They took their cups into the sitting room and sat down in front of the fire.
‘Are you all right, Freddie? You seem . . . unlike yourself.’
‘Yes, I do, don’t I? Well, perhaps that’s because I am.’
‘Can you tell me why?’
He looked at her, his eyes full of sadness. ‘Posy, I . . . Well now, how does one put this? I have something I need to tell you. I’ve delayed and delayed, waiting for the right moment, but I really feel I can’t hold it in any longer. Something that perhaps I should have told you fifty years ago, but now is hardly a good time.’
‘Goodness, Freddie, you look dreadfully serious. If it was to do with another girl back then, please don’t worry. It was an awfully long time ago.’
‘No, Posy, unfortunately for both of us, it’s nothing like that.’
‘Then please, spit it out. One way and another, it seems to be all bad news at the moment, so I doubt more will make any difference.’
Freddie stood up and walked over to Posy. He offered his hand to her. ‘I’m afraid that I think this might. And before I tell you, because there really is no good time, I want you to know that I loved you then and I love you now. But I simply can’t keep this dreadful secret to myself any longer.’
‘Please, Freddie, you’re scaring me now. Just tell me, will you?’ Posy urged him.
‘All right.’ Freddie went back to his chair. He took a sip of brandy before he said, ‘It’s about your father, Posy.’
‘My father?’ Posy frowned. ‘What about my father?’
‘Posy, my dear, I’m afraid there’s no other way to say this; your father did not die flying his Spitfire as you were told. He . . .’ Freddie struggled to find the words. ‘He, well, he was found guilty of murder and . . .’ He paused and gave a long, deep sigh.
Posy’s head was spinning as she stared at him. ‘What, Freddie? Just tell me, for goodness’ sake.’
‘He was hanged for his crime. I am so terribly, terribly sorry, but believe me, it’s the truth.’
Posy closed her eyes for a moment, feeling breathless and dizzy. ‘Freddie, dear, I think you may have your wires crossed here. My father was killed in his Spitfire. He was a hero, not a murderer. I promise you.’
‘No, Posy, that is what you were told when you were a little girl, but it was a lie.’ Freddie stood up, went to the small desk that sat under the window and took a file from one of the drawers. ‘It’s all in here.’ He opened the file and pulled out a photocopy of a newspaper cutting. ‘Here, Posy, take a look.’
Posy grabbed the sheet of paper and saw her father’s face, then the headline above it.
LAWRENCE ANDERSON FOUND GUILTY OF MURDER!
‘Oh my God, oh my God . . .’ Posy let go of the piece of paper and it fluttered to the floor. ‘No! I don’t believe it. Why would everyone lie to me?’
‘Here, have some brandy.’ Freddie proffered her a glass, but she refused it.
‘I don’t understand, Freddie. Why did no one tell me?’ she repeated.
‘Because they were trying to protect you. You were only eight years old, and from everything you’ve told me, both back when I first met you and now, it was obvious that you adored him.’
‘Of course I did, he was my father! He was the most gentle man, we used to collect butterflies together . . . he wouldn’t murder another human being. My God!’ Posy wrung her hands. ‘Why did he?’
‘It was a crime of passion, Posy. He got leave for the New Year of 1944 and went home to surprise your mother. When he arrived at Admiral House, he found her with . . . another man upstairs in the Folly, in flagrante. He took out one of his hunting guns from the cupboard downstairs and shot the man against the wall at point-blank range.’
Posy looked down at the black-and-white photograph lying on the floor beneath her. It showed her father obviously being led away from the court in handcuffs. She couldn’t speak, or begin to think straight.
‘I’m so desperately, desperately sorry to tell you this, Posy.’
‘Then why did you?’ She looked up at him. ‘Why on earth did you?!’
‘I had to, you see. The man he murdered – his name was Ralph Lennox – he was my father.’
Posy closed her eyes, trying to keep calm and take deep breaths. She could not, would not take this in.
