A Few Little Lies

by Sue Welfare

  Alicia growled.

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘It’s all over, Alicia. You’ve won. Game, set and match. I’ve already resigned. I did it last night after Dora rang me. Your little lapdog Phelps is home and dry. So you won’t be needing the photos any more.’ He paused, eyes fixed firmly on hers. Alicia Markham’s bluster trickled away like melting snow.

  ‘Fifteen years in local politics,’ Tom continued in a reflective voice. ‘Gone, just like that. My own fault. A big price for a little pleasure, but at least I know I’ve done the right thing – I only hope when all this is over, Alicia, you feel the same way.’

  Before anyone could stop him, he stepped over to the brazier and dropped the envelope into the glowing wood. It hung for a second, as if held by fingers of fire, and then surrendered and burst into a corona of flame.

  Alicia let out a wail of abject misery.

  Spar scrambled forward, only to be grabbed by Jon.

  ‘Leave it,’ he snapped, though it was patently too late.

  Alicia stared into the blaze and then dragged her coat up around her shoulders. She glared at Spar.

  ‘You’re fired, you little bastard,’ she snarled.

  Lawrence Rawlings gently pulled Spar to his feet. ‘What did you do with all the other pictures you found? Were there any documents with them?’ He was unnaturally calm.

  Spar, speechless, waved towards Milo, who had picked himself up off the floor, and was tugging at his suit and sleeves, as if straightening his clothes would help him regain his composure. In one hand he was strangling a crumpled carrier bag. ‘Shell shock,’ he mumbled miserably. ‘Goose Green, never been the same since. Medical discharge …’ Nobody took a bit of notice.

  Beside the brazier, Alicia pulled an envelope out of her handbag. ‘I assume this is what you are looking for, Lawrence? You are an old fool.’ She sounded extremely tired. ‘I really don’t understand why you want this. You’ve already got the photos of Calvin Roberts and that girl in bed together. Plenty of evidence to get your daughter a nice clean divorce. I assume that was what you wanted all along, wasn’t it? And as for this, I really can’t see the point of trying to save Jack Rees now. He’s dead, or are you just protecting fallen heroes? The old boys’ network infuriates me.’ She undid the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘I know Lillian Bliss was Jack’s daughter. I read it on her birth certificate.’ She waved the paper at him. ‘It’s all here in black and white for anyone to see. You can’t hide it. Anyone can get a copy from the register office. There’s nothing here worth having.’

  With a dismissive sweep of her hand she dropped Lillian’s birth certificate and the envelope into the flames alongside the curled ash of Tom Fielding’s photographs. As a final gesture she snatched the carrier out of Milo’s terrified hands and upended it. The contents slithered out. One or two pictures fluttered in the breeze, drawn towards Milo and Spar’s fire in the upturned can.

  To Dora’s surprise, Lawrence leapt forward to rescue them. As he scrambled around in the dirt, Alicia started to walk back to the main hall with an exaggerated air of dignity. Spar trailed behind her, Milo behind him.

  Tom Fielding nodded to Dora. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly, without a trace of rancour, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

  She watched him disappear into the shadows.

  By the brazier, Lawrence Rawlings was still on his hands and knees, hunched over the photographs Alicia had tipped out of Milo’s bag.

  In the flickering firelight he turned the prints backwards and forwards, eyes working furiously across the faded images. His face was tight with concentration. He looked a world away from the distinguished businessman of the awards ceremony. His face was smeared with ash, his hands full of photos, some charred, others folded and torn. For a moment Dora wondered if he was having some kind of breakdown.

  ‘Tom’s already burnt the photos Alicia wanted. They’re gone,’ she said gently.

  Lawrence Rawlings blinked, tears glittering in his eyes. ‘I don’t want those photos,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I never did. I want these. The ones of Lillian when she was little. I want the photos of my daughter.’

  Dora looked at him in astonishment. ‘No,’ she said, helping him to his feet and brushing him down. ‘Jack Rees was Lillian’s father.’ Lawrence felt terribly frail under his heavy overcoat.

