by Janet Woods
‘Oh ... I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. He was hand-picked by my mother.’
‘All the more reason to come to the party then. I’ll send Tim to pick you up, if you like. It will get him out of my hair for a while.’
‘I’ve got my own car. I’ll surprise him. Would I be able to stay the night? I don’t fancy driving home late.’
‘Sure. You can have Tim’s room. He can fight the others for possession of the couches.’
There was a thud from the lounge, followed by an outraged cry. ‘I must go. Justin’s just fallen off the chair. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
* * * *
The party proved to be a huge success. Despite his remarks to the contrary, Devlin arrived, bringing with him, Sandy, Blaise, Stephen and Dion. Laughing, they spilled out the back of the van, limping and clutching various parts of their bodies, and making disparaging remarks about his driving skills.
‘If you ungrateful bastards don’t belt up, you can walk home. It’s not my fault the road’s full of potholes.’
‘Daaahling!’ Dion trilled, catching sight of her. ‘You look absolutely ravishing.’
Enveloped in a mass hug Janey managed to scramble out of it just as Wendy arrived on the doorstep.
Dressed in a short cream jersey shift, her hair was a fall of burnished copper that curved gently into her jaw line. She’d grown into a beautiful woman.
They exchanged a smile then Wendy stepped forward and hugged her. ‘I wouldn’t have recognized you. You look great.’
‘And you look absolutely stunning.’
‘She’s a dream.’ Devlin stepped forward, as smooth as butter and with his eyes alight with curiosity. ‘I’m Devlin Cox, Janey’s agent. I’m fairly well off, unattached, and you’re the woman of my dreams.’
So much for undying love, Janey thought, grinning to herself.
‘Nice line of patter, Devlin,’ came the cool answer. ‘I’m Wendy Brown.’
Devlin groaned. ‘If you tell me you’re Tim’s wife I’ll strangle him with my bare hands and turn you into a widow.’
‘I happen to be his sister.’ Wendy gave Devlin a quick once-over with her eyes then smiled as she gently batted her eyelashes at him. ‘I hadn’t released Janey knew so many interesting people. Can I buy you a drink?’
Janey laughed as the pair of them walked off without giving her a backward glance. Confidence, that’s all it took, and Wendy seemed to have plenty of it. She envied her.
She turned to open the door again, giving a big smile at the sight of Griff.
‘You came.’
‘Of course I did. What made you think I wouldn’t?’ His eyes wandered to the Griffin medallion, which she’d hung on a black velvet ribbon. ‘You still have it, then?’
‘I’ve never taken it off. It’s always been my talisman.’
Her words seem to annoy him. ‘It’s a piece of wood with a carving on it. I can’t believe I was egotistical enough to ask dad to give it to you.’
‘My hero, Griff,’ she mocked. ‘Remember?
His hand reached out to close around the medallion. For a moment she thought he was going to jerk it from her neck, but he merely applied pressure, and pulling her relentlessly towards him, kissed her.
Nothing friendly about this kiss, it was a savage reminder he wasn’t to be taken lightly. She didn’t know whether to be sorry or angry when he released her, and she felt totally confused. She only knew she’d enjoyed it, which surprised her.
Astonished, she stared at him, watching the amusement dawn in his dark eyes, the smile slowly inching across his face. ‘That’s to remind you I’m just a man.’
‘You should remind me more often,’ she said, surprised to find herself flirting with him. Some man! If he wasn’t been dear, dependable Griff, who she’d known all her life she might ...? She mentally shook herself. It was stupid allowing her thoughts to run in that direction. A relationship – any relationship, was out of the question for her now. Her life was full with her house and children, and now she’d begun to paint again she didn’t have room for a man in her life – even if she’d had the inclination.
Why are you so frigid? Drifter had asked, and she hadn’t been able to tell him. Spoiled goods! Griff deserved better than that.
Everybody arrived at once. Her father with Mary and Douglas, all of them trying to hug her at once.
