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Authors: Anthea Fraser

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BOOK: A Family Concern
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‘I can see the sense in that – but nights too?'

‘Well, that evolved because he gives classes three evenings a week, and by the time the students have gone and everything's tidied away, it's after ten o'clock. It seemed hardly worth coming home just to go to bed, then straight back to Farthings the next morning, especially since I'm often working to deadlines and not free to socialize anyway. So on Wednesdays, when he only has afternoon classes, he comes home, and, of course, on Fridays for the weekend. It works very well, gives us both space, and we appreciate each other all the more. And we speak on the phone at least once a day.'

Kate leaned forward to refill their cups. ‘It's odd, isn't it? Lewis and I work together all day, every day, with no problems. I'd hate what you call “space” away from him.'

‘I suppose it's different with family businesses. Do the other wives work in the shop? I see people behind the counters, but I've never known who they were.'

‘Well, some of them are part-time staff. Freya, Lewis's sister, works there, but the only other wife in our age group is Susie, who's married to Lewis's cousin Nicholas. And Nick's mother, Jan, organizes the displays.'

‘So the older generation's still involved?'

‘Very much so. Bruce and Robert, the joint managing directors, are in every day. It was their father, incidentally, who was Dorothy Fairfax's brother. He's long dead, but she, as you probably know, is still very much alive. And as I said, Jan, who's Bruce's wife, designs the layout of the windows and showcases.'

‘And Robert's wife?'

‘Left him when the children were young, and he never remarried.'

‘It's quite a dynasty.'

‘We're the fourth generation, yes. What about your family? Are they all well?'

‘Fine, thanks,' Rona said with a brittle smile.
Except thatmy parents are splitting up, my father has a girlfriend, and my sister is barely speaking to me.

‘I used to envy you being a twin,' Kate said reminiscently. ‘It was always you two against the world, wasn't it?'

‘We're pretty close,' Rona acknowledged with difficulty.

‘And I had a crush on your father! Did you know? He was so tall and good-looking and had such a lovely smile, and I loved the way he always came to collect you both from parties.'

Some comment was clearly called for, but all Rona could think of to say was, ‘He's retiring from the bank next week.'

‘They'll be sorry to see him go, after so long.' Kate glanced at her watch. ‘I should be making a move, I've a dental appointment at four. With the shop closed on Mondays, I rush round like a scalded cat trying to fit in as many things as possible. Anyway, it's been great to catch up with you, Rona.' She opened her purse and took out some money. ‘Would you mind settling up? I'm cutting it a bit fine.'

‘Of course. And I'll twist Max's arm about the watch.'

Her eyes followed Kate as she walked quickly towards the door, slim and straight, her chestnut hair caught up in a knot behind her head. Even as a child, she'd known what she wanted and gone for it, Rona reflected, and was not above stepping on toes to achieve it. Well, she seemed to have found her niche now, and would be highly efficient at her job. Can't hurt, either, to marry the boss's son. She thought for a moment of Lewis Tarlton, with his narrow face and deep-set eyes. Though she knew him only by sight, she wasn't surprised to hear his temper was volatile.

She signalled the waitress for the bill and picked up her bag, automatically looking under the table for Gus, until she remembered he was recuperating at home. Still, she was taking him to the vet tomorrow, and with luck both bandage and collar would be removed.

You two against the world
, Kate had said – and it was true. Oh, Linz, I miss you!

Rona reached a sudden decision. She'd drive over to Lindsey's flat this evening, and see if they couldn't patch things up. Nor would she give advance notice; too bad if lover-boy from the office was there or even – perish the thought – Hugh. The ramifications of her sister's love life frequently left Rona bemused.

Feeling happier now she'd decided on action, she took the bill the waitress handed her, left a tip under her saucer, and made her way to the cash desk.

Max Allerdyce sat in his studio, staring moodily at the canvas in front of him. He needed to be in a peaceful frame of mind to paint, and, despite the soothing strains of Offenbach's ‘Barcarolle', he felt anything but peaceful. On the contrary, problems seemed to be crowding in on him on all sides. As if the business with Tom and Avril weren't bad enough, tearing the family apart as it undoubtedly was, a phone call from his sister in Northumberland had added to his worries: his eighty-year-old father was unwell, and refusing to acknowledge the fact. Which figured, Max reflected. The awkward old devil regarded it as a sign of weakness even to have a cold.

