Person or Persons Unknown (25 page)

‘You said you were going round there. You didn't confront him with it?'

‘Too right I did! We've been pussyfooting around this far too long.'

‘But why didn't you wait for me? I—'

‘I tried, you know I did, but you were firmly incommunicado. Anyway, the long and the short of it is he wants us both to be at the Clarendon at six this evening.'

‘Does Mum know?' Rona asked after a minute.

‘I think he was going straight home, to tell her.' Lindsey's voice shook, and Rona realized that her sister's sympathies lay entirely with their mother. ‘Call for me at the office,' she added. ‘We can wait here till six.'

‘Linz …'

‘What?'

‘Don't be too hard on him. It can't be easy.'

Lindsey made a strangled sound and put down the phone.

Avril was in the back garden, pruning the roses. Thank God this wasn't one of her bridge or charity afternoons.

She turned in surprise as he came out of the back door. ‘What are you doing home at this time?' Then, taking stock of him, ‘Is something wrong?'

‘You might say so. I've – something to tell you. Could you come inside?'

She raised her chin. ‘I'd rather stay out here, thanks.'

He looked at her in anguish, all the rehearsed sentences deserting him. By some freak of chance, with her new hairstyle wind-blown and a streak of soil on her face, she looked as he remembered her from years back, and his tactful, placatory words clogged in his throat.

‘There's no easy way to say this,' he began miserably.

‘You're leaving me.'

It was a statement rather than a question, and when he made no reply, she added, ‘When, and for whom?'

He said gently, ‘Are you sure you wouldn't rather come indoors?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘Avril, I'm so sorry. This isn't what I intended.'

‘You haven't answered my questions.'

‘Her name is Catherine Bishop. She's a client at the bank.'

‘The woman who helped Rona?'

‘Yes. As to when, I don't know. This has all blown up before we were ready.'

‘How inconvenient for you. Do the girls know?'

‘As of this morning. Hugh saw us together.'

‘
Hugh?
Surely he and Lindsey aren't …?'

‘No; they apparently met by chance, at a pub.'

‘So, as the cliché has it, I'm the last to know. Even Hugh had the advantage of me.'

‘It wasn't what—'

‘—you intended. No, so you said. Does that make it better?'

He passed a hand over his face. He wasn't sure how he'd pictured this conversation, but it hadn't been like this. He'd expected her to lash out as Lindsey had done, to be bitter, contemptuous. Instead, she was speaking in this clipped voice, entirely without expression.

‘No wonder you didn't want to plan a world trip,' she said. And then, to his horror, her eyes filled, the tears immediately spilling over to run down her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away, simply stood, still clutching the secateurs, gazing at him like an abandoned child, and he felt a clutch of his old, protective love for her. When had he last seen her cry?

He moved convulsively forward, but she gave a small shake of her head and he stopped. ‘Please let me take you inside. I can't leave you here.'

‘That's something you'll have to get used to,' she said.

‘We need to talk.'

‘Yes, but not now. Please go.'

He said helplessly, ‘But I've taken the rest of the afternoon off. I thought—'

‘I don't want you here.'

‘Avril …'

She turned her head away and, after a moment, despairingly, he went back into the house.

Rona and Lindsey sat in the office while the rest of the staff closed down their machines, tidied their papers, and, one by one, went home. Rona's mind was oscillating between the forthcoming meeting with their father, when she'd be forced to face what she'd been hiding from for months, and the ominous, inexplicable email that awaited her at home.

She glanced at her twin, tense behind her desk, and, more to distract her than for any other reason, asked suddenly, ‘Do you know my email address?'

Lindsey stared at her. ‘Whatever brought that up?'

‘Do you?'

‘No, of course I don't. When have I ever needed to send you an email?'

‘Like to hazard a guess at it?'

‘For heaven's sake, Rona! This isn't the time to play games!'

‘It's not a game, I assure you.'

