Swansea Summer (40 page)

‘When the time is right, don’t you?’

‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.’

‘Have you wondered what it will be like – for us?’ she added, lacking the courage to ask him if there had been a girl in his past.

‘It keeps me awake at night and stops me from concentrating during the day, but I never dreamed that you thought about it too.’

‘Even after I told you I loved you?’

‘Boys talk about nothing else but girls …’

‘Are sugar and spice and everything nice.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t you believe it.’

‘I have some French letters,’ he confessed.

‘You bought them for us? Or was there …’

‘Jack gave them to me,’ he interrupted, avoiding her questions. ‘Along with a father-son lecture.’

‘Jack lectured you!’ She burst into peals of laughter at the picture he conjured up, breaking the restraint that had fallen between them since she had brought up the subject of sex. ‘I’m amazed he found the nerve.’

‘The kid may only be eighteen but no one can accuse Jack of lacking nerve, not learning by his mistakes or passing on the lessons he’s learned. So what happens now, Lily?’

‘We take things slowly. One moment at a time.’ Fingering the buttons on her blouse, she slowly slipped each one from its loop. When she’d finished she slid it off, revealing a pink silk slip and matching pink bra. Setting her blouse aside, she moved towards him. As he kissed her, she pulled his shirt free from his jeans.

‘You’re beautiful.’ He caressed her shoulders, sliding his hands down the length of her naked arms.

‘And you’re a handsome man, Martin Clay.’

Running his hands through her hair, he tugged at the band holding her ponytail. She reached up, unclipped it and her hair tumbled to her shoulders.

‘I love you, Lily Sullivan, and I’m glad we’re taking it slowly.’

‘So am I.’ Pushing him down on to the grass, she rested her head on his chest, then lifted her head and kissed him again.

Richard Thomas faced Esme across the dining-room table in her mother’s house. His wife, who had suffered from acute hypochondria for the last twenty of their forty-five years of marriage, had taken to her bed after the lunch their housekeeper had prepared, a habit that had resulted in him looking increasingly to his club and friends for the comforts usually associated with home. He had few illusions about his life. Neither his fellow club members, nor his friends, would look kindly on a scandal precipitated by Esme’s allegations if she made them public, as she had threatened to do after the will reading. That was why he had taken time out on a fine Sunday afternoon to visit her, instead of falling asleep over the newspapers in a deckchair in his garden. ‘I didn’t have to come here, Esme,’ he said abruptly. ‘I could have waited until tomorrow and sent this last communication from John’s solicitors by messenger.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Because I’m concerned about you.’ For the first time since he had known her, Esme hadn’t bothered with her looks. Devoid of make-up, her face was pasty and heavily lined, making her look older than her thirty-nine years. Her hair, lank, greasy and in need of retouching at the roots, was clipped back from her forehead. She was dressed in a white cotton blouse and tailored black skirt, both well-cut and expensive, but there were unmistakable make-up stains on the shirt collar and the hem of her skirt had dropped, the fraying cloth sending threads clinging like spider’s legs to her snagged stockings.

‘You couldn’t give a damn about me.’ She emptied her brandy glass.

‘You’re wrong, Esme. I do care, very much indeed.’

‘Why, because of your long-standing friendship with my family?’ she sneered.

‘Partly.’

‘Let’s not forget you are my godfather,’ she mocked, ‘even if you did take my knickers down when I was only sixteen.’

‘You’re so drunk you’re delusional.’

‘You’d like to pretend it never happened, wouldn’t you.’

‘You wanted …’

‘Wanted!’ She refilled her brandy glass with an unsteady hand. ‘I was so bloody innocent I didn’t have a clue what you were doing. You were the great Uncle Richard I’d been taught to please from the day I was born.’

‘Esme … Esme …’ He repeated her name until she quietened. ‘How long have you been drinking like this?’

When she didn’t answer him he left his chair, went to the sideboard and opened the left-hand cupboard. A full bottle of sherry stood next to one of brandy. ‘There were a dozen bottles of brandy here the day your mother died and I doubt the mourners went through one. Let’s be generous and say they did, that still means you’ve drunk ten in less than a week.’

‘How do you know how many bottles there were?’

‘I checked the inventory I asked your mother’s housekeeper to make.’

