Generations of Love

by Wendy Pulford

  Noticing that Peter had only given the girl a smiling hug, she decided to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Welcome to England, Christa. I’m so pleased to see you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs McIntyre. It’s nice to be here.’

  The girl must have worked out who she was, thought Sarah. She detected a slight accent in her speech, but had the immediate impression that she was well educated and well mannered.

  ‘Well now, come along. I’m going to suggest that you come to ours at first and catch your breath, and then Peter can take you to your accommodation later. Is that OK?’

  Christa looked at Peter, who nodded.

  ‘Right, let’s go then.’

  The kitchen table was again the meeting place for the house. Over mugs of tea and sandwiches, Christa was introduced to Jerry, just on his way out for his afternoon clinic, and Amy, on afternoon home study leave from college, who came down from her room-cum-studio to meet the guest. Rob, by now back on his two feet, was on duty away somewhere, so introductions there would have to wait.

  Sarah was amused to see that Amy, who had toned down her hair colour, was studying the real honey shades of the other girl. Even so, she noticed that Christa’s eyes had widened when they were first introduced. They were of the same age, and maybe Christa would make a good role model. Sarah’s own first impression was confirmed as the talk flowed around the table. She liked the open friendliness and confidence the girl displayed, seeming at ease with near strangers, but in particular she noticed her caring, considerate attitude to Peter, making sure that he was included in the conversation. Peter, she saw, was just looking and listening to her, but she sensed that he was back to his normal self.

  ‘I gather you’ve been lucky enough to take over a flat from a friend, Christa?’

  ‘Er, yes. That’s right, Mrs McIntyre.’

  Sarah noticed the slight hesitation in the girl’s reply, but let it go. It was none of her business after all.

  Christa gave Peter an apologetic glance. ‘I don’t wish to appear rude, but I’m afraid perhaps I ought to get settled in. It looks as though I’m going to hit the ground running. I’m starting work tomorrow. As I’ve been given this chance to exchange places with an English journalist for a year, I’ll have to give it my best shot for a while. Also, my previous Editor wants me to do a monthly article for them on how I find England, so I’m going to be a busy person!’

  Peter rose to his feet. ‘Yes, that’s fine. No problem. I’ll find the car keys.’

  As he left the table, Sarah came to a decision, and voiced her thoughts. ‘Christa, you know you’re always welcome to drop in at any time, but I wondered, if you were free, would you like to come for a typical British Sunday roast this weekend?’

  Christa looked over at Peter, who nodded, looking pleased, and then she turned with a bright smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs McIntyre. I’d like that a lot.’

  As they left, Jerry came up behind his wife and gave her a light smack on her behind, whispering in her ear, ‘Matchmaker!’

  *

  It became the normal pattern for Peter to collect Christa on a Sunday morning. They would work together in Peter’s room, then come upstairs for lunch and spend the afternoon with the rest of the household, before Peter took her home. Christa insisted on joining in with the household chores and soon became as much of a fixture in the routine life of the house as the other young people. Sarah was delighted as she observed the quiet growth in confidence that Peter was displaying.

  *

  Lionel Franklin too had observed the change, and on one visit suggested that Peter might like to bring his friend along to be introduced.

  Peter appeared delighted at the invitation when he brought the matter up with Christa. She, herself, was intrigued by the idea, having heard Peter speak about his great uncle so often. It seemed that a Sunday afternoon was a convenient time, and on the particular day chosen, Christa was at the McIntyre’s for lunch as usual. She detected an air of unease about Sarah McIntyre. Until now, she had always appeared to be a bubbly sort of person, but today she seemed more subdued, and Christa intercepted one or two glances between her and her husband. Peter seemed oblivious to any undercurrents, however, and so Christa tried to put it out of her mind.

  Her first impression of Lionel Franklin was not favourable. She felt a strange force about him which she couldn’t explain. She also knew without any doubt that he didn’t like her. It was instant, almost pre-formed, without any knowledge of her or her character. Peter seemed not to notice, and treated the old man like a venerated elder. The difference, she thought, between Lionel Franklin and Michael Hartman, both about the same age, was huge. She knew which she preferred.

  After polite introductions and conversation over a pot of tea, Christa sensed that Judge Franklin was biding his time, and before long he steered the conversation her way.

  ‘So, Miss Benjamin, you appear to have made a courageous leap in your fledgling career to come to the UK. A little soon, it might be said?’

  Christa picked up on the faint censure in his tone, but looked straight back into the cold pale blue eyes.

  ‘Some might think so, but I hope to gain an enormous amount of experience. Absorbing other cultures can benefit me in my creative ideas and I felt it was better to do this now rather than become too immersed in just my own country’s affairs.’

  She saw Franklin’s eyes narrow, but she couldn’t gauge what he was thinking. Quite useful in Court, she thought.

  ‘So, you are interested in the political side of your country?’

  ‘As much as anyone, I suppose. What any government decides to do will have an effect on everyone at some point. If you keep abreast of what might happen you can be more prepared in planning your life. It pays to have an idea of what’s going on.’

