I smiled and murmured a thank you, but the nurse had already turned around and was leading the way down the wide hallway to one of the passages running off at the far end. We followed her. Finally, stopping in front of the door I knew led to Silvie’s suite, she tapped lightly and went in.
It was a beautiful room, decorated in white and gold with gold velvet curtains at the wide windows that overlooked the extensive, well-maintained gardens edged by tall lime trees. Off to one side was a splendid bedroom with en-suite lavender coloured bathroom with a pretty selection of bath essences and soaps. It was also equipped with an ugly hoist.
My kid sister was sitting, supported by a kind of harness with a headrest, in a wheelchair in front of the old-style French doors. She had heard us come in but couldn’t turn her head to actually see us. One arm waggled over the side of the chair and she made a series of murmurs and gurgles. I swallowed my betraying emotions and strode across the room.
‘Hi, Silvie. How’s my best girl? How’re you doing, sweetheart?’ I wrapped my arms round her and hugged and hugged.
Physical contact, as the matron had informed me years ago, was vitally important, helping her to feel loved, integrated and part of her surrounding world. It also gave her a reassuring sense of security and peace. Silvie had gold-star care and lived a cosseted, pampered, hideously constrained life in a luxurious prison – the very best I could afford for her.
She nuzzled into my face and I kissed her gently. ‘Annabel’s here too – look.’ I moved away to let her see.
‘Hello, my precious.’ Annabel enveloped her in a big hug.
Silvie gurgled with pleasure.
‘I’ll leave you all for now,’ the nurse said, ‘but I’ll send in a tray of coffee, OK?’
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Thanks very much.’ Coffee would indeed be welcome.
I sat beside Silvie and held her hand. It seemed even frailer than the last time. With her short brown hair styled in an urchin cut and her pale porcelain skin, she could have been mistaken for a twelve-year-old.
I realized with shame it had been nearly seven weeks since I’d last visited Silvie. One week before my accident I’d driven over by myself to spend an hour with her. Any longer was too tiring and much frowned on by the nursing staff. But that was before I came off Gold Sovereign at Huntingdon. I hadn’t been since.
She was looking at my leg now with puzzlement, her face creased and tense. Even in her limited state, she knew something wasn’t right. I patted her hand and took it gently in mine and placed it on top of the plaster.
‘It’s hard, isn’t it? And cold. My leg’s still there, underneath, fairly soft and warm, but I hurt it. I fell off a horse, daft thing to do, wasn’t it? When I come to see you next time the plaster will be all gone and my leg will be better.’
I squeezed her hand gently and smiled. Whether she understood any of it was doubtful but she enjoyed the sound of the human voice, plus the tactile aspect.
Reaching round to my back pocket, I withdrew a rolled-up pretty battered brochure that a zoo in Lincolnshire issued to their day visitors. Once, years ago, I’d visited with a previous girlfriend and kept the illustrated handout to show Silvie, thinking she might enjoy it. The girlfriend was long gone but the brochure had endured. It had proved a big hit with Silvie. Every time I visited, she expected me to show it to her. Even after all this time, it still held her attention and seemed to give her pleasure.
Now, I laid it on her knee and we pored over the pictures of brightly coloured parrots, monkeys and seals, even a big cat, a Lynx with spots and whirls on its pelt. She made little happy noises as I took her finger and traced the different creatures and explained all about them.
Annabel sat on her other side with an arm around her and joined in. We were so engrossed, the three of us, we didn’t notice the nurse return with a tray of coffee and a feeder beaker of juice. Annabel and I sat and drank our coffee whilst the nurse skilfully helped Silvie.
I hadn’t realized the hour had gone by but I knew the tray was a gentle reminder that as soon as we’d finished our refreshment, it was time to leave so that Silvie could rest. She tired very quickly, and indeed, casting a covert glance at her face, I could see her eyelids beginning to droop. Annabel had noticed, too. She replaced her cup on the tray.
‘We have to go now, precious.’ She gave her a last hug.
