A Poison Tree (Time, Blood and Karma Book 3) (26 page)

The encounter with Harry’s wife
frightened Adele.

The next few days she spent as little time as possi
ble in her apartment, fearing a knock on the door. She cancelled her date with Simon, citing a migraine, and although she put in an appearance at church the next day, she did not stay around long after the service. Simon sensed something was amiss and called her.

“My mother has been drinking heavily and had a fall. She had to call out the doctor,” she said. The lies came eas
ily to her now. Practice made perfect.

“As long as that’s all that’s wrong,” he said, sounding both sad and concerned.

“That’s all. Mam’s fine. Just bruises. I’m OK, Simon. Let’s go out somewhere special on Wednesday. My treat.”

“Now
that
sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”

As the
number of days since the incident extended into weeks, and the wrath of God – or of Violet Dempsey – failed to materialise, Adele began to relax. She was still shaken and mindful of how close she had come to exposure, but she convinced herself the matter was closed. Her disguise remained in place.

Until Easter Sunday.

As she made her way to St. Mark’s on that morning, Adele felt light-hearted.  The previous day she had spoken to Jamie, and accompanied Simon to the cinema for a pleasant, if forgettable, romantic comedy.

Then she saw Violet.

Harry’s wife was on her way into the church, chatting with Eleanor as if they were long-lost friends. They hadn’t spotted her. Adele stopped in mid-stride, then turned around and hurried home.

She bought a pack of cigarettes and sat in her apartment considering her options. She
called Miss Connie, apologising she would not be at the club that day in view of a family emergency. Simon phoned her several times, each call going unanswered.

When darkness fell, Adele left the lights out so no one would think she was at home. At least the building access system had finally been repaired
, so any visitor would have to buzz for admission.

That night, she hardly slept. She could not know whether Violet’s attendance at the church was a one-off occasion. Neither could she know what the woman might say to Eleanor, if not now, then later.

As dawn broke, a resolution formed. Adele had to tell Simon everything, regardless of the consequences. If he had to learn the truth from anyone, it was best it came from her.

She showered and dressed.

At nine o’clock, she picked up her cell phone and called the vicar of St. Mark’s.

“Adele, thank goodness, I was getting worried.”

“Can I come and see you, Simon? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Of course. When do you want to come?”

“Now.”

Simon leaned forward on the sill, staring out through the vicarage window while Adele sat waiting for him to say something.

The silence stretched out interminably before he turned around to face her.

“So you are telling me you are a prostitute?” he said.

“Yes.”

“And that all this time we have known each other – over a year and a half – you have been … uh.” His voice trailed off, but then he swallowed hard and continued. “You have been lying to me about it all this time?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Simon?”

He shook his head and slumped onto a chair.

“The only reason you are sitting here now is because you cannot cover it up any more.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Our new member, Violet, knows.
You are afraid Eleanor might know too. You are compromised, so only now do you talk.”

“I am concerned for you.”

“Yet you were not concerned for me before.”

“Of course I was.”

Even to Adele’s ears it sounded unconvincing. It was the justification of a selfish woman, one careless of others’ feelings.

Simon stared down at the floor, unable to look at her. He seemed exhausted.

Adele stood up.

“I had better go,” she said.

He rubbed a hand across his face.

“Yes. I think that would be best.”

39

DAVID

About ten miles outside the city of Derby sits the Peak View Retirement Home.

Its title is misleading. It is not in the Peak District of Derbyshire at all, but overlooks pleasant, rolling countryside. Then again, perhaps the ‘peak’ referred to is a widow’s peak, since the lady residents outnumber the men by a ratio of three to one. Women tend to live longer. Ian Kenney would say this is because there comes a point where married men want to die. They have had enough.

