Flex and fist, flex and fist. Heat spread through his fingers as his fist prepared for use. ‘Who the hell d’you think you are, coming here laying down the law?’
‘I’m Mrs Jenkins’ doctor. I’m entitled to know what care she’s receiving. And I want what’s best for Carrie too.’
‘And I don’t?’ He could feel a roar of rage building up, though his voice was soft.
‘I don’t know. You’re always claiming you’d do anything for her, but is this what she wants? Her mother stranded in hospital?’
He bridled. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m bringing her home.’
‘When?’
‘When I get round to it. Now clear out before I throw you out.’
Opening the door, Adam looked back. ‘You don’t deserve her,’ he said quietly and walked out.
That was too much. Ralph grabbed his shoulder and spun him about. ‘What did you say?’ He thrust his face forwards to fill Adam’s vision.
‘You heard. I pity that poor girl, married to you.’
Ralph glared. His fists were ready; the blood was in his fingers; his knuckles were like iron. For the space of a heartbeat, he stood ready, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in his brother’s eyes, even as Adam squared his shoulders in response. Then he laughed in Adam’s face.
He leant forward. ‘You don’t pity her,’ he whispered. ‘You want her for yourself. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
Adam’s face was unreadable, the eyes guarded in a way that was outside his character. ‘Don’t be a fool.’ He swung round and strode into the bitter wind.
It wasn’t easy for Evadne to ask for Carrie’s help. Still, better her than Ralph, who was the only other person she could think of. She didn’t want to ask Alex. It would look like a blatant attempt to impress him and she recoiled from that. Besides, she wasn’t doing it for his benefit: she wanted to do this for herself and that was a novel feeling. For years she had been trying to please Grandfather so he would invite her into his home. She had worked tirelessly to maintain her high standards to ensure the world saw her as the lady she was. But when had she ever done something purely for the pleasure of doing it?
She had to visit Carrie, anyway, to see the baby. Evadne had never been one for babies and didn’t expect to be interested in this one, but when she took the chair beside the bed and looked at the tiny shawled form in Carrie’s arms, something tender slid into place inside her. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch him, drawing in a breath of pure delight when a tiny starfish hand clamped around her finger.
In all those years when she had blithely taken it for granted that she would marry and have children, it was the getting married that had mattered. Children were just something that happened afterwards. She had had no idea that having children would matter too.
She almost spilt out her revelation to Carrie – almost – but she held back. How could she, when she was older by eight years, and still unmarried? The dreaded words on the shelf would appear in Carrie’s mind, if not on her lips.
She let Carrie prattle. The girl was thrilled about Joey, but upset because Ralph had sent Mother to hospital.
‘A reasonable thing to do, I’d have thought,’ said Evadne. ‘Or were you expecting the char to see to her? I’ll go and visit.’
‘There’s no need. Ralph’s having her brought home.’
Well then, what was the fuss about? ‘Has he mentioned that Mr Larter has invited me to accompany him on valuation visits? It is only right, now that I’m assisting with the auction work. I’d like to build up my knowledge and I wondered if Ralph has books I might borrow.’
‘I’m not sure. He seems to carry his knowledge around in his head. I expect Mr Larter does too.’
Evadne concealed a sneer. There was a clear distinction between the shopkeeper’s knowledge cobbled together tortuously by Ralph over the years and Alex’s elegant mastery of the subject that had soaked into his bones during a lifetime of gracious living.
‘If you’re really interested,’ Carrie said, sitting up straighter, ‘speak to Mr Weston. He used to work here. Ralph’s father had a high opinion of him and so does Adam, but Ralph wanted someone young and strong when he started the auction room.’
‘Does he live surrounded by fine items he could use to teach me?’
‘Well – no. He’s rather hard up, actually. He works one day a week at a posh antiques place in town and he does four mornings in the bookshop on Beech Road. You might know him. He goes to Brookburn to read to the patients.’
‘I have nothing to do with the patients. I’m in the office.’ And she made sure she stayed there. But it might be worth venturing forth if … ‘I can learn at Brookburn. The wards are pure hospital, but other parts of the building have some of the original furnishings. That might do the trick. Thank you, Carrie.’
