She didn’t know how she was ever going to face her sister-in-law again. Surely Pen must have had an inkling as to what Neil was up to? You couldn’t be married to someone for over thirty years and not notice a change in their manner, not when the level of deception was of such magnitude. But there again, this was Pen – Pen wouldn’t notice a hurricane blowing the roof off her house, not unless it landed on her precious garden.
She turned away from the window angrily. If Pen had been a better wife and kept an eye on her greedy husband, none of this would be happening. And inevitably it was going to get a lot worse. For them all. They’d had a taste of what was to come with those two reporters haranguing them on the telephone yesterday. Rosco had firmly informed them that no one had anything to say on the matter. After a brief call to Stirling, he had then called Scarlet to impress upon her and Charlie that they mustn’t speak to anyone about Neil’s death. Heaven only knew what Charlie’s parents would think.
Katie was making good time; she would be back in Brighton within the hour. She felt as if she had been away for several weeks instead of just a few days. She had experienced a real twinge of sadness saying goodbye to Cecily and Pen. Cecily had wanted her to stay on for longer so she could meet Lloyd. ‘He’s your cousin, after all,’ she had said, ‘and I’m sure the two of you will hit it off.’
‘I don’t think now is the right time for him to be forced into being sociable with me,’ Katie had replied gently.
She had to admit, though, that she was intrigued to meet her cousin. She had slept in his old bedroom last night. Remnants from his childhood were in evidence on the shelves, including a classic school photograph hanging on the wall above a mahogany chest of drawers. Somewhere amongst the rows of grinning faces, surly faces and downright weird faces, there was one that she assumed had to belong to Master Lloyd Nightingale. Going by the date that was printed beneath the photograph and the fact that she knew he was thirty-two – two years older than her – she reckoned that she was looking for a boy of sixth-former age. She had scanned the faces along the back two rows of blazer-clad boys. One stood out from the rest. Chin tilted up, a superior expression on his face, he oozed confidence and was a dead ringer for none other than Rosco Nightingale. Did that mean the two boys – the cousins – had attended the same school together? She had hunted for another face that bore a resemblance, but hadn’t been able to find one. But then cousins didn’t necessarily resemble each other, did they? Nor had she been able to find anyone who looked like Pen, and not having met Neil Nightingale, she had no idea what to look for from his genetic perspective. There had been plenty of family photographs around the house downstairs but with so much going on she hadn’t had a chance to look at them.
Yesterday evening, when Stirling had returned from his office, he had asked Katie and Cecily to stay the night with Pen. Discreetly taking them aside so that Pen couldn’t hear, he had quietly said that he’d spoken to Lloyd, who had asked for someone to stay with his mother until he got there; he was hoping to arrive at The Meadows by lunchtime the following day – today. ‘It’s useless persuading her to come and stay with Gina and me,’ Stirling had explained. ‘She would much rather be here. But I don’t want her to be alone.’ When Katie had tactfully suggested that Pen might prefer just having Cecily with her, the old woman had put a hand on her arm and said, ‘Pen likes you, stay here for her. Besides, I like having you around. You’re good for both of us.’ So Katie had agreed to stay for another night, but again only if she could be useful. With Pen ready to drop with emotional exhaustion, she had made it her job to rustle up something for them to eat – cheese on toast had been the best she could manage from the limited contents of the fridge.
It had been a warm night, and Katie had slept with the windows open and the curtains back. She had left Cecily’s unwanted flower-sprigged nightdress at South Lodge and had slept in an old T-shirt she had found in the airing cupboard when looking for sheets to make up beds for her and Cecily. It had seemed unlikely that the T-shirt was Pen’s, and unless her husband had been a fan of the band Gorillaz, it probably belonged to their son.
During breakfast, when Katie had announced that it really was time for her to leave, Cecily had taken all her contact details, double-checking she had got them right by repeating them twice over, and then made Katie promise that she would call her the minute she was safely back in Brighton. It was kind of sweet having someone fussing over her like that.
Before she’d left The Meadows, she had called Tess just as she and Ben were about to board their flight back from Barcelona. Conveniently it meant that Tess couldn’t berate her for too long. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ she had demanded. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you.’
