The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  Laurel looked at Stephen. ‘Yes, I can. Strange, I’d never seen it before, but when you were side by side... You’ve definitely got his nose.’

  Stephen looked bemused. ‘I like him.’

  ‘I do, too,’ Eve said.

  Silence fell over the room as they waited. Would Tommy Coltman come back to see Stephen when he knew his son was alive and close to him?

  As they waited, Stephen asked Laurel more questions about his father. Did she know anything about his years as a prisoner of war in Java? What was his cottage in Orford like? What was behind the strange boxes he’d made? She answered as fully as she could, often repeating the same facts, but Stephen seemed to need to hear them again and again, as if the repetitions would coalesce, form his own memories and make his father real to him. As they talked his eyes flickered and his face became animated. ‘If only I could remember my mother, my real mother. I don’t look like her, do I?’

  Laurel smiled. ‘She was beautiful. Your father showed me her photograph when I went to his cottage. You’ve definitely got your looks from your father, from Tommy.’

  ‘I think you’re dishy, darling. I wouldn’t like you to be too handsome; I don’t want to play second fiddle in the looks stakes,’ Eve said.

  Stephen laughed, winced, clutched his chest, then laughed again.

  The door opened and Frank came in. ‘You need to give him a few minutes. He’s overcome.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ Stephen asked, his eyes wide, his face tense. ‘I know how I felt. The shock will be even greater for him.’

  Frank went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘The doctor’s with him, checking him over.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Stephen cried. ‘Please don’t let anything happen to him now. Not now. I couldn’t bear it. He deserves peace and happiness for the rest of his life.’

  Frank’s grip on his shoulder tightened. ‘He may look frail, but he’s tough. He handled the boat last night like a young man. Well, perhaps there were a few groans from the joints, but that was all.’

  Stephen’s agitation didn’t lessen. ‘I should go to him. Eve, wheel me, please.’

  She shook her head. ‘Give him time, Stephen. Let him compose himself. I’m sure if there are any problems the doctor will let us know.’

  ‘I can go and see him and come back with an update, if you’d like me to do that?’ Frank said.

  ‘Please,’ Stephen said, nodding vigorously.

  ‘Do you want me to give him a message, if I think he’s ready for it?’ Frank asked.

  Stephen was silent for several seconds. ‘Yes. Tell him I want to meet him. Not as Stephen Salter but as John Coltman, his son. Tell him this is a new beginning for both of us.’

  Laurel bit her lip, trying not to let her emotions rise to the surface. This was their hour; she shouldn’t force her feelings on them, but looking at Eve, tears trickling down her cheeks, Frank’s pale face and Stephen’s expression, a mixture of uncertainty and concern, it was impossible to keep the tears at bay.

  Frank looked at her. ‘Laurel, could you go to him? I think your skills are needed.’

  She looked at Stephen. He smiled at her. ‘Would you?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I’m honoured.’ She repeated the message he wanted Tommy to hear. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. Bring him back, if you can.’

  Sniffing, she searched her pocket for a handkerchief. Frank passed her one, a wry grin on his face.

  ‘He’s two doors down, to the left,’ he said, giving her arm a squeeze as she brushed past him. ‘Good luck.’

  Laurel knocked on the door.

  A nurse opened it and stepped out into the corridor. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve come with a message for Mr Coltman from his son. Is he well enough to see me?’

  The nurse frowned at her. ‘It depends what the message is.’ She sniffed. ‘What that poor man’s been through!

  Well?’

  What a dragon! ‘It’s a good message. His son is very concerned. He asked me to see how he is and to tell him he wants to meet him. It’s been a great shock for him as well.’

  ‘I’ll ask the doctor. What’s your name? Does Mr Coltman know you?’

  ‘It’s Laurel Bowman. Yes, he knows me.’

  ‘Wait there.’

  Laurel thought it was just as well it was her, and not Frank, who was dealing with Nurse Dragon.

  It seemed an age before the door opened again. This time it was the doctor. ‘Come in, Miss Bowman. Mr Coltman is well, he didn’t need anything stronger than a cup of sweet tea.’

