Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  Mark frowned. ‘But she didn’t know him, did she?’

  ‘No, that’s just the point. She’d only met him twice. God knows what got into her.’

  ‘Intimations of mortality?’

  ‘Hardly. God, Mark, she’s a hard-headed businesswoman, not given to the vapours. I can’t think what came over her, and she wouldn’t explain.’ He paused. ‘She asked if he’d left a note?’

  ‘Yes, the police took it, but Lydia said it was only apologizing and saying how much he loved her.’

  ‘No clue there, then.’

  ‘No. I’ve been thinking of that party …’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘Me too. Something was certainly up then. That was the last time I saw him.’ He shook his head. ‘I just can’t get my head round it. Peter, of all people.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You’re going back this evening?’

  ‘Yes, for as long as Sophie and Florence are there.’

  ‘I don’t envy you, in the circumstances.’

  ‘I admit I’m not looking forward to it. Dad’s very shaken too, as you might imagine, and I can’t think it’s good for Florence to be surrounded by so much grief.’

  ‘I suppose there’ll have to be an inquest?’

  ‘And a post-mortem,’ Mark said grimly. ‘It’ll probably be the end of the month before we can hold the funeral, by which time it’ll be almost Christmas. And Lord knows what’ll happen then.’

  ‘Delia’s parents have invited us to theirs this year. I suppose from now on it’ll be turn and turn about. At least you’ve never had that problem, with the Kingsleys having always been part of our family Christmas.’

  ‘Which will make it even harder this year.’

  Jonathan nodded soberly. He glanced at his brother’s untouched plate. ‘Are you going to eat that or just sit looking at it?’

  Mark sighed, picking up his knife and fork. ‘I’m really not hungry.’

  ‘You need to keep your strength up.’

  ‘So who else will be at the Firths’ for Christmas?’ he asked, reluctantly starting to eat.

  ‘Just her parents and brother, I think. A very select party after the crowd I’m used to.’

  ‘But you get on with them OK, don’t you?’

  ‘To be honest I hardly know them, with their living down in Devon. Her brother works in London, though, and he’s been over a couple of times for a meal.’

  ‘He’s gay, isn’t he?’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘But not in a relationship or anything. Seems a decent bloke, and he and Dee are very close. I think she feels protective of him, being the elder sister.’

  ‘Well, I’d willingly swap your Christmas for mine this year,’ Mark observed feelingly.

  ‘If I write a note to Lydia, will you take it down for me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And let me know when the funeral is. Obviously we’ll be there; I just hope Delia doesn’t repeat this morning’s performance; it would be highly embarrassing.’

  Mark was grateful to have his work to concentrate on that day, but Simon was waiting for him when it was time to go home.

  ‘Thought we could have a chat on the train,’ he said, falling into step beside Mark.

  ‘Afraid not, I’m catching the Sevenoaks one. Family bereavement.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. Someone close?’

  ‘Sophie’s father.’

  ‘That is bad luck. Please give her my condolences. Been ill long, had he?’

  Mark, unwilling to elaborate, shook his head.

  ‘Well, that’s a blessing, anyway. Heart attack, I suppose. You’re always hearing of them these days. Makes you all the more determined to make hay while the sun shines, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not in the way you mean, no,’ Mark said shortly, and Simon gave a light laugh.

  ‘Disapproval duly noted, though if you knew who—’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘So you keep telling me. Well, you’ll find out eventually, along with everyone else.’

  Mark stopped short, turning to face him. ‘You’re not still thinking of leaving Jenny?’

  ‘Short of becoming a Mormon, I’ve no option,’ Simon said frivolously.

  ‘You intend to marry this woman?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been telling you for weeks. This one’s not just a fling, Mark.’

  ‘Does Jenny know?’

  ‘No, for various reasons we’re keeping it under wraps for a while.’

  ‘You don’t think you ought to prepare her?’

  ‘No point in worrying her ahead of time.’

  Mark started to walk again, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You really are something else, Simon!’ he said disgustedly.

