A Family Concern (11 page)

The eight o'clock pips sounded from the radio by his bed, and he swung his feet to the floor. Avril would be leaving for the library in under an hour, and she liked to clear away the breakfast things before she went.

‘Good party?' she enquired, when he reached the kitchen twenty minutes later.

‘Very enjoyable, thanks.' He paused. ‘Stephen Fairfax was there; he mentioned having seen you.'

‘Yes, Rona and Max took me out for Sunday lunch. Lindsey too. It was very pleasant.'

‘I'm glad,' he said simply, sitting back to allow her to place a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. How the hell did you scramble eggs? he wondered. Next week, in the flat, he'd be cooking for himself. He'd better have a few basic lessons from Catherine.

A thought occurred to him. ‘If you're working at the library all week, the flu story won't hold much water.'

‘Well, I'm certainly not going to stay off work,' she retorted, with a touch of the old asperity. ‘Anyway,' she added more reasonably, ‘it's highly unlikely that anyone coming into the library will be living it up at your receptions.'

He nodded, beginning on his breakfast. ‘I think I'll make a start on packing up today.'

She turned quickly away, busying herself pouring water into the egg pan.

Misinterpreting her movement, he added awkwardly, ‘Obviously I shan't be taking any of the ornaments or anything; only some books and the papers from the desk.'

‘The ornaments are as much yours as mine,' she replied without turning. ‘Take whichever you like.'

‘They belong here,' he said gently. ‘Avril, we shall be friends, shan't we? When all this has died down?'

‘I don't know, Tom. I shan't be bitter and twisted – that's all over and done with – but friendship … I'm not sure if I could cope with that. I certainly have no desire to meet your lady-love.'

Perhaps it had been clumsy of him to suggest it, Tom thought miserably. He didn't want to hurt her, but the mere fact of his leaving had already done that. He wanted it too easy, that was the trouble – to be with Catherine, but still be friends with Avril. Well, it looked as though that wasn't going to work. He just hoped to God that Lindsey would come round. He couldn't bear to lose one of his daughters as well.

‘Rona? It's Kate. Just to let you know you were right about the tune, and I was right about the nightmares. They're linked, it seems, God knows how. When she saw how worried we were, she agreed to let Jan tell us, but personally I can't see what all the fuss is about. She dreams she's falling, which must be the most common of all dreams. Caused by a missed heartbeat, isn't it?'

‘So where does the tune come in?' Rona asked.

‘I'm not sure; I think it runs through the dream. And she's afraid someone else is there, just out of sight. Pretty standard stuff. The point is, though, she's dreaming it increasingly often and it's getting more detailed each time. The whole thing is spooking her, but she refuses point-blank to see anyone professional. Poor Matthew must be having a hell of a time with her.' Kate paused. ‘Are you going ahead with the series, about the shops?'

‘I think so, yes.'

‘You will be starting with us, won't you? Please?'

‘Kate, I really don't see what I can do. I'm not qualified in any way; if I started meddling, I could do her positive harm. Incidentally, she sent some flowers to apologize for fainting at our feet. It was very sweet of her – I've written her a brief note, hoping she's feeling better.'

‘Suppose I invite you both to tea on Monday, when the shop's closed?'

‘Kate—'

‘Bless you, I knew you'd help. Three o'clock? We live in Brindley Grove, a cul-de-sac off the Belmont Road. Brindley Lodge is at the far end, facing you; it backs on to woods.'

‘I'd like to come to tea, thank you, but I don't promise anything else,' Rona said.

The phone call unsettled her. After an hour or so of making notes and promptly deleting them, she gave up and, wrapping up warmly, set off with Gus for an extended walk. There were a lot of things on her mind – Christmas and the parents, Freya and her disturbing dreams, and, particularly, Kate's conviction that she, Rona, could help her. Usually, the clear sharp air and exercise cleared her head, but today she felt as depressed when she returned as when she'd set out.

