At one point he parked at the side of the road and they got out, buffeted by the strong wind, to walk along the cliffs overlooking a beach of golden sand.
‘The sea looks pretty rough,’ Natalie commented, turning up the collar of her jacket. ‘Very different from how we’re used to seeing it. I remember picnics in this bay, and looking for shrimps in the rock pools.’
Back in the car, Sebastian drove for another twenty minutes before pulling in to a whitewashed café on the cliffs that boasted the best seafood for miles around. Their appetites stimulated by their stiff walk, they didn’t dispute the claim, appreciating both the excellent food and the cosy atmosphere of the little café with its draped fishing nets and lobster pots.
When he’d woken that morning Mark had been apprehensive of meeting Helena after their impromptu lovemaking but, unable to detect any change in her attitude, assumed she regarded it merely as an extension of the charade they’d embarked on. He’d found himself wondering, with a frisson he tried to suppress, whether it would be repeated on their return from the celebrations that evening.
However, during the drive and the meal that followed it she’d become noticeably more tense, taking less and less part in the conversation, her mind apparently elsewhere.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked her in a low voice, under cover of the general chat.
She glanced at him with a slight frown. ‘Yes, why?’
‘You just seem a bit … distracted.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Not paying you enough attention, lover boy?’
He flushed and she gave a low laugh.
‘Only teasing.’
Danny clamoured for her attention, and the moment passed.
On the return journey Nick ceded his front seat to Mark, who, still slightly ill at ease with Helena, was glad to take it. He’d not so far had a one-to-one conversation with Sebastian and found, slightly to his surprise, that they had several interests in common, concluding with mild regret that were he really who he purported to be, they could have become good friends.
A taxi arrived at seven thirty to convey everyone to the Merlin and they emerged from their various rooms to gather in the hall. To Mark’s relief there was no sign of dinner jackets, the men simply in suits and ties. Since he hadn’t brought even a suit with him (his holiday wardrobe not being geared for formality) he’d opted for the blazer he’d worn each evening, and fortunately this seemed to pass muster.
The women, however, had dressed for the occasion and were in various styles of evening wear. Natalie, with her hair piled on top of her head, was in coffee lace and Helena wore an ankle-length dress in sea-green that complimented the red-bronze of her hair. Danny, much to his disgust, was to be left in the care of Meg and Andy, the caterers, and was still protesting he should be allowed to go with them.
‘It’ll be far too late and not your kind of food at all, kiddo,’ Sebastian assured him, ruffling his hair. ‘You wouldn’t enjoy it, but I’ll bring you back a piece of cake.’
And with that he had to be satisfied.
The Mackays had invited them for drinks before the meal in their private apartment, and the express lift bore them swiftly upwards, opening on to a carpeted hallway where Callum and Lexie were waiting to greet them. They were ushered into a large, comfortable-looking sitting room where a fire burned in a handsome stone grate and a bottle of champagne stood waiting in an ice bucket.
Mark hadn’t met Callum Mackay before, but liked him immediately. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy hair and grey eyes edged with laughter lines. He shook hands with both Mark and Nick, offering congratulations on their respective engagements, though Nick and Natalie’s had still to be formally announced.
Although the French chef would be otherwise engaged Mark had expected Blair and Ailsa to be present, and saw both Helena and Natalie look quickly around, registering their absence. Their glances were intercepted by Lexie.
‘Ailsa and Blair hope you’ll excuse them,’ she apologized, ‘but they send their congratulations and best wishes.’
She handed Paula a gaily wrapped parcel. ‘With our love,’ she said, and Paula opened it to reveal a china plate with a view of Drumlee and the dates 1977–2018. ‘Not,’ she added, ‘the date of your wedding, but of your meeting here the year before.’
Paula gave both her and Callum a hug, tears in her eyes. ‘That’s lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘As you know, Drumlee has always been very special to us.’
Douglas kissed Lexie and shook Callum’s hand. ‘It will hang in a place of honour!’ he said.
The champagne was poured and toasts made and the four eldest members of the party reminisced over the years they’d known each other, one memory leading to another and most of them evoking laughter. Eventually an internal phone rang and Callum, having answered it, announced that their table was ready. More hugs and thanks were exchanged and the Touchstone party re-entered the waiting lift.
‘I do think Ailsa and Blair might have made the effort,’ Helena remarked as they descended.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Paula answered comfortably. ‘After all, it’s their parents we’ve been friends with all these years.’
‘But we’ve been here for a lot of those years, and so have they.’
‘Hey!’ Douglas interposed jovially. ‘Whose anniversary is it?’
There was no time for more as the lift door opened and the maître d’ met them and escorted them to their table.
The fact that it was Valentine’s Day obviously outweighed its being out of season, because the restaurant was full and a buzz of conversation filled the air. They’d been allotted a table in an alcove with a window overlooking the floodlit square and its magnificent display of snowdrops, and as though to accentuate their perfection, during the evening a few flakes of snow began to fall.
‘Suppose it comes on heavily and we’re snowed in at Touchstone?’ Harry joked. ‘We’d have to stay here till the thaw!’
‘An unlikely scenario,’ responded Sebastian.
