The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  She gave her pale face a last, assessing look, and went downstairs to join her husband.

  TEN

  Earlier that day, Rose had phoned her daughter, and Fleur knew from the tone of her mother’s voice that something had displeased her. After a couple of general enquiries, Rose moved on to the purpose of her call.

  ‘I’m wondering, Fleur, if you have any idea where Verity was last night?’

  ‘Verity?’ Fleur, who’d swiftly run through a number of possible causes for complaint, had not remotely considered her youngest daughter.

  Rose was waiting for a reply.

  ‘I believe she was going to the cinema with some friends,’ she said after a minute.

  ‘You believe?’

  Fleur’s patience snapped. ‘Please don’t play cat and mouse, Ma. What are you trying to tell me?’

  ‘That at about eleven o’clock last night she was canoodling in a shop doorway with a boy with wandering hands.’

  Fleur held back what would have been an unsuitable retort. ‘Were they … alone?’

  ‘If you mean was anyone else about, there was a group of young hooligans shouting and waving bottles and reeling about on the pavement. Would these have been her friends?’

  Fleur bit her lip. ‘I shall of course have a word with her.’

  ‘I think it needs more than a word, Fleur. I’m only thankful that it was I, rather than any of my friends, who saw her.’

  ‘Tell me, Ma, which concerns you more: Verity’s welfare or what other people might think?’

  There was a tight silence. Then Rose said, ‘There’s obviously no point in continuing this conversation.’ And she rang off.

  Oh, damn, damn, damn! This she could have done without. On the principle of getting it over as soon as possible, Fleur ran upstairs to her daughter’s room, from which loud pop music was issuing. After a brief knock she opened the door, to see Verity lying back on her bed, her face screened by a magazine.

  Locating the source of the music, Fleur went in and turned it off. Verity sat up with an exclamation of annoyance.

  ‘I was listening to that!’ she complained.

  ‘And now you can listen to me,’ Fleur said crisply. ‘Where were you last night?’

  An apprehensive flicker crossed her daughter’s face, but she answered sullenly, ‘I told you. A group of us went to the cinema.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  The girl’s eyes fell. ‘We came home.’

  ‘Not immediately, I think.’

  Deciding attack was the best form of defence, Verity demanded heatedly, ‘Do I have to account for every minute now?’

  ‘Please answer my question, Verity.’

  ‘Well, if you must know, some of us went to the all-night café in Belvedere Street. OK?’

  Tired of fencing with her, Fleur said succinctly, ‘Your grandmother saw you being fondled by some boy in a doorway.’

  Verity’s face flamed. ‘The interfering old bat!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Verity!’

  ‘Was she on that coach of oldies that pulled in? I bet she couldn’t wait to tell you!’

  ‘Who was he?’ Fleur demanded, holding on to her temper.

  ‘Who?’ Verity held her gaze for a moment, then her eyes dropped. ‘Matt,’ she muttered, barely audibly.

  At least it was someone Fleur had met. ‘Was Lizzie with you?’

  ‘Not at that particular moment, obviously.’

  ‘Don’t be impudent, Verity. Do you realize how embarrassing it was for me to have to hear about this from Granny?’

  Verity shrugged, her eyes on the bed. ‘We were only kissing,’ she muttered.

  ‘He was apparently very free with his hands.’

  ‘We weren’t doing any harm. Granny should mind her own business for once!’

  ‘That’s enough. I’d been prepared to let it go this time, but since you persist in being rude, you’re grounded for a week.’

  She turned to go as Verity cried out, ‘Mum! You can’t do that! It’s Simon’s party tonight!’

  ‘Then you’ll miss it,’ Fleur replied.

  ‘OK, I’m sorry!’

  ‘Too late.’

  ‘Mum!’

  Fleur closed the door on the howl of protest and returned downstairs.

  Freddie was opening the door of his flat when Gemma phoned.

  ‘Did you see them after I left?’ she demanded without preamble.

