Sins of the Fathers

by Anthea Fraser

  So her sitting duck was in position, and within the next few days she intended to have answers to all the questions that had troubled her throughout her life. Scotland, here I come! she thought triumphantly.

  FOURTEEN

  Drumlee

  Sophie, then, not Florence. Mark drew a deep breath before scrolling rapidly through the missed calls in order to listen to them chronologically, conscious as he did so of the tingling in his ears and fingers as the cold began to bite. The morning was misty and, though no more snow had fallen, a thick white rime covered walls and gateposts.

  The first message, sent about the time he’d switched off his phone on arrival here, was, as he might have expected, from Simon. Impatiently he skipped it and all Simon’s subsequent ones, including the more surprising call from another office colleague, and urgently clicked on the earliest from the family, which came from Lydia and was dated last Sunday.

  ‘Mark?’ it began hesitantly. ‘It’s Lydia. I’m sorry to trouble you on holiday, but is Sophie with you, by any chance? No one seems to know where she is. Do please give me a call when you get this.’

  His mother’s first call had been made at ten o’clock on Monday. ‘Mark, it’s Mum. Why is your phone switched off? You’ve never done that before. How are we supposed to get in touch in an emergency? And as it happens this is one: Sophie seems to have disappeared, and we’re wondering if by any chance she’s with you? If so, it seems odd that she didn’t tell anyone. Please give me a ring when you get this. Love from us all.’

  Mark frowned. Why, in view of the state of their relationship, should anyone suppose she was with him? Hope that a reconciliation was on the cards, or the pressing need to know she was safe?

  Safe. That word again; his mother had used it, and it increased his unease. Sophie could be thoughtless, but she wouldn’t willingly cause Lydia concern. Margot’s next two calls were indicative of increasing impatience at his inaccessibility and disquiet about Sophie, and by the last, the one he’d listened to first, anxiety had escalated to the point of calling in the police. What the hell was she playing at, worrying everyone like that?

  He glanced back at the house. People would be gathering for breakfast and wondering where he was, but he had to find out what had happened. With luck, she might have turned up by now.

  His call was answered on the first ring. ‘Mark? Oh, thank God! Is she with you?’

  ‘No, of course she’s not, Mum. What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Why did you switch – oh, never mind! The point is she told Lydia on Friday that she’d be spending the day and evening with Stella, and asked her to collect Florence from school. So Lyddie did so, gave her her tea, put her to bed and eventually went to bed herself. It wasn’t till the next morning that she found Sophie’s bed hadn’t been slept in.’

  ‘And there’s been no word from her since?’

  ‘None. Lydia got in touch with Stella, who confirmed that she’d seen her but said she’d thought Sophie went straight home. Though Lyddie thought she sounded a bit evasive.’

  ‘Lance!’ Mark said softly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Florence mentioned they’d met someone called Lance in Bournemouth and Sophie told her not to tell me. When I tackled her about it, she said he was a friend of Stella’s – but in that case, why the secrecy?’

  ‘You mean she might be seeing someone?’ Margot asked slowly.

  ‘That’s the likeliest explanation, though why she couldn’t just have said so, I don’t know. It’s not as if we’re still together. Ask Stella about him – she might know something.’

  ‘How soon can you get back?’

  Mark bit his lip. ‘Mum, I can’t. I’m … tied up at the moment. As long as Florence is OK – she is, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, of course – she thinks Sophie’s on holiday. But what do you mean, you’re tied up?’ Her voice changed. ‘You’re not with someone, are you?’

  ‘Not in that sense. Look, I can’t go into it now, and I’ll have to switch my phone off again. But I’ll give you a call this evening, I promise.’

  ‘Not in what sense?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you being so enigmatic?’ And when he didn’t reply, she ended, ‘At least promise me you’ll contact the police and let them know where you are and that you’ve not seen her.’

  ‘Bye, Mum. Speak to you later.’ He switched off his phone, slipped it into his pocket and hurried back to the house.

  ‘Well, the wanderer returns!’ Nick greeted him. ‘One minute you were there, and the next you’d gone!’

  ‘Sorry. Just needed a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘It was more than fresh by the look of you!’ Natalie handed him a cup of coffee. ‘You look frozen!’

