A Tangled Thread

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘We’ll soon know,’ Will said grimly.

  The first heavy drops of rain were falling as, twenty minutes later, they turned into their grandparents’ drive, and Henry was at the open front door to greet them. He was tanned from his holiday, but there were bags under his eyes and he looked strained.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ he said. ‘Gran has some sandwiches ready in case you didn’t have time to eat.’

  Nina came bustling forward, hugging them tightly in turn. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said, her voice shaking, and their alarm deepened. ‘Come and sit down; there’s some food on a tray and—’

  Will spoke for both of them. ‘Gran, we won’t be able to eat till we hear what all this is about.’

  Henry indicated the sitting room and they went in and seated themselves expectantly. Having furnished them with drinks he sat down and leant forward, his hands clasped between his knees. ‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ he began, ‘but we have reason to believe that the man who was stabbed in Scotland was your father.’

  Into the shocked silence the hall clock started to chime, making them jump. When no one spoke, Henry continued, ‘We feared the worst when you mentioned the artist’s impression on the phone, and immediately checked online. Seeing the e-fit for ourselves left little room for doubt.’ He paused, then continued heavily, ‘Obviously we had to come home at once in case his real identity came to light before we’d a chance to speak to you.’ He brushed a hand across his face. ‘I wish to God I didn’t have to tell you all this.’

  David forced himself to speak, his voice seeming to echo round his head. ‘He was killed in a train crash in France, just before Will was born.’

  ‘No,’ Henry said gently, ‘he wasn’t.’

  Will said in a low voice, ‘You’re saying Mum lied to us all these years?’

  Nina made a sound, her hands going to her mouth.

  ‘She wanted to shield you from the truth,’ Henry said sadly. ‘Made us promise never to tell you, and in normal circumstances there’d have been no need for you to know.’

  ‘So what is the truth?’ David asked in a new, hard voice.

  Henry gave a deep sigh. ‘Your father was at Durham University in the seventies and Sally met him at a party during her nursing training. They started going out together and for a year or so were very close. She even brought him to see us once. He was handsome and charming, and it might be hindsight but I believe we had our reservations even then.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Will prompted, when his grandfather came to a halt.

  ‘What happened was that he graduated and went back down south. Sally was heartbroken, but they were both young and we told ourselves she’d get over it. And she seemed to: she passed her exams and started work at the hospital and a couple of years went by. Various young men were mentioned but she never brought them home and none of them lasted very long.

  ‘Then one day she rang up, bubbling with excitement. “Guess what?” she said. “Larry’s back! He’ll be working up here for the next couple of months. Isn’t that great?”

  ‘Well, we didn’t think it was great, but told ourselves that perhaps it would work out this time. The next we heard he was staying at her flat – saving on digs, no doubt. Then his stint of work ended, he returned home, and a few weeks later Sally told us she was pregnant. I was all for contacting Larry and making him face up to his responsibilities, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “It’s no good unless he wants to,” she said. So in due course David was born and your grandmother looked after him while Sally continued working at the hospital.’

  ‘But what about me?’ Will broke in. ‘I was born thirteen months after Dave.’

  ‘He came back, didn’t he?’ Henry said bitterly. ‘Another stint of work. Quite proud of his baby son, by all accounts, so he repeated the exercise.’ His voice hardened. ‘He was still around when Sally found she was pregnant again, and this time she did suggest they marry.’ Henry sat back in his chair, looking round at his audience. ‘At which point he calmly informed her he was already married.’

  ‘The bastard!’ David said softly.

  ‘Don’t think too harshly of your mother,’ Nina begged. ‘Whatever our opinion of him, Larry was the love of her life and she was prepared to take whatever he offered until she learned he was married. Then she sent him packing and never saw him again, but to give him his due he paid a considerable amount into her bank account, on the understanding it should be divided between the three of you. She invested your portions until you each reached eighteen.’

  A handful of rain rattled against the windows and thunder growled in the distance. Nina got up to switch on the light and they blinked in the sudden brightness. There was a short silence while they tried to digest what they’d heard. Eventually David said, ‘If he was married why hasn’t his wife identified him, and why is he calling himself Johnnie Stewart?’

  Henry lifted his shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘But there’s still the possibility he isn’t the man in the paper?’ Will pressed.

  ‘A faint one, I suppose.’

  ‘Could he have had a brother, perhaps?’

  ‘He could.’

  ‘Poor Mum,’ David said softly. ‘What a slap in the face for her.’

  ‘Yes; we decided a fresh start was called for, so we all upped sticks. She left Durham, we left Thirsk and we moved down here. Sally changed her surname to his, largely for your sakes, and re-trained as a chiropodist so that, with two small children, she could work from home. We’d suggested we all live together, at least for a while, but she was used to having her own place and determined to be independent.’

  Nina looked from one grandson to the other. ‘Darlings, we’re so sorry you’ve had to find out this way, especially so soon after her death.’

  Will made a dismissive gesture. ‘The question is what do we do now? Tell the Scottish police we can identify him?’

  ‘So from nobody knowing the truth about Dad, including us, now everyone will – our friends, our business colleagues, our kids …’ David’s voice tailed off.