Peak View is an expensive, modern establishment with extensive grounds, and from the outside it has the feel of a hotel about it. Once inside,
though, as shuffling residents heave into view, it takes on the characteristics of a hospital. Easy-clean surfaces, inoffensive prints on the walls, and straight-backed chairs create a Zen environment and one that may be less cosy than some of the inmates would like. I suspect for them it is a daily reminder the world has moved on from that of the homely, chintzy houses where they would have spent their earlier, happier years.

It was some time since I had last visited Jean, my great aunt. This was not something I was proud of, but I justified it to myself by
the current domestic situation that was weighing on my mind.

Aunt Jean
had phoned to ask when I might next be dropping by. She gave no indication why she might want to see me – and her calling was a rare occurrence – but nothing in her voice suggested a crisis. The mere fact that she had called at all indicated something was up.

It was
on a bracing spring morning when I walked in through the main entrance of Peak View, and asked to see my eighty-seven-year-old relative. A somnambulistic male nurse showed me to her room. Such was his demeanour and general appearance that if he hadn’t been wearing a uniform, he could have been mistaken for one of the residents.

Aunt Jean was sitting in her armchair watching a
television show. She clicked the off button on the remote. “I don’t know why I watch this rubbish,” she said, a trace of annoyance in her voice.

Age had shrunk her, but even in her diminished form she retained the ramrod backbone of the Braddock family. Her
blue eyes still had a twinkle in them and she continued to take pride in her looks and dress. Jean was not one to ‘give up’. The departing nurse would have done well to have taken a leaf from her book.

I kissed her.

“Let’s take a stroll, David.”

“Are you sure? It’s not that warm outside.”

“It never is. But I could do with some fresh air.” She grinned. “And you would like a cigarette, no doubt.”

“True.”

We took a slow walk around the well-kept gardens before sitting down on a bench which bore a memorial plaque. Aunt Jean wrinkled her nose at the brass rectangle.

“Fucking reminders of death everywhere in this place,” she remarked.

Her habitual use of profanity always tickled me. It was so incongruous, juxtaposed with the image of that frail, silver-haired lady.

“Are you all right, Aunt Jean?”

“Why? Did my phone call spook you?”

“A bit.”

She chuckled.

“David, you know you’ve always been my favourite. Your father and I speak
from time to time, but we don’t have that much in common these days. I love him, of course. He is my nephew, after all. But I wish he’d take that stick out of his arse on occasion.”

“Yes, it would help.”

“Things still difficult between you and the old bugger, eh? Even with how things are at home?”

“Same, same.”

“Edward was always stubborn, even as a child. It’s too late for him to change now. For you, on the other hand, it’s not too late. When this business is over – and it
will
end, David – you need to do some living. See some of the world, have a few adventures, for Christ’s sake. You’re a long time dead.”

“I can’t think about any of that now, Aunt Jean.”

“Well, you have to think about it sometime. Everyone else might tiptoe around you, but you know that’s not my way.”

We sat in silence for a few moments before she piped
up. “Do you know how hard it is to get a fuck in Peak View?”

“
Er – no.”

“I had a boyfriend last year but I
had to dump him. A toy boy, actually. He was only in his early sixties. Even so, he couldn’t get it up. I told him to get some Viagra, but he wouldn’t. Worried that with his high blood pressure it might give him a heart attack. Bloody wimp.” She cocked her head to the side. “That reminds me, I must get some batteries for my vibrator.”

“Thanks for that
picture,” I said. “It must be time for a cigarette now.”

I lit up.

”I’ve left you everything in my will,” she announced. “It’s not a fortune, but it’s not a small amount either. I thought you should know.”

“Jesus, is that what you wanted to see me about? You’re going to go on for years yet.”

She ignored me and continued. “I’ve lived, you know, David. No complaints. Even if these days I am reduced to playing bloody bridge with old biddies. And when I had my Bohemian period, well, that was the happiest time, even if it did shock the family. Did I ever tell you I lived for a year with a negro in Jamaica in the sixties?”

“Yes, you did. Several times. In graphic detail. And, for the umpteenth time, we don’t say ‘negro’ these days.”

