Person or Persons Unknown (9 page)

She drew in her breath, staring at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. A waiter materialized beside them. He opened a bottle, invited Tom to taste the wine, poured two glasses, and placed the bottle in an ice bucket alongside the table. Throughout this performance, the two of them sat in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. As he finally left them, Catherine asked quietly, ‘When did you reach this decision?'

He smiled wryly. ‘Just now. As you know, life has become increasingly difficult lately, but last night …'

‘Last night?' she prompted, when he didn't continue.

‘Last night, after yet another row, I – didn't feel too good, and it rather scared me.'

She said sharply, ‘Your heart, you mean?'

He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

‘Oh, Tom,' she said softly. Then, ‘What will you do?'

‘I've no idea. I've not had time to work it out.' He glanced at her, then down at the fork he was turning over in his fingers. ‘I don't want you to think our seeing each other has had any bearing on this; the marriage has been going downhill for years and I've refused to acknowledge it. But I wouldn't be honest if I didn't say that since I met you …'

He broke off and she sat unmoving.

‘Since I met you,' he continued after a moment, ‘I've discovered that I'm not after all fit only for the scrap heap, that I can still feel …' Again he stumbled to a halt.

‘Feel what, Tom?' Her voice was low.

He forced himself to come out with it. ‘Like making love,' he said in a rush. Not daring to look at her, he added ruefully, ‘You now have permission to slap my face!'

‘Suppose I don't want to?' A smile came into her voice. ‘Slap your face, that is!'

His head jerked up and, meeting her eyes, he felt such an intensity of joy that he was momentarily winded. She put a hand over his.

‘Tom, the last thing I wanted was to contribute to the breakdown of your marriage. I kept telling myself we shouldn't keep seeing each other – if you remember, I made several excuses. But I could tell how miserable you were, and I could hardly bear it. I kept wanting to hold you and tell you everything would be all right.'

Their salads arrived and Catherine hastily released his hand.

Tom's mind was reeling, unable to take in the momentous possibilities suddenly opening up before him. ‘God, Catherine, I can't believe this. I – don't know what to say.'

‘I don't think either of us does, so let's just eat this delicious lunch and try to absorb it.'

‘But – am I right in thinking that you – that we …?' He drew a deep breath. ‘What I'm trying to say is – if – when – I'm free, will you – marry me?'

‘I don't see why not!' she said.

‘God!' he exclaimed in frustration. ‘I can't believe that we're sitting here over prawn salad discussing things that will change our lives, and I can't so much as take your hand because we're surrounded by all these bloody people!'

She laughed. ‘Never mind; going down on one knee has gone out of fashion. Seriously, though, I don't think we should rush things. You came out with your decision as soon as you made it; possibly if you'd given yourself time to think about it—'

‘It would have been exactly the same.'

‘Nevertheless,' she went on, ‘there are a lot of things to consider – principally, of course, your family, but also how the bank might react if you suddenly flee the nest. I suggest we take a step back until you've had a chance to think it through. We've waited a long time to find each other; it won't hurt to wait a little longer.'

She met his eye and laughed softly. ‘All right, it may hurt just a little, but it'll be worth it in the long run. We've agreed that we have what the Victorians called “an understanding”; let's leave it at that for the moment, and just enjoy our lovely day as we were doing this morning.' She paused. ‘All right?' she asked softly.

He didn't want to step back, he thought protestingly. On the contrary, he wanted to shout his joy from the rooftops, to give exuberant expression to this intoxicating feeling of release.

‘All right?' she said again, and, seeing the sense of it, he reluctantly nodded.

‘All right,' he said.

F
irst impressions indicated that Sunday would be as warm and sunny as the day before. Dinah's prayers had been answered, Rona thought, as she drew back the curtains.

‘What do you bet Barnie'll do a barbecue?' said Max lazily from the bed behind her.

‘Well, I can't see Sam sitting through a meal in the dining room.'

‘How old will he be now?'

‘Two and a half, I think, and Martha's three months.'

‘I hope to God we're not going to be subjected to baby talk all day!'

Rona laughed. ‘You and Barnie can go and grump in a corner.'

