A Family Concern

by Anthea Fraser

‘There you are, then,’ Max said enigmatically. ‘A complete series, ready and waiting for you.’

  ‘If they all agree.’

  ‘You’re joking! Refuse free publicity? Not on your life!’

  ‘If Barnie would, then.’

  ‘Well, he’s pleased with the way the Buckford articles are going. You could have a pull-out section of these too, and a binder to put them in. A different slant on what you did for Buckford.’

  ‘It’s certainly worth thinking about,’ Rona agreed, and, at his signal, moved to the kitchen table for supper.

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘Hello, my love.’

  ‘I’ve a favour to ask.’

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘Would you mind very much if we postponed our plans for the weekend?’

  His heart sank. They’d arranged to drive into the country for a pub lunch, followed by a walk if the weather was good enough, before going on to the early evening showing at the cinema. He’d been looking forward to it.

  ‘Of course not, if something else has come up,’ he lied.

  ‘Actually, it has. I’ve just had Daniel on the phone. As you know, they’ve been busy most weekends, then he was away on a couple of courses, so I still haven’t had a chance to tell them our news.’ She gave an apologetic little laugh. ‘It’s not something you can come out with on the phone.’

  ‘He wants to see you?’

  ‘Yes; they’ve invited me over for the weekend. It seems the ideal opportunity to put them in the picture; to be honest, I’ve been getting a little panicky about how far things were progressing without them knowing anything about it.’

  ‘As you say, the perfect opportunity.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘My darling, we’ll soon have every weekend together. Of course you must go.’

  ‘I knew you’d understand,’ Catherine said gratefully.

  Max settled back in his seat, glanced out of the window at the rain-swept runway, and opened his newspaper. He was not looking forward to the next twenty-four hours. Deep down, he admitted he was fond enough of his family; it was just that he preferred them at a distance. His mother had died when he was thirteen, and Cynthia, five years his senior, had acted as stand-in till he left for art college. She had been, then as now, well intentioned but bossy, and he knew he’d not made things easy for her. And Father had always been an awkward so-and-so. Rona, with her own close-knit family, could never understand his keeping them at arm’s length.

  Suppose the old man really was ill, though? In the manner of most offspring, Max had subconsciously expected him to go on for ever. That there might come a time – sooner rather than later – when he wouldn’t be there, to contact or not as Max chose, was unsettling. Cynthia and Rona were right: he should make an effort to establish more regular contact. Though how his father would react to such an approach was, he acknowledged wryly, anyone’s guess.

  Cynthia was waiting at the airport, and as Max caught sight of her short, rounded figure, he felt a surge of affection for her. He put an arm round her and pulled her against him.

  ‘Good to see you, Cyn.’

  ‘You too, you old reprobate.’ As always her tone was brisk, but he felt the tightening of her arm as she returned his hug.

  ‘How’s the old fella?’ Max asked, as he followed her to the car park.

  ‘A bit wheezy, and still not eating enough to keep a sparrow alive.’

  ‘He knows I’m coming?’

  ‘Oh yes. He might have had a heart attack if you’d walked in unannounced.’

  Max grinned. ‘OK, don’t rub it in. So when are we seeing him?’

  ‘I’ll drive you over after lunch.’ Cynthia stopped at a small Peugeot, opened the boot, and Max tossed his overnight bag inside.

  ‘It’s not a question of “we”, though,’ she continued as they got into the car. ‘I’ll drop you off, but I’m not coming in. You two need time alone together.’

  Max was alarmed. ‘Oh, come on now, sis, that’s not fair!’

  ‘What’s not fair,’ she retorted, ‘is your cutting yourself off for so long. It’s no use arguing, Max, it’s all settled. I’ll drop you off, as I said, then at five I’ll collect you both and bring Father back for dinner with us all.’

  ‘Does “all” include the boys?’

  Cynthia and her husband had two strapping sons, Michael and David, who, in their teens, had rechristened themselves Mike and Dave.

