I riffled in my bag and left money in my saucer for the coffee, eyes still peeled. The tall blond man, in a baggy sea-green shirt today, obviously not tucked in, jeans artistically ripped at the knee, was now out of the cab and paying the driver at the window. If I was quick, I could make it. I moved, which I can, because trust me lambing keeps you fit, across the road, under the arch, and down the little cobbled street. I had a few moments in hand because the taxi driver was obviously rooting about for some change, whilst the blond man leaned through the open window and chatted to him. So I was able to intercept him, just as he turned away and was pocketing his change. Just as he walked to the door, key in hand.
‘Excuse me,’ I said breathlessly, aware that he was terribly handsome with the most terrific green eyes and wishing I’d had the foresight to put a bit of make-up on when I’d left Lucy’s flat.
He looked at me, surprised. A hand went up to push a flop of golden hair streaked faintly with grey out of those startling eyes and away from a tanned face. He smiled enquiringly.
‘Excuse me,’ I faltered again. ‘I – I just wondered – could I possibly ask you something?’
‘By all means.’ He looked amused, smiling down at me from quite a height, as one might regard a child.
‘You see, my husband’s uncle lived here, in this house. The pink one. Cuthbert Faulkner. My late husband, that is, and well, obviously it was his late uncle too.’ I was getting myself in a terrible tangle and could feel myself colouring. ‘And – well, the thing is, I came the other day, but I wasn’t aware that anyone lived here, so—’
‘You’re Cuthbert’s niece?’ His green eyes brightened, intrigued.
‘In law. Yes.’
‘Ah, so you’re inheriting. Camilla told me you’d popped round.’
‘That’s right,’ I said gratefully, so pleased I hadn’t had to say the ‘i’ word. It sounded so proprietary. So entitled. And full of cupidity.
‘Well, I’m Felix Carrington. Lovely to meet you.’
He was outstretching a tanned hand which I took, another warm smile blasting down on me, loads of white teeth. Were they bleached? I wondered.
‘We knew you were the heir, don’t worry, and I’ll have him out of here in a jiffy, I promise, before it’s all official and everything. It’s just, we did wonder …’ He knitted his brow and looked anxious. ‘Well, Cuthbert only died a matter of weeks ago and you know it’s quite hard, there’s so much to do. I hope you’ll bear with us?’ His eyes searched mine. ‘Just for a few days?’
I gaped at him. ‘S-sorry …?’
‘Oh Lord – what am I doing making you stand outside in the street? Come in, come in! You’ll have a cuppa?’
He’d opened the door before I could utter a word, and was busy extracting his key from the lock when Camilla appeared down the hall, a bulging black bin bag in one hand, her jacket in the other.
‘Hi, Felix, I was just off … oh.’ Her face darkened as she recognized me. ‘It’s you. Back again? Give us a chance, can’t you?’
‘Oh – um, I—’
But she’d deliberately turned away from me. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, Felix. I’ve done the meds and made a start on all the stuff in the desk. You just need to feed the cat.’
And flashing me another sharp look she strode past, out to the dustbins where she dumped her black sack, letting the lid fall with a defiant clatter before making for her black Mini.
‘Don’t mind her,’ Felix told me as he shut the door behind us. He strode down the hall to the kitchen and I scurried after him. Reaching up, he unlocked the French windows to the garden and pushed them open, then turned to face me. ‘She was very fond of Cuthbert and has her own views on what should happen now, which frankly she should keep to herself. Now.’ He beamed, hands on hips. ‘What’s your poison? Earl Grey? Builder’s? Mint, too … I think …’ He turned and rummaged in a cupboard. ‘But it could be about a hundred years old.’ He discarded a few dusty packets. ‘Lord, look at these, museum pieces. And then you’ll have to excuse me very briefly while I dash upstairs to administer, but I’ll only be a mo, and I’ll make you your tea first. I might take him one too, actually.’
‘H-him?’ I perched on a stool, completely at a loss.
‘My father. Upstairs.’
‘Your father? Is upstairs?’
He turned from filling the kettle at the sink.
‘Yes, in bed. He’s had the flu. Quite badly, and of course it’s a bugger to shift at that age.’
‘Yes – but … why is your father … who is your father?’
‘Why, Robert, of course.’ He saw my blank face. ‘Cuthbert’s partner?’