She dropped a kiss on Carrie’s cheek. Drawing back, she saw the astonishment in her sister’s expression and was sure Carrie’s surprise was only a fraction of her own.
She adored Joey, but Carrie was sick to death of being stuck in bed. Yesterday she had ventured along the landing, but when Ralph had come across her snuggled with Joey in the armchair by the sitting-room fire, he had ordered her back to bed, plucking Joey from her arms to ensure she obeyed.
Back where she should be, she had held out her arms for her baby. ‘I really don’t need all this time in bed,’ she said, careful to smile and not sound complaining.
‘When you were growing up, did you imagine you’d marry a man who could afford to give you bed rest? You should be grateful.’
‘I am. You’ve done so much for me, and for Mam. I know how lucky we are.’
Today, lying against the pillows with Joey slumbering on her chest, she stroked his head with her finger, murmuring to him when he snuffled and stirred. It was wretched of her to be fed up of bed rest, but she couldn’t help it. Yes, she loved devoting herself to Joey and, yes, she was aware of her good fortune in having married so well. But how much luckier she would feel when she could take Joey out and show him off, when she could care for him alongside her daily tasks. That was what she longed for, to be up and doing, with Joey absorbed into her everyday life. Not being allowed to do so made her feel not lucky, but stifled.
She wanted Mam back too. Several days had passed since Ralph had agreed to bring her home, but nothing had happened and Carrie had had to bite her tongue. She didn’t want to nag. Ralph was a busy man with a shop to run, auctions to set up, valuations to make. She wished she hadn’t put Evadne off visiting the hospital.
‘Daddy will bring your nan home as soon as he can,’ she told Joey as he stirred. ‘And you know what I think? I think that wanting to be a proper nan to you will be just the medicine she needs to set her on the path to recovery.’
When Joey started to cry, she fed him, marvelling at the feeling of his mouth sucking energetically. She laid him against her shoulder to wind him, praising him when he burped. When she laid him in his cot, he began to grizzle.
‘You’re getting too used to being cuddled, that’s your trouble,’ she told him ruefully, ‘and I’m getting too used to doing the cuddling. That’s another reason we have to stop this bed-rest lark. You’re getting spoilt rotten. But you’ve got to settle now, my little love, because Mummy needs a wee.’
She crept across the room, glancing over her shoulder at Joey as she turned the doorknob. The door didn’t open. She was being too gentle because of not disturbing Joey, but it didn’t open when she tried firmly either. About to knock and call for help, she remembered Mrs Porter was out shopping. She experienced a moment of panic before telling herself not to be silly. The door was stuck – so what? It was only a matter of waiting.
The keyhole was empty. None of the rooms in the flat was ever locked; the keys were left in the doors just for somewhere to keep them. But the bedroom key was missing. And the door wouldn’t open. Surely Ralph wouldn’t have …?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
&
nbsp; ‘Are you sure we won’t be interrupted?’ Alex Larter asked as Ralph showed him into the flat.
‘Positive. The woman who does for us is out shopping and the wife is having bed rest.’
‘Bed rest?’ Larter quirked an eyebrow. ‘How … refined.’
Ralph clamped his jaw so hard his teeth almost cracked. ‘This way.’
He opened the door, intending to lead the way, but Larter marched in and stood looking round the sitting room, probably comparing it to the ancestral splendours he was used to. Ralph didn’t want to care what the Honourable bloody Alexander sodding Larter thought of his home. Did Larter find it pretentious that the Armstrong sitting room contained a walnut bureau and matching whatnot, a longcase clock, and a music canterbury beside the piano? Did he think these items should be for sale downstairs and the Armstrongs should live like cottagers?
Ralph went to the chimney breast, where a small door in the side announced the presence of an airing cupboard. He unlatched the door and reached in. He had taken the key from its hiding place earlier. Now he opened the secret compartment, standing so as to block Larter’s view.