‘Afraid so, Silvie,’ I agreed, holding her face between both my palms and covering her face with soft kisses. ‘But we’ll come again soon, very soon.’
The nurse accompanied us to the front door. ‘If you wouldn’t mind signing out, please. It helps if there should be an emergency, like a fire, to know who is in the building.’
‘Of course. And thank you all so much for looking after Silvie. If there’s anything she needs, just give me a call.’
‘Her needs are really very simple.’ The nurse smiled. ‘But we will let you know if there is anything.’
I thanked her again and we took our leave.
The drive back was not exactly sombre but coming face-to-face with the brutal reality of Silvie’s life did sober you up. It made you grateful for your own health, even if a little impaired.
It also opened your eyes, made you realize the full scope of your own life, your own opportunities, as opposed to the restricted reality she lived in.
I thought about Uncle George declining the chance to see her. But freshly raw from the previous hour, I could see that it wasn’t an experience that a stranger could cope with easily. Perhaps, like myself, he was just scared of breaking down in front of her.
‘Silvie really enjoyed our visit.’ Annabel finally broke the silence as she turned at the roundabout and drove on to the A52.
‘Mmmm, yes, she did.’
‘It’s much harder on you, Harry, than it is on her. You do know that.’
‘Yes, I know. Doesn’t help.’
‘No,’ she sighed, ‘I don’t expect it does.’
‘I’ll just bury myself in work when I get back – that helps.’
‘Good.’
She said no more and when we reached Harlequin Cottage, she declined my invitation to come in.
‘No, I won’t if you don’t mind, must get back.’
‘You’re one in a million – you know that, don’t you? How many other women would accompany their virtual ex-husband to visit his disabled half-sister? Very few.’
‘She was in our lives from the very first, Harry. When I agreed to marry you, I knew my future would also include Silvie. I accepted that, and accepted willingly.’
‘But we’re not together, Annabel. There are no perks for you, are there? Just a lot of hurt.’
She bit her lip and looked down at the steering wheel. ‘I’ve moved on, Harry. Jeffrey’s in my life now. He makes me happy.’
‘Does he?’ I said softly. ‘Does he make you as happy as we used to be? I would guess not. What we had was sublime. You can’t top that.’
‘Please, don’t remind me.’ Tears shimmered in her eyes and I felt like a complete heel.
‘I’m sorry, sorry … Forgive me, Annabel. I’d cut my arm off before I’d hurt you.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that? There’s no need to apologise, I know you’re hurting very much right now. And it’s bad and it’s frustrating because there’s nothing you can do to help her. Go in and get down to all that pile of work you need to be doing. You said it would help so go and get stuck in.’
She gave me no time to answer but whipped the Jaguar round, drove out of the gate and roared away down the lane.
I stood listening to the throaty roar of the powerful engine until I could no longer hear it. Then I went inside the cottage and closed the door.
FOURTEEN
For the next three weeks or so I did as she’d ordered and worked on Elspeth’s biography. Not exclusively, though. I took time off for a couple of things.
A vet’s visit with a less than cooperative Leo – who returned minus his bandage, but lashing an i
rate now fully healed tail against the indignities of being pinned down on the surgery examination table.
And somewhat similarly, going off myself to hospital, transported and escorted by a jubilant Mike. The plaster had been duly cut off, my kneecap freed from the ring of wire surrounding it and an X-ray had proved the knee had ‘fused exceptionally well’ – the orthopaedic chap’s words. Apparently, I could now look forward to masses of physio at regular intervals.
‘Soon be in the saddle again.’ Mike patted the driving wheel happily as, minus the plaster and crutches, I climbed in with just a walking stick for the journey home.
‘I’m still grounded, Mike. What matters now is the soft tissue and nerve recovery.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he waved his hand airily, ‘a formality for the normal man, not you.’
‘Thank you very much.’
