Tara (82 page)

Harry looked up quickly, eyes bright with interest. 'You know?'

'The gist of it,' the policeman said. 'We were only checking them out to make sure he hadn't deposited any large sums or even drugs in the solicitors' safekeeping, and of course to discover how Bergman seemed at the time. Anyway, he didn't deposit anything. He was absolutely normal in every way. He told Mr Bennett he was on his way to us, asked him to recommend a brief, and wanted a simple will drawn up before he did so.'

'How sad,' Tara whispered. 'Imagine thinking all that out, trying to put everything right.'

'And they told you what he put in his will?' Harry asked in some surprise.

'Yes, in case it helped our enquiries. Apparently Bergman wanted his solicitors to have this letter and the contents of his will publicised so there would be no quibbling or doubts as to his intentions.'

'Well?' Harry leaned forward impatiently. 'He left his entire estate to you, Miss Manning.'

It was only when they got back home that the full impact hit her. Grief at losing a man who had been so important in her adult life. Guilt because maybe she'd failed him, and anger because he'd laid a burden at her feet she didn't feel strong enough to lift.

'Why leave me his business?' she sobbed. 'How did he expect me to handle it if he couldn't?'

'I expect he assumed you'd be sensible enough to get professional advice,' said Harry, sitting up in bed and hauling her up till she nestled in his arms. 'But you aren't alone in this, babe, you've got me to help. We'll get a report on the shops, find out which ones are draining away profit, which ones make it. Maybe you'll have to shut up a couple of them, sell the leases and use the money to update the remaining ones.'

Tara was silent for some time. She lay curled up against Harry, deep in thought. He made no attempt to break through the silence, aware she was working her way through the events of the day.

'You know how back home in Somerset they have this idea all the women in our family are jinxed?' she blurted out suddenly. "That's what all this is. Another bloody jinx.'

Harry shook his head. 'Not so. You've underestimated Josh, sweetheart. I reckon he knew you could turn it around. He was another gambler, but he left the tables this time while he still had a good hand. We're picking up that hand, babe, and we're going to win, not just for us, but for Josh, too.'

Chapter 38

August 1970

'Doesn't she look beautiful?' Tara turned to Harry and Queenie, her eyes glistening as Amy walked up the aisle on George's arm.

The church was bright with flowers. The end of each pew had a posy of trailing ivy, marigolds and gyp-sophila, there were baskets of roses around the pulpit and huge arrangements of delphiniums and carnations on every available surface. But Amy outshone the flowers, radiant in palest pink silk, with a headdress of pink rosebuds. The long dress was simple, her hair hung loose on her shoulders as she wore it most days, but it was the joy in her face that turned her into an object of wonder.

As Amy reached the front pew she looked sideways at Tara and smiled. Greg looked round from his position at the altar rail, his face beatific.

Harry's hand stole into Tara's and squeezed, reminding her that soon it would be them at the altar.

Tara could hear the choir singing the special wedding anthem after Greg and Amy had made their vows, yet her mind was wandering back over the events of the past weeks.

It was hard to believe that since that painfully sad service for Josh at Golders Green crematorium she had found the strength to be totally ruthless with his empire.

She had expected animosity from his parents, but they were too shattered by their son's death to care about his business. His father kissed her on both cheeks, wished her well and told her to do whatever was necessary.

Under Josh's accountant's direction she analysed each of the four shops' profitability and came up with the answer that she could keep only Church Street Kensington. The leases of the other three were sold, and staff given final wage packets. The warehouse in Fulham was sold at auction, bringing in enough to pay off Josh's debts. Finally she gave up her own flat and moved back into the rooms above Church Street.

In all this she couldn't have managed without Harry. Not only did he listen patiently to her worries, but he was quick at grasping figures, astute at assessing people's characters, and he could handle estate agents and prospective buyers better than anyone she'd ever met. But where he really came into his own was with the renovation of Church Street, not only saving a fortune by taking on men to work under his direction, but leaking an artist's impression of the new shop to a Sunday paper and persuading them to do a profile of Tara.