  The old man shook his head. ‘No, that’s not true. Alicia was wrong. I knew from the minute Lillian came to see Jack that she was my daughter. At that Christmas party, she stood in the doorway of Ben’s office and I knew then. And these photos.’ He spread them out like a hand of cards. ‘She looks just like my daughter Sarah did when she was little. There have to be some letters somewhere, something to prove Lillian really is my daughter.’

  Dora stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Jack Rees was notorious, he used to love them and leave them. Always did. Fielding’s just the same, he’ll bounce back – that sort always do.’ Lawrence swallowed down a sob. ‘Lillian’s mother was quite beautiful, you know. She deserved so much more from life than a man like Jack. I couldn’t bear to see the way he treated any of them, but her most of all. So I, so I …’ He stopped, reddening furiously.

  ‘You went out with her too?’ Dora suggested gently.

  A single tear rolled down Lawrence’s face, cutting a glistening path through the soot on his cheek. ‘How tactfully put, Mrs Hall. Yes, I saw her for months behind his back. I don’t know whether he ever knew or even whether he cared. When Jack found out she was pregnant he made some sort of financial arrangement. I don’t know exactly what it was. I suppose she must have thought it was better to have an MP named as the father rather than me, more clout.’ He stopped, wiping the tear away with the back of his hand.

  ‘Then, later on. Jack met Caroline; she was the original merry widow. Played him at his own game, you know, played hard to get, turned him down, stood him up – he was completely hooked. She had already got the two girls. By that time I think Jack was keen to put down roots, have a family of his own, but nothing happened. They tried for years to have a child. She always insisted Jack had a problem. Told me he’d refused to have the tests, said he already had a daughter. That was when the rot really started between them.’ Lawrence paused, visibly struggling to control his emotions.

  ‘I suspected then, I wondered if I should go looking for them.’ He stopped. ‘My wife was never strong. Lillian’s mother was so alive, so full of fun, so vital. I would have liked to have found her and the baby. All those years wasted …’ The words dried in his throat.

  After a minute or two he straightened his shoulders, recovering some of his former poise, but with eyes firmly fixed on the harvest of photographs. ‘I was hoping I might find something, some little thing that would prove what I already know is true.’

  Dora put her hand on his arm. ‘Come on,’ she said softly. ‘Let’s collect the rest of the photos.’

  Jon appeared from the shadows and they crouched down beside Lawrence. Between them they gathered up the remains of the pile.

  As Lawrence walked away, Jon slipped his arm around Dora. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded, afraid to speak in case the tears that had gathered behind her eyes found their way out.

  He leant forwards and kissed her gently. ‘Good, next time maybe you’ll do things my way.’

  Dora laughed. ‘Trust me, there isn’t going to be a next time.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone hurrying towards them.

  Josephine Hammond crested the little hill. ‘Oh shit!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘Don’t tell me. I’ve missed it all, haven’t I? It’s bloody Gary’s fault. He’s blind drunk again, you can’t take him anywhere – so where’s Tom Fielding? What happened?’

  Dora shook her head. ‘Nothing much, Jo. Believe me, it wasn’t very spectacular. I gave Tom the photographs and he burnt them. Finito, the end – I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of them.’

 
; Josephine Hammond groaned and turned back towards the hall. ‘I’m going to kill Gary.’

  Jon glanced at Dora, his dark eyes reflecting the last of the firelight. ‘Ready to go home now?’

  ‘More or less.’ Dora’s teeth had begun to chatter. ‘Has your car got a decent heater?’

  Jon slipped off his jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders. ‘Here.’

  As she pulled it tight he caught hold of the lapels and dragged her towards him, kissing her hard. ‘You know you’re an awful lot of trouble, don’t you?’

  Dora nodded. ‘Always have been.’ Desire, mingled with a sense of relief, made her giggle. She curled up against him, delighted to feel his arms tighten around her. She hadn’t thanked him for protecting her or for the decision to let everyone involved walk free. There would be time later; at the moment she wanted to revel in the warmth of his body against hers.

  Dora grinned up at him. ‘Did I ever tell you that you looked really sexy in a dinner jacket?’

  Jon smiled. ‘I think you may have mentioned it.’

