A Family Concern (20 page)

‘You may laugh, but they were serious enough in the past for her to be taken to a psychiatrist.'

‘Overreaction, wouldn't you say?' Stephen commented.

Sophie gave up. ‘You're an unsympathetic lot, but I was sorry for her. She looked really washed out.'

‘The dreams will pass, dear,' Dorothy said comfortingly. ‘These things run their course, and then they're done.'

But Sophie, remembering the fear in Freya's voice when she spoke of them, was not so sure.

Friday afternoon, and Max, up in his studio, was engaged in transforming his sketches and photographs into a water-colour of Guild Street,
en fête
with its Christmas lights. He'd decided when embarking on the calendar that rather than maintaining a uniform style he would use different mediums and methods as each subject suggested. Guild Street he was executing in an Impressionist manner – lights fragmenting on the pavements – and he was hoping to experiment with cubism in a woodland scene for April. It would be a challenge, but he looked forward to trying his hand. If it came off, it could be very effective.

The sound of the doorbell clarioned through the house, and he swore under his breath. Having just begun his colour-wash, he certainly did not want interruptions. With bad grace, and determined to dispatch whoever it was as soon as possible, he clattered down the stairs and went to open the door, staring in total disbelief at Adele smiling on the step.

‘Hello, Max,' she said. ‘May I come in?'

Annoyance, surprise and common politeness battled for supremacy. ‘It's not very convenient at the moment, Adele. I'm just in the middle of—'

‘I won't stay long, I promise, but I need to see you.'

‘You could have seen me on Wednesday,' he said shortly.

‘I did explain about that.'

Not, as he remembered it, very satisfactorily.

‘Please,' she said again, as he still hesitated, and with a sigh, he stood to one side to let her in.

‘It's just that I'm feeling down, and need someone to talk to,' she said, making her way, uninvited, into the sitting room.

‘How about your husband?' he asked bluntly, and she flushed.

‘He's at work.'

‘So am I, and I—'

‘Please, Max, don't be cross with me. For one thing, I wanted to apologize about Wednesday.'

‘You've already done that.'

She looked down at her twisting hands. ‘Could I possibly have a cup of tea?'

‘Adele,' he exclaimed in exasperation, ‘my colour-wash is drying as we speak. If I don't get back to it at once, I'll have to start all over again.'

‘Just a quick one? Please? I always feel so much better after talking to you.'

‘I don't do counselling, you know,' he said ungraciously, but he turned and reluctantly made his way to the kitchen, aware that she was following him. If she intended to make a habit of dropping in, he thought, he'd have to nip it in the bud straight away. The scent she was wearing filled his nostrils, warm and heady, and he was aware of discomfort. God, how could he get rid of her?

He purposely kept his back to her while he made the tea, and when he turned to put the mugs on the table, saw that she'd taken off her coat. So much for a brief stay. She didn't, he thought resentfully,
look
particularly depressed. In fact, her face was flushed and her eyes, before she lowered them, had been bright and sparkling. All in all, the young woman in front of him bore surprisingly little resemblance to the cowed and pale creature he was used to seeing.

‘Sugar?' he asked abruptly.

‘Yes, please.'

With bad grace, he set a packet on the table, and watched as she spooned some into her mug.

She glanced up at him under her lashes. ‘Aren't you going to sit down?'

He shook his head. ‘I really must get back to work, or the whole canvas will need redoing.'

She hung her head. ‘I've spoiled everything. I always do.'

Perhaps, he thought guiltily, her untroubled appearance was her public face, masking the bleakness she felt inside. Come to think of it, how could she help feeling bleak, when her husband abused her?

‘I'm sorry,' he lied gently, ‘that wasn't what I meant.'

‘I came,' she said in a low voice, still not looking at him, ‘because when you phoned, I thought you were worried about me.'

‘I was. But you don't seem to want me to help you.'

‘Of course I do, but not in that way. I – thought you cared about me.'

