The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Love?’ Ron broke into her musings. ‘Snap out of it, OK? Granted Jess will be in Italy, but we might be able to fix something with Cassie and Verity.’

  Jenny, her eyes suddenly wet, laid a hand over his on the steering wheel. ‘You’re very good to me,’ she said humbly.

  It was over. The guests had gone, the house was more or less restored to normal, and the girls had retired to their rooms to be reunited with their iPhones. Alone for the first time in hours, Fleur was suddenly swamped by the fear she’d kept buried, and immediately ruthlessly repressed it. She would not think about this now, nor would she say anything to Owen. Not tonight. If they started to discuss it, she’d have no chance of sleep.

  Holding her mind in abeyance, she took a last look round the sitting room, retrieving a glass that had been half hidden by a chair. Lipstick round the rim, she noted, carrying it through to the kitchen. Who’d been sitting there? Oh yes, Holly, Stephen’s new wife. She’d been a surprise, being considerably younger than he was. Fleur had barely spoken to her during the evening – or, in fact, to anyone at any length. Which was why, knowing this would be the case, Owen had suggested that any godparents staying on for the weekend should meet them for dinner tomorrow evening. Sadly, Sue and David had to return home for a family wedding, but the others had readily agreed.

  Rinsing the glass under the tap, she recalled Owen’s reaction to the news that his friend had remarried. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up for the books!’ he’d commented. ‘I just called Stephen to invite them to the party, only to be told he and Sally divorced last year, he’s now married to someone else and his kids won’t speak to him!’

  ‘I don’t blame them!’ she’d replied. ‘He didn’t waste much time!’

  ‘Exactly. Probably been a bit of nooky going on for a while.’ Owen gave a short laugh. ‘I must say I never thought old Stephen had it in him!’

  ‘So is he bringing the new wife?’

  ‘Yep. Pity, though; I liked Sally – she was at uni with us and they got married while we were still there. This new one’s bound to feel out of her depth, not knowing anyone.’

  ‘Not really; none of the couples know each other well, except the Dawsons and Barlows. She’ll be fine.’

  And the evening did seem to have gone well, Fleur, holding on to this distraction, reflected now. Even the usual awkwardness with Jenny had been glossed over. Cassie had looked gorgeous, Verity had for once refrained from taking centre stage, and Jess … After her mother’s vaguely unsettling comment Fleur had studied her eldest daughter more closely, noting that she was indeed paler than usual, even slightly on edge. Still, Owen was probably right and she was just in need of a holiday.

  The sound of the front door diverted her musings, signalling his return from escorting Rose home.

  ‘Mamma safely delivered,’ he reported. ‘And before you ask, yes, I waited until the front door had closed behind her.’

  ‘Thanks, darling. She seemed to enjoy herself.’

  ‘And no doubt she’ll enjoy even more reporting back to Henry, adding the odd cryptic comment.’ Henry Parsons, an elderly widower, was Rose’s friend and admirer, a fact that gave rise to scurrilous speculation among her granddaughters. ‘Ready for a nightcap, now we can both relax?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said gratefully, ‘but first, I could do with a hug!’

  ‘Happy to oblige!’ he said, and as his arms came round her she held on to him, eyes tightly shut. Please God, she prayed incoherently, let everything be all right.

  Upstairs, Verity, at fifteen the youngest of the sisters, lay on her bed next to the cat, who’d taken refuge there during the party, and switched on her phone.

  ‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Peace at last!’

  ‘Was it as bad as expected, or did you actually enjoy it?’

  ‘What do you think? Cassie prancing around looking pleased with herself, and a houseful of relatives! To crown it all my aunt actually told me I’d grown! How old must you be before they stop saying that? God knows why I had to be there anyway – no one took much notice of me and it was only the thought of tomorrow that kept me going.’

  The cat nudged her hand and she automatically began to stroke him.

  ‘Well, the good news is that Paul’s dad will let him have the car.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great, Lizzie! So we can try that new place in Weston!’