  ‘Yes, like if they’re putting up the price of beer!’

  Despite Peter’s jovial comment, Christa noticed that Franklin didn’t take his gaze from her or even acknowledge the remark.

  ‘Is that why you wished to enter journalism, so that you could find out things, poking and prying into affairs that are no one’s concern?’

  Christa had the distinct impression that this man was trying to needle her into an unwise comment, but she held back the immediate retort she might have made.

  ‘No doubt, Judge, some investigative journalists have gone too far in their pursuit of a story. But I’m sure, given your profession, you will acknowledge that journalism has uncovered things which needed to be brought out into the open.’

  ‘Indeed. If you say so. It also sells newspapers, of course!’

  He gave her a slight smile and then seemed to lose interest. His next question came out of the blue.

  ‘Peter tells me your father is a boat builder. By using the term “boat” I assume he doesn’t build supertankers! Is there still a call for craftsmanship in this modern era?’

  Christa glanced over at Peter. She had no intention of discussing her father’s business affairs, but she had to give a credible answer. After a slight hesitation she answered, ‘No, he doesn’t build supertankers, but he seems to manage. He’s given me the benefit of a good education, which is why I want to succeed in my chosen career, for his sake.’

  ‘Commendable, I’m sure.’

  The remark was patronising, and deliberate. She gave the man a hard stare. She might have made a comment, but in deference to Peter she remained silent. The fact that Franklin was aware of her displeasure became evident in the smile that for a moment touched his mouth.

  She was thankful when Peter began to describe a recent visit to Court as an observer of general routine, and pressed his great uncle for more information. It gave her time to restore her equilibrium. For some reason this man wanted to get under her skin, and trip her up in some way; and she thought she knew why. He wanted her to make a comment which would upset Peter
, and spoil their friendship. She was seen as some sort of rival!

  She knew that when Peter and his great uncle were alone, she would be spoken of by Franklin in disparaging terms. She was an interloper who he did not want around. But why? She was glad when it was time to leave and return to the McIntyres’ home.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jerry offered to take Peter to the local pub for a drink in the evening, leaving Sarah and Christa sitting at the kitchen table chatting. It was no surprise to Christa when she was asked how the afternoon had gone. She decided to be truthful.

  ‘All I can say, Mrs McIntyre, is that I was glad to come away. Lionel Franklin is not my idea of a nice person. He didn’t like me at all, and that was before I had even entered the room! Peter, however, seems to treat him with great fondness and respect.’

  She saw Mrs McIntyre sigh, and then her whole body slumped. ‘I hate the man.’

  Christa stared at Mrs McIntyre, not knowing quite what to say. It had sounded such a heartfelt statement.

  ‘Christa, how much has Peter told you about his parents?’

  ‘I understand they died in an accident when he was a baby. Is that something to do with Lionel Franklin?’

  She could see the other woman trying to come to a decision.

  ‘Christa, are you fond of Peter? I mean, very fond?’

  She found herself replying without hesitation. ‘Yes, Mrs McIntyre, I am. I’m not so sure about Peter, though. He sees me as a friend, I’m sure, but anything more… I just don’t know. I think he finds it hard to deal with relationships.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you some things, even things Peter doesn’t know. Although it all happened a long time ago, it’s still painful, but I will do my best.’

  ‘Oh please, Mrs McIntyre, I don’t want to know any personal details that I shouldn’t.’

  ‘It’s alright, my dear. I feel you ought to know.’

  Christa watched as she rose from her seat and went to a shelf containing cookery books, bringing one back to the table. Leafing through the pages, she drew out a photograph. Looking at it for a moment, she gave a fond smile and then handed it to Christa.

  ‘This is a photograph Jerry took of Peter’s parents on their wedding day. I keep it there, so that I can take it out and look at it when… I need to. No one else knows about it.’

  Christa looked at the couple in the photograph. What a striking pair they made. The young woman was beautiful, with amazing green eyes. The man so handsome, and… oh, eyes like Peter’s. With parents like that he would have been lucky either way, she thought.

  Mrs McIntyre had not spoken again, and Christa wondered if she had changed her mind about what she wanted to say, but then she began to speak. Christa sat spellbound as the tale unfolded of the schoolgirl friendship, the involvement with Alex, the story of the engagement ring, the marriage and house, and Peter’s arrival. Christa formed an impression of a deep bond between Catherine and her handsome husband. How wonderful it would have been for Peter to have known loving parents like this.

  Her companion now appeared to be in the grip of a powerful emotion, making it difficult for her to proceed with the story. Christa laid a hand on the other woman’s arm.

  ‘I can see how upsetting this is for you. Let’s not talk about it any more.’

  ‘But I must. You need to know what is thought to have happened that dreadful night.’

  What she then went on to reveal left Christa appalled. She found it hard to take in all the details, and with continuing horror listened to Mrs McIntyre’s description of the following events and the subsequent decisions of the appropriate authorities.

