Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  She shook her head sadly. ‘Fay had always been such a biddable girl, never giving us any trouble. But these quiet ones can be stubborn, and nothing we said made any difference.’ She met Ellie’s sympathetic eyes. ‘The trouble was she was head-over-heels, poor lamb.’

  ‘So she did love him!’ Ellie exclaimed.

  ‘Oh, there was never any doubt of that. Whether he loved her, or was just amusing himself while away from home, is another matter. One thing I will say in his defence, though: he didn’t know she was pregnant, because nor did she until he’d gone back home, and she refused point-blank to contact him. “I went into it with my eyes open,” she said, “and I’m glad I’m having his baby!”’

  Ellie’s eyes filled. ‘So I was wanted!’ she whispered.

  Sybil reached for her hand. ‘You were always wanted, my darling. You lit up our lives from the word go.’

  Ellie drew a quavering breath. So at last she had some answers. Perhaps they would be enough.

  TWELVE

  Kent

  Mark stared at his father in stupefied disbelief. ‘You did what?’

  Charles drained the remaining whisky in his glass. ‘I think you heard,’ he said.

  ‘But – I don’t understand! Why on earth – and what—’ He broke off in confusion.

  ‘As to why, because I was in a state of shock and reacted on the spur of the moment. Believe me, if I could have snatched that letter back, I would have.’ He twirled the empty glass in his fingers, looking down on it. ‘As to what I reacted to, that’s a different matter.’

  Mark moistened his lips. ‘But – was it something to do with work?’

  Charles smiled thinly. ‘You mean had he been misappropriating funds? No, nothing so simple.’

  ‘But surely not an affair? He and Aunt Lydia—’

  ‘Adored each other,’ his father finished for him. ‘That was certainly the received wisdom. Yet it was an affair – of a sort.’ He looked up, meeting his son’s eyes. ‘The homosexual sort,’ he ended deliberately.

  Mark reached for the chair behind him and lowered himself into it. After a minute he said flatly, ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘I’d have had difficulty believing it myself if I’d not seen them together. And though what I did was unforgivable, it was chiefly on Lydia’s behalf.’ Lydia, whom, though his son didn’t know it, he’d loved for most of his life. ‘How in God’s name could he do that to her?’

  The last sentence was spoken so softly Mark had difficulty hearing it. He moistened his lips again. ‘But couldn’t you have been mistaken? I mean, it might just have been …’ His voice petered helplessly out.

  ‘No mistake. It was last August; Peter and I had attended a board meeting that overran, and since it was getting late several of us decided to have a meal before going home, and rang to let our wives know. Then, when we reached the restaurant, Peter announced that as he had a headache coming on he’d cry off and go home after all.

  ‘Naturally I never gave it another thought. Until, that is, a couple of hours later, when I was in a cab on my way to the station. We’d pulled up at a red light and suddenly there he was, as large as life, coming out of a hotel in Buckingham Palace Road, his hand on the shoulder of a young man. Even then, though puzzled, I might have dismissed it, but at that moment a taxi drew up. He bent to speak to the driver, before opening the door for the boy, who’ – Charles broke off and passed a hand over his face – ‘gave him a quick kiss before getting in. Then the lights changed and my own cab moved on.’

  There was a long silence while Mark tried frantically to think of something to say. Eventually he stammered, ‘Could it have been some relation – a nephew or someone, who—’

  ‘Who would never have kissed him on the lips.’ Charles gave a deep sigh. ‘No, he was no relation of Peter’s, but he could almost be regarded as one of ours.’

  Mark stared at him blankly.

  ‘It was the Firth boy,’ Charles said heavily. ‘Delia’s gay brother.’

  The rest of the wake passed in a blur for Mark. Sick and disorientated, he was unsure whether Peter’s actions or his father’s response to them had caused the greater shock. Not to mention the link with Delia which, involving the family as it did, added to the complications. At least this explained to some degree her reaction to his death. Odd, he reflected, that while he was open-minded about the sexual proclivities of her brother or indeed any other gay men, Peter Kingsley was a different matter entirely.

