A Family Concern

by Anthea Fraser

  It had rained during the morning, and the sky was still overcast; it would probably be dark even earlier this evening. She wound a long scarf round her neck and pulled on a woollen hat, watched by Gus, wagging his tail in anticipation. Windsor Way, she reflected as they set out, was where Hugh had his office. She hoped they wouldn’t bump into him.

  Because of the dimness of the afternoon, all the shop lights were on, and the atmosphere as she walked up Fullers Way to Guild Street was celebratory rather than sombre. Most of the windows had imitation Christmas trees in their windows, decorated with baubles and coloured lights. The bakery displayed a selection of delectably iced Christmas cakes and pastries, and on the pavement outside the florist was a cluster of holly garlands and poinsettias.

  Rounding the corner by Willows’ Furniture, Rona came upon the town’s main display of lights strung across Guild Street, blinking on and off in permutations of gold, silver, red and green. No wonder the spectacle had appealed to Max for his calendar, she thought. As they passed the iron staircase leading to the Gallery, Gus paused hopefully, but Rona tugged on his lead.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps on the way home.’

  Just short of Windsor Way was Tarlton’s, and Rona paused to survey the extravagant display of jewels, watches, gold and silver. Jan Tarlton had surpassed herself, she thought; it took an effort of will to walk past. Still, she had her own watch to open on Christmas Day.

  They waited at the kerb till the traffic lights changed, then crossed the road and turned into Windsor Way. Here, the atmosphere was more subdued, as befitted a business area, though one or two of the doors had holly wreaths pinned to them. Having no wish to catch sight of Hugh, she purposely did not glance in the windows of his firm, which, as luck would have it, turned out to be actually next door to the estate agent’s that was her destination.

  Rona could see Coralie seated at one of the desks, and was glad there was no prospective client opposite her. She tied Gus’s lead to a convenient post and went inside, to be met with a wall of warmth. Coralie saw her at once, and raised a hand. Her oriental good looks stood out among her fair or brown-haired companions, and the vivid red jumper she wore added to her exotic appearance.

  ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ Rona said, setting the albums and envelope on the desk, ‘but I thought it was simpler to deliver these to you here.’

  Coralie pulled them towards her. ‘Were they of any use?’

  ‘A bit, but mostly I used what you told me. And incidentally, the story’s been approved.’

  Coralie’s face lit up. ‘Oh, that’s great! When will it come out?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. As you know, it’s a monthly magazine and there are one or two ahead of yours. Early next year, I should think.’

  ‘Good salesmanship!’ Coralie smiled. ‘I’ll have to keep buying the mag till it appears! Actually, it’ll be interesting to read other people’s stories, and when they do print mine, I’ll be buying copies for Lena and Jim, and my father, and Mum and Dad, as well as keeping one for myself.’

  ‘That’ll increase the circulation!’ Rona paused. ‘Have you heard anything further?’

  ‘I had a Christmas card from Lena – she’d posted it early – and as I said, I’m going out there in the New Year. Pity I can’t take the story with me then.’

  ‘Sorry, but the schedule’s already mapped out. Anyway, I think yours should be last, because it’s a strong one to finish with. I might even be able to add the odd para when you get back from Hong Kong, to round things off.’

  ‘That would be cool.’

  Rona stood up. ‘Well, thanks for all your help, Coralie, and good luck.’

  ‘See you,’ Coralie replied.

  Having noted the mug of tea on her desk, Rona decided she would indeed call in at the Gallery on the way back. True, she could make herself a cup when she got home, but there were no ready supplies of flapjacks or teacakes there. She unhitched Gus and had turned towards Guild Street when a thought struck her. Talbot Road was only ten minutes’ walk from here. She took out her mobile and called her father’s number.

  ‘Tom Parish,’ said the familiar voice.

  ‘Hello, Pops. You’re at home, then?’

  ‘Rona! Good to hear from you. Yes, I’m here. Why?’

