‘What breed is he?’
‘Chesapeake Bay Retriever. Used to be Jack’s gun dog.’
‘Gun dog? As in hunting?’ Luke couldn’t keep the disapproval out of his voice. Typical of the Stewarts to be into callous blood sports.
‘Yes. A hunting dog. One of the best he was, so they say. Though why grown men should feel the need to go around blasting God’s own creatures out of the sky is beyond me. I blame it on too much red meat. Feeds the aggression.’
Luke grinned. ‘You could be on to somethin’ there.’
They continued chatting and Luke felt some of his tension release. He was comfortable in this kitchen, probably because it was the least formal place in the house. It was full of light from three big windows, and the copper pans hanging from the ceiling cast gleams of gold around the room. A rocking chair with patchwork cushions stood in the corner, and there was a cluster of large framed photos on the wall. Luke’s stomach lurched as his eye was caught by the central photo. Annie. Covered with streamers, holding on to Jack Stewart. The sight of his mother brought the pain of loss sharply back again. He stopped peeling. ‘When was that taken?’ he asked.
‘Your father doesn’t like that being there,’ said Maggie, as she came to stand beside him. ‘Doesn’t like reminders. He’ll never look in this direction. But this is my kitchen so I insisted. The picture was taken at New Year. Lord Leighton threw a big party. Annie looked beautiful that night. Her hair was done by a top Manchester stylist. Jack paid for him to come to the house.’ Maggie pointed to another photo, which Luke hadn’t noticed. Jack, Maggie, Annie and a small boy – obviously Matt. ‘And that one was taken in Spain,’ she continued. ‘We all went.’
Spain? Luke never knew his mother had been to Spain. He wondered what else he didn’t know. He looked at Jack and Annie, happy together, but the man had caused her so much heartache, and Luke dismissed the idea Jack had cared. It was easier that way.
‘Why did she leave, Luke?’ Maggie asked, sitting down at the table next to him. ‘Was it some trouble back in Ireland? Or was she homesick?’
Jack had covered his tracks well. Not even those he shared a house with could see through his lies. Eventually, he’d tackle Jack about that letter but would wait until he felt better, not just physically but emotionally. Jack would just deny it, and Luke wasn’t up to more arguments with him just yet, especially as he needed a safe refuge right now.
Is it money you want? Nicholas’s words were still there at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let such an insult go unchallenged. ‘She left because she wasn’t wanted. Made to feel she didn’t belong.’
‘Is that what she told you?’ Maggie looked shocked. It was hard to have to burst her bubble. Annie had shared some memories with him over the years, and Joe and Liam had relished giving him the rest of the details, things that were too painful for her to talk about.
‘It’s what I know. And what I saw last night.’ That ugly scene in the drawing room had confirmed the prejudice his mother said she’d experienced in Baronsmere.
‘I know Grace and Nicholas never accepted your mother. That was their loss. But she had Jack and Matt and me. We loved her. I hoped that would right the balance.’
‘Jack rejected her, too,’ Luke insisted.
‘No, I can’t believe that.’ Her expression was a combination of confusion and hurt, and Luke felt guilty. Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut? ‘Annie and Jack were happy together. Believe me. I saw them every day. When you live with people, know them well, you can sense their moods, see if things are wrong. There was never a hint of problems. Annie and Jack were soulmates. They belonged together. And they wanted a baby – they both wanted you.’
Her voice held such sadness that Luke knew without any doubt Maggie had loved his mother, and it was comforting but he shook his head. People saw what they wanted to see. They chose the good things to remember and ignored the bad because it was easier.
‘Matt had a part in a Sunday School play the week after Annie left,’ Maggie continued. ‘He was so excited. Only had a few lines but Annie rehearsed them with him over and over. She made his costume and was looking forward to watching him. And they were going to France for Easter, to stay with Matt’s grandparents – Caroline’s mum and dad. Annie was planning for a future here. There were no signs she was unhappy.’
