Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  Oh God, it was so unfair! she thought on a wave of helplessness. Why did this have to happen, now of all times? After months of hard work there were three really lucrative contracts coming to fruition, but it’d still take all her expertise to land them. She couldn’t really afford even this week off, but it had been non-negotiable.

  They’d not discussed starting a family since the early days. ‘Don’t forget you’re marrying a career girl!’ she’d told Harry when they first became engaged.

  ‘And one I’m very proud of!’ he’d replied. ‘Don’t worry, my love, I’ve no intention of tying you to the kitchen sink!’

  And he had been as good as his word, always affording her work equal importance with his. But now both his sisters were engaged and if they started having babies, would it bring home to him that time was passing? She wanted a family, of course she did, but not yet, and not unplanned. Her career had from the start been built on meticulous planning, each move carefully evaluated in advance, and that had kept her head above water when many other businesses had sunk without trace.

  But how could she possibly tell him she didn’t want this baby whose arrival would be so inopportune? He’d be horrified, and, she thought miserably, rightly so. Nor could she expect any understanding from her mother, an Irish Catholic who herself had given birth to five children.

  Oh God, she was going to be sick again! She turned from the window and hurried to the bathroom.

  Drumlee promenade stretched for over a mile along the coast and was a popular venue with dog-walkers. There were seats at regular intervals but on this crisp morning only one was occupied, by a girl huddled in an anorak with the hood pulled up over her head. They nodded to her as they passed.

  The tide was out, and on their left the sand lay ribbed and damp, sprinkled here and there with rock pools that glittered in the winter sun. Down here the wind was stronger, stinging tears into their eyes, and Harry wound his scarf more tightly round his neck. Danny was running ahead of them whooping joyously, arms outstretched in aeroplane mode.

  ‘It’s good to think I’ve a whole week of him to look forward to,’ Sebastian commented.

  Harry shot him a sideways glance. ‘Was Diana quite amenable?’

  ‘Grudging’s a better description, but it’s half-term so she’d no option. I think she was expecting we’d stay at home, though what difference that would make I don’t know.’

  Harry hesitated, carefully framing his next question. ‘And how’s that lady friend of yours?’

  Seb’s eyes were narrowed against the wind, their expression difficult to gauge. ‘As well as the last time you asked.’

  ‘Oh, come on! Any progress to report?’

  ‘It’s not a question of progress, Harry; the circumstances haven’t changed.’

  ‘They don’t seem insurmountable to me. She’s divorced, as are you, and from what you say the attraction’s mutual. So what’s the problem?’

  Sebastian sighed heavily. ‘Her children. I told you.’

  ‘So you don’t like her kids. Given time, they’d probably grow on you.’

  ‘If I didn’t strangle them first!’

  ‘Boys or girls?’

  ‘Girls, aged five and seven, so Danny’s slap in the middle. They’ve only met once, but they immediately ganged up on him. Heaven help him if they were part of his family!’

  ‘But it’s not as though he lives with you,’ Harry pointed out.

  ‘But that’s just the point,’ Seb explained patiently. ‘If Miriam and I got together, they would. He’d resent having to share me, especially as they’d be getting the lion’s part.’

  ‘Well, he shares his mother. He’s got a little half-brother, hasn’t he? Conceived, if I remember aright, while you and Diana were still nominally together.’

  ‘That’s different,’ Sebastian argued, ignoring the last sentence. ‘He’d been told Teddy was on the way, and to give Di her due she involved him in all the preparations for the baby, then let him help bath him and so on, so there was never a problem. Not like having two kids suddenly thrust on him, fully fledged as it were, and girls to boot!’

  Harry kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the promenade. ‘Are you in love with her?’ he asked.

  Sebastian took his time replying. ‘On the verge of, I think. Still time to pull back.’

  ‘Have you slept together?’

  He gave a bark of laughter. ‘God, Harry, you don’t beat about the bush, do you?’

  ‘Well, have you?’

  ‘Yes, but only very recently. A couple of times at most.’