‘You want me to pay for my mother’s brandy …’

‘Esme,’ he repeated softly as if he were speaking to a recalcitrant child. ‘Look at yourself in the mirror and see what you’re doing to yourself.’

‘Whatever I’ve become is the result of what you, John and Joseph have done to me!’

‘There’s no need for hysteria.’

‘My own son won’t let me near him,’ she cried, ‘and now you come here to tell me that John is threatening to leave me penniless …’

‘Only because you’re blocking the divorce he wants.’

‘He wants! You want! Joseph wants! What about what I want?’

The more she raised her voice, the softer his became. ‘What
do
you want, Esme?’

‘What every woman wants. Financial independence …’

‘John’s offering it to you,’ he said shortly.

‘In a poky tradesman’s flat.’

‘If you sell it and the shop he’s prepared to give you, you’ll have enough money to buy a cottage.’

‘A cottage, when my mother left this.’ She emptied her glass and hurled it across the table. ‘I’ll show him … I’ll burn down his bloody warehouse with him in it. I’ll …’

‘That wouldn’t be very sensible, Esme.’ Retrieving her glass, he slid it back towards her. ‘That warehouse isn’t only John’s income, it’s yours. Burn it down and it could take him years to build his trade back up again, and that’s supposing he’s prepared to put in the work. What would you both live on in the meantime?’

‘He’d have the insurance.’

‘Capital soon dwindles when people try to live off it and legally he wouldn’t have to give you any of it. He could even go bankrupt and then you really would be penniless.’

‘Think you have all the answers, don’t you.’ She stared at him. ‘How many other girls did you seduce besides me?’ She reached for the brandy bottle again. ‘I’ve heard stories that would create a scandal that would rock this town. Make things so hot for you that you wouldn’t be able to live here, let alone practise law.’ She leaned towards him. ‘I’ll get back at you. The lot of you …’

‘Esme,’ he reached for her hand.

She snatched it away with such force that she sent her chair rocking.

‘John has offered you a very reasonable settlement,’ he persisted. ‘As your solicitor I’m advising you to take it. Sell the shop and the flat if you want, buy whatever kind of place you like. You could live very comfortably on the annuity John’s prepared to give you. You’d be financially secure …’

‘I’d have no social life, nothing …’

‘If you lived quietly – and soberly,’ he added pointedly, ‘given time …’

‘I’ll be dead in time.’

‘Esme, you’re not making it easy for anyone to help you,’ he said forcefully.

She looked at him through brandy-glazed eyes.’ You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?’

‘I pity what you’ve become.’

‘You’re terrified of me, of what I’ll say. Well, so you should be. I told Joseph …’

Realising she was about to say too much, just as she had done with her son, she fell silent.

‘What? Esme, what did you tell him?’ When she refused to answer, he gripped her wrist and squeezed it hard. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘That you’re his father. He had a right to know,’ she added defiantly as he released her.

‘I’ve given you my professional advice, Esme. If you choose to ignore it there is nothing further I can do for you.’

‘I won’t take John’s offer. I’ll … I’ll …’

‘Believe me, there is nothing you can do without making yourself look even more foolish and degraded than you already are.’ Opening the French window, he walked out on to the veranda, stepped out of sight and lit a cigar. Puffing on it, he looked out over the bay: A few intrepid children were braving the waves, squealing as they jumped in and out of the surf. He turned back and caught sight of Esme through a small side window. She was still sitting at the table, her glass full, the empty brandy bottle at her elbow. As he watched, she lifted the glass and drank it down in a single swallow. Staggering, she left her chair and went to the sideboard, overturning a small side table as she crashed into it. At the third attempt she managed to wrench open the door to the drinks cabinet. She leaned forward and lifted out the last bottle of brandy. Holding it carefully with two hands as if it were a precious artefact, she returned to her seat.

He didn’t wait to see any more. Throwing his cigar into the shrubbery, he walked purposefully back to his Bentley.

John tossed the letters his new secretary had typed for him into his in-tray. They all bore spelling mistakes and none could possibly be sent out as they were, but he couldn’t face calling the girl in to correct them. He glanced at the clock; it was only half past twelve but after a morning when she had made just about every error that could be made it felt more like early evening. He couldn’t recall Katie making any mistakes during her first few days in the office but perhaps that was because he didn’t want to. Was he being hard on this girl just because she’d taken Katie’s place?

