A Family Concern

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Just as she always had been. Jan stepped in, too, and became a mother-figure for both children. That’s why there’s a close bond between them.’

  Their lunch finally arrived, and they began their meal in silence.

  Thinking over their conversation, Rona wondered guiltily if she’d asked too many questions; an occupational hazard, she knew. To remedy matters, she now changed the subject.

  ‘I’m considering a series of articles on long-established family businesses here in Marsborough. There’s Tarlton’s, of course, and the Clarendon, and Willows’ Furniture, for a start. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s a great idea! Free publicity! What more could we ask?’

  ‘I suppose you have archives or something, of how the firm began?’

  ‘Bruce has sheaves of papers locked away, though I don’t know exactly what they are. Probably just the bare bones – stock, prices, suppliers and so on, from year one – but he and Robert could fill you in on human-interest stories. They often talk about the old days and what a character their grandfather was.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I was hoping for. I’d have to clear it with my editor, but I’m pretty sure he’d give me the go-ahead. In a way, it would be doing for Marsborough what I did for Buckford, and there’s been a very good response to that. People are more and more interested in local history these days.’

  Talk moved on to other matters, and they were preparing to leave when Kate reverted to the topic that had brought them there. ‘Well, it’s been lovely seeing you. The only drawback is that we didn’t get much further on what’s wrong with Freya. I’ll ask her about the tune, and see what she says.’

  She looked up suddenly, her face brightening. ‘Rona, I’ve just had a thought! Could you talk to her? As part of your research into the family? You’re good at unearthing things, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, now look,’ Rona began hastily, ‘I don’t want to intrude on people’s private problems. I already feel guilty about asking so many questions.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense. And, don’t you see, it could help her! She might find it easier to talk to someone outside the family.’

  ‘But even if I do start researching – and it’s by no means definite – I’d begin, obviously, at the beginning, and it would be some time before I got down to the present generation.’

  ‘You could get round that, I’m sure,’ Kate said dismissively.

  ‘I’m not a psychologist, Kate.’

  ‘The one she saw didn’t do her much good. I’d bet if anyone can find out what’s troubling her, you can.’

  ‘But you say she may have told her aunt. If so, she’ll know what to do. I can’t go butting in.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what develops.’ Kate smiled wryly. ‘It seems I also find it easier to talk to someone who’s not family. Sorry for the way I’ve been bending your ear.’

  ‘I wish I’d been more help,’ Rona said.

  Rona made a detour on the way home, in order to call in at the offices of Chiltern Life. As usual, the receptionist welcomed them with a smile, willingly taking Gus’s lead while Rona went upstairs to Barnie’s office.

  ‘How’s my favourite journalist?’ he greeted her. ‘Dinah was asking at breakfast if I’d seen you lately; your ears must have been burning.’

  The Trents, though older than Rona and Max, were good friends, and the two couples met socially on a fairly regular basis.

  ‘How is she, and Melissa and the children?’

  Barnie’s married daughter, who lived in the States, was staying with them for a few months while her husband worked in the Gulf.

  ‘Dinah and Mel are fine, and the kids are getting noisier by the hour. Or perhaps it only seems so!’

  Rona smiled. ‘You old grump! Mitch will be coming over soon, surely?’

  ‘Yes, he has two weeks’ leave over Christmas. Dinah was saying we must have a get-together while he’s with us. Now, I’m a busy man, so enough of these pleasantries. Have you finished the parent-search articles?’

  ‘I’ll drop the third one in tomorrow – it just needs polishing – and I’m seeing a fourth possibility on Thursday. That should wrap it up nicely. What I wanted to speak to you about, though, is another series I’m contemplating.’

  Barnie gave a gruff laugh. ‘That’s my girl – always one step ahead! All right, then, shoot.’

  Rona explained her idea, emphasizing the interest in local history and the number of old-established firms in the town. ‘It might work best as an occasional series,’ she concluded, ‘say an article every three or four months. But we could do a centre pull-out, as we did for the Buckford ones, in case people wanted to keep them. What do you think?’

