The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘No,’ Fleur acknowledged quietly, ‘she wasn’t. But you know Gran. For all her forward thinking, she can sometimes be very old fashioned.’

  ‘Did she come round?’ Cassie wasn’t meeting her eyes.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, of course she did! One look at you and she adored you as much as the rest of us did!’

  ‘But it’s obvious she doesn’t like Auntie Jen either!’ Cassie said with a shaky smile.

  The kitchen timer sounded behind them and Fleur stood up. ‘That’s to remind me to put the potatoes on.’

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘You could lay the table, if you would. Cheese, not dessert, this evening.’

  Cassie pushed back her chair. ‘OK.’

  The painful conversation had reached a natural end, and both of them were thankful.

  When they were alone later that night, Fleur related it to Owen.

  ‘Poor little thing!’ she ended. ‘She was besieged on all fronts!’

  ‘Were you serious about going to see Jenny, if circumstances allow?’

  ‘Lord knows we’re pressed for time, but we could ask Lynn to sound out Ron, and if he okays it and she’s conscious, it’s the very least I can do.’

  Owen just squeezed her hand. He would never forgive Rose Linscott for the way she’d behaved over the surrogacy. In fact, he laid the blame for Fleur’s problems squarely on her shoulders. Though she’d deny it, Fleur had always been influenced to some extent by her mother and her initial reluctance towards the surrogacy had been magnified a hundredfold by Rose’s reaction to it.

  ‘It’s like a prize bull having his seed implanted!’ she had declared. Words which still burned in Owen’s memory.

  ‘Darling?’

  ‘Um?’

  ‘You don’t think we ought to cancel the holiday, do you?’

  ‘No, I do not,’ Owen said firmly. ‘Nor, I’m sure, would either Ron or Jenny want us to. With a bit of luck she’ll have turned the corner by the end of the week and we can leave with a clear conscience. Then, if Cassie wants to, you can go and see her when we get back. And if she’s no better, our being here or not being here will make no difference to her.’

  And with that philosophical endorsement in her ears, Fleur thankfully slid into sleep.

  FOURTEEN

  It was the day of Rose’s monthly lunch at the Rosemount and she was looking forward to it. It always took place on a Wednesday, a tacit distancing from Saturday’s regular coffee morning, and the midweek slot fitted in well with her other engagements. Furthermore she enjoyed the fifteen-minute walk to the hotel, though she allowed Henry to run her home afterwards.

  St Catherine’s was a pleasant town to walk through; its streets were wide and tree-lined, offering shade in this hot summer, and the gardens she passed were colourful and well kept. Though admittedly a holiday destination, it had never succumbed to the tawdrier trappings associated with the seaside, offering instead prettily landscaped gardens along the promenade and good quality souvenir shops.

  As she neared the beach she met the ever-present breeze head-on, welcoming its familiar salty smell. The hotel was one street in from the promenade and therefore protected in some measure from winter storms, though the sea could be glimpsed from its upper windows between the buildings opposite. Henry had found a good home for himself, she reflected, as had she and Malcolm before him. She had much to be thankful for.

  Tables had been set out in the garden under large umbrellas, but most of the residents, while enjoying their pre-prandial drinks outside, had elected to have their meal in the cool of the dining room, a decision with which Rose and Henry concurred.

  After enjoying Pimm’s under their umbrella, they therefore retreated indoors and were shown to Henry’s usual corner table. Rose had a moment’s disquiet at the force of the air conditioning, but once she was seated she was no longer in its direct path and settled back comfortably to look at the menu, selecting cold watercress soup with a swirl of cream, followed by chicken galantine with Caesar salad, and a raspberry sorbet.

  Having placed her order, she let her eyes wander over the now-familiar diners, each at his or her usual table. Henry was regaling her with an account of a game of bowls that he’d won the previous day, and she made appropriate noises at what she trusted were appropriate intervals, while allowing her thoughts to wander.