‘His partner?’
‘Yes, didn’t you know?’
‘Cuthbert was … gay?’
‘Yes.’ He rummaged in another cupboard. ‘Dad was his boyfriend. Oh, hello, ginger and lemon. That do?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ My head was spinning. ‘So how long had they …’
‘Been together? Ooh, about twenty years, I suppose. Not officially, of course. No civil partnership or anything like that. And plenty of sabbaticals along the way.’ He laughed. ‘In their younger days they fought like cat and dog, but on and off, yes, about that.’
‘I – I didn’t know.’
‘Didn’t you?’ He looked surprised. Then shrugged. ‘Well, no reason why you should, I suppose. The family weren’t exactly close, I gather.’
‘No, they weren’t.’ David didn’t seem to have any relatives. They certainly didn’t gather at the drop of a hat like mine.
‘And of course, years ago it was much less accepted, so …’ he shrugged again, ‘it was less talked about, too, I guess.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, wondering how he, the son, fitted in. I was about to form another question, not that one, of course, something more oblique, when Felix glanced above my head. His eyes brightened and he broke into a smile. I heard a shuffling behind me in the hallway.
‘Ah, speak of the devil!’ Felix cried. ‘If it isn’t the old man of the sea himself. I didn’t expect to see you up, Pa. How are you feeling?’
‘Much better, darling.’ A deep, quavering, cut-glass voice made me turn. When I did, it was to see a tall, rather grand-looking old gentleman, who, despite the silk paisley dressing gown and slippers, was still managing to pull off dapper. He had a thick shock of white hair swept back from his forehead and chiselled features that I could see would have made him very handsome in his youth. He still was handsome, in fact, and his son was the image of him.
‘Although I’ve still got this wretched cough that I’d bally well like to get shot of. Who said old age is not for cissies? Bette Davis, I think. I say, who’s this delightful creature?’ He gave me a dazzling smile, his whole face creasing up as he carefully manoeuvred down the step into the kitchen, holding the door frame but still keeping his eyes on me. ‘Someone you haven’t told me about, you rascal?’ He held out a liver-spotted hand, eyes twinkling. ‘Good morning, my dear, is he behaving? No? Didn’t think so.’
Felix laughed. ‘Oh no, Dad, this is – I say, I’m so sorry, I don’t even know your name.’
‘Molly Faulkner,’ I breathed.
‘Molly Faulkner,’ repeated Felix. ‘My dad, Robert Carrington.’ He gave his father a gentle look. ‘The clue’s in the name, obviously. Molly is Cuthbert’s niece,’ he told him carefully. He handed me a mug of tea but his eyes were still on his father. ‘She’s inheriting his estate.’
9
Robert’s manners were as impeccable as his appearance. He didn’t miss a beat.
‘Of course it is, and naturally you are! Well, how lovely to meet you, my dear, I hope you’ll stay a while. Have you been offered some refreshment?’
Ever since I’d met these delightful people, all I’d been offered was tea, hospitality and warmth. I felt shabby in comparison.
‘I have,’ I said, jumping up to take the hand he’d extended across the table. ‘And I’m so sorry to be here at all, disturbing you
like this. It’s just – well, I couldn’t resist another peek at the house even though I popped round the other day and met Camilla and then I saw Felix going in and – well …’ I felt myself reddening. How awful. Was I a stalker? I certainly sounded like one.
‘Naturally, naturally!’ he broke in, rescuing me. ‘Who wouldn’t be intrigued? I certainly would! Would you like to look around properly, pop upstairs? Happily I’ve made the bed but believe me, that’s not always the case!’
‘No, no!’ This was beyond embarrassing, but to explain that I was more curious than covetous would be fraught with difficulties too, given the circumstances. ‘I’m intruding quite enough as it is and – and I am so sorry about your terrible loss. You must be devastated.’
Robert’s face collapsed briefly and he momentarily lost his composure. He regained it quickly enough, though, nodding.
‘Thank you, my dear. Time heals, of course, but he was my very greatest friend. Naturally I miss him dreadfully.’
‘We all do,’ said Felix sadly.
