The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  Over the last couple of years this had become his second home. When his wife died ten years ago, and with only one son living in Canada, he’d sold the family home and moved into a small residential hotel. It suited him well; his suite was furnished with items from his old home and kept spotless by the hotel staff. He enjoyed three good meals a day, and if he wished for company he could go down to the lounge for a game of bridge, chess or Scrabble. He was also within walking distance of the golf club, where he spent many happy hours.

  But though he got on well with his fellow residents, it was Rose’s company he most enjoyed. Quite apart from the fact that she was an attractive woman, they seemed somehow to be of like mind. He admired her intelligence, her sense of purpose, and looked forward to this weekly coffee morning and the lunch he gave her at the hotel once a month. Apart from these regular engagements, from time to time they visited theatres and concerts and went on organized coach trips to places of interest. It was, he thought gratefully, a good life, even without Helen.

  On Rose’s part, the arrangement was equally agreeable. She enjoyed male company and missed the cut and thrust of the stimulating conversations she’d been used to with her husband. She also enjoyed their monthly lunches in the rather sedate atmosphere of the Rosemount Hotel, where the residents, however longstanding, addressed each other as ‘Mr’ and ‘Mrs’ with what now seemed old-fashioned courtesy.

  Over time, several of them had started to join her and Henry for coffee in the lounge after lunch. One in particular, punctiliously addressed as ‘Mrs Hill’, had a daughter who lived in the town and was a source of local news that might otherwise not have come Rose’s way. ‘Daphne was telling me …’ had become a promising opening to a sentence.

  ‘And that lady you don’t care for?’ prompted Henry now. ‘I presume she was at the party?’

  Rose’s lips tightened. ‘Oh yes, she was there, bold as brass. I can’t think why Fleur invited her. After all, it’s not as if …’

  ‘As if?’

  But to his frustration Rose had clamped down. ‘Tell me what you’ve been doing since we last met,’ she instructed briskly.

  Henry sighed, wishing fancifully that the all-knowing Daphne were here to fill in the blanks. ‘It was the Merriweathers’ Diamond Wedding on Wednesday,’ he volunteered a little reluctantly. ‘Their son and daughter-in-law flew back from Hong Kong for the occasion and we were treated to champagne before dinner.’

  The Merriweathers, Rose recalled, were one of the two married couples living at the hotel. Of the remaining residents, six were ladies, four widowed and two unmarried, leaving Henry and a Mr Warren, to whom she’d barely spoken.

  ‘Sixty years,’ she said pensively. ‘Malcolm and I managed only forty-seven. How long were you married, Henry?’

  ‘Forty-five, so you did marginally better than we did. But they were happy years, Rose, as I believe yours were.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, very happy.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘Still, you were telling me about the Merriweathers. What line is their son in, to be based in Hong Kong?’

  And the conversation, having teetered on the brink of the maudlin, was safely restored to normal.

  For the first time he could remember, Patrick felt apprehensive as he arrived at his former home, realizing to his slight surprise that it was some time since he’d been there, despite living only five miles away. He saw Dad at the office, of course, but couldn’t recall when he’d last had any meaningful conversation with his mother.

  ‘Only me!’ he called with false cheerfulness, and Amy came running down the stairs.

  ‘Just in time for coffee!’ she said brightly.

  Kathryn Linscott emerged from the sitting room, offering her cheek as her son bent to kiss her. ‘What is it they say about buses?’

  Patrick grinned shamefacedly. ‘Sorry I’ve not been for a while.’

  ‘So what brings you hotfoot today?’

  ‘Well, to see you. We didn’t get a chance to speak last night.’

  ‘And?’

  He grinned again. ‘OK, and also to retrieve a couple of books from my room.’

  ‘Well, you’re here now, so come and be sociable first. Did you enjoy yourself last night? You and Jess seemed to be having a heart-to-heart. Was it about her breaking up with that doctor?’

  Jess! Another thing to worry about! God, what was happening to his world?

