Pale as the Dead

by Fiona Mountain

  They had forty-five minutes to kill. Natasha suggested they find somewhere for coffee. She took the Alpine round to the station car park and they walked down Greenhill Street, past the pinnacled clock tower, and turned right onto the High Street.

  They found a café that overlooked the water and the Nine Arch Bridge. They sat at a table by the window, and in silence mostly, drank coffee, watching the brightly painted narrow boats in their moorings in the canal basin.

  There was a sense of marking time, like sitting in the waiting room at a doctor’s surgery, making polite conversation. The coffee was making Natasha feel hyper. The toast she’d eaten for breakfast sat in her stomach, her body too pumped with adrenaline to tackle digesting it.

  Natasha noticed that Adam’s hand, as he held his cup, was not quite steady.

  He’d said he’d leave the talking to her, but she didn’t have a clue what she was going to say to Bethany’s father. She was trusting the right words would come when she needed them. What she was really hoping was that Bethany had gone back to him after she’d left Adam, that she would be there at her childhood home, and that Natasha could tell her what she’d discovered, then exit from the proceedings, her role completed. But she just knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

  Adam leant back in his chair, distractedly picked up one of the magazines he’d brought with him on the train, a style title aimed at teenagers, with arty photographs of moody musicians, reviews of films and advertisements for the kinds of clothes Natasha used to buy from Kensington Market when she lived in London. He dropped it onto the table, said he was going to the bathroom. She understood his inability to sit still.

  It was just after ten-thirty and the café was emptier now. At the next table a young couple lingered over their drinks, in no hurry, sharing a single serving of chocolate cake.

  The girl glanced at Natasha as Adam paid their bill. For a moment Natasha saw herself and Adam as others would. Another pair of lovers, spending a long weekend away.

  Perhaps in just a few minutes they’d find Adam’s real love. An ordinary twenty-year-old girl, listening to CDs or chatting to her friends on the telephone, painting her nails in her bedroom.

  Or perhaps not.

  Forty-Two

  NUMBER 19 ELSINORE ROAD was a large detached mock Tudor house, with a wide gravel drive and double garage on a new housing estate on the western periphery of Stratford. The paintwork was pristine white, and net curtains hung at the downstairs windows. An Audi estate with a brand new registration plate was parked at an angle outside the red front door whose brass knocker looked as if it was polished daily.

  Natasha formed an instant picture of Bethany’s childhood home as similar to her own. But familiarity, in this instance, only made her more anxious. She imagined how Ann and Steven would react to someone like herself coming to see them with someone like Adam to discuss their family history, even before she got started on what she’d found out from Will. Ann would resent the invasion of privacy, strangers nosing around in her family without her permission. Steven would be deeply suspicious of Adam, doubting his sincerity, automatically believing him in the wrong, despite the evidence of his daughter’s lies.

  ‘Meeting the parents is always supposed to be a bit of an ordeal, but this takes the biscuit,’ Adam muttered.

  Natasha gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

  Bethany’s father opened the door, tall and trim, in his late fifties. He was smartly dressed in dark grey flannel trousers and a navy sweater.

  ‘Natasha Blake,’ she said.

  He shook with her. ‘Andrew Wilding.’

  Adam offered his hand. ‘Adam Mason.’

  A vague frown signified Andrew Wilding’s puzzlement.

  They were ushered through a blue carpeted hallway into a neat sitting room, with a pink, velour three-piece suite, beige carpets and creamy walls decorated with watercolours of windmills, castles and rivers. The easy chairs were drawn up around a fake fire that looked surprisingly genuine but gave out no heat. Andrew Wilding told them to make themselves comfortable.

  ‘I thought it was only the aristocracy that had folk researching their ancestry for them.’

  Natasha smiled awkwardly. She was about to explain when Wilding went off into the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee.

  ‘It must be great, living in Stratford,’ Adam commented awkwardly, sitting slightly forward on his chair, when Wilding returned moments later. Natasha thought it was the type of conversation Adam would have begun with Bethany’s father if she had been there to make the introductions.

  ‘I’m so used to it I take it for granted. I was Manager of the Swan Theatre for seven years.’