Ralph . . . the name spun around her mind as it scudded back over sixty years to her childhood. And there he was. Uncle Ralph, her father’s best friend, the man who used to bring her chocolate when he visited her mother . . . Freddie’s father.
‘Posy, are you all right? Please, I know how dreadful the shock must be. But don’t you see? I had to tell you if we were to take this relationship any further. I didn’t . . . couldn’t tell you all those years ago. Perhaps in retrospect, alarm bells should have rung when I heard your surname and that you originally hailed from Suffolk. But I was so enchanted by you, they simply didn’t. I only realised who you were when you told me what your real name was in bed that night, when I proposed to you. I knew how you adored your father, and that you thought he’d died flying his plane during a sortie, so I had no choice but to walk away. I knew the shock of how and why your father really died would break you, and I simply couldn’t bear to be the one to tell you. Which makes me either cowardly or over-protective . . . I’m not sure which,’ Freddie sighed. ‘But I couldn’t have married you without you knowing. Please, Posy, say something.’
Posy opened her eyes and looked at him.
‘I wonder how you can bear the sight of me. The daughter of the man who shot your father.’
‘Good Lord, Posy! That was nothing to do with you, nor did I think it was, either then or now. It was just a twist of fate that we would find each other in the future. I . . . loved you then as I love you now, and I beg you to forgive me for telling you the truth after all these years. When I met you again, I presumed you knew; that living back here in Suffolk in the house in which it all happened, someone local would have mentioned it to you, but they obviously didn’t.’
‘No, they didn’t.’ Posy stood up abruptly. ‘Excuse me, Freddie, but I must go home now. Thank you for telling me, and I understand why you did. But really, I must go.’
‘Of course. Can I drive you there, Posy? You’re in no fit state to—’
‘No, I’m quite capable of driving myself.’
‘Here, please take the file. Perhaps once the shock has worn off, you’ll wish to confirm what I’ve told you.’ Freddie followed her to the hallway, where she was already putting on her coat, and handed the file to her. ‘I’m so desperately sorry, Posy. I wouldn’t upset you for the world. I hope you know that. But I had to—’
‘Yes.’ Posy had already opened the door. ‘Please leave me alone. Goodnight, Freddie.’
Chapter 32
Tammy woke up on the second Saturday in December and realised it had been three weeks since she’d found out about Nick’s deception. It felt like months. Even though she was snowed under at work, and had just hired an assistant to be in the shop whilst she hunted for stock, she’d managed to take little, if any, joy out of the burgeoning success of her business. She was also aware that she needed to go to Southwold to retrieve the vintage dresses at Admiral House. But how could she face going back there?
‘It’s business, Tammy, and you’ll just have to,’ she told herself as she tried to focus on her endless tasks in the shop that morning. Wardrobes of vintage clothes did not appear every day, and even though she had put an advert in The Lady magazine to attract women of a certain age wanting to sell their old gowns for cash, the response had been patchy. Last night as she’d lain sleepless, trying to divert her thoughts from Nick, she’d come up with what she thought was a rather good idea: the one gown women usually kept was their wedding dress. What if she started a bridal section in the boutique, choosing only the best vintage gems?
‘Marriage – hah!’ she muttered as she took a sip from the now lukewarm tea Meena had brought her earlier.
Despite herself, Tammy w
as astounded there had been no word from Nick. Even though she didn’t want to see him – of course she didn’t – she’d thought at the very least she might have the satisfaction of telling him to his face what a bastard he was. The fact he’d not even bothered to contact her had only compounded the situation, making her feel angry and devastated in equal measure.
She also felt animosity towards anyone who had ever told her what a great guy Nick was, feeling in some way that they had helped to lead her further up the garden path. Subsequently, she had hidden away, not answering calls from anyone who had colluded in the deception. She’d packed up Nick’s clothes and the general clutter that had collected in her flat over the past couple of months, and stuffed everything into bin bags. Even though she felt like burning the contents, Tammy had decided to bring the bags to the boutique and drop them off on Paul and Jane’s doorstep afterwards, ringing the bell to alert them, then beating a hasty retreat.
