Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘One minute, though,’ Jonathan said suddenly. ‘How did Peter know someone had seen them?’

  Mark shook his head.

  ‘Then how did you know?’

  ‘Leave it, Jon.’

  ‘No, dammit, I won’t leave it! This other person, whoever he or she was, is the one who precipitated it, possibly by threatening to expose him. It wasn’t only down to Delia.’

  Delia had removed her hands and was staring at Mark, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. So in the end he’d no choice after all.

  ‘I was hoping not to have to tell you this,’ he said, ‘but you’re right; it wasn’t only Delia. Dad cast the first stone.’

  ‘Dad?’

  Mark felt a spurt of sympathy for his brother, having to accept that not only his wife but his father had had a hand in the tragedy. ‘He told me after the funeral. I was still in shock when you came up and handed me that drink.’

  ‘So he’d already had it out with Peter?’

  ‘No,’ Mark said heavily. ‘To his everlasting shame he sent an anonymous letter.’

  The look of horror on Jonathan’s face mirrored his own reaction.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ he said, for the second time that evening. But Mark knew that he did. He turned to Delia. ‘Does Robin know what’s happened?’

  She nodded.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘Will he be all right?’

  She nodded again. ‘He’s stronger than he thinks.’

  Jonathan stood up suddenly. ‘I’m going to refresh our drinks. God knows we need it.’

  Mark said awkwardly, ‘I’m so sorry, Delia.’

  She shook her head tiredly. ‘It’s better that it should all come out. Secrets are corrosive.’

  Jonathan handed them their refilled glasses. ‘There’s another thing,’ he said, sitting down with his own drink. ‘What you’ve told us has been of some comfort to Dee, but Dad must also have been going through hell; he shouldn’t have to go on bearing the entire blame, either.’

  They both looked anxiously at Delia, and she slowly nodded. ‘That’s only fair,’ she acknowledged. ‘It must have hit him hard; they’ve been lifelong friends, haven’t they?’

  ‘More or less,’ Mark confirmed. ‘What concerns me, though, is whether we should tell the others – Mum, Lydia and Sophie.’

  ‘No!’ Jonathan said sharply. ‘What possible good would that do?’

  ‘Stop them torturing themselves, wondering why he did it.’

  ‘It might be worse if they knew. Lydia might even wonder if her whole marriage had been a sham.’

  ‘Then let’s leave it to Dad to decide,’ Mark said, and there the matter rested.

  God, what a mess it all was! he thought as he left Jonathan at Waterloo the next morning. Apart from the dread of speaking to his father – which they’d decided they would do together at the weekend – there was his relationship with Sophie to sort out. And as if all that wasn’t enough, Simon was sailing close to the wind. If his affair with Victoria Pyne came out, in all likelihood he’d take Mark, his unwilling alibi, down with him. It was not a promising prospect.

  Delia refused to go down with them. ‘It’ll be easier without me there,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll arrange a weekend visit to my chief bridesmaid; she’s always asking me over.’

  Margot was delighted at the prospect of having her sons to stay. ‘You won’t be at Dormers, then?’ she asked, when Mark rang to tell her.

  ‘I’ll probably spend Sunday there,’ he replied.

  ‘You must make allowances for Sophie, darling; she’s—’

  ‘I’m always making allowances for her,’ he interrupted, and she wisely didn’t persist.

  It had been arranged that Jonathan should accompany Mark back to Chislehurst on the Friday evening and they’d drive down together the following day. It was the first weekend in December, and every window seemed to be sporting a Christmas tree.

  ‘I haven’t bought a single present,’ Mark said gloomily. ‘Sophie and I have always gone shopping together.’

  ‘Why don’t you suggest it when you see her? It might be a means of getting back together, even if only temporarily.’

  Mark simply shrugged. ‘You’ll be well out of the family gathering, down in Devon,’ he said. ‘For two pins, I’d come with you!’

  ‘I doubt if it’ll be a bundle of laughs there, either, with Robin in his present state.’

