A Family Concern (8 page)

In her father's office at the back of the shop, Freya lay in a reclining chair and let the hot tears slide unchecked from under her closed lids. Her mouth was dry and her heart hammered sickly in her chest. The tune existed, then, she thought numbly. It wasn't just something she'd conjured up in her dream; it was known to other people.
Why
was it haunting her so?

‘Drink this, darling.' Aunt Jan was holding a cup of water to her lips and she obediently sipped it.

‘I'm – sorry,' she said weakly. ‘I don't know what came over me. I'm all right now.'

She made to sit up, but Jan pushed her gently back against the cushions. ‘Stay there a while and regain your equilibrium. There are plenty of others to see to the customers.'

She turned to Kate and Susie, who were hovering anxiously in the background. ‘At least, there will be, when these two get back to work. Off you go now, the crisis is over. You too, Bruce. She needs a little space. I'll see to her.'

Her husband hesitated. ‘Should I nip up and tell Robert?'

Jan shook her head. ‘He'll hear in due course, but there's no urgency. Let him enjoy his Saturday off.'

Since handing over the family home to Lewis, Robert Tarlton had taken up residence in the flat above the shop. Ignoring his family's cries of protest, he'd insisted it was warm, comfortable, convenient and amply big enough for his needs. He also liked being on Guild Street – in the middle of things, as he put it, and only yards from his club.

When they were alone, Jan said quietly, ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?'

Freya's eyes flew to her face. ‘I – don't know,' she faltered.

‘I think you do. You're not ill; you haven't a temperature, and you've not mentioned a headache. Healthy young women don't suddenly keel over for no reason.'

Freya was silent, wondering how much to confide. Only Matthew knew the full extent of the havoc her recurring dreams were causing, and she was unwilling to involve anyone else. But Jan Tarlton wasn't ‘anyone else'. Freya had been three when her mother left them, and Jan, who'd been able to have only one child herself, had taken both her and Lewis under her maternal wing. She had in effect been a surrogate mother, and Freya loved her accordingly.

Seeing her hesitation, Jan laid one of her large, capable hands over Freya's. ‘It won't go any further, if you don't want it to.'

So, stumblingly, Freya told her about the onset of the nightmares, about the way they were slowly developing, little bits seeming to be added on each time, and of the tune, which she'd been sure was a figment of her own imagination.

‘The one the musical box played?'

Freya nodded. ‘What terrified me was discovering it actually existed, even though I'd never heard it before outside my dreams. Because if the tune's real, perhaps the rest of it is too.'

‘The most likely explanation is that you
have
heard it somewhere, without being aware of it, and for some reason it lodged in your subconscious.'

Freya said in a whisper, ‘But
where
did I hear it? That's the question. What is it, anyway? Do you know?'

‘It's an old French song, “Auprès de ma blonde”. Ring any bells?'

Freya shook her head.

‘Well, the thing to do, honeybun, is keep a sense of proportion. Nothing you dream can possibly harm you, so though the nightmares are unpleasant at the time, you mustn't let them rule your life. And if you can force yourself to react to them calmly, they'll just fade away, as they did last time.' She paused. ‘Of course, they might be indicative of some other worry. Is there anything on your mind?'

Freya shook her head. ‘I love my job and my family, I love living with Matthew, and, as you said, I'm in perfect health. Positively no worries,' she added in an Australian accent, and Jan laughed.

‘That's the spirit. Well, it was a nasty little upset, but there's no lasting harm done. You can tell people it was something you ate. OK?'

‘OK,' Freya repeated gratefully, and almost believed that it was.

Freya's collapse was the subject of several conversations over dinner that evening.

‘You missed quite a drama this afternoon,' Susie Tarlton told her husband, as he returned from kissing their daughter goodnight.

‘Come to that, the match was pretty dramatic,' Nicholas countered, pouring wine into their glasses. ‘Murray scored a fantastic try in the last minute of the game, from more than halfway down the pitch. Can you top that?'

‘Freya fainted dead away on the shop floor.'

‘
What?
' She had his full attention now.

