A Family Concern (9 page)

‘To the enlargement of the family!' Catherine toasted in her turn, and pretended not to see the swift look that passed between husband and wife. Perhaps, she thought, her heart swelling with happiness, there would soon be another reason to celebrate.

‘T
his time next week, Pops will have retired,' Rona remarked to Max over Sunday breakfast.

‘And presumably left the marital home.'

‘Yes. I wonder if he'll need help, moving his things out.'

‘It might be wiser, in the circumstances, not to offer your services.'

‘Possibly; though, according to Linz, Mum and Pops are on better terms than they've been for ages.'

Max said reflectively, ‘It'll be worse for Avril; she hasn't a lover waiting in the wings. I can't help feeling sorry for her.'

Rona looked at him with a mixture of surprise and indignation. ‘You're not changing sides, are you?'

‘There shouldn't be any sides,' Max said gently. ‘Let's say I'm particularly parent-conscious at the moment, and in fence-mending mode. But it's just occurred to me – you know how we're always being invited over for Sunday lunch?'

‘Don't I just?'

‘Well, wouldn't it be a nice gesture if we took her out somewhere? To the Clarendon, for example? Ask Lindsey along too, perhaps? It would show there are no hard feelings.'

Rona stared at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped. ‘You put me to shame,' she said quietly. ‘It's a lovely idea, darling. Shall I put it into effect?'

‘As long as she wouldn't object to short notice.' He paused. ‘But what about your father? Can we ask one without the other?'

‘He's gone off on a golfing weekend – last-minute decision, apparently – so no feathers need be ruffled.'

Avril received the invitation with surprised delight, Lindsey a little more cautiously.

‘What is this? Let's-be-nice-to-Mum-for-a-change week?'

‘You're only miffed because you didn't think of it,' Rona retorted. ‘Do you want to come, or not?'

‘Of course I'll come. I wouldn't miss out on a free lunch, even if there's not supposed to be such a thing.'

‘Gracious as always. Now we have to see if there's a table free. If you don't hear to the contrary, let's meet in the bar at twelve thirty.'

Their luck held. There'd been a cancellation five minutes earlier, and the Clarendon was able to accommodate them with a table for four at one o'clock. Fleetingly, Rona wondered what her father would think. Then, acknowledging that he was more forgiving than herself, she reckoned he'd be pleased.

Avril stood in front of her wardrobe, surveying the clothes she'd bought over the last month or so. Which outfit, she agonized, would be the most appropriate? Something smart, but not too eye-catching. After holding several up against herself in front of the mirror, she selected a sage-green suit with a boxy jacket and knee-length skirt, and a tailored cream blouse. She was lucky that during the years of self-neglect she had neither gained nor lost weight, and her legs were still good.

Fortunately, she'd washed her hair that morning. She was still not used to the new style – short and layered, framing her face – and on her last visit to the hairdresser, had daringly agreed to blonde highlights to lift the general mousiness. Luckily, the girls had inherited their father's thick, dark hair, though his was now grey.

When, ten minutes later, she surveyed her reflection – a faint touch of green on her eyelids and softly pink lips – she felt a lift of pleasure, the more so since the metamorphosis had been not to please Tom or any other man, but herself. Even so, she admitted with a touch of bitterness, if it had come a year or so earlier, they might still be together. Her general sloppiness had, she was sure, combined with her astringent tongue to drive him away.

Well, that was all in the past now, and after next week she'd have the house to herself and could start putting her plans for the shower room into effect. In the meantime, it would be good to be taken out for a meal, and Rona was a dear to have thought of it.

Feeling happier than she had for months, Avril picked up her handbag and went downstairs.

Rona, who had seen little of her mother over the last month, felt a jolt of surprise as she appeared in the doorway to the bar.

‘Mum, you look stunning!' she exclaimed, and Avril flushed with pleasure as Max led her to their table.

‘Thank you, dear. This is really very good of you.'

‘Our pleasure,' Max said smoothly. ‘And here's Lindsey, to complete the party.'