  ‘He’ll no doubt put on a brave face in front of his parents.’

  ‘Families!’ Jonathan commented, and they both laughed.

  Both the brothers had been apprehensive about meeting their father, but though he cast a wary glance at Mark he seemed much the same as always. They’d been wondering how to spirit him away from Margot, but over coffee on their arrival she solved the problem for them.

  ‘I promised to do the church flowers this weekend before I knew you were coming,’ she said. ‘So I suggest you three men take yourselves off for a pub lunch and perhaps a good long walk, since you two have been cooped up in London. Then we can meet again for tea. I made one of my Dundee cakes, which I know you can’t resist!’

  ‘An excellent idea!’ Jonathan said heartily. ‘Do we build up an appetite by having our walk first, or work off our lunch with exercise after?’

  ‘Walk first, while the weather holds,’ Charles decreed. ‘Rain’s forecast for later.’

  They set off along the country lanes and turned into a copse that had been a favourite haunt when the boys were young. The summer’s foliage, depressingly brown and soggy, lay underfoot and through the bare branches an increasingly dark sky was visible.

  For a while they walked in silence. Then Charles said abruptly, ‘Well, we might as well get it over with. No doubt you’ve both come down to chastise me, so feel free. You can’t call me anything I’ve not called myself.’

  ‘Actually, Dad, we hope what we have to say might help a little.’

  Charles looked at them sharply. ‘Go on.’

  Jonathan steeled himself. ‘Robin told Delia about the … affair,’ he began. ‘And no, before you ask, she didn’t say anything to me. Not then.’

  ‘And how does that mitigate my actions?’

  Jonathan continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘As you’d expect, she was very upset, knowing it could only end in disaster.’ He paused. ‘Peter panicked when he received your letter and wanted to end it, but Robin pleaded with him and it continued for another month or so. Then Peter just broke it off – somewhat brutally, it has to be said. Robin was devastated and took pains to avoid Delia, knowing she’d not approved in the first place. But she finally tracked him down, and was shocked at the state he was in. He told her what had happened and she blew her top.’

  Jonathan drove his hands further into the pockets of his greatcoat, his eyes on the ground. ‘So she rang Peter at the office, gave him hell, and asked him how he thought Lydia would feel if she found out.’

  Charles made an exclamation under his breath.

  ‘And two days later,’ Jonathan continued stoically, ‘well … you know what happened.’

  Instinctively they’d all stopped walking and stood in a small knot under the naked trees. Jonathan forced himself to go on.

  ‘Obviously she’d no intention of telling Lydia, she just wanted him to know the hurt he’d caused her brother. But we all felt you should know you weren’t wholly to blame.’

  There was a long silence. Then Charles laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, Jon; that can’t have been easy, and I’m grateful to both you and Delia for telling me. It doesn’t make what I did any more forgivable, but at least it wasn’t the final straw. And from her angle, it wouldn’t have got to that stage without my letter, so she can take some comfort from that.’

  ‘That’s generous of you, Dad,’ Jonathan murmured. Mark suspected that he was close to tears, and cleared his throat.

  ‘After all of which, I think it’s time we turned our feet pubw
ards and downed a couple of pints of good strong ale.’

  The other two smiled. ‘I’ll second that,’ Charles said and, with a feeling of relief, they turned their steps in the direction of the Plough.

  The following day, Sophie told Mark that she’d decided not to return to Chislehurst in the near future. ‘I think we’d both benefit from a longer time apart,’ she said.

  ‘Lance?’ Mark asked bitterly, before he could stop himself. Somehow, though he’d been expecting this and had told his brother the feeling was mutual, he felt unaccountably hurt.

  She looked at him quickly. ‘I told you, he’s Stella’s friend, not mine. Honestly, Mark. That’s the truth.’

  And he had to believe her. Not, he concluded, that it was much consolation.