‘He's lost a lot of weight,' Cynthia had said anxiously, ‘and I know he's not eating properly. Mrs Pemberton tries her hardest to tempt him, but he seems to be existing on just the odd mouthful. Could you come up and have a word with him, Max? He might listen to you.'

‘That would be a first,' he'd commented, ‘but I'll give him a ring, if you like.'

‘That's not the same at all,' Cynthia had said sharply. ‘Surely you can spare the time to come up? When did you last see him?'

To his discomfort, Max hadn't been able to remember. ‘He doesn't exactly put the red carpet out for me,' he'd defended himself.

Cynthia had made a scoffing sound. ‘You're too alike, that's the trouble. You think the world of each other – no, don't argue with me – but you'd both rather die than admit it. He's very proud of you, you know; he has all your exhibition catalogues, not to mention every critique that's ever been written.'

That had surprised him, yet perhaps it shouldn't have. Roland Allerdyce, RA, was still a big name in the art world, and no doubt took pride in the fact that he'd passed his talent on to his son. The phone call had ended with Max promising to pay a literally flying visit within the next fortnight. That had been at the end of last week, and he still hadn't mentioned it to Rona, feeling she had enough worries with her own family.

And family problems, hers and his own, weren't the only things disturbing him. There was also Adele.

Max stood up abruptly and, abandoning all pretence of work, ran down the stairs to make himself some tea.

Adele Yarborough was a member of the first of his Wednesday classes, catering mainly for retired people and those at home. She'd joined last summer, soon after moving into the neighbourhood with her husband, and Max had been immediately impressed with the delicacy of her watercolours. But during an early class, as she'd pinned her paper to the easel, her sleeves had fallen back to disclose livid bruising on her arms. Acutely aware of his gaze, she had flushed scarlet and immediately covered them again.

Max, though, had been unable to get those bruises out of his mind, and when he learned the Yarboroughs had moved into the cul-de-sac where Lindsey lived, he'd inveigled her and Rona into inviting Adele to tea, in order to form their own conclusions. It had proved of little help; the sisters decided any bruising must have been the result of furniture shifting during the removal, and refused to consider other possibilities. It was apparent, too, that neither of them had taken to Adele.

‘But she always wears long sleeves,'he had argued, unconvinced by their findings, ‘even during the heatwave. Why would she do that?'

‘Because she's aware of your concern and deliberately prolonging it?' Rona had suggested uncharitably.

In the end, he had given up discussing the matter. Adele, meanwhile, had to his anxious eyes become increasingly pale and fragile-looking. She had cancelled a couple of classes at short notice, sounding decidedly stressed, and once she'd ‘fallen' downstairs. It was a wonder, Max thought grimly, that she hadn't broken her neck.

So he continued to worry about her, convinced her husband was knocking her about, but since any mention of her now led to friction between himself and Rona, he'd learned to keep more recent suspicions to himself. God, though, he wished there was something he could do.

The shrill whistling of the kettle interrupted his brooding, and, mentally shrugging off his problems, he turned instead to his cup of tea.

Two

R
ona pressed the button of the new intercom Lindsey had had installed, and as her sister's voice crackled down at her, said into it, ‘It's me, Linz. Can I come up?'

There was a minute's stretching silence. Then the door buzzed and opened to her push, and as she closed it behind her, she saw Lindsey at the top of the stairs looking down at her.

Rona said, ‘I come bearing an olive branch, disguised as a bottle of Chianti.'

‘If you'd thought it through, you'd have made it olive oil,' Lindsey remarked, as Rona joined her. They hugged each other and moved together into the sitting room.

‘Not that I wouldn't rather have the wine,' Lindsey continued, ‘but why did you feel in need of a peace offering?'

‘You didn't return my last two calls.'

‘Ah.'