  ‘That’s very welcome, thanks.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re over your hangover, if that’s what it was,’ Harry said, ‘because we’ve got a guest for lunch, remember.’

  ‘Guest?’ Natalie repeated, then clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘God, yes! With everything that’s been going on, I’d completely forgotten! It’s today Ellie’s coming, isn’t it?’

  Sebastian frowned. ‘Ellie? Oh, the girl who was on the bench.’

  ‘Her mother died at Christmas, poor lamb, and apparently she loved Drumlee. That’s why Ellie came.’

  ‘She’d have done better to wait till summer,’ Helena remarked. ‘This weather’s guaranteed to make her more, not less, miserable.’

  ‘Then we must all try to cheer her up,’ Natalie said firmly.

  The kitchen radio, like all those at Touchstone, was tuned to the English rather than the Scottish news and Mark, gratefully sipping the hot coffee, was only half-listening when an item burst into his consciousness with the impact of a thunderclap.

  ‘The condition of Victoria Pyne, the BBC presenter who was seriously injured in a car crash last week, continues to cause concern. Her husband Christopher, chief executive of the auction house Bellingham’s, is at her bedside.’

  Mark choked on his coffee, scalding his mouth in the process, and Jessica automatically patted his back. Last week … Simon’s frantic calls … Oh God, no! He’d barely recovered his breath when the next item took it away again.

  ‘Kent police are concerned for the safety of a thirty-two-year-old woman, Sophie Richmond, who disappeared from her mother’s home in the village of Foxbridge last Friday. Anyone who might have seen her or who knows of her whereabouts is asked to get in touch with them on …’ The requisite number was given. Then came the final shock. ‘They’re also anxious to trace her estranged husband, Mark Richmond, who is believed to be on a walking holiday in Yorkshire.’

  ‘It’s always the husband!’ said Harry cheerfully.

  Mark had tensed, awaiting immediate interrogation, before it struck him that the name would have no meaning here. Only Helena might have recognized it, and she’d doubtless forgotten it within minutes of being told.

  Sure enough, to his enervating relief, everyone was calmly continuing with their breakfast, and he forced himself to relax.

  ‘Egg and bacon, Adam?’ Seb enquired from the cooker, and Mark, fervently blessing Adam Ryder, shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother, thanks. Harry’s right about the hangover, though. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll make myself scarce for a while and sort myself out in time for lunch.’

  And pushing back his chair, he thankfully left the room.

  Secure in the knowledge that Nick was in the kitchen, Mark ran upstairs, switching his phone on as he went, and, on reaching his bedroom, closed the door and scrolled back to Simon’s first message. It was extremely brief.

  ‘Phone me, Mark, for God’s sake! All hell’s broken out!’

  Since he now knew the reason for his calls, Mark skimmed quickly through the others, all versions of the first with varying degrees of urgency. The call from Bob Derringer, one of the jewellery experts, was of more concern.

  ‘It’s Bob, Mark. Sorry to interrupt your leave, but you’ll have heard by now of the boss’s
wife’s accident – a very nasty one, I’m afraid. What’s odd is that it was reported anonymously from a public call box, and the caller didn’t wait to speak to the emergency services. Christopher’s puzzled as to why she was even in that area, and as you were down there yourself that evening he wondered if you could shed any light on it.’ He paused. ‘Admittedly it’s a long shot, since Simon says you spent the evening together and he’s been unable to help. Anyway, give us a call when you get this message, and enjoy your leave.’

  ‘Bloody Simon!’ Mark said under his breath, and dialled his number.

  ‘Mark! About bloody time! Hang on a minute.’ There was the sound of footsteps and a door closing, then he came back on line. ‘You’ve heard about Victoria?’

  ‘Just now. How is she?’

  ‘Still on the critical list.’ His voice shook.

  ‘What happened, Simon?’

