A Family Concern

by Anthea Fraser

  Matthew reached for her hand. ‘No, it isn’t. You couldn’t help having those nightmares. It’s a wonder you’ve kept so sane all these years, after what you went through.’

  ‘It’s Christmas lunch I’m most dreading. We’ve always gone to the Clarendon, the whole family, including Nanny until a few years ago. I was sure they’d cancel it, but they seem determined not to. So we’ll be sitting there in the middle of the restaurant like a prize exhibit, with everyone staring at us.’

  Her voice wobbled, and Matthew squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sure it won’t be like that. You said business has been good these last weeks, with everyone offering support.’

  ‘Or coming to see for themselves how we’re coping.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘I still can’t believe Mummy’s been there all this time, so close to us all. It’s – macabre.’

  ‘Have the police any leads?’

  ‘No. They keep questioning me. I’m sure they think I’m keeping something back, that having actually been there, I must know who killed her.’

  ‘But you don’t,’ Matthew said stoutly. ‘If you did, you’d have remembered by now.’

  Freya turned her white face towards him. ‘Matt, I must have seen him! He was walking about immediately beneath me.’

  ‘Then it’s obvious you didn’t know him, isn’t it? Which is why you can’t remember his face.’

  ‘That’s what I keep telling myself. But suppose my subconscious is blocking it because I did know him? Very well?’

  She pulled her hands from his and covered her face with them, while Matthew, whose thoughts had been along the same lines, could only watch in helpless despair.

  Stephen said, ‘Are you quite sure you’ve ordered enough? It’s not as though there’s a choice of main course on Christmas Day – apart from vegetarians, everyone will be having turkey.’

  Gerald gritted his teeth. ‘Dad, this will be my sixth Christmas in charge. I do know what I’m doing.’

  ‘And the desserts? Not everyone will want the pudding, you know.’

  ‘We’ve already discussed this; there’s also a choice of chestnut soufflé, iced cranberry ring or mincemeat flan. And, of course, the usual selection of cheeses.’

  Stephen nodded distractedly. ‘How many are booked in the Grill Room?’ At Christmas, the smaller and more intimate restaurant was, paradoxically, reserved for parties of a dozen or more.

  ‘Ten tables. Capacity. And before you ask, they’re catered for.’

  ‘As long as you’re sure. Remember that for most people, this is the most important meal of the year.’

  ‘No pressure, then,’ returned Gerald drily.

  But Stephen was not the only member of the family with misgivings.

  ‘I’ve been expecting the Tarltons to cancel every day,’ Dorothy remarked to Ruth, as they checked the list of bookings. ‘I hope they don’t cast a pall on the rest of the diners, poor souls.’

  ‘I think they’re being very brave, not pulling out,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Oh, I agree; but bravery doesn’t make for a festive atmosphere. People will either pointedly ignore them, or stare unashamedly.’

  Ruth gave a protesting laugh. ‘Dorothy, it’s our clients we’re talking about, not a bunch of yobbos!’

  ‘But they’ll be drinking more than usual, and that weakens inhibitions. If that poor girl had to be found, why couldn’t it have been at the height of summer? Then everything would have died down by now.’

  ‘She was a member of the family, don’t forget.’

  Ruth’s voice was mild, but her mother-in-law flushed. Then she smiled, and patted her hand. ‘You’re quite right, my dear; I’m a self-centred old woman, I admit it. It’s just that everyone works so hard in the run-up to Christmas, it would be too bad if events beyond our control spoiled it in any way.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t,’ Ruth replied placidly, and returned to her checking.

  The days passed in a round of last-minute shopping, present-wrapping and card-hanging.

  ‘I think we should gather here first,’ Max said on the Thursday evening. ‘We can exchange presents over a bottle of champagne, then go on to the Clarendon together.’

  ‘Good idea. Lindsey can bring Mum; she’s going over there on Christmas Eve, so Mum won’t wake up alone on Christmas morning.’

  ‘Your father will,’ Max reminded her.

  Rona looked worried. ‘Do you think we should invite him here?’