‘Yes, “ah”! It's this blasted parent thing, isn't it? We mustn't get caught in the flak ourselves.'

Lindsey left the room without replying, returning a minute later with two glasses and a corkscrew. ‘It's impossible to remain neutral,' she said. ‘I can't forgive Pops for what he's done.'

‘Linz, he's had the patience of Job for donkey's years. It's just bad luck for Mum that Catherine came along when she did.'

‘She'd no right to “come along”, as you euphemistically put it. He was a married man, damn it.'

Rona burst out laughing. ‘Lindsey, just
listen
to yourself!'

Her sister had the grace to flush. Jonathan Hurst, with whom she was at present involved, was a married man. ‘It's different at her age,' she said defensively.

‘No, it isn't. In fact, your case is worse, because Jonathan's poor wife thinks everything in the garden's lovely. Mum could never have believed that, not for the last year or two anyway.' She took the glass Lindsey handed her, raised it in a silent toast, and they both drank. ‘Have you seen Pops since he told us?'

Lindsey stared into her glass. ‘Remember that colouring book we had, when we were about five? There was a picture of a little Royalist boy being interviewed by the Roundheads, during the Civil War. I've never forgotten it. It was called
And when did you last see your father?
and it always made me cry.'

‘Oh, Linz,' Rona said softly.

‘You've seen him, of course?'

‘Not for a week or so, but I spoke to him today, and he told me he's found a flat.'

Lindsey frowned. ‘Is it worth it? When Hugh and I divorced, it went through in a matter of months.'

‘I already asked him about that; it seems that unless you're prepared for accusations – adultery, and such like – you go for two-year separation with consent. After that, everything goes through smoothly with no recriminations.'

Rona flicked a glance at her sister. ‘The flat's in Talbot Road, but thankfully not the same block as Hugh.'

‘I can't see why he doesn't save himself the money, and move in with madam.'

‘He doesn't want her subjected to gossip. Hence the two-year arrangement.'

‘And he fondly imagines there won't be any?'

‘There needn't be – or at least, not the scurrilous kind. Plenty of people divorce, Lindsey.' She bit back the addendum,
as you should know
. ‘Oh, and he asked me to tell you we're all invited to his leaving party. It's a week on Friday.'

‘Well, he needn't think
I'm
going,' Lindsey said at once.

‘Oh, please Linz! It's his birthday as well, remember.'

‘Let him celebrate it with his fancy woman.'

This was too near the mark, and Rona said quickly, ‘Mum's going to plead a dose of flu, but it would look very odd if you weren't there.'

‘But by then, there'll be no need to keep up appearances; it'll be his last day at the bank, for God's sake.'

‘Think it over,' Rona said placatingly. She paused, then asked diffidently, ‘How's Mum?'

‘Surprisingly upbeat. Have you heard what she's planning?'

‘No?'

‘To take in lodgers, no less.'

Rona stared at her. ‘You're not serious? She doesn't need to, surely?'

‘Not financially, no, of course not. It's for company. She's going to turn the box room into an en suite shower room, and let them have the bathroom. It'll add to the property value, if nothing else. When those houses were built, no one even contemplated two bathrooms; you were probably lucky to have indoor sanitation.'

‘But – what kind of lodger? It could be tricky, surely?'

‘Oh, she's got it all worked out. Originally she'd thought of a school teacher, but since the guest room has a double bed, she's now leaning towards a married couple – saving up to buy their own place, perhaps. As soon as Pops moves out next week, she'll have the plans drawn up. She's already begun to clear out the box-room.'

‘Talking of plans,' Rona said quietly, ‘what about Christmas?'

Lindsey pushed back her hair. ‘God, it's going to be hell, isn't it? She's expecting us to turn up as usual, but we can't just pretend nothing's changed.'

Rona felt a wave of relief: at least Lindsey was in her corner over this. ‘You could both come to us,' she suggested. ‘Unless you have other plans?'

‘Such as what?' Lindsey asked derisively. ‘Jonathan will be playing happy families and Hugh's going to Lucy's.'

Lucy Partridge was Hugh's sister, who lived in Guildford.

BOOK: A Family Concern
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