  ‘We were in her car, thank God, and she was driving. Sorry if that sounds callous, but if it had been mine I’d have been truly skewered.’ He drew a breath. ‘We’d been out for a meal and were on our way back to her hotel where I’d left my car when we came round a sharp corner, the wheels skidded and we went headlong into a tree.’ His voice was shaking. ‘The bonnet crumpled like cardboard and I could see that she was seriously hurt. We’d passed one of those old red phone boxes minutes before and I ran back and dialled nine-nine-nine.’ He paused. ‘You’ll think me a heel for not using my mobile, but I couldn’t risk it being traced.’

  ‘So your call was anonymous,’ Mark said flatly. The coward’s way out – like his father, all over again.

  ‘It didn’t make any difference,’ Simon blustered. ‘The police and ambulance were there within minutes. I waited till I heard the sirens, then made my way back to the hotel. It was only a mile or so, but I’ve no idea how I got there. I was in total shock, frantic to know if she’d made it but with no way of finding out.’

  His voice broke. Mark made no attempt to help him and after a minute he went on. ‘I collected my car, hightailed it to our hotel and phoned you – and you bloody hung up on me. And you’ve been stalling me ever since.’

  ‘I haven’t been stalling you, Simon,’ Mark said tiredly. ‘My phone was switched off. I’m on holiday, remember.’

  ‘Jenny said she rang,’ he said after a minute. ‘Thanks for playing along.’

  ‘You do realize, don’t you, that you’ve dragged me into this? I’ve had a call from Bob Derringer saying among other things that you’d told them we’d spent the evening together.’

  ‘Well, that’s what we agreed, isn’t it? And I’m very grateful that you stuck to it.’

  ‘You’d better be,’ Mark said grimly, ‘because it’s the last favour I’ll ever do you. My career could be at risk if they find out I deliberately gave you a false alibi. Were you hurt yourself?’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘Not a scratch. Ain’t no justice, is there?’ He hesitated. ‘One thing’s worrying me, though – apart from her injuries, I mean. If she’s delirious or anything, she might … give something away.’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ Mark said heartlessly. ‘Goodbye, Simon. Please don’t call me again.’

  Bob Derringer, he decided, would have to wait a little longer for his return call.

  He washed his face in cold water and patted it dry, surveying himself critically in the mirror over the basin. First Sophie, now Simon. Part of him acknowledged that he should return home; the other part demanded why the hell he should. If Sophie chose to go off with her lover, it was no business of his; Florence was OK, and that was all that really concerned him.

  The family would be leaving Drumlee on Saturday, and if she still hadn’t turned up, he supposed he could abandon his ill-fated walking holiday, for all the good it would do. On the other hand, ludicrous though it seemed, going home would lay him open to being seized by the police. And then there was Simon. God! And he’d thought his life was going off the rails before all this!

  What he needed was space to sort himself out. He collected scarf and gloves from the shelf and ran back down the stairs, retrieving his windcheater from the banisters where he’d hung it on his way to breakfast. He was shrugging it on when a voice behind him said, ‘And where are you sneaking off to?’

  He turned to see Helena approaching from the kitchen. ‘I’m hoping a stiff walk will dispel the hangover.’

  ‘This convenient hangover again. Or is the truth that you find our company boring?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Helena,’ he said shortly. He was in no mood for her games.

  ‘Oh, so I’m being ridiculous, am I? Not very lover-like language, caro mio.’

  ‘Not what you get from Blair Mackay?’ he flashed back.

  She drew in her breath sharply, then her hand lashed stingingly across his face. For a moment longer they stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Then he turned on his heel and let himself out of the front door. But not before he’d caught sight of Harry, Nick and Natalie, who’d also emerged from the kitchen and had witnessed the altercation.

  Ellie arrived promptly at twelve thirty. She was wearing the familiar anorak and pink jumper, but the trainers had been changed for wedge-heeled shoes and the jeans for a long black skirt. Her hair, sleek and shiny, was caught back in a high ponytail, making her look even younger, Natalie thought.

  ‘Come and get warm,’ she invited, ‘and meet the rest of the family.’

  They awaited her in the sitting room in a slightly embarrassed group, and Natalie performed the introductions quickly, hoping to dispel the formal atmosphere. The girl seemed on edge, but who wouldn’t be, faced with a room full of strange people?