In the same spirit, Tammy took a deep breath and dialled Posy’s number on her mobile. The line rang and rang, and there was no answering machine to leave a message. So she gritted her teeth and tried Amy’s mobile instead.
‘Hello, it’s Sara,’ said a high voice.
‘Hello, Sara, is your Mummy in?’
‘Yes, but she’s washing cos I dropped ketchup on my dungarees and—’
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Amy?’
‘Yes, who’s this?’
‘It’s Tammy.’
‘Oh, hi.’ Amy’s voice sounded dull and monotone. ‘Did you get my messages?’
‘Yes. Sorry, Amy, it’s been busy here and—’
‘There’s no need to explain. I just wanted to let you know that I saw Nick that night after you left Admiral House. He knows you know about his car being parked outside Evie’s house. If it makes you feel any better, he was in a terrible state.’
‘Not really, no, but thanks.’
‘Have you heard from him?’ Amy asked quietly.
‘No, and I really don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I understand.’
‘Actually, I was just calling as I need to get in touch with Posy about collecting her mother’s clothes. She must be moving out soon.’
‘No, she’s not. It’s all off, Tammy. The sale’s fallen through.’
‘Oh dear – what happened?’
‘It’s . . . a long story.’
Tammy heard Amy sigh down the line. She sounded as low as she felt herself.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really, but never mind.’
‘Well, if I manage to get in touch with Posy and arrange a time to collect the vintage dresses, why don’t you and I have lunch?’
‘I’d like that,’ Amy answered feebly.
‘Is Posy at Admiral House?’
‘I think so, yes. What with one thing and another, I haven’t been to see her in over a week. I’ll give her a call too and if I don’t get any reply, I’ll pop round to check she’s all right.’
‘Thanks, Amy. Let’s keep in touch anyway. Bye now.’
‘Bye.’
‘Fresh cup of tea for you?’ Meena poked her head round the office door.
‘Please,’ Tammy replied, and watched as the older woman left the office. Tammy had told Meena immediately that she and Nick were over to prevent his name being mentioned in the future. Meena had not broached the subject since, but Tammy knew she cared for her in other ways: she’d arrived with a fresh bunch of flowers for her one morning, appeared with cakes to tempt her appetite at tea-time, and had given her an exquisite scarf she’d embroidered herself as she said it matched her eyes.
Tammy received the cup of tea gratefully and spent the next forty-five minutes on the computer looking at the finances. Even though the takings had been up on her original forecast, budgeting for the extra stock she’d need, coupled with employing Meena and a part-time shop assistant, was proving a drain.
‘Speculate to accumulate,’ Tammy muttered. Then she left the shop to make the ten-minute drive round to Paul and Jane’s house. She noticed the Christmas lights had been placed on the trees in Sloane Square. It looked idyllic, and she wanted to tear down every single bulb with her bare hands.
She parked the car and took the bin bags out of the boot. She dumped them on the doorstep, rang the bell and was walking away swiftly when Paul opened the front door.
‘Hi, Tam. Not stopping to say hello?’ Paul raised an eyebrow as he eyed the bulging bin bags. ‘What on earth is in all these? A dead body?’
‘I wish. It’s Nick’s stuff.’
‘I see. Why are you bringing it here?’
‘Because this is where he lives, isn’t it?’ she said, still hovering from a safe distance.
‘Alas, no longer. He packed up his goods and chattels a couple of days ago when Jane and I were away in the country. He left a note saying thank you and a rather good bottle of brandy, and I haven’t seen him since. I have to say, we both presumed he’d taken the plunge and moved in full-time with you.’
‘No, he hasn’t.’
‘Oh.’ Paul looked bemused. ‘Where is he, then?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
‘I see. Drink? I promise the Nick-coast is clear. And Janey’s out on a night shoot.’
‘Go on then,’ Tammy sighed, feeling in sudden, urgent need of one. She followed Paul down the hallway to the kitchen.
He opened a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. ‘What’s happened, Tammy?’
‘Do you mind if I don’t go into it?’
