A Family Concern (7 page)

Cynthia wound down the car window. ‘I'll be back at five,' she called. ‘Enjoy yourselves!'

‘Humph!' Roland Allerdyce turned back towards the house, Max at his side. Mrs Pemberton was waiting at the door, concerned that the old man had gone out in the cold without additional clothing.

‘Mr Max! Welcome home!'

‘Thank you, Mrs P. It's – good to be back.'

‘There's coffee in the den. I thought it would be more cosy in there.'

Roland led the way to the small room that, in earlier times, had been known as the parlour, and Mrs Pemberton saw them settled with cups of coffee before leaving them to themselves. Max had forgotten how small the farmhouse windows were, and how low the ceilings. He and his father had both had to stoop when they came into the room. Small wonder it had been necessary to convert the barn into a studio. The room was already shadowed this winter afternoon, lit solely by the blazing open fire. The armchairs on either side of it were of worn leather, and Max settled back comfortably, coffee in hand.

‘So, Father, what's the score? Honestly?'

The old man held his eyes for a minute, then looked away. ‘Devil of a cough, that's all. Won't let me get a decent night's sleep.'

‘Have you seen the doctor?'

‘What's the point of bothering him? He has enough hypochondriacs on his books as it is.'

‘What's this about not eating properly?'

‘Good God, boy, when you get to my age, you don't need as much to keep you going. Mrs P, God bless her, can't see it, and keeps trying to force-feed me.'

‘Will you do something for me, Father?'

‘It depends.'

‘I want you to promise to go to the doctor. You're losing weight, and that's not good at any age. Anyway, the world's awaiting several more masterpieces, so don't think you can slip away without anyone noticing.'

Roland Allerdyce smiled. ‘I've missed you, boy,' he said gruffly. ‘What are you working on at the moment?'

‘I'll be delighted to talk shop, but only after I have your promise.'

‘I tell you there's nothing wrong with me.'

‘I trust you're right, but I'd like the doctor to confirm it.'

There was a silence, measured by the wheezing tick of the clock on the mantelpiece.

Finally the old man moved impatiently. ‘Oh, very well, then. If you've taken the trouble to fly up here, I suppose it's the least I can do.'

‘You'll go to the doctor?'

‘I'll go to the doctor, dammit, for all the good it'll do. Now, can we talk about something more interesting? How's that independent young wife of yours?'

And Max, promise duly extracted, settled back to enjoy his father's company.

Rona was taking some fishcakes from the freezer when the phone interrupted her. She glanced at the clock. Just before seven; on the early side for Max. With a jerk of her heart, she hoped it wasn't bad news about the old man.

She caught up the phone. ‘Hello?' she said quickly.

‘Oh – hello,' replied a hesitant voice. ‘Could I speak to Max, please?'

‘I'm afraid he's not here. Who's speaking?'

Another pause. Then: ‘It's Adele Yarborough, Rona. Sorry to trouble you, but I thought he'd be home by now.'

‘Afraid not,' Rona said crisply. She would
not
explain where Max was; it was no business of Adele Yarborough's.

‘What time are you expecting him?' she persisted.

‘Not until tomorrow lunchtime, actually.'

‘Oh. I thought Friday was one of his home nights?'

His
home
nights? Max, Rona remembered uncomfortably, had used the same expression. How much did this woman know about their domestic arrangements?

She maintained a steely silence, and after a minute Adele said, ‘Right. Well, sorry to have troubled you. It's – not important.'

She waited for Rona to make a comment, and when she did not, added, ‘Goodbye, then.'

‘Goodbye,' Rona said, and put down the phone.

M
ax did not open his newspaper on his return flight. Instead, he stared out of the window at the massed clouds below, his mind full of impressions of the last twenty-four hours. It had given him a jolt to see how frail his previously invincible father had looked, and the cough that rattled in his chest from time to time was alarming. It was to be hoped he'd fulfil his promise of seeking medical advice.