  She had hoped to be invited to Sunday’s lunch at Sandstone, the last before the family departed on their four-week holiday, but no invitation had been forthcoming and the weekend had passed. She’d therefore phoned Fleur the next day to wish them a pleasant trip, and learned of the drama that had befallen the Barlow woman. It was of course very unfortunate and Rose wished her well, though she felt Fleur had been inordinately upset, on the verge of tears as she recounted what had happened. Rose suspected there was more behind the story but, not wanting to add to her daughter’s distress, had forborne from enquiring further. Nonetheless, falling under a bus in Bromley High Street struck her as a highly unlikely scenario.

  ‘Pity they don’t give cups!’ Henry finished with a smile, and she struggled to understand what he was referring to. ‘It would have looked good on my mantelpiece!’

  After lunch they returned outside and, since the terrace was now in the shade, settled there for their coffee. As expected, two of the ladies soon approached, asking if they might join them, and Henry gallantly brought over extra chairs from an adjacent table.

  ‘I hope the family are well, Mrs Linscott?’ Miss Culpepper enquired.

  Remembering that she’d seen Fleur at the surgery, Rose hastened to dispel any dire suspicions. ‘Yes, indeed, thank you,’ she replied. ‘In fact, they’re about to go on holiday – to South America, if you please! Very adventurous!’

  ‘Not like it was in our day!’ nodded Mrs Hill. ‘When I was young, it was a big adventure to go on a package holiday to Spain!’

  Rose, who had never been on a package holiday in her life, smiled in reply. There was a pause while a waiter brought their coffee, setting out cups, saucers, milk and a silver coffee pot along with a small plate of petits fours.

  As he moved away, Mrs Hill added, ‘Daphne and her family went to Australia last year. As well as the usual places like Sydney and Melbourne, they visited Alice Springs and Ayers Rock, or whatever they call it nowadays. They had a wonderful time!’

  ‘Talking of Australia,’ Miss Culpepper remarked, stirring her coffee, ‘they still don’t seem to have discovered who killed that man on the beach, nor, for that matter, where he was killed. It’s not very pleasant to think a murderer might be walking around!’

  ‘My dear Miss Culpepper,’ Henry said bracingly, ‘whoever he is, he’ll be miles away by now! He’s not going to sit around waiting to be caught, now is he?’

  Miss Culpepper gave a delicate shudder. ‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘I do hope you’re right, Mr Parsons.’

  ‘They say he was involved in some scandal back in Australia,’ Mrs Hill said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it caught up with him!’

  ‘Then why was he killed here, in our country?’ Miss Culpepper sounded quite aggrieved.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Rose said comfortably. ‘After all, he’s no threat to anyone we know.’ And she reached for another petit four.

  Hilary let herself into the house and was met by a blast of hot air. Dropping her bag on the hall table, she hurriedly went round opening all available windows and pulling curtains across those through which the sun still streamed.

  She’d been at her regular Wednesday bridge four, something she usually enjoyed, but it had failed to lift the vague feeling of depression that had been with her all day, added to which Sybil’s sun-filled sitting room had brought on the headache that was still troubling her.

  Standing at the kitchen sink, she swallowed a couple of paracetamols with a glass of deliciously cold water and faced her malaise head-on. Mainly, of course, it was due to the fact that today was Clive’s birthday, which led to her missing him mor
e than ever. Since it was a working day, they’d arranged that he would Skype during his lunch hour, eight p.m. for her – two hours from now. She must certainly put on a brighter face by then.

  But she acknowledged that there was another cause for her depression, and that was guilt over her continuing affair with Justin. She’d not heard from him for over a week, and while telling herself that this was a relief, she was missing him acutely. Why oh why couldn’t she be strong-willed enough to finish with him completely? It wasn’t as if she’d not tried – several times, in fact, since that ill-fated lunch in Exeter – but he’d always managed to talk her round and her persistent longing for him continued to undermine her.