  ‘They sound like a comic double act,’ Cynthia had complained.

  ‘Yes, they’re both living at home at the moment. Paul says we make things too comfortable for them; there’s no incentive to find a place of their own, especially since they’re both working in Tynecastle.’

  ‘No sign of wedding bells?’

  Cynthia’s derisive snort was answer enough.

  Lindsey pushed her way through the swing doors of the Clarendon, grateful for its warmth on her wind-chilled face, and made her way down the broad, carpeted stairs to the Grill Room, where François, the maître d’, met her with a small bow.

  ‘Mr Cavendish is already here, madame. If you would come this way?’

  Obediently following in his wake, she caught sight of Hugh’s red head bent over the menu at a corner table. He stood at their approach, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as François pulled out her chair for her and took her jacket. For a moment longer she busied herself, taking off her gloves and dropping her bag to the floor, in order to cover the racing pulse that accompanied any meeting with her ex-husband.

  ‘You’re looking gorgeous, as always,’ Hugh said quietly.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  ‘Would you like to stick to the grill menu, or go for one of the chef’s specials?’

  ‘I think steak and a salad would be fine.’

  ‘A starter?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve under an hour and a half, Hugh; I’m seeing a client at two thirty.’

  ‘It would be good to meet without always having an eye on the clock,’ he said tightly. ‘Are you as circumscribed when you lunch with your colleague, or is that extendable in the guise of a business lunch?’

  She didn’t meet his eye. ‘It depends on my schedule; you know that.’

  He leaned forward, laying a hand on her wrist. ‘What I know is that I need to see you – really see you, Lindsey.’

  His hand seemed to burn through her skin and she forced herself to speak lightly. ‘Only in public, Hugh; that was the agreement. And if you were about to suggest your flat, that would be doubly unwise; Pops is renting one in Talbot Road from the end of the month.’

  He sat back in his chair, staring at her. ‘My block?’

  ‘Rona says not. However, it’s immaterial as far as we’re concerned.’

  He leaned forward urgently. ‘When are you going to stop all this nonsense and marry me again?’

  ‘Don’t rush me,’ she said.

  In truth though, Lindsey reflected, as Hugh relayed their order to the waiter, she had no intention of remarrying him. They’d been at each other’s throats before, and would be again. It was only physical attraction that kept them, unwillingly for the most part, still tied to each other.

  Roland Allerdyce lived in an old farmhouse on the fringes of a village some five miles from the town. He’d sold off the surrounding land when he bought it thirty years ago, but its barn, large and airy, had been converted into a centrally-heated studio that suited him admirably.

  The house was, of course, far too large for him, but he refused point-blank to consider moving, either to somewhere smaller, or to live with his daughter and her family. His devoted housekeeper, Doris Pemberton, who’d been with him from the start, ran the house with quiet efficiency, helped for the last five years by a woman from the village who came in twice a week to do the heavy cleaning. It was thanks to Mrs Pemberton’s ministrations that Cynthia was able to worry less about her father than she might otherwise have done.

  The old man came out to meet them as
they turned into the cobbled yard, the stiff breeze ruffling his still-plentiful hair. As Max quickly got out of the car and went to greet him, he was aware of shock. Though his father stood ramrod straight and was still the same height as Max himself, he seemed to have shrunk inside himself, the skin on his face falling away to leave nose and cheekbones more prominent and his clothes hanging loosely on his frame.

  ‘Father!’ Max clasped the veined hand thrust out at him, wincing at the strength of the grip.

  ‘So you’ve put in an appearance at last. Cynthia put the wind up you, did she? She’s been clucking round like a mother hen for months.’

  Cynthia wound down the car window. ‘I’ll be back at five,’ she called. ‘Enjoy yourselves!’

  ‘Humph!’ Roland Allerdyce turned back towards the house, Max at his side. Mrs Pemberton was waiting at the door, concerned that the old man had gone out in the cold without additional clothing.

  ‘Mr Max! Welcome home!’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs P. It’s – good to be back.’

