Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  Douglas said in a strangled voice, ‘I didn’t know!’ Then he suddenly clutched his chest and fell forward across the table.

  Ellie came to her feet, staring in consternation as everyone rushed to his aid and the two medics, Natalie and Nick, took charge. ‘Phone for an ambulance!’ Natalie instructed over her shoulder, and both her brothers fumbled for their phones.

  Ellie was standing as though paralysed. She said in a choked voice, ‘I never meant—’

  ‘Then exactly what did you mean, you stupid little bitch?’ Helena flung at her.

  Ellie gave a sob and ran out of the room. Seconds later the front door slammed and they heard her footsteps running down the path.

  Watching the frantic emergency measures in stunned disbelief, Mark wondered if the day could possibly get any worse.

  FIFTEEN

  Kent

  Margot and Charles had tried to persuade Lydia to stay with them in Sophie’s absence but she’d steadfastly refused on the grounds that her daughter might come back at any time to find an empty house. Feeling she and Florence shouldn’t be alone, they’d therefore packed a case and temporarily moved to Dormers.

  It had been a difficult and fraught few days, made worse by the fact that Florence was on half-term holiday and a constant pretence had to be maintained that all was well.

  ‘Why hasn’t Mummy phoned?’ she’d asked more than once, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to think of satisfactory answers.

  On the Wednesday morning, after a bad night followed by Mark’s enigmatic phone call, the need to escape for a while began to build inside Margot and on an impulse she made some vague comment to Charles and Lydia, got into her car and drove the few miles home.

  Since the central heating was on the twice-daily schedule the house felt cool and she didn’t remove her coat. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down with it at the kitchen table, trying to sort the chaos of her thoughts. She seemed already to have gone over every conceivable reason for Sophie’s disappearance but none had been satisfying. Yes, the girl was often thoughtless and impulsive, but vanishing like this with no explanation was nothing short of cruel. After the shock of Peter’s death, she wasn’t sure how much more Lydia could stand.

  Then there was Mark and his odd behaviour. He hadn’t said where he was, nor why he was ‘tied up’, and had circumvented her demand to be more explicit. It was understandable that he’d lost patience with Sophie, but surely he was still concerned for her welfare. She gave an exclamation of annoyance. Her world seemed to be disintegrating about her.

  Her eyes went round the familiar outlines of the room as though seeking comfort from them. How many meals they’d had at this table, she reflected, both formal and informal – with Mark and Jon when they were young, later with Mark and Sophie, then Jon and Delia, but consistently throughout all those years with Peter and Lydia. When had been the last time the four of them were here together? Not, despite repeated invitations, since Peter’s sixtieth birthday. Looking back, that had been when things started to go wrong. If only she knew why!

  With the present so uncertain, it was a relief to let her mind go back to happier times and her first meeting with the Kingsleys. It had been shortly after she met Charles; they’d been out together only a few times, to the theatre or dinner at nearby restaurants, and when he phoned to say he’d like her to meet his friends she’d been reluctant to share their date with them. Peter and Lydia had been married just over a year, and Charles introduced them as his best friend from university and the first girl he’d fallen in love with – a comment that had caused laughing protest.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Margot!’ Peter had reassured her. ‘We both met Lyddie on the same day and she and I were engaged six weeks later. Charles was our best man.’

  Whether or not due to Charles’s tactlessness, though she’d immediately liked Peter, who was handsome and charming and thoroughly at his ease, she was less impressed with his wife, whom she wrote off uncharitably as a dumb blonde. Irritatingly pretty and well aware of it, she fluttered and flirted like a butterfly, bestowing her dazzling smile on every man within her orbit, be he waiter, cab driver or her husband’s best man.

  It was some time before Margot began to see beneath the façade to the warm and lovable person Lydia really was. In the meantime she and Charles had married, and a few months later she’d found she was pregnant. She’d broken the news to Lydia when they were out on a foursome and the two men had temporarily left them in search of drinks, and had been totally unprepared for Lydia’s reaction, which was to burst into tears.

  Alarmed, Margot had leaned across the table to take her hand. ‘Lydia, what is it? What have I said?’

  Lydia, who cried as prettily as she did everything else, hastily wiped her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologized. ‘Of course I’m delighted for you. When is it due?’

  ‘If you’re delighted, why the tears?’ Margot asked gently.

  They welled again. ‘Because it’s so unfair! You’ve only been married five minutes, and Peter and I have been trying for a baby for the last eighteen months. And what makes it worse is that I’ve had a couple of misses.’

  ‘Oh Lydia, I’m so sorry!’ Margot exclaimed. ‘I never gave it a thought.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t, and I’m being silly and selfish as usual. I’m sure it’s just a question of time and all will be well.’

  But Margot had given birth to two healthy sons before Sophie, an adored ewe lamb, had put in an appearance. And now that lamb had gone astray.

  Lost in her memories, Margot found her coffee had grown cold and stood up to put it in the microwave, watching pensively as the pointer moved slowly to the time set. She ought to get back, she thought. It was getting on for lunchtime, and since she’d taken over the cooking while they’d been at Dormers, she doubted if Lydia would have made a start on it. But oh, how she wished she and Charles were back here, Sophie and Mark were together again, and all was as it should be.

