A Well Kept Secret

by A. B. King

  “Knowing they had no children of their own, maybe you came along at just the right time?” he commented. “I’m pretty sure you must have filled a sad gap in their lives as they were getting older, and realising that there was no-one to follow on.”

  “Maybe you are right,” she agreed quietly. “I know they wanted to leave me everything in their will, but I simply couldn’t allow either of them to do that. I didn’t want their money; I only wanted them! Can you understand that? When I came here I had no-one in the world who much cared whether I lived or died, and they gave me everything I ever wanted; a home, love, understanding, a new sense of self-worth. I came to love them both as if they were my own long lost parents, and they returned that love in a perfectly genuine and understanding manner, and that was all I wanted. I just wish they could have lived for ever.”

  She fell silent, gazing out over the water, and Martin’s heart went out to her. No wonder she had so bitterly resented him when he had appeared; from her perspective he was trampling over everything that she held dear in life. It also enabled him understand that his late aunt and uncle were truly human beings who for whatever reason had cared for this embittered woman; took her into their home, and treated her as if she was their own flesh and blood. It made him regret even more that he had never given his aunt and uncle a thought whilst they were still living.

  “From what you have told me, you never had much of a life until you came here,” he remarked after a while.

  “I don’t think I ever knew what life was about until I met the doctor,” she admitted, and then stopped suddenly.

  “I only wish I could bring them back,” he said, “for both our sakes.”

  “I suppose I always knew in my heart that it was too good to last,” she sighed. “Life then was like a dream in some ways. I blinded myself to the fact that sooner or later it would come to an end. Now the dream has gone and I have no choice than to accept that I have been living in a fool’s paradise.”

  “Not completely,” he said quietly yet with meaning. “You still have your home; that is secure no matter what I want to do with the house. As I expect you know, I cannot deal separately with the house and the flat even if I wanted to.”

  “Do you really imagine I could stay on here once I knew that you have decided that you needed to sell the house?” she asked, and there was an edge of bitterness in her voice.

  “No, I suppose it would be difficult,” he admitted. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Now that you mention it I can see what you mean; too many memories soon vanishing beneath the feet of others that would neither know, understand, or even care.”

  “Something like that,” she agreed.

  There was another period of silence. Martin knew that she was more worried about the future than she let on; she had demonstrated that much when she had put forward the idea of opening the house as a nursing home. He was tempted there and then to assure her that it was indeed what he would do, yet his common sense told him that committing himself to such an undertaking without proper research might prove to be a very costly exercise. He determined to give it full consideration and at the same time he decided to say nothing to her at that point for fear of building up her hopes only to dash them to the ground later if it proved to be a non-viable option.

  “Do you still want to find out what has happened to your father?” he asked at last, changing the subject.

  “Yes, I really need to do it,” she said. “Now, more than ever, I think.” She glanced across at him as she spoke, as if assessing how he was reacting to her words. “I mean, there is nothing left for me here now, is there?” she added. “I always intended to take up the search again one day; now appears to be the right time.”

  “Have you considered that he might not want to be found,” he asked. “That perhaps he has another person in his life?”

  “Yes, I’ve considered it,” she said, yet there was a note of defiance in her voice as if she resented the implication that her father could ever be unfaithful to the image she clearly held of him and his devotion to her mother. “I just cannot believe that he would deliberately abandon his family. I loved him, and he loved both of us, of that I am totally convinced. Maybe something happened to him, maybe he was in an accident and lost his memory, all sorts of things may have happened. All I know is what I have told you.”

  “Then we must set wheels in motion to see if we can discover exactly what did happen,” he said. “Now, if I am to help you as I offered, I shall need his full name, and any other information you can think of that may help.”

  “His name is Charles Edward Carpenter,” she replied without the slightest trace of hesitation. “He was born June the third, nineteen sixty-one, he was about five foot ten or eleven inches tall, slim built, with black hair. His little finger on his left hand was missing; I think it was the result of some sort of accident when he was much younger.”

  She recited it almost as if she had done much the same thing many times over the years.

  “What did he do for a living?” he asked.

  “I think he was a lorry driver,; I’m not absolutely sure. Maybe he was a bus driver, or a taxi-driver; something like that. All I know for certain was that he drove for a living”

  “And do you know anything at all about this job he was supposed to be applying for in Wellworthy?”

  She shrugged. “No more than I’ve told you,” she admitted. “I only wish I could.”

  “I don’t suppose you remember all that much about him now, after all these years,” Martin observed, taking a good pull at his tea. “We will need to allow for inevitable change with advancing years. He may well be grey by now for instance.”

  “I expect you could be right, and some things might not change at all. I remember him as being such a happy-go-lucky person. He would come home, he would find mum wherever she was and give her a big kiss as he made some outrageous comment or other. He was always working, yet we never had very much money. Mum was not a well person you see, and I think a lot of his money went on trying different things to help her. Her name was Nancy, but he always called her ‘Ninny’ because he always joked with her to make her laugh. He had silly names for everyone; I still remember that he always called me ‘Kiss-Kass’! He would come in, pick me up, hold me high in the air and call out, ‘Give us a kiss, Kiss-Kass, or I’ll throw you to the lions!”