He got out of bed, shrugged on his towelling robe, and stretched hugely. ‘Breakfast in ten minutes,' he said, and pattered barefoot down the stairs.

Melissa had changed since Rona had last seen her, on her wedding day. Although still slim, after two children she was more curved than Rona remembered, and had acquired a slight American accent.

‘It's great to see you again!' she cried, enveloping her in a hug. ‘From what I hear, you're leading quite an adventurous life these days!'

‘That's one way of putting it,' Max murmured, adding, as he was hugged in turn, ‘Marriage and motherhood certainly seem to suit you.'

‘Oh, they do!'

Admittedly there was no sign of the difficult pregnancy she had undergone, that had caused her mother to fly out to be with her for the last weeks, and resulted in Martha's premature birth. Nor was this visible in the baby herself, lying in a Moses basket under the trees, and kicking lazily as she watched the moving leaves above her head. Rona stood with Mel and Dinah looking down on her.

‘She's gorgeous, Mel!'

‘She's gaining weight steadily now,' Mel said contentedly.

Barnie came out of the house, his grandson on his shoulders. Sam was familiar to Rona from the photograph in the sitting room, his blond hair and blue eyes inherited from his father. He gave Rona a shy smile but refused to say ‘Hi!' as instructed by his mother.

‘He doesn't say a great deal anyway,' Melissa admitted.

‘Just be thankful!' Dinah told her darkly. ‘Once he starts, there'll be no way of stopping him!'

As Max had predicted, the barbecue was already lit, and he was keeping a wary eye on Gus, who had stationed himself near the meat laid ready. Barnie handed the child over to his mother and went to join him.

Melissa said, ‘If you'll excuse us, I'll take Sam to the bathroom before we start eating. He's not totally reliable yet.'

‘You're in your element, aren't you?' Rona teased Dinah, who was looking fondly after them.

‘Of course I am! I don't see nearly enough of my grandchildren. But – Sam and Martha – I ask you! Did you ever hear such oldie-worldie names?'

A natural enough reaction, Rona supposed, from one who'd called her own daughter Melissa. ‘The old names are coming back,' she said diplomatically.

Dinah shrugged resignedly. ‘Anyway, what have you been up to? I haven't seen you for a while.'

‘Mainly finishing off the articles on Buckford. I had to go back again last week.'

‘I gather Barnie's not too happy about your new project.'

Rona pulled a face. ‘He's keeping a diplomatic distance till he's sure I'm not going to be murdered in my bed.'

Dinah shuddered. ‘Don't joke about it. It's true, then, that you're going after another killer?'

‘That could be a by-product, I suppose, but my main objective is to research the birth parents of someone I met. She was adopted as a baby and knows less than nothing about them.'

‘But the mother's murderer was never caught?' Dinah persisted.

‘No, but that was twenty-five years ago. He's probably long dead by now.'

‘I sincerely hope so,' Dinah said quietly. ‘Take care, that's all I ask, and if you find you're getting out of your depth, drop everything and get out.'

‘Yes, ma'am!' Rona saluted.

Dinah smiled briefly and patted her arm. ‘Let's go and join the men,' she said.

Oddly, her warning left Rona with a vague unease that neither Max's nor Barnie's had engendered, and as they settled themselves round the large wooden table, she wondered why. There was no denying Dinah was a forceful character: though under five foot, she made up for her lack of inches by strength of personality, displaying a passionate interest in everyone and everything, and once formed, her opinions were not easily swayed. Watching her as she darted about distributing plates of meat and bowls of salad, Rona thought she resembled a small dynamo, her deep voice and rich laugh ringing out over the hum of general conversation.

As for Melissa, she seemed the unifying factor that melded them into a family. The wide divergence in her parents' heights – Barnie was over six foot – had evened out to make her average, as her mother's wiry black hair and Barnie's softer, rapidly thinning thatch had merged into the cascade of brown curls that fell to her shoulders. As to temperament, Rona couldn't say: Barnie was renowned at
Chiltern Life
for the shortness of his temper, and she had before now seen Dinah fly into a fury when thwarted. Perhaps, she thought with amusement, it would be as well to remain in Melissa's good books.