  Overcoming her reluctance to return to Dormers and its cloak of anxiety, Margot rinsed and dried her coffee mug and replaced it in the cupboard. Then, determinedly fastening her coat, she went back to her car.

  Minutes later she turned into the Dormers driveway, parked by the front door and, marshalling some cheerfulness from deep inside her, went into the house.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Anyone ready for lunch?’

  There was silence except for the sound of a children’s TV programme upstairs.

  ‘Hello?’ she called again. ‘Anyone home?’

  She pushed open the sitting room door and stopped dead on the threshold. In the centre of the room Lydia stood sobbing in Charles’s arms.

  For a moment her heart stood still as a voice from the past echoed in her head: This is the first girl I fell in love with! Then they turned and, seeing her, simultaneously reached out, inviting her to join them, and the memory dissolved in a tide of love for them both as she went swiftly over to be enfolded in their embrace.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Lance burst out. ‘If all you’re going to do is moan about Sophie, I might as well go back to work!’

  ‘I’m sorry, babe.’ Stella reached up to touch his face. Now they were no longer in a foursome they’d reverted to meeting in Lance’s flat in Pimlico. ‘I’m really worried about her, though. It’s not like her to go off like that without telling anyone – and she’s certainly never left Florence before.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you sure James hasn’t seen her?’

  ‘He says not. Short of resorting to a lie detector, I have to accept that.’

  ‘They were still seeing each other last month,’ Stella said.

  ‘So?’

  ‘What did he actually say, when you asked him?’

  Lance gave a dramatic sigh. ‘I wasn’t using a tape recorder.’

  ‘Please, babe, just humour me?’

  ‘That he hadn’t seen her for a week or two. Look, you seem to be under the impression that we’re bosom buddies. We’re
not. In fact, I only met him a couple of days before our first double date.’

  ‘What?’ Stella sat up and stared at him. ‘Where did you meet him, then?’

  ‘In a pub. We got talking and he seemed pleasant enough. You’d suggested fixing Sophie up with someone, and since most of my friends were already spoken for I asked if he was game, and he said yes.’ He hesitated. ‘I admit that for a first date I thought he came on a bit strong in the car, but Sophie seemed to have no complaints.’

  Stella was silent, mulling over this new perspective. ‘So how many times have you actually met?’

  ‘Well, we went down to Bournemouth together, but only to meet you two.’

  ‘My God, so you know next to nothing about him?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Lance looked uncomfortable. ‘But come on, it’s not that different from how you and I first got together, and she wouldn’t have gone on seeing him if she hadn’t been interested.’

  Stella said slowly, ‘I think at times he frightens her.’ She frowned. ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘No idea, except it’s a flat with a “deaf old biddy” living below him.’

  ‘Then where does he work?’

  ‘Don’t know that, either.’ He was sounding defensive now.

  ‘Then how,’ Stella asked with heavy patience, ‘did you contact him to arrange the dates?’

  ‘I have his mobile number, that’s all.’

  Stella frowned worriedly. ‘We’d agreed to cover for each other, so when her mother rang on Sunday I said she’d been with me. But she’s still not turned up and I’m getting really worried now, especially after what you’ve just said. Suppose I’ve hindered the search for her? I’m pretty sure Mrs Kingsley doesn’t know about him.’

  ‘Well, no. It’s not the sort of thing you’d discuss with your mother. Especially if you’re still married to someone else.’

  ‘Perhaps I should tell her after all.’

  ‘Tell her what, exactly? You don’t even know for certain she was with James at the weekend – he told me she wasn’t, remember – let alone where he lives. And if Sophie’s mum starts digging it might lead back to us; then your husband could get wind of it.’

  ‘I wish you’d told me, that’s all.’

  ‘Told you what?’ He was beginning to lose patience.

  ‘That he was such an unknown quantity. I feel responsible for her, having talked her into meeting him in the first place.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t twist her arm; she must have been up for it.’

  ‘You’ve got his mobile number,’ Stella said suddenly. ‘Ring him now!’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not? He’ll be on his lunch break from wherever it is he works.’ And, as he hesitated, ‘Please, Lance.’

  Grumbling, he reached for the chair where he’d tossed his jacket, retrieved his mobile and, muttering under his breath, tapped in the number. After a few minutes it went to voicemail.

  ‘Great!’ said Stella heavily.

  ‘Look, I’ll try again later, OK? Now for God’s sake lie down and let’s get on with what we came here for. Time’s ticking, you know, and I’m already taking an extended lunch hour.’

  Stella ran her hand distractedly through her hair but he reached up, tugged gently on her wrist and pulled her down to him, and with a sigh she put Sophie out of her mind.

  Miss Elise Philpott, ex-headmistress and Justice of the Peace, looked up from her newspaper and frowned. There it was again, that muffled sound that she couldn’t quite identify, coming from the flat above. But it was midday and the young man (she couldn’t remember his name – if, indeed, she’d ever heard it) had left for work as usual that morning. The front door had slammed while she was having her breakfast.