‘If you don’t want to, that’s fine,’ Paul agreed. ‘I must admit in retrospect that it was all rather strange. I tried to call in at his shop yesterday, and the place is locked up. I could swear he said he was opening this week.’
‘Yes, he was,’ agreed Tammy.
Paul took a slug of his wine. ‘Well, if he’s not with us or you, and the showroom is closed up, one can only presume he’s gone away.’
‘Probably.’
‘Well, I do hope the old boy’s all right.’
‘Personally, Paul, I hope he rots in hell.’
‘So, I presume the two of you . . .?’
‘Are over, for good.’ Tammy drained her glass. ‘Anyway, thanks for the wine. Is Janey well?’
‘Blooming,’ smiled Paul.
‘Tell her I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to her recently, and I’ll call her tomorrow,’ Tammy said as she walked back down the hall towards the front door.
‘Tammy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Take care of yourself. And keep in touch.’
‘I will. Thanks, Paul.’
Chapter 33
Amy put the phone down after speaking to Tammy and thought that at least a lunch with her offered a bright spot amidst the pall of grey that currently hung over her life. She went back into the sitting room where Jake and Sara were excitedly hanging decorations all over the bottom branches of the tatty fake Christmas tree Amy had taken down from the loft earlier in the day.
‘Maybe I could put some decorations on a little higher up the tree, chaps?’ she suggested, trying to garner some enthusiasm for their sakes.
‘No, me and Sara like it like this,’ said Jake firmly.
‘Okay, okay,’ nodded Amy. It hardly mattered what the tree looked like anyway. They were not exactly entertaining at home over Christmas.
‘I’m going to cook some lunch,’ she told them.
‘After, can we make my angel costume like you promised, Mummy?’ said Sara timidly.
‘Of course we can.’ She kissed Sara on the top of her golden curls and left them to the tree. She put the sausages under the grill, then tried to reach Posy again, but both her landline and mobile went to answering machines. Amy slumped into a kitchen chair and rested her head on her arms. Even though the children were demanding, noisy and totally unaware of their parents’ travails, Amy thanked God she had them. They kept her busy and took her mind off other things. She really thought t
hat, without them, she couldn’t have gone on.
The past two weeks had undoubtedly been the worst of her life. Sam had taken up residence on the sofa, watching TV morning, noon and night, silent most of the time and only answering her with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. She’d tentatively suggested he go to the doctor to get some tablets to ease his obvious depression, but he’d completely ignored her.
When she’d eventually plucked up the courage to suggest that he could try looking for a job – which might help take his mind off his problems, not to mention ease their financial situation – he’d looked at her as if she was mad.
‘Do you really think anyone would take me on, with a court case coming up and the state I’m in?!’
‘Sam, you know your solicitor has told you they’re almost certainly not going to press charges. They’ve accepted you knew nothing about Ken Noakes and his past.’
‘They could still change their minds, Amy. Bloody CPS – I’ve just got to sit here for what could be months and wait until they decide.’
‘Lunch!’ she called to Sam and the children from the kitchen. Sara and Jake bounced in and sat up at the table.
‘Bring mine in here on a tray, Amy,’ Sam called back from the sitting room.
Amy did so, then sat with the children, listening to them chatter on about Father Christmas and what he would bring them.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing there was simply no money for expensive presents. She’d had to delve into her hidden stash just to keep them all fed. Having done the washing up, she went into the sitting room, where Sam was still sprawled on the sofa as the children squabbled over who would hang the last bauble.
‘Sam, have you heard from your mum recently?’
‘What?!’ He looked up at her. ‘Are you completely crazy, Amy? After what I’ve done, I doubt she’ll ever speak to me again.’
‘You know that’s not true. She was very understanding when you went to see her after you’d been arrested.’
Sam shrugged morosely and took a swig from his bottle of beer.
‘I just tried both numbers again, and she still wasn’t picking up. I’ll try the gallery,’ she said, walking back into the kitchen. ‘See if she’s working an extra shift because of Christmas.’
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