  ‘And it was good?’

  ‘The best.’

  Harry gave his brother a slap on the shoulder. ‘Then go for it, bro, and the devil take the hindmost!’ And before Seb could formulate a reply, he set off, whooping, after his nephew.

  The Merlin Hotel, though imposing enough, was not as big as Mark had imagined when viewing it from across the square. The atmosphere on entering was at once both homely and contained, and he looked about him approvingly at the dark woodwork, pale walls and blue and cream patterned carpet.

  His inspection was curtailed by a voice calling delightedly, ‘Hellie!’ and he turned to see an attractive woman in her fifties hurrying towards them and enveloping Helena in a hug. She then turned to him, her pleasant face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘And this must be the lucky man! How do you do? I’m Lexie Mackay.’

  ‘Adam Ryder,’ he replied dutifully, taking the hand she held out. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  Lexie had turned back to Helena. ‘It’s been so long – you weren’t here last summer, were you? Paula said something about sailing in the Aegean.’

  With Jack, Helena remembered painfully. ‘It couldn’t hold a candle to Drumlee!’ she said staunchly.

  Lexie smiled, dismissing this with a wave of her hand. ‘Well, it’s only your parents who still come regularly, so all the more reason to celebrate when the whole family arrives. Will the boys be in for lunch?’

  ‘No, they’ve taken Danny for a walk along the front. I think burgers and chips are the order of the day!’

  Lexie laughed. ‘Well, we’ll see them at the celebration meal. Natalie and her young man are waiting for you in the bar.’

  As indeed they were, surrounded by two or three couples who turned to greet Helena as they entered. Mark gathered from the flurry of introductions that they were locals who’d come to know the Crawfords over the years. Having arranged to meet them for a drink the following week, Natalie led the way to a window table, menu in hand, and they sat down to choose their meal.

  ‘Did you see the snowdrops?’ she asked, when they’d ordered and their drinks had arrived. ‘Pretty spectacular, aren’t they? In future I’m going to plant them en masse rather than dotted round the garden in clumps – make them more of a statement.’

  ‘So you’ll have a house with a garden?’ Helena asked slyly, and laughed as Natalie flushed, glancing at Nick.

  ‘Am I jumping the gun, when we’re not even officially engaged?’ she asked ruefully.

  Nick patted her hand. ‘Of course we’ll have a garden!’ he said.

  Mark took a drink of his beer. ‘When are you thinking of getting married?’

  ‘Later this year, probably about September,’ Natalie replied. ‘What about you two? We’d better liaise, out of consideration to Dad’s pocket! We’d be quite happy to foot the bill, but I know his pride will, insist he makes a substantial contribution.’

  ‘We’ve not really discussed it,’ Helena interposed. ‘Everything’s happened so quickly.’

  ‘I believe you said you live in Chislehurst, Adam? Will you stay in that area, or move closer to London?’

  ‘As Helena says, we haven’t discussed it.’ Remembering his ambivalence on leaving home, Mark wasn’t even sure he still lived there himself, but such considerations were scheduled for his postponed walking holiday. For now, it would take him all his time to keep up the pretence he’d so unwillingly e
mbarked on.

  Fortunately the arrival of their meal ended the conversation, and as it progressed he watched Helena, seemingly relaxed as she chatted with her family. Was it his imagination that there was underlying tension, and if so did it stem from their charade? He’d come to know her slightly better during the morning, but still felt no empathy towards her.

  They were on their coffee when a tall, dark man came in and made straight for their table.

  ‘Well, well!’ he exclaimed. ‘My past revisited! Ma said you were here.’

  ‘Blair!’ Natalie jumped up, submitting to his hug with enthusiasm before moving aside for Helena, whose approach, Mark thought as he and Nick also rose, was more guarded. Natalie introduced them, they shook hands and he drew up a chair.

  ‘So, tell me the news,’ he invited. ‘Wedding bells in the air all round, I gather, including Ruby ones! It was great to see your parents the other evening.’

