Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  It was as they were leaving the party that, by some malevolent chance, they met Peter in the university quad and, since there was no help for it, Charles introduced them, aware even as he did so of the instant attraction that sparked between them.

  Seeking to establish his prior claim, he mentioned that they were going to the concert the next week.

  ‘Oh, I heard it was on,’ Peter exclaimed. ‘It should be great – I envy you.’

  And to Charles’s horror, Lydia said lightly, ‘Then why not come with us?’ Belatedly she’d turned to Charles with that heart-stopping smile of hers. ‘That would be OK, wouldn’t it?’

  Six weeks later they were engaged, news which Peter imparted privately to Charles before the announcement. ‘Hope I haven’t stepped on your toes, old boy,’ he said apologetically. ‘I know it was you who introduced us – for which I’ll be eternally grateful – but you’d only met that evening, hadn’t you? Lydia assured me there was nothing between you.’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Charles had muttered from the depths of a broken heart, a condition he’d continued to nurse in secret until, about a year later, he’d met Margot – dear, dependable Margot, whose brisk, no-nonsense affection had held him together on many occasions throughout their marriage.

  Though he’d now arrived at the golf club, Charles continued to sit in the car, hands still on the steering wheel as he thought back over their long friendship. A belated wave of shame came over him and he bitterly regretted all those snide comments that Peter had good-naturedly taken as jokes, culminating in his own recent totally unforgivable behaviour. Remembering the sobs that had convulsed his friend on Saturday, he was overcome with a sick dread that he might be responsible – a poor way, he thought wretchedly, to repay all Peter’s generosity over the years.

  He drew back his shoulders and took a deep breath. No, that couldn’t be the cause of his distress; he’d been ill – a combination of over-indulgence and sunstroke, no doubt – and he’d soon be his old, easy-going self again. Nonetheless, to ease that niggling worm of doubt, from now on Charles determined to support him in any way he could. Which, all things considered, Peter might well be in need of.

  A tap on the window made him start, and he turned to see his golf partner smiling at him through the glass.

  ‘Going to sit there all day,’ he enquired jovially, ‘or are we going to have that game?’

  Thankfully Charles put aside his worries and got out of the car.

  It was a blisteringly hot afternoon. Sophie lay back with closed eyes, soaking up the sunshine and barely registering the shrieks of excitement as the two little girls jumped in and out of the paddling pool.

  Stella Jordan emerged through the patio doors and handed her a glass of iced lemonade before sinking on to the lounger beside her. ‘Now this,’ she proclaimed, stretching out her long, tanned legs, ‘is how to spend a Monday afternoon!’

  Sophie nodded absently. She was still worried about her father, but though she frequently complained about her husband’s shortcomings, she was less inclined to discuss his.

  ‘Oh, I meant to tell you,’ Stella was continuing. ‘I’ll have to let you down about Bournemouth, I’m afraid; Rex has decided he wants to come with us. Sorry about that.’

  Sophie’s disappointment was tinged with annoyance, since this meant handing Mark the victory on a plate. ‘He doesn’t usually play the family man,’ she remarked ungraciously.

  Stella gave a brief laugh. ‘How right you are! But he’s been having a pretty hectic time at work and thinks the sea air will restore him. I doubt if we’ll see much of him – he’ll be off playing golf most of the time.’

  Sophie and Stella had met on a cordon bleu course that both sets of parents had insisted their daughters attend on leaving school, though apart from turning them into excellent cooks it had had no bearing on their future careers – or lack of them.

  They lost contact soon afterwards, and in the years that followed Sophie drifted into marriage with Mark and Stella met and married Rex Jordan who, though until then a confirmed bachelor, had fallen for her quick wit and considerable charm. Fifteen years her senior, he was a wealthy and successful businessman who believed that as long as his wife had unlimited access to his credit cards he was discharging his duties towards her.

  The two of them met again by chance pram-pushing in a local park, and, having discovered their daughters had been born within months of each other, repaired to a nearby coffee shop for an update on the intervening years.

