A Family Concern (4 page)

‘How do you know that?' Rona demanded suspiciously. ‘You're not still in touch, surely?'

Again Lindsey flushed, twisting a strand of hair round her finger. ‘It was Hugh who told us about Pops, don't forget. If it hadn't been for him, we might still be in the dark.'

Which, Rona thought despondently, might have been better all round. At least Pops could have got through his retirement without all this subterfuge, though she'd had her own suspicions for some months.

‘But you're not still – seeing him?' she pursued anxiously.

‘From time to time.'

‘Does Jonathan know?'

‘He could hardly object, if he did,' Lindsey said coldly. ‘I'm not married to him. In fact, as you didn't hesitate to point out, he's married to someone else. With all that that entails. And since Hugh and I are divorced,
he
has no rights over me, either.'

Rona looked at her despairingly. Personally, she didn't care for either man or his sensitivities – and as Lindsey said, neither had any valid claim on her – but she did care deeply for her sister's happiness, and it looked as though once more it might explode in her face.

‘Don't play with fire, Linz,' she pleaded. ‘You've been hurt too many times before.'

Lindsey leaned forward to top up their glasses. ‘Don't you worry about me, sister dear,' she said lightly. ‘I can take care of myself.'

Rona doubted it, but there was no point in pursuing the matter. Returning to a safer topic, she said, ‘So you'll fall in with whatever we decide about Christmas?'

‘Hang on, I didn't say that. Will Pops be with Catherine?'

‘As it happens, no.'

Lindsey stared at her. ‘You haven't got some wild idea about us all spending it together? Have you gone out of your
mind
?'

‘I've not thought it through yet, but provided we're not at Maple Drive, where we've always been before—'

‘You really imagine we could get Mum and Pops round the same table? If we had to choose between them, you know you'd go for Pops and I'd go for Mum. It's dream stuff, Ro.'

‘So much for peace and goodwill,' Rona said flatly.

An hour later, as she drove back to Marsborough, she reflected that although she and Lindsey were back on an even keel, neither of the points she'd hoped to settle – the retirement party and Christmas – had been resolved.

‘Describe it to me,' Catherine said.

Tom leaned back in the chair he already privately considered his, and took another sip of his drink. ‘Well, it's on the first floor – nothing very fancy, but quite adequate, I'd say. There's a lift, though I suppose with my history I ought to use the stairs.'

‘I said
describe
it, Tom!' Catherine protested, laughing. ‘“Nothing very fancy” conveys not a thing. Talk me through it, from the minute you go through the front door. Is there a hallway?'

‘A small one, yes. Immediately to the right is the door to the bedroom – there's only one: did I say? – and opposite it, on the left, is the bathroom. Next to that, as far as I remember, is a walk-in cupboard with hooks and things for hanging coats. The living room's straight ahead and, as I said, pleasant enough. Sofa, two armchairs, small dining table, bookcase, TV.' He smiled. ‘Is that enough description for you?'

‘Kitchen?'

‘Ah, that leads off the living room. And –
pièce de résistance
– from its window I can see your roof and a couple of the trees in your back garden!'

‘That must put thousands on the price! Will we be able to semaphore each other?'

‘Seriously, take a look tomorrow, in daylight.'

There was a moment's silence. Then she said, ‘Well, I'm glad that's settled so satisfactorily. And it's lovely that you'll be so near.'

He looked across at her, marvelling at the good fortune that had come his way when he most needed it, when Avril had almost succeeded in persuading him he was fit only for the scrapheap. Compared with his wife, who'd become so sharp and critical, Catherine was a joy to be with, calm and comfortable in her skin. Her husband had died tragically young, but she'd built a life for herself as headmistress of a primary school in Buckford, until forced to retire four years ago and come to Marsborough to look after her mother. When she'd died, Catherine, deciding against returning to Buckford, had bought this bungalow, which Tom now loved almost as much as she did.