  ‘No, we were just catching up,’ he said offhandedly, following her into the sitting room. It was empty and he came to a halt. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Playing golf,’ Kathryn replied.

  A wasted journey, then. He’d have a word to say to Amy, dragging him away from Tasha for no reason. Yet might it be better to approach their parents separately? He studied his mother more closely and saw with a tug of the heart that she suddenly looked older – the skin more tightly drawn over her cheekbones and shadows under her eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

  ‘You look tired, Mum,’ he said gently as Amy came in with the coffee.

  Kathryn flashed him a look of – what? suspicion? – but answered calmly, ‘Not surprising. I’m getting too old for late nights and it was well after midnight before we got to bed.’

  He seized on the ‘we’. ‘I hear Dad’s been banished to the guest room!’ he said half-jokingly.

  Kathryn raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m surprised Amy thought that worth passing on,’ she returned sharply. ‘But since you mention it, it was a mutual decision; we were disturbing each other.’

  ‘After all these years?’

  ‘Is everything all right, Mum?’ Amy asked tentatively, when she didn’t reply.

  Kathryn’s hand tightened on her mug. ‘What is this – an inquisition? Is this the real reason you called, Patrick?’

  Amy bit her lip. ‘It’s just that we’re worried about you both. You’re always snapping at each other these days and you never used to.’

  ‘On the contrary, we’ve always had minor disagreements – what couple doesn’t? I can’t imagine why you’re making such a fuss about it. Now, before I lose my temper, can we please change the subject?’ She turned to Patrick. ‘Has Amy told you about her latest project?’

  And there, perforce, they had to leave it. But it was a somewhat chastened Patrick who returned to Tasha later that morning.

  Fleur stood at the kitchen window gazing down the garden to where Owen was removing last night’s fairy lights. The day was slowly passing, but in the lull between those festivities and the dinner still ahead of them, the fear she’d succeeded in burying had again raised its head.

  This time yesterday, she thought ruefully, she’d been looking forward to the family gathering. Her brother Justin had rung to ask if there was anything she needed them to bring – which there was not – and Jess had already arrived and immediately taken herself off to the beach, claiming to have missed the sea air. All she’d had to worry about was whether the salmon would stretch to eighteen, but, as Owen had reminded her, there was also barbecued chicken, a whole ham and a goodly selection of salads, not to mention the desserts that were to follow. No one was likely to starve, and, satisfied all was ready, she’d gone up for a shower.

  And discovered it, this small but undeniable lump in her left breast. Shock and disbelief were swiftly overtaken by panic, then fervent denial. It was only a gland, she kept assuring herself – it must be – but why did it have to appear now, of all times? It had taken all her willpower to play her part as hostess, and by bedtime, when she and Owen were at last alone, it had seemed too late to talk it through. She still hadn’t told him, reasoning that it was better he remain in ignorance for the evening ahead.

  Oh God! She closed her eyes, gripping the rim of the sink, and tried to reason with herself. No point in dwelling on it till she was in a position to do something, and she had all tomorrow before having to decide whether or not to book a doctor’s appointment – by which time, of course, the lump might have disappeared.

  She sighed. Ther
e was, she had to admit, another reason to postpone meeting Dr Price: she’d not seen him since Jess broke off her relationship with his son. Should she mention it? Might he? Or should she be a coward, choose a day he wasn’t in surgery, and arrange to see one of his partners?

  She’d been staring sightlessly out of the window, but her eyes refocused as Owen began to make his way back towards the house and, catching sight of her, lifted his hand in a drinking gesture. She nodded and, grateful for the distraction, switched on the kettle.

  Holly Penrose stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror: heart-shaped face, short curly hair, wide brown eyes enlarged by horn-rimmed spectacles. She looked, she thought despairingly, about twelve.

  Of course she’d known when she married Stephen, more than twenty years her senior, that eyebrows would be raised, and had anticipated the tight-lipped disapproval of her parents. The more hurtful consequences – such as his children refusing to speak to them – had come as a shock, though perhaps they shouldn’t have, since she was after all a couple of years younger than his daughter.