  She stopped speaking suddenly and shot him a glance that told him once again that she had let something slip out that she had not intended.

  Martin finished his tea, placed the mug down carefully, and disposed of the last of his biscuit.

  “An interesting diminutive,” he remarked, breaking the uneasy silence that has sprung up, “I recall that my father would call me ‘Arty-Marty’ on occasions, or if he disapproved of something I was doing or saying, something a good deal less polite! Quite a lot of parents do it; a form of alliteration I suppose, just like your father’s name for your mother.”

  She said nothing.

  “Kiss-Kass,” he murmured ruminatively. “I cannot see how that ties in with June, nor even Carpenter for that matter. Could it be that you have another name you haven’t mentioned?”

  She was watching him as he spoke, and he could see the conflicting emotions that lay behind her expression, the desire to accept what he was offering in the way of help and support, and at the same time the wariness that reminded him of a fugitive.

  “Cassandra,” she said quietly, as if finally coming to a decision. “My real name is Cassandra.”

  “I see,” he said. “What a fascinating name, Cassandra; yes, I quite like it. I wonder if your parents knew that you were named after the daughter of Priam, King of Troy in ancient times. So; why June?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you do. I will also agree with you that it is none of my business why you chose to use any particular name, only I seem to recall that we agreed earlier to be very honest with each other?”

  She sat there looki
ng increasingly uncomfortable. “I’m being honest,” she said with a slight air of defiance in her voice, “I’ve told you, my name was Cassandra; what difference does it make if I choose to call myself June?”

  “No difference at all,” he agreed equably. “I just feel a bit sad, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I feel that you still don’t trust me, and yet I feel that I could trust you with anything.”

  “June’s just a name; I like it,” she said, looking even more uncomfortable. “I’m really sorry you think I don’t trust you, because I do. I think I now trust you more than I have trusted anyone since the doctor died.”

  “Then who is Mrs Collins,” he asked at last.

  Chapter Fourteen. Wednesday Evening.

  Just as Martin spoke figures suddenly appeared on the path that swung round the side of the pool and headed towards them. Beverley and Georgie were in the lead, closely followed by the gardener, who was listening with an expression of long-suffering resignation on his face to a running discourse from Hugh Edwards the naturalist, who was trotting inelegantly at his side, complete with outsize butterfly net and specimen jars. As they appeared, June rose quickly to her feet, obviously relieved by the interruption, and commenced gathering up the used mugs and putting them on the tray. She said nothing to Martin, and looking at her face he instantly regretted uttering the question that had been hovering in the background ever since he had spoken to Jim Perkins.

  “Hi Dad,” Beverley called as she came bouncing up, “Hi June, you’d be amazed how many different species of butterfly we have in this garden. Do you know, we saw seven different sorts of Red Admiral in just under fifteen minutes? Georgie and I have been helping Mr Edwards; it’s been fascinating!”

  “I thought you two were out on your bikes?” he observed, dragging his eyes away from the clearly upset housekeeper. “I do hope they haven’t been pestering you?” he added as an aside to the naturalist as he approached a few paces behind the youngsters.

  “Not a bit of it, Mr Isherwood,” the little man gushed as he finally relinquished his hold on George Dawkins’ arm. “The girls really have been most helpful, most helpful indeed. See, I already have several fine specimens that I need to get back to my lab to study with the minimum of delay. I assure you that my two young assistants have been invaluable, absolutely invaluable! I doubt I would ever have achieved such a high degree of success without their enthusiastic assistance. It is so refreshing to see such enthusiasm and dedication in the young these days, you should be very proud of them both, yes indeed, really proud. I only wish that my own daughter was half as diligent, but there it is, we cannot all be the same can we? I expect my little Sarah, or Sally as my wife insists on calling her, may turn out to be a brilliant mathematician one day, she certainly has a remarkable head for figures, for example-”

  “You actually have your specimens?” Martin interposed hastily as the little man showed no signs of abating his verbal torrent.

  “Oh, indeed yes; Mr Dawkins here very kindly shown me the most likely places in the garden where they may be found, and his assistance has saved me no end of fruitless searching. Mr Dawkins certainly knows a thing or two about butterflies as well as everything else in the garden; quite an amazing fount of wisdom is Mr Dawkins, yes quite astonishing, He even explained to me about the correct way to propagate Azaleas that I never knew, he-”

  “I’m pleased he was able to help,” Martin cut in again, rising to his feet. “May I take it that you now have all the material you want?”

  “Well, not exactly,” the naturalist admitted with an apologetic expression on his face. “I mean, I certainly have found ample proof of what I suspect, only I’m afraid that I still need to study the habitat in greater detail, and I’m still looking for the caterpillars that should be hatching at about this time. I do apologise for seeking to trespass even further on your good nature, but I am hoping that I may be permitted to call again for the next day or so in order to continue with my researches?”