  Sighing, she turned from the sink. After Sybil’s Dundee cake she wasn’t hungry, but eating something might help her headache. An omelette, then, and afterwards she’d lie down for half an hour, hoping to feel better by the time she faced her son across the miles.

  ‘You’re looking a bit peaky, Mum,’ Clive remarked after the requisite birthday greetings. ‘Sure you’re OK?’

  So much for her relaxation! ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, darling.’

  ‘In need of a holiday, perhaps?’

  She smiled noncommittally but he was going on, ‘Which actually brings me to something I wanted to run by you. How about coming out here, not for two or three weeks like you did last time, but for three months or so? Make it really worthwhile?’

  She gasped. ‘Three months? Goodness, Clive, I couldn’t do that!’

  ‘Why not? Now poor old Pip’s no longer with us you’ve no pets to worry about, so there’s nothing to stop you, is there? And if you’re thinking you’d be an imposition, or something equally daft, I’ve the perfect solution!’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I told you Patty and I are moving into our own place? Well, it turns out it has an ADU attached – an accessory dwelling unit. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them, but they’re separate buildings that can be either attached to a property or built in its garden – or backyard, as they say over here – which is where ours is. They’re becoming really popular as house prices continue to rise, either to rent out for additional income or to use as a granny flat. Ours should suit you perfectly! You’d be quite independent to do your own thing, but able to see us as much or as little as you want!’

  When she didn’t immediately reply, he added persuasively, ‘You know how you loved the life here when you and Dad were over two years ago. And, incredible as it seems, you’ve never met Patty! She’s longing to see you! So what do you think?’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said slowly. ‘I suppose I’d need a visa?’

  ‘No, there’s something called an ESTA that does away with the need for one, as long as you stay for less than ninety days. It’s dead easy, you apply for it online without having to go to the US Consulate or anything; all you need is to have your passport handy.’

  Three months in the States! she was thinking. And hard on that thought, three months away from Justin! This, she thought with rising excitement, could be the answer to her problem, and, even better, she’d be near Clive, able to share his life for a while and meet his new girlfriend.

  ‘And if you really liked it,’ he added with a laugh, ‘we could make it permanent!’

  ‘Whoa!’ she protested. ‘I’m still trying to get my head round a three-month holiday!’

  ‘No pressure, just something to bear in mind. I’d certainly be much happier if you were nearer at hand.’

  ‘Now I’m getting old and decrepit?’ she challenged.

  ‘That’ll be the day! Look, Mum, I have to go; I’m due back at my desk in ten minutes. Thanks again for the voucher – I shall enjoy spending it! – and we’ll talk at the weekend as usual. But in the meantime do give serious thought to the suggestion. Love you!’ And the screen went blank.

  Hilary continued to stare at it for a few moments, then a smile spread slowly over her face.

  That evening Jess had a call from Rachel, and since several of the crowd were present she retreated to her bedroom to take it, closing the door behind her.

  ‘How are things going?’ Rachel enquired. ‘There’s been more about our friend in the press and on TV, but they don’t seem any nearer to finding whodunnit, to coin a phrase.’

  ‘Actually, they’re nearer than you might think!’ Jess said in a low voice. ‘Major developments this week!’

  ‘Really?’ Rachel’s voice quickened with interest. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing’s actually happened, but we found out something that could be crucial.’

  ‘“We?” You’ve confided in someone?’

  ‘My cousin, yes.’

  ‘Well, go on, then!’

  ‘You know I told you Maggie and I were going to the theatre? Well, Patrick and his girlfriend were also there and we chatted to them beforehand. His girlfriend’s Australian—’

  A sound reached her that she identified as the loose board outside her door and she stiffened, straining to hear anything further, but there was silence.

  ‘Yes?’ Rachel prompted impatiently.

  Jess moved over to her bed and, feeling like a spy in some third-rate film, draped the duvet over her. ‘She recognized Maggie,’ she went on from underneath it, ‘or thought she did – and later remembered she’d seen her at a dinner in Sydney.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘With Bruce Marriott!’

  ‘With who – or rather whom? I can hardly hear you!’