  ‘There’s coffee in the den. I thought it would be more cosy in there.’

  Roland led the way to the small room that, in earlier times, had been known as the parlour, and Mrs Pemberton saw them settled with cups of coffee before leaving them to themselves. Max had forgotten how small the farmhouse windows were, and how low the ceilings. He and his father had both had to stoop when they came into the room. Small wonder it had been necessary to convert the barn into a studio. The room was already shadowed this winter afternoon, lit solely by the blazing open fire. The armchairs on either side of it were of worn leather, and Max settled back comfortably, coffee in hand.

  ‘So, Father, what’s the score? Honestly?’

  The old man held his eyes for a minute, then looked away. ‘Devil of a cough, that’s all. Won’t let me get a decent night’s sleep.’

  ‘Have you seen the doctor?’

  ‘What’s the point of bothering him? He has enough hypochondriacs on his books as it is.’

  ‘What’s this about not eating properly?’

  ‘Good God, boy, when you get to my age, you don’t need as much to keep you going. Mrs P, God bless her, can’t see it, and keeps trying to force-feed me.’

  ‘Will you do something for me, Father?’

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘I want you to promise to go to the doctor. You’re losing weight, and that’s not good at any age. Anyway, the world’s awaiting several more masterpieces, so don’t think you can slip away without anyone noticing.’

  Roland Allerdyce smiled. ‘I’ve missed you, boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘What are you working on at the moment?’

  ‘I’ll be delighted to talk shop, but only after I have your promise.’

  ‘I tell you there’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘I trust you’re right, but I’d like the doctor to confirm it.’

  There was a silence, measured by the wheezing tick of the clock on the mantelpiece.

  Finally the old man moved impatiently. ‘Oh, very well, then. If you’ve taken the trouble to fly up here, I suppose it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘You’ll go to the doctor?’

  ‘I’ll go to the doctor, dammit, for all the good it’ll do. Now, can we talk about something more interesting? How’s that independent young wife of yours?’

  And Max, promise duly extracted, settled back to enjoy his father’s company.

  Rona was taking some fishcakes from the freezer when the phone interrupted her. She glanced at the clock. Just before seven; on the early side for Max. With a jerk of her heart, she hoped it wasn’t bad news about the old man.

  She caught up the phone. ‘Hello?’ she said quickly.

  ‘Oh – hello,’ replied a hesitant voice. ‘Could I speak to Max, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s not here. Who’s speaking?’

  Another pause. Then: ‘It’s Adele Yarborough, Rona. Sorry to trouble you, but I thought he’d be home by now.’

  ‘Afraid not,’ Rona said crisply. She would not explain where Max was; it was no business of Adele Yarborough’s.

  ‘What time are you expecting him?’ she persisted.

  ‘Not until tomorrow lunchtime, actually.’

  ‘Oh. I thought Friday was one of his home nights?’

  His home nights? Max, Rona remembered uncomfortably, had used the same expression. How much did this woman know about their domestic arrangements?

  She maintained a steely silence, and after a minute Adele said, ‘Right. Well, sorry to have troubled you. It’s – not important.’

  She waited for Rona to make a comment, and when she did not, added, ‘Goodbye, then.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Rona said, and put down the phone.

  Four

  Max did not open his newspaper on his return flight. Instead, he stared out of the window at the massed clouds below, his mind full of impressions of the last twenty-four hours. It had given him a jolt to see how frail his previously invincible father had looked, and the cough that rattled in his chest from time to time was alarming. It was to be hoped he’d fulfil his promise of seeking medical advice.

  Max had enjoyed their masculine tête-à-tête by the fire; God knows when they’d last had one, and he’d been increasingly aware of guilt at his long absence. The evening at Cynthia and Paul’s had been relaxed and informal, and to his surprise he had found himself enjoying his family’s company. His nephews, both in their early twenties, were pleasant, self-confident young men, one an accountant, the other following his father into the Inland Revenue, which elicited the usual quota of jokes. Neither seemed to have inherited their grandfather’s artistic tendencies, though in Cynthia the creative urge had manifested itself in exquisite embroidery – on tray cloths, cushions, bedspreads and framed pictures throughout her house. Max had always marvelled that her short, stubby fingers could achieve such miracles of precision.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Max,’ she had said at the airport. ‘I’ve been on at Father for weeks to go to the doctor, but one word from you, and he caves in!’