  Could it be rats? She gave a shiver. Perhaps she should contact the landlord, but surely that was up to the occupier? Maybe a word with him, then, in the first instance. They’d not exchanged more than a couple of words when he first moved in – a rather brusque young man, she’d thought, and although he’d been civil enough she hadn’t felt entirely comfortable with him, a feeling exacerbated last Friday when he’d brought a girl back with him, strictly against tenancy rules.

  She’d been opening her bedroom window when his car drew up, and she’d noticed with disapproval that he’d had to support his companion into the house. Drunk, she supposed, thinking nostalgically of all the young girls she’d nurtured over a lifetime of teaching, when discipline and self-respect had to a large extent forestalled such behaviour. Times had certainly changed, she thought regretfully, and not for the better.

  Such a shame old Mr Baines had died; he’d been an ideal neighbour, and they’d occasionally enjoyed a game of cribbage in the evenings. Too bad, she thought with a self-deprecating smile, that she wasn’t consulted on the conviviality or otherwise of her neighbours!

  Another indistinct sound from above – could it be described as a squeak? This really wasn’t good enough; she’d waylay her neighbour on his return this evening and have a word. She picked up her paper again, but was again interrupted, this time by the telephone.

  ‘Hello, Aunt!’

  ‘Colin!’ It was her favourite nephew and her heart lifted. ‘How nice to hear from you.’

  ‘Just to say I’ll be in your area tomorrow, and am hoping you’ll have lunch with me.’

  ‘How kind – I should be delighted.’

  ‘Excellent! It’s some time since I saw you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well in myself, thank you, but unfortunately I’m having a slight problem with the flat at the moment, which is causing me some worry.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  She hesitated. ‘This sounds fanciful, but I keep hearing noises from the flat above me after the tenant has left for work. I thought at first it was my imagination, but now I’m wondering if it could be rats.’

  ‘Good grief! How long has this been going on?’

  ‘I’ve only noticed it this last week. It’s probably nothing, but I’m continually on edge, listening for it.’

  ‘Well, we can’t have that. When I collect you tomorrow, I’ll see if I can suss out what’s causing it. In the meantime, try not to worry. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘That would be such a relief, dear,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘Still no news?’

  Jonathan had barely closed the front door behind him. ‘Yes and no,’ he said, dropping his briefcase on the floor. ‘Mum’s finally established contact with Mark.’

  ‘But Sophie’s not with him?’

  ‘No, but then we never really thought she was.’

  ‘Could he offer any suggestions as to where she might be?’

  He shook his head. ‘In fact, old Mark was being a bit cagey. Said he was “tied up” at the moment and couldn’t come home, and – the really odd thing – he turned off his mobile again, promising to phone Mum this evening.’

  Delia frowned. ‘Why ever would he do that?’

  Jonathan shrugged. ‘Search me, unless he’s got some woman holed up there. I could use a drink.’ He walked past her into the sitting room. ‘G and T?’

  She nodded, slowly following him and perching on the arm of a chair, her arms wrapped round her as though she were cold.

  ‘You do think she’s – all right – don’t you?’

  ‘Sophie? God knows. I suppose she must have had some sort of meltdown.’

  Delia shuddered as she took her glass from him, and he frowned.

  ‘Are you OK, love? I didn’t think there was much love lost between the two of you.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to her.’ She took a quick drink, grimacing as the coldness of it numbed her throat. She looked up at his concerned face. ‘You don’t think she might have done anything silly, do you? She was very close to Peter, and her marriage is in the process of breaking down. She’s not in a good place at the moment. Suppose she decided to … follow his example?’ Her voice shook. ‘Then I’d have that
on my conscience as well.’

  ‘Good God, darling,’ Jonathan exclaimed, ‘you can’t think like that!’ Removing her glass, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms, where she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulder. ‘Sophie might be a scatterbrain like her mother, bless her, but she’s got her head screwed on. There’s no way she’d do anything like that.’

  ‘Then where is she, Jonathan?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ he said.

  Jenny Lester came slowly downstairs after settling her children and stood in the sitting room doorway surveying her husband. He was sitting forward on his chair, holding a whisky glass between his knees and staring down into it.

  Bracing herself, she came into the room and sat down opposite him. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ she asked quietly.

  His head jerked up and it took a moment for his eyes to focus. ‘Work,’ he said after a pause.

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry. Not good enough.’

  He made to take a drink, saw that his glass was empty and set it down on the coffee table.

  ‘You’re having an affair, aren’t you?’

  His head shot up again, his lips framed in a denial. Then his face crumpled, he covered it with his hands and began to weep, great sobs racking his body. She sat motionless, watching him, as the minutes ticked by. Eventually the paroxysm lessened and, with a shuddering gulp, stopped. He wiped his face with his hands, then fished in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose. Finally he looked up, meeting her steady gaze.

  ‘How long have you known?’ he asked in a low voice.

  She shrugged. ‘Weeks? Months? And I’d be surprised if this is the first.’

  His eyes filled again and he swallowed convulsively. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to rock the boat while the children are so young.’

  He gazed at her with wet, reddened eyes. ‘Then why now?’

  ‘Because this time it’s different and I can’t go on pretending nothing’s wrong.’