Some Old Lover's Ghost (56 page)

‘I didn’t
know
he was dead – how could I? But I thought it likely – and if he was dead, he’d obviously died in suspicious circumstances. From what I’d heard of him, he didn’t sound the suicidal type.’

‘You told me that you thought he’d run away.’

‘Yes. Well.’ He looked slightly ashamed. ‘That was possible, of course.’

‘But not what you believed?’

He sighed. ‘It just always seemed far more probable that someone had clocked him over the head and dumped him in a convenient ditch. Tilda thought the same.’

I remembered Tilda, standing at the window, looking out at the garden.
He would not have left his daughter
.

‘I never thought Tilda had anything to do with it, of course,’ said Patrick touchily.

‘Did Caitlin ever talk to you about her father?’

‘A little. To Caitlin, he was a god. But if you read between the lines, he’d spoiled her rotten and then left her without a penny. But it wasn’t just because of Daragh that I thought the book a lousy idea.’

I glanced at him. ‘Why, then?’

‘I could see how the business about Caitlin and Erich might look. Melissa, even, going off to live in France with my grandfather. It was all … messy. But I suppose families are messy.’

I thought of my own family, and resolved to phone my father the next day.

Patrick added, ‘I was afraid that it would hurt Tilda more than she had anticipated. She’s so innocent in some ways. Frankly, I don’t particularly care who killed the wretched man. Daragh Canavan was a shit, by all accounts. And Tilda’s suffered enough.’

‘I know,’ I said gently. ‘I know.’

‘Come to Cumbria with me,’ he said suddenly. His eyes, that light, lucid blue, focused on me. ‘I’ve bought the house. I had to hassle like mad, but I exchanged contracts a couple of days ago.’

I was bewildered. ‘I thought it was a weekend place.’

‘God, no. I’ve been trying to get out of London for years. Only Jen wouldn’t settle.’

‘You’re
farming
?’ I couldn’t imagine him in an old Barbour, rounding up sheep.

He roared with laughter. ‘Farming? Dear Lord, no. I’ve bought a practice in Penrith. They need lawyers in Cumbria too, you know, Rebecca. It’ll be a bit more routine, that’s all.’

Jealousy resurfaced. ‘You’ll be near Jennifer.’

‘I’ll be near
Ellie
. She starts school in September. She’ll stay with me alternate weekends.’

His eyes pleaded with me. Part of me longed to say yes, yet I knew that I could not. I was not ready for that sort of commitment. So much was unresolved, and there were still too many loose ends. I turned aside.

‘Rebecca
. I know I’ve made a mess of it before, but—’

‘It’s not that. It’s me.’

‘Oh,’ he said again. He sounded flat, defeated. ‘Love. That elusive little thing that everyone’s chasing.’

I thought of Tilda. It had taken me a long time to realize that Max had been the great love of Tilda’s life, and not Daragh.

‘I think I love you.’ He spoke quickly, almost as if he was afraid that if he thought about it, he would hold back and spare himself from the vulnerability that such a declaration entails. ‘I think I fell in love with you when you turned up at the hospital to see Tilda with that bunch of wilting daffodils and you were all pink and your hair was all over the place—’

‘I’d got lost,’ I said defensively. ‘Hospitals are such mazes.’

‘—and you gave Matty the money for her wretched can of Coke. There was just something about you.’

The unreason of love, I thought. A nurse called out my name. I looked at Patrick.

‘Not yet,’ I whispered to him, as I stood up. ‘Some day, perhaps, but not yet. Give me time, Patrick. I’ve things to do. Things to understand.’

I have to know, I might have said, the end of the story. As I kissed the crown of his head and walked away from him, I realized that I was impatient to see Melissa again. Everything was unfinished. I had left Tilda travelling back from France in the spring of I949, convinced that Max no longer loved her …

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Max had been kind to her, but not because he still loved her. Max, civilized Max, would be courteous to the mother of his children, but would give his heart to that pretty blonde Frenchwoman who had dashed into a kitchen she obviously knew well and offered to cook his favourite dinner. Tilda knew now that Max had kissed her because he pitied her. Max himself had pointed out how tired she had looked. He had been too gentlemanly to say,
how old
. Max was still, after all, attractive. Men, Tilda acknowledged bitterly as she studied her face in the tiny mirror in the ladies’ room on the ferry, aged better than women.