‘Out for the count, with the place full of customers. Believe me, it caused quite a stir.'

‘But – you mean she was taken ill?'

‘You tell me. One minute she was calmly handing someone his purchase, the next she was flat on the floor.'

‘Good God! What happened?'

‘Lewis carried her to Robert's office. She was already coming round by then, but Jan did her mother-hen act and shooed the rest of us out. And about twenty minutes later she was serving customers again.'

‘But – there must have been some explanation?'

Susie shrugged. ‘We weren't given one. Or at least, not one I believed. When I asked if she was all right, she just said yes, thanks, it must have been something she ate.'

‘But surely that's feasible?'

‘It wouldn't have come on so abruptly, Nick. One minute she was fine, the next not. No sickness or stomach cramps. Something gave her a fright, if you want my opinion, but God knows what.'

‘I'll have a go at Mama and see what gives.'

Susie smiled and picked up her knife and fork. ‘The best of luck,' she said.

‘I'm worried about her,' Lewis said abruptly.

Kate nodded. ‘I know you are.'

‘She's not been right for a week or two, but she keeps insisting there's nothing wrong. God, I got the fright of my life, seeing her lying there on the floor. I thought she'd been stabbed or something.'

‘You watch too much television.'

‘You can scoff, but jewellers are more vulnerable than most.'

‘Not on a Saturday afternoon, with the shop full of customers.'

Lewis pushed his plate away. ‘She used to talk to me, you know, until Matthew came along. Now, he gets all her confidences. She's always been vulnerable, Kate, right from way back.'

‘I know, darling, but she's a grown woman now. As to this afternoon, it was too hot in the shop – I said so at the time – and she'd been on her feet all day.'

‘So had you all,' Lewis pointed out, unconvinced, and Kate, seeing nothing she said was going to satisfy him, determinedly changed the subject.

Sophie Fairfax learned of the incident from overhearing a conversation in the restaurant.

‘Went down as if she'd been pole-axed,' said a florid-faced man with relish. ‘The place just about erupted. Then Lewis Tarlton charged to the rescue and bore her off to the nether regions.'

Sophie's attention, already caught, quickened at the name of her ex-husband, and under the guise of checking the bookings, she paused to listen.

‘Which of them was it?' asked one of the women at the table.

‘The youngest, who looks as if she wouldn't say boo to a goose. She's always pale, but she went positively green. I kept well clear of her, I can tell you. It was the suddenness of it that was so startling. She'd walked past me only a minute before, as right as rain.'

There seemed to be no further information forthcoming, and Sophie left the restaurant and went in search of her husband.

‘It seems Freya collapsed in the shop today,' she told him anxiously. ‘Do you think I ought to phone and see how she is?'

Chris hesitated, trying not to allow his jealousy of Lewis to cloud his judgement. ‘They wouldn't like to think it's the talk of the town,' he said. ‘It probably caused enough embarrassment at the time.'

‘But I'm concerned about her, Chris. I still think of her as my little sister.'

‘You're not still in touch, are you?' Again that stab of insecurity.

‘We phone each other from time to time.'

He hadn't realized that. After a minute, he said carefully, ‘Well, if I were you, I'd wait a day or two, then just ring up casually, as though you hadn't heard anything. If she seems OK, that'll set your mind at rest, and if she isn't, no doubt she'll tell you.'

‘Good idea,' Sophie agreed. ‘Thanks, beloved.' And, dropping a kiss on his head as she passed the sofa, she went back to her duties, leaving him, had she known it, more anxious than she was.

Over dinner in Cricklehurst, Catherine also had something on her mind. She'd driven over that morning, but so far there'd not been an appropriate moment to tell her son and daughter-in-law her news. They'd gone out for a pub lunch, then walked across wintry fields that were crisp with frost and crunched beneath their footsteps – ironically enough, how she and Tom had planned to spend the day. And as they walked, hands deep in pockets to keep warm, Daniel had told her about his computer courses and how the scope of his job was changing. Then Jenny had taken over and regaled her with problems at the flower shop that she managed, and how their suppliers had suddenly announced they couldn't guarantee delivery of their order before Christmas.

