by Penny Jordan
Now she still believed as firmly as she had done then that she had made the right, the only decision, but now the brightness of her fervour, her belief was shadowed, obscured sometimes by her own inner images of what might have been, the child or children she might have had, the life, the love she might have shared.
As a young man Hugo had been, if anything, even more fervent in his beliefs than she had been herself, and, unlike her, he had been sharply critical of what he had termed the selfishness of a materialistic society and those who supported it. As an idealist, his views had sometimes been diametrically opposed to those of her father—or so it had seemed at times.
‘What do you expect my father to do?’ she had demanded angrily of him once in the middle of one of their passionate arguments. ‘Give all his money away...?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hugo had snorted angrily, in defence of his own beliefs.
He had been equally passionate about how important it was for those involved in aid programmes to be completely free of even the faintest breath of scandal, of anything that could reflect badly on the cause they were representing. Oddly enough, that had been a belief he had actually shared with her father.
Perhaps because she was a woman, Dee was inclined to take a more reasonable and compassionate view. Human beings were, after all, human, vulnerable, fallible.
There was no point in giving in to her present feelings. She would, she decided firmly, take the bull by the horns and drive over to Lexminster so that she could both see how Peter was and either talk with Hugo or arrange a meeting with him so that she could raise the subject of the committee with him.
Her mind made up, Dee told herself that she had made the right decision. What had happened...existed...between her and Hugo all those years ago had no relevance to her life now, and it certainly had none to his. Her best plan was simply to behave as though they had been no more than mere acquaintances, and to adopt a casually friendly but firmly distancing attitude towards him.
A very sensible decision, but one which surely did not necessitate four changes of clothes and a bedroom strewn with discarded, rejected outfits before Dee was finally ready to set out for Lexminster—over an hour later than she had originally planned.
Even so, it had been worth taking time and trouble with her appearance, she told herself stoutly as she climbed into her car. Her father had been of the old school, and had firmly believed in the importance of creating the right impression, and in taking time over her clothes she was just acting on those beliefs, Dee assured herself.
The cream dress she was wearing was simple, and the long slits which ran down both sides made it easy to move in without being in any way provocative—at least that was what Dee thought. A man, though, could have told her that there was something quite definitely very deliciously alluring about the discreetly subtle flash of long leg that her skirt revealed when she walked.
Its boat-shaped neckline was sensible—even if, regrettably, it did have an annoying tendency to slide down off one shoulder occasionally—and the little suedette pumps she was wearing with it were similarly ‘sensible.’ The pretty gold earrings had been a present from her father, and were therefore of sentimental importance, and if she had dashed back into the house just to add a spray of her favourite perfume and check her lipstick—so what?
As Dee drove through the town centre she noticed a small group of teenage boys standing aimlessly in the square, and she started to frown. She knew from the headmaster of the local school, who was on the board of one of her charities, that they were experiencing a growing problem with truancy amongst some of the teenage children.
Ted Richards felt, like her, that the town’s teenagers needed a healthy outlet for their energies and, perhaps even more importantly, that they needed to have their growing maturity recognised and to feel that they were a valued part of their own community.
In contrast to the disquieting boredom Dee had recognised in the slouched shoulders and aimless scuffling of the youngsters, when she drove past her own offices the area outside it was busy, with the town’s senior citizens making use of the comfortable facilities of the coffee shop and meeting rooms on the ground floor of the building. Only the other morning, as she had walked through the coffee shop, she had noticed that the list pinned up on the noticeboard inviting people to join one of the several trips that were being planned was very fully subscribed.
Teenagers did not always take too enthusiastically to being over-organised, especially by adults. Dee knew that, but she was still very conscious of the fact that their welfare and their happiness was an area which needed an awful lot of input.
Anna’s husband, Ward, had certainly opened her eyes and inspired her in that regard. Perhaps it might be worthwhile asking Ward if he would show Peter round his own workshops, Dee mused as she left the town behind her—always providing, of course, that Peter was well enough for such an outing.
Peter had a very special place in Dee’s heart. She never found it boring listening to his stories of his young manhood, especially when those stories involved her own father.
It was lunchtime when Dee reached Lexminster. In addition to the file she was compiling containing her plans for Rye’s teenagers, she had also placed in the boot of her car one of her home-made pies, which were a special favourite of Peter’s, as well as some other food.
She had a key for Peter’s house, but, out of habit, she automatically knocked on the door first and then, when there was no response, fished the key out of her bag and let herself in, calling out a little anxiously as she stepped into the hallway,
‘Peter, it’s me—Dee.’
She was just about to head for the kitchen with her groceries when, unexpectedly, the kitchen door opened. But it wasn’t Peter who opened it, and as she saw Hugo frowning at her Dee’s heart gave a dangerous flurried series of painful little thuds.
‘Oh...’ Dee’s hand went protectively to her throat. ‘I didn’t... You...’
