Emma got up and emptied the remains of her coffee into the sink and rinsed the cup under the tap. She turned the cup upside down and put it on the draining board. Her actions all looked to be mechanical, with little or no thought behind them.
‘Say something, Emma.’
Emma turned round and leaned against the sink. ‘I’ll phone Max.’
‘He’ll only lie to you again,’ Laura warned her, ‘like he’s been doing all along.’
Emma had to admit that her sister was right: Max had been deliberately misleading her, but she couldn’t think of any reason why. ‘I will deal with it, Laura,’ she said suddenly, ‘I promise.’
Laura went across to her sister and put her arms around her. ‘Emma, I don’t want to see you lured into another disastrous relationship.’ She stepped away but kept hold of Emma. ‘You may think you love him, but he can’t be trusted. He probably has a wife and is looking for someone on the side.’
Emma smiled and nodded. ‘You’re right, Laura. I’ll ring him and tell him it’s finished.’
Laura wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s my girl. There are plenty more fish in the sea.’
She went back to her mug, drained her coffee and blew a kiss to Emma. ‘I’ll catch you later.’
Emma watched her go, wondering how she should approach Max and stop the relationship. She knew it would be hard for her, but judging from Laura’s take on it, Max would probably write it off and look for someone else.
Laura’s words kept buzzing around in her head, but she knew she had to face Max’s deception and finish the relationship permanently. Although she knew it would hurt, Emma still hoped there was an explanation and that Max would turn out to be a good guy anyway.
She was getting close to plucking up the courage to ring him when the phone in her kitchen rang. She picked it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Emma Johnson?’ the voice asked.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad I found you. This is Mary Scott. I’m the receptionist at the Oak Leaves Care Home in King’s Lynn.’
Emma’s senses suddenly heightened. Her grandmother was in the care home at King’s Lynn. ‘Is it about my grandmother?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to bring the sad news. Your grandmother passed away last week. I’ve been trying to get hold of you since then. I wanted to tell you that the funeral is Monday at the Lynn Crematorium. Two o’clock.’
Emma’s shoulders slumped. ‘Thank you. I’ll see if I can get up there. I think it’s only me and my sister left on this side of the family.’
‘Yes, quite. Well, once again, I am sorry to bring the sad news, but at least I was able to contact you in time. Would you like me to arrange flowers for you?’
Emma shook her head. ‘No, thanks, I’ll pick something up on the way.’ She put the phone down.
Suddenly all thoughts of ringing Max had gone out of her head. Subconsciously, Emma could use the death of her grandmother as a reason to delay ringing him. It lifted her spirits, which made her feel a little guilty that she found some kind of illogical solace in the death of her grandmother.
Max was throwing things into a suitcase and scratching his head about what to pack and what not to. He had a lunch appointment with his agent and an invitation to spend a weekend with Jacintha, his editor. As much as he liked Jacintha, he wasn’t that mad on her husband, and definitely did not like the screaming kids that always seemed to be attached to her skirt whenever he visited. He was also due to fly out to America for a six-week book tour the following week; something he could have done without, but his publisher, and more importantly his army of readers, demanded it.
He checked his watch for about the tenth time that morning, knowing that a taxi would be turning up very shortly, and cursed the fact that he was trying to pack too much into such a short space of time. He had toyed with the idea of asking Emma to go with him to America, but that would have meant revealing to her the truth about who he was. He dearly wanted to court Emma in some kind of old-fashioned way, where the relationship grew with trust and fondness. But Max was also aware of how people could have their emotions distorted when wealth came into the picture. He didn’t want Emma to fall in love with his fortune; he wanted her to fall in love with him. That meant the invitation to go to America with him was a non-starter.
He heard the sound of a car horn outside. Five minutes later, he was on his way to the station to begin a long weekend that he wished he could be spending with Emma. He decided to phone her later and arrange a few days together before flying off to America and the dreaded book tour.
Emma and Laura travelled up to London on the Monday morning, catching the early train. Then took a taxi across to King’s Cross and the 11.15 a.m. to King’s Lynn. The journey time was about ninety minutes, which gave them plenty of time to make the funeral at two o’clock. It was a fine day and the two sisters reminisced about the times when they were children and the excitement of travelling by train.
The train was fast and quiet, and this made the journey so much more enjoyable. The carriage was not completely full, and Emma noticed that many of the passengers, particularly the young ones, spent a great deal of time on their smartphones, tablets and androids. Some were reading books, others chatting. The two women used the buffet service that came by trolley: another innovation that delighted Emma.
The train began to slow as it approached Cambridge. Emma gazed out of the window at the countryside and thought how lovely it would be to live in rural England. Laura had started reading a book, and was taking no notice of the approach to the city. As the speed of the train dropped, Emma was able to take in more of the approach to the station and people standing on the platform. Then she saw something that took her breath away: Max was standing on the opposite platform and beside him stood a woman with two children. She saw Max laugh and put his arm around the woman. She was so struck by the unexpected appearance that she tried to keep watching as the train moved further away. Finally, having bent forward until she had almost toppled from her seat, Emma sank back into the chairs, absolutely stunned.