‘I went to see my biological father,’ Katie had said.
‘OMG! And?’
‘And I’ll tell you all about it later, when you’re back.’
‘You better believe you will! Oh, and just so as you know, Ian’s been making a pain of himself. He’s been driving me nuts with all his calls. You know, I could almost think he really cares about you. He said you had a big bust-up, that you told him to sling his hook.’
‘I didn’t actually say it quite like that, but I made it clear I didn’t want him around at the moment.’
‘Oh hell, I’m going to have to go. I’ll ring you tonight, and don’t, whatever you do, switch your mobile off again.’
On the outskirts of Brighton now, Katie contemplated why she hadn’t called Ian as she thought she would and why she had ignored his attempts to ring her last night and early this morning. It wasn’t because she was still angry with him; she wasn’t. It wasn’t even that she didn’t want to have to admit to him that he’d been right, that contacting her biological father had been the right thing to do, which in turn would mean admitting that she’d been wrong. No, it wasn’t any of that. She just didn’t know what to say to him. But she couldn’t hide from him for ever; she would have to resolve the situation with him.
Meanwhile, things were going to seem a bit flat and dull when she got home. With everything that had been going on, she felt as if she’d been living someone else’s life these last few days. She had made her decision to return home when she had woken this morning. She had looked out of the bedroom window at Pen’s beautiful garden, and seeing it bathed in golden sunlight beneath a soft milky-blue sky, she had felt there was a very real danger that if she didn’t leave today, she might never leave.
Before she’d left, she had done one last thing to help out: she had found the nearest supermarket and stocked up on comfort food. She knew from experience that cooking and eating was a chore at times like this, and so she’d selected a range of tempting snacks, the kind of food that had helped her to regain her own appetite – ready-made soup, a nice loaf of wholemeal bread, a selection of cheese, tubs of hummus and taramasalata and olives, pre-cut crudites, cherry tomatoes, eggs, crisps, and a cooked chicken. She’d also selected two large chocolate cakes and a tub of ice cream for those in need of a sugar rush.
Pen had given her a fragile smile and waved her off with Cecily. ‘You’ll come again, won’t you?’ Cecily had said. ‘When things aren’t so awful.’
‘If I’m invited.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, of course you’re invited. Any time you want.’
‘Say goodbye to Stirling from me.’
‘He’ll be in touch, I’m sure.’
At the house in Cavendish Terrace, Katie gathered up the mail from the doormat and walked through to the kitchen. She dumped her bag on a chair, sifted through the mail and, finding nothing of interest, put it on the table to deal with later. She looked about her and was gripped abruptly by how alone she felt. It was absurd, but she was suddenly homesick for The Meadows – for the house and garden, but most especially for Cecily and Pen. In the short time she had known the two women, she had grown fond of them. She hadn’t really had a chance to get to know Stirling, but she felt she could be fond of him as well; he seemed a caring sort of man. For the first time, she wondered what it might have been like to grow up with him as her father. Guilt slapped at her. How could she betray Dad with such a thought?
She opened the door on to the garden to let some fresh air in, and then went over to the shelf where she kept one of her favourite photographs of her parents. She picked up the frame and looked at her mother. She tried to imagine Fay with Stirling, but couldn’t. They were chalk and cheese. She studied her father’s face, searching it for something that might tell her what he had really thought of his wife sleeping with another man and conceiving a child that wasn’t his. How had he borne it? Was that what true unconditional love was? The ability to forgive and love a person no matter what? She thought of Pen’s raw grief. She too must have loved her husband very much.
She realized with a small flutter of regret that she had never been in love to that extent. Ian was kind and loving, he was dependable and supportive, and he’d said he loved her – she had even said that she loved him – but she wasn’t so sure that she really had. She had simply grown used to him. She had enjoyed having him around. Until recently. Recently he had begun to annoy her.
Dad used to say that if you truly loved someone, you loved that person for their faults, and that only when the faults became greater than the sum of your love did it mean the relationship had no future. Not until now did Katie understand that he had been speaking totally and utterly from the heart.
