The vacuum stopped, but it was Mrs Penn, the cleaning woman from the village, who clumped redfaced and heavy-footed down the steep stairway to look round the kitchen door.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Oh, I — is Colin — Mr Mays around?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, miss. He left this morning.
Leah frowned. ‘Left?’
‘That’s right. He’s gone home — to Surrey, I think he said. His wife came to collect him in the car. About eleven o’clock it’d be.’
Leah’s heart seemed to freeze. ‘Oh — I — I see,’ she managed to stammer. ‘Thank you. Goodbye.’
She backed out of the door and hurried across the courtyard to Hazel Cottage. Closing the door behind her, she stood with her back pressed against it and her eyes closed, trying to force her numbed mind to absorb the shock of what she had just heard. It was a mistake. It had to be. Colin wasn’t married. He would have told her. And he would surely not have left for good without saying goodbye — without arranging where and when they’d meet again.
It was when she opened her eyes that she caught sight of the folded scrap of paper on the floor, half hidden under the edge of the rug. Bending eagerly, she picked it up and opened it.
In Colin’s flowing artist’s hand two brief sentences were scrawled: ‘Thanks for everything. Sorry to be such a bastard. C.’
Chapter 11
Marie regretted the end of her friendship with Hannah. She had no other close woman friend and she missed the long letters they exchanged and Hannah’s visits. Although they had been infrequent she had looked forward to seeing her, hearing her news and gossip and getting a glimpse of a world outside of which she had little experience. But although she missed her friend, Marie could not bring herself to heal the rift between them. Hannah’s honesty had made her afraid. The truth about Ralph’s past stood between them like an insurmountable barrier. If she faced that, she would have to turn around and come face to face with her own past again. There was that other secret in her own background. If she began digging into Ralph’s the truth might come out about her babies and she knew instinctively that Ralph would not be tolerant when it came to her dishonesty. He would hold it in reserve; a weapon to use ruthlessly and without hesitation to bring her into line should she rebel against him.
So life went on at The Ocean Hotel. David’s health improved with his move to Dorset. Although he still suffered breathlessness at times, the bad chest colds that had plagued him in Norfolk did not return and his general condition improved.
He did worry about Ralph’s spending though. The bank overdraft, taken out to pay running costs, would clearly take years to repay and the maintenance bills were astronomical. All Ralph would say when his father tried to discuss the cash-flow problem was: ‘You have to speculate to accumulate, Dad. You’ll never get anywhere in this world by standing still. Owing money is a fact of life in business.’
But David continued to worry. He often shared his anxieties with Marie when they sat together on weekday evenings when Ralph was away. She tried to reassure David as best she could. But in spite of her outward reassurance she was deeply worried herself. She felt they had overreached themselves and she didn’t see how they could possibly be free of debt for years to come, even if all the hotels did outstandingly well.
It was when a local plumber who had done a small emergency job for them came to her with a bounced cheque one Monday morning, that her worst fears were confirmed. She rang to make an appointment and that afternoon she went to see the bank manager. When he told her bluntly that he was calling in their overdraft, she was appalled.
‘Please could you just wait till my husband gets home at the weekend?’ she had pleaded. ‘I’m sure there must be some mistake.’
‘Mrs Evans, do you realise just how large your overdraft is at this bank?’ the man asked patiently.
She shook her head, ashamed to admit that Ralph kept her so much in the dark about their finances. The manager opened the file that lay on his desk and passed it to her, his finger pointing to the outstanding figure. She gasped.
‘Oh! I hadn’t realised it was so much. But as I said …’ She trailed off as she looked up to see the manager shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Evans. In spite of our warnings the cheques continue to be presented. I’m afraid you’ve gone way beyond the limit already. I’ve warned your husband time and again to curb his father’s spending but he seems to have no control over it. It’s a very strange way to run a business, as I’ve said many times, and this time I’m afraid we must foreclose.’
Driving home Marie puzzled over what could have happened. Officially the business was still in David’s name. He was the one who signed the cheques and settled the household accounts; and David hated to be in debt. Everyone must be paid the moment the bill came in — it had always been his way. But he was a careful man. She felt sure he would not have signed cheques as recklessly as the bank manager implied. True, his health had been below par over the past couple of years, but nevertheless his brain was still alert enough. One thing was certain. There was no way she could keep the problem from him and as soon as she got back to ‘The Ocean’ she took a tray of tea to his room where he was resting and broke the news to him as gently as she could. As she had feared, he took it badly.
‘How could we have overstepped the overdraft by that much?’ he asked. ‘All the hotels have been doing good business. We’re not overstaffed and I know you balance the catering accounts carefully. I’ve kept such a careful check. Unless …’ Doubt creased his brow. ‘Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for all this, Marie.’
‘You don’t make mistakes, David.’ she said firmly. ‘The maintenance bills have been costly. I suppose you took them into account.’