Despite himself, Luke remembered the confusion in Jack’s eyes when he heard the accusation that he’d driven Annie away. Maybe the man had been as insensitive back then as he was now. Wrapped up in his wealth and precious status, blind to Annie’s suffering and his own parents’ insults. Or, Jack could just be a very good actor. Hadn’t he played the part of a loving father in front of the Guards? But even if there was some truth to Maggie’s version of events, nothing excused Jack’s later rejection of Annie when she’d begged him for help. That took cold, ruthless calculation.
‘Jack wasn’t even here the week Annie left,’ said Maggie. ‘He was in Brussels on business. So it’s not like they had a row or anything. I’d have known. I’d have seen it in her face.’
It was true Annie could never hide what she was feeling. She was too honest for that. ‘What did she say to you on her last day?’ he asked. Perhaps the clues were there. Maggie just needed some help to remember.
‘I wasn’t here,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘My sister had been ill. I used to go over to her place on Saturdays to clean up and cook. Matt was staying with a school-friend.’
So Annie had been alone. She could have had a nasty phone call from Jack and no one would have known. ‘Did she leave a note?’
‘No, nothing,’ said Maggie. ‘When I came back, she was gone, but I didn’t know until next day. I thought she’d gone to bed early. When I realised she was missing, I called everyone I could think of. Jack took the next flight home. He talked to the police, but they couldn’t do much. She’d withdrawn money from her bank account and taken her things. There was no reason to think she was in trouble.’
‘And he never tried to find her?’
‘They hired a detective,’ Maggie told him. ‘I never heard all the details but after he reported back, Jack changed. Became harder. Bitter. When I asked, he just said Annie didn’t want to come back and he wouldn’t talk about it. Jack was shattered, Luke. Didn’t eat, didn’t speak for days. And then your grandmother got to work on him, persuaded him to accept the rejection and move on. It was a mistake – I told him so – but he wouldn’t listen.’
Maggie seemed close to tears. No good was coming of raking over the past like this. She had to go on living here. Why spoil things for her? His real target was Jack – and Jack’s parents. He should leave the innocent alone. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s over and done. Perhaps it’s best to move on.’ He was doling out advice he himself had no intention of following.
She gave him a weak smile. ‘You’re right. The most important thing is that you’re here now, with us. Where you belong.’
When she leaned over and switched the radio on, music and chatter filled the room and Luke was thankful for it. He didn’t feel like talking any more.
Jack felt that familiar ache in his legs as he reached the summit of Hartswood Hill. Over thirty years of climbing it most weekends, yet it never got any easier. Still, it kept him fit. Plus it was a kind of active meditation. He was usually so focused on not stumbling over a rock and breaking his leg that worries slipped to the back of his mind.
But that wasn’t happening today. Because of Luke. Who could be here even longer than planned since Matt might not let go of him easily. Already lines were being drawn. Grace and Nicholas on one side, Matt and Maggie on the other. Just like before, when he’d tried to keep everybody happy, making sure Annie and his parents never had to spend much time together. He’d thought it was working out back then – he must have been blind.
He stared out at th
e view in front of him as if there might be an answer there. Baronsmere’s houses and cottages huddled close to the lake, the ancient mere. Trees hid his own house, but he could see Edenbridge set off grandly in its own grounds. Growing up in that place, more mausoleum than family home, had been depressing. Annie hadn’t taken to it either. She’d shivered in the draughty corridors and perched on the drawing room sofa like a bird about to take flight.
Jack had brought her up here on their second date. He’d told her the history of the Hartswood Hill area – how Henry VIII had hunted deer in the days when the hill was covered with trees. He’d shown her the villages, spread out around them like the four points of a compass: Baronsmere; Baronswood with St John’s Church, famous for its murals; Hadleigh dotted with farms and sheep; and Marsham, the former mill town with its ramshackle houses.
He’d shown Annie his world that day, the place where his roots ran deep. All human life – farm and factory, rich and poor – was here. He could think of nowhere better to raise a family, and he’d hoped she would fall in love with the view, with the place – with him.