She huffed with impatience. “Samuel didn’t mind what I called him, so I don’t see as it’s anyone else’s business. He’s the only man I ever truly loved. Nobody else even came close. He’s the reason I never married. No point.” A sigh escaped her. “God, what I wouldn’t give to have that big, muscle-bound negro in my bed now.”

“Political correctness has completely passed you by, hasn’t it, Aunt Jean?”

She curled her lip. “I’m too old for all that fucking nonsense. In my day, having real respect for someone was what mattered, not mealy-mouthed epithets.” She fixed me with a determined look. “Don’t die in some piss-smelling home with a load of miserable old bastards, David. When I’m gone, use my money to have some fun, OK? Otherwise I’ll come back and empty your bank account.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can see you are. Though you’re not going anywhere for ages.”

“What did I say about using mealy-mouthed epithets?’ She snapped at me. “I’ve told you I’m part witch, so I know what’s coming. Recently, Samuel has been in my dreams a lot. It’s like he’s sending me a message that he’s waiting for me; that it won’t be long before we’re together again.”

Aunt Jean had never had much time for religion, so any reference to the afterlife sounded strange coming from her. But I made no comment. We all need beliefs, whether rational or not, to sustain us through dark days. And although my great aunt appeared, as always, resolute and fearless, perhaps behind that seeming-invincible exterior, she too was susceptible to terminal anxiety.

“Your great aunt sounds like she’s still a game girl, a real trooper,” said Anna.

“She certainly swears like a trooper. More than anyone else I can think of, in fact.”

“Let me just check on Jenny.” She set the coffee down on the table in front of me and went through to her daughter’s bedroom.

I had thought – right up until after Jenny was born – that I might be referring to her as
our
daughter. But no. The fact that the baby was blood type A ruled out that possibility. Max was type A, Anna was the rarer type B, and I was a plain old type O. Jenny had to be Max’s. Biology can be an exact science when it wants to be. My night with Anna was destined to produce confusion and guilt, but not offspring. Against all expectations, Max had finally done his duty by his wife.

I have to admit, part of me was disappointed
despite the innumerable complications that would have ensued had I been the father. While a new, albeit secret, addition to the Braddock line would not have replaced Daniel, it would have given me something to hold onto as my old, comfortable life slipped away from me.

Jenny was a delightful baby. Claire doted on her, as did Katie during her visits home. She had the Holland red hair and, although I may be biased in this respect, the most beautiful eyes.

Anna was proving to be a natural as a mother, if that’s not too clichéd a phrase. Jenny seemed to have given her the strength and incentive to put the events of the pre-Millennium behind her.

With everything that had happened, Anna’s plans to move to London to join Bright Sparks Publishing had been put on hold. But
, as Jenny’s first birthday approached, this was being re-evaluated. If Anna could persuade Natalie to give up the farm and move south with her into more suitable secure accommodation, I felt sure she would go.

I gazed around the apartment as I waited for Anna’s return. Whatever decisions were to be made about London, this place was already on the market. It would have been intolerable for Anna to go on living here.

Max had at least left her financially stable. His large life insurance policy made sure of that. The bastard had got one thing right, at least. Two, if you counted Jenny.

Anna reappeared. “She’s still fast asleep. Do you want something to eat?”

“No. Just the coffee, thanks. I’d best get back.”

She sat down beside me and
stroked my arm. “You look tired, David. You need to take care of yourself, as well as Claire.”

“There will be time enough for that later.”

I sipped my coffee and attempted to look cheerful, even though I knew it would not convince my sister-in-law I was coping. It didn’t even convince me.

Anna sighed. “We just never know what is going to happen in life, do we? However much we plan.”

As it turned out,
my Aunt Jean knew exactly what was going to happen. Her dreams proved to be prophetic, and a few days after my visit, she was dead. A tidy legacy was to be mine. A pot of cash to fund my own Bohemian lifestyle, if I followed her urging.

If only
things were that simple.