  ‘Perhaps it had got to the stage when he was worried himself, even if he wouldn’t admit it. And thank you, Cyn, for stirring my dormant conscience. I’ve been very remiss about coming up, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to pay regular visits from now on. Say every couple of months?’

  ‘That’d be great. We’d love to see you, and I know Father would be delighted.’

  ‘You’ll let me know what the doctor says?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll fix an appointment as soon as I get back. Take care of yourself, and love to Rona. Bring her up with you next time.’

  His father had made the same request; Rona had always been a favourite of his. Max hoped devoutly that this renewal of contact had not come too late for them to enjoy many such reunions. If it had, it would be a burden he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.

  It was one o’clock by the time he reached Lightbourne Avenue, and Rona had laid the kitchen table with a selection of breads and cheeses, while a pan of artichoke soup, made by himself and stored in the freezer, simmered on the hob.

  As they ate, he related the details of his visit and passed on the various messages. ‘I should have listened to you, love, and gone up much more regularly,’ he concluded. ‘I won’t make the same mistake again, and your presence is requested on the next visit.’

  ‘I shall be delighted.’ She paused, crumbling the bread on her plate. ‘By the way, there was a phone call for you last night.’

  ‘Oh? Who was it?’

  ‘One of your admirers.’

  He smiled. ‘That narrows it down to about a thousand!’ Then, seeing her face, his smile faded. ‘Adele?’ he asked flatly.

  ‘Adele.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘You. She thought you’d be here, as Friday is one of your home nights.’ Rona strove to keep her voice level but accusation seeped through, and when he made no comment, her anger, simmering ever since the call,
boiled over.

  ‘What the hell has it to do with her, which are your home nights? How does she even know you sometimes sleep at Farthings?’

  ‘Rona, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Well? How does she? Do you discuss our marital arrangements with your students? Or only with specific ones, like Adele?’

  ‘Now you’re just being stupid.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘I don’t know how she knew. I certainly don’t recall mentioning it. Damn it, I never even see her except in class, so how could I have?’

  ‘Then it follows that the whole class knows which nights I sleep with my husband.’

  Max lowered his head into his hands, his fingers deep in his hair. ‘What is it about Adele that winds you up so much?’

  ‘That’s a good question.’ Rona spoke more calmly, but her breathing was still uneven. ‘What is it about Adele, Max? She’s able to push buttons with both of us, isn’t she? Though they’re different buttons. You seem to have appointed yourself her Lord Protector, and she’s taking full advantage of it. I suppose that’s what riles me.’

  Max raised his head and ran a hand over his face. ‘Can we drop this? It’s not getting us anywhere, and I’ve had enough emotional roller coasters over the last twenty-four hours.’

  As quickly as it had arisen, Rona’s anger died and she laid an impulsive hand on his arm. ‘Max, I’m sorry. That was lousy timing, but—’

  ‘I know,’ he said quietly, patting her hand. ‘I know.’ After a moment, he added, ‘Our friends all know I stay over at Farthings. These things get round, whether or not it’s anyone else’s business. She must have picked it up somewhere.’

  Rona nodded. ‘Will you phone her back?’

  ‘Would I dare?’

  Their eyes held, then, almost against their wills, they both smiled. It was the way most of their rows ended, and they leaned simultaneously towards each other for a placatory kiss.

  ‘And now that’s settled,’ Rona said, ‘you can take me to Tarlton’s to buy my Christmas present.’

  Rona saw Kate as soon as they walked into the shop, but she was already serving someone, and it was another assistant who came forward. Rona wondered if she was part-time or one of the family.