Generations of Love

by Wendy Pulford

  ‘Took your time in contacting me, didn’t you?’

  He noticed Peter looked a bit sheepish.

  ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Great Uncle Lionel, things have been a bit busy since I came back.’

  Franklin relented. Now was not the time to alienate him. He knew well enough that from a young age Peter had formed an emotional bond with him as a true relative. This was something he had fostered for his own benefit.

  He gave a slight smile. ‘Good holiday?’

  ‘Brilliant, thank you,’ said Peter, settling himself into a chair, his relief obvious. ‘It was very generous of you to treat me. Shame that Rob couldn’t make it. Jerry McIntyre said that he would repay you for the other unused ticket.’

  ‘Tell him not to bother. Nice country, I believe. Never been there myself. How are you adapting to the job?’

  ‘I’m enjoying it. So far, I’ve just been reading case notes and going to observe at Court a couple of times. I’m under Jonathan Raven.’

  ‘Mmm… I know his father, Anthony, from the old days. Thought he knew a thing or two, but I made a point of coming out on top.’

  ‘Jonathan said that his father had been in Court with you.’

  Franklin sat up. ‘What else did he say?’

  Peter appeared taken aback by the abruptness of the question. ‘Well, just that sometimes you were able to produce some old law information that might have influenced the proceedings. He seemed to take a dim view of how relevant this was.’

  ‘Law information is there for anyone, if you look hard enough. It’s knowing where to look. Your mother used to do my research. Damn good at it, too.’

  The boy looked shocked, and Franklin regretted his comment. If Peter ever tried to ask a question about the past, he was always swift to change the topic of conversation. He could see Peter forming an inevitable question.

  ‘Sarah said my mother was studying for a history degree via a correspondence course. Didn’t she want to go to college?’

  Franklin would not let himself be drawn into any further discussion on the matter. ‘I had certain plans for her, and she had others. Now, let’s get back to what you’ve been learning. By the way, what happened to the respectful title “Aunt”?’

  ‘Oh, the McIntyres have suggested that I now call them by their Christian names. They consider I’m adult enough.’

  ‘I see. Perhaps you should do the same with me.’

  This would seem like a nice gesture, he thought to himself with a smile. He had to make sure that at this critical stage Peter was still content with his influence, which could be used to advantage in the future.

  CHAPTER 6

  Christa Benjamin twisted the pencil round in her fingers, thinking hard.

  ‘A penny for them, girlie.’

  She looked over at the man sitting opposite her. Dick Hudson was a veteran reporter, now working out his time with the Chronicle Herald, and had been detailed to steer her through the minefield of features writing. In his day he’d been one of the best, working for the Canadian national daily the Globe and Mail, and had many front-page stories to his name. She got on well with him, although many didn’t. He was short-tempered and taciturn, but she stood her ground, and she felt he respected that.

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you,’ she laughed. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking about work.’

  ‘You won’t work well if you’ve something on your mind. Is there a problem?’

  Christa regarded the older man for a moment. Although she always valued her father’s advice, there was no harm in running problems by others. Dick was an experienced man, after all.

  ‘There’s a… friend, in England, who lost touch with a relative when he emigrated here in the late 1950s. He was speaking about him a little while ago and I had the idea that I might try to see if I could find this person. It’s my own decision, and it might be impossible.’

  Hudson walked over to the coffee machine, returning with cups for each of them. He sat on the corner of her desk.

  ‘You could always make enquiries. You needn’t take it any further by contacting anyone. What information do you have to go on?’

  ‘The man’s name is Michael Hartman. He emigrated in about 1958, aged late thirties. He used to work for the British police. Initial correspondence had him living in Halifax, but after a year or two that contact was lost.’

  ‘So we have to assume that he moved away, or didn’t wish to correspond any longer, or even died.’

  ‘That’s about it. He would be in his seventies now.’

  Hudson regarded her for a long moment. ‘I think you should go ahead. It will be a good exercise for you in researching information, so I think we’ll class it as work. Don’t spend all your time on it, though, fit it in with your other assignments.’

  Now that her search was semi-official, Christa became engrossed with her task. She decided that for the moment she would work on the premise that Michael Hartman was still alive, and establish whether he had ever left Halifax. This meant a check through the City Directories, the archival records for which were held by Library and Archives in Ottawa and would require a personal search. She decided to contact a college friend who worked in the city, to ask whether he would be prepared to do some research for her. After writing with her request she heard nothing from him for a week, but one evening, at last, the call came.

  ‘Hi Larry. I wondered when I was going to hear from you!’

  She smiled at the reply she received to this remark.

  ‘I see, she’s that pretty is she? Look, if you ever get the time, do you think you can help me out?’

  After she had made her request, it was obvious that a hard bargain was being set at the other end.

  ‘OK, OK… consider the deal done! Let me know when you’re on leave, and I’ll ask Dad to take you out again on the racing catamaran.’

  *

  Luigi Gandoni was the first to arrive at the restaurant, and waited for Peter to join him. He was looking forward to seeing the boy again. In his view he was growing up into a nice young man.