  ‘I’m in Windsor Way, and wondered if I could come on and view your new premises, and perhaps cadge a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be lovely! I was going to invite you all round soon for an official viewing, but you’re welcome to a sneak preview. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Arriving at the block of flats, Rona could appreciate her father’s wry amusement at the continuing use of the name Mulberry Lodge. The building was purpose-built in uncompromising red brick, at odds with the weathered stone of its neighbours as though, Rona thought, making an aggressive statement of some kind. Still, this was a temporary home, and its nearness to Willow Crescent, where Catherine lived, had not been lost on her.

  Tom was at the door of his flat as she and Gus came up the stairs.

  ‘There is a lift, you know,’ he told her, kissing her cheek.

  ‘Gus isn’t too fond of them, and it’s only one flight.’

  He bent to pat the dog. ‘Good to see you both. Come in, and see what you think.’

  Rona looked about her at the slightly worn furniture and bland décor. Though similar in size, it bore no comparison to Robert Tarlton’s elegant home; but then this was rented accommodation. Her father had done his best to personalize it with his presentation clock and some family photographs. A copy of the Daily Telegraph lay near one of the chairs, and his glasses case was perched on the arm.

  She smiled. ‘It’s very cosy, Pops, and I can see you’ve already settled in.’

  His slightly anxious expression lightened, and he eagerly conducted her round the bedroom – double bed, she noted – bathroom and minuscule kitchen.

  ‘No garden to worry about!’ he said, and Rona, knowing how he’d enjoyed digging and planting in Maple Drive, felt a tug at her heart.

  ‘You can help Catherine in hers,’ she suggested, and, aware that she’d seen through him, he laughed.

  ‘So I can,’ he agreed. ‘Now, come and have some tea. It looks cold out there.’

  ‘It is, rather.’ Rona unwound her scarf and pulled her hat off, shaking her hair loose.

  ‘What were you doing in Windsor Way?’ Tom asked curiously, bringing in a brown teapot. ‘Not visiting Mr Cavendish, I presume?’

  ‘You presume correctly, though I was actually next door, returning some photos and things to someone I’ve done an article on.’

  ‘When are you going to get back to doing a biography? You were so good at that, and though I always enjoy what you write, I feel you’re not reaching your potential with this ephemeral stuff.’

  She grimaced. ‘Max feels the same. He also reckons I’d be less at risk on a bio, but that doesn’t always follow.’

  ‘No indeed,’ Tom agreed soberly. ‘Well, don’t take any notice of me, you do what you want. I remember, though, the first time I met Catherine, she remarked on how impressed she was with your work.’

  ‘How is Catherine?’

  ‘Fine. I’d love you to meet again soon.’

  ‘Soon,’ Rona echoed, without committing herself.

  She reported on the conversation to Max that evening.

  ‘I didn’t dare bring up the subject of Christmas again,’ she finished, ‘though I’m really beginning to dread it.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Robert Tarlton referred to the jewellery business as “a family concern”. Our family concern is the parents!’

  Max poured her a drink. ‘I suppose I’d better come clean,’ he said. ‘I actually booked a table at the Clarendon several weeks ago, as a safeguard. For five,’ he added meaningfully.

  Rona gazed at him wide-eyed. ‘You did?’

  ‘Well, I knew if we left it till everyone made up their individual minds, we’d never hav
e a hope of getting in.’

  ‘It’s a lovely thought,’ she said slowly, ‘though whether we can talk everyone into coming is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘At least we’ll ask them all, then no one can justify feeling left out. Whether they come or not is up to them.’

  ‘We’d better tell Mum as soon as possible, before she orders the turkey. I doubt, though, that we’ll get a straight answer from any of them at first. Well done, anyway, for that bit of forward thinking.’

  She reached up to kiss him, and was surprised by the intensity of his response.

  ‘Wow!’ she said, when he finally released her. ‘I must thank you more often!’

  ‘So,’ Max said dismissively, picking up his own glass, ‘what’s on the cards this weekend?’

  ‘It’s the Dawsons’ party tomorrow,’ Rona reminded him, ‘and I’m sorry, darling, but I’ve committed myself to visiting the Tarltons again on Sunday afternoon. It was the only possible time, and I think it could be important.’

  He shrugged, not questioning its priority.