  ‘It’s not really feasible, is it, with no spare room? We can’t expect him to camp out on the sofa. The only alternative would be for us to move out of our room, and the sofa wouldn’t hold us both.’

  ‘At least he won’t be in a house that used to be filled with people.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Max assured her.

  Three days later, Tom was telling himself the same thing. It was odd to be lying alone on Christmas morning, listening to church bells pealing across the town. No aroma of slow-cooking turkey reached his nostrils; there were no excited voices on the landing. Oh, there were people in the building – of course there were – below him, above him, alongside him, but they weren’t his people. There might even be small girls clutching stockings and creeping into their parents’ room ahead of time, but they weren’t his small girls.

  He moved impatiently. Why did Christmas always evoke the past, and the distant past, at that? It was the future that concerned him now, the future and, especially today, the present. He hoped to God the lunch would go off all right. It was good of Rona and Max to have arranged it, and to fix for them all to meet at their house.

  What was Catherine doing now? he wondered. Probably still asleep, since she’d told him they went to Midnight Communion, a tradition that had never featured in the Parish Christmases. He couldn’t even picture her, since she was in surroundings he didn’t know, but they’d arranged to speak on the phone before he went out. He hoped she’d like the sapphire and diamond brooch he’d so extravagantly bought her – partly because he couldn’t resist it, and partly as a gesture of support to the Tarltons. They wouldn’t have much to celebrate this year, poor devils.

  Thinking of the brooch reminded him of the package she’d given him the day before, gaily wrapped in red and gold. It was on the table beside him, and he reached for it eagerly, tearing away the paper to reveal an oblong box. Inside, shining against the velvet, lay a magnificent gold watch. Almost reverently, he lifted it out, admiring its clean, modern lines, and as he turned it over, he saw there was an inscription etched on the back. Tom. All love, always. Catherine.

  He sat staring at it for a long time, wondering if he’d any right to be so happy.

  The Tarltons had also arranged to gather beforehand, and the chosen venue was Brindley Lodge. Lewis and Kate had put up the usual tree, and as always there were presents piled beneath it, but it was increasingly hard to act as though this were a normal Christmas.

  Kate watched them all as they opened their presents – Bruce and Jan; Nicholas, Susie and little Amy; Lewis, Robert and Freya – and was struck, as always, by their individuality. How could one hope to draw such disparate personalities into one homogenous whole to make ‘a family’? They all had their secrets, ambitions and worries that were hidden from the rest of them. Even the biggest worry of all, which they were trying so hard not to think about, must, although shared, strike different responses in each of them. There were, for example, those who had known Velma, and those such as herself, Susie and Amy, who had not. Did one of those others – Bruce or Robert or Jan – even Freya – know more about what happened on that far-off day than he or she had admitted?

  Kate shivered, and Lewis came over and put an arm round her. ‘All right, love?’

  She smiled resolutely up at him. ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s time we were making a move. The table’s booked for one.’

  Kate’s stomach lurched, but she immediately got to her feet. This was harder for Lewis than for her, and she owed it to him to be strong.
‘I’ll organize the coats,’ she said.

  The Dickensian snow had not arrived, but the morning was cold and sunny, with the remnants of an overnight frost lingering in the shadows. Tom and Lindsey had both found spaces for their cars, and it was decided to leave them where they were and walk to the hotel.

  So far, so good, Rona thought, as she set off with her mother and sister, Max and Tom following behind. The initial slight awkwardness had thawed under the influence of the champagne – which, she’d noted, had been the bottle Philip Yarborough had brought. Fleetingly, she thought of him and Adele and wondered how their Christmas, sure to be equally strained, was progressing. As for themselves, the present-exchange had gone well, everyone seeming delighted with their gifts, though part of her still regretted the little musical box she’d intended for Lindsey. Auprèsde ma blonde …

  She wrenched her thoughts away. The watch Max had given her had been much admired, but her father had not referred to the one he himself was wearing, which she’d not seen before. A retirement present? Or one from Catherine? The latter, she suspected.

  Fullers Walk was almost deserted, but, unhampered today by parking restrictions, cars lined both sides of Dean’s Crescent, proof that Dino’s was enjoying its fair share of clientele.