  Nina laid a hand over his. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered again.

  Henry stood up. ‘Will’s right, we must contact the police. I made a note of the number so I suggest we get on to them straight away, tell them what we know and find out what – if anything – is required of us.’

  Foxclere

  Nigel was late returning from lunch and Victoria, busy with some customers, was aware of his concealed excitement. However, she’d no option but to contain her curiosity since the couple she was dealing with were choosing a ruby wedding present. Several times they’d been on the point of deciding on a painting when another had caught their eye and the whole process began again.

  It was another half-hour before the definitive choice was made and the customers left to collect their car and drive to the rear of the premises for their purchase to be loaded into it.

  ‘Now,’ Victoria said, as they folded corrugated cardboard round the corners of the frame and carefully wrapped it in brown paper, ‘why were you looking so smug when you came back from lunch?’

  ‘I’ve been playing detective,’ he said. ‘You’ll never guess who I saw downtown.’

  ‘Then I won’t waste time trying. Come on, tell me.’

  ‘Our friend from the café over the road.’

  Victoria paused, sticky tape in hand. ‘Really? Where was he?’

  ‘Coming out of the office block next to the bank. So on the spur of the moment I decided to tail him.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, he went into the White Horse, obviously for a pub lunch, so I followed him and sat down at the next table.’

  ‘Suppose he’d recognized you?’

  Nigel shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered if he had; it would never have occurred to him that I was following him. However,’ he went on, his voice heavy with portent, ‘you’ll never believe who joined him.’

  ‘Will you stop being s
o annoying!’

  Before he could continue there was the agreed toot from the yard behind the shop and he carried the unwieldy package out to the car. Victoria was waiting impatiently for his return.

  ‘So, who was it who joined him?’

  ‘The woman who claimed to be interested in local artists.’

  Victoria stared at him. ‘My God! So they’re in cahoots!’

  ‘It looks like it, though to what end I can’t imagine. Anyway, she might well have recognized me, so I kept my face turned away after that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they said anything incriminating?’ Victoria asked hopefully.

  ‘Hardly; they were discussing some meeting they had to go to. But I did get their names – their first names, anyway. He went to order their drinks and she called after him, “Bernard – better make it a small glass.” And later when they were arguing about something, he said, “I told you before, Tina, that won’t work.”’

  ‘Well done, Sherlock,’ Victoria said dryly. ‘That’s not going to get us very far.’

  ‘I just thought you’d be interested to hear that they know each other.’

  ‘Oh, I’m interested, all right. The point is, of course, we’ve no way of knowing, let alone proving, that they had anything to do with the break-in attempt.’

  ‘Well, I did glean something else; the meeting they were discussing apparently concerned a disputed insurance claim, so when I left the pub I went back to the building Bernard had come out of and looked at the brass plates outside. And guess what? One of the occupants is Selby and Frodsham, Insurance Brokers.’

  ‘Ah! Now that could be useful.’ She took out her mobile, searched for the number and then called it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Nigel hissed, and she made a shushing gesture.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ she said into the phone. ‘Could I speak to Bernard, please? I’m sorry, I can’t remember his surname. Davies? Yes, that’s it.’ She gave Nigel a thumbs up. ‘It’s Mavis Trilby calling.’

  Mavis Trilby? he mouthed with exaggeratedly raised eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, I’ll hold,’ Victoria said blithely and cut the connection. ‘Bernard Davies. Now we can look him up on the local register.’

  ‘Hey, slow down!’ Nigel protested. ‘For all we know the man hasn’t done anything except buy his girlfriend a pub lunch!’

  ‘But if anything else suspicious happens, at least we’ll have something to go on,’ Victoria said with satisfaction.

  Stonebridge

  Two Scottish detectives drove down to Stonebridge the next day, where David and Will, having arranged time off work, awaited them. They brought with them photographs of ‘the deceased’ and seemed disconcerted that, not having known their father, neither man could make a definite identification. There was, though, as they all agreed, a notable resemblance to the man in Sally’s album.

  ‘And he has quite a look of you too, sir,’ the more senior officer, who’d introduced himself as DS Grant, said to David.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate this is highly embarrassing for us,’ David replied, pouring coffee and handing it round. ‘Until last night we believed our father had died over thirty years ago. We still haven’t got our heads round it.’

  ‘And now?’ queried Grant.

  David glanced at his brother. ‘It seems likely the photos are of the same man.’

  ‘What can you tell us about your father?’

  ‘Virtually nothing. His name was Laurence Gregory; he met our mother at Durham University and … they fell in love.’

  ‘We were told he died in a train crash just before I was born,’ Will intercepted. ‘Which we now learn isn’t true.’

  ‘What about his family?’ the detective asked, stirring his coffee. ‘Where did he come from originally?’

  ‘I can ask my grandfather but I doubt if he’ll know; he just said he went back “down south”.’

  ‘There was no mention of his having lived in Australia?’

  The brothers looked surprised. ‘Not that we heard.’

  ‘But you must know something!’ Grant said a little impatiently. ‘Your mother must have spoken of him, surely?’