  This weekend, though less traumatic, was also proving difficult. She’d tried to excuse herself on the grounds that, since they hadn’t broadcast their marriage, his friends would be expecting to see his ex-wife, but Stephen assured her only a few of their fellow guests had known Sally. Nonetheless, she was acutely aware that she looked more of an age with the daughter whose birthday they were celebrating than she did with her parents. And her ordeal wasn’t over; tonight she’d have to face some of them again in the more intimate setting of a restaurant.

  She slammed her hand on the dressing table. Damn it, she was twenty-five, had a first-class degree in modern languages and taught at a prestigious girls’ school, where she’d learned to smile when parents mistook her for one of the pupils. She should certainly be able to hold her own among Stephen’s friends. Her main fear was that in their company he might come to see her through their eyes.

  Stephen, on the other hand, showering in the adjoining bathroom, was looking forward to the evening. He and Owen had met only occasionally over the years, most notably when each was best man at the other’s wedding and, of course, at Cassie’s baptism, but there was a strong bond of friendship between them and he’d been grateful last night for the ease with which Owen had smoothed over what could have been awkward introductions for Holly.

  Fleur he’d met only a few times, though Sally had liked her. He seemed to remember there’d been some difficulty over their children, but whatever it was it must have resolved itself, since they now had three attractive daughters and it was his turn to experience problems with his offspring – problems, he fully accepted, of his own making.

  Soaping himself vigorously, he wondered again, as he had increasingly over the eighteen months of this marriage, whether he’d actually done Holly a disservice in marrying her. He still wasn’t sure how it had come about, since Sally, the mother of his children and the centre of his world since university days, remained the love of his life.

  But at the time there’d been friction between them, and on that fateful day she’d accused him of being pompous and self-satisfied, expecting everyone to kowtow as they did at the hospital, where he was senior thoracic surgeon. ‘They might think you’re God, but I don’t!’ she’d said bitingly.

  And because he’d known there was some truth in her words, they’d rankled and he’d reacted angrily. He’d had a meeting that evening, after which, since he was in no hurry to go home, he’d joined the others for a late supper. And it was there he had met Holly who, with a girlfriend, was at the next table. Had he gone straight home, he didn’t doubt that both he and Sally would have apologized and quite possibly made love, as often happened after a disagreement. Instead, he drank too much and joined in the banter that developed between the two tables, ending by inviting Holly to lunch the following day.

  The next morning, though appalled by his indiscretion, he’d felt duty-bound to honour it, while sincerely hoping she would not. In vain, of course, but during the meal he’d discovered she wasn’t the naive girl he’d assumed – who, now he’d fulfilled his obligation, he could thankfully forget – but an intelligent and astute young woman whose company he enjoyed. Furthermore, the admiration in her eyes as she quizzed him about his hospital work was a powerful antidote to Sally’s wounding comments and, telling himself it could do no harm, he’d arranged to see her again.

  It was on that second date – if it could be called that – that Stephen realized to his surprise that he found her attractive, at which point, if he’d had any sense at all, he should have gracefully withdrawn. But even though he procrastinated, he’d still had no intention of taking it further, simply enjoying the buzz and slight prick of danger that their meetings engendered.

  It was the third date that sealed his fate. As he dropped Holly outside her block of flats she’d reached up to kiss his cheek, and his jerk of surprise resulted in the meeting of their mouths. The effect was electric and totally unexpected to both of them, but it was immediately clear that there was no going back. He had completely lost his head, and as a result his marriage as well.

  Which brought him back full circle. He loved Holly – of course he did – even if not in the way he loved Sally. He’d made his bed (a singularly apposite cliché) and must now lie in it, and, more prosaically, bolster her confidence this evening, when she’d be faced with people she didn’t know and with whom she’d nothing at all in common. He was well aware that the dress she’d chosen was too formal for the occasion, no doubt designed to make her look older and more sophisticated, but although his heart ached for her he was powerless to rectify that.