  ‘And how about you?’ Helena asked lightly.

  ‘Oh, I’m a confirmed bachelor. The two of you broke my heart!’ Though he spoke jokingly, there was an undercurrent that caused Mark to look at him more closely.

  ‘I hear Ailsa beat us all down the aisle,’ Natalie said. ‘Is she around?’

  ‘She’s at work but she’ll be back later. She’s running the local tourist board, so still roughly in the same business.’

  ‘And married to the chef, no less!’

  ‘Always a good move! Seriously, though, he’s a great guy, Jean-Luc – a welcome addition to the family. We must—’ He broke off as his mobile rang, and with a muttered apology answered it. ‘Yes; yes, OK, I’ll come now.’

  He stood up regretfully. ‘Sorry, this is what happens when I try to bunk off for a few minutes! We must arrange a proper get-together; I’ll give you a call later.’

  And with a smile that encompassed them all, he hurried from the room.

  ‘So,’ Nick teased, ‘an old flame, was he?’

  ‘Not really,’ Natalie replied. ‘It was very light-hearted – just a holiday romance. And we weren’t alone; Ailsa says all the girls fall for Blair.’

  ‘So I don’t have to challenge him to pistols at dawn?’

  Natalie smiled, patting his hand. ‘Definitely not worth getting up for!’

  Half a mile away, the girl in a hooded anorak turned into one of the B&Bs along the front and went up to her room. Closing the door behind her, she sat down on the bed, drew a deep breath and took out her mobile.

  FOUR

  Kent

  The storm was long past by the time Charles and Margot Richmond set out for home, though the roads were still treacherous, with large puddles lurking in potholes that splashed tides of water over the unwary. It was a short drive, since the two families lived only a few miles apart, and most of it had passed in a reflective silence. It wasn’t until they were approaching their own village that Margot said, ‘Well, what did you make of that?’

  Charles, who had been busy with his own thoughts, merely grunted in reply.

  ‘Obviously he was drunk,’ Margot continued, following her own line of thought, ‘but something a good deal more serious lay behind it, you mark my words.’

  Though he too had been shaken by Peter’s behaviour, Charles tried to downplay it. ‘You’re reading too much into it,’ he maintained. ‘He’d been drinking on an empty stomach in the hot sun and without a hat – asking for trouble.’

  ‘How long have we known Peter Kingsley?’ Margot demanded rhetorically. ‘Have we ever seen him the worse for drink?’

  ‘It’s never been his sixtieth before.’ Charles turned into their driveway to a snort of derision from his wife. She got out of the car and by the time he joined her had unlocked the front door and was stepping out of her shoes with a sigh of relief.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Lydia tomorrow,’ she continued, ‘and suggest she gets him to see a doctor.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Margot, don’t go putting the wind up her! After a good night’s sleep he’ll be right as rain. The poor bloke’s entitled to one lapse in a previously blameless existence.’

  ‘And what do you make of the storm of tears, once you’d got him upstairs?’

  He should have known better than to tell her that, Charles reflected. ‘Remorse,’ he replied. ‘Shame at having made a spectacle of himself in front of his guests.’

  She shook her head decidedly, patting her hair in front of the mirror before turning into the sitting room. ‘That might have played a part, but there’s something underlying all this, and the sooner it’s out in the open, the better it will be.’

  ‘For whom?’ Charles scoffed. ‘You, to satisfy your curiosity?’

  ‘For Peter, of course. Not to mention Lydia, and poor little Sophie. She was distraught.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of a drink, and a strong one at that. Unlike old Pete, champagne does nothing either to or for me; might as well have been drinking water. Can I get you something?’

  She was standing in front of the fireplace, staring down at the large vase of roses that screened the empty grate. ‘Yes, I could do with a fresh, clean taste myself. Pour me a G and T, would you?’

  He nodded and went to the kitchen for ice and lemon, his mind still on his friend. Was she right? he wondered uneasily. Was it more than the drink that had caused Peter’s disintegration? Not a question he wanted to probe.

