Slowly Fleur began to eat. ‘If she gets the grades, yes,’ she answered after a minute. ‘She wants to continue with modern languages, though I don’t know what she’ll do with them. I suspect Owen would like her to go into teaching, but I doubt if she has the patience.’
Kathryn smiled. ‘And I imagine teachers need plenty of that!’
‘What about Amy? What will she do after college?’
‘At the moment she’s keeping an open mind. She’s doing well, though: one of her paintings was on the front of the brochure for the last exhibition.’
‘That’s excellent! Well done!’
‘You’ve an art degree yourself, haven’t you?’
Fleur nodded.
‘She’s always admired you, you know. Perhaps she’ll go into book illustration herself.’
‘I’d be glad to talk to her, answer any questions she might have.’
‘That’s good of you, thanks. I’ll tell her.’
Their next course was served and for the rest of the meal safe topics of conversation were maintained. As they were finishing their coffee, Kathryn said, ‘What are you going to do now? Attack the shops again and hope for better luck?’
Fleur shook her head. ‘It’s obviously not my day. I’ll just head home. I’ve enjoyed lunch, though, and it’s been good to catch up.’
‘Yes, we should do it again.’ Kathryn hesitated. ‘And you’ll let me know how things go?’
‘Of course.’
They parted outside the café and Fleur returned to her car. Although her shopping trip was a failure, it had been good to see Kathryn and she felt marginally better. Now, she thought resignedly as she drove out of the car park, she must face her mother’s telephone inquisition.
‘Hi there, handsome!’
Patrick smiled and settled himself back on his sofa. ‘Hi to you too.’
‘Change of plan about the weekend.’
His heart dropped. ‘You’re not going to cancel?’
‘Not cancel, just amend.’
‘Go on.’
‘It turns out I’m stuck here in Gloucester for the next few days, added to which the new Ayckbourn play, which I’ve been wanting to see, is on at the Bristol Old Vic. I’ve called in a few favours and managed to get us a couple of tickets for Saturday, so how about I break my journey there, you come up to join me on Friday evening and I book us into a hotel for a couple of nights?’
‘That sounds great, Tasha!’
‘And if you come up by train, I can drop you off at Taunton on my way back to Exeter.’
‘Even better!’
‘Fine. Meet me in the bar at the Bristol Harbour about seven, then. Must go – see you!’ And she ended the call.
It was a warm evening and despite the open windows the flat felt stuffy with the day’s stored heat. Supper was imminent and, although Jess would have preferred a salad, Laurence had prepared mountains of spaghetti bolognese. Sarah was complaining about her office’s air conditioning when she was interrupted by the arrival of Di and Dominic.
‘Odd thing,’ Dom remarked, setting down a pack of beer cans. ‘A guy in the lift was saying the police have been round, knocking on doors. Did they come here?’
Jess’s heart set up a rapid thumping that must surely be audible, and she kept her eyes firmly on her glass as Connor poured her some wine.
Maggie emerged from the kitchen with a handful of cutlery. ‘Yes, I was going to tell you. They were asking about that man in the papers; someone had reported seeing him enter this building.’
Sarah frowned. ‘This Aussie guy they pulled out of the sea? Why the hell would he come here?’
‘He probably didn’t,’ Connor replied comfortably. ‘They get hundreds of sightings in these cases. Next thing we’ll hear he was seen in Timbuktu.’
‘All the same,’ Di said nervously, ‘it’s a bit close to home, isn’t it? Especially with him being murdered, I mean!’ She shuddered.
‘When was he supposed to have come here?’ Connor asked.
Maggie shrugged. ‘Didn’t ask.’
‘Well, I suppose they have to follow up all leads.’
There was a moment’s uneasy silence. Then Laurence called from the kitchen. ‘OK, grub’s up! Come and get it!’ And as everyone got to their feet the subject, to Jess’s intense relief, was dropped.
‘I really don’t think we should, Justin. Not now your son’s seen us.’
Justin sighed irritably. ‘For God’s sake, Hilary! He’s not going to say anything!’