She placed the photograph back on the shelf, put the kettle on and then remembered her promise to ring Cecily as soon as she was home. She dialled the number for The Meadows – Cecily had said she would remain there for the rest of the day – and listened to the ringing tone. As the tone continued, she pictured Cecily and Pen outside in the garden, oblivious to the telephone ringing. She was about to give up and call back later when a voice said, ‘Please leave us alone. We have nothing to say.’
The voice belonged to a man. A softly spoken man. He sounded tired. There was a clunk in her ear and then the line went dead.
She debated what to do. Whoever had answered the phone at The Meadows – possibly Pen’s son – must have assumed that she was a nuisance reporter.
But she’d promised Cecily she would ring.
She dialled again. This time the phone was answered straight away, and before whoever was at the other end of the line had a chance to say anything, Katie said, ‘I’m not a reporter. I just want to leave a message for Cecily. Can you tell her I’m back in Brighton now.’ Her words tumbled out of her in such a hurry, she wondered if they’d made sense.
There was a pause. ‘What name shall I give?’
‘Katie. Katie Lavender.’
There was the sound of voices in the background, followed by the muffled rustling of a hand covering the mouthpiece of the receiver. Seconds passed and then: ‘Katie, is that you?’
It was Cecily. ‘Yes. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but you did say you wanted me to let you know when I was back.’
‘And I’m very grateful that you have.’
‘Was that Pen’s son I just spoke to?’
‘Yes. He’s only been here an hour and already he’s had to deal with half a dozen calls. Neil’s death was in the
Financial Times
this morning. Only a small piece, but heaven only knows how it got there so fast.’
‘What about the local newspaper?’
‘That’s not out until Friday. Then the whole of Henley will know.’
‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you should put the answering machine on; that way you can field the calls. How’s Pen?’
‘Better for Lloyd being here.’
‘That’s good. Well, I’d better let you get on.’
After a brief pause, Cecily said, ‘Katie, I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay with me any time you want. You’re a member of this family, and as far as I’m concerned, the sooner everyone knows that, the better.’
‘That’s kind of you, but Stirling needs to do this in his own time. I’m not going to rush him. It’s important that he knows it was a spur-of-the-moment thing me showing up at his house. I only wanted the chance to see what kind of a man he was. It was never my intention to cause him any trouble. I tried explaining that to him; I hope he believes me.’
‘And that’s very much to your credit, my dear. You can accuse me of bias if you like, but in my opinion he’s a good man who always strives to do the right thing.’
Lloyd had never felt so wired yet at the same time so ready to crash. He hadn’t slept at all during the flight from Singapore to Heathrow. How could he after speaking to Stirling?
But sleep would have to wait. For now he was hungry and needed something to eat. With Pen and Cecily both sitting at the kitchen table, he opened the fridge hoping he’d find something more useful than a carton of milk and an out-of-date yoghurt. His father had often joked that Pen could live happily off air for a week. In return she would laugh and say, ‘Yes, and I’d still put on weight.’ His chest tightened at the thought of his parents’ easy, light-hearted rapport.
When he saw the contents of the fridge, his surprise must have shown. Pen said, ‘We have Katie to thank for that.’
Reaching into the fridge for the pre-cooked chicken, he said, ‘Who’s Katie?’ He didn’t get an answer, but was aware of some nervous glances being exchanged between his grandmother and Pen. ‘
So
,’ he said meaningfully, ‘who is she?’
Still nothing from them both.
He put the chicken on the table. ‘I assume she’s the girl who phoned earlier to speak to you, Granza. So what’s the big deal about her?’
His grandmother looked serious. ‘Lloyd, you have to promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone.’
He sighed. ‘Oh God, what now?’
‘Do you promise?’
‘Yes, I promise,’ he said tiredly. In his sleep-deprived state, he didn’t think he had the energy to be shocked by anything more.
When his grandmother and Pen had finished explaining, he sat down heavily. ‘Bloody hell! I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes when Rosco and Scarlet find out about her.’
‘I don’t care what they think,’ Cecily said stoutly. ‘She’s a lovely girl.’