of them at the cottage. While he was debating, Polly thought of another problem.

  ‘What about Cass?’ she asked. ‘She’ll be worried to death if she doesn’t hear from Saul. How can we let her know?’

  ‘Oh, hell,’ said Michael. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. How on earth can we get a message to them? Even if their telephone is back on, ours isn’t. We could try from the hospital, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, but if Cass’s isn’t back on, what would you do then?’ asked Chris. ‘One of us will have to try to get over there.’

  ‘I’ll have a go, if you like,’ said Freddie, wondering what Polly would be doing. ‘Should manage it in the old beast but I must admit it would be nice to have someone with me, just in case.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ offered Saul.

  ‘You most certainly will not!’ said Michael, whose dilemma had now been solved. ‘You’re coming with me. OK. What I suggest is this. Freddie and Jon go off to Cass’s and, if Freddie has no objection, Jon goes back to his place for tonight. Saul, Hugh and Polly come with Chris and me. We drop them off with Kate while Chris and I get my car out of the snow and then Saul and I go on to the hospital. I’ll come back to you tonight, Chris, when I’ve settled Saul and seen Harriet, and tomorrow—well, we’ll sort tomorrow out when it comes. How does that suit everybody?’

  Everyone nodded. Polly was so relieved at not having to spend another night at the cottage alone with Hugh that she would have agreed to almost anything and she went off to pack for Hugh and herself. She would have to come back for her car, of course, but she would worry about that later. She went round finding all the presents that Harriet had hidden for Hugh and packing them up to take with them. By the time she got back to the kitchen, Freddie and Jon had already set off and the others were ready to go.

  Michael checked round, locked up, and the five of them and the dogs went out of the cottage and into the snowy winter evening.

  TWO DAYS LATER, POLLY removed herself to the Old Station House. Weather conditions had improved and Hugh was now back in Michael’s care. Kate had been very kind and Polly had found her a soothing companion after such a traumatic experience. She had allowed Polly to go over and over the horror of the last few days and had comforted and consoled her. However, as soon as the telephones were working again, Thea had tracked Polly down and urged her to come to stay and Polly felt that she needed to be with someone who knew her whole situation and to whom she could open her heart about Paul. Thea was horrified to hear of all that Polly had been through. They went over it again and again until, at last, it began to recede from the forefront of Polly’s mind and she could sleep without nightmares.

  ‘It would have been worse if I’d known he was a murderer,’ she told Thea as they sat before the fire one evening with Amelia tucked up in bed and George, who was back at the MOD, in London. ‘As it was, I just thought he was Michael’s cousin and that he was a bit odd. The spade thing was truly terrifying but by the time I found out he was a murderer, it was all over.’

  ‘Well, it is all over,’ said Thea, who felt that Polly should begin to put it all behind her and look to the future. ‘And now you’ve got to decide what you’re going to do. I still think it’s awful of Paul just to go off like that. Unbelievable.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Polly.

  ‘You don’t feel that you want to make a fight of it?’

  Polly reflected for a moment and then shook her head. ‘I don’t see the point. I’ve always come a poor second and, since Fiona came on the scene, I seem to have moved down to third. It’s partly my fault. I don’t seem to have the energy to make a stand. We’ve just drifted along and I can’t blame him if he wants to stop drifting. I’ve envied you and George. Your relationship is so strong and secure.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re right.’ Thea came to sit beside Polly on the sofa. ‘It’s going to need to be.’

  Polly raised her eyebrows and Thea made a little face. ‘It’s this Brussels thing. I don’t want to go. I haven’t told George yet. He just assumes that Amelia and I are going but I hate the idea. I can’t bear the idea of leaving Jessie and Percy and this house and I feel so ashamed when I see people like Cass taking this sort of thing in her stride.’ ’Well, of course, she’s been doing it for so long, hasn’t she?’ ‘Yes, but she had to start. I just assumed that I’d never have to do all the moving around because George was so much older.’

  Polly looked at Thea. She had always seemed so strong and confident and Polly was surprised to see her uncertain and afraid.

  ‘What about your writing?’

  Thea shrugged. ‘George says I can do that anywhere and of course he’s right. But I don’t want to do it anywhere. I want to do it here.’

  ‘How will he react if you say you don’t want to go?’

  ‘He’ll be very hurt.’ Thea stared at the fire. ‘The thing is,’ she said slowly, ‘I’ve got a very good excuse but it’s a bit cheating to use it.’

  ‘Whatever can it be?’ Polly stared at Thea’s sombre profile.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’ Thea turned her head and smiled at her.

  ‘Thea!’

  ‘I know.’ Thea nodded, smiling. ‘And the thing is that George is the sort of man who would understand that a woman in that state likes to be amongst her own people. Especially when I had such a bad time with Amelia. And he would let me stay and go on his own, although he would worry like mad about me.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ Polly sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Yes.’ Thea sighed, too, and then pulled herself together. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be selfish. I’ve got everything going for me and all I do is whine because I may have to go and live in Brussels. Most people would be thrilled.’

  ‘If it was just Percy and Jessie, I could look after them,’ said Polly thoughtfully. ‘After all, if Paul and I separate the house will be sold, I suppose. I could come and house-sit for you, then you wouldn’t have to let it and you could come home towards the end of your pregnancy and have the baby here. I’m sure George would understand that. It’s a compromise.’

  Thea gazed at her with such intensity that Polly felt nervous.

  ‘Polly, you’re brilliant! Would you really do that? It wouldn’t be nearly so bad if I thought you were here and I could come home when I wanted to. I hate the idea of letting it and we couldn’t leave it empty for two years. I could fly over for the odd weekend and Percy and Jessie wouldn’t have to go to strangers. Oh, Polly! Would y
ou really?’

  ‘Well,’ said Polly, taken aback by Thea’s reaction, ‘I don’t see why not. I’ve got to live somewhere and I’m very fond of Jessie and Percy.’

  ‘Bless you. Oh, you’ve no idea how you’ve relieved my mind. I can come home to have the baby and decide if I need to go back out afterwards. Oh, it would be too wonderful for words. I think I need a drink. Stay there. I’ll go and open a bottle of wine.’

  Polly sat on, staring at the fire and feeling as if she’d unleashed a whirlwind. It seemed her new role was to be whisked from pillar to post with no time or thought for her own life. She had hardly expected Thea to leap at her idle proposition so readily and felt stirrings of panic. What on earth was she doing, offering to look after a large Newfoundland dog and a garrulous parrot in the depths of the country? She thought of being here alone and the panic threatened to become terror. Not that the Old Station House was as isolated as Lower Barton, being on the edge of a village, but nevertheless . . . Thea was back with bottle and glasses and accompanied by Jessie, who immediately collapsed into a deep slumber before the fire.

  ‘You can’t imagine what a weight you’ve lifted from my mind,’ said Thea, kneeling beside Polly and pouring wine. ‘Here you are. Now you’re absolutely sure that you mean it? You have thought it through?’

  Polly looked into Thea’s radiant face and her heart sank. ‘Oh, yes,’ she lied bravely. ‘It’s the answer for me, too. I couldn’t bear to go home and sit and wait for everything to collapse around me. Much better for me to be here being useful.’

  ‘Bless you.’ Thea stood the bottle on the floor. ‘I’ll go and phone George in a minute and tell him. He’s been getting so cross with me because I should have been getting the house let and so on.’ She let out an enormous sigh of relief and raised her glass. ‘Here’s to us. Let’s hope that things work out right for both of us.’

  Polly raised her glass and drank. Life was becoming much too complicated and she simply didn’t trust her voice.