  ‘Is this your first visit to Drumlee?’ Paula asked gently, as Seb, primed by Nick, handed Ellie a glass of shandy.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a shy smile. ‘I realize I’m not seeing it at its best, but Mum was always talking about it and I wanted to see it for myself.’

  ‘We were so sorry to hear about your mother. How is your father coping?’

  Damn! Natalie thought; her father’s absence was an item she’d failed to pass on.

  Ellie’s hand had jerked involuntarily, spilling some of her drink, and she gave an exclamation of distress.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Paula said quickly. ‘This carpet has had plenty of spills over the years. My sons assure me the alcohol preserves it!’

  Ellie smiled uncertainly. ‘I … never knew my father,’ she said, reverting to Paula’s question. ‘Mum and I have always lived with my grandparents.’

  Fortuitously Danny came to the rescue by slipping his hand in Paula’s and announcing proudly, ‘This is my granny!’ and the tensions dissolved.

  Since their guest was staying in a B&B, a substantial lunch had been planned. Meg and Andy had switched their services for the day from the evening to midday, producing a full-blown roast – Scottish beef with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and two kinds of vegetable, followed by the queen of puddings. Their guest, however, seemed to have a disappointingly small appetite and Natalie worried that they’d over-faced her.

  ‘Just eat as much as you want,’ she urged.

  ‘I’m sorry; it’s delicious but I’m just … not very hungry.’

  ‘Do you get a good evening meal at the B and B?’ Douglas enquired.

  It was the first remark he’d addressed directly to her, and she flushed. ‘It’s a kind of high tea,’ she answered evasively.

  ‘Kippers and bread and jam?’ Harry asked, and she smilingly nodded.

  This was not going as well as Natalie had hoped. ‘I think you said you lived in London. So do I. Whereabouts are you?’

  ‘Clapham,’ Ellie replied.

  ‘Really? I’ve friends who live there, on the edge of the Common.’

  ‘Don’t ask if she knows them!’ put in Nick humorously. ‘It’s like being abroad; when you say you live in London, they ask if you know the Queen!’

  Ellie pushed away her pudding plate and l
ooked up. Her flush had intensified and her eyes were very bright. ‘Actually,’ she said, her voice unnaturally high, ‘it isn’t true, what I told you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘For a start, my mother never set foot in Drumlee in her life.’

  They all stared at her, perplexed. ‘Then what brought you here?’ Paula asked after a moment.

  ‘This.’ Ellie opened the handbag on her lap and produced a picture postcard which she tossed on to the table. It was a view of Drumlee.

  ‘You just … liked the look of it?’ Jessica suggested uncertainly.

  ‘Not exactly. I wanted to meet you. I knew you were staying here, at a house called Touchstone, so I kept watch and when you came out, I … followed you.’

  Her eyes fell before Natalie’s accusing gaze. ‘So our meeting wasn’t just chance?’

  Ellie shook her head.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Paula said quietly. ‘Why did you want to meet us, and why couldn’t you have gone about it in a more orthodox way?’

  Ellie squared her shoulders and looked directly at Douglas. ‘Why did you hang up on me, Mr Crawford?’ she asked.

  Puzzled glances were exchanged, but Douglas was staring at the girl as though registering her for the first time. After an elongated pause he said in a strained voice, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I think you do. I asked if you knew Fay Mallory.’

  ‘Who’s Fay Mallory?’ Paula demanded, alarmed at her husband’s sudden pallor.

  Ellie’s eyes were still fixed on Douglas. ‘My mother,’ she said.

  Someone gasped. Ellie leaned forward and retrieved the postcard. ‘I found this at the back of a drawer when I was clearing out her things. It’s from the Merlin Hotel, dated July 1999, and sent to Mr and Mrs Crawford in Knutsford, then forwarded to Mr Crawford in London. It reads: “Sorry to hear you won’t be up this summer. Perhaps this card will change your mind?! Best – Lexie and Callum”.’

  Helena said under her breath, ‘Oh my God!’

  No one else spoke, so Ellie continued. ‘My mother became pregnant, had a very difficult time, and nearly died giving birth to me. She was a semi-invalid for the rest of her life and – and died just before Christmas, as I said.’ Tears were running unchecked down her cheeks.