  ‘I’m a trophy wife, and that suits me fine!’ Stella had laughingly claimed, admitting that, though fond of him, it was her husband’s lifestyle she was in love with, and she enjoyed playing the part of the glamorous hostess.

  Since that fortuitous meeting three years ago they’d become firm friends and met on a regular basis, often with their daughters, though never their husbands, in tow.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Stella prompted after a minute. ‘About Bournemouth, I mean? We can go another time.’

  ‘I was looking forward to it,’ Sophie admitted.

  ‘Then let’s make a definite date. How about October half-term? It might not be beach weather, but there’ll be plenty to do.’

  Sophie brightened. ‘OK, that would be good.’

  Stella paused, moving a cube of ice round her glass with one finger. ‘In the meantime, I’ll tell you a secret that I was saving for Bournemouth.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing.’

  ‘It is, rather. I’ve got an admirer!’ She sat back to watch her friend’s reaction.

  Removing her sunglasses, Sophie turned to look at her. ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘You heard – got an admirer! I met him a couple of weeks ago – and Sophie, he’s gorgeous!’

  ‘But how – I mean what …?’

  Stella gave an excited laugh ‘I know! I can hardly believe it myself!’

  Sophie sat up, swinging her legs to the grass and turning to face her friend. ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ she said.

  ‘His name’s Lance Grenville. Lance! How about that? Like something out of Pulp Fiction, isn’t it?’

  ‘Or King Arthur,’ Sophie rejoined.

  ‘Well, we were at some stuffy cocktail do of Rex’s, and he was off in a corner networking as usual. I noticed this man watching me from across the room and after a while he came over and we got talking. It turned out he’s an investment banker, divorced, no children – though I learned that later. And in the course of conversation the new James Bond film came up. I said I hadn’t seen it and he said nor had he, why not go together?’

  Stella paused, glancing at her friend and trying to gauge her reaction. ‘It was so unexpected, Sophie, coming out of the blue like that – I was completely dumbstruck. Eventually I made some facetious remark about my husband not approving, and he said, “Then don’t tell him!” Simple as that!’

  She laughed again. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been picked up before, and I really didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘But you said yes?’ Sophie guessed, and Stella nodded.

  ‘Honestly, I felt like a scarlet woman! I told Rex it was a girls’ night out and I might be late back as we were eating after the film – which Lance had already suggested – and I felt really guilty when he swallowed it without question. But let’s face it, Rex, bless him, has never lit any fires in me.’

  ‘Whereas Lance does?’

  ‘Potentially. It’s very early days.’

  ‘So how far has this – affair, if that’s what it is, progressed?’

  ‘Hardly at all as yet. We duly saw the film – which was very good, by the way – then went on to a chichi restaurant – very small, only ten tables, presumably so we’d see no one we knew. But over the meal the conversation was a bit stilted, and to be honest I didn’t really enjoy it. I was on edge, expecting him to suggest any minute that we went to bed together.’

  ‘And he didn’t?’

  She shook her head.
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  ‘Would you have done, if he had?’

  Stella flushed, tipped back her glass and finished the last warm drops of her lemonade. ‘To be honest I don’t know; I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he didn’t even kiss me goodnight. In fact, I thought the whole thing had just fizzled out.’

  Sophie swung her legs back on to the lounger and lay down again, replacing her sunglasses. ‘Have you heard from him since?’ she asked after a minute.

  ‘We had lunch last week while Rosie was at Summer School.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing, really. When he left, he just said he’d be in touch. But I can’t stop thinking about him.’ She paused, and when Sophie didn’t speak, added, ‘Do you think I’m making too much of it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Stella; you’re in a much better position to judge than I am. But to be brutally honest, if he has “got designs on you”, there’s obviously only one thing he’s after, and you have to decide if it’s worth taking the risk. You’ve a great deal to lose if Rex gets wind of it.’

  Stella gazed into her empty glass. ‘Suppose the positions were reversed, and this had happened to you. What would you do?’