Ann knocked on the door. ‘I’m going down to the canteen, Mr Griffiths. Would you like me to get you something?’

He shook his head. ‘No thank you.’ He left his chair, limped to the window and looked down into the yard. Half the stockroom staff and a fair proportion of the floor assistants were sitting on a low wall, eating sandwiches and enjoying the summer sunshine. As he pulled the blinds he had a sudden urge to walk to Lewis Lewis, wait until Katie left for her lunch break – and then? He imagined the conversation they would have if he tried to plead with her.

Please come back.

As your secretary.

That’s all I’m free to offer.

I can’t.

He lifted his suit jacket from the back of his chair. ‘If anyone wants me, Ann, I’ll be in the dining room of the Mackworth.’

‘Yes, Mr Griffiths.’

Taking his stick from the umbrella stand, he opened the door and headed outside. The weather was more like late than early summer and the pavement broiled beneath his feet as he made his way up High Street. As it was early, the dining room was comparatively empty. Taking the unobtrusive corner table he preferred whenever he ate alone, he ordered soup, an omelette and, after a short debate in which indulgence won over abstinence, a glass of white wine.

‘Your secretary said I’d find you here.’ Richard Thomas clicked his fingers at the waiter as he slid into the chair opposite John’s. ‘I’ll have a beefsteak, rare, with new potatoes, salad and a gin and tonic. And I’ll have the drink right away.’

‘Yes, Mr Thomas.’ The waiter scribbled Richard’s order on his pad.

‘Did you know that Esme’s been drinking heavily?’ Richard asked as the man left them.

‘I saw her with a glass of brandy at the funeral.’

‘By heavily I mean a bottle, not a glass, a day.’

‘I didn’t realise.’ John fell silent as the waiter arrived with his wine and Richard’s gin and tonic.

Richard waited until he was out of earshot before continuing, ‘I called to see her yesterday afternoon to discuss your ultimatum. I found her drunk, abusive and in no condition to confer about anything. As I left, she started on the last bottle of brandy in the house, so I decided to wait until today before attempting to contact her again. Then, last night I had a call from her cousin, Dorothy Green.’

‘I know Dot.’

‘Apparently she had several telephone calls yesterday evening. She could hear breathing but no one spoke at the other end. Then she thought she recognised Esme’s voice but it sounded distant. She telephoned a neighbour of Esme’s mother. He went to the house, looked through the window and saw Esme lying on the floor. He called me and, given the state I’d found her in earlier, I sent for a doctor I know. He arranged for Esme to be admitted to a private nursing home.’

‘You should have telephoned me.’ Guilt pricked John’s conscience. Had the letter he’d asked Mark to send triggered Esme’s drinking?

‘To watch her having her stomach pumped?’ Richard derided as he picked up his gin. ‘I saw no point in disturbing you while she was unconscious. There was nothing you could do and the doctor assured me she was in no immediate danger. However, the drink was only part of it. When we broke in, she was clutching an empty bottle of sleeping pills that had been prescribed for her mother.’

‘She had taken them?’ John went cold at the thought.

‘The doctor thought so but there weren’t enough of them to do any serious damage.’

John closed his eyes for a moment, unable to bear the thought that he had made Esme wretched enough to attempt suicide.

‘Only Esme knows whether she meant to kill herself or not and when I saw her this morning she wasn’t saying anything, one way or another.’

‘My solicitor’s letter …’

‘Frankly, John, it couldn’t have helped.’

‘You said she was in no condition to discuss anything.’

‘I believed she was too drunk to take in much of what I said yesterday afternoon, but it is possible that she understood more than I gave her credit for.’

The waiter disturbed them with John’s soup. Appetite gone, he pushed the consommé aside. ‘I’ll go and see her.’

‘Before you do, we should consider some ways of keeping this quiet. I take it you do want to avoid a scandal, if only for the children’s sake.’

‘Yes.’

‘The nursing home isn’t cheap. Last night I gave my personal guarantee that the bills would be paid.’

‘I’ll settle them,’ John assured him.

‘If you’re not going to eat your soup, could you please signal the waiter? My steak should be ready. I’d hate it to get cold while he waits for you to finish your starter.’ As John called the waiter over, Richard continued, ‘Arrangements will have to be made for Esme’s future. After this, she can’t live alone.’