  ‘Christa, I will never believe what they said is true. I feel in my heart that Lionel Franklin knows more than he has divulged, and all these years he has had an influence on Peter… almost like a puppeteer. I think that’s what he does. He tries to control people. He tried to do that to Catherine, until Alex came on the scene and took her away. I think she paid for that with her life, and Alex became expendable too. Christa, they were so much in love, with so many dreams for the future, but in the end they had little more than a year together. My heart still breaks for them.’

  She put her head down on the table and sobbed, her anguish very evident.

  Christa sat there for some moments in a state of shock. She could find no words to express her emotions. Peter had been carrying this around with him for all these years! Her heart overflowed for him, and she felt her own tears pricking behind her eyes. Mrs McIntyre was still crying, and in an effort to comfort her, she reached out and put an arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Please don’t cry, Mrs McIntyre.’

  She had to do something for this poor distraught woman. She went into the front lounge and brought back a small glass of brandy from the drinks cupboard.

  ‘Here, please drink this, it might make you feel better.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ A tear-streaked face tried to smile at her. ‘I’m sorry for all this. Even after all these years it seems to affect me now as much as it did then. I was carrying Robert at the time and I became quite ill. Jerry even brought my mother back from abroad to look after me. It wasn’t an easy time. We had been made guardians of Peter and we had to think of him also. We coped – just about.’

  Despite herself, Christa had to ask the question. ‘Why do you think Lionel Franklin knows something about these events, Mrs McIntyre?’

  ‘I don’t know anything, I just have this feeling! And I think Peter’s godfather Luigi feels the same. He and his wife treated Alex like a son, and they also loved Catherine and Peter. When Lionel Franklin asked to be involved with Peter in his education, I sensed in Luigi the same wary reserve about that influence, as I felt myself. We have never spoken about it together, but I know it’s there.

  ‘Jerry says I’m just being oversensitive. He has reminded me about Alex’s sometimes volatile temper, and also told me to read my medical textbooks about the problems some males can have when a new baby is introduced into a family. He says that however loving a relationship the two of them had, it’s always possible that for a split second something went wrong, although he hates to think that. I’ve thought about it, and accepted that there’s a case for this, but my inner being tells me that it wasn’t a factor here. It didn’t happen that way. I know there is nothing now that can be done, but it hurts to think that Alex has been accused of something I’m sure he did not do.’

  She sighed and sipped at the brandy. ‘I spoke with Reverend Jones at St Luke’s before the funerals and asked for, and in the end received, permission for Alex and Catherine’s ashes to be interred together in the churchyard. He knew both of them, and also witnessed the closeness between them. He, and other members of his church, although shocked at what had happened, took the view that forgiveness was the key, and in another world the couple would again share that same bond. We had the ashes buried in a corner of the graveyard, in urns side by side, together, with just a simple plaque. I remembered the words Alex said to Catherine at the end of their wedding ceremony when he placed the rings on her finger. “Together always”, he said. I put their wedding rings and Catherine’s engagement ring in a watertight container and placed it with the urns, so they would always be together. No one knows that apart from me – and now you.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve done the best I can for them. I hope they would have approved.’

  She looked so sad, just sitting there with her memories. Christa gave her a hug and held her close.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Christa. I knew that the moment I saw you. I do so hope Peter can see it too.’ She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. ‘Please, my dear, don’t keep calling me “Mrs McIntyre”, call me “Sarah”. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go upstairs and have a lie down. I’ve a bit of a headache.’ She gave an apologetic smile. ‘Jerry hates to see me upset about all of this.’

  Christa sat b
y herself at the big table, trying to take in all she had been told, waiting for Peter and Jerry to return and thinking of the man in Canada who knew nothing.

  *

  ‘You know there will have been tears when we get back?’

  Jerry looked over at Peter. The young man bent his head and studied his glass.

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve begun to think that it might be better for all of you if I start life on my own somewhere, without my presence around all the time – a reminder.’

  ‘You must do what you think is best for you. I hope we’ve helped you in the past, and we intend to continue to do so. I can’t deny that I worry about the effect the whole matter is still having on Sarah. I get the impression, though, that if you were away from us she might worry even more. Peter, she was so very fond of your mother – and of your father – and for her, nothing will replace them. The loyalty she has for them cannot accept the facts of what happened, and until she does, the situation for her will remain unresolved. I, too, find what happened hard to believe, but the facts are there.’

  ‘What would you like me to do, Jerry?’

  The resigned weariness in Peter’s voice caused Jerry some discomfort. He was being unfair to the boy, placing blame on his shoulders for something of which he was innocent. He thought back to the day in the hospital just after Peter had been born, when Alex had disclosed to him the momentary resentment he had felt against his own child. The boy had already been through enough. Now wasn’t the time to heap onto him the worries Jerry had about his wife. They had to stand by him for the whole journey.

  ‘Let it rest for now, Peter. With Christa being so involved with our family, questions were bound to be asked. I’m sure it will all settle down again. Just concentrate on your work, that’s more than enough for you at the moment.’