John Smith appeared with a huge box of chocolates. The Wymans looked contented and not a day older than when she’d been a child. Ada, wore a self-conscious smile on her lips. Her cheeks were pink and puffed, and she resembled a Toby jug. Then there was Phil in his best suit, a potted hyacinth clutched in his work-worn hands for her kitchen windowsill. Justin’s grandfather gave her a clock with a swinging pendulum, which she hung immediately on a hook in the hall.
The salt of the earth ... all of them accepting the peculiarities of her London friends with good grace and good manners, apart from a few raised eyebrows at the antics of Stephen and Dion. Even they lost their novelty as the evening wore on.
By midnight, everyone began to drift away. Pamela tidied up the kitchen as best she could, then went to bed, taking a reluctant, and protesting Susie with her.
‘Good-night, Suse.’ Devlin called out after her. ‘We’ll cook Sunday lunch together tomorrow, and dazzle everyone with our expertise.’
They reminisced about old times, drank wine and played jazz. Wendy fitted into the crowd as though she’d always known them. She embarrassed Tim by relating his boyhood misdeeds, flirted with Devlin, teased Stephen and Dion, and encouraged Sandy and Blaise to tell tales about the theatre, which had them in fits laughter.
Stephen and Dion mentioned their dream of opening a hairdressing salon in the West End as soon as they raised the capital – a constant topic with them.
‘If you’re serious I wouldn’t mind selling my salon in Bournemouth and going shares,’ Wendy said. ‘I could do with a change of scenery.’
Tim wagged a finger at her. ‘Mum and dad would kick up a fuss.’
Wendy’s laugh had an edge to it. ‘Let them; I’m a big girl now.’
‘I wouldn’t mind throwing in a few quid,’ Devlin said casually.
Leaning against Griff’s knee, Janey felt a bit left out as they all began to discuss the viability of the business venture. London seemed unreal to her now, part of her past. There was a sense of something ending for her tonight, as if the tide had turned and was taking them all in different directions.
As if he sensed her thoughts Griff’s stroked a finger down the back of her neck. Griff would never be an integral part of the crowd. The others liked and respected him, but they’d never know the essence of him. He was a disturbing man, enigmatic even to her, who knew him best.
‘I’ll make us some coffee, shall I?’ She rose – unseen and unheard by anyone but Griff, and leaving the room she stood in the quiet hallway.
The voices faded to a buzz. The house was solid, real to her, breathing secrets into the night. The clock ticked, its tone solemn and reliable, like Robert Pitt. It was a good clock, made to last a lifetime. She loved her home, loved the secure feeling it gave her. Its walls hugged she and her children close – protecting them.
She’d been fortunate in her life, in her friends. On balance, the good outweighed the bad. She had much to be thankful for.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, remembering with fondness the old man who’d provided the roof over her head. ‘I’ll call it William’s House in your memory.’
‘He would have appreciated that.’
She hadn’t heard Griff follow her out. She turned, her eyes seeking his face in the dark. ‘I was listening to the house.’
If anyone but Griff had caught her talking to herself she might have blushed. He understood, he always understood.
‘I’ll make you a nameplate for the gate.’ He slid an arm around her waist and led her towards the kitchen. ‘Come on, I’ll help you make the coffee before I go.’
* * * *
Befor
e her guests left for London the next day, Devlin asked to see what she was working on.
He gazed at her current project with pleasure in his eyes. ‘Not bad at all. We could have a Renfrew exhibition in the summer.’
‘This is for me, Dev.’
His eyes brooded on hers. ‘I know I said I wouldn’t push you, but you need to consolidate on what you’ve already done.’
‘I will, I promise.’ The urge to paint had returned as soon as she’d put the first brushstroke on the canvas, and she smiled. She’d been foolish to imagine she could give it up. ‘What about the following spring?’
‘Now you’re talking!’ He pulled the cover from the Mistral painting, staring at it in silent contemplation. ‘I could get a good price for this.’
‘It’s not for sale.’
‘You’re brilliant at painting tombstones. Why are you keeping it?’
‘I’m not. I’m looking after it.’