  Freddie sighed, pushing the door closed behind him. ‘No; as I told you, I cleared the table and left just minutes after you.’

  Across the room, Lucy frowned enquiringly and he lifted his shoulders in response.

  ‘But what did she mean?’ Gemma continued, her voice rising. ‘What could she have meant, for God’s sake? Did she have an affair with Owen Tempest?’

  Freddie dropped his car keys on the table and sank down on the sofa. ‘God knows,’ he answered flatly. ‘I’ve been going over it in my head on the way home. It just doesn’t … compute.’

  ‘And where does Dad fit into all this? Is he Cassie’s father? If so, what the hell has she to do with the Tempests? And if not, how much did he know at the time? And Fleur, for that matter? Did she go along with Cassie’s adoption not knowing she was actually Mum’s?’

  Freddie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sofa. ‘Again, your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘I think we should go straight back and demand an explanation. They owe us one!’

  ‘Calm down, Gem. As things stand they’d just throw us out again.’

  ‘Throw me out, you mean.’ She paused. ‘But I was right, wasn’t I? She does prefer that family to us, and now we know why.’

  Owen had been in school for a senior staff meeting so it was late afternoon before Fleur was able to tell him about Verity.

  ‘She’s not come out of her room since,’ she ended. ‘No doubt venting her spleen on her mobile!’

  ‘On the whole I’m inclined to agree with her,’ Owen commented. ‘Surely kissing in doorways is par for the course in your teens?’

  Fleur flushed angrily. ‘You don’t think I was right in grounding her?’

  ‘I think it was a bit harsh.’

  ‘She compounded it by being very rude about Ma,’ she defended herself.

  He grinned. ‘Well, your dear mamma does like to put her oar in, doesn’t she?’

  Fleur would have retorted but they were interrupted by the ringing of the house phone and he lifted it. ‘Owen Tempest,’ he said.

  ‘Owen.’ The voice was hesitant. ‘It’s Ron. Ron Barlow.’

  He raised an eyebrow at Fleur and switched the phone to speaker. ‘Hello, Ron. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Well, this is a little awkward.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We … we had a family lunch today, for Jenny’s birthday.’ Oh God, Owen thought, were they supposed to have sent a card? ‘And … I’m afraid things got rather heated.’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted again.

  ‘Things were … said.’

  Owen frowned, meeting Fleur’s suddenly worried eyes. ‘What things, exactly?’

  ‘I’m afraid it came out that Jen is Cassie’s mother,’ Ron said in a rush.

  ‘Surrogate mother.’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a silence. Fleur felt for the chair behind her and slowly lowered herself on to it.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Owen. We both are. We know Fleur didn’t want it made public. We just … thought you should know.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me.’

  ‘Yes. Well, if there’s anything we can do?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ You’ve already done enough, Owen added silently.

  ‘Goodbye, then.’

  ‘Goodbye, Ron.’ He made himself add, ‘Thanks again for telling us.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ron said miserably, and rang off.

  Slowly Owen replaced the phone and met his wife’s wide eyes. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked.

  Maggie had s
uggested that they have a pre-show supper at the theatre, to save the hassle of cooking at home. It was clear a lot of people had the same idea, and Jess was glad they had a table booked.

  ‘It’s very good of you to invite me this evening,’ she said, when they’d selected their dishes. ‘Especially when there are other people you could have asked!’

  Maggie smiled. ‘Not all of them are theatre-goers, and I thought it might appeal to you.’

  ‘Oh, it does! How did you all meet? I’ve never liked to ask!’

  ‘Ah, a long story! I’d been living abroad, and when I first came back to the UK I felt a bit lost so I decided the best way to meet someone was to share a flat. Which is how I met Jill, your predecessor, though from the company angle she wasn’t a good choice; she was already engaged and out nearly every evening.

  ‘I’d taken a temporary job in an office while I decided what to do with myself, and not wanting to go home to an empty flat, I formed the bad habit of stopping for a drink at a hotel bar. I’d worked in a hotel and felt at home there, with people about me. That’s how I met Di. She was also lonely, having just divorced. She said the daytime was OK when she was at work, but she hated being alone in the evenings. So I suggested she come to supper. That was the start of it.’