‘Do you … have any pictures of him?’ I asked tentatively. If only I’d known him, this man who’d engendered such warmth and tenderness. ‘Only David and I never really knew him, I’m not sure why …’
‘Do I! Masses of them. Come with me, my dear, nothing would give me greater pleasure.’ He turned and led the way, shuffling with alacrity in his slippers back down the hall to the sitting room. I made haste.
‘Dad, shall I make you some tea?’ called Felix after us.
‘Please, darling,’ he called back.
Loving the way he called his son darling, I followed Robert as he crossed to a mahogany bureau at the far end of the room beside the French windows. The top was crowded with photographs but he carefully selected a large studio portrait. It was of a handsome man in his sixties, wearing a velvet jacket and a floral shirt. He regarded it fondly for a moment before passing it to me.
‘There he is. You’ll see a resemblance, I think.’
To David’s father, he meant, and I spotted it immediately. They were both handsome men, but this one looked more genial.
‘He and your husband’s father fell out years ago, of course. Money, I believe. It usually is. To do with their father’s will, I think. David tried to heal the rift when he was quite a young man. He was fond of Cuthbert. It didn’t work but Cuthbert was grateful. And then of course your husband’s loyalty essentially lay with his father and the two families drifted.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ I said, surprised. About David stepping in to help. I was taken aback that I hadn’t known. ‘I wonder why he didn’t mention it? I suppose I never knew Cuthbert, but even so …’ I studied the strong jaw, the ironic smile as if on the verge of something much broader. ‘What a shame. Although, hang on.’ I lowered the photo and gazed into space, racking my brains. ‘I do vaguely remember some drama, about David’s relatives, when I first met him. But we were very young and totally preoccupied with our own lives.’
‘Not those of boring older people.’
‘Well, quite. Yes, perhaps he did mention it, but I hadn’t taken much notice?’
‘They did keep in touch, you know.’
‘David and Cuthbert? I didn’t.’
‘Wrote and then emailed, when Cuthbert got the hang of it.’ He smiled. ‘He was something of a Luddite. Had lunch about once a year in the City, too. Christmas time. Wheelers, I believe.’
I stared at him, astounded. ‘Are you sure? He certainly never mentioned that.’ Never said – off for my annual jaunt with old Cuthbert. Why?
Robert shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was one of many at that time of year?’
‘Even so …’
‘I met him once, David. He came to the house.’
‘He came here?’ Now I really was staggered. ‘When? Why didn’t he say?’ Obviously Robert didn’t know the answer to that either, but such was my astonishment I couldn’t help but voice it.
‘Well …’ he hesitated. ‘There was our sexuality, of course.’
‘Yes, but David wasn’t like that!’
‘No, but …’ Robert picked his words carefully. ‘I gather his father might have been. And from Cuthbert, I also understood that your husband feared his disapproval dreadfully. I believe Michael was frightfully old school.’
‘Yes, he was. He was a nightmare, if I’m honest.’ My late father-in-law made no secret of his homophobia, his intolerance of immigrants, or even women working full-time. I’d had a hard time over that. And he was scary, too. I realized Cuthbert’s name had never been mentioned in my in-laws’ house.
‘David was terrified of his father, as you know,’ Robert told me gently. ‘He probably got so used to keeping his uncle’s secret, he felt it easier to withhold it from you, in case it slipped out. To his parents, inadvertently. Not that you would deliberately, but you wouldn’t, perhaps, ascribe it so much importance? People never do when the secrets aren’t their own. Or – I don’t know – if you’d told one of the children and it came out that way, over lunch, or something.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, knowing that sharing a confidence made it uncontrollable, and that David liked control. Not in a horrid way, he wasn’t domineering, he just didn’t like anything messy and chaotic, but still, it was odd. I didn’t think David and I had secrets. Well, except my socking great one, of course. And this was tiny, in comparison, so I shouldn’t mind. I did, though. I replaced the photograph.
‘But then … when his parents died …’ I was thinking aloud now.
‘Yes, I agree.’ Robert frowned, thoughtful. ‘Some sort of warped loyalty, perhaps, to his father’s memory? It was that dreadful tsunami, wasn’t it, not so long ago? I believe the lunches had tailed off by then, both men were so busy with their careers, so maybe … I don’t know, my dear.’ He looked anxious, as if worried he’d upset me.
‘Heavens, no, why should you know? And it’s no big deal, a man having a quiet lunch with his uncle, it’s just … well, you never really know someone, do you? I mean, completely?’