It was certainly to be hoped not, she thought fervently. Justin had told her from the outset that he was putting his professional life on the line in conducting their affair, a fact that had startled her, stressing as it did its importance to him.
‘Even so, I’ve been feeling guilty ever since. I’d been fooling myself that we weren’t hurting anyone, but—’
‘Well, we’re certainly not hurting Patrick. He disapproves all right, but we’re hardly breaking his heart. And I want to see you, Hills. Very much.’
She closed her eyes as a wave of weakness engulfed her. This voracious need, unsuspected until three months ago, had taken her totally by surprise when Justin Linscott had come into her life.
‘Hills?’
A spurt of anger came to her rescue. It was he, after all, who had instigated this, even if she’d proved a willing partner, and he was also the one who was married. ‘Don’t you feel guilty?’ she cried.
There was a pause. Then he said, ‘Marginally, I suppose. But quite honestly, I doubt if Kathryn would mind very much.’
‘That’s scarcely the point.’
‘Let’s leave ethics out of this, shall we, and start again. May I come round this evening?’
Tears of helplessness filled her eyes. ‘I suppose so,’ she said.
She put down the phone and stared through the window, her thoughts in turmoil. If she could have foreseen all this when engulfed with grief over Howard’s death, it would have seemed not only ludicrous but totally impossible. It was only marginally less so now.
So how in God’s name had it happened? Time to be honest with herself. She felt for the chair behind her and lowered herself slowly, thinking back to their first contact with the firm of Seymour and Linscott. It would have been twelve years ago, when they moved down south and were buying the house in Taunton, and Howard switched from their Lincoln solicitors for the sake of convenience.
The next time she could recall using their services again involved house purchase; Clive, having excelled at his A-levels, had been offered a scholarship at an American university, and without him and all his accoutrements the Taunton house was suddenly too big. So they moved again, to a cottage in Honiton. Yet on neither occasion had she had any personal contact with the firm.
But then, two years ago, Howard’s health began to deteriorate and life became a constant round of hospital appointments and visits to consultants, ending, after twelve anxious and painful months, in his death. The next few months were a blur of misery. Clive had flown home on compassionate leave, and he accompanied her to the firm’s offices to instruct them to apply for probate. That was the first time she’d met Justin, and she remembered being grateful for the calm and sympathetic manner in which he had dealt with them.
It was a month or two later, some time after Clive had returned to his job in the States, that she received an email from Seymour and Linscott wondering whether she might be considering updating her will, something that hadn’t occurred to her. Should this be the case, they wrote, they’d be happy to talk her through the questionnaire which they’d ‘taken the liberty’ of attaching.
Taking out a copy of her original will, she’d immediately seen this needed to be done; she and Howard had left their estates to each other and appointed their then local bank in Lincoln to act as executor.
She had contacted the firm, which resulted in her going to their office and again meeting Justin, who had guided her through the procedure with tact and compassion. She
appointed Clive and the firm as executors and, thinking back now, remembered vaguely noticing that Justin was a good-looking man, tall and broad, with greying hair and brown eyes behind horn-rimmed spectacles. But he was very definitely ‘Mr Linscott’ and it had never occurred to her that he could be anything else.
Until that afternoon in Exeter when she had stumbled on an uneven paving stone, twisting her ankle in the process. She would have fallen had not a strong arm reached out to support her, and turning, wincing with pain, she had seen who her rescuer was.
But, she acknowledged to herself, there was an underlying reason why she’d been such an easy conquest. She had loved Howard deeply and they’d had an undeniably happy marriage, but the physical side had never been satisfactory for her, though she hoped he hadn’t noticed. She’d certainly never known that wild passionate desire she’d read about, and often wondered what all the fuss was about. Until that first physical contact with Justin, when her body, previously dormant, responded with an urgency that left her breathless and at the same time painfully guilty that she’d not experienced it with her husband.
It was perhaps as well that at that point in her musing the phone interrupted her, and she hurried to answer it with a feeling of relief.