Max had enjoyed their masculine tête-à-tête by the fire; God knows when they'd last had one, and he'd been increasingly aware of guilt at his long absence. The evening at Cynthia and Paul's had been relaxed and informal, and to his surprise he had found himself enjoying his family's company. His nephews, both in their early twenties, were pleasant, self-confident young men, one an accountant, the other following his father into the Inland Revenue, which elicited the usual quota of jokes. Neither seemed to have inherited their grandfather's artistic tendencies, though in Cynthia the creative urge had manifested itself in exquisite embroidery – on tray cloths, cushions, bedspreads and framed pictures throughout her house. Max had always marvelled that her short, stubby fingers could achieve such miracles of precision.

‘Thanks for coming, Max,' she had said at the airport. ‘I've been on at Father for weeks to go to the doctor, but one word from you, and he caves in!'

‘Perhaps it had got to the stage when he was worried himself, even if he wouldn't admit it. And thank you, Cyn, for stirring my dormant conscience. I've been very remiss about coming up, but if you'll have me, I'd like to pay regular visits from now on. Say every couple of months?'

‘That'd be great. We'd love to see you, and I know Father would be delighted.'

‘You'll let me know what the doctor says?'

‘Of course. I'll fix an appointment as soon as I get back. Take care of yourself, and love to Rona. Bring her up with you next time.'

His father had made the same request; Rona had always been a favourite of his. Max hoped devoutly that this renewal of contact had not come too late for them to enjoy many such reunions. If it had, it would be a burden he'd have to live with for the rest of his life.

It was one o'clock by the time he reached Lightbourne Avenue, and Rona had laid the kitchen table with a selection of breads and cheeses, while a pan of artichoke soup, made by himself and stored in the freezer, simmered on the hob.

As they ate, he related the details of his visit and passed on the various messages. ‘I should have listened to you, love, and gone up much more regularly,' he concluded. ‘I won't make the same mistake again, and your presence is requested on the next visit.'

‘I shall be delighted.' She paused, crumbling the bread on her plate. ‘By the way, there was a phone call for you last night.'

‘Oh? Who was it?'

‘One of your admirers.'

He smiled. ‘That narrows it down to about a thousand!' Then, seeing her face, his smile faded. ‘Adele?' he asked flatly.

‘Adele.'

‘What did she want?'

‘You. She thought you'd be here, as Friday is one of your home nights.' Rona strove to keep her voice level but accusation seeped through, and when he made no comment, her anger, simmering ever since the call, boiled over.

‘What the hell has it to do with her, which are your
home
nights? How does she even
know
you sometimes sleep at Farthings?'

‘Rona, for God's sake!'

‘Well? How does she? Do you discuss our marital arrangements with your students? Or only with specific ones, like Adele?'

‘Now you're just being stupid.'

‘Humour me.'

‘I don't
know
how she knew. I certainly don't recall mentioning it. Damn it, I never even
see
her except in class, so how could I have?'

‘Then it follows that the whole class knows which nights I sleep with my husband.'

Max lowered his head into his hands, his fingers deep in his hair. ‘What is it about Adele that winds you up so much?'

‘That's a good question.' Rona spoke more calmly, but her breathing was still uneven. ‘What
is
it about Adele, Max? She's able to push buttons with both of us, isn't she? Though they're different buttons. You seem to have appointed yourself her Lord Protector, and she's taking full advantage of it. I suppose that's what riles me.'

Max raised his head and ran a hand over his face. ‘Can we drop this? It's not getting us anywhere, and I've had enough emotional roller coasters over the last twenty-four hours.'

As quickly as it had arisen, Rona's anger died and she laid an impulsive hand on his arm. ‘Max, I'm sorry. That was lousy timing, but—'

‘I know,' he said quietly, patting her hand. ‘I know.' After a moment, he added, ‘Our friends all know I stay over at Farthings. These things get round, whether or not it's anyone else's business. She must have picked it up somewhere.'

Rona nodded. ‘Will you phone her back?'

‘Would I dare?'

Their eyes held, then, almost against their wills, they both smiled. It was the way most of their rows ended, and they leaned simultaneously towards each other for a placatory kiss.