Laura looked at her and could see the look of astonishment on her face. ‘What’s up, Emma?’ Emma’s mouth moved but no words came out. Laura pivoted round in her seat and shook her sister. ‘Emma, what’s the matter?
Emma shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve just seen Max,’ she said in disbelief.
Laura frowned. ‘What do you mean: you’ve just seen Max?’
‘He was standing on the platform.’ She hooked her thumb back in the direction of the station. ‘He was with a woman and two kids.’
‘Max?’
Emma nodded and tears started to flow. ‘Yes. He was with a woman. I saw him, Laura. He had two kids with him.’
‘So he is married,’ Laura said with emphasis and venom.
Emma turned her face towards her sister. The tears were now flowing freely. ‘He’s been lying, Laura; like you said.’
Laura sank back into the chair. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered and took hold of Emma’s hand. ‘You’re well shot of him then, that’s all I can say.’ She sat forward and turned to Emma again. ‘You haven’t phoned him yet, have you?
‘No, but I will when I get back tonight.’ She put her hands up to her face and brushed the tears away. ‘It’s finished now, Laura. That’s it.’
Laura squeezed her hand again. ‘I feel sorry for you, but at least he’s been found out.’
Emma laughed softly, despite the tears. ‘Thank God for Grandma,’ she said, ‘otherwise I would never have known.’
Max finally got back to his place after a torturous weekend with Jacintha and her screaming kids. Her husband hadn’t been much help either, and Jacintha only wanted to talk about the upcoming book tour. Max was only ever half listening; most of the time he was thinking of Emma and that he had to phone her and tell her he would be away for a few weeks.
He tossed his case onto the bed and emptied it quickly. Within a short while he had warmed up a takeaw
ay in his microwave and was thinking about Emma when his mobile phone rang. It took him a short, frantic twenty seconds to find it. Emma’s name appeared on the screen. His heart gave a lift as he pressed the phone to his ear.
‘Hello, Emma, sweetheart. How are you?’
‘Hi Max. Look, this won’t take long but there’s something I need to ask you.’
His mouth opened a little wider. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘What is it?’
‘How long have you worked for the Cambridge Gazette?’
Max’s heart almost stopped: he knew what was to come. ‘Well, I, erm.’ He was losing it. ‘It’s like this, Emma.’
‘No, Max,’ she interrupted, ‘you never did work for them, did you?’
‘Well, I didn’t want to—’
‘That’s right, Max,’ she interrupted again. ‘You didn’t want to tell me anything. You lied to me from the beginning and you haven’t stopped lying.’
‘Emma,’ he pleaded, but she wasn’t listening.
‘I know you’re married, Max, and you have kids.’
Max was stunned. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not married.’
‘Don’t bloody lie to me, Max,’ Emma shouted down the phone. He could hear her crying. ‘I had a bad relationship with my husband, Max, and I don’t want another,’ she went on. ‘He was always lying to me. It crushed the life out of me and I won’t let it happen again. We’re finished, Max: I don’t want to see you again.’
‘Emma!’
The phone went dead.
‘Emma!’ He looked at the phone as though it had a life of its own. Then he dialled Emma’s number and listened to the ringing tone repeating methodically in his ear. It kept going, but Max knew she wouldn’t answer it. He cancelled the call and tossed the phone onto the table. He sat there feeling desperately sorry for himself and in some way, sorry for Emma. He certainly didn’t feel like doing a book tour now: he felt empty and quite alone. He picked up the phone and tried Emma’s number again, but with the same result: nothing. He cancelled the call and slung the phone across the room. It hit the wall and shattered.
‘Fuck!’
The expletive echoed in his head and he cursed himself for his own stupidity and his unwillingness to trust Emma. Now he’d lost her. He got up from the chair and picked up the pieces of his shattered phone. He knew he would try again, but not until he had purchased a new phone. He consoled himself that perhaps the old saying about absence making the heart grow fonder would prove to be true in this case while he was in America. He hoped so. With that, he stuffed the remains of the phone into his pocket and set about getting ready for the next six, empty weeks of his life.
‘Have you heard from him yet?’ Laura asked.
Emma was peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. She turned round, the knife still in her hand. ‘Not yet.’
‘Do you expect him to try?’
Emma shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t have thought so.’ She picked up a potato and started peeling it. ‘It’s been three weeks. If he’d been as innocent as he claimed to be, he would be tearing the door down right now.’ She sliced the potato and dropped it into the saucepan. ‘So I must have caught him out, right?’
‘What do you think he was up to?’ Laura asked. ‘Apart from the obvious.’
Emma sighed and picked up another potato. ‘Oh, I don’t know. When I met him, he told me he used to visit Portsmouth years ago. He said his wife died a couple of years ago. Perhaps he was reliving his past.’ She dropped the peeled potato into the saucepan and picked up another one.
‘You think he used to live there?’
Emma waved the knife at her sister. ‘He was quite interested in a place out near Petersfield.’ She tipped her head back in thought. ‘Clanford Hall, I think he said.’ She began peeling the potato.
‘Did you go there?’
‘Not actually to the house itself.’ She dropped the potato into the saucepan and turned towards her sister. ‘Lovely place, though. We saw it from the side of the road.’