  ‘It sounds very promising, certainly. But could you gather enough information to make a go of it?’

  ‘Oh, I think so, by the time you take in family histories. There should be plenty of anecdotes over the years. Anyway, they don’t need to be very long, do they?’

  ‘No, but if they’re short, you’ll need more of them to make it worthwhile.’

  ‘I don’t think numbers would be a problem. Many of the solicitors and accountants have been here since the year dot; I remember Lindsey going with Hugh to his firm’s seventy-fifth anniversary.’

  ‘Right, as long as you don’t tread on any toes, you’re on, but I’m not getting caught up in libel suits!’

  Which, Rona acknowledged inwardly, was a timely warning before she took on the Tarltons. Velma’s desertion and Freya’s problems were likely to remain very definitely off limits.

  Lindsey looked up from her computer as, following a cursory knock, Jonathan Hurst came into the room, closing the door behind him. He walked over to the desk, rested both hands on its surface and leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers.

  Lindsey’s pulse quickened. She knew she was playing with fire – she didn’t need Rona to tell her that. Like herself, Jonathan was a partner in Chase Mortimer, the firm of solicitors where they worked, and if the other partners – or anyone else for that matter – learned of their liaison, both their careers would suffer. Quite apart from the fact that he was a married man with two children. Yet when she looked at him, at the quizzical grey eyes, the fair, greying hair falling over his brow as he bent forward, the humorous twist to his mouth, her resolutions faltered and she made no strenuous effort to resurrect them.

  ‘Free this evening?’ he asked.

  She hesitated. Hugh had mentioned phoning, but no definite arrangement had been made. And Hugh, she thought with a sigh, was an added complication. Why did she allow herself to get into these situations?

  ‘I think so. Why, are you?’

  ‘I’ve managed to wangle a couple of hours, time enough to go back to your flat.’

  ‘But not stay for dinner?’

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart, my presence is required at home. We’ve some people coming; it wasn’t easy getting the couple of hours.’

  Lindsey said stiffly, ‘Well, if you’re sure you can spare the time.’

  He gave a low laugh and, reaching forward, brushed his fingers lightly across her breast.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said.

  Since Gus had had little exercise that day, Rona delayed her return home still further and took him to Furze Hill Park, where they passed a pleasant hour in the large, uncultivated section at the upper end, Gus romping over the grass and sniffing out new scents, and Rona, not having his ball to hand, throwing sticks for his retrieval.

  It was beginning to get dark when they finally turned into Lightbourne Avenue, and she was surprised to find a van parked outside her gate. As they came nearer, she saw it belonged to the florist, Camellia, and the delivery man was just returning down the path. He nodded towards the house.

  ‘I couldn’t get round the back, so I left the flowers on the step.’

  ‘Thank you, but are you sure they’re for me?’

  ‘Allerdyce? That the name?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘They’
re yours, then. Enjoy!’ And he climbed into his van, switched on his headlights, and drove away.

  Rona let herself and Gus into the house, and bent to pick up the bouquet. Who could be sending her flowers? She carried them down to the kitchen, laid them on the table, and extracted the tiny envelope pinned to the cellophane. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs Allerdyce. Curiouser and curiouser. Rona slit it open and withdrew the little card.

  With apologies for any embarrassment caused, she read. And the signature was Freya Tarlton.

  Six

  Tom lay in bed for some time on Tuesday morning, staring up at the guest-room ceiling. The previous evening, he had hosted a reception for branch managers and the senior partners of key clients, all accompanied by their wives, in order to bid each of them a personal farewell, and had been touched by the expressions of thanks and appreciation he’d received. Dorothy, Stephen and Ruth Fairfax had been among the guests, and he’d been caught off guard when Stephen mentioned seeing Avril at the Clarendon.

  ‘She said you’d left her alone, so the family was taking pity on her,’ Stephen reported with a smile.