‘And now that's settled,' Rona said, ‘you can take me to Tarlton's to buy my Christmas present.'

Rona saw Kate as soon as they walked into the shop, but she was already serving someone, and it was another assistant who came forward. Rona wondered if she was part-time or one of the family.

‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?'

‘We'd like to look at some ladies' gold watches,' Max told her, and they were led to a cubicle containing chairs and a table covered with a velvet cloth. Purchases at Tarlton's were conducted in privacy.

‘If you'd like to take a seat, I'll bring a selection through. Can I offer you tea or coffee while you choose?'

‘No thank you, we've just had some.'

The girl smiled and withdrew. ‘Is all this recouped in the prices they charge?' Max asked in a whisper, and Rona reprovingly shook her head.

As Kate had intimated, there was plenty of choice in a variety of sizes and designs, but after narrowing them down, one emerged as the clear favourite. Max was discreetly shown the price, and, to Rona's relief, nodded confirmation.

‘Fine. We'll take it,' he said.

‘Would you like it gift-wrapped, sir?'

‘Yes, please. Then there's no way she can look at it again before Christmas!'

They followed her out of the cubicle, and while Max busied himself at the till, Rona moved slowly along the various display cases, admiring bracelets, earrings, brooches and necklaces, all glittering under strategically placed lights. Mrs Tarlton senior certainly knew a thing or two about displays, Rona thought.

Max put away his credit card, the assistant handed him the distinctive carrier bag striped in silver and gold, and, looking up as they came towards her, Rona's eyes fell on a carved wooden musical box on top of a cabinet.

‘Oh Max, look! Isn't that pretty? It would make a lovely present for Lindsey.' She turned to the girl, who was waiting to accompany them to the door. ‘What tune does it play?'

‘I'm afraid I don't know; they only came in this morning. Shall we see?'

She lifted the lid, and Rona watched in delight as two small figures began to rotate in time to the tune that spilled out, filling the shop with its lilting melody. Several people turned with a smile, but a stifled sound made Rona glance quickly at the girl beside her. Her hands had flown to her mouth, her already pale face had taken on a greenish tinge, and she was staring as though mesmerized at the revolving figures. Then, before Rona realized what was happening, the girl's eyes closed and she slid bonelessly to the floor.

Rona dropped to her knees, but was moved politely aside as members of the family hurried to the girl's aid.

‘Freya! Freya, it's all right, honey! Get some water, someone! If everyone could just stand back, please?'

Lewis's sister, Rona thought in bewilderment, as Max helped her to her feet. Whatever had caused that reaction? Freya's eyes were already flickering and she gave a little moan, shaking her head from side to side. Lewis himself had now appeared, and, bending down, picked up his sister with ease and carried her to one of the offices at the back of the shop. And all the time, the musical box played its catchy, innocent little melody and the tiny figures continued to rotate. No one had thought to turn it off, but then only Rona and Max knew it had been the trigger for the attack. As the shutting of the office door ended the drama, Rona reached forward and gently closed the lid. She didn't think she'd be buying it after all.

An older man held up a hand, raising his voice above the general concerned murmur. ‘I'm so sorry, everyone; it must be one of these bugs that are doing the rounds. She's already recovering, so do please return to your browsing. The staff are ready to help, if you need any assistance.'

Max took Rona's elbow and steered her out of the bright warmth of the shop on to the already darkening pavement.

‘What the hell was that all about?' he asked.

Rona shook her head. ‘I'm not wrong, am I? It
was
the tune that sparked it off?'

‘Well, I can't imagine it was the little figures.'

‘What was it, anyway?'

‘“Auprès de ma blonde”. Didn't you recognize it?' He began to sing softly:

Auprès de ma blonde,

Qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon,

Auprès de ma blonde,

Qu'il fait bon dormir

‘Surely you learnt it at school?'

Rona laughed. ‘We most certainly did not. Mademoiselle would have had the vapours!'

‘Well, enough of all that. At least we've got your Christmas present, so let's go home and have a quiet, relaxing evening. What with one thing and another, I feel in need of it.'