A Well Kept Secret (26 page)

“Any idea who this is?” he asked, showing the snap to her.

She studied it for a few moments, and then shook her head slowly. “Well, one is obviously Dr Marston,” she said, “who the other one is I’ve no idea at all.”

“I’ve see that face somewhere, I’m sure of it,” Martin remarked after another careful look at the picture. “There’s something about the eyes of that young police officer; I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere.”

“Maybe he is a relative?” she ventured.

“No, I don’t think so. At least, not one I’m aware of.”

“Maybe there are some other pictures of this man in the album you have in the study?”

“I’ve looked through that, and I do not recall any.”

He stopped suddenly as he remembered that on some of the pages he had examined there were empty spaces where pictures had been removed and never replaced. It was pure speculation of course, the missing pictures could have been of anyone or anything, and removed for a whole raft of reasons. Still, if the missing pictures featured the same man, what could it mean, if indeed it meant anything at all?
 
Was it evidence of a friendship that had gone sour for some reason? Well, it was all fanciful speculation, and of little consequence now. He thrust the picture into his pocket and continued with the task in hand.

Within the hour they had finished the room off.

“I think,” said June as they stood back and assessed what they had completed so far, “that a tea-break is called for.”

“I will not argue with that,” Martin concurred as he eased his back. “If you would care to go and do the technical things I shall remove the rubbish we have stacked up ready for disposal.”

“That appears to be a fair distribution of duties; by the time you have finished with that lot, tea will be ready. Would you like it out on the terrace?”

“How about having it in the little bower by the pond?”

“If you wish.”

She vanished down the stairs, and Martin dealt with his self-appointed task of rubbish clearing. It was a long time since he had been involved in such menial work and strangely enough he found that he was enjoying it. If he was honest, he felt more like his old self than he had since Alicia had passed on. He even managed to think of his dead wife without feeling instantly depressed and distraught. He still missed her more than words could ever convey, yet slowly his loss was starting to come into perspective. It looked as if James had been right after all; he had definitely needed a change of scenery, and something different to occupy his attention.

With his task finally complete he walked down the garden where he eventually slipped into the bower beside the pond. It was a delightful spot, and he had little doubt that his late aunt and uncle had spent many a blissful hour there. He eased himself back into the garden seat, watching the movement of the fish in the water, and generally taking his time in soaking up the atmosphere of the place. As he sat there, he ruminated on what Jim Perkins had told him, and how best to deal with the question of the true identity of his housekeeper. Should he simply forget the whole business? After all, there was no pressing logical reason why he should pry. Matters were so much improved with June now that he hesitated to upset things, particularly if doing it served no worthwhile purpose. But could he just sit back and ignore the whole question? He honestly didn’t know.

It was warm in the bower by the pond without being unpleasantly hot, and he sat there feeling pleasantly relaxed as he continued to watch the fish darting about just below the surface of the water. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard voices, and without paying much attention, assumed it was the gardener and the butterfly fanatic talking. He was still gazing absently across the surface of the pond, and no nearer making the decision to face her with the question of her identity or not when June appeared carrying a tray supporting two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits.

He noticed at once that she had shed the overall she had been wearing for the job of sorting out the storerooms, and was now dressed in a light summer skirt and a sleeveless white blouse. Seen like this, he immediately noticed what he had vaguely suspected from the first time he had set eyes on her; that she was physically a remarkably attractive woman. Indeed, much more so than he had previously assumed. She had a tiny waist, which had been hidden up to that point by the shapeless clothes she tended to wear, possessed small but well shaped up-thrust breasts, along with perfectly proportioned limbs. All of this, he decided, added to the natural grace of her carriage and the delicate structure of her face added up to someone who would readily be noticed by any red-blooded male in the vicinity. Somehow, just acknowledging to himself that she was really very attractive person did not alter his view of her in the slightest, for he realised that he actually liked her just as much as a person as he did as a desirable woman.

Putting the tray down on a small garden table, she passed a mug of tea over to Martin, seemingly unaware of his appraising glance, and then offered him the plate containing the biscuits. He thanked her as he selected one, and presently she sat down a short distance to one side of him.

“I was just thinking,” he remarked, as she settled down, “how very pleasant it is just here. I imagine that my aunt and uncle must have really loved this part of the garden?”

“Yes, they did,” she agreed. “They spent many an hour here, and sometimes I served their meals to them here in the decent weather, particularly after Dr Marston gave up practice. I must admit that it feels strange to be sitting here myself; I haven’t been to this part of the garden since the doctor passed away.”

“I suppose it must evoke memories of happier times for you,” he said sympathetically.

“Yes, that is only too true,” she admitted wistfully, “and I miss them both; I only wish that I had known them better. They were both such wonderful people; they gave me a home, and they treated me as if I was one of the family instead of a waif Dr Marston literally picked up off the street.”

“Knowing they had no children of their own, maybe you came along at just the right time?” he commented. “I’m pretty sure you must have filled a sad gap in their lives as they were getting older, and realising that there was no-one to follow on.”