Lindsey, elegant in black and cream, greeted everyone with a kiss before seating herself next to her mother.

‘Now,' Max said, ‘what's everyone drinking?'

‘Max!'

They all turned as a tall, thin man came into the bar, holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you again!'

‘Hello, Stephen.' Max turned to his seated family. ‘This gentleman's the owner of this magnificent establishment – Stephen Fairfax. Stephen, may I introduce my mother-in-law, Avril Parish—'

‘I believe we've already met,' Fairfax said, with a little bow in Avril's direction. ‘Your husband not with you today, Mrs Parish?'

Rona held her breath, but Avril answered calmly, ‘No, he left me on my own, so my family took pity on me.'

Fairfax laughed. ‘Quite right, too.'

‘—my wife, Rona,' Max continued smoothly, ‘and sister-in-law, Lindsey.'

Hands were shaken and smiles exchanged. Rona, having met his son Chris, surreptitiously studied the newcomer. Though he had a high forehead, his hair, steel-grey, was still plentiful over his crown and above his ears, while the brows over deep-set eyes remained dark, giving an impression of authority that was emphasized by the firmness of mouth and chin. Not a man to be trifled with, Rona guessed, concluding that Chris must have inherited the gentler features of his mother.

‘Allow me to see to the drinks,' Fairfax was saying, waving away Max's automatic protest. ‘I insist. It's not every day a famous artist graces my bar.'

He took their orders, had a word with the barman, and, apologetically excusing himself, left the room.

‘A forceful character,' Lindsey murmured. ‘Attractive, though.' She turned to her mother. ‘I didn't know you knew him?'

‘He banks at the National; we met briefly at one of their functions. I'm surprised he remembers.'

‘Sign of a good hotelier,' Max said. ‘Though he's usually behind the scenes, keeping his finger on the pulse. Front of the house is left to his son and daughter-in-law. And of course, his mother, who's the power behind the throne.'

‘Aren't there two sons?'

‘Yes, Chris and Gerald, who's the chef. He lives in one of the cottages down the road from Farthings. A bit of a loner, from what I've heard.'

‘It's odd to think I've been coming here on and off for most of my life,' Rona remarked, ‘yet everything I know about the family, I've learned in the last week.' Starting, she remembered, with Kate, and then Coralie. And thinking of Coralie, Rona wondered if she would in fact ever hear from her again.

That doubt was settled the next morning. Rona was at her desk, writing up the latest parent-search article, when the phone interrupted her.

‘Rona? It's Coralie Davis. Have you thought any more about what I told you?'

‘Yes, I have, Coralie, and I'd like to include it in the series, if you're willing?'

‘That's why I'm ringing; I've discussed it with Brad, and he agrees I should go ahead. It'll be good to have it all down in one piece, instead of on different scraps of paper, and as you said, it'd be something to hand on. So what's the next step?'

‘I come round and go through it all with you in detail, using the tape recorder. It would help if you could have everything you've managed to find out to hand, and any photographs, birth or death certificates and so on.'

‘You said you have several other cases to consider.'

‘That's right.'

‘So mine still mightn't make it into print?'

‘From what you've already told me, I'd say it was a safe bet. One of the pluses is that you were older, and could remember things about your mother. So, when would it be convenient for me to call?'

‘Well, it would have to be evenings or weekend.'

‘An evening would be best.' One when Max was at Farthings. ‘Would tomorrow suit you?'

‘Sorry, we're going out tomorrow. How about Wednesday?'

Max's mid-week return. ‘And I can't manage Wednesday. Thursday any good?'

Coralie laughed. ‘Bingo! Let's make it Thursday. Straight after work would be best. I live out at Shellswick, so I don't get back till after six. Shall we say six thirty?'

‘Fine.' Rona took down her address. ‘See you on Thursday, then.'

