The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  A long silence, during which he’d measured his heartbeats. Then Barry said slowly, ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Since you developed the process while working for Ferrises, any patent will by law belong to us, with you named as inventor.’

  ‘Actually, no, I’ve checked. That would apply only if the invention had been made during what are referred to as “specifically assigned employment duties”. And, of course, you expressly forbade that. Not a second of the time I spent on the machine was during working hours.’

  Barry took a long, slow drink of beer, his eyes never leaving Tony’s face. Then he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Look, there’s no need to be hasty, I’m sure we can talk this through.’

  But he didn’t trust himself to stay any longer. ‘Sorry,’ he told them pleasantly, ‘it’s too late for that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going. Marilyn will be waiting.’

  And he made his escape.

  The Ferris brothers watched Tony Vine shoulder his way through the crowded pub towards the door.

  ‘Do you believe him?’ Dean asked anxiously.

  Barry’s hand was shaking as he lifted his tankard. ‘I wish to God I didn’t, but I rather think I do.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Well, if he really has invented this miracle machine, and it really does work, it could completely turn the tide for us.’

  ‘Except that we won’t have it.’

  ‘We have to have it!’ Barry said savagely. ‘Do you think I’m going to let him waltz off and make his fortune elsewhere, while we continue to stew in our own juices?’

  ‘I don’t see how we can stop him. Anyway, as we said all along, we haven’t the funds—’

  ‘If this machine is even half as good as he says – and knowing Tony, I’m willing to bet it is – the banks will be falling over themselves to lend us the wherewithal, knowing we’ll soon be rolling in the stuff. God, Dean, we have to talk him round. Offer him a rise, a partnership, anything he bloody wants!’

  ‘We should have listened to him before,’ Dean said miserably.

  ‘Hindsight is a great thing. Look, get some more beer; we’ve some urgent planning to do.’

  When Dean returned with two brimming glasses, Barry put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘Point one: we have to talk him out of leaving! Whatever it takes! I accept he’s pissed off that we wouldn’t let him fly with this, but basically he’s a reasonable chap. He’s always been conscientious and I’m sure he has the good of the firm at heart.’

  ‘We should have given him his due long since,’ Dean said.

  ‘Well, we can make up for it now, but we have to act quickly. He’s about to send off his application.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘Ideally we want the name on it changing, but if he won’t buy that, we need at least some reference to our right in it.’

  ‘But we haven’t any,’ Dean said baldly.

  Barry swept that aside. ‘What would be the best approach? It’ll have to be over the weekend; time is of the essence, and it’s better discussed away from the office. I reckon we should drop in unannounced, though; don’t want to give him time to think up excuses.’

  ‘Suppose he’s not home?’

  ‘We’ll ring first to check, hang up if he answers. What have you got on tomorrow?’

  ‘Same as you,’ Dean returned, lifting his glass. ‘A command performance at the Penthwaite fête.’

  ‘Bloody hell, I’d forgotten that. Can’t we get out of it?’

  Dean shook his head. ‘Not a chance. Les Phillips is the organizer and I don’t need to remind you he’s one of our biggest customers. What’s more, he thinks he’s doing us an honour, getting me to open and close the show, and you to present the prizes. In case you haven’t seen them, the posters refer to us as “local dignitaries”.’

  ‘It’ll have to be Sunday then, but there’s no way we can get out of golf. As far as Ted and Larry are concerned the weekly game’s written in stone. We’ll just have to pray Tony doesn’t post the thing tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, the fewer people who know about this the better, so don’t go pouring it all out to Pauline. I’m not even going to tell Viv. She’s been on at me to give Tony more recognition, and she’d only say “I told you so”. Any shop talk at the fête is strictly taboo, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Dean agreed. ‘But roll on Sunday. I’m not going to get much sleep till this is settled one way or the other.’

  ‘There’s only one way it can be settled,’ Barry said grimly, ‘and that’s getting Tony back on board.’