  THIRTEEN

  Kent

  It had been a miserable Christmas. Lydia, Sophie and Florence had moved into the Richmond home for the holiday, but no amount of tinsel could disguise the underlying tension, and only Florence remained unaware of it. Peter’s absence was a constant sadness and though Mark and Sophie valiantly strove to appear at ease with each other, no one except their little daughter was fooled.

  The number of guests had made it necessary for them to share their usual bedroom. No one alluded to the fact; Sophie had tightened her lips but made no comment, and Mark wondered miserably if all three parents hoped some miracle might bring them back together. If so, they were doomed to disappointment.

  And now it was over, and he was back in the empty house and counting the days till the office opened again. Even Simon’s company was preferable to his own, day after day. Thank God he had his walking holiday booked for February. Perhaps the Yorkshire moors would blow away his depression and he could begin to pull himself together again. He could only hope so.

  ‘So – how was Christmas?’

  They were sitting in a café in New Bond Street on a cold January morning, with bags of sales purchases piled on the chair between them.

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Pretty grim, as expected.’

  ‘Did you tell him what you’d decided?’

  ‘Not exactly; I just said I wanted to stay with Mum a bit longer and we needed more time apart.’

  ‘But not the “d” word?’

  ‘No.’

  Stella studied her over her coffee cup. ‘Not having second thoughts, are you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Stella. He was really very sweet over Christmas, playing with Florence and being extra kind to Mum and me when we kept welling up. To be honest I felt a bit of a brute even saying we were staying on. He looked so … hurt.’

  Stella was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘What about James?’

  Sophie moved impatiently. ‘James is James. Believe me, I’m under no illusions; even if I do divorce Mark, there’d be no chance of our marrying. In fact, I wouldn’t want to. Imagine having to put up with his moods on a permanent basis!’

  ‘But you are still seeing him, and – you know?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still seeing him.’

  ‘I miss our foursomes, now you’re further away.’

  ‘How are things with you and Lance?’

  ‘Fine. Not as heavy as you two, though.’

  ‘And Rex still doesn’t suspect anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘But again, our relationship’s different from yours and Mark’s. Or at least, from how yours used to be. For example, our love life’s pretty sporadic; I sometimes think he’d even be grateful to Lance for – filling in the gaps, as it were.’

  Sophie gave a choke of laughter. ‘You’re incorrigible!’ she said. She stirred her coffee reflectively. ‘That reminds me, when we got back from Bournemouth Florence let slip Lance’s name – said he’d bought her an ice cream or something. It was sheer bad luck, bumping into them like that after all our avoidance tactics. I tried to impress on her not to mention it, but—’ She shrugged.

  ‘So what happened?’ Stella asked.

  ‘Well, naturally Mark pounced on it, but I think I eventually convinced him he was your friend.’

  ‘Which he is,’ Stella pointed out.

  ‘Though Mark might wonder if he’d brought someone along to partner me.’

  ‘Did he ask?’

  ‘No, he just accepted my word, as far as it went.’

  Stella said shrewdly, ‘You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I am. I always have.’

  ‘But being with James is worth it?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘You make me sound so shallow. Sometimes I really hate myself.’

  ‘Oh, come on, you’re only young once and you’ve been positively saintly up to now. Enjoy yourself!’

  But Sophie wasn’t at all sure she was.

  Clapham, London

  Christmas had come and gone, studiously ignored at the Mallory house, and secretarial college had resumed. But as January slid remorselessly into February, whether at home, out with Tom or trying to master the exercises set for her, Ellie’s mind kept returning to the postcard hidden in her drawer and the mysterious Douglas Crawford, until at last she could bear it no longer.

  One evening, in the privacy of her room, she opened her laptop and logged on to the BT Phone Book. Then, holding her breath, she typed in his name and the address on the postcard. To her amazement, a telephone number immediately appeared. So he hadn’t moved house in twenty years! She sat staring at it, mouth dry and heart pounding. Then, quickly, before she could change her mind, she dialled the number, her fingers trembling.

  Across the miles she heard the ringing tone. Then it stopped and a man’s voice said ‘Douglas Crawford.’