  With a sigh, he stepped out of the shower and prepared for the evening.

  The Montpellier restaurant in the centre of town was renowned for its fine dining, and tables, particularly on Saturday nights, needed to be booked well in advance.

  Owen and Fleur, arriving intentionally ahead of the others, were greeted by the proprietor, Crispin Hynes.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Tempest! Good to see you! We’ve reserved a table as you requested, but I was wondering if you’d prefer to sit out in the courtyard, since it’s such a lovely evening?’

  Owen glanced through the open doors at the back of the restaurant to where several tables were already occupied. ‘What do you think, darling?’

  Fleur hesitated. ‘I think I’d prefer to eat indoors. It’ll get cool later, and there’s always the problem of midges, and moths too once the candles are lit.’

  ‘Of course, madam. I’ll show you to your table, then.’

  They followed him to a corner table by the window, and were just settling themselves when Fleur saw Lynn and Tony arrive and hesitate in the doorway. She raised a hand and they came to join them.

  ‘What a lovely restaurant!’ Lynn commented, seating herself opposite Fleur and looking about her. ‘In fact, I must say we’re very impressed with your town. We did a lightning tour of it today; Tony had his nose in a brochure and insisted on listing the features and history of everything we looked at!’

  Fleur smiled. ‘We certainly love it. As you know, I grew up here, and the thought of coming back softened the blow of leaving Bromley!’

  Tony and Lynn both laughed. ‘I bet it did!’ Tony said.

  A waiter appeared at Owen’s elbow. ‘Would you like to see the wine list, sir?’

  ‘You can bring it, yes, though we’re still waiting for a couple of friends.’

  As he moved away, Tony said, ‘And by the way, this is on us, so no unseemly arguing at the end of the meal!’

  ‘Oh, now look—’ Owen began, but Tony raised a hand.

  ‘Stephen’s completely in agreement; I had a word with him last night. You did us proud yesterday, now it’s our turn to reciprocate.’

  ‘But this was my suggestion, so we’d have a chance to talk! At least let us split it three ways—’

  ‘Not negotiable,’ Tony said.

  Any further discussion w
as cut short by the arrival of Stephen and Holly. They too paused in the doorway, and as Owen stood to greet them, Fleur and Lynn exchanged raised eyebrows. For Holly’s outfit was more suitable for a prestigious first night than a meal in a seaside restaurant. Her sleeveless dress was in dull gold satin, with a draped bodice that clung to her figure; she was carrying a gold clutch bag and wore high-heeled gold sandals. Stephen’s hand under her elbow seemed to Fleur to offer support as much as guidance.

  ‘Sorry we’re a little late,’ he said evenly. ‘The first taxi we ordered didn’t turn up.’

  ‘We’ve only just arrived ourselves,’ Tony said, pulling out a chair for Holly. He smiled at her. ‘As you can’t be expected to remember the names of everyone you met last night, I’m Tony and this is my wife Lynn, friends from Bromley.’

  Holly smiled at him gratefully. ‘And you’re both Cassie’s godparents, is that right?’

  ‘Quite correct.’

  The waiter who’d been hovering with a pile of menus now approached and these were handed round while Stephen and Tony, studying the wine list, consulted with Owen. Choices made and relayed, the waiter moved away and conversation resumed. Stephen made some comment to Lynn, who was seated on his left, and Fleur, not wanting Holly to feel left out, leaned towards her.

  ‘I see you went for the sea bass. Good choice! They have an interesting way of serving it, and it’s delicious!’

  Holly smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it, because I was spoilt for choice! But that’s the best part of eating out, isn’t it, the chance to try new dishes. Actually, Stephen and I met in a restaurant.’

  ‘Well, steak house!’ Stephen amended wryly.

  ‘He was at the next table,’ Holly continued. She gave a little laugh. ‘And to think, I very nearly didn’t go! I didn’t want to, but my flatmate finally persuaded me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you want to?’ Lynn asked.