‘I’ve never seen a safe inside an airing cupboard before,’ said Larter. ‘How domesticated.’
Ralph ignored that. He retrieved a flat item wrapped in cloth. Folding back the fabric, he held out the silver salver.
Larter nodded. ‘You’re sure Mrs Armstrong knows nothing?’
‘The old biddy had been dead for hours before Carrie got there. I’ve been using this bed-rest tripe to keep the police at bay. If they do speak to her, I’ve told her to keep her mouth shut.’
‘And will she?’
‘She does as she’s told.’
Larter gazed at the salver. Ralph wanted to thrust it into his upper-class hands with a brusque ‘Hold it yourself’. At last, Larter moved away, producing a gold cigarette case from an inside pocket. He extracted a cigarette but didn’t bother offering Ralph one.
Ralph threw the covering back across the salver and placed it on the table. ‘That’s caused us a lot of trouble, that salver.’
Larter inhaled and lifted his chin to blow a smoke ring. ‘You say that as if it’s the salver’s fault. The trouble, in fact, has been caused by you and “the wife”, as you so elegantly call her. You permitted her to see something she shouldn’t have seen, which you then left lying around for her to sell—’
‘It wasn’t left lying around.’
‘—and no sooner do you retrieve it than your wife blunders onto the scene, which in turn brings you to the attention of the police. Since you can suggest no connection between the dead woman and Mrs Armstrong, the police trawl through your records and, behold, the victim has made a purchase in your shop. Not only that, but Mrs Armstrong has helpfully written a description of the so-called silver-plated tray she bought. It’s the only item the police know for certain was stolen, no matter how many other bits and pieces you removed. They have been suitably taken care of, I suppose?’
‘Disposed of.’
‘Which leaves the police searching for this,’ Larter waved his cigarette at the wrapped salver, ‘in connection with not merely a burglary but also the brutal killing of a defenceless old lady, who no doubt led a blameless life and was kind to animals.’
‘I’m not a suspect.’
‘Because of this fiasco, the operation has been compromised when it has barely begun. You have displeased a number of people, Armstrong. You’re lucky not to be lying dead in the gutter, but interestingly the silver salver that could have been your downfall is also your guarantee of safety. We can’t draw attention to you, you see. So,’ he continued with a smile that twisted unpleasantly into the scar down his cheek, ‘you’re safe – unless, that is, the police ever suspect you of … anything.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘This is the second time in – how many months? – that you’ve been brought to the attention of the police; first as the son of a man whose death was never satisfactorily explained, now this. I don’t care for it and I’m not the only one. If you’ll be kind enough to wrap the salver, I’ll take it with me.’
‘Renton can wrap it,’ Ralph snarled.
‘I think not. He has so little experience. You’re the real shopkeeper.’
When Larter left with a brown paper parcel tied with string tucked securely under his arm, Ralph banged about in the back of the shop, venting his anger on various packing cases. Renton peeped round the door but hastily withdrew, no doubt reckoning Ralph would have preferred to inflict damage on human flesh and bone. Ralph sneered after him. Bloody coward. He had been right to scarper.
The instant the door opened, Carrie pricked up her ears, but was too late to hear whether a key had turned in the lock first. Wondering made her feel disloyal, yet the fact remained that the key was missing and the door hadn’t budged.
Anxious to ask, though without actually asking, she said, ‘You had no trouble with the door. It wouldn’t open for me earlier.’
‘You’re not supposed to be out of bed.’
‘I needed to be excused. The key wasn’t in the lock.’
‘So what? The door’s not locked.’ Ralph bent down and when he stood up, the key was in his hand. ‘Fallen on the floor, not that it matters.’
He stepped aside and she scuttled through. Indoor plumbing: yet another thing to be grateful for, though she still felt uncomfortable using it in case she could be heard through the door.
Returning to the bedroom, she found Ralph bent over the cot, his finger caught in Joey’s eager clutches, and emptiness rocked her. How wrong it was, how unfair. If any man deserved to be loved by his wife, Ralph was that man. When she thought of everything he had done for her, including the all-important thing he didn’t know about, she could have sunk to the floor and kissed his feet.