  He ushered her in. Tommy was sitting by the side of a bed, looking bemused, tearful, but his face was full of smiles. ‘Laurel, you know? You know John’s alive? It seems impossible. I’ve seen him so many times, spoken to him, thought what a good young man he was, so different to his father. How could I not sense he was mine? Shouldn’t I have instinctively known?’ The words tumbled from his mouth, raw emotion ripping through the air.

  ‘Tommy!’ She went to him and gave him a hug. ‘He’s waiting for you. He’s concerned about how you’re coping with the news, he’s worried you might be ill.’

  ‘He is?’ Tommy’s voice was joyful and he clasped her hand, his own quivering with uncontrollable euphoria.

  ‘He wanted to come and see you himself, but Eve, his wife -and your daughter-in-law -said you needed time to assimilate the wonderful news.’

  ‘Eve. I met her. My daughter-in-law. She was kind, thanked me for helping on The Ness. How does she feel about all this?’

  ‘They both knew when you saw them a short time ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t they tell me then?’

  ‘They wanted you to hear the truth from Salter’s mouth.’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, I can understand. It makes it real.’

  ‘Ste-John, asked me to give you this message.’ She told him.

  ‘A new beginning,’ he repeated. ‘I mustn’t expect too much, I realise that. Will he want an old failure of a man for his father? I know now I’ve wasted what talents I had. If only I’d known -but how could I have done? I’ve spent all those years grieving for my wife and child and searching the fields and river banks for his dead body so he could rest with his mother. Now I wish I’d resumed my career, then he could be proud of me. I’d possibly be a successful architect instead of a nobody.’ As he spoke the joy in his face faded.

  This wouldn’t do. ‘Tommy, this isn’t like you. And this isn’t the time for self-pity, this is a time to support your son. He needs you. He’s had a dreadful time being tortured by Hinney, thinking he was about to die, then discovering Salter wasn’t his father but was the man who murdered his mother. I think you should meet John now, otherwise he might think you don’t want to see him. He’ll be worried too, wondering if his association with Salter has put you against him.’

  Tommy looked horrified. ‘No! He couldn’t possibly think that.’ He looked at her for a few seconds and smiled. ‘Ah! I see what you’re doing. You’re manipulating me.’ ‘Someone’s got to,’ she said. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ He got up and brushed away imaginary creases in his trousers. ‘Do I look OK?’

  Laurel stood back and frowned. ‘Your hair could do with a comb.’

  ‘Allow me,’ the doctor said, taking a small comb from a top pocket and brandishing it at Tommy, who looked in a mirror and tugged at his greying hair.

  The nurse stepped forward and brushed down his jacket with her hand. ‘May I?’ she asked, straightening his tie.

  Laurel laughed. ‘You’re like parents sending off your child to his first day at school.’

  Tommy’s back was straight, his face determined. ‘I’m ready.’

  Frank silently told himself to get a grip. The tension in the room as they waited to see if Tommy would come to meet Stephen was growing exponentially. Stephen -he must start to think of him as John -was twitching in his wheelchair, unable to sit still and Eve had retreated into herself, her eyes downcast, her hands
clasped tightly together in her lap. He wanted to say something to alleviate the atmosphere but couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t banal or bleeding obvious.

  ‘I think I’m beginning to believe it,’ John said. ‘Now I can understand many of the things that puzzled me, both as a child and an adult.’

  Frank’s shoulders dropped with relief; they’d probably been up to his ears. ‘Really? Can you tell us one of them?’

  John looked at Eve.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure they’re memories you don’t want to talk about yet, especially with someone who isn’t a member of your family,’ he said.

  John shook his head several times. ‘No, no. It isn’t that, it’s just at the moment they’re wisps of half-forgotten happenings; perhaps I’m trying too hard to find a meaning to everything.’

  Eve stared at her husband. ‘I know you told me how you never felt close to your mother, even though you were young when she died, and you felt guilty about it. Does it make more sense now? She might have guessed, or even known, she and Sam where keeping someone else’s child, a child they had no right to. Is this something you want to find out, before...’