He shook his head. ‘I know what money I’ve paid out and it can’t have come to that figure. There’s some mistake. There has to be.’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t, David. The bank manager showed me their figures.’ She patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that when Ralph comes home at the weekend he’ll be able to sort it out. In our business it’s a matter of juggling. We’ll find some way to cut down in another area.’ She was thankful that David seemed placated, but privately she wished she felt as confident herself. She had not reminded him that Ralph was capable of spending large sums of money on himself without a qualm.
When he arrived home that weekend Ralph was in a good mood. He announced to Marie almost as soon as he arrived that he had seen a rundown property on the outskirts of Harrogate that he hoped to begin negotiating for.
‘Ralph, I think you should see this first.’ She handed him the official letter of foreclosure from the bank which had arrived that morning. As he read it his good mood evaporated and his brows gathered in an ominous frown.
‘What the hell do they mean by it?’ he stormed, flinging down the letter.
‘I went to see the manager last Monday,’ she told him. ‘Mr Taylor the plumber came to see me with a cheque that had bounced.’
He glared at her. ‘So what happened?’
‘To Mr Taylor? I paid him out of my own money. It’s all right.’
‘Sod Taylor. I’m talking about the bloody bank.’
‘The manager was adamant. He said he’d warned you but that cheques continued to be presented. As I hadn’t access to the books I couldn’t argue with him.’
‘It’s Dad,’ Ralph stormed. ‘I told him to show every bill to me first before paying it. The stubborn old fool refused to hand over the business to me and this is the result. Trying to run a business like this is ridiculous. I’m tied hand and foot. I’ll talk to him.’ He strode towards the door. ‘Where is he?’
Marie stepped forward and took his arm. ‘Please, Ralph, don’t. Not in this mood. Calm down first. I don’t want him upset.’
He spun round to glower at her, his face a mask of fury. ‘You don’t want him upset? What about me? What about you, if it comes to that?’ H
e shook off her hand. ‘This is our livelihood, woman. Do you want to see all I’ve worked for slide down the drain just because that old fool can’t loosen the reins and let me handle things my own way?’
‘I know, but …’
‘But nothing. I’m going to sort him out once and for all.’ He strode out of the room, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Marie wanted to follow, to try to mediate between father and son, but she knew it would only inflame the situation even more. Hovering anxiously in the hallway she heard the boom of Ralph’s angry voice and the rise and fall of her father-in-law’s replies. She felt helpless and inadequate.
David did not appear for dinner that evening but had a tray in his room. Marie was worried about him and wanted to eat upstairs in the flat, but Ralph was determined that they would eat in the restaurant as usual. Over the meal he put on his public face and behaved like the jovial mine host, but once they were alone upstairs again his anger returned.
‘Didn’t you realise he was laying out all that money?’ he demanded. ‘Couldn’t you have stopped him?’
She shook her head. ‘He was only paying the outstanding bills. I can’t tell your father what to do with his money. Since we married you’ve kept me completely in the dark about the finances. When I kept the books I could tell you off the top of my head where every penny was. David looked to me for advice then. We consulted each other. Now …’
‘He should have handed the business over to me.’
‘Be fair, Ralph. He wanted us to form a company — share the decisions between the three of us,’ Marie pointed out. ‘That way we’d all have had the power to sign cheques.’
‘If you two had had your fingers in and out of the till we’d have been bankrupt long before this,’ Ralph said scathingly.
‘We never had an overdraft of that size before you came into the business,’ Marie said quietly. ‘And the bank never bounced one of our cheques either.’
‘And why? Because all you had then was a tacky little boarding house in Cromer.’
‘“The Marina” wasn’t a boarding house.’
‘And it wasn’t exactly “The Hilton” either, was it?’ He stared down at her angrily. ‘It’s me who developed this business, don’t forget. You wanted a chain of hotels; I built it for you. It’s all my hard grafting that’s got us where we are. But just because a stupid old man in his dotage has to pay every bloody bill the minute it falls through the letter box, I’m landed in this mess.’ He glared at her. ‘You make me tired, you and him. You’re two of a kind — small-minded and incompetent. You can’t see any further than the end of your noses. You’ve undone everything I’ve tried to do.’
‘We’ve expanded too quickly,’ she said crisply. ‘We’re trying to run before we can walk. The answer is simple. We’ll just sell one of the hotels and pay off the debt. We’ll still have three. Then we should hold off for a while till we’re in the black again.’
‘Sell?’ He stared at her. ‘Sell, did you say? I’m in the business of buying, not selling. What the hell do you know about it? Just you take care of the curtains and crockery department. That’s your province.’
Marie flushed with sudden anger. ‘It might help if you cut down on some of your personal spending,’ she said. ‘Perhaps if you bought fewer new clothes — if you traded the car in for a cheaper model — maybe if you spent less on your women …’
Without warning he lunged and struck her hard on the cheek with the back of his hand, sending her reeling sideways across the room. Her shoulder hit the wall with a painful crack that knocked all the breath from her body and she sat down ignominiously on the floor. Ralph strode across the room to stand over her.