  Yet surely there was an inconsistency here: if Peter had received Charles’s letter just before his birthday, it would certainly account for his behaviour at the party. But he must have weathered it to some degree, since it was another three months before he took his own life. What had finally tipped him over the edge?

  His eyes moved over the subdued throng, soberly dressed as befitted the occasion, and came to rest on Sophie and his mother chatting to Lydia. Did they deserve to know the cause of Peter’s suicide which, unresolved, would haunt them for the rest of their lives? Or was it better that they remain in ignorance? For any hint of the truth would raise a permanent and impenetrable barrier between the two families.

  ‘You look in need of another drink, bro!’ said a voice beside him, and he turned to see Jonathan holding out a glass. He nodded, took it and drank from it. Jonathan frowned.

  ‘You OK?’

  Mark cleared his throat. ‘Not really. Jon, we need to talk. Soon.’

  ‘Sure, but is something wrong?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, but now’s not the time to go into it.’

  ‘Lunch on Monday, then? The usual place?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘I think Delia should be there.’

  ‘Hey, what is this? You’re beginning to worry me.’

  From the corner of his eye, Mark saw his father appear in the doorway, to be immediately incorporated into the nearest group. He prayed fervently that he’d say nothing to alert suspicion.

  Since he hadn’t replied, Jonathan added, ‘Do you want us to meet after work, then? I’d suggest you came back for a meal, but no doubt you’ll be wanting to get home to the family.’

  Mark said aridly, ‘Sophie intends to stay here till Christmas.’

  After a beat of silence Jonathan laid a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘Well, if you’d be going back to an empty house, come for a meal and stay the night. We can go in to work together the next morning.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Jon.’

  ‘Text me when you’re leaving the office and we can travel back together.’

  Feeling marginally more cheerful, Mark moved on to mingle with the assorted guests.

  As the atmosphere between himself and Sophie was still fraught, it seemed wise not to prolong his visit and, resisting pressure from his mother to stay for the weekend – which would also entail the enforced company of his father – it was with a sense of relief that Mark made his excuses and set off for home that same evening. It had been a traumatic visit in more ways than one – the funeral itself, his father’s confession and Sophie’s bombshell. The empty house in Chislehurst would seem like a refuge, but a brief one since soon he’d have to face Delia. Did she know something they didn’t about Peter’s death?

  He slept badly that weekend, the nights peppered with dreams that dissolved before he could dissect them but left a feeling of unease, and when he reached the office on Monday he felt decidedly underslept. It did not help that Simon was more importunate than ever, adding to his stress levels.

  ‘When can we speak?’ he persisted, breaching Mark’s avoidance strategy. ‘I need you to cover for me.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Simon,’ Mark snapped, ‘why don’t you sort yourself out?’ Then, seeing the other man’s face, added, ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve had a lousy weekend and now I’m snowed under with work.’

  ‘Lunch?’ Simon enquired hopefully.

  ‘It’ll be a sandwich at my desk.’

  ‘A drink after work, then?’
>
  ‘Sorry, I’m meeting my brother.’

  Simon shrugged disconsolately and, accepting temporary defeat, at last moved away.

  Mark had decided not to mention the anonymous letter. He’d have had no hesitation in revealing the full facts to Jonathan, but he was even less sure of Delia than he’d been before and didn’t want to expose Charles’s failings to a possibly hostile audience.

  As arranged, the brothers met at Waterloo and journeyed out to Barnes together.

  ‘Sorry to hear Sophie’s staying down there,’ Jonathan said. ‘It must be rotten being on your own for so long.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Jon, I don’t think she’s ever coming back.’

  Jonathan’s head swung towards him. ‘God, Mark! Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing dramatic, we’ve just drifted apart. It’s obvious she no longer wants to spend time with me, and to be honest the feeling’s mutual.’

  Jonathan looked at him shrewdly. ‘Anyone else involved?’