‘I played merry hell with them,' Jenny said, ‘and after a lot of wrangling, finally managed to wring out the promise that it would be with us by the tenth at the latest. Even that's cutting it fine.'

‘She's a dragon when roused,' Daniel said fondly, slipping an arm round his wife's shoulders.

On their return home, Daniel, with a token apology, had settled down to watch the post-mortems of the afternoon's sport, while Jenny disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. At dinner, Catherine promised herself; that's when I'll tell them.

She'd gone upstairs, a knot of apprehension in her stomach, and as she turned into her room, her eyes lingered on the closed door at the top of the stairs. Behind it, she knew, was a fully equipped nursery, still awaiting the arrival of the baby that, tragically, had never come home. Nearly six months ago; was it too soon to hope another might be on the way?

And now they were sitting round the table in the small dining room, two-thirds of the meal behind them and one of Jenny's delectable desserts on their plates. There were candles on the table, and in their gentle light Catherine glanced at the faces of her family, aching with love for them. Please, she prayed, please let them be happy for me. Don't let Daniel think I'm betraying his father.

His voice broke into her musings. ‘You're very quiet, Ma. Feeling all right?'

She looked up, bracing herself. ‘Actually, I'm trying to pluck up courage to tell you something.'

Daniel's hand stilled, fork poised over his plate. ‘There's something wrong? Ma – you're not ill?'

‘No, no, darling, nothing like that. I've never been better. In fact, I'm – thinking of getting married again.'

The silence that followed her announcement seemed endless measured in heartbeats, but could only have lasted seconds. Then, as Jenny exclaimed in delight, Daniel pushed back his chair, came quickly over to her, and put his arms round her.

‘Well,' he commented, ‘you've kept that pretty quiet!' He bent to kiss her cheek and she caught hold of his hand, her eyes full of relieved tears.

‘You – don't mind?'

‘Mind? How could I mind? I'm delighted for you. We both are.'

Jenny in turn jumped up to kiss her. ‘It's wonderful news, Catherine! Do we know the lucky man?'

‘Daniel does. At least, he's met him. His name's Tom Parish.'

Daniel frowned for a moment, then his face cleared. ‘Oh, the chap who drove you to the hospital when Jenny had her miss?'

‘That's the one.'

‘And when did all this blow up?' he asked, returning to his seat.

‘A couple of months ago, but things aren't exactly straightforward.' Her hands gripped her napkin. ‘Tom's still married. He'll be getting a divorce, but we're letting things take their course. Two years' separation, then it goes straight through. And darlings, please believe me: I wasn't the cause of the divorce. Things had been bad for some time.'

‘So what will you do for the next two years?' Jenny asked, finally starting to eat her dessert. ‘Live together?'

‘No.' Catherine smiled. ‘I'd be quite happy for Tom to move into the bungalow, but he wants to spare me unpleasant gossip, so he's renting a flat in the next road till we're free to marry.'

‘When are we going to meet him?'

‘I don't know. Things are a little fraught at the moment. He retires from the bank next week – he's the manager there – but once that's over, it'll come more into the open. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but you've had a lot on and it's not something I could say on the phone.' She laid a hand on her son's. ‘Darling, he'll never take the place of your father. You know that, don't you?'

‘Of course I know that. But I've been hoping for years that you'd meet someone; I've hated thinking of you alone.'

‘Bless you for that.'

‘And now,' Daniel said, getting to his feet again, ‘I think champagne is called for. I was keeping it for Christmas, but there's plenty of time to replace it.' He paused. ‘You are still coming to us for Christmas?'

‘Of course I am.'

‘That's all right, then.'

He lifted a bottle out of the wine rack and began to unwind the gold wire, while Jenny took three champagne flutes from the cupboard. With a satisfying pop the cork came out and the foaming liquid was poured into the glasses.

Daniel raised his. ‘To Ma and Tom,' he proposed. ‘Long life and happiness! It'll be good to have another man around!'