  At the end of that week, the police having finished their examinations, Lydia moved back to Dormers, and Sophie and Florence went with her. Mark was taken aback; without really considering the matter, he’d assumed that once she left his parents’ house they’d all return home. He said as much to Sophie when she informed him of the arrangement.

  ‘Mark, just think about it! Mum hasn’t been in the house since the day Daddy died. All his things will be as he left them – clothes in the wardrobe, books on the table, dirty laundry in the basket. You can’t expect her to face that alone!’

  He moved uncomfortably, resenting being made to feel selfish. ‘I assumed Mum would be helping her.’

  ‘We’ll all help her, but she shouldn’t be alone at night just yet. I’ve promised to stay at least until after the funeral.’

  ‘But God, Sophie,’ he protested, ‘that could be weeks!’

  ‘So?’

  He floundered. ‘But what about Florence? What’s she supposed to be doing while you settle your mother?’

  ‘Margot offered to have her during the day,’ Sophie said coolly – and a shaft of Mark’s resentment switched to his mother for not having told him – ‘but as you know, the school’s roughly halfway between here and home, so she can go back next week.’

  ‘And what exactly is my position in this new arrangement? Am I invited to Dormers too?’

  She hesitated. ‘If you’d like to come, of course, or you could continue staying here. I’m sure your parents would be glad to have you.’

  Unlike you, apparently, he thought silently.

  ‘And if you’re worrying about not seeing Florence, of course you could come at weekends.’

  He stared at her for a moment, then turned on his heel and left the room.

  ‘Darling, you must make allowances for her,’ Margot said gently. ‘She’s putting her mother first at the moment, and you can’t blame her for that.’

  ‘She’s shutting me out,’ Mark said baldly.

  ‘Of course she isn’t, and of course we’d love you to stay on here.’

  He sighed and shook his head. ‘No, Mum, you need to get back to as near normal as possible, and you have Dad to cope with.’

  Although Charles had gone back to work towards the end of that first week, he was still withdrawn and morose and Margot was concerned about him.

  ‘It sounds awful of me,’ she confided, ‘but I’m hoping he might feel better once Lydia and Sophie have gone. Bless them, they’re constant reminders.’

  Mark said awkwardly, ‘The funeral’s supposed to offer “closure”, whatever that means. I’ve always doubted it myself – how can you suddenly start feeling better, when the person who’s died remains dead?’

  ‘I think it’s when people make an attempt to move on,’ Margot said. ‘But will you be all right, all by yourself in Chislehurst?’

  ‘Of course I shall. I’ll be at work all day, and I can meet Jon sometimes for lunch.’

  ‘And you’ll be back at the weekends?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said a little grimly. ‘I’ll be back at the weekends.’

  Going through her father’s things was heartbreaking. Though at first Sophie tried to be composed for her mother’s sake it soon proved impossible, and as they opened drawers and leafed thro
ugh his correspondence they made no attempt to hide their tears. It was both physically and emotionally draining, and after the first couple of days they decided to retire to their rooms for an hour after lunch in order to recoup. Florence meanwhile was back at school, and Margot had offered to collect her each afternoon and take her home for tea, to give them longer to sort things out.

  ‘I shall love having her company,’ she’d said.

  The question that was haunting them all, Sophie thought as she lay listlessly on her bed one afternoon, was WHY? Why had her father taken his own life without any indication he was considering it, and what had they all done, or not done, to have made him so desperate? Why hadn’t he talked to Mum, even to her? What had possessed him to cause them such pain, without so much as an explanation? That ghastly post-mortem had shown him to be a healthy man, so it wasn’t some mysterious illness. He and Mum obviously adored each other. And yet, and yet … He’d never seemed quite himself since that episode at his birthday party.

  She was interrupted in her musings by the chime of her mobile and Stella’s name showed on the screen. Oh God, she’d have to tell her what had happened!