As Jess was preparing her breakfast the following morning she heard Maggie’s mobile ring and smiled to herself. Maggie wouldn’t be best pleased; she was going in later today as she had to call on some suppliers, and was bound to resent an interruption to her lie-in. A few minutes later she joined Jess in her dressing gown.
‘Bloody nuisance!’ she grumbled. ‘Laurence had managed to get a couple of tickets for the new play at the Old Vic on Saturday. Now he’s called to say his mother’s had a fall and he’ll have to go up there at the weekend.’
‘That’s bad luck,’ Jess sympathized, buttering her toast. ‘Is she badly hurt?’
‘What? Oh, I don’t think so. He didn’t sound too worried, but his sister’s been looking after her and expects him to do his share at weekends.’
‘Fair enough, I suppose.’
Maggie poured herself some coffee and sat down opposite her. ‘He’s going to give me the tickets this evening,’ she said. Then she looked up, meeting Jess’s eyes. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come, would you?’
Jess stared at her. ‘Me?’
‘Obviously I wouldn’t expect you to pay, but it’s not much fun going to the theatre by yourself and the play’s had good reviews. I was looking forward to it.’
‘Well, I— That’s very kind of you.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘It’s to my advantage as much as yours. If you’re not doing anything on Saturday?’
‘No, no plans.’ Jess had been half-considering going home for the weekend; she was concerned about Cassie’s search for her birth mother and hoping to persuade her to abandon it, at least temporarily. It seemed a stressful and complicated procedure and, she felt, could safely be shelved for a year or two. But she’d not made any arrangements and there was always next weekend. Besides, it was some time since she’d been to the theatre.
‘OK, that’s fixed.’ Maggie stood up. ‘Right, I’ll take my coffee back to bed. I needn’t get up for another hour.’
‘Thanks!’ Jess called after her, and she raised a hand in acknowledgment as she disappeared down the passage.
NINE
The phone rang on Friday morning as Fleur was halfway upstairs with a pile of clean laundry, and she swore under her breath. Quickening her steps, she dumped it on the bed and reached for the upstairs extension.
‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Tempest? This is Dr Price.’
Her knees abruptly gave way and she sank on to the bed, toppling over the pile of clothes. ‘Good morning, Doctor.’
‘I’m pleased to tell you the result of the biopsy is that the lump is benign. No follow-up needed, but do get in touch if you’ve any further problems.’
‘Thank you,’ Fleur managed and, as the call ended, burst into tears.
Jess also received a phone call that morning, from Connor, inviting her to dinner the following evening.
‘Oh, Connor, I’m sorry! I’m going to the theatre with Maggie. Laurence has to go and see his mother so she had a spare ticket.’
‘Ah well, win some, lose some. What are you seeing?’
‘The new Ayckbourn. It’s had very good reviews.’
‘Well, enjoy it. Next week, perhaps?’
‘I’d like to. Are you coming round this evening?’
‘No, a guy at work has got engaged so we’re going out to celebrate.’
‘Thanks for the invitation, anyway.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said.
Patrick arrived at the hotel before Tasha and was shown to the room she had booked for them. One reason for his prompt arrival was that he’d left the office early in order to avoid seeing his father, who sometimes looked into his room before leaving for home. Not, admittedly, that he had done so this week. Patrick had still not decided what his attitude should be when they did meet again.
He opened his overnight bag and took out his toilet things, arranging them on one side of the shelf in the en suite. It occurred to him that he’d have time for a quick shower before Tasha joined him, and he had started to take off his shirt when his phone sounded. The ID showed his sister’s name and he stifled a sigh.
‘Hi, Amy.’
‘Hi there. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be home for the weekend – in fact, I’m on the way now – hands-free, before you ask! I’ve been worrying about Dad ever since you called, and I think we just have to talk to him.’
‘One small problem: I’m in Bristol for the weekend.’
‘Oh, sugar! Why?’
‘Tasha and I are going to the theatre tomorrow and decided to make a weekend of it.’