I’d resisted his entreaties to celebrate in his local pub and gone straight back to the computer and the biography. It was really taking shape and I’d telephoned Elspeth and asked for the shoeboxes of information and press cuttings about her middle years as a trainer. She’d had them ferried over by the uncommunicative John and I’d ploughed on, clarifying the odd query with her over the telephone.
But all the time, part of my instinct was alert for any possible danger. It was unwarranted. The cottage remained intact; there were no further attempts to finish me off. And so far, I had not come across anything detrimental to Marriot’s reputation. My antennae stopped twitching and settled down.
Until one Friday morning, the telephone rang and it was Uncle George.
‘Harry? I’ve given up waiting for you to call me.’
‘Yes, sorry about that. I’ve been busy on this biography. Have to be, until I have a final verdict about my racing future.’
‘Ah, yes, your leg injury. Rough luck that. Is it about anybody interesting, this book?’
‘Elspeth Maudsley.’
‘The lady trainer who’s retiring?’
‘Yes,’ I said, surprised. ‘How did you know?’
‘Rachel’s sister, Lucy, y’know, who she has lunch with on Fridays? Well, seems they’re both members of the same women’s guild. Elspeth, apparently, told her she was getting her autobiography out soon. And Lucy reports back all the gossip to Rachel, of course.’
‘Of course. It’s called the sisterhood.’
‘Anyway, can you manage this lunchtime? I’d really like to talk to you.’
‘Well, I’ve got rid of my plaster so I’m more mobile.’
‘Glad to hear it but I think I’ll drive over and pick you up. Shall we say in about an hour?’
‘Fine by me. Look forward to seeing you.’
‘Just point me towards a pub, any will do.’ Uncle George, true to his word, had turned up an hour later. I pointed; Uncle George drove.
The Royal Oak was in the centre of the village, about a mile from the cottage. He bought the beers and we ordered a ploughman’s lunch each. Choosing one of the corner alcove tables, he sat down and took a long pull from his glass. Then he cleared his throat.
‘How much do you know, Harry?’
I stared uncomprehendingly at him. ‘About what?’
‘Your mother’s relationship with me, for a start.’
He’d floored me from the off. ‘All I know is you got her through the difficult time after Father’s death.’
‘Yes, that’s true enough. Don’t forget though, your father was also my brother. I needed support too, and Elisabeth helped me more than she realized.’
‘I don’t really want to know the intimate details. I mean, the outcome was impossible to keep secret.’
‘You’re referring to Silvie?’
‘Of course I am.’ I gulped my beer. I was finding this conversation unexpected and awkward.
‘She will be eighteen very soon now – no longer a child.’
‘True enough. And thank you for setting up the trust fund. I can’t deny the financial relief will be very welcome, especially now my own future is so uncertain.’
It was Uncle George’s turn to stare at me. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You don’t have to be modest, or pretend. Mother told me. You’ve set up a large sum of money to be paid over to Silvie when she comes of age. It was to be used for supporting her, paying for her care and so on.’
‘Elizabeth told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you actually spoken to the solicitor, seen the paperwork then?’
‘I know Mother went to see our family solicitor years and years ago. But I’ve never been. She just told me.’
He ran a thumb along the edge of his chin. ‘This is very difficult for me, Harry …’ He paused as two piled plates of lunch arrived.
The young girl placed the meal on the table before us, smiled and said, ‘Enjoy.’
When she had gone, Uncle George resumed speaking. ‘I suggest you go to see your solicitor, ask him about this document, actually take a look at it, if he will allow you to. Familiarize yourself with it – and the clauses.’
He didn’t meet my eyes but started eating his meal. I slowly followed his example and tried to marshal my thoughts.
‘Why do I think that wasn’t what you were going to say?’ I nodded in the direction of the waitress. ‘Before she turned up.’ He didn’t answer. ‘Come on, Uncle George. What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Look, son, just do as I ask, go to see the solicitor. I can’t, and Elizabeth’s gone, so it has to be you.’