  ‘Possibly not,’ Lizzie cautioned. ‘Matt says they’re very hot on checking ages, but there’s plenty of other places. Unless, of course’ – a teasing note came into her voice – ‘you’d rather change your mind and join Cassie at the tennis club?’

  ‘You have to be joking! So what time are we meeting?’

  ‘Well, since it’s Saturday we were thinking of making a day of it – taking a picnic lunch to the beach and going on somewhere later.’

  ‘Fab! Everyone here has something on – Mum and Dad are out for dinner and Jess is off to Italy. Have you spoken to Penny and Si?’

  ‘Yes, they’re up for it, and we can just about fit six in the car. Call for you about eleven? The boys are bringing cans of Coke, I’m taking sausages and Penny’s providing sandwiches. Could you supply something?’

  ‘No prob. I’ll have a choice of leftovers from tonight. See you later.’

  Verity clicked off her phone, scooped up the protesting cat and, opening her bedroom door, deposited him on the landing. ‘Time for your evening prowl, Minty,’ she said, ignoring his reproachful look as she closed the door and, in a much better frame of mind, went back to bed.

  On his drive home Patrick’s conversation with Jess on the staircase kept repeating itself in his head and he grew progressively more anxious. Involving someone dying, she’d said. And serious repercussions. What the hell had she meant? He’d known damn well the question wasn’t hypothetical. What had she got herself mixed up in?

  He’d made several attempts to speak to her during the remainder of the evening, but she’d adroitly managed to avoid him. Probably regretted mentioning it now, but he couldn’t let it go. As a last resort he’d sent her a text as he was about to drive home, asking her to call him; she would, he knew, check her phone as soon as she was alone. He switched to hands-free and throughout the journey waited impatiently for her call, but his phone remained silent. And, he remembered with frustration, she was going on holiday first thing in the morning.

  Then, as if that wasn’t enough, there was Amy. She’d wanted a word with him about the parents, but the opportunity hadn’t arisen. She’d looked worried, though, and he wondered fleetingly if whatever it was might explain why the old man had been a bit fractious in the office lately. God! he thought with a touch of grim humour; he could do with going off to Italy himself!

  Unable to afford town prices when he bought his flat five years ago, Patrick had opted for a small development on the fringes of town. Several old houses had been converted into apartments and he’d been lucky enough to acquire the first floor of one of them, affording him larger rooms than modern houses could offer and a pleasant open outlook over a park. Furthermore it was only a ten-minute drive to the solicitors’ office where both he and his father worked.

  Caught up as he was with family concerns, it was with a sense of shock that, having run up the stairs to the flat, he saw a strip of light under his door. Tasha? he wondered with mounting excitement, and as he inserted his key and the door swung open, he was met with the unmistakable breath of her perfume.

  ‘So you decided to come home after all!’ she greeted him as he appeared in the sitting room doorway. ‘I was going to give you till midnight, then call it a day and go home.’ The clock on the mantel showed just after eleven thirty.

  She was curled up on the sofa, a glass of what looked like brandy in her hand, and he went quickly to kiss her. ‘What a pleasant surprise! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’

  ‘It was a spur of the moment thing. I was driving home, I was tired, and suddenly Exeter seemed a long way away. So I decided to break
my journey.’

  He smiled. ‘Nothing to do with wanting to see me, then?’

  ‘That was an added incentive,’ she acknowledged.

  ‘Can you stay for the weekend?’

  ‘Provided I can make use of your washing machine; I’ve been away three days. But where have you been till this hour on a Friday evening? Should I be jealous?’

  ‘If only! But no, it was a family do up at St Cat’s. A cousin’s eighteenth.’ He was pouring a drink for himself. ‘Believe me, I need this! With the drive home ahead of me, I had to limit my alcoholic intake.’

  He sat down beside her, marvelling as he always did at his luck, even though, to his chagrin, he could lay no claim to her. For Natasha Crombie was in a class of her own – high-powered, intelligent and very much her own woman. An Australian by birth, she worked for an international firm based in Exeter, and her proficiency in languages ensured that she spent at least half her life abroad.