A light rain was falling, but Jack stayed there in the open, feeling the droplets run down his face like tears. It had rained the last time he and Annie had been together on the Hill. Their first wedding anniversary. They’d waited under the weathered oak for the shower to pass, and Jack had carved JS & AS into the bark, surrounding the letters with a heart. It was still visible, and Jack gently traced it with his fingers, remembering how Annie had kissed him, her lips wet with the rain. A month later, she’d abandoned him. Had he missed a vital clue? Was the writing on the wall even then?
The beginnings of a March wind whispered around Jack like voices from the past …
‘Sarah told me she’s going to Brussels as well,’ said Annie.
The rain had stopped and they were sitting on a blanket on the Hill, watching the storm clouds roll away to the west.
‘She is. Sarah’s got big plans. She’s thinking of expanding the B&B into a hotel. She’s worked hard and she’s making a good profit now. She deserves one of those EU tourism grants.’ He’d written the application for her and now she’d get the chance to present her case in Brussels. It felt good to help someone out. There was no profit in it for him, just the satisfaction of seeing a childhood friend do well.
‘Why don’t I come with you?’ Annie suggested. ‘I’d like to see Brussels. And I’d be company for you.’
And a major distraction. Jack couldn’t focus on anything for long when Annie was around. ‘Sweetheart, I’d really prefer it if you stayed here with Matt. I don’t like us both being away from him, especially not when we wouldn’t even get to see each other much.’
Annie picked at the fringes of the blanket. ‘Sarah said there’s dinner and dancin’ in the evenings.’
Jack snorted. ‘It’s her first trip to Brussels. She’s going to be in for quite a surprise if she’s hoping for a lively nightlife. It’s not a vacation. EU meetings can go on forever.’
‘You’ve helped Sarah a lot.’
‘Well, Martin certainly hasn’t. God knows why she married someone so clueless about business.’
‘Maybe she loves him.’
That was Annie all over. Love was the answer to everything. Sometimes he wished he shared her uncomplicated view of the world. ‘She could have done better. I’ve told her so, too.’
Annie tutted. ‘That’s not nice.’
Jack kissed her hand. ‘Probably not. At least Martin’s better than that git my sister married. He never spends any time with her.’
‘At least your sister has Gavin although I think she’s a bit lonely now he’s at school.’
‘Speaking of children, Mrs Stewart … we need to think about making our own. Let’s go home and practise some more.’
‘Such a chore,’ said Annie, and laughed. ‘But you’ll have to catch me first.’
And she’d run back down the hill, sure-footed and nimble, stopping halfway, and calling back, mischievously, ‘Hurry up. I can’t run any slower.’
Was that it? Was Annie angry Jack wouldn’t take her to Brussels? Was she jealous of Sarah? Did she think perhaps they were having an affair? She’d seemed fine when he left, though. One of the many things he’d loved about her was she didn’t brood. But had it been an act? He took out his mobile phone and dialled Sarah’s number. No harm in checking if she remembered anything. Just to be sure. He’d suggest they meet at the flat above the pub instead of her cottage. She might be less forthcoming if her daughter was around.
Sarah Walker dabbed some miracle cream on the fine lines around her eyes. Three hundred pounds for a tiny jar, but it worked. For a while at least. Ageing gracefully was damned expensive. And hard work. Some days Sarah just wanted to shut the door in her trainer’s face and have an extra hour in bed. It would be so easy to let it all go, but she was the wrong side of forty to stop taking care of herself. Fifty was looming …
She checked the fridge: two bottles of Chablis, some foie gras, a jar of Beluga caviar and peaches soaked in honey. Jack’s favourites. Usually eaten after sex, they’d christened it PCF – post-coital food. She’d kept the fridge stocked these past two months just in case they got back together, but so far Jack had resisted every subtle attempt she’d made at reconciliation.