‘What do you want to know?’ I forked in some more of the delicious Stilton. ‘It doesn’t make much sense. You and my mother arranged this between yourselves. I was never consulted – nor told any details. Except that when Silvie came of age, she would be financially secure. I mean, for goodness’ sake, I was just a kid myself, only sixteen. I simply accepted what Mother said and I’ve thought no more about it for nearly eighteen years.’
‘I’ll admit I was going to tell you a secret, something I’ve not told anyone else, but I can’t. I need you to do this for me first. I promise, as soon as you’ve seen the solicitor, we’ll meet up again and I’ll tell you everything … everything, OK?’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’ve gone down the pan financially, is that it? There’s no money left in the pot? Because if it is you’re not alone. Half the country’s flat broke. There’s no shame in it, you know.’
He stared morosely at his plate. He wasn’t going to tell me. I reminded myself he was not a young man. It wasn’t fair to hassle him.
‘OK.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll make an appointment and speak to the solicitor. How’s that?’ I saw the tension leave his face and he relaxed.
‘I’d be very grateful, son.’
‘I’ll sort it out with Nigel first thing Monday,’ I promised reassuringly, but at the same time my heart dropped below floorboards because it now seemed Silvie would no longer be cushioned and secure. She was going to be my sole responsibility and I didn’t know how I was going to bring home the bacon.
‘Who’s Nigel?’
‘The family solicitor. He took over when his father died. He’s a sound chap. Don’t worry about it any more, Uncle George.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’
I tried a change of conversation to lighten things. ‘Aunt Rachel lunching with her sister?’
‘Hmm.’ He nodded, having resumed eating.
‘Let’s hope she enjoys it and comes home in a good humour.’
‘Ha.’ He washed down the food with a mouthful of beer. ‘Talking about Lucy, it’s reminded me about the second thing I wanted to tell you about, well, ask you, really.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘This lady trainer, she has a son called Marriot, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you met him, had any dealings with him at all?’
‘Our paths have crossed.’
‘A nasty piece of work. Watch your back, Harry.’
‘Whoa, you’ll have to explain. In what way?’
‘Le
t’s say he looks out for number one, right down the line. And if anyone poses a threat in any way he can get very, well, protective of himself.’
‘Have you had first-hand experience, then?’
‘In the past, yes. When I was still in business. And through his father.’
I stared at him and felt a tingle along my spine. ‘Through Victor Maudsley?’
‘Yes.’
‘How come?’
‘Golf,’ he said succinctly and placed his knife and fork neatly on his plate. ‘We were golfing buddies, way back.’
‘Are you still?’
‘Nay, son, not any more. Not since Rachel put a stop to my … er … activities.’ He looked embarrassed and I didn’t pursue it, but my mind was doing somersaults.
‘What do you know about Marriot? What’s he do? I know he’s not in racing. I could ask Elspeth, but so far I haven’t done.’ I didn’t intend to either. I didn’t want her to tell Marriot I’d been asking.
‘Since he married into the Simpson family he’s been a director in the family brewery business. His wife’s name is Chloe. There’s one daughter, no sons.’
‘Any children?’
Uncle George shook his head. ‘Not so far. But they’ve only been married about three years. Marriot got around quite a bit as a young buck – was over forty when he married Chloe. Did very well for himself there.’
‘And she’s younger than him?’
‘Quite a lot. In her late twenties, I think. The wedding was a big affair, written up in one of the glossies. Rachel pointed it out to me.’
‘And where do they hang out?’
‘The old ancestral pile or one wing of it, anyway. Up in Derbyshire.’
‘Hmm, may find some coverage in one of Elspeth’s shoeboxes.’
‘Why are you so interested in Marriot?’
‘I think there’s something I’ll discover doing this biography and in some way it’s harmful to Marriot. He knows I’ll find out. That’s why he’s scared. And whatever it is, it’s got clout. I’ve had one or two unpleasant “accidents” since I started this book.’
‘You think Marriot’s behind them?’
Dead Certainty Page 10