Later, on the deck, watching the dark swell of the waves, Tilda wept tears of humiliation and bitterness. The ferry docked in the early evening, and they caught the train to Oxford. It was dark by the time they reached Oxford station, and rain lashed the rickety bus shelter. As they lurched along the winding roads, Tilda longed to see her other children again, and longed to curl up in bed and sleep.

In the house, she hugged Rosi and Hanna and Erich and gave them presents and letters from Max and Melissa, and looked around. ‘Where’s Caitlin?’

Rosi said, ‘In her room.’

Tilda took off her wet mackintosh. ‘I’ll go to her.’

‘Tilda.’ Rosi drew her aside. ‘Tilda, I must speak to you first.’

Erich was looking at his present, a book about flowers, and Hanna had run upstairs to try on the blouse that Tilda had bought her. Josh had begun to eat his supper.

She followed Rosi into the kitchen. Rosi shut the door behind them. Tilda’s heart began to pound with fear.

‘Rosi, is Caitlin all right? Is she ill?’

‘No, no. Caitlin is well. She’s sulking, that’s all. But Tilda, something happened when you were away. I have to tell you about it. Sit down, please.’

By the time Rosi had finished telling her story Tilda was glad that she had sat down, because her legs were shaking too much to hold her. When Rosi paused for breath, Tilda looked up and said, ‘Perhaps it hasn’t gone very far … perhaps it was just a flirtation—’

‘She was in bed,’ said Rosi grimly. ‘I went upstairs and dragged her out of his bed. She howled and made a fuss and scratched my face.’

Caitlin, Daragh’s precious only daughter, who was not yet sixteen, was having an affair with a married man. ‘This man—’

‘Julian Pascoe.’

‘What is he like?’

‘Thirtyish. Good-looking, I suppose, in a petulant sort of way. I can see that he might appeal to Caitlin.’

‘Does he love her?’

Rosi shook her head. ‘He seemed to be more concerned about whether the neighbours would hear. Caitlin made a lot of noise when I took her home.’

‘Dear God,’ said Tilda softly. She stood up. ‘Tell me where he lives, Rosi.’

Rosi looked worried. ‘You should have your supper first, Tilda. You look tired. It can wait, surely.’

She said, ‘No, I don’t think it can,’ and put her wet raincoat
back on. Rosi gave her directions and she left the house. She felt, as she walked, a fury that threatened to choke her. Thirtyish. Married.
Good-looking … I can see that he might appeal to Caitlin
. She took the path that led to Julian Pascoe’s house, splashing through the mud, kicking aside nettles and brambles, hurling open the wrought-iron gate and running down the drive to ring the doorbell.

‘Yes?’ A woman opened the door. Mrs Pascoe was well-dressed, with neatly permed dark hair and a haughty expression.

‘I’d like to speak to Mr Pascoe.’

‘Julian? A person wishes to speak to you.’ Mrs Pascoe did not ask Tilda in.

She knew, as soon as she saw Julian Pascoe, why Caitlin had been attracted to him. Tall, wiry and dark-haired: there was a superficial resemblance to Daragh, to the father Caitlin had loved and lost.

Tilda said, ‘My name is Tilda Franklin. I’ve come to speak to you about Caitlin.’

Julian Pascoe glanced furtively over one shoulder. ‘Not here,’ he muttered. Raising his voice, he called, ‘I’ve a rehearsal, darling!’ and then he took a jacket from the peg and stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him.

She said, ‘Your wife doesn’t know about Caitlin, then?’

He darted a look at her. ‘No. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. Shall we walk?’

They went down the drive, back towards the road. He said suddenly, ‘Are you her mother?’

She realized that he knew nothing at all about Caitlin. ‘Caitlin’s parents are both dead,’ she said icily. ‘I have looked after her since her mother’s death.’

‘Ah.’ They had paused in the road. He took a cigarette case from his pocket. ‘I didn’t seduce her, you know,’ he said, looking up. ‘She was willing.’

Tilda felt a rush of anger so intense she could hardly speak. ‘You took advantage of her, Mr Pascoe. You were in a position of power, and you took advantage of a silly, confused girl.’

‘She knew exactly what she was doing.’ He struck a match.

‘You are – how old?’

‘Thirty-one.’ He blinked.

‘Caitlin is fifteen. Did she tell you that, Mr Pascoe?’

For the first time, he looked shaken. ‘Fifteen?’

‘Yes. Statutory rape, I believe it’s called.’