  They emerged on to Guild Street, and there, across the road, was the imposing bulk of the Clarendon, festooned with lights and with a giant holly bush on either side of the swing doors.

  ‘The bar will be like a madhouse,’ Max commented, ‘I suggest we go straight to the table.’

  In the foyer, arriving guests were being swiftly and efficiently directed to bar, Grill Room or restaurant, keeping the entrance clear for new arrivals.

  ‘Table for Allerdyce,’ Max told the young man at the door to the restaurant. He glanced at the sheet in his hand, made a tick in the margin, and summoned a waiter to show them to their table. Tom took Avril’s elbow, and, looking up at him with a smile, she allowed him to escort her across the crowded room. Behind them, Rona and Lindsey exchanged a glance of relief.

  Sophie was in the foyer when the Tarlton party arrived, and caught her breath at Robert’s changed appearance. His eyes, circled with dark shadows, seemed to have sunk into their sockets, and he was walking with a stoop she’d never seen before.

  She went swiftly up to him and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Happy Christmas, Robert,’ she said softly, then turned to kiss Freya at his side and shake hands with the rest of the party. Freya was as white as a sheet, she noted anxiously, and Lewis also looked tired and drawn.

  ‘Your usual table’s ready for you,’ she said brightly.

  ‘I thought you might have tucked us away in a corner,’ Bruce said, with a half smile.

  ‘Why should we do that? You’re family, and entitled to a prime position.’

  At the door to the restaurant, Robert squeezed her arm. ‘Bless you, Sophie,’ he said, and, having handed them over to a waiter, she turned quickly away to hide sudden tears. It wasn’t fair, she thought passionately. They shouldn’t have to go through this. But the fact remained that one of their number had been murdered, and her killer still not brought to justice.

  The meal had been delicious. After an hors d’oeuvre of smoked salmon and dill, the turkey and all its accompaniments – stuffing, bacon rolls, sausages, potatoes, sprouts and red cabbage – were cooked to perfection.

  The earlier, twelve thirty, sitting had now left, and there were empty tables dotted about the restaurant. Those who remained were wearing paper hats, and the sound of crackers being pulled punctuated the conversation. It occurred to Rona that this was the first Christmas lunch she’d had away from Maple Drive – another indication of the end of an era. Because this would surely be their last all together; next year, her father would be with Catherine.

  She glanced across at her parents, intent now on their desserts, and wondered if the same thoughts had occurred to them. Mum was looking like her old self again – better, in fact, because her hair and clothes were more stylish than they had ever been, and she’d caught the flash of admiration in her father’s eyes. Why, Rona thought despairingly, hadn’t she pulled herself together earlier? Then all this might have been avoided.

  But it wasn’t only Mum’s appearance that had deteriorated over the last year or two, she reminded herself; she’d been bitter and discontented, carping at them all and generally making life miserable, particularly for Pops. Had her attitude changed as well? Rona admitted, to her shame, that she’d not seen her mother often enough since the split to find out.

  Sophie said urgently, ‘Chris, I have to speak to you.’

  He turned in surprise from the group of guests he was chatting to in the bar.

  ‘Not at the moment, Sophie. We’re in the middle of—’

  ‘Please! It’s important.’

  ‘Sophie, I’m with guests. Can’t it wait?’

  She knew she was breaking one of the first rules of hotel-keeping, but she had to speak to him, and straight away.

  ‘No, I’m afraid it can’t.’

  She could tell he was embarrassed at her persistence, furious with her for putting him in this position. ‘I’m afraid it’ll have to,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’ And he turned back to his guests.

  For a moment longer she stared at his unyielding back, panic rising inside her. Then she turned and walked blindly out of the bar. What could she do? What could she do?

  Rona had just finished her coffee when she saw Sophie Fairfax in the doorway. She looked strained, Rona thought, and her eyes went automatically to the Tarltons who, like themselves, were now lingering over coffee. Perhaps she was still worried about Freya – and with reason. Rona had glanced at the girl from time to time during the meal, and as far as she could tell, she’d scarcely eaten anything.