‘I wish you’d let me know!’
‘Why on earth should I? It never occurred to me you’d take it into your head to go home!’
‘Well, we have to do something, don’t we? We can’t let them drift into a divorce without lifting a finger!’
‘I doubt whether anything we say would make a difference.’
‘So you’re just going to sit on your bloody backside and let it happen?’ She sounded suddenly close to tears and he felt a pang of guilt.
‘Look, Ames, I’m really sorry. If I’d been home of course I’d have helped out, but as it is—’
‘“But as it is,”’ she mimicked savagely, ‘I’m on my own! Fine!’
‘Let me know how you get on.’
She rang off without replying, and Patrick was spared any further feeling of guilt by Tasha’s arrival.
That first evening was a perfect beginning to the weekend. They enjoyed an excellent meal that stretched over a couple of hours, followed it with a brandy in the bar and retired to bed to make slow and passionate love. It has to be said that parental worries didn’t trouble Patrick again for the rest of the weekend.
It was just before eleven when the coach arrived at St Catherine’s and Rose had to admit she was tired. It had been a long but most enjoyable day visiting the Eden Project, and she’d done more walking than she had in a long time. There’d been so much to see and her head was spinning from all the facts she’d learned.
The coach drew to a halt just off the main square in a street known for its profusion of bars and cafés. A group of young people were reeling about on the pavement, laughing and shouting, some of the boys waving bottles, and her lips tightened. In a doorway a couple was entwined, the boy’s hands moving systematically over his partner’s body.
She’d been about to make a comment to Henry, who was extracting his brochure from the pocket in front of them, when the headlights of a passing car lit up the couple just as the girl turned her head, and Rose saw with a shock of disbelief that it was Verity.
She must have gasped, because Henry turned towards her enquiringly, but she shook her head and, stumbling to her feet, followed the other passengers down the steps. Th
e coach screened her from the opposite side of the road and she waited impatiently for Henry to join her, still shaken. Obviously she must take some action, but that was for the next day; in the meantime she’d no intention of letting Verity catch sight of her, nor of telling Henry what she had seen.
Joining her, he tucked her arm through his and they followed a stream of fellow passengers to the multi-storey where they’d left his car.
After a leisurely start the next morning Patrick and Tasha set out to explore Bristol. Although he’d lived in the city until his late teens, Patrick had paid little attention to its historical context, a subject which fascinated Tasha, and he was now keen to fill in some gaps.
They began with a tour of the SS Great Britain, designed by the great Isambard Kingdom Brunel, once the longest passenger ship in the world and now a museum permanently moored in the harbour. Then, still in a nautical mood, they took a tour of the harbour on a packet boat before finishing their waterside visit with a drink and tapas on the quayside.
Finally, to end their sightseeing, they visited the M Shed history museum which told the story of Bristol from prehistoric times. Then, satiated with facts and figures, they returned to the hotel to relax before their early pre-theatre dinner.
Ron Barlow was laying the table and wishing, to his mortification, that the birthday lunch was over, the kids had gone home and he and Jenny were able to relax for the evening. Though she claimed to be looking forward to it, he knew she was on edge – as always prior to a visit from Gemma.
Ron sighed, straightening the table settings. He loved his daughter – of course he did – but there were times when he could happily shake her. If only he could find the root of her problem with her mother, which he was totally at a loss to understand. Why had she changed from a happy, loving little girl to, first, a stroppy teenager – which hadn’t worried him unduly, because weren’t they all? – to a prickly and at times downright hostile adult? And only towards Jenny, which was the most puzzling aspect.
A wave of protective anger swept over him; it wasn’t right that Jenny should be under this strain each time she saw her daughter – walking on eggshells, having to think before she spoke – least of all on her birthday. He sent up a silent prayer that this time would be different, that Gemma would bring a suitable gift and not just a bunch of garage-forecourt flowers, and that she’d refrain from making any cutting comments. Or, Lord help him, he just might – as Freddie would say – really lose his cool.
The Ties That Bind Page 10