  John’s face was sombre. ‘I don’t want to see him again. I realise there are some things I’ll never know, and I’m sure I’ll be haunted forever by the thought of those lost years, but I can’t say I had an unhappy childhood or that my fath-Sam, didn’t give me everything I wanted or needed. He was determined I’d follow him into the holiday camp business: the business degree in the States, giving me responsibility at an early age and freedom to design the camp at Sudbourne. I’m beginning to imagine what it would have been like to have a different kind of childhood, a different education, different parents.’

  Eve put a hand to her throat. ‘Darling, have you realised? We might not have met? That’s awful. Or perhaps you’re also imagining a different wife?’ She laughed, but Frank wondered if the thought hurt.

  John reached for her hand. ‘Never.’

  There was a tap on the door. John straightened, his hands gripping the arms of the wheelchair.

  Laurel came in. ‘Here’s Tommy, here’s your dad, John.’ She stepped into the room and held back the door.

  Tommy Coltman stood at the entrance. The shambling recluse was no more. He was standing straight, his broad shoulders back, no longer hunched. You could see the man he had once been: tall, strong, with an ascetic face, his short curly hair still thick and vigorous. He was having difficulty in keeping his emotions under control, his mouth moving, eyes blinking back tears. He stood there waiting for a sign, as if unsure what he should do.

  John was looking at him, as though he too was searching for a sign. A smile slowly formed on his lips and rose to his eyes. ‘Dad?’ he asked, holding his arms wide.

  Tommy’s lips trembled, he blinked and holding wide his own arms went to his son, knelt down before him. ‘John?’ he asked as he enfolded him. Great sobs came from both of them as they speechlessly hugged each other.

  Frank moved to the door and Laurel joined him. He grasped her hand and put an arm round her shoulder. She was crying and so was he.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ whispered Eve, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘They need time to themselves.’

  At the door Frank looked back at them. Tommy was staring at John. ‘You have her eyes, your mother’s eyes, and the shape of your face is hers. My boy, I looked for you for so many years, for your poor dead body, so I could reunite you with your mother.’ He shook his head, overcome once more.

  John pulled him to him and cradled his head on his chest, wincing and smiling in turns. ‘Is my mother buried in Orford churchyard?’

  Tommy looked up and nodded.

  ‘The first thing we’ll do together will be to go there, then she’ll know I’m safe and you are at peace.’

  Frank closed the door.

  Chapter 31

  Sunday, July 25, 1971

  Stuart pushed back his chair, exuded a satisfied sigh and reached out for Mabel’s hand. ‘Nothing like a blackcurrant tart,’ he said. ‘Almost my favourite, but not quite.’

  ‘That’s the last of the blackcurrants.’

  Stuart pushed out his bottom lip.

  Mabel laughed. ‘Won’t be long before the apples are ripe, though I don’t think the earlies make good pies.’

  They were eating Sunday lunch in the kitchen of Greyfriars House, the only occupants at the moment.

  ‘Like some cheese and biscuits?’ Mabel asked.

  Stuart rolled his tongue round his mouth, savouring the sweet, sour taste of the fruit and the contrasting bits of crisp pastry. ‘For once, I’ll say no thank you, love. I’m enjoying the after-taste.’

  Mabel dimpled. ‘Thank you, Stuart; makes it all worthwhile.’

  ‘It’s been nice having the place to ourselves for a bit, but I’m looking forward to everyone coming back. They all needed a holiday after that case.’

  Mabel got up and started to clear the table. ‘I was worried when I saw them; it took a lot out of them, especially Laurel, she looked drained.’

  ‘Leave the dishes, I’ll wash up.’

  ‘Thanks, dear.’

  ‘Mind if I have a smoke first?’

  She stacked the plates and cutlery next to the sink. ‘No. I think I’ll have a cup of tea. Like one?’

  He nodded as he packed his pipe.

  She sat down again. ‘Do you think she’ll marry that Oliver?’

  He held the match to the bowl of the pipe and sucked vigorously until a satisfactory glow established itself. He shook his head. ‘I thought she was going off him, but this case has... I’m not sure how it’s affected her. She wasn’t like this when Nicholson tried to kill her, or that other bugger, what’s his name? It’s not like her, she’s usually so positive.’