  ‘She said he was clever and witty and made her laugh, and she told us stories of things they did together and how he used to fool around, but there was nothing … concrete.’

  ‘And that satisfied you?’

  ‘We thought it upset her to speak about him – which it probably did.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea if he has any other living relatives?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Or what he’s been doing for the last thirty years?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘Not even what line of work he went into?’

  ‘No.’

  The two policemen exchanged an exasperated look.

  ‘So what happens now?’ David asked after a pause.

  ‘We’ll need you to make written statements.’

  ‘Both of us?’ Will objected. ‘They’d be identical – we were told at the same time.’

  ‘Nonetheless, sir. Whatever you may suppose, no two accounts are ever the same.’

  Unconvinced, the brothers sat at the dining table and recorded what their grandfather had told them, handing the signed accounts to DC Coombes as requested.

  Grant cleared his throat. ‘The only conclusive way of proving the deceased is or is not your father is by comparing your DNA with his. Would you be prepared to give samples?’

  David hesitated. ‘What would that involve?’

  ‘Accompanying us to your local police station where we can obtain mouth swabs.’

  David glanced at Will, who nodded. ‘Then yes, of course; we need to know.’

  ‘Suppose one of us matches and the other doesn’t?’ Will asked uneasily.

  ‘That would be something you’d have to deal with, sir,’ Grant said impassively.

  An hour later the policemen were on their way back to Scotland and the brothers went for a pub lunch before returning to their respective offices.

  ‘No wonder there was no marriage or death certificate,’ Will said bitterly. ‘I can’t believe we never suspected anything.’

  ‘No reason why we should,’ David pointed out. ‘His name’s on our birth certificates – I checked mine last night when I got home.’

  ‘You’d think he’d have shown some interest in us – how we were growing up, what we were doing and so on.’

  ‘From what Gran said, it sounds as though he and Mum didn’t part on the best of terms after she found he was married, but at least he made provision for us. We’d have had a much tougher time at uni without it.’

  Will’s thoughts moved on. ‘I wonder why he was stabbed.’

  ‘And what he was doing in Scotland, masquerading as Johnnie Stewart.’

  ‘A man of mystery, our father. And I can’t help wishing he’d remained so.’

  Foxclere

  By Wednesday morning Richard could stand it no longer. He had spent two wretched nights tossing and turning, and at school was permanently braced against the possibility of seeing Maria and the ensuing embarrassment.

  By now he had convinced himself that he’d behaved unforgivably and not at all as she’d had a right to expect after their previous encounters. You were so kind and helpful before, she’d said. What had got into him? And how could he rectify it? In the normal course of the school day their paths never crossed, which was why he’d barely recognized her at the bus stop that day. So how could he engineer a meeting in order to allow him to apologize?

  Hoping to corner her he went to the staff dining room for lunch, but to his chagrin she didn’t appear. However, returning to his room afterwards, he turned a corner and almost bumped into her. She looked upset, and to his horror on seeing him her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Maria!’ he exclaimed involuntarily, forgetting they were not on first name terms. ‘Has something happened?’

  She shook her head, obviously flustered, and made to pass hi
m but he caught hold of her arm. ‘You don’t look well,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down for a while and get your breath back.’

  She made a token resistance, then allowed herself to be led to his room where he closed the door and stood looking at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked quietly.

  Tears spilled down her cheek and she brushed them impatiently aside. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being extremely silly. You just … caught me at a bad moment.’ He waited and after a pause, not looking at him, she continued. ‘The Head sent for me just before lunch and I … I foolishly got in quite a state about it. I thought you must have reported me for harassing you and he was going to ask me to … leave.’ She looked up then, meeting his startled gaze. ‘Of course, it wasn’t that at all, so thank you for not doing. The tears were only of relief, I assure you.’

  She turned swiftly towards the door but he caught her arm.

  ‘I behaved very unreasonably,’ he said. ‘I’d no call whatever to speak to you the way I did and I was intending to apologize, but I never dreamt it could cause any upset.’ He could feel her trembling under his hand and his throat was dry. He forced a smile. ‘So let’s put the clock back to Monday and yes, Mrs Chiltern, of course I’ll show you the local golf clubs—’

  He broke off as she made a little choked sound and shook her head. ‘The point is you were right,’ she whispered.

  ‘Right?’ His voice clogged in his throat.

  ‘I had already researched the clubs, I was just using them as an excuse to … to see you.’ She looked up at him then, tearfully defiant. ‘So perhaps you had better report me.’

  ‘But I don’t … it was because …’ he stammered, and broke off with a gasp as she caught hold of his face and kissed him on the mouth. Then, before he could collect himself, she turned and fled.

  Having shown out the last pupil of the afternoon, Jill went into her sitting room, opened the bureau drawer and took out the cutting of the dead man, experiencing, as she did each time she looked at it, a shock of recognition. Yet of course it couldn’t be Greg; he’d died last year and his estate had been wound up. It was pointless to keep torturing herself like this, but the sketch was so unnervingly like him that she knew she’d have no peace till she learned who this man was. Where was his family and why hadn’t they made contact? She shuddered. No one deserved to lie for weeks in a mortuary with no one to mourn them.