‘Good God. I had no idea … she told me she was eighteen. I’m sure that she told me she was eighteen.’ He gave a weak little laugh, and pushed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his face in a gesture that Tilda suspected he practised at the mirror. ‘If I’d known, obviously I wouldn’t have touched her. I prefer older women anyway.’ His eyes, open and appealing, rested on Tilda, and he grinned boyishly. ‘You won’t tell my wife, will you?’

For a moment she said nothing. Then she whispered, ‘Mr Pascoe, if you attempt even to speak to Caitlin again, I will tell your entire family. I will tell your friends, your colleagues, your neighbours. And I will tell the police. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ There was sweat on his upper lip; he wiped it away with the back of his hand. ‘Yes.’

She turned on her heel and began to walk away. From behind her, she heard him say, ‘She wasn’t a virgin, you know!’ and she spun round, and struck his face hard with the flat of her hand.

Walking back to the colonel’s house, her palm stung. At Poona she went directly to Caitlin’s room. Caitlin was curled up on the bed. Seeing Tilda, she sat up.

Tilda said, ‘Rosi told me about Julian Pascoe.’

‘The bitch … poking her nose in … she had no right—’

‘Rosi had every right, Caitlin. She was responsible for you in my absence.’

‘I can look after myself.’

‘Until you are twenty-one, Caitlin, you are my responsibility. And at present you are only fifteen. Mr Pascoe knows that now.’

Caitlin gasped. ‘You’ve spoken to Julian?’

‘Yes.’ Tilda sat down on the edge of the bed. The brief rush of
energy that her anger had given her had dissipated, and all her muscles ached with exhaustion. ‘I told him to leave you alone.’

Caitlin’s pretty face creased with fury. ‘How dare you? Julian
loves
me.’

No, he doesn’t, Tilda thought, but knew how cruel it would be to say that. ‘Mr Pascoe is married,’ she said, more gently.

‘Julian’s going to leave his wife.’

Tilda looked down at her hands, knowing how carefully she must choose her words. ‘I don’t think that he will, Kate. And besides, you are not old enough to marry anyone.’ She took a deep breath. She felt old and tired and hopeless. She knew that she had failed Caitlin utterly. ‘Kate, I can see how unhappy you are here. What would you prefer? A boarding school, perhaps?’

‘Boarding school?’ Caitlin laughed. ‘That’d be a convenient solution for you, wouldn’t it, Tilda?’

Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

Their eyes met just for a moment, and then Caitlin shook her head, and said sullenly, ‘Nothing.’

There was a small silence. Tilda sighed. ‘Kate, if you go on as you are doing, then you’ll end up in trouble. I cannot keep you under lock and key. You’ll find yourself with a baby and without a husband. Is that what you want?’

Caitlin looked away. Tilda persisted. ‘Do you think that’s what your father and mother would have wanted for you?’

‘What do you know about what my father would have wanted? You know
nothing
!’ Caitlin went to her dressing table, and began to drag a comb through her hair. Her hand shook. She pulled on a coat.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Out. I’ve a rehearsal. I missed last night’s because of that stupid Rosi. I’m not missing another one.’

‘Mr Pascoe understands that you cannot be in the play.’

‘Can’t be in the play?’ Caitlin’s eyes were black with fury. ‘Of course I’m going to be in the play! You try and spoil everything that belongs to me, don’t you?’ She flung open the
door. ‘I hate you! I hate you, Tilda Franklin, and I’m going to pay you back!’

At the Memorial Hall, Caitlin pushed open the door and ran inside. It was a dress rehearsal: in their garish make-up and shoddy costumes they all stared at her. Julian said, ‘Excuse me a moment,’ and jumped down from the stage. There was a ripple of laughter.

He seized Caitlin by the wrist, steering her out of the hall and into the cramped little kitchen. ‘Why the hell have you come here?’

‘To see you, Julian. Tilda told me that she’d spoken to you.’

‘Ah yes. The beautiful Mrs Franklin.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Barged into my house, actually. I’m going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Margaret.’

She wailed, ‘But she says that I mustn’t see you any more!’

‘Of course you mustn’t. And sweetheart, if I’d known you were just a kid, then I wouldn’t have looked at you in the first place. There are limits, you know.’

She said quickly, ‘I’m sixteen in October. You’ll wait, won’t you, Julian?’

His expression altered, from distaste to amused contempt. ‘Wait? For you? Don’t be ridiculous, Caitlin.’

‘But I love you!’

He glanced at his watch. ‘You have a crush on me, that’s all. It’s something little girls often have for older men. You’ll grow out of it.’