‘But possible!’ Harry insisted. ‘Planes grounded because of ice on the wings. It is February in Scotland, after all! As long as there were no power cuts, it would be rather fun!’
Mark inwardly agreed with him – he’d have no problem with putting his life on hold at the moment; he still hadn’t come to terms with his father’s incredible confession, and on top of that there was Simon’s hysterical and as yet unexplained phone call which he supposed he’d have to deal with.
They’d spent the previous Thursday valuing items at a country house in Dorset which had necessitated an overnight stay, and against his better judgement he’d been cajoled into promising that, should anyone enquire, he’d confirm that he and Simon had spent the evening together – which was patently untrue.
Back at the hotel he’d phoned his assistant and emailed him his valuation report, then, welcoming the prospect of a relaxing evening, ordered room service, had a bath and was watching television in his pyjamas when, to his extreme consternation, he received a call from Jenny.
‘Hi, Mark,’ she’d begun. ‘Sorry to trouble you, but Simon’s phone’s gone to voicemail. Is he with you?’
Mark closed his eyes, cursing himself for the extracted promise. ‘Not at this precise moment, Jen, he’s in the gents’. Shall I ask him to call you?’
‘Oh!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘No, on second thoughts, don’t bother – I only wanted a chat and he’ll be home tomorrow anyway. Thanks, Mark.’ And she rang off.
Well, he’d done his duty, he’d told himself grimly, and, deciding on an early night, had gone to bed. Which was why, when Simon’s late call, gabbled and incoherent, woke him from a deep sleep, he’d given him short shrift, assuming he was drunk, and simply put the phone down.
The following morning he’d left early, anxious to get home, pack and leave again in time to catch the York train. Simon’s call had completely slipped his mind. Perhaps he should check it had been nothing important.
He was roused
from his musings by the ceremonious arrival of a bottle of champagne and an impressive cake decorated with red ribbon and appropriate lettering scrolled in red icing. Douglas and Paula cut it together, Harry took a photograph with his phone and the waiter, having filled their glasses, bore the cake away to be cut into portions – an unwelcome reminder for Mark of Peter’s ill-fated birthday party.
Sebastian tapped on the side of his glass to claim everyone’s attention. ‘I won’t stand up since we’re in a public room,’ he said, ‘but I would like to propose a toast to our parents, congratulating them on reaching the big four-o and wishing them many more happy years together. So please raise your glasses to Mum and Dad, or, in the case of Jessica, Nick and Adam, to Douglas and Paula!’
They all complied, and when their voices had died down Douglas tapped his own glass. ‘Thank you all for your good wishes and the magnificent presents we’ve received. I may say this is the perfect way to spend our anniversary, in the place where we first met and with the whole family around us. And of course I must also add sincere thanks to your mother for putting up with me for so long!’
There was laughter and a smattering of applause and he raised his glass. ‘So let’s drink to the family!’ he proposed, and they duly did so. By the time the waiter returned with slices of cake, to be washed down with the last of the champagne, the evening was winding down, and as the other tables began to empty, the maître d’ approached to murmur discreetly to Douglas that their taxis had arrived.
It had stopped snowing but a light coating, reminiscent of the cake’s icing, lay over pavements and hedgerows, lending a touch of magic to the night. Mark was no longer expecting a repeat of Helena’s advances; though she had smiled and laughed when required, a part of her seemed detached from them all, and he was curious to know what was troubling her. He’d no chance to ask her; as soon as they reached home they wished each other goodnight and went to their rooms.
‘Oh well,’ Nick said philosophically as he closed their door, ‘I suppose it was too much to hope for!’
And Mark, with a rueful smile, agreed.
The clock in the hall chimed twice, its clear notes sounding through the silent house. Paula, still wide awake, sighed in frustration. It had been a full day, what with the present-opening, the romantic lunch à deux and the evening’s celebrations, and by rights she should be ready to sleep, but her mind was still spinning. The constant looking back that the day had triggered now brought to mind other details of that momentous holiday with her parents and younger brother: the boat trips, the beach picnics, the nightly dances at the hotel where, ‘across a crowded room’ as the song had it, she’d caught her first glimpse of the man she’d marry.
It was no good, she thought impatiently; sleep was a long way off. She’d go downstairs and make herself a hot drink. Carefully, so as not to wake her gently snoring husband, she slid out of bed and pulled on the thick dressing gown she’d had the presence of mind to bring with her. As she opened the bedroom door the air struck chill and she repressed a shiver. The three other doors were firmly shut and there was no sound other than the loudly clicking clock. Holding up her dressing gown, she went slowly and cautiously down the stairs.
A faint glow came through the fanlight over the front door, lighting her way along the passage to the kitchen. She took milk out of the fridge, poured it into a pan, reached down a tin of chocolate powder. Then, having made her drink, she returned along the passage to the sitting room. Meg and Andy had spent the evening here and there was still a residue of warmth coming from the ashes in the grate. She pulled up a chair, sat back with the hot mug between her hands and let the memories come.