Lindsey frowned. ‘All right, I'll humour you. It's probably something like “Rona-dot-Parish at something-dot-net”. Or “com”. I never know the difference.' She threw Rona a challenging look. ‘Well, am I close?'

‘No, actually. My name doesn't come into it.'

‘How clandestine! So, are you going to tell me why we're going through this pointless exercise?'

‘I received an email this morning; I don't know who it's from, because the sender was identified by numbers rather than a name, but he had
my
address off pat, and I'm wondering how he got hold of it.'

‘Well, from the
Gazette
, surely?'

‘No, that gave my mobile number, and I never fill it in on forms, in case I get a load of spam.'

‘So what was the message?'

‘I thought you'd never ask,' Rona said drily. ‘It was headed “Gemma Grant”, and it said, “Let sleeping dogs lie, or they may wake up and bite.”'

‘Oh God!' Lindsey said in a whisper.

‘Funnily enough, Zara's father used the same phrase, right back at the beginning.'

‘Could
he
have sent it?'

Rona shook her head. ‘No, I'm sure not. It's just a macabre coincidence.'

‘Mightn't be a bad maxim to follow, all the same,' Lindsey commented. ‘Have you no way of tracing it?'

‘I don't see how; I went right through my address book, but, hardly surprisingly, it's not listed.'

‘Will you reply?'

Rona shuddered. ‘And say what? God, Lindsey, what with someone lurking among my emails and harassment on my mobile, I'm between a rock and a hard place. I want nothing to do with either of these creeps, but I'm not sure I can avoid them.'

‘Does Max know?'

‘Not about the email; it only came this morning.'

‘You're having quite a day, aren't you?' Lindsey commented sympathetically.

‘I am indeed. Speaking of which, it's almost six. We'd better go.'

They stood up and moved together towards the door. On reaching it, they turned spontaneously to each other – as happened sometimes – and exchanged a hug. Then, side by side, they went to meet their father.

T
om was waiting for them in the lounge bar, Lindsey's gin and Rona's vodka on the table in front of him. He stood as they approached, smiling uncertainly, and Rona, with a tightening of the throat, went to him quickly and kissed him, feeling his hands grip her arms.

‘Hi, Pops,' she said quietly. Lindsey said nothing, merely seated herself in front of her drink.

‘Thank you for coming,' he said formally.

It was a fairly large room and theirs was a corner table, with no one within earshot. Half a dozen men on bar stools were discussing football, and a couple sat holding hands at a far table. Strangely, the three disparate groups seemed to emphasize the room's essential emptiness.

As the awkward silence lengthened, Rona broke it by saying, ‘Mrs Bishop said you ran her to Stokely hospital.'

Tom nodded, raised his glass to them, and they all drank.

‘And I saw you with her in Barrington Road,' Rona continued. Lindsey frowned and shook her head, but Tom answered steadily, ‘Yes, I thought you must have.'

Lindsey put her glass down. ‘So when did this affair start?'

Tom winced. ‘It's not an affair in the accepted sense. I'd like to make that clear.'

‘Meaning you haven't slept with her?'

Rona moved protestingly, but Tom answered, ‘Exactly.'

‘Well, I'm sure that's very moralistic and all that, but it doesn't help Mum, does it?' Lindsey took a sip of her drink. ‘How did she take it?'

‘With dignity,' Tom replied. ‘Look, I asked you both here so I could tell you as simply as possible how this came about and how we intend to deal with it. It would help, Lindsey, if you could keep any further comments until I've finished.'

So he told them, those two solemn-faced daughters of his, of his growing unhappiness in his marriage – which he'd felt to be mutual. ‘We loved each other very much at one time,' he said sadly, ‘but somehow it got lost along the way and we finished by continually rubbing each other the wrong way.' He was being generous there, Rona thought. ‘It reached the stage when I almost dreaded going home each evening, and with my retirement looming – well, frankly, I started to panic.'

‘And then you met Mrs Bishop.'