  “I’m sure that will be no problem,” Martin said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few pressing matters of my own that need to be attended to?”

  “Of course, of course,” Mr Edwards said hastily. “I mustn’t take up any more of your valuable time, indeed I must not; I’m more than grateful to you and Mr Dawkins, and the youngsters as well, for all the help I’ve had, yes, more than grateful indeed. One so rarely gets this degree of co-operation in scientific research you know, Why, I could tell you of one place I had to visit where the reception was unbelievably rude-”

  “There is of course absolutely no excuse for rudeness,” Martin said blandly, seizing the naturalist’s waving hand and shaking it firmly. “I am pleased that your day has been successful; Mr Dawkins and the girls will now be delighted to accompany you back to your car. Please feel free to return whenever you wish. Now, you really must excuse me; good day, Mr Edwards.”

  Without giving the man a chance to reply he beat a hasty retreat along the same route that June had taken moments earlier with the tray leaving the others to the unenviable task of getting rid of the fellow. He didn’t doubt the man’s sincerity or gratitude, only that didn’t stop him from being a complete crashing bore, and right then he had more pressing concerns to worry about than natural history!

  June was already in the kitchen and hard at work by the time he reached the house.

  “I hadn’t realised how much time had slipped by,” she said rather woodenly by way of explanation as she busied herself around non-stop. “I have to start on preparations for the evening meal now.”

  There was no mistaking the note of tension in her voice. Without doubt his question had struck an extremely sensitive spot within her, and he found himself regretting even more keenly that he had allowed the final question to slip out when it was already obvious that the whole business made her uneasy. But of course it was too late now to take back his words.

  “I see,” he answered, sitting down in the chair at the end of the table.

  There was a period of uneasy silence as she bustled and clattered about the kitchen. Her every movement suggested to him that she was uptight, and he knew that it was the mentioning of the name of Collins that had so seriously unsettled her. Without a doubt she was hiding behind her domestic duties, every action bespeaking the fact that she really wanted him to get up and leave her, yet she must have known that there was no going back now; her very attitude betrayed the fact that the name had considerable meaning for her. He sat there, sensing her strain and pressure, wanting to do something to ease it, yet knowing that anything he said or did at that point would only make matters worse. He had no choice but to wait for her to come to her own decision.

  “Do you really want to know about Mrs Collins?” she snapped out quite suddenly, stopping her scurrying around abruptly, yet resolutely refusing to look at him. “Is it that important to you?”

  He could see the pain and the defiance in her face and in her posture and it touched a deep chord within him. She was like a wounded animal hitting out at her tormentor, yet knowing in the end she would be the loser. He now wished more than ever that he had never uttered the question but it was too late, and the damage was done. He simply hadn’t appreciated to what extent his probing might pain her, and now that he could see it with his own eyes he would have given anything to have never uttered those words. The last thing in the world he had ever wanted to do was to cause her yet more pain and distress, yet that was all he could see in her eyes and it twisted him inside. He stood up from the table, walked slowly round to where she suddenly turned to face him, her features quivering with suppressed emotion as her eyes finally sought and held his. He stopped in front of her, then raised his hands slowly and placed them gently on her shoulders.

  “June,” he said softly but with heartfelt sincerity, “I should never have asked you about that; it’s absolutely none of my damn business, and I am truly sorry. It was never my intention to cause you distress,
believe me.”

  “But you will never rest until you know, will you?” she returned bitterly.”Even if it is never mentioned again, you will always be wondering what I’m hiding. Maybe you will never ask me direct again, but the question will always be there, grinding away at you.”

  “Then I am saddened if you still think that little of me,” he sighed. “Look, if you genuinely want to tell me anything, I will listen. If you do not, then I respect your privacy and I promise you that the matter will never be raised again. As I said; it is none of my business and should never have mentioned it and you most certainly do not have to tell me anything at all. All I ask is that you will forgive me for causing you the dreadful unhappiness I can read so clearly in your eyes.”

  She didn’t flinch under his touch, she just stood there, looking at him, the doubts, hopes, worries fears all chasing across her quivering features. He wanted so much to ease the pain he could see there, yet he was powerless to do anything. Suddenly she sighed and relaxed a little.

  “There is nothing to forgive,” she said resignedly. “You were bound to find out the truth about me sooner or later. I have no doubt you will keep your word and never ask the question again, yet I will know that it is there in your mind. Maybe it is better this way. If you really want to know, maybe I can tell you after the girls have gone to bed tonight?”

  “But only if you genuinely feel that it is the right thing to do,” he said, and he squeezed her shoulders gently as if to emphasise his words.

  “I want to,” she sighed, and there was a note of hopeless resignation in her voice, a tone that said she had been struggling with some terrible burden for too long, and the time had come when she had to accept that she could carry it no further. “I never wanted this to happen, I won’t deny that your words came as a very unpleasant shock, yet now that the question has been asked, maybe it is for the best.”