Douglas had been holidaying with two other students and after that first evening, when he asked her to dance and his companions had each selected a partner, the six of them spent every day together, driving to different beaches squeezed into an open-topped sports car, visiting shows on the pier, but mostly sunbathing, swimming and dancing. And almost before she knew it, Paula had fallen in love.
Her parents, who had believed it to be a holiday romance, became increasingly concerned when, after they returned home, Douglas continued to write and telephone, driving over to see her whenever his university course allowed.
‘You’re both much too young,’ they insisted. ‘Once he’s graduated he’ll have to find a job and will have enough trouble supporting himself, let alone a wife! If you’re convinced he’s the one, what’s the harm in waiting? You can both build up your finances and if in a couple of years you’re still sure of each other, then go ahead and marry.’
Now, for the first time, Paula wondered whether, if they’d followed that advice, they would still have been together. But he was her first love, she his first serious relationship, and both had been convinced they’d live happily ever after.
They hadn’t, of course. Oh, it had been fine for a while; they were both working, so the only time they spent together was in the evenings and at weekends, and it was like an extended honeymoon. But then Seb was born, and disturbed nights led to tiredness and shortness of tempers, not helped by the sudden reduction in their income. The arguments and bickering began, and at one point she’d actually packed her bag and taken the baby back to her parents for a couple of months before giving in to Douglas’s pleadings to return home. Not that she’d been blameless in all this. Looking back, she could see she’d often been selfish, intent on having her own way and not pulling her weight when things went wrong.
Then, of course, the other children began to arrive and she’d immersed herself in caring for them, becoming more mother than wife, as Douglas frequently complained, leading to further arguments and accusations.
Nevertheless, it had been a shock when, as they were going through a particularly rocky patch, Douglas suddenly decided to opt out and applied for a year’s transfer to London, knowing that for various reasons, including not wishing to interrupt the children’s schooling at a crucial stage, she wouldn’t accompany him.
She had believed that was the end of their marriage, and any thought of celebrating their ruby wedding would have seemed moonshine. But yet again, probably taking more than his share of blame, Douglas had persuaded her to allow him back into her life. Incredibly, that was nearly twenty years ago, and it had been a wake-up call. After a shaky start when they’d tiptoed around on eggshells, their lives had realigned and, caught up in the highs and lows of everyday living, they’d evolved into a normal middle-aged couple, happy enough with each other’s company. Sadly, however, though deeply fond of him, she’d never recaptured that first unquestioning love.
She drew a deep breath, aware that she’d come full circle, and as the present reasserted itself, remembered with a jolt that something was troubling him, something he’d so far refused to discuss. Once they were back home she must get to the bottom of it. She stretched and, glancing into her mug, saw it was empty. Time to return to bed.
It was while Nick was having a shower the next morning that Mark remembered his intention of checking on Simon and, taking his phone out of the drawer where he’d left it that first evening, he switched it on. To his astonishment he was immediately confronted with a long list of missed calls – three, as he’d half-expected, from Simon, but one from another work colleague – unusual while on leave – and, potentially more worrying, one from Lydia and no fewer than four from his mother, the latest timed at seven o’clock the previous evening.
Florence! he thought instantly, his heart racing. God, don’t let anything have happened to her! He glanced uncertainly at the bedroom door, not knowing how long Nick would be, and aware that any conversation he might be having on his return could compromise his identity. Shrugging on his windcheater, he ran quickly downstairs and out of the front door.
Last night’s snow, thinly spread though it was, had frozen and lay glittering in silver crystals on the lawn. He opened the gate and walked a few quick steps along the pavement until the hedge screened him from the windows of the house. Then,
his heart thumping uncomfortably, he clicked on his mother’s latest call and her voice rang out on the still winter air.
‘Mark, where are you? We’re going out of our minds with worry! The police think you might know where she is – she disappeared the day you left, after all, and was seen catching the London train. We had to admit we’d been unable to contact you, and to make matters worse, you’d said you’d be walking in the York area but the B and Bs in the vicinity deny all knowledge of you. In view of all this, added to your estrangement, you can see why they’re becoming suspicious. If, God forbid, anything’s happened to her, you’ll be the number one suspect! We just need to know you’re both safe, Mark, so switch on your phone and call us!’
TEN
Kent
‘So go through it again,’ Jonathan directed, grinding black pepper over his steak. ‘The first you knew of it was when Sophie appeared at the bathroom door?’
Mark nodded. ‘I’d heard the phone, but I was bathing Florence so left it for her to answer. Then the door opened and she was just standing there, white as a sheet and leaning against the jamb. I scrambled to my feet and hurried outside, pulling the door shut behind me. And … then she told me.’
‘Poor little Soph,’ Jonathan said softly. ‘What exactly did she say?’
‘That it was Mum on the phone, and she’d told her her father had died.’
‘Not that he’d hanged himself?’
Mark shook his head, looking at the plate of food in front of him and wondering if he’d be able to eat it. ‘She shut me out, Jon; I wanted to comfort her, but she only wanted her mother.’
Jonathan glanced at him. ‘I suppose that’s natural enough,’ he said uncertainly. He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, I had rather a weird reaction from Delia. When I told her, she seemed to go into shock for a minute, then flung herself face down on the bed.’
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