  Natasha tried to make the two images fit. A theatre manager, and this conservative middle-aged man who lived in this neat, conventional house. But people changed, sometimes beyond all recognition. Long haired youths with their own band, metamorphosing into slick solicitors or accountants; not to mention Goths into respectable genealogists, just. She tried to make two other images fit. This diffident, conservative man and a man who might have murdered his wife. She couldn’t believe it. But what did murderers look like? Like everyone else. ‘I met my wife, Elaine at the theatre,’ Wilding was saying. ‘She was a costume designer. He glanced at the watercolours, and a photograph which stood on a HiFi cabinet by the window. ‘There’s the kettle. Excuse me a moment.’

  Adam went to pick up the photograph. Natasha could vaguely see it from where she sat. A young woman, her long pale hair tied up in a loose ponytail with a big black bow; a little girl, no more than two years old, sitting on her lap, laughing for the camera, wearing a frilly theatrical party dress with big sleeves.

  Andrew Wilding came back into the room carrying a tray set with china cups and saucers and a plate of neatly arranged digestive biscuits. ‘Is this your daughter?’ Adam still clutched the picture in his hand.

  The frown on Andrew Wilding brow deepened. ‘Bethany, yes. She loved having her picture taken. That was a fair few years ago.’

  ‘I know,’ Adam said, a response to both facts. Natasha’s eyes flew to Andrew Wilding’s face.

  ‘You’ve met Bethany?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Andrew Wilding handed over cups and offered biscuits. ‘I take it that it’s my wife’s side of the family you’re interested in?’

  Natasha realized he thought Adam worked with her and had met Bethany as a result of genealogical research they were involved in together. She was aware of Adam’s eyes on her, waiting for her to explain.

  ‘It’s not a straightforward family history I’m working on. Adam came to me because he’d met Bethany and he wanted my help to get in touch with her again. She left an old journal with him, which he presumed belonged to one of her ancestors.’

  Natasha was surprised by how unsurprised Andrew Wilding seemed by this news. ‘The diary belonged to Bethany’s mother, that much I can tell you. I don’t think Elaine was fully certain of its history. My wife died when Bethany was just a toddler.’ He turned to Adam. ‘She didn’t tell you that, did she?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘You’re lucky she told you her name and gave you this address.’

  ‘She didn’t. Natasha traced her through the diary.’

  Andrew Wilding gave a little cluck with his tongue, turned to her. ‘Well, I never. How ingenious.’ Then he looked back at Adam, the frown still there, as if it was permanently etched. ‘Bethany took the diary with her everywhere. I can’t understand her just leaving it behind. May I ask how you know her?’

  ‘I’m a photographer. I … took some pictures of her…’

  ‘You’re very good,’ Andrew Wilding’s face was transformed with a smile of recognition and understanding. ‘She sent some of them to me. I’ve had the one of her in a long white dress framed. It’s in the bedroom upstairs. Best one of her I’ve ever seen. But they’re all remarkable. You have a real talent there.’

  ‘Thank you. I
’m glad you like them.’

  ‘I asked her about you, naturally, but she was very evasive. Which instantly made me think there was something going on between the pair of you.’

  ‘I love your daughter,’ Adam said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘I see.’

  Adam dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Is she here?’

  Andrew Wilding shook his head, more a nervous tick than a shake really. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘But you know where she is?’

  A hint of anxiety in his eyes. ‘No. I’m afraid I don’t.’

  Natasha had been preparing herself for the absolute worst. For Andrew Wilding telling them that Bethany was dead. But now she didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more concerned.

  It seemed Wilding was prepared to say no more. Natasha noticed Adam’s body tense with a frustration she felt too.

  ‘Mr Wilding. May I ask why you said Adam would have been lucky if Bethany had given him this address?’

  He stared into his tea.

  ‘I really don’t mean to pry,’ Natasha continued. ‘But it’s just that we’ve come such a long way. I don’t mean miles. We’ve traced her over half a dozen generations.’

  Wilding pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘Her mother?’ Natasha suggested gently.