Josh would have loved the way the media swarmed around them. Tragic irony, perhaps, that he had to die to achieve this kind of coverage, but then he was the one who preached capitalising on each and every opportunity.

She and Harry were hot news, a story that had it all – kidnapping, drug-smuggling, murder. It had a handsome gambler of a hero, a beautiful, talented and brave heroine. They felt themselves duty-bound to give it a truly happy ending, by surpassing everything Josh had done.

Everything was just about perfect, except for the guilt!

It didn't make any difference how often she told herself she was withholding the information about her father to protect her mother. She knew the truth. She couldn't face the fact she had shot her father.

The congregation rose for the hymn 'Love Divine, All Love Excelling'. It was time to follow Amy and Greg to the vestry to witness the signing of the register, along with Reg Beamish, the best man, Harry, George and Queenie.

A shaft of sunshine danced on Amy's blonde hair as she sat at the desk.

'Allow me to be the first to congratulate you both.' Reverend Williamson held out a hand first to Amy and then to
Greg.

He and Greg had many shared interests – fishing, dogs and cricket. But while Greg was round-faced, tubby and jovial, the vicar was tall and painfully thin, with gold-rimmed spectacles and a lugubrious manner.

'I wish you love and happiness,' he went on, a warm smile lighting up his long face. 'This is a whole new chapter in your lives.'

Harry watched as Tara embraced her mother. As always he marvelled at their beauty. Tara was taller, her red-gold hair and peachy skin so much more dramatic than Amy's English rose complexion. Tara's long pale green dress complemented Amy's pale pink, like two flowers in a garden.

Queenie moved forward to kiss Amy. She too looked beautiful, but like a dalia next to primroses. From the hot pink picture hat to her pink and white polka dot dress and jacket, she was as glamorous as a film star. Harry smiled at his stepmother, loving her for the happiness she'd given his father. George had dressed with restraint today, in a pale grey suit and a sober tie, but even quietly dressed his red, beaming face gave away his true nature.

'Be happy,' Harry said as he kissed Amy. He moved to grasp Greg's hand, but it turned into a hug. Harry felt great admiration for Greg. His quiet strength, his patience, kindness and sense of humour set him apart from other men.

'Hurry up and do it.' Greg grinned, his pale eyes glistening with unshed tears as he returned the embrace. 'I can recommend it!'

It was as Amy put her bouquet on Paul's and Mabel's joint grave that Harry realised Tara was brooding again.

At six in the evening it was still warm, the huge yew tree casting a long shadow across the churchyard. The four of them had walked up to the church after the reception in the Crown and, despite the emotional nature of the trip, both Amy and Tara were in high spirits.

Harry had never been to a wedding reception with such a good atmosphere. The food was good, the wine flowed freely along with conversation and laughter, yet on several occasions Harry noticed Tara withdrawing into herself.

It had happened many times since his discharge from hospital and each time she laughed away his concern, insisting she was only thinking about the shop. But he knew on this occasion she'd left business back in London, so it seemed safe to assume the thing that was troubling her was here, connected with her mother.

He and Greg sat down on the old decapitated market cross steps in a patch of sunshine, while Tara and Amy crouched down by the grave.

'Something's bugging Tara,' Harry blurted out without really thinking.

Greg looked round at him, his jolly face serious for a moment. 'I know.' He nodded. 'Amy's noticed it.'

'Has she got any ideas?' Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 'I mean, Tara claims she's only thinking about business, but I know it's not that.'

Greg shrugged. 'She thought it was Mabel's death until yesterday evening. They went into the farm to see Stan, and Amy asked her if she was frightened to go back in there. Apparently Tara just laughed and said "He won't come back".'

'He won't come back!' Harry repeated. 'Paul? Or the murderer?'

'I don't know.' Greg shook his head. 'Amy tried to keep her talking but she just clammed up.'

Harry and Greg broke away from one another then as the women came back to join them.

'Time we were going.' Amy smiled at Greg, blonde hair gleaming in the sunshine. 'Otherwise we won't get there before dark.'

'Fancy a walk?' Harry asked Tara.