Gus, who had been provided with his own piece of steak, slept contentedly in the shade alongside Martha's Moses basket, and Sam had left the table to play in the sandpit hastily provided by his grandparents.

‘I wonder how many more weekends we'll have like this,' Dinah remarked, as the adults sat drinking coffee after the meal. ‘I always hate it when the time comes to put covers on the barbecue and lock the chairs in the shed for the winter.'

‘Oh, I don't know,' Max said lazily. ‘Autumn's my favourite time of year: crisp frosts, bonfires, and cosy evenings with the curtains drawn. Will you still be here at Christmas?' he asked Melissa.

‘Yes, Mitch is coming to spend it with us.'

‘We'll see him long before that, though,' Dinah put in quickly, noting her daughter's downcast face. ‘He's flying back for the weekend in three weeks' time.'

‘Sam keeps asking for him,' Melissa said.

Poor little boy, Rona thought, missing his father. But at least he knows who his father is. And her thoughts again turned, as they so frequently did at the moment, to Zara Crane. The rest of them could utter their dire warnings, but she was determined to do all she could to solve the mystery of Zara's birth.

They had not long been home when the phone rang, and Lindsey's indignant voice demanded, ‘Why the hell didn't you tell me you weren't going to the parents'?'

‘Sorry, it never occurred to me. Why, did you go?'

‘Of course I bloody went! Sundays are a dead loss anyway, since Jonathan has to spend them with his family, but Mum never let on it would be only the three of us.'

‘Perhaps she rang you before me.' Rona paused, glancing through the sitting-room doorway at Max, ensconced with the Sunday papers. ‘How was it?' she asked quietly.

‘Much as usual; Mum narking away and Pops letting it wash over him. Come to think of it, though, he seemed more relaxed than usual, as though he really didn't care what she said, instead of just pretending not to.'

With another glance at Max, still impervious behind his paper, Rona moved further down the hall. ‘I suppose you heard about the bridge tournament?' she asked in a low voice.

‘Indeed I did. I was given a blow-by-blow account of every hand, as though it meant anything to me!'

‘Did Pops say what he did while Mum was out?'

‘No, and I didn't ask. Why? He probably spent the day gardening, as usual.' There was a pause, then Lindsey said, ‘Oh God! You think he was with that woman, and that's what accounted for his good spirits?'

‘It's a possibility, that's all. Linz, this is getting serious. We can't just sit back and let Mum destroy their marriage.' Rona paused, mentally reviewing courses of action. ‘How about that girlie day out? If she'd agree to make an effort, meet him halfway, it might still not be too late.'

‘OK, I'll see if I can fix it for next weekend. Where were you today, anyway? Mum said you were too busy to come.'

Rona's temper flared at the injustice, but she answered steadily. ‘A prior engagement, perfectly genuine. Dinah asked us over to meet Mel and the children; they're here for a fairly lengthy stay while her husband's working in the Gulf. He's with some American oil company.'

‘I don't think I've met the daughter. What's she like?'

‘Very pleasant, and the children are sweet.'

‘Getting broody, sister dear?'

‘Not a chance. Not yet, anyway.'

Lindsey laughed. ‘Well, I'll try to get Mum organized, and let you know how it goes.'

‘You're a brick,' Rona said gratefully.

The Clarendon was Marsborough's premier hotel, situated on the corner of Guild Street and Alban Road.

Rona and Max were directed to the Albany Room at the rear of the building, from where a babble of conversation was spilling out into the foyer. As they went in, Rona at once spotted James Latymer standing in a group, and in the moments before he caught sight of them, subjected him to a rapid inspection, interested to compare the television image with the living man.

Even in the flesh, he seemed larger than life, with his dark hair, florid face, and, it had to be said, expanding girth – due, no doubt, to House of Commons lunches. The woman beside him, presumably his wife, was striking in her own right – tall and slim, her hair very short but with strands curling on to her face in a style reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. She was wearing a hyacinth-blue tunic in raw silk over wide-legged palazzo pants – so wide-legged, in fact, that Rona at first thought it was a skirt.