He smiled. ‘Never. But surely that’s what’s so interesting? Not having it all on a plate?’ He chuckled. ‘Cuthbert certainly kept a few things back from me, I’m sure. I know I did too.’
I sighed. ‘Yes, that’s probably where I go wrong. I have a nasty feeling I’m dripping off the sides of the plate and all over the table too.’
He laughed. ‘Well, that can be equally disarming.’ He picked up another photo, this time of him and Cuthbert together. Gazed at it a moment then passed it to me. ‘But we’ll never know, will we? They’ve both taken those Christmas lunches to the grave.’
I looked at the picture of Robert and Cuthbert, smiling broadly, arm in arm in the sunshine. It was clearly taken abroad: southern France perhaps, with cypress trees behind. There was so much I wanted to ask David now. To be honest, I’d never taken much interest in his family. His father had been cold and aloof, but his mother was lovely, if a little quiet. Bullied, I’d always thought. I should have asked her. Would she have told me? Possibly not. A tiny bit of me wondered whether David had been embarrassed by his uncle’s set-up. Yes, he was modern and broad-minded, but … perhaps it was different within his own family? He definitely had a streak of his father’s conformity about him. It wouldn’t be that he’d disapprove, but it might have made him uncomfortable. Yes, that was it. Particularly with the children. Who he believed in shielding from things which they didn’t need to know. Gossip about our friends, for instance, which some parents shared – mothers who sat smoking with their teenage daughters sharing titbits about the locals – he thought that appalling. Heavens, how the girls would have loved it, though, if he’d included us in the lunches. A gay uncle? How cool was that.
Felix had joined us now, with a proper pot of tea on a tray, fresh cups and saucers – I realized I’d abandoned my mug in the kitchen and he’d clearly had to wait for the kettle to boil again. Robert motioned for us to sit at the other end of the room, where the creamy sofas were under the
bay window, amongst the books and the art. I perched and sipped my tea when Felix had poured it and looked around at the crowded walls. Robert had eased himself into what was clearly a familiar old armchair and put his feet on a faded footstool. I could feel Felix’s eyes on me.
I turned to Robert. ‘This is your house,’ I blurted out suddenly. ‘Not mine. You and Cuthbert were as good as married. It’s not my inheritance, it’s yours.’
Robert gazed in surprise. Then threw his head back and laughed. ‘Nonsense, my dear! It’s not remotely mine. I never expected it and Cuthbert never intended it.’
‘You talked about it?’
‘No, but—’
‘Well then, how do you know? How do you know, if he hadn’t died as suddenly as he did, that he wouldn’t have left it to you?’
‘Because it wasn’t in his will.’
‘He didn’t leave a will.’
‘No, so in a way, he did, didn’t he?’ he said calmly, smiling still. ‘He left it to the will of the country. The law of the land. I believe he didn’t want the responsibility. That was very Cuthbert.’
Felix was very still.
‘Anyway, I don’t want it,’ said Robert firmly, wrapping his dressing gown tighter over his lap and crossing his ankles; a regrouping gesture. ‘I’m off to Felix’s studio, to be surrounded by lovely paintings in my dotage.’
‘Oh, you’re an artist?’ I turned to Felix.
Felix smiled. ‘Yes, but there’s less paint these days. Dad’s remembering the old days with a bit of wishful thinking. I do installations now, that sort of thing.’
‘I see.’ I didn’t. What was an installation? I racked my brain. ‘Like a Tracey Emin bed type of thing?’
‘Well yes, that’s rather old hat now, but in a way. Fine Art, or the practice of it. Turner Prize territory.’
‘Oh Turner! I love him. All blazing sunsets and ships at dawn.’
Father and son smiled and Felix began to talk about the great room in the attic he could give his father, at which point I remembered the Turner Prize was about people standing stark naked in buckets with rubber ducks in their mouths, but it was too late to retract my gaffe. I also felt I’d offered up the house in a rash moment but that it had been equally swiftly refused, so I’d surely done my bit – made the gesture? I could see my children’s horrified faces; hear their shrieks – what are you doing, Mum? We’re the only blood relatives, it’s the law! I quaked silently at my narrow escape and concentrated on my tea.
About Last Night . . . Page 10