  The waitress arrived to take their order, and as she moved away Jess asked, ‘And she knew the others?’

  ‘Only Dominic – he worked in the same bank. He’d also divorced recently and in her opinion was drinking too much. She asked if she could bring him along one evening. It was he who coined the phrase “Maggie’s Lonely Hearts Club”. I suppose it has a ring of truth.’

  And, Jess knew, Dominic in turn introduced Connor.

  Maggie took a sip of wine. ‘Actually, it was through Di I got the garden centre. It belonged to a friend of hers who was retiring, and as soon as I heard about it I realized it would suit me perfectly – something quite different, a fresh start. I’d worked in interior design and enjoyed the creative aspect; this was my chance to put it to good use. Even better, I didn’t need any formal qualifications, though I took an evening course at the Royal Horticultural Society so I’d at least know what I was talking about! And once I was more sure of myself, I started the design side of it.’

  ‘And made a great success of it!’ Jess commented. ‘What about Sarah and Laurence?’

  ‘I can’t remember now who first brought Sarah.’

  ‘And Laurence?’ Jess persisted.

  ‘No, he didn’t come recommended!’

  Jess wasn’t surprised, but could hardly press the point. Instead she said, ‘And you don’t mind them dropping in all the time?’

  Maggie laughed. ‘Is our pace of life too fast for you? Sorry about that, but instead of one or other of them phoning to ask if they could come round, it seemed easier to make it open house. As you know, they always turn up with some contribution. When it’s not convenient I send a group email. Admittedly it gets a bit hectic at times but I’ve become addicted to it. And at least it keeps them off the streets!’

  Their meal arrived, and as they settled down to it, Jess reflected that this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with Maggie, and felt she knew her a little better.

  Patrick saw Jess the minute they entered the foyer and, to Tasha’s surprise, went straight over to tap her on the shoulder.

  ‘Greetings, cuz!’ he said.

  Jess spun round. ‘Patrick! What are you doing here?’

  ‘The same as you, I imagine.’ He turned to Tasha, who’d joined them. ‘Tash, this is my cousin, Jess. Jess, meet Natasha.’

  Jess smiled at her. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you!’ she said. ‘This is Maggie, my flatmate,’ she added, turning to her companion. ‘Cousin Patrick, Mags, as you’ll have gathered – and Natasha.’

  Patrick bought them drinks and they moved to the side of the room. ‘Have you come up just for the play?’ Jess asked Patrick.

  ‘We’d arranged to meet anyway but Tasha’s been in Gloucestershire most of the week. She’d been hoping to see the play so she decided to stop off on the way home. I came up to join her and we’re making a weekend of it.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘We’ve spent the day exploring Bristol, and I’m shattered!’

  Tasha, who’d been glancing at Maggie from time to time, suddenly said, ‘I keep thinking I know you! Have we met before?’

  Maggie looked surprised. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Sorry; you must remind me of someone, but I’m not sure who!’

  ‘You probably saw her on TV,’ Jess put in. ‘She was interviewed after winning a gardening prize.’

  ‘Oh, well done you! What was it for?’

  ‘Designing a small garden,’ Maggie replied. ‘I combine bespoke design with running the centre, so I thought it worth having a go. Good for publicity, if nothing else – and it’s certainly paying off! I’ve been invited to be a guest on Gardeners’ Question Time, and there’s even talk of a guest appearance on TV’s Garden Rescue.’

  They murmured their congratulations, then Tasha turned to Jess. ‘And to change the subject, I’ve been wanting to ask where you got that fantastic tan?’

  ‘She’s just back from a holiday in Italy,’ Patrick said.

  They talked for a few minutes about various holidays abroad until the bell sounded for the start of the performance, when they split up to go their separate ways.