  ‘In my case, no. In hers, I’m not so sure. She spent a week in Bournemouth with Stella and the kids over half-term, and Florence spoke of an “Uncle Lance” whom they’d met down there. Then she flushed and said Sophie told her not to mention him.’ He shrugged. ‘It might be nothing, but Peter’s death coming immediately after they got back meant I’ve not been able to question her fully.’

  After a brief silence Jonathan said, ‘I might be speaking out of turn, but I’ve always felt you were at a disadvantage when it came to Soph and her father. He never denied her anything, did he? I can remember occasions when you refused to go ahead with some extravagant purchase and she promptly went to him and was given it.’

  Mark smiled ruefully. ‘It was difficult, yes. Made me look either stingy or a pauper – or both!’

  Jonathan laughed. ‘Well, I hope things work out, one way or another.’

  They were drawing into their station, and to Mark’s relief the subject was dropped.

  As Delia worked locally in a public relations agency she was home before them, and an appetizing aroma met the two men as they came into the house. She emerged from the kitchen to greet them, still dressed in the formal clothes she wore to work and with no concession to culinary duties, and presented a cool cheek to her husband and brother-in-law in turn for a perfunctory kiss.

  ‘So, Mark, we meet again,’ she commented. ‘The spare room’s ready for you, if you’d care to take your case up.’

  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ Jonathan offered. ‘You might like to freshen up before we eat.’

  Mark had, in fact, been to their home only once before, to a formal dinner with Sophie and his parents soon after the wedding. Tucked away at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, it was what estate agents liked to refer to as a ‘bijou residence’ – in other words a small but elegant-looking house, well-proportioned and with expensive fittings. There were only two bedrooms, but both were en suite and tastefully decorated and Mark looked about him admiringly. He’d noted that Delia used the term ‘spare’ bedroom rather than ‘guest’ – possibly, he thought, amused, because they hadn’t intended to have overnight visitors.

  ‘Come down when you’re ready and we’ll have a drink,’ Jonathan said.

  Left to himself, Mark unpacked his meagre belongings, laying his night clothes on one of the twin beds and taking his sponge bag through to the bathroom. He was not looking forward to the next hour or so.

  Downstairs there was only one entertaining room but it was of a good size, and the small rosewood dining table with matching chairs took up barely a quarter of it. Jonathan and Delia were waiting for him.

  ‘I believe you’ve something important to tell us,’ Delia said without preamble as Jonathan handed Mark his usual whisky and soda. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were intending this to take place before or after the meal, so it’s a casserole that will come to no harm if kept waiting.’

  ‘But I hope it’s before,’ Jonathan cut in with an anxious smile, ‘because I’m consumed with curiosity. In the meantime, cheers!’

  They all lifted their glasses and drank, Mark grateful for the comforting warmth as it went down his throat. In the Richmond family whisky was never served with ice. ‘If you’d like me to get straight down to it, fair enough,’ he said. In truth he’d be glad to get the ordeal over.

  Delia motioned him to an easy chair beside the fake log fire and seated herself on the sofa. After a momentary hesitation, Jonathan took his place beside her.

  Mark stared down into his glass, trying to find the most palatable phrases. ‘I asked for Delia to be present because she’s the one most concerned in this,’ he began. He looked up, meeting her suddenly wary eyes. ‘It’s to do with your brother,’ he said.

  She gave a little gasp as Jonathan exclaimed, ‘Robin? How on earth?’

  Mark bit his lip, addressing himself to her. ‘I think you know, don’t you? That he was … involved … with Peter Kingsley?’

  ‘Involved?’ Jonathan repeated incredulously. ‘What the hell do you mean, involved?’

  ‘Sexually,’ Mark said. When he dared look at Delia, he saw the colour had drained from her face.

  ‘Good God, Mark, what are you talking about? Peter?’ And when he didn’t reply Jonathan turned to his wife, noticing her distress for the first time. ‘Darling?’ he queried uncertainly. Then, ‘This can’t be right, surely?’

  Ignoring him, she looked straight at Mark. ‘How much do you know?’

  ‘Only what I’ve told you,’ he replied.