‘What I care about is your welfare. You refuse to discuss—'

She jumped up, and he thought for a moment she was going to run away, as she had twice before. But to his stupefaction she came swiftly towards him and, reaching up, put her arms round his neck and pulled his face down to hers. Before he could collect himself and move back, her pointed little tongue had darted into his mouth, and as her small body pressed against his, an agonizing shaft of desire, as unexpected as it was unwelcome, shot through him.

Furious and obscurely ashamed, he caught hold of her arms and tore them away – possibly adding to her bruises in the process – and they stood staring at each other, both of them struggling for breath.

He was the first to find his voice. ‘For God's sake, Adele!' he said forcefully. ‘
No!
'

‘Admit it, Max!' she panted, her fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt. ‘You
do
care about me, you know you do! Make love to me! No one will know! I want you so much, and I know you want me. You always have – that's why I came.'

He pulled her fingers away, shaking his head violently. ‘You've got it all wrong. I was worried about you, yes, because of the bruises on your arms—'

‘You were fooling yourself – admit it! You've been fighting against it, and I have too, till I suddenly thought, “What's the point?” After all, you don't live properly with your wife, do you? And this place is ideal; we could meet here regularly, and as nobody would know, we'd be hurting no one.'

‘Listen to me, Adele! You're wrong – quite wrong. I love my wife, and I've never thought of you in that way, I swear it. I was concerned about your welfare, that's all.'

She searched his face for a minute, then the fire seemed to go out of her, and in an instant she was again the pale, defeated little mouse who had first aroused his protective instincts. More fool him, he thought bitterly. Rona had been right all along.

‘You're rejecting me, then?' she whispered.

‘I'm simply putting you straight. This need never be referred to again. Now, go home like a good girl; it'll soon be time to collect the children.'

The great, swimming eyes came up briefly to meet his. Then she turned, shrugged quickly into her coat, and hurried out of the room and, a minute later, the house. Max put his hands flat on the kitchen table and leaned on them, staring down at the surface, aware that his heart was still thumping and that sweat was coursing down his body. My God! he thought, and then again, My God!

He straightened, more shaken than he cared to admit, went to the sink, and sluiced cold water over his face. Adele! he thought wonderingly; fragile, timid Adele! Who would have thought it?

One thing was for sure, he told himself, towelling his face dry. This was very definitely something he wouldn't be telling Rona.

T
hat afternoon, Barnie phoned to approve the last two articles on parent searches, one of them Coralie's.

‘So that brings the series to an end,' he concluded. ‘Well done, I think they've come over well, and they've been sufficiently different to hold the readers' interest.'

‘Fine; if there are no queries, I can return the photos and papers I borrowed.'

‘Still thinking of doing something on long-term businesses?'

‘I'm bearing it in mind, certainly, but I'm a bit sidetracked at the moment.'

‘Useful copy?'

She smiled. ‘Sorry, no. Not for publication.'

‘Pity! Well, remember I'm always ready to hear your ideas. In the meantime, I believe we're seeing you and Max on the seventeenth?'

‘Yes, we're looking forward to it.'

Coralie had mentioned that she worked at an estate agent's in Windsor Way, and, anxious to clear her desk, Rona decided to return the envelope and albums to her there. She'd no wish to drive out to Shellswick again, and it would constitute a good walk for Gus as well as herself.

It had rained during the morning, and the sky was still overcast; it would probably be dark even earlier this evening. She wound a long scarf round her neck and pulled on a woollen hat, watched by Gus, wagging his tail in anticipation. Windsor Way, she reflected as they set out, was where Hugh had his office. She hoped they wouldn't bump into him.

Because of the dimness of the afternoon, all the shop lights were on, and the atmosphere as she walked up Fullers Way to Guild Street was celebratory rather than sombre. Most of the windows had imitation Christmas trees in their windows, decorated with baubles and coloured lights. The bakery displayed a selection of delectably iced Christmas cakes and pastries, and on the pavement outside the florist was a cluster of holly garlands and poinsettias.

Rounding the corner by Willows' Furniture, Rona came upon the town's main display of lights strung across Guild Street, blinking on and off in permutations of gold, silver, red and green. No wonder the spectacle had appealed to Max for his calendar, she thought. As they passed the iron staircase leading to the Gallery, Gus paused hopefully, but Rona tugged on his lead.