‘Yes, then I met Catherine, and – I don't know – it was a tonic just to be with her. Her outlook was so positive, and I found I could relax with her when I couldn't any longer with your mother. As you say, I ran her to the hospital, and that rather threw us together. Then, as a thank you, she invited me to an exhibition at the National Gallery –
Pissarro in London.
'

‘It didn't occur to her to invite Mum too, I suppose?' Lindsey's voice dripped with sarcasm.

‘Actually, she did; she'd bought the tickets for her son and his wife, but in the circumstances they obviously couldn't go. She offered them both to me, but God knows, your mother doesn't make any secret of her opinion of art – that looking at dried paint is no more interesting than watching it dry.' He smiled briefly. ‘I always marvel at Max's restraint when she trots that one out. So, we went together, and our friendship just – went on from there. And it
was
friendship, for quite a while. When we realized how it was developing, each of us tried to draw back at different times, but—'

‘It was bigger than both of you.'

‘You're not making this any easier, Lindsey.'

‘Why should I?' Her voice shook. ‘Didn't you even
notice
Mum's efforts to make things right again? Her new clothes and make-up and hairstyle?'

‘Yes, love, I noticed,' Tom said gently, ‘and I know you helped her in that. But sadly it was too late.'

Lindsey's teeth fastened in her lip, and Rona said quickly, ‘So what's going to happen?'

‘Well, this has all blown up sooner than we expected. What I
had
thought was that once I'd retired, I'd take a flat somewhere till the divorce went through.'

‘Why not save yourself the trouble and move in with your lady love? By that time, everyone will know about her.'

‘Because I respect her, and I want to do things properly,' he said, and Lindsey was silenced.

‘And now?' Rona prompted after a minute.

‘It depends on your mother. We haven't discussed any details yet. If she wants me to move out at once, of course I shall. Look, twins, I really am sorry. Not for having met Catherine, but for the inevitable pain it will cause all round. When things have calmed down a little, you must meet her. I'm sure you'd find—'

‘
No!
' Lindsey said violently.

‘Rona?' There was pleading in his voice.

‘I have met her, Pops, as you know. I – liked her very much at first.'

‘And now?'

‘Give me time. I – don't want to add to Mum's hurt.'

‘Of course not.' Suddenly, he could take no more. This meeting had used up all his reserves, and he desperately needed to see Catherine.

‘I have to go now,' he said quickly, ‘but there's no need for you to; I'll order more drinks on the way out. Thank you for listening so patiently. I'll keep you up to date with developments.'

He bent and kissed each of them on the cheek. They watched in silence as he paused at the bar, indicated their table to the barman, and handed over some cash. Then, with a lifted hand, he was gone.

‘I'll ring Mum,' Lindsey said, and took out her mobile. ‘It's pretty obvious he's not going home. We could call round and give her a bit of support.'

But Avril, sounding calm and philosophical, didn't want company. ‘It's sweet of you, darling,' she said – a rare endearment – ‘but I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I'll phone you when I am.'

Having been furnished with fresh drinks, Rona and Lindsey found little to say. They, too, needed space to come to terms with what they'd heard, and they left only minutes later, separating on the pavement with a quick hug and promising to contact each other the next day.

Rona went straight to Farthings, just round the corner from the hotel. But when she let herself in to the little house, it was to find it silent and empty, and she stood in the hallway feeling suddenly desolate. It was six forty-five, and Max's class started at seven thirty. Where was he, when she really needed him – to discuss not only the sorry story of her parents' marriage, but the threatening email that still lurked at the back of her mind? A dose of her husband's common sense would have been a welcome antidote to the worries that tormented her.

Since there was no help for it, she scrawled a note and propped it on the kitchen counter before setting off through the misty darkness for home.

As it happened, though, both those topics, still exercising her when she took delivery of the take-away she'd ordered, had been superseded by the time she finished it.

Again, the news came via her mobile. She answered it with bad grace, regretting not having switched it off for the night, and a woman's voice said without preamble, ‘Was it you asking about families from the Stokely area, who went to Australia?'