  As always, though, his pleasant thoughts were tinged with that same old sadness; not just for the loss of Alex and Catherine, but also for the loss of his wife. Maria had passed away some five years ago after fighting a long battle with cancer; brought on, he was sure, by the anguish and shock of those terrible events. He had sold the business and thought about moving to Italy to live with his son, but felt an obligation to be close to Peter and help to watch over him.

  It had been hard, very hard, and even today there was anger in his heart at the waste. All those innocent hopes and dreams, shattered in one tragic night, with the ripples moving out to touch other people. He knew that Sarah McIntyre had suffered, and like him, was still suffering. He had seen her raw emotion at the funerals and there was a strange empathy between them at their many meetings since, as if they both shared secret thoughts.

  He had sensed her frustration, like his own, during the inquests. According to the authorities, there was no proof to implicate anyone else in what was perceived to have occurred; but he was sure, and he felt it was the same for Sarah, that the truth of what happened that night had not come out. It was inconceivable that Alex would have acted in the manner alleged, leaving Peter to fend for himself. But despite a body of evidence put forward as to the loving nature of the marriage, in the face of the known facts, the verdict was given.

  Alex would always have this slur against his name, and at times the knowledge weighed heavy on Luigi’s heart. He always impressed on Peter how much his parents had loved him, and even when he was old enough to be told the full story of that night, Luigi tried to instill in him that perhaps one moment’s madness could not wipe out all the care and love shown to him before.

  After the funerals, he took it upon himself to contact the solicitor who had acted for Alex and imparted to him h
is concerns, although they seemed, even to his ears, quite weak and judgmental. The short answer he received was that unless any new concrete evidence surrounding the events could be obtained, it would be difficult to mount any challenge. Further, as financial support was voluntarily offered by Lionel Franklin, it would be construed that he had the best of intentions regarding Peter Hartman’s welfare.

  As far as Alex’s work colleague Sergeant Johnson was concerned, Luigi had been angry and disappointed that, for some reason, the man refused to have any contact with him. In fact, he was so angry that he thought about confronting Franklin himself, but good sense stopped him from making what he later considered would have been a mistake.

  As Lionel Franklin became involved in Peter’s education, he felt grave misgivings. His concerns about the man still lingered, and sat like a cloud over Peter’s head. Over the years, he tried to temper Peter’s enthusiasm for Franklin’s ideas on his future, with the advice that he must make his own choices and also take the views of others around him. However, he often noticed Peter’s resistance to his comments, and refrained from taking matters too far in case it endangered any dialogue between them at all.

  For the boy’s sake, he had to remain alert and keep an eye on the situation.

  Peter arrived in a rush, apologising for being late. ‘It’s a little busy at the moment in chambers.’

  ‘Are you enjoying it? That’s the main thing, Peter.’

  ‘I am, now I’m doing things for real. Study is all very well, but dealing with something that you know is affecting someone at this moment, is quite exciting. Jonathan Raven is a good teacher. I’ve learnt a lot from him already.’

  ‘Are you still happy that you chose law? At times I’ve felt that you had very little choice.’

  Peter looked at him, with eyes so like Alex’s.

  ‘Don’t start that again, Uncle Luigi. You’re as bad as Sarah. I’ve told you, Lionel didn’t make the decision for me. I made it myself. You seem to forget that he’s gone out of his way to give me a lot of help over the years.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean that you have to do what he says. He doesn’t own you. He should have done what he did out of family love, not expect you to follow a path he has set out for you.’

  ‘You make Lionel sound as if he’s been manipulating me! I’ve been happy with all I’ve done, and what’s more, I found my job without any help from him.’

  Luigi just shrugged and threw his hands up in defeat.

  ‘What’s this “Lionel” business?’

  Peter had looked a little uncomfortable under his comments, but now appeared to relax again. ‘Sarah and Jerry suggested that I should drop the “Aunt” and “Uncle” bit. I mentioned it to Lionel and he said I could do the same with him.’

  Luigi bit back a retort that the old schemer had done so to try to keep in with the boy, and gave the young man a rueful smile. ‘I suppose I’d better follow suit, then, don’t you think? Now, let’s order.’

  Over the meal they discussed the holiday, and Luigi was interested to note Peter’s attitude when he spoke about the girl he had met.

  Luigi commented, ‘It would be nice if she did come over to work here. At least she would have someone she knew. It’s good to have a friend to talk things through with, even more so when you’re away from home.’

  Peter gave him a fond smile, which warmed the old man’s heart. ‘Thank you, Luigi, for not going on about a girlfriend, like everyone else, with all the winks and nods. I dread to think what might have happened if Rob had been over there with me. Why do people always have to have this love baggage with everything? Why can’t you have a girl as just a good friend?’

  ‘There’s no reason whatsoever, Peter. Nothing better than a good friend of any gender. All I would say to you is not to close your heart to emotion. I understand very well what’s in the back of your mind, but don’t let it cloud your judgement in any of your own relationships.’