The reason Jack had broken up with her was just petty in Sarah’s opinion. He’d asked her to attend a dinner for the staff of one of his charities, expecting her to come along and listen to endless speeches and make small talk with some of the most boring people on the planet. That charity got thousands from Stewart Enterprises every year. Surely that was enough. Did they really need to be wined and dined as well? When she’d said that, Jack had gone ballistic and called her spoiled and thoughtless. So unjust.
He knew nothing about the sacrifices she’d made for him. He didn’t know she forced herself to read the dull property sections of the newspapers to be able to converse with him about his work. She faked an interest in rugby, had gone on many a tedious shooting weekend, and even pretended to like Jack’s bad-tempered old dog, Ollie. She had transformed this flat above the pub – now in many ways more luxurious than the cottage she shared with her daughter – into a safe haven for Jack, a place he could come to relax, be waited upon, and never talk about things he didn’t want to. How could he possibly criticise her for being thoughtless?
Perhaps it was just the male midlife crisis. He’d date a few bimbos, buy a fast car or two, and then return to Sarah’s net of comfort and harmony. He might even mention love again, a word that seemed to have vanished from his vocabulary in the past year or so. All it took was patience. She had plenty of that. And here he was now, coming round to see her. He’d been quite pleasant on the phone, asking after the nightclub, and Kate. Sarah would be kind and witty and attentive – show him what he’d been missing.
She was pouring two glasses of wine in the living room when she heard his key in the lock. ‘Through here, Jack!’ she called, and smiled as he walked in. He wasn’t smiling, though, and his green eyes were without their usual spark. She held out a glass. ‘Welcome back, stranger. Matt said you were on a business trip. How was it?’
‘Exhausting.’
His fingers brushed hers as he accepted the wine, and she felt a jolt of desire. Not so Jack, apparently. He took his drink and went over to the sofa.
‘You shouldn’t work so hard, Jack,’ she purred, sitting down next to him as close as possible. She could smell his cologne – the one she’d bought for him.
He took a big gulp of wine before he spoke. ‘It wasn’t work, Sarah. That’s why I came round. I need to talk to you …’
‘What is it? You can tell me anything, you know that.’ The seconds dragged by.
‘I was in Ireland. About Annie …’ Jack blurted out.
‘Annie? Your ex?’ The shock of his words hit
Sarah like an actual body blow. ‘So she contacted you – after all these years? The cheek …’
‘No, no, that’s not it.’ Jack stood up, paced the floor. ‘Annie’s dead. She died in a car crash just over a week ago. The police asked me to go and identify her.’
‘Oh …’ Sarah felt relief drain through her, then guilt. What kind of person was happy someone had died? Only it did finally free Jack for marriage. He could have gotten a divorce easily after Annie had been gone for seven years, but he’d always resisted, for no satisfactory reason he’d ever given Sarah.
‘I brought her back here,’ Jack was saying. ‘Didn’t know what else to do. None of her relatives were around to organise a funeral.’
He looked gutted. Sarah couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy. Twenty years gone, now dead, and Annie Kiernan’s power still held sway.
‘The funeral will be at St John’s. Next Wednesday. I wondered … would you maybe come to the service? I know it’s a lot to ask.’
‘Of course I’ll come. And I could sort out the catering if you’d like?’
He nodded and smiled appreciatively.
Just one question to get out of the way. ‘So – you’re not going to track down her family then?’
Jack shook his head and Sarah allowed herself to breathe again. ‘I’m still her next of kin, so the funeral’s up to me. At least I can give her a decent send-off. Her brothers probably couldn’t afford to do that. Wish Luke would see it that way – cut me some slack …’
‘Luke?’ Sarah jerked back on the sofa.
‘Turns out Annie had a son. Mine, apparently. An angry young man – mad at me, mad at the world. Twenty years and I never knew about Luke. Matt’s made up about it, though – he finally got that younger brother he always wanted.’
‘He’s here? In Baronsmere?’
‘I couldn’t just leave him over there,’ said Jack, frowning at her. ‘He was with Annie in the car. He nearly died, too. Needs looking after for a bit.’
‘Do your parents know?’
Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) Page 11