  21

  Spar carried the new box of fish pellets out to the pond in his back garden. He’d already got the fish in – nice they were, very peaceful. The plants looked good as well. A half-opened water lily like a brilliant lemon yellow flare reached up towards the sunlight.

  Across the garden, through the shed windows, he could see the new breeding tanks, their filters plopping and hissing gently in the balmy air. A cloud of fish fry glinted and spiralled in the watery currents.

  Summer was finally nudging spring aside. He stretched luxuriously, master of all he surveyed. Two rolled-gold koi broke the glittering surface of the pond and executed a perfect synchronised turn.

  ‘Where do you want this new pond liner, then?’ asked Milo, struggling up the path behind him. ‘I reckon maybe we ought to have bought one of them little fountains as well. I like fountains. We could build a wall up round the back of the first pond, stick this one in behind it and have a waterfall. Buy some nice rocks and stuff. It’d look great. What d’ya reckon?’

  Spar threw a handful of pellets into the crystal clear water. Hungry mouths bubbled up and snatched them off the surface.

  ‘Not in this man’s army,’ he said. ‘Maybe a bridge, though, and one of them little pagoda things like the Japanese have. Over there, by the wallflowers.’

  Milo nodded and eased the unwieldy black plastic pond shape down onto the grass. ‘Whatever you say. Do you want me to get the rest of the stuff out of the car?’

  Spar nodded. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  Alicia Markham stood on the terrace of her home, watching her gardener spray the roses for black spot. She glanced down at her watch. It was nearly twelve o’clock. From inside, through the open French windows, she could hear the tinkle of cutlery as the waitresses added the final touches to the buffet table. It appeared they had embraced her order for complete silence without question.

  Very soon, Fairbeach’s triumphant new Conservative MP would be arriving for lunch. Alicia was hosting a little thank-you celebration for all the campaign workers for their efforts.

  Alicia turned to glance at her reflection in the glass doors, and smoothed an errant curl back into place. Perhaps some of the decisions she had made regarding Guy Phelps hadn’t been altogether sound, maybe she had been misguided, but ultimately, she assured herself, she only had Fairbeach’s interests at heart.

  The house boy guided Parliament’s newest member out onto the terrace to join Alicia for a pre-luncheon sherry. Alicia painted on a perfect smile.

  ‘Caroline, how wonderful to see you, darling. How’s Westminster treating its latest arrival? I want to hear all about it.’

  Caroline Rees, Jack Rees’ widow, grimaced.

  ‘It is a complete dump. I’ve got to share an office and the traffic –’ She peered at the tray the house boy was waving under her perfectly powdered nose. ‘And no, I don’t want a bloody sherry, haven’t you got any scotch?’

  Alicia smiled graciously. ‘Of course. Why don’t we all go into my office?’

  Persuading Guy Phelps to resign had not been difficult, though Alicia had had to improvise about what the photos of Tom Fielding contained, inferring, hinting and then blatantly lying so that Guy believed he was in at least one of them. Ill health had been the reason he had come up with for the selection committee.

  It was hardly original, but, by that time, rumours of the events at Ben Frierman’s Christmas party had seeped into the ether. The committee’s words of regret had been tinged with more than one sigh of relief.

  Caroline’s clearance through the selection procedure had been remarkably swift, and, with Tom Fielding out of the picture as well, her election victory a landslide. It appeared that the Fairbeach electorate thought being married to a local hero was recommendation enough.

  Colin Scarisbrooke, Caroline’s agent, hovered uneasily in the doorway, fingers wrapped tight around his sherry glass. He and Alicia had barely spoken a word more than necessary since the day he had brought a busload of tramps home for lunch.

  ‘Hello, Alicia,’ he said in a pointedly neutral tone. ‘How are you?’

  Alicia nodded her welcome. ‘Hello, Colin. Why don’t you join us?’ she said, extending a conciliatory hand. ‘Have a glass of something decent for a change? I’d like to talk about what we intend to do for the Fairbeach farmers during the next session. Oh, and we must sort out the times for Caroline’s surgery. We’ve had several calls at party office already.’

  Lawrence Rawlings sat at his desk and carefully removed the buttonhole from the lapel of his best suit. It had been an odd sort of day. A beginning and an ending. A whisper of confetti fluttered onto his desk alongside the photograph of Sarah, Calvin and the girls.