As she put down the phone, her eyes fell on the case history she'd been working on and she realized, a little to her surprise, that she was starting to lose interest in the series. Though there'd been a good response, there was inevitably a sameness about the stories that made it difficult to present them in different and interesting ways. The first two, as she'd told Kate, had ended with joyful reunions. The third, that she was just finishing, had been less happy; the mother had refused to meet her son, though he'd established contact with his father. The half dozen or so she'd put to one side were divided more or less equally between the two outcomes.

Barnie had stipulated a minimum of four, and in Rona's opinion that would be enough. With luck, Coralie's would be a good one with which to end the series.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.

‘Rona – it's Kate. Are you by any chance free for lunch?'

‘Oh – hello, Kate. Yes, I think so.'

‘Could you meet me at the Gallery at about twelve thirty? It'll be busy, so I'll book a table. Sorry – can't stop now. I'll explain when I see you.' And she rang off.

Rona stared at the phone for a minute before replacing it. Kate had been speaking quickly and quietly, as though she didn't want to be overheard. Until their chance meeting in the street last week, they'd not spoken more than a few words to each other in years. Yet here she was, wanting to meet again. Still, Rona reflected, if she was serious about researching local firms, Tarlton's would be as good a starting place as any.

At a quarter past twelve she completed the last page of the article, saved it on to a CD and switched off the computer. That, she thought with satisfaction, cleared the decks for the Coralie article, and after she'd done that, she'd approach Barnie with her idea of local family histories. The more she thought about it, the more pleased she was with the idea. She'd been feeling for some time that she should return to biographies, and this series could break her in, since each article would be a mini-bio. ‘The Tarltons of Marsborough', for example. And if, she told herself, enthusiasm growing, one person stood out more strongly than the rest, perhaps she could make him or her the subject of a proper, full-blown biography.

‘Gus!' she called, running down the stairs. ‘We're going out for lunch!'

There was no sign of Kate when Rona and Gus arrived at the café, but a waitress showed her to the table Kate had reserved – one of the favoured window ones overlooking Guild Street. Gus, used to the procedure, went straight under the table, turned round a few times to settle himself, then lay down and went to sleep.

‘Sorry!'

Rona looked up from the menu as Kate flopped into the chair opposite her. ‘I was just about to leave when there was an influx of customers. Have you chosen what you're having?'

‘I'm tempted by the steak and kidney pie. They're renowned for it here.'

‘Right, let's go for it. And a bottle of red wine?'

‘Why not?'

Once the order had been given, Kate settled back in her chair. Her eyes met and held Rona's. ‘If you're wondering why I wanted to meet again so soon, it's because of Freya. You were with her when she collapsed, weren't you?'

‘Well, yes, but—'

‘We're all really worried about her; she's been getting progressively more edgy over the last few weeks, but keeps insisting there's nothing wrong. How did she seem to you, on Saturday?'

‘Up to the time she fainted, perfectly fine. As you probably gathered, Max and I were choosing a watch, and she was very helpful, showing us lots of different styles, pointing out special features and so on.'

‘And during all that, she didn't give any sign of not feeling well, or being under a strain?'

‘No, not at all.'

Kate shook her head worriedly. ‘I've a feeling Jan knows something, but she won't be drawn.'

Rona moved uncomfortably. ‘Max and I thought it was the tune that upset her.'

Kate looked at her blankly. ‘The tune?'

‘From the musical box. I caught sight of it on the way out, and asked – Freya – what tune it played, but it had only just come in, and she didn't know. So she opened the lid, it began to play, and she just gave a little gasp and slid to the floor.'

Kate looked completely nonplussed. ‘That must have been sheer coincidence, surely? I mean, how could a tune upset her?'

Rona shrugged.

Kate picked up the little glass pepper pot and began turning it round and round in her fingers. ‘I've always thought the family was overprotective of her, but I'm beginning to wonder if something's really wrong.'

Their wine was brought and, after the usual procedure, poured into their glasses. As the waitress moved away, Rona asked curiously, ‘Why should they be protective at all?'

‘Because of what happened when she was little. She was only three when her mother left them, and it had a traumatic effect on her.'

‘You say her mother “left”. Do you know why?'