  Tom had managed to smile back and make a noncommittal reply, surprised Rona hadn’t warned him in advance, till he realized she wasn’t to know he’d be meeting Fairfax. All the same, Stephen must have wondered why, since Avril was obviously well the previous day, she was not with him that evening, and the remembered comment about his leaving her might be given more weight. Ah well, by the end of the week all need for secrecy would have passed.

  He stretched, letting his eyes move slowly round the room. Odd to think he’d spend only three more nights in this house, to which he had brought Avril as a bride. Come to think of it, he’d better make a start on packing up his things. Apart from clothes and personal items, there were a lot of official papers and documents in the desk in the dining room that would need sorting through. He’d make a start on them today, he resolved, since he wasn’t going into the bank. No doubt a substantial amount could be thrown out, but most would need shredding first, and the only shredder he had to hand was a small electric one; it was to be hoped it would prove up to the task.

  The eight o’clock pips sounded from the radio by his bed, and he swung his feet to the floor. Avril would be leaving for the library in under an hour, and she liked to clear away the breakfast things before she went.

  ‘Good party?’ she enquired, when he reached the kitchen twenty minutes later.

  ‘Very enjoyable, thanks.’ He paused. ‘Stephen Fairfax was there; he mentioned having seen you.’

  ‘Yes, Rona and Max took me out for Sunday lunch. Lindsey too. It was very pleasant.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ he said simply, sitting back to allow her to place a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. How the hell did you scramble eggs? he wondered. Next week, in the flat, he’d be cooking for himself. He’d better have a few basic lessons from Catherine.

  A thought occurred to him. ‘If you’re working at the library all week, the flu story won’t hold much water.’

  ‘Well, I’m certainly not going to stay off work,’ she retorted, with a touch of the old asperity. ‘Anyway,’ she added more reasonably, ‘it’s highly unlikely that anyone coming into the library will be living it up at your receptions.’

  He nodded, beginning on his breakfast. ‘I think I’ll make a start on packing up today.’

  She turned quickly away, busying herself pouring water into the egg pan.

  Misinterpreting her movement, he added awkwardly, ‘Obviously I shan’t be taking any of the ornaments or anything; only some books and the papers from the desk.’

  ‘The ornaments are as much yours as mine,’ she replied without turning. ‘Take whichever you like.’

  ‘They belong here,’ he said gently. ‘Avril, we shall be friends, shan’t we? When all this has died down?’

  ‘I don’t know, Tom. I shan’t be bitter and twisted – that’s all over and done with – but friendship … I’m not sure if I could cope with that. I certainly have no desire to meet your lady-love.’

  Perhaps it had been clumsy of him to suggest it, Tom thought miserably. He didn’t want to hurt her, but the mere fact of his leaving had already done that. He wanted it too easy, that was the trouble – to be with Catherine, but still be friends with Avril. Well, it looked as though that wasn’t going to work. He just hoped to God that Lindsey would come round. He couldn’t bear to lose one of his daughters as well.

  ‘Rona? It’s Kate. Just to let you know you were right about the tune, and I was right about the nightmares. They’re linked, it seems, God knows how. When she saw how worried we were, she agreed to let Jan tell us, but personally I can’t see what all the fuss is about. She dreams she’s falling, which must be the most common of all dreams. Caused by a missed heartbeat, isn’t it?’

  ‘So where does the tune come in?’ Rona asked.

  ‘I’m not sure; I think it runs through the dream. And she’s afraid someone else is there, just out of sight. Pretty standard stuff. The point is, though, she’s dreaming it increasingly often and it’s getting more detailed each time. The whole thing is spooking her, but she refuses point-blank to see anyone professional. Poor Matthew must be having a hell of a time with her.’ Kate paused. ‘Are you going ahead with the series, about the shops?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘You will be starting with us, won’t you? Please?’

  ‘Kate, I really don’t see what I can do. I’m not qualified in any way; if I started meddling, I could do her positive harm. Incidentally, she sent some flowers to apologize for fainting at our feet. It was very sweet of her – I’ve written her a brief note, hoping she’s feeling better.’

  ‘Suppose I invite you both to tea on Monday, when the shop’s closed?’