  ‘Hi there!’ Stella began breezily. ‘Just checking on our date this evening. We’re meeting the boys at the station as usual, so OK if I call for you at seven thirty?’ She waited, and when there was no response added, ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Oh Stella,’ Sophie began, and the ready tears started again. ‘I can’t – I’m with Mum. Daddy died the day we came home.’

  Stella gasped. ‘Oh, you poor lamb! What happened?’

  ‘I – can’t go into it now, but as you’ll appreciate it’s been a total shock for us all.’ She started to cry in earnest. ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it? I’m being punished for going with James like that.’

  ‘Now look, honey,’ Stella began firmly, ‘you can’t go thinking like that. Of course it’s not your fault. Your father must have been ailing for some time, even if you didn’t know about it – it was absolutely nothing to do with you.’ She paused, then asked tentatively, ‘How is it with Mark? Is he with you?’

  ‘No. He stayed down all last week while we were at his parents’ – or at least, came back each evening – but he’s gone home now. He’ll come again at the weekend.’

  ‘James is very keen to see you.’

  ‘Too bad, because I don’t want to see him ever again!’

  ‘Because of your guilt complex about your dad? Get real, Sophie!’ Her voice changed. ‘Or are you and Mark all lovey-dovey again?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘No. Actually, it was odd. He was doing his best to comfort me, but I just didn’t want him near me.’

  ‘There you are then,’ Stella said enigmatically. ‘Of course you’re upset at the moment – how could you not be? – but it seems obvious to me you still need a bit of spice in your life, and James can supply it.’

  ‘I really can’t think about it now, Stella.’

  ‘Fair enough. How long are you staying down there?’

  ‘Till after the funeral, whenever that is.’

  ‘Well I’ll give you a bell in a week or two, and we’ll see how it goes. In the meantime I really am very sorry about your dad.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sophie said bleakly, and hung up.

  The next couple of weeks slowly passed, and since Simon was aware Mark would be returning to an empty house, it proved more difficult to fend off his repeated suggestions of a meal in town. Eventually, since admittedly he was not enjoying his own company at the moment, Mark agreed to accompany him to a gastro pub one evening.

  They arrived to find it crowded, and elected to sit at the bar with their drinks until a table became vacant. On the wall in front of them the television droned on inaudibly, lost in the general noise level, while Mark tried to concentrate on Simon’s concerns about an upcoming sale. Suddenly he broke off and, glancing at him questioningly, Mark saw his eyes were fixed on the screen. The programme had changed, and Victoria Pyne, a well-known presenter, had appeared on the screen.

  ‘She’s married to the boss, isn’t she?’ he remarked idly. ‘Lucky man!’

  Simon didn’t reply. He’d flushed a deep red and Mark drew in his breath sharply as an alarming suspicion dawned. ‘Simon, you’re not …? I mean, she’s not …?’

  ‘Got it in one!’ Simon said softly. ‘Now do you see what I mean?’

  ‘But – my God! – you’re playing with fire on all counts! I mean, she’s well known – any hint of scandal and it’ll go viral – and the boss, of all people! God, Simon, are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said quietly, ‘of course I am.’

  Mark, lost for words, looked back at the screen. Victoria Pyne, for God’s sake! Tall, beautiful, composed, always perfectly groomed – what on earth, he thought uncharitably, did she see in Simon? It couldn’t, surely, be serious? Not on her part?

  ‘Are you sure you’re not building castles in the air?’ he asked. ‘She’s not likely to want her name spread over the tabloids, is she? And as for your job – well, you can kiss that goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t you think she’s worth the sacrifice?’ Simon said. ‘I certainly do.’

  A table behind them became vacant and he quickly slipped off his stool to claim it before anyone else could. Mark carried his own glass across. ‘Look, you’ve made this my business by asking me to cover for you. Please, please see sense! It’s the cachet of being with a celebrity, isn’t it, but Jenny’s worth three of her! And think of your children, if your job’s expendable. What would this do to them?’

  The barman called out a number. Simon said, ‘That’s our order,’ and went to collect it. Setting down the two plates on the table, he added, ‘Sorry, Mark, we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one. Subject closed.’