‘I heard you knock but I was on the phone,’ Hugo told her curtly before adding, ‘Peter’s asleep. The doctor was anxious that he should have some proper rest, so she has given him a shot of something to help him sleep.’ He frowned as he looked at her disapprovingly. ‘I just hope that you haven’t woken him.’
To her chagrin his criticism made Dee feel as awkward and guilty as a little girl, causing her to retaliate defensively, ‘Was it really necessary or wise of the doctor to drug him?’
‘Drug him...what exactly are you implying?’
‘I’m not implying anything,’ Dee denied. ‘But at Peter’s age, the fact—’
‘Jane is a qualified doctor, Dee, and if she thinks that some mild form of gentle sedation is called for...’
Dee’s heart twisted betrayingly over Hugo’s intimate use of the doctor’s Christian name, and the way his voice had softened noticeably as he spoke it.
‘I actually needed to talk to Peter,’ she announced, deliberately changing the subject. ‘But if he’s been sedated...’
‘You needed to talk to him? So this isn’t just a social visit to enquire after his health, then.’ Hugo pounced.
‘I am concerned about his health, of course...’
‘But obviously not concerned enough to have called in a doctor,’ Hugo pointed out dryly.
Dee could feel her face starting to burn with a mixture of guilt and anger.
‘I would have done so, but, as I explained yesterday, I haven’t—’
‘Had time. Yes, I know. What was it you needed to talk to Peter about?’
Dee looked sharply at him. There was no way she could bring herself to enlist Hugo’s aid whilst he was being so antagonistic towards her.
‘I rather think that that is Peter’s and my business, don’t you?’ she asked him coolly.
Immediately Hugo’s eyebrows rose, the look he was givin
g her every bit as disdainful as the one she had just given him.
‘That rather depends. You see—’ He broke off as the telephone in the kitchen started to ring, excusing himself to Dee as he went to answer it.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she heard him saying to whoever was calling. ‘No, that’s no problem. I shall be staying here anyway, so you can contact me here... No, that’s not a problem; there’s no time limit... My work means that I can base myself virtually anywhere just so long as I have access to the conveniences of modern technology.... No...I haven’t told her yet, but I intend to do so...’
Dee hadn’t deliberately eavesdropped on his conversation, but it was impossible for her not to have overheard it, even though she had walked into the hall. As she heard Hugo replacing the receiver, Dee walked back towards the kitchen.
‘Since I can’t see or speak with Peter, there isn’t much point in my staying. When he does wake up please give him my love. I’ve brought some food and—’
She stopped as Hugo cut her off abruptly, telling her brusquely, ‘You can’t go yet. There’s something I have to tell you.’
Something he had to tell her? Whatever it was she could tell from his expression that it wasn’t anything pleasant. Her heart started to thump. Had Peter said something to him about her father...about the past? But, no, Peter didn’t know. She had never... But he could have guessed, had his own suspicions...and...
‘What is it? Tell me...’
Dee could hear the anxiety crackling in her own voice, making it sound harsh.
‘We’ll go into the other room,’ Hugo suggested. ‘We’re right under Peter’s bedroom here, and I don’t want to disturb him.’
Her heart pounding in heavy sledgehammer blows, Dee followed him into the parlour.
The air in the room was stale and stuffy, and automatically she walked towards the window, skirting past Hugo and the large pieces of Victorian furniture which dominated the room.
‘What is it? What do you want to say to me?’ Dee repeated tensely.
Hugo was frowning, looking away from her as though... Surely he...?
‘Peter and I had a long chat after you’d gone last night...’
Dee could feel the violence of the heavy hammer-blows of her heart shaking her chest. Here it was: the blow she had always dreaded. Peter had spoken to Hugo, shared with him his doubts and fears about her father. Doubts and fears which he had never voiced to her, but which, like her, had obviously haunted him.
‘He was telling me that your father...’
Dee closed her eyes, willing herself not to give in to the creeping remorseless tide of fear rising up through her body in an icy-cold wave.
‘My father is dead, Hugo,’ she cried out passionately. ‘All he ever wanted to do was to help other people. That was all he ever wanted. He never...’
She stopped, unable to go on.
And then she took a deep breath, straightening her spine, forcing herself to look Hugo in the eye as she demanded huskily, ‘What did Peter tell you?’
‘He said that he was concerned about your plans to alter the focus of your father’s charity. He told me that he was afraid that you were allowing yourself to be swayed by your emotion, and he said, as well, that he was afraid that you would try to pressure him into supporting you.’
Dee stared at him uncomprehendingly. Peter had talked to Hugo about her father’s charity and not about his death. He had confided to him his fear of her desire to change things, his fear that...
The relief made her feel weakly light-headed. So much so that she actually started to laugh a little shakily.
‘It’s all very well for you to laugh, Dee,’ Hugo chided her. ‘It’s obvious to me what you’re trying to do. You want to steamroller Peter into supporting these changes you want to make, even if that means forcing him to act against his conscience.’
Dee fought to gather her thoughts. In the initial relief of discovering that Peter had not discussed her father’s death with Hugo she had overlooked the gravity of what he was telling her. Now she was becoming sharply aware of it.