  ‘Kate—’

  ‘Bless you, I knew you’d help. Three o’clock? We live in Brindley Grove, a cul-de-sac off the Belmont Road. Brindley Lodge is at the far end, facing you; it backs on to woods.’

  ‘I’d like to come to tea, thank you, but I don’t promise anything else,’ Rona said.

  The phone call unsettled her. After an hour or so of making notes and promptly deleting them, she gave up and, wrapping up warmly, set off with Gus for an extended walk. There were a lot of things on her mind – Christmas and the parents, Freya and her disturbing dreams, and, particularly, Kate’s conviction that she, Rona, could help her. Usually, the clear sharp air and exercise cleared her head, but today she felt as depressed when she returned as when she’d set out.

  It was a pity Max wasn’t coming home this evening; she was tired of her own company. She’d go to Dino’s, she decided; that should cheer her up. The Italian restaurant was a mere five minutes’ walk away, and though she hadn’t booked, she knew Dino would find her a table. She was a regular customer, both with and without Max.

  A cold wind had arisen by the time she and Gus set out, and the warmth of the restaurant met them with a palpable wave as she pushed open the door. At once she heard her name called and, turning, saw two couples she knew waving to attract her attention.

  ‘Max not with you?’ Patrick Kingston asked, as she walked over to them.

  ‘No, it’s one of his class nights.’

  ‘Come and join us, then; we’ve only just ordered.’

  Rona glanced at Dino, who, about to lead her to her own table, was awaiting her. ‘Would that be all right?’

  ‘But of course, signora. A chair will be brought at once.’

  When they were settled and Gus had taken his place under the table, she turned to Hilary Grant. ‘Thanks for your invitation; it arrived this morning.’

  ‘Along with the Dawsons’, I suppose? We had one from them.’

  ‘It’s that time of year, isn’t it?’ Georgia Kingston commented. ‘We’re also going to the Willows’ do, so I’ve a good excuse to visit Magda’s boutique!’

  ‘You do move in exalted circles!’ Hilary teased her.

  ‘Don’t you remember,
Julian and I had a thing going, way back?’

  ‘Lord, yes! I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘You went out with Julian Willow?’ Rona asked.

  ‘In the year dot, yes. Do you know him?’

  ‘No, but I’m … oh, it doesn’t matter.’ This wasn’t the place to explain about her new project, and in any case she hadn’t approached the Willows; if Georgia repeated the conversation, they’d have no idea what she was talking about.

  ‘Come on, what were you going to say?’

  ‘Only that I’m interested in the family at the moment. I’m hoping to write about some of the long-established businesses here.’

  ‘And you want to know if John really started life as a barrow boy?’

  Rona smiled. ‘I haven’t mentioned it to them yet, so please don’t jump the gun.’

  ‘My lips are sealed. But Julian will be useful to you; he’s steeped in family lore. To be honest, he talked about it so much, he bored me rigid. At eighteen, ancestors are quite simply history. But I remember him showing me a diary kept by Sebastian, who was his great-grandfather, written in the most beautiful copperplate.’

  ‘Sebastian Willow!’ Hilary exclaimed. ‘What a wonderful name.’

  ‘It stood him in good stead,’ Georgia said drily. ‘He married an Honourable. Her family were scandalized at her marrying Trade, but she was an independent young lady and did as she pleased. I suspect it’s because of that connection that the Willows give themselves airs.’

  Their meal arrived and conversation became general. Simon Grant was an artist friend of Max’s, and interested to know what he was working on at the moment.

  ‘I saw the portrait he did of that MP chap. It was bloody good.’

  ‘Well, he’s reverted to landscapes at the moment, though I did warn him it was the wrong time of year.’

  Simon laughed. ‘No doubt like me, he resorts to photographs and sketches, and does the main work in the warmth of his studio. Tell him we must get together sometime.’

  The evening passed pleasantly, and as Rona made her way home through the cold streets, she admitted she was glad Coralie’s story would close the present series. She was impatient to make a start on the next one.