  ‘For the rest,’ she went on, ‘we really ought to make a start on Christmas shopping, or we’ll be in the final rundown, which is always murder. In the meantime, I’ll give the family a buzz and sound them out about Christmas lunch.’

  Their varying responses were much as Rona had foreseen: Tom and Avril were equally apprehensive about the wisdom of attending together, and Lindsey made no secret of the fact that she thought Max had jumped the gun.

  ‘He can’t just corral us like that, and expect us to fall into line,’ she said.

  ‘Frankly,’ Rona retorted, stung, ‘it’s about time someone made a positive move. The split’s now a fait accompli; we can’t ignore it, but we can at least be civilized about it. You said yourself Mum and Pops are getting on better; they both know we can’t choose between them, so they jolly well ought to play ball.’

  ‘What have they said?’ Lindsey asked.

  ‘They’re grateful for the invitation and are thinking it over.’

  ‘Suppose only one of them will come?’

  ‘They’ve both been asked; we can’t force them. Whatever happens, Max and I are going, and we’d like as many as possible of you to join us.’

  After a minute, Lindsey said, ‘Sorry. I wasn’t being exactly gracious, was I? I’m grateful too, and I – think I’d like to come.’

  ‘Even if it’s only Pops who joins us?’

  ‘Yes, provided Mum had the chance.’

  Rona breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Linz. That’s a good start.’

  ‘Avril?’

  Her hand tightened on the phone. ‘Is that you, Tom?’

  ‘Yes. I presume you’ve had a phone call from Rona? About Christmas?’

  She tensed. ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  She said hesitantly, ‘I thought you might be spending it with …’

  ‘No, she’s going to her own family, in Cricklehurst. How do you feel about this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She paused, then added frankly, ‘I’ve been dreading it this year.’

  ‘I think we all have. I know you suggested they went to you, but—’

  ‘It wouldn’t have worked,’ Avril cut in. ‘I really knew that all the time. Your empty place …’

  Tom winced. ‘Could we possibly put aside our differences, do you think? You did agree we could be friends.’

  But not as soon as this, she thought achingly. Aloud she said, ‘All right. After all, it’s sweet of them to think of it. I’m game if you are.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Avril. Thank you. And as Rona said, it will be easier being in a public place, and not cooped up together in one or other of the houses.’

  ‘Except that everyone will know we’re separated, and be watching us.’

  ‘They’ll have better things to do on Christmas Day; but if they want to watch us, let them. We’ll show them all how amicable we are. Shall I ring Rona back, or would you like to?’

  ‘You do it,’ she said.

  The Christmas shopping went well, and they were able to cross a number of names off their list. Max did, however, have one uncomfortable moment: in Netherby’s Department Store, he caught sight of Philip Yarborough, who was their sales director, and tensed, half-expecting him to come up and accuse him of upsetting his wife. No doubt, Max thought grimly, that was his own prerogative. But Philip, engaged with a manager, didn’t see them, and Max was able to steer Rona quickly in the opposite direction.

  He had not slept well, continually replaying in his head the incredible scene with Adele, which then wove itself into his dreams. One of the more disturbing aspects had been his own brief but powerful response, and he reflected that several of his friends would think him a fool for not seizing his chance with a willing and attractive woman. God only knew how he was going to deal with her, he thought despairingly; he could scarcely ban her from the class.

  They spent the afternoon seated at the kitchen table writing Christmas cards, and by the time they changed for the party, Rona at least was in a thoroughly festive mood.

  ‘I can really look forward to Christmas now,’ she said happily, fastening a gold chain round her neck. ‘Bless you for sorting everything out.’

  She smiled at him in the dressing-table mirror. They’d made love last night and it had been especially good. Often, their love-making was leisurely and tender rather than passionate, but last night it had been as urgent and intense as in the early days, and she was left with a warm glow of well-being.

  Ben and Louise Dawson lived in one of the roads at the top of Furze Hill Park, and as they drove up, the pavement was already white with frost. ‘I hope it doesn’t get icy,’ Max remarked, ‘or it could be tricky coming back down again.’