‘Get up,’ he growled. ‘Get up, you snivelling bitch, and don’t you ever tell me what to do again.’ Grasping her by the shoulders he dragged her to her feet and pushed her against the wall. ‘Now listen to me. I owe you and him nothing, do you hear? Nothing. Maybe you should know something. That old man …’ He jabbed a finger towards the door. ‘That old idiot who’s got me into this mess — he isn’t really my father at all.’
Marie stared at him, her mouth agape with shock. ‘Not? But I — I don’t understand …’
He propelled her roughly across the room and shoved her into a chair. ‘My mother told me just before she died — David Evans was the man she married, but she was already pregnant by another man. She never told him that and the bloody fool never twigged it. So you see, when I came out of the army and took the job he offered me, it was out of pity for the pair of misfits you were. It was out of the goodness of my heart — because I felt sorry for the poor old bugger, being taken in like that all those years. I felt I owed him something.’
‘Are you saying that was the reason you married me too?’
He pushed his face close to hers. ‘Well, it wasn’t for your charm and beauty, was it? And it certainly wasn’t because you’re great in bed.’ He laughed coarsely. ‘Talk about doing it with a sack of potatoes! And then you wonder why I look around elsewhere. Neither you nor Dad live in the real world. You don’t know what life is all about — either of you.’
‘Do you want a divorce?’ she asked.
His eyes flickered. ‘Divorce? Don’t make me laugh. What would you do if I said yes? Where would you go then? Who’d employ you, do you think? You’d be lucky to get a job as a skivvy in some back street dosshouse. Anyway,’ he sneered, ‘Catholics don’t hold with divorce, do they? Or can they conveniently change their minds about that when it suits them?’
Marie knew she was defeated. Clearly Ralph had married her to get at his father’s business, but it was too late to turn back the clock now. It was true that she had never worked anywhere else. The thought of leaving the security of the only home she had ever known frankly terrified her, and Ralph had sensed that right from the beginning. Then there was David. He was the only family she had ever had. She owed him so much. What would become of him if she left? Now that she knew that Ralph was not his son at all, she realised that he had no feeling of loyalty towards him, let alone affection. If she were not here to look after David, Ralph would probably bundle him into some old people’s home and leave him there to rot. No, somehow they must sort out their problems. Make the best they could of a bad job and stay together. The business was their only source of income. They were all three committed to it — and to each other, bound together by unspoken secrets like handcuffed prisoners.
*
David stayed in his room for the remainder of the weekend. Marie took his meals to him, but he ate little and refused to discuss with her what had passed between himself and Ralph. He looked ten years older and seemed to feel the strain of it badly. She was deeply worried about him.
Long after Ralph was asleep on Sunday night Marie lay thinking, her mind running over the problem again and again. Now there were two things she was forced to keep from David and she wondered if she were doing the right thing. Not only had Ralph lied about his army record, he was not entitled to be here at all if what he said was true and David was not his natural father. But the more she racked her brain the more tangled the problem became and by the time she fell into an uneasy sleep no solution had presented itself.
The dream wakened her at dawn. Her face and body were damp with sweat and with the strain of reliving the experience that had changed her life. Now she knew that what she wanted more than anything else was to go to church. She thought longingly of the quiet peaceful atmosphere; the mingled scents of flowers and incense, the comfort of prayer and the soft light of the candles, until the urge was too powerful to resist. Creeping out of bed she stood for a moment at the window looking down at the view she loved, but this morning it brought her no comfort. The sea looked cold and unfriendly in the grey dawn light. She turned away to pull on her clothes.
In the little church of St Joseph she found the peace she longed for. She knelt in a pew near to the front where she could see the altar clearly. She said her rosary and then put some coins in the box and lit
a candle, then she sat staring up at the statue of the Virgin. The words just wouldn’t come. Her mind was an arid void.
‘Are you troubled, my child?’
The soft voice startled her and she turned to see the elderly priest standing nearby. He slipped into the pew beside her.
‘You look as though you need to talk. If that’s the case, I’ve plenty of time to listen.’
She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin, Father.’
‘Can it really be so bad?’ He smiled gently.
‘I haven’t been a good Catholic, Father. But the punishment — the penance sometimes seems …’
‘More than you can bear?’
‘This is the first time I’ve been in church for years.’
‘But you’re here now. That’s what matters.’
‘This morning I woke early and knew this was the only place I’d find peace.’
‘I’m glad. And are you comforted?’
Marie bowed her head. ‘I’m afraid it’ll take more than one candle to solve my problems, Father.’
‘Would you like me to hear your confession?’
She thought longingly of the confessional — the comforting dimness and the grill between priest and sinner that made it so easy to say what was in your heart.
‘I haven’t time. I wish I had.’
‘Then come when you can — any time you feel the need to talk. Ring the presbytery bell. It’s what I’m here for.’
‘Thank you. Father. I will.’
He laid his hand gently on hers then turned and walked away.
Marie watched him go, a tall, soft-footed figure in his black soutane. Inside her head the words she had tried so hard to find were forgotten. Repeating over and over were the names of her children: Leah and Sarah. ‘Please forgive me for giving you away, my little ones,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, please, Holy Mother, let them one day understand and forgive me.’
The Long Way Home: A moving saga of lost family Page 18