  Andrew Wilding turned to Adam. ‘Bethany would never have forgotten the diary. It was too special to her. She must have wanted you to have it. In which case you must be very special to her too. So I suppose you have a right to know.’ He brought his hand to his mouth, coughed. ‘My wife died when she was thirty-three, just after Bethany’s fourth birthday. It was June. We’d taken a few days holiday. Our first since;…,’ he broke off, his eyes glazed. ‘Bethany had an older sister, Charlotte…,’ again he left the sentence hanging. ‘Elaine and I had had a disagreement, something trivial. Things were difficult for us, after Charlotte. Anyway, Elaine just said she was going for a swim in the river. Bethany was on the bank, picking flowers. I remember that, because when I ran into the water, to … to get to Elaine … I looked back and Bethany was just standing there, in her little white sundress, a posy of buttercups and daisies in her hand.’ Natasha heard the tremor in his voice, knew he’d forgotten who he was talking to, that he was talking to anyone at all. He’d gone back to that day in his mind. ‘The police were involved of course. They took me to a cell, kept me there for days, months it seemed. Questions. So many questions. They went on and on until I thought I’d go mad. They dredged up everything about Charlotte, all over again. What else could I tell them? My daughter was playing tennis and we found her lying in the grass. My wife went swimming and I found her lying in the water. Suspicious circumstances. Oh, I could see why they were suspicious all right. To much for one family.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But eventually they had to let me go. Just like that. Never bothered me any more.’ He was talking slowly now, almost as if he was in a trance. Natasha had the sense that he’d never poured out his feelings like this before, that now he’d started he couldn’t stop. ‘Sometimes I wish they’d locked me away – away from all those twitching curtains and wary glances. You can’t blame them. When a death, two deaths in the same family are so sudden, so inexplicable. I refused to move house; too many good memories mixed up with the bad. And people round here forgot, eventually. But Bethany … she didn’t forget. I always told her the truth, never kept anything from her. I’d catch her looking at me sometimes, as if she hated me. Or worse still, as if she was frightened of me. I still lie in bed at night and see it all through her eyes. Her mother, face down in the water and me standing over her, panicked, shouting, trying to pull her out, drag her back to the shore, as if I was fighting with her, as if I did it. Sometimes, I think I am to blame.’ His voice trailed off, came back stronger. ‘There was an autopsy of course. The verdict was heart failure. Same as Charlotte. And Elaine’s brother, Jack, ten years before. Elaine didn’t smoke, didn’t drink much. Charlotte had been in the school gymnastic team. Their hearts should have lasted them until they were in their eighties.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Natasha reached out, touched the back of his hand. ‘Mr Wilding. I think I might know why Elaine and your daughter died.’

  He looked at her, stupefied, shook his head as if to clear it. ‘How can you…?

  She glanced at Adam’s tense face. ‘You know Harry Leyburn?’

  Wilding sighed. ‘A little. I’m not entirely sure how we’re related. Elaine’s side. But we took an interest, as you do. Bethany and I followed his progress in the papers, went to see one of his races, hung around afterwards and said, ‘Hello.’ That’s about it.’

  ‘You know he died?’

  A pause. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think he had a hereditary heart condition. I think Elaine’s branch of the family also inherited it.’ She tried not to let the look on his face deflect her. ‘There are precautions that can be taken to control the condition. The important thing is to detect it early enough.’ She told him a little of what Will had told her, what she’d seen on the database.

  His eyes clouded over and he looked away. She wanted him to say something, anything, didn’t dare look at Adam again.

  ‘Mr Wilding. I hope you don’t think I’ve done the wrong thing in telling you this but…’

  ‘Done the wrong thing?’ He clasped her hand in both of his. ‘Of course you haven’t done the wrong thing. If what you say is correct, then it’s the greatest relief. I can’t tell you … It means Bethany and I … His voice cracked and he let go of her hand, fumbled in his pocket for a cotton handkerchief. He blew his nose, dabbed at his eyes. ‘It’s the most terrible thing, not knowing why, not being able to do anything … I think what happened to her brother was always at the back of Elaine’s mind. She was worried about having children. She once said to me, how you can never know what you’re passing on to them … In Bethany’s case it’s fear she’s left with. Fear and anger. She’s terrified the same thing will happen to her. She’s terrified that her father might be a murderer. Oh, she’s never said a word but I see it in her eyes.’ He reached for the handkerchief again.