She had suggested, matter-of-factly, that he move in with her once he'd retired, but he'd firmly vetoed the proposal. Though he knew he'd be thought old-fashioned, he had no intention of compromising her in any way, and until they were married they would sleep under separate roofs. Which, he thought now with an inward smile, did not prevent them going to bed together during the day.

In the meantime, though, there were hurdles to overcome – his retirement week and having to field questions about Avril, and Christmas, which he was privately dreading. He wished uselessly that he could fast forward the next two years to a time when Catherine would be his wife, Avril comfortably settled, and the girls accepting of the status quo.

Catherine, watching his face, saw the muscles of his jaw tighten, and slipped on to the rug in front of him, taking hold of his hands. ‘It'll be all right, my love,' she said, ‘I promise.'

For the first time since he'd hurt his paw, Gus was waiting in the hall to greet Rona on her return from Lindsey's, proof that the basement stairs were less of a problem. She bent to hug him under the stiff collar.

‘Good boy!' she said softly. ‘With luck, Bob will take this nasty thing off tomorrow.' Used to his accompanying her everywhere, she'd missed his company during the last week or two.

He lopped down the stairs ahead of her, still favouring the injured paw, though perhaps now from habit. The answerphone was blinking and Rona switched it on as she made a mug of coffee; the wine at Lindsey's had left her with a thirst.

‘Hello,' said a voice she didn't recognize. ‘You don't know me, but my name's Coralie Davis, and I've just seen your bit about birth parents in the
Gazette
. If I'm not too late, my story might interest you.' She gave a number which Rona automatically jotted down. This series, she thought, could run and run, until either Barnie or the readership of
Chiltern Life
grew tired of it.

Well, she'd give this Ms Davis a call tomorrow. Though she now had several case histories, she hadn't decided which she'd finally use, and if a later one proved more interesting, or noticeably different from the others, it would take precedence.

She picked up her mug of coffee, switched off the light, and went up to bed.

When Tom reached the kitchen the next morning, an aroma of grilling bacon greeted him. Avril, an apron tied over what was surely a new skirt, stood at the cooker and didn't turn as he came in.

‘That smells good,' he said, trying to remember when she had last made him a cooked breakfast. Whenever it was, he was pretty sure the bacon had been fried: was the grilling out of consideration for his heart scare? He felt a sudden warmth for her, and said spontaneously, ‘You're looking very smart.'

The retort,
For a change, you mean?
came automatically to Avril's lips, but she bit it back, saying instead, ‘Thank you.'

She put the plate on the table in front of him; the bacon was accompanied by a couple of sausages and a tomato, and there was fresh toast in the rack. She poured them both a cup of coffee and sat down opposite him.

Tom eyed her apprehensively. Was the breakfast after all only an attempt to soften him up before making some demand? Yet he'd begged her for weeks to discuss their situation, and until now she had steadfastly refused. Perhaps she was at last ready to do so.

‘I wanted to ask about the house,' Avril began, confirming his suspicions.

‘I'll be making it over to you,' he said at once. ‘I thought you knew that.'

‘It – won't be sold then, and the proceeds divided between us?' This possibility, unconsidered before, had come to her in the early hours, filling her with cold panic. There she was, planning alterations, and for all she knew she might have to move out.

‘Oh, Avril, of course not. Have you been worrying about it? You should have asked before – I could have set your mind at rest.'

‘It's only just occurred to me,' she admitted. ‘But the point is, I've been thinking of making a few alterations. Improvements, you might say.'

‘Oh?'

‘I'd like to turn the box room into an en suite shower room.'

If he was surprised that, alone in the house for the first time, she suddenly felt in need of a second bathroom, he did not say so.

‘Can't see why not,' he replied cautiously.

‘And the reason, in case you're wondering, is that I'm thinking of taking in paying guests.'

He put down his knife and fork and stared at her. ‘Avril, you don't have to do that! God, you know I'd never—'

‘I
want
to, Tom. It will be nice to have people coming and going, and to get to know them, and everything.'

He could think of nothing to say.