But she had learnt one painful lesson. No amount of gratitude could make you love someone. She had hoped that when the baby came, loving her child would spill over into feelings for Ralph; but all she felt, all she continued to feel, all she dreaded she would ever feel was – gratitude.
And it wasn’t enough.
She was an ungrateful wretch. And that was a stupid thing to think, because ungrateful was the last thing she was. Wasn’t her head stuffed full of lists of the many things she was grateful for? New shoes; her pantry groaning with provisions; the hairbrush backed with mother-of-pearl; a dressing table with a triple mirror. She felt like a princess standing in front of those mirrors and wished she were prettier, for Ralph’s sake. And the bath, too, the sheer luxury of turning on taps and wallowing in scented water as regularly as she pleased.
If only she could love Ralph! A sharp longing invaded her hollowed-out heart. After everything he had given her, still she craved more. She yearned to feel bound to him in the truest, deepest sense, but it would never happen. Some animal part of her wanted to howl in desolation.
She climbed back into bed.
‘Let me have him,’ she whispered, not meeting Ralph’s eyes.
‘He’s asleep.’
‘Please.’
She thought he would refuse, but he lifted Joey into her waiting arms. She settled back with Joey on her chest, his head beneath her chin, her hands tenderly supporting his little body. It was her favourite way of holding him. Ralph bent down and she knew she must raise her lips to his. His tongue filled her mouth, huge and questing, tangling with her own.
He drew back slightly, his breath warm on her face, eyes gleaming. ‘Can’t wait for bed rest to be over.’
‘Ralph,’ she murmured, dismayed.
‘I mean it literally, Carrie. I can’t wait. Straight after the seven o’clock feed. We’ve got some catching up to do.’
Heat suffused her cheeks as he left her. That was another thing she had learnt: marital relations didn’t make you love someone. He could help himself to her body as much as he liked, but he would never touch her heart.
A loud voice broke in on her thoughts. Ralph’s vo
ice, raised in anger, made her pulse flutter. There were some noises that she couldn’t identify, then another voice, a man’s, loud yet conveying an impression that he was endeavouring to keep his voice down. She wanted to get up and investigate, but Joey was snuggled on her chest, sleeping sweetly. She held him closer to protect him from the noise, dropping kisses on the soft fluff of his hair.
The bedroom door was thrown open and as her gaze flew to Ralph, she experienced a sensation of something igniting inside her chest as her heart reached out in unreserved response. She was utterly still, held captive in the moment. There was an instant of communication between the two of them, private and complete and deeply harmonious, as if their love had already been tested and found staunch and true. She felt safe and whole; she had the most wonderful sense of family. She and Joey and Ralph were bound together in the truest sense. She wanted to hold on to the moment and savour it for ever.
A sound on the landing, a movement. Then Ralph pushed his way in from behind, shoving Adam aside. Carrie blinked. Her eyes made the adjustment and her heart froze.
Adam.
The silence was sudden and deep. Ralph was staring at her. He wrenched his gaze away and challenged his brother.
‘What the bloody hell d’you think you’re doing? Get out of my wife’s bedroom!’
‘I thought she’d like to know I’ve brought Mrs Jenkins home – since you couldn’t be bothered.’
Ralph dragged him from the room. There were more sounds, louder than before. With her baby nestled on her chest, Carrie remained motionless, propped on her pile of pillows. Deep inside, her soul quaked.
Adam.
Chapter Thirty
Evadne had succeeded. She had managed, in the most sympathetic way possible, to get one of Grandfather’s neighbours to agree to a valuation. It hadn’t been easy. First she had had to butter up Grandfather’s housekeeper, a woman she had never cultivated because it had long been her intention to oust her, but eventually, Mrs Hanbury had unbent sufficiently to chat about the neighbours over a pot of tea. Evadne learnt that old Mrs Warburton over the road had let go one of her maids, and she had had two maids for donkey’s years, as Evadne could remember from those halcyon days when she and Mother had resided in Parrs Wood.
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