It was a pity Max wasn't coming home this evening; she was tired of her own company. She'd go to Dino's, she decided; that should cheer her up. The Italian restaurant was a mere five minutes' walk away, and though she hadn't booked, she knew Dino would find her a table. She was a regular customer, both with and without Max.

A cold wind had arisen by the time she and Gus set out, and the warmth of the restaurant met them with a palpable wave as she pushed open the door. At once she heard her name called and, turning, saw two couples she knew waving to attract her attention.

‘Max not with you?' Patrick Kingston asked, as she walked over to them.

‘No, it's one of his class nights.'

‘Come and join us, then; we've only just ordered.'

Rona glanced at Dino, who, about to lead her to her own table, was awaiting her. ‘Would that be all right?'

‘But of course, signora. A chair will be brought at once.'

When they were settled and Gus had taken his place under the table, she turned to Hilary Grant. ‘Thanks for your invitation; it arrived this morning.'

‘Along with the Dawsons', I suppose? We had one from them.'

‘It's that time of year, isn't it?' Georgia Kingston commented. ‘We're also going to the Willows' do, so I've a good excuse to visit Magda's boutique!'

‘You
do
move in exalted circles!' Hilary teased her.

‘Don't you remember, Julian and I had a thing going, way back?'

‘Lord, yes! I'd forgotten that.'

‘You went out with Julian Willow?' Rona asked.

‘In the year dot, yes. Do you know him?'

‘No, but I'm … oh, it doesn't matter.' This wasn't the place to explain about her new project, and in any case she hadn't approached the Willows; if Georgia repeated the conversation, they'd have no idea what she was talking about.

‘Come on, what were you going to say?'

‘Only that I'm interested in the family at the moment. I'm hoping to write about some of the long-established businesses here.'

‘And you want to know if John really started life as a barrow boy?'

Rona smiled. ‘I haven't mentioned it to them yet, so please don't jump the gun.'

‘My lips are sealed. But Julian will be useful to you; he's steeped in family lore. To be honest, he talked about it so much, he bored me rigid. At eighteen, ancestors are quite simply history. But I remember him showing me a diary kept by Sebastian, who was his great-grandfather, written in the most beautiful copperplate.'

‘Sebastian Willow!' Hilary exclaimed. ‘What a wonderful name.'

‘It stood him in good stead,' Georgia said drily. ‘He married an Honourable. Her family were scandalized at her marrying Trade, but she was an independent young lady and did as she pleased. I suspect it's because of that connection that the Willows give themselves airs.'

Their meal arrived and conversation became general. Simon Grant was an artist friend of Max's, and interested to know what he was working on at the moment.

‘I saw the portrait he did of that MP chap. It was bloody good.'

‘Well, he's reverted to landscapes at the moment, though I did warn him it was the wrong time of year.'

Simon laughed. ‘No doubt like me, he resorts to photographs and sketches, and does the main work in the warmth of his studio. Tell him we must get together sometime.'

The evening passed pleasantly, and as Rona made her way home through the cold streets, she admitted she was glad Coralie's story would close the present series. She was impatient to make a start on the next one.

Adele arrived as usual for the Wednesday class, and when Max made his round to check the students' work, he paused by her easel.

‘I believe you phoned last Friday?' he said in a low voice.

She flushed a painful pink. ‘It was stupid of me – I'm so sorry.'

‘There's something you wanted to discuss?'

‘Not really. I was just – panicking.'

He frowned. ‘What about?'

‘It was nothing, honestly. I was being neurotic.'

All his latent worries surfaced in a flood. ‘If there's anything I can help with, you only—'

To his horror, he saw her eyes fill with tears. She shook her head blindly.

‘Look,' he said quickly, aware of stirring interest among the rest of the class, ‘stay behind at the end, and we'll try to sort this out.'

And he moved on, before she could protest again.

He was not at all sure she would stay, but she delayed over the gathering together of her equipment, and was still there when the last of the students had clattered down the stairs. As Max heard the front door close, he said quietly, ‘Right, let's go down and have a cup of tea. I've half an hour before the next class.'

‘I shouldn't impose on you like this,' she murmured, not meeting his eyes. ‘You've already been more than kind.'