  To her surprise, however, it was to their own table that Sophie came.

  ‘Rona, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if I could have a word?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rona replied, bewildered. ‘Now?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  Rona sent a small, apologetic glance round the table, and, rising, followed Sophie out of the room, across the foyer, and into a small office behind the reception desk.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. Close up, it was clear Sophie was struggling for control.

  ‘Yes, I think there is,’ she replied jerkily. ‘I’m sorry to drag you into this. I tried to speak to Chris, but he was tied up with guests and I couldn’t extract him.’

  ‘What’s happened, Sophie?’ Rona asked gently.

  Sophie’s hands clenched at her side and she drew a shuddering breath. ‘When Freya told me about her dream,’ she began raggedly, ‘she talked about hearing the whistling, and she hummed the tune for me – the tune from the musical box, that had made her faint.’

  Rona stood immobile, her eyes fixed on the young woman’s face. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I didn’t recognize its name, but I knew I’d heard it somewhere.’

  ‘Sophie …’

  Sophie put trembling hands to her face. ‘Oh, my God!’ she whispered.

  ‘Sophie, what is it?’

  ‘I’ve – just heard it again.’

  Rona stared at her, scarcely breathing.

  ‘It was Stephen,’ Sophie said in a rush. ‘When he’s concentrating on something, he often whistles under his breath. And he was doing it just now, down in the buttery, and – and it was that tune.’

  Stephen Fairfax? Rona’s head was spinning. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ she said slowly, trying, as she spoke, to marshal the thoughts that were crowding into her head. ‘I mean, it’s a folk song, and quite well known.’

  ‘Yes, but – I gave a little gasp – I couldn’t help myself – and he turned and saw me, and – and stupidly, I just turned and ran. At best, he must be wondering what on earth’s wrong with me.’

  ‘Did he know Velma?’ Rona asked.

  ‘He must have done; Robert�
��s his second cousin, or whatever. Rona, what should I do? He’s my father-in-law, for God’s sake, but then so was Robert, and if there’s anything in this, I can’t let him go on suffering. I’m very fond of him, and he was so kind to me when everything went wrong with Lewis. He never blamed me for it.’

  ‘You’ll have to go to the police,’ Rona said, and broke off as the door suddenly opened and Stephen Fairfax stood looking at them.

  ‘There you are, Sophie,’ he said, his eyes going from one of them to the other. ‘And – Mrs Allerdyce, isn’t it? Did I hear you mention the police?’

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sophie, her control finally snapping, started to cry. ‘I’m so sorry, Stephen,’ she sobbed.

  Stephen stiffened, and as Rona watched, the colour seeped out of his face, leaving only two red patches on his cheeks, like a Dutch doll.

  ‘Sorry about what?’ he asked softly.

  Since Sophie seemed incapable of answering, Rona did so. ‘Velma,’ she said.

  Stephen let out his breath in a long sigh. Then he straightened his shoulders.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Sophie,’ he said, his voice surprisingly normal. ‘Dry your eyes, and go and ask the Tarlton party if they’ll join us for liqueurs up in our apartment. I’ll root out Chris and Gerald. Mother and Ruth, I know, have already gone up.’ He glanced at Rona. ‘In the circumstances, I think you’d better come, too,’ he added.

  The next few minutes were surreal. Rona waited in the foyer as instructed while Sophie went to collect the Tarltons. Max turned and saw her in the doorway, and she raised her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. She saw him frown, but before he could get up, Sophie had shepherded the Tarltons out of the restaurant.

  Robert was saying, ‘This is very kind of Stephen. We certainly didn’t expect VIP treatment.’

  Sophie smiled stiffly and did not reply.

  ‘Rona!’ Kate was smiling at her. ‘Are you joining the party?’

  ‘It seems so,’ Rona said, and saw her friend’s puzzled frown. Then Stephen reappeared with his sons, said briskly, ‘Good to see you all,’ and pressed the lift buttons. Two adjacent sets of doors opened, they all piled in and rose in unison to the top floor of the hotel.