‘Peter had no right to discuss the charity’s business with you,’ she reprimanded sharply. ‘The charity is a private organisation run by the main committee of which I am the Chairperson. How that committee operates is the business of ourselves and ourselves alone—’
‘Not quite,’ Hugo interrupted her quietly, ‘as I’m sure the Charity Commissioners would be the first to remind you...’
At this mention of the government body responsible for overseeing the proper management and control of charities Dee’s eyes widened in indignation.
‘We have no call to fear the Charity Commissioners,’ she told Hugo firmly. ‘Far from it.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting that you might,’ Hugo responded coolly. ‘However, this might be a good point at which to remind you that all your father’s charities are overseen by that committee, and that whilst you may be the Chairperson of it, or them, you do not have the right to steamroller through whatever changes you wish to make.’
‘To steamroller through...’ Dee gasped in fresh indignation. ‘How dare you? What exactly are you trying to suggest?’ she demanded. ‘My father’s wishes are and always have been paramount to me when it comes to my role as—’
‘Are they?’ Hugo interrupted her. ‘Peter doesn’t think so.’
Dee sighed and took a deep breath, swinging round. ‘My father wanted his own charity to benefit his fellow citizens. When he initially established it there was a need in the town to help the elderly, and that is exactly what we have done, but now... Things change...and I believe that our help is needed now far more by our young people.
‘But none of this has any relevance to you, nor can it be of any interest to you,’ she told Hugo firmly. ‘I realise that to someone like you, who is used to dealing with the needs of people and situations a world away from what we are experiencing in Rye—people to whom the meagrest ration of food makes the difference between living and dying...’
She stopped, and then told him fiercely, ‘The elderly in Rye are more than adequately provided for, but our teenagers...there’s nothing for them to do, nothing to occupy or interest them. Ward says...’
‘Ward?’ Hugo interrupted her sharply.
‘Yes, Ward Hunter,’ Dee replied briefly. ‘Ward has already put into operation—and very successfully—the kind of scheme I want to help establish in Rye.’
‘Peter said that he felt that you were being influenced to break away from your father’s ideas,’ Hugo told her critically. ‘And that’s why—’
‘Hugo, Peter means well, but he’s old-fashioned. He can’t see.’ Dee paused and frowned. ‘I really do need to talk with him to make him understand...’
‘You mean to put pressure on him to go against his own beliefs,’ Hugo told her caustically. ‘Well, I’m afraid that just isn’t going to be possible, Dee.’
‘What? Why? What’s happened?’ Dee demanded, her heart immediately filled with fear for her father’s old friend. Was there something about his health that Hugo was concealing from her?
‘Why? Because this morning Peter asked me to act for him as his representative on the committee, and—’
‘No...’ Dee denied, grabbing hold of the edge of the table as she tried to control the shock that was making her body tremble. ‘No, he can’t possibly have done that.’
‘If you wish to see the formal papers then I’m sure his solicitor will be happy to send you copies.’
‘His solicitor?’ Dee’s voice faltered. ‘But...’
‘How does it make you feel, Dee, to realise that Peter felt concerned enough, distressed enough, to tell me that he wanted to sign a Power of Attorney in my favour so that I could deal with all his affairs because he was afraid that you might pressure him into doing something he d
idn’t feel was right?’
Dee’s face drained of blood.
It wasn’t just the shock of hearing that Hugo would be taking Peter’s place on her committee that was making her feel so sick with despair, it was also the heart-aching knowledge that Peter had felt that he couldn’t trust her. Fiercely she blinked back the shocked, shamed tears she could feel burning the back of her eyes.
‘Peter has given you Power of Attorney?’ Dee asked weakly. She felt very much as though she would like to sit down, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to betray that kind of weakness in front of Hugo of all people. She turned away from him and faced the window whilst she fought for self-control.
It seemed doubly ironic now, in view of what Hugo had just said, that she had actually entertained the thought of asking for his help in persuading Peter to give to her the very authority he had actually given to Hugo.
‘Yes, he has,’ Hugo confirmed. ‘And you may be very sure, Dee,’ he continued sternly, ‘that I shall ensure his wishes are respected and that you do not ride roughshod over them. I dare say that you and this...this Ward Hunter believe that you have the power to bring the other members of the committee round to your way of thinking, but I can promise you—’
‘The decisions of the committee have nothing to do with Ward,’ Dee protested defensively. ‘And in fact...’
‘Exactly.’ Hugo pounced triumphantly, overruling her. ‘I’m pleased to see that you recognise that fact, even if that recognition is somewhat belated. From what Peter has been telling me it seems to me that you’ve been managing your father’s charity very much as though it’s your own personal bank account and that you—’
‘That’s not true,’ Dee gasped angrily. ‘Even if I wanted to do that—’ She stopped and swallowed hard. ‘What you’re suggesting is... All I’m trying to do is to help those who need it most.’
‘In your judgement,’ Hugo pointed out.