  Ellie froze, and he said again, a little impatiently, ‘Hello? This is Douglas Crawford. Can I help you?’

  She swallowed past the knot in her throat. ‘Hello, yes – or at least I hope so. Could you tell me, please, if you once knew someone called Fay Mallory?’

  There was a seemingly endless silence, then the connection was broken.

  ‘Hello?’ Ellie said futilely. Then, ‘Damn, damn, damn!’

  She immediately phoned Tom’s mobile and before he had a chance to speak said rapidly, ‘Tom, I’ve just spoken to him!’

  ‘Hello to you too! What do you mean, who have you spoken to?’

  ‘Douglas Crawford! Would you believe it, he’s still at the same address and I looked up his phone number!’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Tom said slowly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I asked if he knew Fay Mallory and he hung up on me.’

  ‘There’s your answer, then.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if he wasn’t your father, the natural thing would have been to say, “Who’s Fay Mallory?” or “Never heard of her.” The fact that he didn’t proves that he knew her.’

  ‘So it does.’ Ellie’s heart was hammering. ‘Well, he’s not going to get off as easily as that.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Tom sounded anxious.

  ‘Phone again in a day or two, but during office hours this time. Someone else might answer if he’s at work, and perhaps I’d get more out of them.’

  ‘Doesn’t compute, Ellie. First, he’s probably retired from work, and second, if he hasn’t, it’s extremely unlikely anyone else in that house will have heard of her.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to try, anyway,’ Ellie said stubbornly. ‘And if that doesn’t work, I’ll go up to Cheshire and beard him in his den. It’s half-term next week, so I’ll tell Gran I’m going away with a friend.’

  ‘Ellie, for God’s sake stop this, before you get in any deeper! What possible good can come of it?’

  ‘I owe it to Mum,’ she said, and ended the call.

  She waited a couple of days, then, in her lunch break, found a quiet corner and dialled the same number. This time it rang for longer but at last a woman’s voice said tentatively, ‘Hello?’

  Ellie swallowed. ‘Is that Mrs Crawford?’ she asked, her voice shaking a little.

  ‘No, love, you’ve
just missed her. I’m the cleaner.’

  ‘What time will she be back?’

  ‘Oh, not for a while. They’ve all gone off on holiday.’

  Ellie’s eyes filled with tears of frustration, but a thought suddenly flashed into her head and she asked quickly, ‘To Drumlee?’

  ‘That’s right, love. Perhaps you’d like to try again in about ten days? They should be back by then.’

  Ellie thanked her and rang off. It was time to return to her desk, but an idea was already forming.

  ‘You’re off your chump!’ Tom declared that evening.

  ‘But don’t you see, I’ve just got to know, once and for all. It’s all right, I’m not going to demand any money or anything, I just want him to acknowledge Mum and me. And if he won’t tell me on the phone, he’ll have to do it face to face. So will you help me, like you promised?’

  ‘Help you do what? You seem to be managing pretty well on your own.’

  ‘Find a B and B in Drumlee.’

  ‘You’re mad! It’ll be like the inside of a fridge up there at this time of year!’

  ‘If he and his family can survive it, I can. I’ll take warm clothes.’

  ‘I wish I could come with you,’ he said worriedly, ‘but I can’t take time off work.’

  ‘I’ll be OK. Let’s have a look and see what’s on offer.’

  And it was as easy as that. The day before she was due to leave she made one last phone call, this time to the Merlin Hotel to make sure the Crawfords really were in Drumlee. She’d had to raid her savings for this trip – she couldn’t risk it being in vain.

  Safer, she thought, to ask for the wife, and when her call was answered she said brightly, ‘Could you tell me, please, if Mrs Crawford is staying with you at the moment?’

  ‘Not with us, no, madam; they’re at their house, Touchstone. Have you that number?’

  At which point Ellie’s nerve failed her. ‘Yes, thanks,’ she lied rapidly. ‘I’ll try there. Thanks for your help.’ And she rang off.