  Peter looked down at his coffee cup, his face tense. ‘What’s the use of love between a man and a woman if it can all go so wrong?’

  Luigi laid his hand on the young man’s arm. ‘I had the privilege of knowing both your parents. I saw their love for each other, and for you. As I’ve told you, the truth of what happened that night is known to two people, and they are unable to tell us. There might be other factors of which we are unaware. These could make a difference. Remember that.

  ‘Sarah, Jerry and I have tried to guide you through your formative years, and for my part I think you have become a very nice young man. Now you must steer your own course, even if you make mistakes along the way. Keep an open mind and don’t be swayed by anyone in particular. Always remember that we are still here to give our thoughts and guidance if you require them at any time.’

  Peter smiled at him again. ‘Thanks, Luigi. I’ll remember that.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Christa looked up as Dick Hudson came and stood in front of her desk.

  ‘So, a dead end?’

  ‘It seems so. Larry looked through Might’s Halifax and Dartmouth City Directories for 1960 and 1961. Michael Hartman was listed in 1960 but not 1961, so he must have moved. I’ve checked, and there’s no record of death. So he’s alive somewhere.’

  Hudson perched on her desk, rubbing his chin, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘You said he was ex British police?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Have you had a thought?’

  ‘Well, it’s a wild guess. Won’t get you very far, but I was just thinking… a fit young man, firearms training… would he have gone north, offered his services to one of the organised hunting outfits?’

  ‘He would have been retired from that long ago, Dick. Even if I contacted some of the big groups, I doubt their employment records would go back that far. He might have kept independent, or not even done it at all. I’m going to have to give this a lot more thought.’

  ‘Ah well, life’s never that easy.’

  *

  Peter stifled a yawn. He was feeling tired. Perhaps it was time to call it a day. He looked at his watch, it was seven p.m. He’d stayed late at chambers, working on a piece for Jonathan tomorrow, but his mind was beginning to close down. Perhaps he should go home.

  The door opened and Anthony Raven stepped into the room.

  ‘I thought someone was still about. Working late?’

  Peter had stood up as he entered, but the older man waved him down and perched on the edge of his desk. With piercing blue eyes, and iron-grey hair like his son, Peter could well see how his manner would both intimidate and influence in Court. This reinforced Peter’s secret misgivings about his chosen profession. Did he have the necessary qualities to be a successful barrister? As far as he could see, you needed to be something of a showman and storyteller, and he knew his own failings of confidence. Perhaps you acquired the necessary attributes needed over a period of time.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m working on a piece for Jonathan tomorrow.’

  ‘House rules, Peter. Remember? No “sir”.’

  Peter knew very well the informal way Ravens preferred to run their chambers, but after two meetings he still felt diffident about calling this imposing man by his Christian name.

  ‘You’re related to that scoundrel Lionel Franklin, aren’t you?’

  Peter bristled at the description. Biting back a retort, he shuffled the papers on his desk to distract himself.

  ‘Yes… Anthony. He’s my great uncle.’

  ‘He used to cause me some grief, I can tell you. On occasions it seemed to me that he made a point of hunting out the most obscure legal points he could find when giving his judgments, which in my view had marginal relevance to the case in point. It must have meant a lot of diligent work in those days before computerisation, for whoever did his research.’

  ‘It was my mother.’

  Anthony Raven glanced down at him. />
  ‘Yes. I’m sorry about all that. Not very pleasant for you. I remember the incident. In fact I was surprised how little coverage it received in the press. Bent copper, crime of passion, etcetera. There was also, at the same time, a car accident which killed the then Met Police Commissioner. I’d have thought the press would have snapped up stories like that and made more of them, but it all faded away. Often wondered if someone wanted the lid screwed down tight for some reason. There was a funny mood about in the country at the time.’

  He shook his grey head. Peter sat still, just watching him, not wanting his mind to explore what he had just heard.

  ‘You know, I was surprised Lionel Franklin was happy for you to join us.’

  Peter adjusted to Raven’s sudden change of tack.

  ‘He didn’t have anything to do with my selection. I made my own evaluation.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is that I run the best firm I can, and I want the best people in it. You were head and shoulders ahead of any of the other applicants, and I was prepared to take you on despite that connection. I don’t have to remind you, of course, not to mention anything you see here to him in any way, or impart any of his views into your own work. It’s easy to do. If I found it happening, I would be very displeased.’

  Peter looked at the older man, his gaze steady. ‘Everyone is telling me to live my own life, and that’s what I intend to do.’

  Anthony Raven stood and walked to the door.

  ‘Good, good. Best way. Listen to advice, but work it out for yourself. Jonathan tells me you’re doing very well. Keep it up. Don’t work too late. Goodnight.’

  Peter looked at the closing door, his mind revolving like a carousel. He needed to talk about it all with someone, and the first person he thought of was Christa.

  *

  Frank Benjamin knew his daughter was leading up to something and was not surprised when she came and cuddled down next to him on the old baggy sofa in the den. It was always her way of discussing things with him.