  Described by acquaintances as striking, her nose being too thin and her mouth too full for beauty, she had nonetheless an arresting quality about her that invariably made passing strangers afford her a second, almost startled, glance. Just below six foot, she had a mane of copper-red hair that she wore up for work and clear, slate-grey eyes that steadily held those of anyone to whom she was speaking – a habit many people, unaccustomed to such directness, found unnerving.

  And Patrick Linscott, over whom girls had fought since he was sixteen, had fallen helplessly, totally and irrevocably in love with her, though he’d the sense not to let her see it.

  ‘And what about you?’ he asked, sipping his drink. ‘Where have you been this time?’

  She shrugged. ‘Around the UK, mostly to places that aren’t near airports, hence the car.’

  ‘So you won’t be dreaming in Spanish or Danish tonight?’

  She laughed. ‘Not tonight, no.’ She bent forward, put her empty glass on the coffee table and, turning towards him, traced the line of his jaw with one finger. ‘And talking of tonight …’ she said softly.

  Abandoning his own drink, Patrick pulled her into his arms. ‘God, Tasha,’ he said indistinctly, and at her instant and passionate response, all thoughts of Jess and Amy dissolved like mist in the noonday sun.

  TWO

  ‘I thought the others might have been staying here too,’ Lynn Dawson remarked. She and Tony were breakfasting in the sunlit dining room of the Grange Hotel.

  ‘Well, we knew Jenny and Ron wouldn’t be,’ Tony replied, reaching for the marmalade. ‘They go to the same B&B every year. As for the rest, with so many hotels to choose from, it would be more of a wonder if they were.’

  Lynn nodded absently. ‘Incredible to think Cassie’s eighteen. I’ve always felt responsible, you know, but it turned out for the best, didn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it did, love.’ There was an uncomfortable pause, then Tony went on quickly, ‘What did you think of our fellow godparents?’

  Lynn sighed, allowing herself to be diverted. ‘I liked David and Sue; it’s a pity they won’t be joining us this evening. A family wedding or something. I gather she was Fleur’s bridesmaid. I never got round to speaking to the other godfather. What was his name?’

  Tony grinned. ‘The cradle-snatcher? Stephen. Nice chap, actually. He told me he and Owen were at university together.’ He glanced at his wife’s still pensive face. ‘Well,’ he said bracingly, ‘if you’ve finished, let’s go out and explore! On previous visits we’ve always been with the Tempests, but today we can just be a couple of tourists!’

  Lynn laughed. ‘Sit on the pier and eat ice cream?’

  ‘That too, but there’s a lot more to the town. I was looking at some of the brochures in the foyer.’ He pulled a brightly coloured leaflet from his pocket. ‘They have a heritage museum and art gallery for starters, and a leisure complex containing a three-screen cinema, library and theatre. And there’s also a landscaped park in the centre of town that might be worth a look; it has a stream running through it and, believe it or not, a bandstand, where a brass band plays on Sundays during the season.’

  Lynn laughed. ‘They should co-opt you on to their tourist board!’

  Tony ignored her. ‘Added to which they’ve won several awards for the cleanest beach and the best kept promenade gardens.’

  ‘If we took in all that, we’d be exhausted by the end of the day!’ She flicked a glance at him. ‘I note you omitted to mention the attractions of the smart shopping centre that contains several designer shops!’

  Tony smiled. ‘Plenty of shops in Bromley. We’re at the seaside – let’s make the most of it!’

  The persistent ringing of his mobile eventually dragged Patrick from the depths of a heavy sleep and he fumbled blindly to retrieve it.

  ‘At last!’ said his sister’s voice crossly. ‘Where on earth were you? Down a coal mine?’

  ‘In bed, as it happens,’ he muttered.

  ‘Patrick, it’s ten o’clock!’

  Beside him Tasha murmured a sleepy protest and pulled the pillow over her head.

  ‘So what? It’s the weekend, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, are you compos mentis enough to have a lucid conversation? I wanted to speak to you last night but you were pretty elusive.’

  He sighed, ran a hand over his face and dragged himself into a sitting position ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s have it: what’s wrong?’

  ‘The parents, that’s what!’