  ‘I’ll certainly phone in the morning,’ Margot reiterated as he returned to the sitting room. ‘But I’ll wait to see what she says before mentioning the doctor.’

  Charles breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good thinking,’ he said.

  Sunday morning, and as always during their lie-ins, Florence arrived clutching her teddy bear and climbed on to their bed.

  ‘The clock’s pointing to getting-up time,’ she announced triumphantly.

  Mark groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, part of the weekly routine, and with a giggle she pulled it off again. Beside him Sophie sat up, running her fingers through her hair.

  ‘How soon do you think I can ring Mum?’ she asked distractedly.

  ‘She said they’d phone you,’ Mark reminded her. ‘Just relax, darling, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’

  ‘How can I relax, until I know how Daddy is?’

  ‘He’ll be fine. Stop worrying.’

  She gave an exclamation of annoyance and swung her feet to the ground. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she said.

  Mark sighed, battling irritation. He supposed it was natural for her to worry, but the previous evening had been spent going over and over the incident and discussing possible causes for Peter’s uncharacteristic behaviour. He’d no intention of letting it dominate the day ahead as well. Resignedly he too got out of bed and lifted Florence to the floor.

  ‘Come on, poppet,’ he said, ‘let’s go and see what we can find for breakfast.’

  When her daughter phoned just after nine thirty, Lydia was determinedly upbeat. ‘Oh, he’s fine, darling. Nursing a sore head – no more than he deserves! – but otherwise fine.’

  ‘Can I speak to him?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘He’s in the shower at the moment,’ Lydia lied, in response to her husband’s quick shake of the head, ‘and as you can imagine, feeling a little embarrassed about what happened. Give him a day or two to regain his equilibrium, then I know he’d love to hear from you.’

  However, when Margot rang an hour later Peter had retired to the garden with the Sunday papers and she was able to speak more freely.

  ‘I am concerned about him, Margot, no use denying it. I think, between the two of us, that this might have been coming on for some time.’

  ‘That’s what I suspected,’ Margot replied, with unworthy satisfaction. ‘Are you free to talk?’

  ‘Not really; he’s in the garden, but he might wander in any time. Could we meet for coffee next week?’

  ‘An excellent idea. I have to go into Sevenoaks on Tuesday; how about meeting at Malabar about eleven?
’

  ‘That would be perfect. Thanks, Margot. See you then.’

  As she replaced the receiver, Lydia wondered just how frank she could be with her friend. Some of her worries wouldn’t be easy to talk about, but Margot was like the sister she’d never had, and Lydia felt sure she could count on her discretion. Feeling slightly better, she turned her thoughts to the Sunday lunch.

  Charles had also been worrying about Peter, though for much more complicated reasons. He sometimes felt he was in a love–hate relationship with this man who’d been a close friend for over forty years.

  They’d met at university and from the first Charles’s liking for Peter was tinged with envy: he was brighter and better looking than himself, more popular with their fellow students and – perhaps chief cause of his resentment – came from a much more affluent background, evidenced by his clothes, his easy manner and the gleaming sports car in which he’d arrived at university. But for some reason Charles never understood, it was he whom Peter chose as his closest friend.

  Before long, that friendship was put severely to the test, though Peter remained unaware of it, as he did of much else as the years went by. It began at a party given by a fellow student which, due to a previous engagement, Peter had been unable to attend. The host’s sister had brought a friend with her, a startlingly pretty girl called Lydia Crowther, and Charles had experienced a coup de foudre from which, though no one suspected it, he’d never fully recovered.

  Overcoming his normal reserve, he’d approached her on some pretext and, as their conversation continued, became more and more enthralled by her. They’d spent the rest of the evening together, and, since she lived locally, she agreed to go to a pop concert with him the following week. He’d been suffused with a wild, ecstatic happiness, hardly daring to believe his luck and suddenly convinced that all that had been lacking in his life was now within his grasp.