‘Not at the moment,' she told him. ‘Perhaps on the way home.'

Just short of Windsor Way was Tarlton's, and Rona paused to survey the extravagant display of jewels, watches, gold and silver. Jan Tarlton had surpassed herself, she thought; it took an effort of will to walk past. Still, she had her own watch to open on Christmas Day.

They waited at the kerb till the traffic lights changed, then crossed the road and turned into Windsor Way. Here, the atmosphere was more subdued, as befitted a business area, though one or two of the doors had holly wreaths pinned to them. Having no wish to catch sight of Hugh, she purposely did not glance in the windows of his firm, which, as luck would have it, turned out to be actually next door to the estate agent's that was her destination.

Rona could see Coralie seated at one of the desks, and was glad there was no prospective client opposite her. She tied Gus's lead to a convenient post and went inside, to be met with a wall of warmth. Coralie saw her at once, and raised a hand. Her oriental good looks stood out among her fair or brown-haired companions, and the vivid red jumper she wore added to her exotic appearance.

‘I hope I'm not interrupting anything,' Rona said, setting the albums and envelope on the desk, ‘but I thought it was simpler to deliver these to you here.'

Coralie pulled them towards her. ‘Were they of any use?'

‘A bit, but mostly I used what you told me. And incidentally, the story's been approved.'

Coralie's face lit up. ‘Oh, that's great! When will it come out?'

‘I'm afraid I can't tell you that. As you know, it's a monthly magazine and there are one or two ahead of yours. Early next year, I should think.'

‘Good salesmanship!' Coralie smiled. ‘I'll have to keep buying the mag till it appears! Actually, it'll be interesting to read other people's stories, and when they do print mine, I'll be buying copies for Lena and Jim, and my father, and Mum and Dad, as well as keeping one for myself.'

‘That'll increase the circulation!' Rona paused. ‘Have you heard anything further?'

‘I had a Christmas card from Lena – she'd posted it early – and as I said, I'm going out there in the New Year. Pity I can't take the story with me then.'

‘Sorry, but the schedule's already mapped out. Anyway, I think yours should be last, because it's a strong one to finish with. I might even be able to add the odd para when you get back from Hong Kong, to round things off.'

‘That would be cool.'

Rona stood up. ‘Well, thanks for all your help, Coralie, and good luck.'

‘See you,' Coralie replied.

Having noted the mug of tea on her desk, Rona decided she would indeed call in at the Gallery on the way back. True, she could make herself a cup when she got home, but there were no ready supplies of flapjacks or teacakes there. She unhitched Gus and had turned towards Guild Street when a thought struck her. Talbot Road was only ten minutes' walk from here. She took out her mobile and called her father's number.

‘Tom Parish,' said the familiar voice.

‘Hello, Pops. You're at home, then?'

‘Rona! Good to hear from you. Yes, I'm here. Why?'

‘I'm in Windsor Way, and wondered if I could come on and view your new premises, and perhaps cadge a cup of tea?'

‘That would be lovely! I was going to invite you all round soon for an official viewing, but you're welcome to a sneak preview. I'll put the kettle on.'

Arriving at the block of flats, Rona could appreciate her father's wry amusement at the continuing use of the name Mulberry Lodge. The building was purpose-built in uncompromising red brick, at odds with the weathered stone of its neighbours as though, Rona thought, making an aggressive statement of some kind. Still, this was a temporary home, and its nearness to Willow Crescent, where Catherine lived, had not been lost on her.

Tom was at the door of his flat as she and Gus came up the stairs.

‘There is a lift, you know,' he told her, kissing her cheek.

‘Gus isn't too fond of them, and it's only one flight.'

He bent to pat the dog. ‘Good to see you both. Come in, and see what you think.'

Rona looked about her at the slightly worn furniture and bland décor. Though similar in size, it bore no comparison to Robert Tarlton's elegant home; but then this was rented accommodation. Her father had done his best to personalize it with his presentation clock and some family photographs. A copy of the
Daily Telegraph
lay near one of the chairs, and his glasses case was perched on the arm.