  In due course the inquest concluded that Peter’s death was self-inflicted ‘beyond all reasonable doubt’ and the date for the funeral was set for Thursday 24 November. Meanwhile Mark continued to go down at weekends and made a point of staying at Dormers, though at times he felt an intruder. Florence at least was delighted to see him, but though he shared Sophie’s bed there was no attempt at lovemaking. Was this the end of his marriage? he wondered.

  One night, having switched off the bedside light, he said abruptly, ‘Who’s Lance?’ And felt her start violently.

  ‘Lance?’ she repeated – to gain time, he thought.

  ‘Yes.’ Mark forced himself to speak evenly above the thumping of his heart. ‘Apparently he bought Florence an ice cream in Bournemouth, and for some reason you told her not to tell me.’

  ‘Did I?’ She sounded flustered. ‘I can’t think why.’

  ‘Nor can I. So who is he?’

  ‘A friend of Stella’s. He happened to be there at the same time, so he looked us up one afternoon.’

  ‘A friend of Stella and Rex’s, or just of Stella’s?’

  She moved impatiently. ‘She just introduced him as a friend, so how would I know?’

  ‘Oh, you’d know,’ he said.

  ‘Why are you making such a thing of this?’ she burst out. ‘It’s not important!’

  ‘It is when our daughter’s told to keep something a secret. She was afraid you’d be cross with her if you found out she’d mentioned him.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense! Stop making a mountain out of a molehill and go to sleep!’ And she turned on her side to face the wall. ‘Goodnight,’ she said after a minute.

  He did not reply.

  Having arranged two days’ compassionate leave, Mark took the train home from work on the evening before the funeral, packed himself a weekend case and drove down to Foxbridge, determined that he would return with Sophie and Florence. He was still not happy about the mysterious Lance, and once they were home again and normal life had resumed, he intended to get to the bottom of it. Florence’s guilty little face had upset him; she was too young to be taught subterfuge.

  He’d been concerned about how his father would stand up to the stresses of the day, but on ar
rival at his parents’ house was surprised to find him in better form than he’d expected, and preparing to deliver the eulogy at the service.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it, Dad?’ he enquired anxiously. ‘It’ll be very taxing.’

  ‘Of course I’m up to it!’ Charles retorted, with a return to his former brusqueness. ‘It’s the least I can do, as his oldest friend. I owe it to both him and Lydia.’

  Mark breathed a sigh of relief, hoping the worst of the shock had worn off and he’d come to terms with what had happened. Now all that remained was to ensure Sophie and Florence’s return with him after the funeral.

  When they retired to their room that night, he said casually, ‘It’ll be good to have you both home again. I’ve been like a lost soul these last weeks.’

  She had her back to him, but he sensed her tension. ‘Actually, I was going to suggest we stay a bit longer,’ she began, her voice falsely casual. ‘Planning the funeral has been a terrific strain on Mum – she still needs me.’

  ‘I need you, Sophie,’ Mark said.

  She gave her head an impatient little shake – the only sign she’d heard him. ‘In fact, with Christmas only four weeks away, the most sensible thing would be to stay till then.’

  She was pretending to fiddle with the zip of her dress, carefully not looking at him. After a minute he said, ‘Don’t you want to come home, Sophie?’

  He thought she wasn’t going to reply, but then she said in a little voice, ‘To be honest, I’m not sure.’

  It was as though she’d struck him, yet beneath the immediate shock was the acknowledgement that this was what he’d expected. And beneath that lay the so far unadmitted possibility that he mightn’t want her to. But he did want Florence – quite desperately.

  He drew a deep breath, telling himself he must make allowances. Her father’s death had hit her hard and she’d always been close to Lydia. He’d no right to force her into important decisions at the moment.

  She did turn then, her face pleading with him to understand. ‘I’m sorry, Mark, but things haven’t been good between us for a while. I think a bit longer apart might be good for both of us.’

  ‘But not for Florence,’ he said solidly.

  She sighed. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘she’s the one you really miss.’