  ‘You could see Frank was unhappy about it, though he wished her well when she said she was thinking about accepting.’ Mabel pulled a face. ‘She can’t really be in love, or she wouldn’t need to think about it, would she?’

  Stuart gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Pot calling kettle?’

  Mabel blushed. ‘Fancy bringing that up! I loved you, still do, but I couldn’t. I’m not going to talk about it.’

  Stuart got up and encircled her with his arms. ‘We manage OK now, don’t we?’

  Mabel kissed his cheek.

  He ostentatiously looked at his wrist watch. ‘Dorothy won’t be back until tea-time, we’ve got time for a quickie.’

  Mabel grabbed the dishcloth and flicked his face. ‘Stuart Elderkin! It’s the Lord’s Day and I’ve got to get supper ready; Laurel’ll be back this evening as well. Can’t not give them a welcoming meal.’

  Stuart released her. ‘Temptress. What are we having for supper?’

  She shook her head and poked his waist-line. ‘I’m putting you on a diet.’

  He sighed and sat down. ‘Do you still want to move in here? If we let the bungalow it’ll bring in a bit more money.’

  She joined him at the table. ‘I’m not sure. Supposing Laurel does get married? I don’t think Oliver would want her to take on too many cases like the last one. Then there might be babies. Supposing she left the agency, would Frank want to carry on?’

  ‘You think it could be the end of The Anglian Detective Agency? I’d be really upset if that happened.’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think Frank would drop it straight away, but if he didn’t have Laurel...’

  Stuart tilted back his head and blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling.

  ‘Let’s go into the garden; I shouldn’t have let you smoke in here.’

  The afternoon was sultry, with a little breeze. Lazy bumble bees explored clumps of phlox and landed on the lower lips of snapdragons, burrowing into the flower for nectar.

  Mabel pointed to one. ‘He reminds me of you. Heavy enough to force his way in for a square meal.’

  He waggled a finger at her. ‘He’s a she. All the workers are. The males ha
ve more sense, they’re flying round, looking for sex. Bet they don’t worry if it’s the Lord’s Day.’

  Mabel laughed and then flopped onto a bench near the bird bath. ‘I think we ought to wait before we ask Dorothy if we can move here. Supposing we let the bungalow and then the agency fell apart. We couldn’t stay here, could

  we?’

  Stuart sat beside her, sighed and took the last puffs of his pipe. ‘Yes, we’d better wait, see which way the land lies. I don’t know about you, but the last year’s been one of the best of my life. I don’t want all this to end, not yet. I know we’d have each other, and that’s been the best bit, but I do enjoy working with Frank, Laurel and Dorothy. I really missed not being more closely involved with the last case.’

  ‘I’d miss Laurel. I bet her parents will be glad if she gets married and leaves the agency. I expect they’ve been twisting her arm while she’s been with them.’

  ‘Pity she didn’t go for a proper holiday with one of her friends from that school she taught at in Ipswich,’ Stuart said, tapping out the contents of his pipe into a flower border.

  Mabel frowned at him.

  ‘Good for the plants, the nicotine will kill the greenfly.’ ‘It’ll kill you as well!’

  He shrugged. ‘It would have been even better if Laurel had gone on holiday with Frank. Then something really exciting might have happened.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You can tell Frank doesn’t think of Laurel in that way. They’re good friends and they work well together. Mind you, I’m not so sure of Laurel’s feelings about Frank...’

  ‘Then why is she thinking of marrying Oliver?’

  ‘She’s over thirty, Stuart. Mother Nature may be reminding her she’d better get a move on if she wants a family.’

  Stuart groaned. ‘I bet Frank comes back from Liverpool in a foul mood: tired of his mother bossing him about and his father going on about the trade unions. Let’s hope Dorothy hasn’t fallen for someone and wants to stay in Bournemouth.’

  Mabel rocked with laughter. ‘Dorothy in love! She’s been faithful to her dead airman all these years, I don’t think she’s going off the rails at her age.’