  He didn’t really like register office weddings, though Lillian had looked wonderful in a confection of cream satin and gold lace. Apparently, she had met his old friend Bob Preston on the night of the Spring Ball, introduced by the president of the students’ union, who, it seemed, worked for Bob’s firm as a Saturday boy.

  While Lawrence had been grovelling on his knees looking for photographs and proof and an end to his pain, his old friend had been asking Miss Lillian Bliss out to lunch and she had graciously accepted.

  Lawrence looked at his watch. Very soon, the happy couple would be boarding a plane for Tenerife, heading for a new life in a pale pink villa, with swimming pool, and a starburst of bougainvillaea around the patio.

  Lillian, bright-eyed and ecstatically happy, had promised Lawrence she would send him some of the wedding photos. At least now he would be able to have a photograph of her and Bob alongside the others on his desk and no-one would ask him why.

  He had considered sharing his thoughts with Lillian, particularly as Bob had brought her to Sunday lunch on several occasions since their first date, but in the end Lawrence had decided to leave well alone. Remarkably, Lillian genuinely did seem to be in love with Bob Preston.

  When Lawrence had tactfully enquired if Bob had any idea what sort of girl Lillian was, Bob Preston had smiled beatifically.

  ‘Does it really matter? Didn’t I say I wanted to go out with a bang? Lillian makes me happy, Lawrence. Don’t worry, just wish me well. I think, to be perfectly honest, she is looking for a father figure.’

  The irony had not been lost on Lawrence as he had watched Lillian, snuggled up in the crook of Bob’s arm, when they had cut the wedding cake.

  Across the desk, Sarah smiled back at him from inside her silver frame. While on his crusade to decide whether the truth needed to be told, Lawrence had tried to broach the subject of Calvin’s infidelity.

  It had been on one sunny Sunday morning when Calvin had had an assignation elsewhere. Sarah had smiled and slipped her arm through his.

  ‘Daddy, I do know what you’re trying to say, but don’t underestimate me, I already know about Calvin. The thing is, he really does love me and the girls – in his own way.’ She looked at him pointedly. ‘Just
like you loved Mummy.’

  Lawrence had stared at her, completely dumbfounded, wondering when he had given himself away to his daughter. At what point in her childhood had she realised that he lied too? Was the fault all his, after all?

  He had reviewed his will, but what was there he could do, other than trust his canny daughter to keep Calvin’s avarice in check? He’d send a handsome cheque as a wedding present to Lillian, saying it was what Jack would have done had he lived.

  He picked up the confetti and stared at it before consigning the bright fluttery petals to the bin. They actually made quite a handsome couple; the ex-rugby-playing ex-mayor and his beautiful blonde bride.

  That girl, the reporter, Josephine Hammond from the Fairbeach Gazette, had been at the wedding too. She’d taken photographs and interviewed the happy couple, though during the reception he had overheard her telling someone that she had just got a job on a national newspaper.

  Stiffly, Lawrence got to his feet and looked out of the open window. Amongst the greenery in the orchard, in stunning contrast to the verdant growth and the nubile swelling apples, two magpies watched him, button-black eyes staring up towards his study.

  Lawrence sighed, feeling fatigue sweep through him like a cold wind. Suddenly, out of the void, he heard a song thrush, its voice as keen and strong as a choirboy’s. The bird was nowhere in sight, but it trilled and swooped defiantly through its virtuoso performance, ending on a climax of pure unadulterated pleasure.

  Without a backward glance, the magpies took off in unison, rising up like smoke signals into the new blue summer sky. Lawrence smiled. Come the winter he might just fly out to see his old friend Bob and his new wife after all.

  Beside Dora, the intercom buzzed more insistently, followed closely by a thin high-pitched voice through the speaker.

  ‘Dora, are you up there?’

  Dora pushed the swivel chair away from the desk and yawned.

  On her desk was Calvin’s latest proposal. He’d finally found a buyer for a children’s story she had written when her daughter, Kate, was small. Some guy in America was very interested in securing the film rights. Would she consider flying to California to discuss it?