  ‘Sorry. I thought I heard someone outside the door – probably imagination!’ But she remained under the duvet. ‘I said she was with Bruce Marriott!’

  Rachel’s gasp came down the line. ‘No!’

  ‘And another thing, though it’s nothing like as important, is that Dad had a drink with him the day before he was killed!’

  ‘You’re joking!’ Rachel exclaimed disbelievingly.

  ‘No, really. He didn’t know him, they were just sitting next to each other at a bar, but Dad recognized him later from the artist’s impression in the paper.’

  ‘He must have had a shock!’

  ‘Not nearly such as shock as if he’d known my connection!’

  ‘So what are you going to do? You’ll have to go back to the police now!’

  ‘Yes,’ Jess said slowly, ‘I think I will.’

  Kathryn said quietly, ‘The children know something, don’t they?’

  She was washing the dishes after dinner while Justin leaned against a counter checking emails on his phone. His head jerked up, but with her back to him he couldn’t gauge her expression.

  ‘Do they?’ he countered.

  ‘Why else are they being so attentive all of a sudden? And all these comments about us being strained with each other: as far as I know we’ve not behaved any differently, certainly not in front of them. It can’t only be because you’ve moved to the guest room – we explained about that. Which leads me to assume they know something that I don’t, and that isn’t a very pleasant feeling.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re imagining things,’ he said.

  She picked up a tea towel and began to dry the glasses. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.

  Justin was distinctly rattled as he left the room; had he just been given a yellow card? Bloody kids, stirring things! But kids or not, he was now on thin ice, because if any rumours reached the office the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. It had to be faced: if he didn’t end this obsession with Hilary, both his marriage and his career might be in jeopardy. To give Hilary her due, she’d been saying as much for weeks and he’d talked her out of it. How would she react if he suddenly U-turned and said it was over – hurt, or relieved? Or both?

  At the mere thought of her a treacherous wave of heat washed over him and he put a hand to the door jamb for support. This, he told himself, biting down hard on his lip, was nothing short of addiction, and addictions had to be dealt with before they proved fatal.

  On the other hand, continuing with the analogy, going cold turkey could als
o be dangerous. Perhaps he should let her down gradually, just the odd hint to begin with? That would give them a few more weeks together. His spirits began to lift. An influx of business had kept him in the office over the last ten days but now he was impatient to be with her. Yes, he knew it was dangerous and yes, he had to be extra careful, so he’d set himself a deadline: in four weeks’ time he would end it, once and for all. In the meantime …

  In her lunch hour the next day Jess, heart hammering, phoned the police station. DS Stuart had given her a card with his direct number, so she was expecting to hear his voice when his phone was lifted. But the man who answered had a Welsh accent.

  ‘DS Stuart’s phone.’

  Jess hesitated. ‘Could I speak to him, please?’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, DS Stuart’s on annual leave.’

  Jess’s heart plummeted like the proverbial stone. ‘Oh no!’ she murmured involuntarily.

  ‘DS Morgan here. Perhaps I can help?’

  ‘No, no thank you, it has to be … When will he be back?’

  ‘He’ll be in again on Monday. Can I tell him who called?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter, thanks,’ Jess said quickly. ‘I’ll call back then.’ And she rang off.

  The sense of anti-climax was overwhelming and she was close to tears. She’d lain awake half the night rehearsing what she’d say to him and how she’d apologize for not being frank at their last meeting. The prospect of finally handing over all responsibility was incredibly comforting. Now she’d another four days before that relief would come, and she was increasingly uncomfortable with Laurence. When she’d returned to the sitting room after speaking to Rachel he’d kept glancing at her, and she was as sure as she could be that it had been his footstep that she’d heard outside her door – pausing on the way to the bathroom, no doubt.

  Even more worrying was what she’d been saying at that point – that Tasha was Australian, which might have rung dangerous bells. How long had he been standing there? Did he make the creak that betrayed him as he arrived, or as he was leaving?