He turned, a despairing look in his eyes. ‘You still think Drifter’s coming back, don’t you?’
‘No. It’s over.’ She threw the cloth back over the painting. ‘Like you said, it’s a tombstone.’
‘He told me he wrote to you.’
Just like that! Squashing the hurt she experienced, she stared at him. ‘When? Where’s the letter?’
If Devlin was capable of guilt he managed to hide it under an aggressive shrug. ‘How the hell should I know? That little crap eater, Connor, probably read it and threw it away. I should have beaten his tiny brain into pulp when I had the chance.’
There was no anger in her, just a faint curiosity to what the letter had contained. ‘You should have told me before, Dev.’
‘I know, but I thought I had a chance with you then.’ He gave an ironic smile and gently kissed her on the cheek. ‘Tell your father I enjoyed talking to him. He’s proud of you, and so am I. Be happy, Janey.’
There was a curious silence in her after he strode away, as if something vibrant and alive had abruptly ended.
* * * *
The following week a bitter wind blew in from the North, bringing with it shafts of sleety rain that froze the earth solid. The furrows in the fields resembled tiny waves white-capped with frost. Icicles quivered on the bare tree branches, a fantasy of silver flora flung from the frigid sky.
Pamela was chased inside Coombe Cottage by a gust of wind that sent papers flying from the table and smoke billowing into the room from the chimney.
‘I really must build a decent porch on this house,’ John grumbled, helping her from her coat. ‘You look frozen. Why don’t we go into the kitchen before we turn into smoked kippers. It’s warmer in there. I’ll make us some tea, then you can tell me what you wanted to see me about.’
She didn’t wait until the tea was made. ‘Just before we vacated this cottage I found a suitcase in the roof containing photographs. They were indecent. I buried it in the corner of the garden.’
‘Where the lilac should be planted?’
‘Yes. Stupid of me, wasn’t it? I was hoping you’d find them by accident.’
‘When you say indecent, do you mean the type of pictures that are found in magazines aimed at men?’
Pamela blushed. ‘I’ve never read that type of magazine.’
‘Quite so.’ John placed a cup of tea in front of her, and giving her time to recover from her embarrassment he turned and opened the pantry door. ‘Would you like a digestive biscuit to go with that?’
‘Thanks.’
Sliding some on to a plate, he set them on the table and took the chair opposite her. ‘Tell me about it. You needn’t be embarrassed.’
‘They were photographs of girls ... I recognized one of them from those newspaper cuttings.’
‘You think your husband was implicated?’
‘Well he must have been, mustn’t he?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Yes ... I know he was. He was a cruel man, that’s why I left him. And now Susie has told me he went to her bedroom and tried to ... well, you know, touch her.’
Pamela was a mother defending her young. She looked as if she were about to cry. Touched, he waited until she’d taken control of herself then placed his hand over hers. ‘This must be distressing for you.’
‘It wasn’t just Susie,’ she said flatly. ‘I think he must have abused Janey too. I know he ill-treated her, but I never thought he’d –?’ She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. ‘I think he attacked her, but she’s never said. I should have left him when he first started beating me, I suppose, but I was scared. Besides, I thought if he took his temper out on me he might leave Janey alone.’
‘You’re the only mother she’s ever known. Janey’s very fond of you.’ He fetched a handkerchief and handed it to her. ‘Have you thought of discussing this with her?’
‘How could I?’
‘Has it never occurred to you that she might be trying to protect you and Susie by keeping quiet?’
There was a sudden, terrible stillness about her. ‘No it hadn’t, but it would be so like her. She might have needed another woman to talk to. I’ve been so selfish. Perhaps I should start by telling her about Susie’s experience.’
He smiled to himself, knowing Janey would see right through her approach. But that didn’t matter if the end justified the means. If Janey signed a statement naming Edward Renfrew as her attacker, and the buried photographs were still usable, it wouldn’t necessarily bring the man to justice, but it would give him a lever to clear Jack’s name.
‘I’d say you were the most unselfish person I’ve ever met. How is your husband, by the way?’