‘Do you think he could have lived there as a boy, then?
Emma shook her head and picked up another potato. ‘I don’t think so. Although,’ she said suddenly, slicing into the potato, ‘he did get quite concerned when he found out the place was going to be sold to a gambler.’
‘A gambler?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, a consortium or something.’ She dropped the potato into the saucepan.
Laura got up and stood beside her sister. ‘Do you miss him?’
Emma glanced sideways at her. ‘Miss him?’ she echoed. ‘Why should I miss him?’
Laura put her hand on the back of Emma’s head and rubbed it quickly. ‘Because you’ve peeled enough spuds to feed an army, that’s why!’
Emma looked down into the saucepan and the mountain of potatoes she’d peeled. She put her hand to her mouth and started to laugh. Laura smiled and soon the two of them were in fits of laughter.
When the hilarity had subsided, Emma was still leaning against the sink. ‘I suppose I do miss him, Laura,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s over now.’
‘You sure?’
Emma nodded her head firmly. ‘Yes. No more Max. I promise.’
TWELVE
Clanford Hall, 1979
Paul had come a long way since his encounter with the police at the night club in Horndean. There had been several since that day, including appearances at the local magistrates’ court. His list of cautions grew in parallel with his growing stature as something of a local villain, causing much heartache and pain to Kate and Michael. His little sister, Victoria, who was now fourteen going on fifteen, still looked up to him.
Paul’s association with Finnegan had led him on to bigger and better circumstances, and it wasn’t long before Paul was controlling a fair chunk of Finnegan’s domain in the underworld of drug dealing. Paul was not content with being number two in anyone’s organization and had plans to deal with Finnegan when the time was right. But there was something else he had to deal with first.
Paul put in few appearances at Clanford these days, spending most of his nights in Portsmouth and various haunts around Southsea. He had no problem finding a bed because there were so many young girls willing to accommodate him. For Paul, life was almost perfect, but there was one area of his life that he had to deal with; something he had first thought of when Kate had laid down some facts of life: the title to Clanford Estate.
Michael was working in the office when Paul put his head round the door. He had popped in to see Kate first, spending about half an hour with her. Kate never quizzed him about his business, always hoping that Paul’s income was derived legitimately from his delivery company. What Kate wasn’t aware of was that Paul had kept his delivery business going because it suited his purposes and was a good cover for his illicit deals. He had also set up the firm with a manager in place: one of Paul’s loyalists. She always hoped and prayed that Paul would be ready to inherit the title on his twenty-first birthday; something she was becoming increasingly unsure of.
Paul walked in and dropped into a chair. He began straight away. ‘Michael, I’m due to inherit the title to the estate in a little over a year, and as you can probably guess, I’m not that interested.’
Michael peered at him. ‘So?’
‘Well, I thought it would be a good idea if you inherited the title in my place.’
‘How would you work that, then?’
Paul leaned forward. ‘When I put this to Kate a long time ago, she said it couldn’t be done because of tax reasons; said it would all get a bit messy.’
Michael knew why. ‘Because I would be liable to capital gains if you passed the title on to me?’
‘Exactly,’ Paul agreed. ‘So I’ve got a plan.’
Michael was still holding a pen in his hand. He tossed it onto the desk top, leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. ‘Come on then, clever dick, what’s your plan?’
‘I want you and me to go to a notary, have our fingerprints take
n and swear under oath who we are: you would be me, and I would be you.’
Michael’s hands came down from behind his head. He studied Paul carefully, going over the ramifications of what his brother was suggesting.
‘Have you spoken to Kate about this?’ he asked.
Paul shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘I know you’re a tricky bastard, Paul,’ Michael told him, ‘but have you really thought this through?’
‘Yes. Look at it this way,’ he started evenly. ‘The only person who can tell us apart is Kate. Topper has a problem, Emily has, and sometimes even Victoria gets us mixed up. You can claim the estate in my place.’ He pushed forward. ‘You love this place, Michael, you know you do. How much better would it be if you owned it.’
Michael pondered this piece of illegal trickery, knowing that only someone like Paul could come up with such a hare-brained scheme. But he had to admit it had a tempting reality: he could become the rightful owner simply by telling a lie. And the one person who would be legally robbed of his right to the property would be the very man who was proposing the outrageous choice.
‘Kate would have to know,’ he said eventually.
Paul sat back in his chair. ‘You’re right, but not until we have sworn the declaration in front of a notary. We put the suggestion to her after it’s done, and if she disagrees we tell her it’s a fait accompli.’
‘That’s devious,’ Michael declared. ‘But then, you know how to be devious, don’t you?’
Paul knew his brother wanted this. The deceit was something he would have to live with, but his own desire to have the deeds in his name legally was enough to colour his judgement.
‘OK, Paul, we’ll do it.’
Paul reached over the desk and shook his hand. ‘Well done, Michael. I’ve got a notary lined up in Petersfield.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow morning. I’ll stop here tonight and we can get down there first thing.’
Michael nodded his assent and picked up his pen. ‘I have work to do now, Paul,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an estate to run.’
Past Imperfect Page 15