  ‘But how do you know?’ Jonathan burst out. ‘If there’s anything in it, that is, which I don’t believe for a minute!’

  ‘They were seen together,’ Mark said steadily.

  ‘By whom?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘But that’s nonsense!’ Jonathan insisted. ‘They didn’t even know each other, and Peter … well, Peter—’

  Delia laid a cold hand over his. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘If he knows that much he might as well hear all of it.’

  Jonathan turned to her in bewilderment. ‘What do you mean, all of it?’

  ‘That I killed Peter Kingsley.’

  The two men stared at her, stunned into silence. This, Mark thought almost hysterically, was the second confession to murder he’d heard in a few days. Since Jonathan seemed incapable of speech, he cleared his throat. ‘I think you’d better explain.’

  ‘They met at our wedding,’ she said, speaking slowly and without emphasis, ‘and there was an immediate attraction – that’s what Robin told me. Of course no one noticed, all eyes were on us, the bridal pair.’ A note of irony. ‘But Peter managed to slip Rob a note, asking him to meet for a drink the next week. Rob could hardly believe it, this handsome, popular family man being interested in him, especially when there was such a huge age gap. He’d only ever been with people his own age.’

  She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. Neither man prompted her and after a pause she went on. ‘So they met, but Rob saw at once that Peter wasn’t comfortable. He blurted out that this had never happened to him before, that he was in love with his wife – all the usual platitudes. Nevertheless, they met twice more in different hotels and by then Rob was deeply in love.’

  She looked up and now her eyes were full of tears. ‘Then, in the middle of August Peter phoned in a panic and said someone had seen them. He was all for calling it off then and there, but Rob managed to talk him out of it.’ She paused again. ‘Naturally, I didn’t know any of this at the time; it was only when I happened to mention how oddly Peter behaved at his birthday party that it all came out. I was appalled, convinced it could only end in disaster.’

  She sighed. ‘But Robin wouldn’t listen and the relationship limped on, though Peter was continually on edge, saying he shouldn’t be there and worried someone else would see them. Again, I wasn’t aware of this because, knowing my opinion, Rob was avoiding me and I didn’t actually see him for some time. But I became increasingly concerned about him, kept t
exting and leaving phone messages though he never got back to me. I even went round to his flat once, but he wasn’t there.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Jonathan asked in a low voice. ‘You shouldn’t have gone through all that alone.’

  Delia lifted her shoulders. ‘How could I? Look how you reacted just now. You hero-worshipped Peter – you’d known him all your life. You’d have put all the blame on Robin.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand how you can feel responsible for his death. That’s just—’

  She lifted a hand and he subsided. ‘It was several weeks before I tracked Rob down, and I was shocked at the change in him. He’d lost weight and looked ghastly, and I finally got out of him what had happened. A few weeks previously they’d met at some out-of-the-way pub, and without warning Peter just blurted out that it was over – that he couldn’t go on any longer. It had been a “temporary madness”, he said, and he was deeply sorry to have involved Rob in what he referred to as “this gross foolishness”.

  ‘Rob, needless to say, was distraught and broke down while he was telling me. Well, as you can imagine I was absolutely blazing; this much older man had seduced my brother, then suddenly, with no consideration of his feelings, brought everything to an abrupt end, and I didn’t see why he should get away with it.’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘So instead of being sensible and waiting till my fury had simmered down, I promptly rang Peter at his office and accused him of seduction and playing fast and loose with my brother’s feelings. I asked him if he’d any idea what damage he’d done to Rob, and what he thought his wife would say if she knew about it. And then I slammed down the phone. Of course I’d no intention of telling Lydia – I just wanted to bring home to him what he’d done.

  ‘Two days later,’ she ended expressionlessly, ‘I heard that he’d hanged himself.’

  She covered her face with her hands and the mantelpiece clock ticked into the prolonged silence. Jonathan put an arm round her and drew her against him, his face now as strained as hers, and Mark cursed himself for coming here in the first place. Why hadn’t he just let things unravel – or not – in their own time?