She managed a watery smile. ‘Your questions are never as casual as they appear. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘When people are faced with their own mortality they often take stock of their lives. I know of several instances where people have cleared their slates because they thought they were going to meet their maker.’
She gave a disbelieving snort of laughter. ‘The only person he’d confess to would be the priest.’
‘Then it might be worth paying him a visit.’
‘It won’t do any good. He can’t divulge that sort of confidence.’
Gently, he suggested. ‘It’s just possible he might be able to persuade Eddie to confess. It’s worth a try.’
She stood, a determined look on her face. ‘Will you let me talk to Janey first? She might want to let things lie.’
‘Of course, but if those photographs have survived they’re evidence. I’m legally bound to hand them over to the police. They’ll probably want to interview you.’
Her face paled, but she gave a resolute nod.
‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said, feeling suddenly sad for this perfectly nice, perfectly ordinary woman, who’d only sought to do what she’d thought best for her family.
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ She fixed a woolly scarf around her head and pulled on her gloves. ‘Walking will give me time to think about things a bit.’
After she’d gone, John fetched a spade from the shed. As it hit the frozen earth a shock ran up his arm. He made several attempts before running out of breath, then leaned on his spade and swore in frustration.
From behind him came a chuckle. ‘You’ll be needing a pick before you’ll make an impression on that, I reckon. But even then you won’t get far. The earth’s set like concrete. Best wait until it thaws.’
For a man who’d always prided himself on his patience, John’s own sense of urgency surprised him.
‘How long will that take?’
Phil looked up at the sky with a knowing eye. ‘Wind should change soon. A couple of weeks should see you right for planting that lilac Mrs. Renfrew was asking me about. I’ll drop it off when it’s time.’
‘‘To everything there is a season.’’ John quoted with a frustrated sigh.
‘‘And a time for every purpose under the heaven,’’ Phil finished, grinning at John’s surprised expression. ‘The vicar taught it to me. He’s right nice at reading. I c
ould never quite get the hang of it meself. The bible has a lot in common with nature, I reckon. In the next verse it says something about, ‘a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.’
Touching his cap, Phil continued on up the lane with John staring after him.
Whistling, Phil grinned now and again, and wondered at the ignorance of city bred folk.
Chapter Eighteen
The train pulled out of the station, taking Griff with it. Janey could see his face growing smaller, his eyes glowing dark in the pale oval. She lifted her hand in a final wave and he blew her a kiss. Then he was gone, and she felt alone.
‘Dad, gone,’ Saffy wailed. Immediately, Justin’s bottom lip began to tremble in sympathy.
She took them both in a hug then fished around in her pocket. ‘Look, Griff’s left you some smarties.’ She stuffed one in each mouth then hurried them out to where she’d left her car.
‘I’ve applied for a position at the hospital in Poole,’ Griff had told her, leaving it until just before he got on the train, as if the information was somehow inconsequential. ‘If all goes well I’ll be back for good in May.’
‘I hope you get it.’
‘Do you, Janey?’ He’d sounded slightly remote, as if his mind had shifted into another sphere.
She’d hugged him then, bringing him back to her in spirit. ‘I’ll miss you, Griff. So will the kids.’
The slow curve of his smile had warmed her heart, but he hadn’t kissed her, just teased her lips with his finger. ‘I’ll miss you, too.’
She discovered tears in her eyes. It’s March tomorrow, she told herself firmly as she strapped the children into their restraints. Eight weeks to go, then with a bit of luck, he’ll be home for good.
She was halfway home when a thought came out of nowhere and punched her squarely in the midriff. Could she be in love with Griff?
‘You’ve always loved him,’ she argued out loud.
Of course you have, but this feels different.
It would be wiser to deny such a notion completely, before it took a hold. To be in love with Griff would prove to be a disaster for them both.
A horn tooted behind her, alerting her to the fact the lights had turned green. She must stop thinking about Griff. She managed it for the half hour it took her to get home, singing nursery rhymes at the top of her voice to keep the children amused.