He motioned her ahead of him down the stairs and along the hall to the kitchen.

‘Now, it's clear something's worrying you, so please tell me. Is it to do with your work?'

She shook her head. ‘That's why I shouldn't inflict it on you.'

‘On the contrary; if something's on your mind, it's bound to affect your painting,' he said, not sure how sound that assumption was. The kettle boiled and he made tea, poured it into mugs, and set them on the kitchen table, together with milk and sugar.

She glanced up at him beneath her lashes, then quickly down again, and Max remembered how this unwillingness to meet one's eye had irritated both Rona and Lindsey. Aware that time was passing and that he hadn't prepared for the next class, he was about to prompt her again when she said in a rush, ‘It's just that I was feeling so unhappy, and I didn't know who to turn to.'

He studied her downcast face, the curve of her cheek and the creamy pallor of her skin, disturbingly aware of the protectiveness she aroused in him.

‘Unhappy about what, Adele?'

‘I don't know, really.' She took a quick sip of tea. ‘After Daisy was born, I suffered from post-natal depression. It went on for years, and every now and then it – resurfaces. It's very hard on poor Philip.'

‘But considerably harder on you,' Max returned sharply, and received another lightning glance. ‘Can't your doctor help?' he asked more levelly.

‘I get the impression he thinks I'm wasting his time.'

‘That's totally unacceptable! If that's his attitude, you should change your GP.'

She drank her tea quickly, though it was still painfully hot. ‘I'm holding you up; I must go.'

‘You can't think what triggered this latest depression?'

‘No, there's nothing.'

On a sudden impulse, Max leaned forward and, catching hold of her wrist, pushed up her sleeve. There was a minute's intense silence as he stared, horrified, at the livid bruises that covered her arm. Then, before he could move or speak, she gave a little sob, caught up her folder and handbag, and ran from the room. Seconds later, the front door banged shut.

‘It's crystal-clear what happens,' Max said savagely, splashing whisky into his glass. ‘She feels depressed, her husband can see no reason for it, and eventually loses his temper. She admitted it was “difficult” for him.'

Rona moved uncomfortably. ‘That doesn't mean he actually
beats
her,' she pointed out. ‘He might just seize her arms, give her a little shake—'

‘And you think that's acceptable, when these “little shakes” leave such bruises?'

‘I'm not saying it's acceptable, Max, just that it mightn't be as extreme as you seem to think. She has fair skin and might bruise easily.'

‘At least admit I was right to be suspicious of the perpetual long sleeves.'

‘It mightn't even be Philip who's responsible. She could have bumped into something—'

‘
No
, Rona. You and Lindsey fobbed me off with that before. It won't wash this time.'

Rona sat back in her chair and stared at him belligerently.

‘So what do you propose to do about it?'

For a moment he held her gaze. Then she saw the fight go out of him, and his shoulders slumped. ‘God knows. I can hardly go round and read him the Riot Act.'

‘Exactly.'

‘So we all just turn a blind eye? Is that what you're suggesting? Walk by on the other side?'

‘Oh, for God's sake!' Rona said irritably.

‘Well? Is that what you're proposing?'

‘I'm not proposing anything. You've made Adele your protégée; it's up to you how you deal with her.'

‘Thanks for your support.'

‘Well, what do you expect me to say?' Rona flared. ‘You've been obsessed with that woman from day one, and frankly I'm sick of hearing about her and her problems. You have absolutely no evidence of any trouble between her and Philip, and you admit you can't storm round there and accuse him. You could end up being sued for slander. Nor can you report your suspicions to anyone, since you've no basis for them other than occasional bruises.'

‘Occasional? She
always
covers her arms, as you well know, and the only other time I saw one bare – five months ago, mind you – it was also covered in bruises. What do you deduce from that?'

Rona thought back to her meetings with Adele, visualizing the small, pointed face, the slatey eyes so unwilling to meet hers, the short, ash-blonde hair curving on to her cheek. Portrait of a born victim, she thought. If she hadn't been so petite and pretty, would Max still have played knight errant?