‘And before you issue dire warnings,' she went on – how well she could read him, after all their years together! – ‘I shall vet them very carefully. I'd thought at first of someone from the primary school – they're always wanting rooms for staff – but then I decided I'd prefer a young couple, perhaps help them out while they're saving for their own home.'

He gave her a wry grin, and she remembered, painfully, what it was she had loved about him. ‘So as soon as you've got rid of me, you'll revamp the guest room?'

She smiled back. ‘Something like that.' She took a sip of coffee. ‘You've no objections, then?'

‘What right have I to make objections? If you're sure that's what you want, I think it's an excellent idea.'

‘That's settled, then,' she said with satisfaction.

Springfield Veterinary Centre was in Dean's Crescent North, only a couple of doors up from Max's cottage, Farthings. Normally, Rona walked there, but out of deference to the invalid she took the car, parking it alongside Farthings in the narrow alleyway leading to Max's garage.

Bob Standing, one of the partners and a fan of Gus, removed the bandage and examined the wound.

‘Healing nicely,' he observed. ‘I don't think the odd lick will do any damage now – might even help – so we can remove this protrusion. There,' he continued, putting action to his words, ‘that's better, isn't it, old man?'

Gus replied by shaking himself vigorously, then giving his neck a good scratch.

‘Relief all round,' Rona said. ‘I've hated having to leave him at home all the time; he's just not used to it. Is there anything I should do?'

‘It wouldn't hurt to bathe the area at night with a weak solution of salt and water, just till the end of the week, say. It would help ward off anything he might have picked up during the day. And if you have any worries, bring him back and we'll have another look at him. He's finished the antibiotics, I presume?'

‘Last night, yes. I don't know which of us was more delighted.'

Bob Standing laughed. ‘Right, we'll sign you both off, then. Give my regards to Max.'

Surprisingly, Rona found Max in the living room of the cottage, frowning at his laptop. Normally when she called, he was up in the studio surrounded by blaring music from the stereo. She wasn't used to silence at Farthings.

‘Hello,' she said from the doorway. ‘What are you up to?'

He turned quickly. ‘Oh, hi.' His glance fell to Gus, who came trotting forward to greet him. ‘Hello, fellow! Minus that awful collar, I see.'

‘Bob says he's healing nicely.' Rona had come into the room, and now saw that the laptop screen was displaying the web page of a bargain airline.

‘Thinking of leaving me?' she asked lightly.

Max followed her gaze. ‘Oh, that. It's something I've been meaning to tell you. No,' he added with a grin, ‘not that I'm leaving you. It's Father.'

‘What about him?' Rona asked quickly. ‘Is he all right?'

‘Not really, according to Cyn. She wants me to go up and persuade him to see the quack.'

Rona frowned. ‘When was this? That she spoke to you, I mean?'

‘End of last week. I thought you'd enough worries without lumbering you with mine. Anyway, it's probably all a storm in a teacup. You know how she fusses over him.'

‘It's as well someone does,' Rona returned. It was a bone of contention between them that Max didn't keep in closer contact with his father. They were, she'd decided, as stubborn as each other.

‘So you're going up there? When?'

‘I thought Friday, since it's my only free day and I shouldn't have to cancel anything. I'll spend the night there and fly back Saturday morning. You don't mind, do you?'

‘Of course I don't mind. Would you like me to come with you?'

He hesitated. ‘It might be easier, love, if I'm by myself. You know what he's like – if you come, he'll ignore me and spend his time being gallant to you. There's some hard talking to be done, and I don't want to give him any loopholes.'

‘OK, fine.'

‘Sorry to miss one of my “home” evenings.'

‘I'll forgive you, on one condition.'

‘Which is?'

‘That when you get back, we can go into Tarlton's and choose my Christmas present.'

‘Tarlton's, indeed? What are you after, a diamond tiara?'

‘No, a new watch. This one has just about had it and it's driving me frantic. I had tea with Kate yesterday – I told you on the phone – and she said they've a good selection.'

‘You didn't tell me that bit! OK, we can go and have a look. Now, just let me book my ticket, and we'll have some lunch.'