“Maybe you are right,” she agreed quietly. “I know they wanted to leave me everything in their will, but I simply couldn’t allow either of them to do that. I didn’t want their money; I only wanted
them
! Can you understand that? When I came here I had no-one in the world who much cared whether I lived or died, and they gave me everything I ever wanted; a home, love, understanding, a new sense of self-worth. I came to love them both as if they were my own long lost parents, and they returned that love in a perfectly genuine and understanding manner, and that was all I wanted. I just wish they could have lived for ever.”

She fell silent, gazing out over the water, and Martin’s heart went out to her. No wonder she had so bitterly resented him when he had appeared; from her perspective he was trampling over everything that she held dear in life. It also enabled him understand that his late aunt and uncle were truly human beings who for whatever reason had cared for this embittered woman; took her into their home, and treated her as if she was their own flesh and blood. It made him regret even more that he had never given his aunt and uncle a thought whilst they were still living.

“From what you have told me, you never had much of a life until you came here,” he remarked after a while.

“I don’t think I ever knew what life was about until I met the doctor,” she admitted, and then stopped suddenly.

“I only wish I could bring them back,” he said, “for both our sakes.”

“I suppose I always knew in my heart that it was too good to last,” she sighed. “Life then was like a dream in some ways. I blinded myself to the fact that sooner or later it would come to an end. Now the dream has gone and I have no choice than to accept that I have been living in a fool’s paradise.”

“Not completely,” he said quietly yet with meaning. “You still have your home; that is secure no matter what I want to do with the house. As I expect you know, I cannot deal separately with the house and the flat even if I wanted to.”

“Do you really imagine I could stay on here once I knew that you have decided that you needed to sell the house?” she asked, and there was an edge of bitterness in her voice.

“No, I suppose it would be difficult,” he admitted. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Now that you mention it I can see what you mean; too many memories soon vanishing beneath the feet of others that would neither know, understand, or even care.”

“Something like that,” she agreed.

There was another period of silence. Martin knew that she was more worried about the future than she let on; she had demonstrated that much when she had put forward the idea of opening the house as a nursing home. He was tempted there and then to assure her that it was indeed what he would do, yet his common sense told him that committing himself to such an undertaking without proper research might prove to be a very costly exercise. He determined to give it full consideration and at the same time he decided to say nothing to her at that point for fear of building up her hopes only to dash them to the ground later if it proved to be a non-viable option.

“Do you still want to find out what has happened to your father?” he asked at last, changing the subject.

“Yes, I really need to do it,” she said. “Now, more than ever, I think.” She glanced across at him as she spoke, as if assessing how he was reacting to her words. “I mean, there is nothing left for me here now, is there?” she added. “I always intended to take up the search again one day; now appears to be the right time.”

“Have you considered that he might not want to be found,” he asked. “That perhaps he has another person in his life?”

“Yes, I’ve considered it,” she said, yet there was a note of defiance in her voice as if she resented the implication that her father could ever be unfaithful to the image she clearly held of him and his devotion to her mother. “I just cannot believe that he would deliberately abandon his family. I loved him, and he loved both of us, of that I am totally convinced. Maybe something happened to him, maybe he was in an accident and lost his memory, all sorts of things may have happened.
 
All I know is what I have told you.”

“Then we must set wheels in motion to see if we can discover exactly what
did
happen,” he said. “Now, if I am to help you as I offered, I shall need his full name, and any other information you can think of that may help.”

“His name is Charles Edward Carpenter,” she replied without the slightest trace of hesitation. “He was born June the third, nineteen sixty-one, he was about five foot ten or eleven inches tall, slim built, with black hair. His little finger on his left hand was missing; I think it was the result of some sort of accident when he was much younger.”

She recited it almost as if she had done much the same thing many times over the years.

“What did he do for a living?” he asked.

“I think he was a lorry driver,; I’m not absolutely sure. Maybe he was a bus driver, or a taxi-driver; something like that. All I know for certain was that he drove for a living”

“And do you know anything at all about this job he was supposed to be applying for in Wellworthy?”

She shrugged. “No more than I’ve told you,” she admitted. “I only wish I could.”

“I don’t suppose you remember all that much about him now, after all these years,” Martin observed, taking a good pull at his tea.
 
“We will need to allow for inevitable change with advancing years. He may well be grey by now for instance.”

“I expect you could be right, and some things might not change at all.
 
I remember him as being such a happy-go-lucky person. He would come home, he would find mum wherever she was and give her a big kiss as he made some outrageous comment or other. He was always working, yet we never had very much money. Mum was not a well person you see, and I think a lot of his money went on trying different things to help her. Her name was Nancy, but he always called her ‘Ninny’ because he always joked with her to make her laugh. He had silly names for everyone; I still remember that he always called me
 
‘Kiss-Kass’! He would come in, pick me up, hold me high in the air and call out, ‘Give us a kiss, Kiss-Kass, or I’ll throw you to the lions!”