  A large conifer in the garden was bedecked with coloured lights – a practice of which Max professed to disapprove – and already a line of cars was drawn up outside the house. They were ushered inside, and Louise came forward to kiss them. She was a tall, bony woman whose long face was transformed when she smiled. She wore extra-large glasses, and her straw-coloured hair hung down from a centre parting on either side of her face – a factual description that did not do her justice, since she was undeniably attractive. She and her husband were both surgeons at the Royal County.

  ‘You’ll know most people,’ she told them, ‘so just introduce yourselves to those you don’t. They’re a nice bunch.’

  The first person Rona saw as they went into the long drawing room was Chris Fairfax, and her eyes went immediately to the elegant young woman beside him. Ben Dawson, seeing the direction of her gaze, took her elbow.

  ‘Do you know the Fairfaxes, Rona? If not, come and meet them.’

  Rona saw the alarmed recognition in Chris’s eyes as they approached. She had, after all, witnessed his meeting with Coralie, and might well mention it. But as she smiled and took his hand, she gave no indication that they’d met before, and sensed his relief.

  ‘Rona Parish?’ repeated Sophie. ‘Are you the journalist who’s helping Freya Tarlton?’

  ‘Well, trying to!’ Rona modified.

  ‘Could we have a little chat, do you think?’

  ‘Of course.’ Rona took the glass of champagne Ben handed her, and, threading her way between chattering groups, followed Sophie to vacant chairs on the far side of the room.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to you ever since Freya told me you were involved,’ she began. ‘Have you any idea what’s behind these nightmares?’

  ‘Not really,’ Rona fenced. She didn’t know how much Freya had confided in Sophie, but the story of the woods must remain under wraps, at least till she’d spoken to Lewis and Kate, not to mention Freya herself.

  ‘It’s not idle curiosity,’ Sophie assured her, sensing her reticence. ‘I’m not sure if you know that I used to be married to her brother? I’m still extremely fond of her.’

  She waited, and when Rona didn’t elaborate, went on, ‘Do you thin
k her mother’s desertion is at the root of it?’

  ‘It won’t have helped,’ Rona said cautiously.

  Unexpectedly, Sophie laughed. ‘OK, you’re not going to tell me, and that’s fair enough. It’s just that I’m really worried about her. She passed out at the shop the other day, and she still doesn’t look well.’

  ‘I know,’ Rona said. ‘Please don’t think I’m being awkward; I’m sure Freya will keep you in the picture, but I don’t feel it’s up to me to discuss what is a pretty delicate matter.’

  ‘You’re quite right, and I was wrong to try to pressure you. I’m sorry. Let’s start again, by my saying how much I’m enjoying your articles on Buckford. I grew up there, and never appreciated what a long and interesting history it had. You should do the same for Marsborough.’

  Rona smiled. ‘Marsborough’s a Georgian town, a mere three hundred years old. It can’t compete with Buckford’s octocentenary, though I am considering a different angle. In fact, at a later stage I’d like to talk to you about it.’

  ‘How mysterious! Obviously, I’d be glad to help.’

  Someone came over to speak to Sophie, and their tête-à-tête was brought to an end. Rona, seeing Georgia Kingston nearby, went over to join her, and the evening proceeded pleasantly in chatting with old friends. Magda and Gavin weren’t here, Rona noticed, slightly disappointed; perhaps at this time of year they’d had conflicting invitations.

  The buffet was served and they all migrated to the dining room to fill their plates. As usual on these occasions, she’d lost sight of Max; no doubt he was in some corner discussing art with Simon Grant.

  It wasn’t until the evening was nearing an end that he was brought forcibly back to her notice. She was standing in a group discussing a recent television play when, behind her, she heard a man’s voice she didn’t recognize say, ‘By the way, Max, have you started giving private lessons?’

  She didn’t look round, but, while continuing to smile attentively at the spokesman in her own group, focussed on the conversation behind her.

  Max must have replied in the negative, because the next thing Rona heard was the first voice continuing, ‘Well then, who was the little dolly-bird who came rushing out of Farthings yesterday afternoon?’