  ‘Talk about all your successes made me feel guilty,’ Jess admitted, as she and Maggie took their seats. ‘I’ve never been to your garden centre – I don’t even know where it is!’

  ‘Well, since you haven’t a garden I don’t suppose it’s of much interest,’ Maggie replied. ‘Don’t worry, my business life is quite separate from my private one. Laurence is the only one who’s been there.’

  And, conscience assuaged, Jess settled back as the lights dimmed and prepared to enjoy the play.

  Owen had fallen asleep long since but Fleur’s mind was in turmoil and she was unable to settle. Eventually, afraid of waking him with her restlessness, she slid out of bed, shrugged into a dressing gown and slippers and crept downstairs in the dark, holding on to the banisters for safety. In the hall a measure of light seeped through the fanlight over the front door, illuminating her way to the kitchen.

  As she entered the room something soft brushed against her and she gave a low cry before realizing that of course it was Minty, surprised at the unexpected invasion of his domain. She pushed the door shut and switched on the light as he weaved himself ecstatically round her legs, nearly tripping her and purring loudly.

  ‘Hush, Minty – basket!’ she ordered automatically as she filled the kettle, knowing full well he’d take no notice until she tipped some biscuits into his bowl. Who was it who’d said dogs had masters and cats had staff?

  Having poured herself a mug of tea and administered the required biscuits, Fleur seated herself at the table. The room looked alien at this time of night, as though resentful of her intrusion. A hub of family life during daylight hours, it was eerily quiet, only the ticking of the clock and an occasional hum from the fridge breaking the silence, with unrelieved blackness beyond the windows. But this apartness was what she needed while she forced herself to recall painful memories. What crisis, she wondered, could have forced Jenny to break the promise Fleur had wrung out of her nineteen long years ago?

  The trouble had always been that those involved had expected her to be grateful, while all she was conscious of was a deep and burning resentment. Why, when for years she had longed – ached – to have Owen’s baby, had this woman whom they barely knew been able to give him one? Jealousy also played its part, tormenting her with an imagined deep and lasting bond between her husband and Jenny, Cassie’s natural parents, while she, Fleur, had had no part to play.

  She’d hidden these feelings during the pregnancy, counting the months till the time they could wave Jenny goodbye and pretend that none of it had happened, that the baby, like its elder sister, had simply been adopted. But
as time for the birth drew closer, resentment turned to fear as it became clear Jenny was growing deeply attached to the child she was carrying. They’d been warned from the start that a surrogate mother could legally change her mind and keep the child, and for terrifying weeks they’d not even known if she’d go through with the arrangement.

  Nor did the nightmare end when Cassie was born. The law required the baby to be handed over almost at once, but Fleur hadn’t realized that Jenny and her husband Ron would be considered the legal parents until such time as they ‘fully and freely’ gave their consent for the Parental Order that would transfer legal parenthood. Even more worrying was the fact that the surrogate mother could not by law give her valid consent until the child was six weeks old.

  During those interminable weeks Jenny had haunted their house, coming round at odd times of the day and begging to be allowed to see the baby, or waiting just round the corner for Fleur to emerge with the pram. And Fleur, terrified of antagonizing her, had had to concede. She knew, from Ron’s telephone calls, that Jenny was suffering severe post-natal depression similar to that after a stillbirth, and she forced herself to be patient.

  To add to the strain, the granting of the Parental Order was repeatedly postponed because Jenny, constantly in floods of tears, refused to sign it, pleading for ‘just a little longer’, until finally Owen, increasingly concerned for Fleur, asked Ron to put his foot down and the precious Order was at last completed.

  Even then, when Fleur had thought her ordeal over, Jenny continued to stalk her at every opportunity and her patience wore thin, giving way to the deep dislike of her supposed benefactor that still existed today. Under sufferance and in line with Owen’s quiet but firm directive she had through the years invited Jenny to Cassie’s birthday parties and allowed the child to go, with Jess, to the Barlow home ‘for tea’, and to visit the pantomime or circus with their family.