  It was too bad this wasn’t Dean’s weekend to have the boys, Vivien thought, watching a couple of little boys screaming in delight as their faces were painted – though doubtless Pauline, his current girlfriend, wouldn’t agree. Vivien had noted her sulky expression whenever the boys were mentioned, and her extra possessiveness in their presence.

  Looking at the young woman now, she hoped the relationship wasn’t serious. Dean and Cindy had been divorced barely eighteen months and the atmosphere between them was still fraught. The last thing Hal and Josh needed was any tension on the weekends they saw their father.

  Come to that, she thought suddenly, perhaps it was as well, even discounting Pauline, that they weren’t here, because there was an atmosphere between Dean and Barry that she was having trouble analysing. At first, she assumed they’d had one of their periodic disagreements, usually caused by Dean rebelling against one of Barry’s diktats. But it wasn’t animosity she detected, more a tightly coiled control, as though each of them was keeping himself on a tight rein. Before they’d left home, Barry had had one of his increasingly frequent outbursts, swearing loudly and sweeping papers off the table simply because a form he’d expected in the post hadn’t arrived. Veins had stood out on his forehead, raising her concern for his blood pressure. She really must find some way of calming him down.

  ‘Mummy!’ Daphne was tugging at her hand. ‘Can I go on the Dodgems? Daddy says he hasn’t any change.’

  ‘How wise of him!’ Vivien responded, opening her handbag. ‘Come straight back here when it’s finished.’ She watched her daughter skip off, then went to join the others at a rickety metal table in a roped-off area selling refreshments. Pauline, she saw, was looking bored.

  ‘How long do we have to stay?’ she asked, twirling a strand of hair round her fingers – a habit Vivien felt she should have long outgrown.

  ‘Till the bitter end, my love,’ Dean replied. ‘Having opened the show, I have to be here to close it.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘Five thirty, I think.’

  ‘What time is it now?’

  ‘Ten past three. Almost time for Barry to present the prizes.’

  Pauline sighed gustily as Barry returned with a tray bearing cups of tea and a glass of lemonade. ‘Where’s Daphne?’ he asked, setting them out on the table.

  ‘On the Dodgems. I told her to come straight back.’

  ‘Are you watching the time?’ Dean enquired. ‘Don’t forget the prize-giving’s at three thirty.’

  ‘God, yes! I’d better get this down quickly; it’ll take time to work my way through this mob.’

  ‘We can see the dais from here,’ Vivien commented, ‘so we might as well stay put and avoid the crush, and you can come back and join us afterwards.’

  ‘Mind your genial smile doesn’t slip!’ Dean said, and Barry shot him an enigmatic look that Vivien couldn’t interpret.

  ‘Every child’s favourite uncle, me!’ he said.

  Daphne, flushed and excited, rejoined them, dropping on to the chair beside her mother and reaching for the lemonade. ‘That was great!’ she exclaimed. ‘I bumped twelve cars!’

  ‘Remind me not to go driving with you!’ her father said and, finishing his cup of tea, got to his feet. ‘See you in a bit.’

  Minutes later the music over the loudspeakers ceased and a man appeared on the dais, microphone in hand. ‘
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ he began in the sudden hush. ‘The time has come for the prize-giving, and we’re lucky enough to have Mr Barry Ferris, a well-known local businessman, to present them for us. So will the winners of the egg and spoon races please come up, and we’ll start with the under sixes.’

  A sudden roar of laughter brought Vivien to her feet in time to see a toddler, who had climbed the steps and was reaching for one of the prizes, being reclaimed by his father as Barry looked on, his indignant yells silenced as the quick-thinking announcer produced an opportune lollipop.

  She sat down again, smiling.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Dean asked.

  ‘An attempt to snaffle one of the prizes!’

  The next fifteen minutes or so saw a succession of children climb the steps to claim their rewards, to accompanying applause from the crowd. Pauline, quickly bored, dragged her chair closer to Dean and laid her head on his shoulder and, after a minute, looking slightly embarrassed, he put an arm round her. Vivien hoped sincerely they weren’t about to embark on a kissing spree; she disliked public displays of affection, particularly in front of Daphne.