Greg and Amy had left for their honeymoon in Porlock over an hour earlier, and Queenie and George were nodding off in their armchairs. Greg had invited them all to stay for a holiday. Harry and Tara couldn't manage more than a weekend, but it was apparent George and Queenie felt quite at home. Winston was taking advantage, stretched out on the settee with one eye open, as if daring them to chase him off.

'Where to?' Tara asked as they went out into the hall. 'Down to the lake?'

'I thought we'd go to the farm,' Harry tossed over his shoulder casually. 'Just look around and see how we both feel about it now.'

Tara shrugged her shoulders. Moving back to the farm hadn't been mentioned by either of them since Harry was in hospital. They had both been too busy winding up Josh's affairs, and thinking no further ahead than the wedding.

'We can't get rid of it even if we want to!'

'All the more reason to go and look, then.' Harry followed her out and pulled the door shut behind him. 'We should make some long-term plans, it's not fair to Greg and your mother to leave them all the responsibility without putting them in the picture.'

Tara didn't reply for a moment, just tucked her hand into his arm as they walked across the gravel drive into the High Street. She had changed her clothes since the wedding reception to a long Indian skirt, a cheesecloth top and sandals.

'Gran shouldn't have left it to me,' she said suddenly as they turned towards the farm. 'Mum deserved better treatment.'

'I think your gran was a clever old bird,' Harry replied. 'By keeping it till your thirtieth birthday she made sure you and your mum had time to consider everything. The way land prices are going it will have increased in value by then, and meanwhile it still provides a living and a home for Amy if she needs it.'

Tara stopped on the bridge just before the farm and rested her arms on the parapet.

'You don't get views like that in London,' Harry said, stopping beside her.

The river wound its way through the meadow, going round the back of the farm. As far as they could see fields and trees stretched on to infinity.

"They say it cures warts,' she said.

'What?' Harry asked.

'The water down there.' Tara pointed out a hol-lowed-out place down on the stone balustrade. 'I don't know if it works, I haven't ever had one to try.'

'What about secret troubles?' Harry leaned over, dipping one finger in the water collected there and dabbing it on her forehead. 'Would it cure those?'

A guarded look came into her eyes. She wanted to tell Harry everything, it was too big a secret to keep to herself, but something always stopped her.

'I wouldn't know. I haven't any of those either,' she said too glibly.

'Don't tell porkies,' Harry said sternly. 'Tell me what's bothering you.'

She leaned further over the bridge, looking intently at the water.

'I know there's something,' he insisted. 'And don't say it's worrying about the business, because I won't believe you.'

He stood behind her, resting one hand on each of her shoulders, and gently massaged with his fingers.

'Well?'

She sighed and stood up, turning to look at him.

'If you had a secret that could make things bad not only for yourself, but for everyone you loved, would you tell it?'

'That depends.' Harry hedged his bets. 'If it was something like having an incurable disease, I'd probably want to keep it to myself. But would that be fair? George, Queenie and you might all be angry when I popped off because I hadn't given you all time to say and do the things you wanted to.'

'Let's walk on.' She turned back to him and took his hand. 'I want to go in the farmhouse.'

She stopped as they passed the wall where Paul met his death. A few years earlier Amy had coaxed some hardy plants to grow on it by pushing compost into the cracks. A shower of little purple flowers mixed with some red and pink ones, and in some strange way it looked like a memorial to Paul.

'It looks pretty.' Harry realised he would get nothing out of her by direct questioning. 'Amazing how mother nature can disguise so effortlessly.'

'At the time I thought I'd never be free of that image,' Tara said softly. 'Every time I closed my eyes I'd see his little body on that machine. But I never think of him like that any more. I only seem to recall the happy times.'

'Mother nature again.' Harry stroked her cheek. 'I expect I'll look at the scar on my leg one day and find I can't remember how much it hurt, or how scared I was.'

The yard looked just as it always did. The barn door stood open, a few chickens wandering in and out. Wind coming across the meadow brought the smell of freshly cut hay, and Amy's geraniums cascaded over the edge of an old sink. Harry opened the top of the stable door and Betsy whinnied a greeting.