  Sophie lifted her shoulders and let them fall. ‘I’d probably risk it,’ she said, surprising herself. ‘As I’ve told you often enough, life with Mark is pretty boring – except in bed, to give him his due.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘But I reckon a little bit of spice on the side would go down a treat!’

  By eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning, Lydia had changed her mind several times about meeting Margot. She’d probably let her imagination run riot; yesterday Peter had gone to work seemingly restored to his normal self, though still pale and with pouches under his eyes. However, he’d been determinedly cheerful and she didn’t want to dent his wellbeing by insisting he saw the doctor, even if that would have relieved her mind.

  She was still dithering when she parked the car. Margot had been coming to town anyway, she argued to herself; it wasn’t as if she’d come in specially. If she phoned and said something had come up, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But it would to her, Lydia admitted helplessly; she’d be denying herself the chance of Margot’s wise counsel, on which she’d come to rely over the years.

  Peter, bless him, had been aware of her own lack of gravitas from the first. ‘My little scatterbrain’, he’d called her. Margot, on the other hand, though only a year or two older, was of a different calibre, more serious-minded, more – sensible. Their friendship was on a different level from that of the crowd of women with whom Lydia had coffee, played bridge and went to the gym. Though fond of them and enjoying their company, she could never confide in any of them. And if ever she’d needed some good advice, it was now.

  Still a little reluctantly, Lydia set off for their appointment.

  Margot too had been anticipating their meeting with less than her usual enthusiasm, being unwilling to admit the extent of her own worry to Lydia whom, she reflected with wry humour, she seemed to have been protecting for the last forty years.

  She and Charles had married two years after the Kingsleys, and since their husbands were close friends the two women, though total opposites, had to some extent been thrown together. Margot’s initial irritation at what she’d considered Lydia’s ‘flibbertigibbetry’ soon softened to fondness, with an additional sense of guilt when her friend continued to suffer miscarriages while she produced two healthy sons.

  She’d been almost as delighted as her parents when Sophie finally put in an appearance, and understood, though she couldn’t condone, the leniency with which she’d been brought up, always getting her own way and being given everything she asked for. The result, of course, was a thoroughly spoilt and selfish young woman, and on the rare occasions when she couldn’t sleep, Margot worried about how her son was coping. The two of them, though friends all their lives, had never seemed to have that extra spark so vital for a happy marriage. But that was a worry for another day.

  ‘I’ve ordered you an espresso and a buttered teacake,’ was Lydia’s greeting to Margot as she joined her.

  Margot smiled. ‘How well you know me! Thanks.’ She laid her purchases on an adjacent chair. ‘So, how’s Peter, now he’s had a few days to recover?’

  Lydia sighed, toying with the cutlery on the table. ‘He says he’s OK and he went back to work yesterday. He spent Sunday phoning all the guests, thanking them for their presents and apologizing for the hiatus.’

  ‘Yes, we had a call.’

  ‘You and Charles were marvellous on Saturday,’ Lydia said fervently. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without you.’

  ‘We were glad to help, but you carried it off beautifully, returning to the marquee and speaking to everyone.’ She paused. ‘You’re still worried about him, though?’

  ‘Sometimes I am, then I tell myself I’m imagining things.’ She broke off as the waitress materialized, unloading their coffee and cakes from her tray.

  ‘You said it had been coming on for some time,’ Margot reminded Lydia as the waitress moved away.

  ‘Yes, but nothing I could really put a finger on. He just seemed – different at times.’

  ‘Different in what way?’

  ‘Not as demonstrative as he used to be.’

  Margot said carefully, ‘By “demonstrative”, do you mean affectionate?’

  Lydia bit her lip. ‘I suppose so, yes.’ She gave a forced little laugh. ‘But after all, he is sixty.’

  Margot raised her eyebrows. ‘And what exactly has that got to do with it?’

  Lydia flushed. ‘Well, you know what I mean. At our age, we don’t make mad passionate love every night, do we?’

  ‘Not every night, certainly.’