  ‘Anyone like another cup of tea?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘All I’d like is to go home!’ Pauline muttered.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

  To Vivien’s amazement, Pauline’s shock and Daphne’s open-mouthed surprise, the usually placid Dean withdrew him arm and pushed her head off his shoulder.

  ‘All you’ve done ever since we arrived is moan! If you’re so all-fired bored, then go home! We’ll be better off without you!’

  People at the surrounding tables, who had paused at the sound of his raised voice, hurriedly resumed their conversations. Pauline was gazing at him with tear-filled eyes and trembling lips but, his face closed and angry, he studiously avoided looking at her.

  After what seemed an age, Vivien said, ‘Well, I’d like another cup, and I’m sure Barry would, without having to rush this one; he’ll probably be back by the time I’ve queued for it. More lemonade, Daphne?’

  Daphne, still staring at her uncle in disbelief, nodded, and Vivien, despising her cowardice but feeling it was best to let them sort it out themselves, made her way to the stall dispensing beverages and joined the end of the queue. What was wrong with the men today? She’d never heard Dean snap like that before. She could almost feel sorry for Pauline, even though she wholeheartedly endorsed his sentiments.

  What, if anything, had happened in her absence she didn’t know, but as she’d predicted, she arrived back at the table at the same time as Barry. During his account of the prize-giving and comments on some of the recipients the atmosphere gradually teetered back to normal, though Pauline remained subdued for the rest of the afternoon.

  As they made their way back to their reserved parking places, the two men fell behind.

  ‘Regarding tomorrow,’ Barry said in a low voice, ‘we’ll aim to be back in the pavilion by one thirty, but there’s no saying we’ll make it. Even if we do, by the time we’ve had showers and a bar lunch we’ll be lucky to get away by three. It’s a bloody nuisance but there’s nothing we can do about it.’ He glanced sideways at his brother. ‘Not arranged to see Pauline, have you?’

  Though Pauline had been angling to move in with Dean, he had not so far succumbed.

  ‘Not on your life – I’ve had enough of her today! She’s done nothing but moan.’

  ‘Well, well! Thorns in the bed of roses?’

  Dean hunched his shoulders and didn’t reply. They had reached their cars by now and the women stood waiting for them.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at nine thirty, as usual,’ Barry said, taking out his keys and, nodding to Pauline, he opened the car door for Vivien.

  ‘Why was Uncle Dean cross with Pauline?’ Daphne asked as they made their way out of the crowded car park.

  Barry flicked a glance at Vivien, eyebrow raised.

  She ignored it. ‘Because she kept grumbling,’ she replied.

  ‘But Uncle Dean’s never cross.’

  ‘Unlike your bad-tempered father?’ Barry demanded, only half-joking, and wasn’t sure whether to be hurt or relieved when his daughter didn’t reply.

  On the outskirts of Hawkston, Tony Vine watched the grey light filter through the curtains, his thoughts as heavy and dismal as the day. He’d lain awake most of the night, his mind endlessly circling Friday’s conversation in the pub. Why, oh why hadn’t he held his tongue, instead of blurting everything out before he was ready?

  Unable to lie still any longer, he inched his way to the edge of the bed and swung his feet to the floor, holding down the duvet lest the sudden draught disturb Marilyn. She didn’t stir. Her gold hair was spread over the pillow, her face as unlined as a child’s. Ten years his junior, he reflected she could as easily have been twenty.

  God, if only he could talk things over with her! He didn’t want his last weeks at Ferrises to be marred by bad feeling, nor to be perpetually bombarded with questions about his invention, so it was essential to work out his best strategy before going to work tomorrow. And since he’d get no help from his wife, he needed time alone to think things through.

  With a sigh he retrieved his dressing gown from the chair and, shrugging into it, tiptoed downstairs for a mug of coffee.

  An hour or so later, showered and dressed, he set the breakfast tray down on the dressing table and went to draw back the curtains, noting the purple clouds massing over the hill. Behind him, Marilyn gave a squeak of protest and pulled the duvet over her head.