  ‘Has Bethany ever had any tests?’ Adam’s voice was croaky, as if he’d not spoken for weeks.

  Andrew Wilding cleared his throat. ‘She’s always been a frail little thing, prone to getting colds and chest complaints. A couple of times she’s passed out, fainted, after she’d been doing aerobics, running for a bus. It happened once when she was small, when she had to give a blood sample for something or other. I didn’t think much of it then. I don’t like the sight of blood myself. And the more recent attacks I put down to stress over exams, not eating enough. But of course blackouts are a sign of a weak heart. Though Elaine and Charlotte never…’ he let his head fall into his hands. Then he seemed to shake himself, dropped a sugar lump into his tea and stirred it slowly, the spoon chiming against the china. ‘Bethany has had a couple of ECGs and angiograms but nothing has shown up.’ He looked directly at Natasha. ‘I encouraged her to find out about her ancestors. I hoped if she saw that they lived to an old age, it would put her mind at rest. That’s what I thought, when you called, why I wasn’t all that surprised really.’

  ‘I did have a meeting with her,’ Natasha said. ‘But she never asked me to do any work.’

  He nodded abruptly. ‘Cold feet I expect. I hoped knowing more about her family might make her think less harshly of her mother,’ Andrew Wilding explained. ‘The worst thing is, Bethany resented Elaine for having left us, kept saying her mother was selfish.’ He dropped another sugar lump into his tea, started to stir again, as though he’d forgotten he’d already done it. ‘I kept trying to make her believe that being given the chance of a life, even if it turns out to be a short one, is better than never existing. I told her what you’re supposed to tell people who’ve suffered bereavement. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. The trouble is, I’m not so sure that’s true. I told her that I’d ha
ve married her mother knowing what I now know, that I wouldn’t have had it any other way. But she never believed me. Sometimes, God forgive me, I didn’t believe it either.

  ‘I had to give up my job, get a sensible one, with sociable hours, running an office instead of a theatre. It felt as if my life had ended too, in a way. Except for Bethany. She was all I lived for. But that’s a terrible burden for a child, for anyone. And children are so much more intuitive that we give them credit for. I tried to keep it from her, but she saw what a struggle we had, and she swore never to do the same to anyone, never to let anyone fall in love with her. She’s stuck to the pledge with a firmness you can’t help but admire.’

  He turned to Adam. ‘I’m telling you all this because … well … it seems only fair. A boyfriend Bethany had in school wrote long letters to me for months after she’d gone off to London and not given him her address. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t put the poor fellow out of his misery, tell him she’d found someone else, or the truth even. I’ve had a string of them over the years. But she clams up on me whenever I try to talk to her about relationships, all that kind of thing. I’m not very good at it. It’s not easy for a man to bring up a little girl alone.’ He gave a tired smile. ‘I even learned to cook and take an interest in clothes. But it’s not the same, is it? I knew one day she’d really fall for someone and I worried about what would happen. Like I said, she never said much about you or mentioned you by name but I had a feeling there was someone special.…’

  Natasha bit the inside of her lip.

  ‘Do you have any idea at all where I can find her?’ Adam said.

  Andrew shook his head. ‘I want nothing more than to see her settled and happy, believe me. But I’ve not spoken to her in over a month. I know she’s left the flat she was renting in Highgate. She’s grown so distant since she left home. It’s as if now she doesn’t have to live with me she can’t bear to have anything to do with me. We’d agreed that I was going to spend Christmas with my sister in Scotland, and Bethany wanted to stay in London. She said she might go travelling afterward. If she’s fallen in love, that explains things. I dare say she’s gone somewhere to sort herself out. She’s taken off before now. I’ll get a dutiful postcard or a reverse charge call from some far-flung corner of the world, or she’ll turn up on the doorstep in the middle of the night, wanting a hot bath and a decent meal. It’s just how she is.’ He looked at Natasha. ‘It’d be so easy to be over-protective, possessive. But I’ve always tried to let her live her own life, feel entirely free.’