  Lydia looked up quickly. ‘You mean you—?’ She broke off, her flush deepening.

  ‘Lydia darling, are you asking if Charles and I still make love? Because if so, the answer is of course we do, though not, as you pointed out, every night.’ She smiled. ‘Or anything like it.’ She studied her friend’s downcast face. ‘Are you saying you and Peter don’t?’ she asked gently.

  ‘We cuddle, of course,’ Lydia said with difficulty. ‘And he’s always perfectly sweet to me. But it’s a long time since …’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. Have you talked about it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I tried once, but it upset him, I could see. He said, almost desperately, “You do know, don’t you, how very much I love you?” As though I’d accused him of not doing, which wasn’t what I meant at all.’ She paused and added in a low voice, ‘I’m wondering if he’s found someone else.’

  ‘Oh, Lyddie, I’m sure not!’ Margot said emphatically. ‘He adores you, anyone can see that. Possibly it’s a medical problem and he’s too embarrassed to go to the doctor. You know what men are like.’

  Lydia nodded, but without conviction.

  ‘Would you like Charles to have a word with him?’

  ‘No!’ she said sharply. Then, ‘Well, not about that, though of course if it happened to come up …’

  ‘Consider it done,’ Margot said firmly.

  FIVE

  Drumlee

  It was at Sunday breakfast that Mark made his first faux pas. He had only been half-listening as the conversation turned to a new and highly recommended restaurant that had opened in Mayfair.

  ‘It costs the earth,’ Helena was saying, ‘but apparently it’s worth it.’

  ‘Get Adam to take you on your birthday,’ Natalie suggested. Then, when he didn’t respond, she prompted, ‘Adam?’

  He looked up quickly. ‘Sorry; yes?’

  ‘How about taking Hellie to The Crimson Plumes as a birthday treat?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘good idea; when is it?’

  There was a brief, surprised silence, then Natalie gave a short laugh. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Don’t look so horrified, Nat,’ Helena broke in quickly. ‘We’ve only known each other six week
s, remember; we’ve not covered all the bases yet.’ Then, to Mark, ‘It’s the third of March, darling. Time to start saving up!’

  The moment had passed, but the conversation lodged in Natalie’s mind. A couple of hours later, as she and Nick battled their way along the cliff path in the teeth of a bitingly cold wind, she said suddenly, ‘What did you make of Adam not knowing Hellie’s birthday?’

  ‘Well, as she said, they’ve not known each other long.’

  ‘Exactly, and that’s another thing; we’d never even heard of him until a few weeks ago, and he doesn’t strike me as the impulsive type.’

  ‘Love can overwhelm the most prosaic of us!’ Nick proclaimed facetiously.

  ‘But they don’t behave like an engaged couple. I sometimes wonder if they’re really engaged at all.’

  ‘Oh, come on, darling!’ Nick protested. ‘Just because they’re not all over each other like we are doesn’t mean—’

  ‘We’re not all over each other!’ Natalie interrupted indignantly.

  He laughed. ‘My point precisely. So perhaps we don’t behave like an engaged couple either.’

  She didn’t pursue it, but as they reserved their breath for the battle against the wind she continued to think about her sister, her mind going back over the years to when they were children. They’d never been close, Helena resenting her for usurping her own place as baby of the family, the only girl with two elder brothers. Many was the time she’d been pinched, tripped up as she ran in the garden and jeered at when she cried. And years later, Helena had purloined more than one of her boyfriends, even gatecrashing an early flirtation with Blair Mackay. Come to that, Natalie thought suddenly, she wouldn’t put it past her to flaunt a fake engagement, simply to steal her thunder.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Nick said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘but I’ve had enough of this. How about turning back and stopping at the first pub we come to for lunch?’

  ‘Good idea,’ she said thankfully.

  They started back along the path, the buffeting wind now aiding rather than impeding their progress, and had almost reached the end of it when they heard running footsteps behind them and a breathless voice called, ‘Excuse me – I think you dropped this!’