  He turned back into the room. ‘Breakfast is served, modom,’ he said.

  She re-emerged, hair ruffled, blinking in the sudden light. ‘Oh, sweetie, how lovely!’ Struggling into a sitting position, she took the lace shawl he passed her and slipped it round her shoulders.

  ‘Tea, toast and a lightly boiled egg,’ he said.

  ‘Perfect.’ She looked up at him, suddenly suspicious. ‘What brought this on? You’re not trying to get round me, are you?’

  He laughed, pouring the tea. ‘Am I that transparent?’

  ‘Well, are you?’

  ‘Guilty as charged, my love. There’s a problem at work that’s bothering me and I need to get my head round it. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take my tackle down to the lake and have a day’s fishing.’

  ‘Oh, Tony!’ she pouted. ‘It’s Sunday – that’s supposed to be a family day.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart, but this is really important, or I wouldn’t ask. And when I get back, we’ll go the George for dinner.’

  ‘We … ell …’

  He bent forward and kissed her. ‘That’s my girl!’ he said.

  THIRTEEN

  2012

  The morning after his dinner with the Yates, Adam phoned Kirsty’s mobile.

  ‘I’ve been to see Graham,’ he told her, ‘and amazingly enough he had a video of a programme featuring the murders.’

  ‘How do you mean, featuring them?’

  ‘It was from a TV series a few years back, covering cold cases. A reporter retraced Mark and Emma’s arrival in the village and various places that, according to the residents, they’d visited, in the hope of jogging memories. It also included part of an old Crimewatch programme that had been shown just weeks after the murders, with people dressed up to look like them, and two kids supposed to be us. It was … weird, seeing it all being acted out.’

  Mark and Emma, he’d called them. Perhaps it was easier that way. ‘Did he come up with anything new?’

  ‘Not really, but it gave me a few pointers to pursue.’ He paused. ‘I’m guessing you’d like to see the video?’

  ‘I certainly would.’

  ‘Can you lay your hands on a VCR? There’s one here, if you’re into DVDs.’

  ‘We still have one, thanks.’ She paused fractionally. ‘Could you bring the tape round?’

  ‘OK, but it’ll have to be the weekend. The boarders come back this afternoon and the next two ev
enings are tied up with meetings and such.’ He paused. ‘Do you think your uncle and aunt would like to see it?’

  ‘No, we should wait till we’ve something definite to tell them. If we ever have.’

  ‘They know we’ve met again?’

  ‘Yes; Aunt Jan sounded a bit tight-lipped, but she’s probably accepted she can’t keep us apart for a whole year. I didn’t tell her what you’re proposing to do, though.’

  ‘Any thoughts yet on whether you’ll accompany me?’

  ‘I’ll let you know at the weekend.’

  ‘Adam?’ Angie enquired, coming into the room as Kirsty switched off the phone.

  ‘Yes; he has a video of a programme looking into our parents’ murders.’

  ‘God, where did he find that?’

  Kirsty explained. ‘He’s coming round on Saturday to show it to me.’

  Angie perched on the arm of a chair, searching her face. ‘So, after two meetings, what do you think of him?’

  Kirsty smiled. ‘The same as he thinks of me. That he’s improved with keeping!’

  Nick said, ‘A crowd of us are going sailing tomorrow. Like to come along?’

  It was late Friday evening and they were in the bar of the Regency, part of a group of staff members whom Adam was gradually beginning to put names to.

  ‘I’d have loved to, but unfortunately I’ve something else planned.’

  It sounded a bald excuse, and after a minute he added, ‘Actually, I’ve arranged to meet Kirsty. I’ve something to show her.’

  ‘You’ve established a truce, then?’

  ‘A partial one. Not treading on your toes, am I?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘She’s … OK, though, isn’t she?’

  Adam frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that … part of the misunderstanding between us arose because she’d been receiving odd emails and presents and she thought I might be responsible.’

  ‘Anonymously, you mean?’

  Nick nodded. ‘No doubt it was all a flash in the pan, but to be honest I’ve been slightly concerned, in view of the attacks in the area.’