  Patrick frowned as his mind began to clear. ‘What about them?’

  ‘They’ve hardly a civil word to say to each other at the moment. And – and Dad’s moved into the guest room.’

  ‘Oh God!’ He came fully awake, and at his change of tone Tasha removed the pillow and looked at him questioningly. ‘That sounds serious.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m really worried, Patrick.’

  ‘How long has this been going on?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. They seemed OK when I was home at Easter.’

  ‘Have they said anything? I mean, how did they explain being in separate bedrooms?’

  Beside him, Tasha gave a low whistle.

  ‘They didn’t, and it wasn’t something I could casually bring up. I did ask Mum jokingly if Dad’s snoring had got worse, but she just gave a tight-lipped smile and changed the subject.’

  Patrick said slowly, ‘He’s been pretty shirty at work lately, snapping everyone’s head off. It’s not like him, but it’s happened before when a client was being difficult, so I assumed it was work-related.’

  ‘When did that start?’

  ‘Oh, it’s been going on for a week or two. I asked if there was anything I could help him with, but he brushed it off.’

  There was a brief silence, then Amy said, ‘What can we do?’

  ‘How long are you home for?’

  ‘Only the weekend; I go back tomorrow evening.’ She was in her third year at an art college in Gloucestershire. ‘Could you pop round today?’ she suggested. ‘Say you want to collect a book from your old room or something?’

  Patrick glanced down at Tasha. Damn, damn, damn! ‘Well, actually …’

  ‘And don’t you dare say you have other plans! It’s our parents we’re talking about, and if we miss this chance to intervene, it might be too late.’

  Her raised voice had reached Tasha, who touched his arm and nodded.

  He sighed. ‘OK,’ he said ungraciously, ‘but I won’t be able to stay long.’

  ‘Let’s hope it won’t take long,’ Amy replied.

  While the Dawsons sampled St Catherine’s amenities and Patrick revised his plans, Rose was serving coffee to Henry Parsons.

  ‘So!’ he began, taking a biscuit. ‘How did it go? Were you the belle of the ball?’

  She smiled. ‘Hardly! I was the eldest by several decades.’

  ‘Nevertheless!’

  ‘Stop flattering me, Henry! The “belle”, as you put it, was undoubtedly Cassandra. She looked enchanting and seemed to
be enjoying herself enormously.’

  Rose paused, took a sip of coffee, and added reflectively, ‘Which is more than can be said for everyone.’

  ‘Oh?’ Henry sat back, prepared to enjoy a titbit. He was a small man with a neat, military-style moustache and a full head of silver hair. As always, he was immaculately turned out, from his bow-tie to his gleaming shoes. Such a credit to his late wife, Rose always thought.

  ‘So, was there a mishap of some kind?’ he prompted.

  She shook her head. ‘Not at all; it all went like clockwork, as I’d expect. This was altogether more subtle. Nothing I could put a finger on, but there were – undercurrents.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing! Can you elucidate?’

  ‘For one thing, Jessica and Patrick were huddled on the staircase with their heads together, looking decidedly secretive. I can’t imagine what they were talking about.’

  Henry’s moustache twitched. ‘How frustrating for you, my dear!’

  ‘Then,’ she continued, ‘there was a strained atmosphere between my son and his wife – too pointedly polite to each other, if you know what I mean, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed; their daughter Amy kept throwing them anxious glances. And on top of all that Verity was distinctly sulky for most of the evening, as though it was the last place she wanted to be.’

  ‘Perhaps it was.’

  ‘Then she should have known better than to show it,’ her grandmother said severely.

  Henry smiled. ‘Not much escapes you, does it, Rose?’

  ‘I’m observant, Henry, that’s all.’

  ‘As a hawk!’ he agreed.

  He gave a small sigh of contentment and, settling back in his chair, let his eyes wander through the open patio doors to the sunlit garden with its lush summer vegetation. ‘Too hot to sit outside,’ Rose had decreed, and he was more than happy to relax in her cool sitting room with its pale green upholstery and pink cushions, its set of framed prints and the maple side tables she’d brought with her from Sandstone.