Folly's Child

by Janet Tanner

  ‘Sally, hang on a minute.’ Harriet managed to interrupt her flow. ‘I can understand your reluctance to talk about what’s happened but you can’t just push it to one side. That’s Dad’s trick, but it’s not like you.’

  ‘It’s just that I don’t like wasting my energy worrying about things I can do nothing about,’ Sally said matter-of-factly. ‘Please, Harriet. I have had it up to here!’ She drew an imaginary line across the base of her throat, brushing her double-strand pearl choker. ‘ Can’t we just leave it?’

  Harriet sighed. ‘No, I don’t think we can. I called in to see Dad before coming here and while I was there an insurance investigator called Tom O’Neill came to see him. The same man was at my flat last night asking questions and for all I know his next visit will be here, to see you, so …’ She broke off. Sally’s hand was clutching at her pearls now and she had turned very pale beneath her makeup. ‘Sally, are you all right?’ she asked swiftly.

  ‘An insurance investigator, you say?’ Sally repeated in a shocked voice.

  ‘That’s right. There was a big pay-out on Mom’s life, wasn’t there? Well, the insurance company seem to have got it into their heads that if Greg Martin is alive Mom might be too. They’re more or less accusing us of some kind of fraud.’

  ‘My God,’ Sally said.

  ‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Harriet exclaimed, irritated by Sally’s uncharacteristic behaviour. ‘As Dad said, we have nothing to hide and hopefully he’ll soon realise that and go away. But it’s pretty unpleasant, especially for Dad, to have all this raked up. He’s under a terrible strain.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ Sally said faintly.

  ‘Perhaps, but it’s different for us,’ Harriet said, mindful of what her father had told her. ‘She was his wife, after all.’

  ‘And your mother. And my sister.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But all the same … I think we should do all we can to support him. Sally, are you listening to what I’m saying?’

  Sally was staring into space, still plucking at her pearl choker in agitation. A tiny muscle was working near her mouth, making her lip tremble.

  ‘I knew something like this would happen,’ she whispered. ‘It’s what I’ve been afraid of.’

  Harriet stared at her.

  ‘I suppose it’s inevitable,’ she conceded. ‘ But there’s no point getting so worked up about it. I just wanted to warn you, that’s all. And to ask you to support Dad.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sally collected herself. ‘I expect you’d like to bath and change, Harriet. You must be exhausted. And I was going to try to get hold of Mark. I’ll ask Danny to bring up your things.’

  ‘It’s all right, I can manage them. Don’t bother Danny.’ Danny was the chauffeur. Harriet picked up her hold-all and escaped. She was puzzled by Sally’s reaction. Anger, yes, she’d expected that. But Sally had seemed really upset, not at all her usual contained self. She was getting quite neurotic, Harriet reflected, and the same thought occurred to her now as she checked her image in the full length mirror, tucking her camisole top more neatly in at the waist of her pants and straightening the ornamental clasp of the loose belt she had fastened around her hips. She only hoped Sally was able to get hold of Mark. It would be nice to see him and his presence would lighten things. Mark always managed to be deliciously irreverent, no matter how heavy things got. It was the English in him, she supposed, that laid-back refusal to take himself – or anyone else – seriously.

  Somewhere in the house a telephone was ringing. Harriet took no notice of it but a minute or two later there was a tap at her door and a maid stood there with one of the portable receivers – there was no extension in Harriet’s room.

  ‘For me?’ she asked, surprised. The maid nodded. Harriet waited until the door had closed after her and flicked the button, feeling oddly apprehensive. The last thirty-six hours had held too many unpleasant shocks for comfort. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Harriet – it’s me.’

  ‘Nick!’

  ‘Hi. I’m just about to go to bed and I thought I’d ring and see how things are with you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine.’

  ‘You arrived safely then?’ He sounded so close he might almost have been in the next room instead of the other side of the Atlantic ocean.

  ‘Yes. I’ve seen Dad and we shall soon be having dinner.’

  ‘Good. Tired, I expect?’

  ‘Exhausted.’

  ‘But otherwise all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a silence. There was really nothing else to say.

  ‘I won’t keep you then. I just thought I’d let you know I was thinking of you.’

  ‘Thanks, Nick, it was sweet of you.’

  ‘OK. Take care then, Harriet. And keep in touch.’

  The slight sense of claustrophobia he could always arouse in her stirred. ‘Yes. Goodnight, Nick. Thanks again for ringing.’

  Then he was gone and she held the receiver for a moment feeling unexpectedly bereft. He was so good to her. So caring. Why couldn’t she let him in to that private part of herself that sometimes cried out for – what? But she couldn’t. Nick was there for her and she was grateful, but that was all. The moment she knew it she didn’t want him any more, simple as that. What the hell is the matter with me? Harriet wondered briefly.

  She glanced at her watch. Half an hour or so to dinner. She might as well go down, have a pre-dinner drink with Sally and see if her father was home yet.

  Halfway down the stairs she heard voices and through the partly-open drawing-room door caught a glimpse of Sally in peacock-blue cashmere and the tall figure of a young man, fair hair above a chestnut brown suede jacket. Her heart leaped and she ran the rest of the way like a child in her delight.

  ‘Mark! Oh, it’s so good to see you!’

  ‘Hey, steady!’ He set down his glass and hugged her. ‘Fancy you being in New York too. What a turn-up for the books!’

  ‘I know. But I had to come. You’ve heard the news, of course.’

  ‘Yes. I talked to Sally on the telephone last night. It must have come as one hell of a shock for you, Skeeter.’ It was his nickname for her; he had started calling her that when she was small and it had stuck even though she was now a respectable five-feet-seven.

  ‘For all of us.’ She glanced at Sally, but her aunt seemed to have regained her composure. ‘Is Dad home yet?’

  ‘No. I hope he’s not going, to be much longer.’

  ‘I left him with an insurance investigator,’ Harriet explained to Mark.

  ‘Mark – get Harriet a drink,’ Sally said. ‘I’m going to ask Jane to hold dinner back a bit.’ She hurried out, but not before Harriet had seen the haunted look was back in her eyes.

  ‘What will you have, Skeeter?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Oh – better make it Martini. I’ve already had one telling-off from Dad today for drinking Scotch. If he finds me at it again he’ll be convinced I’m on the slippery slope.’

  ‘Right.’ He poured it for her and watched with one eyebrow raised as she gulped at it. ‘It’s all been a bit bloody, I gather.’

  ‘Yep.’ She brought him up to date with what had happened. ‘Your mother seems to have taken it pretty badly’, she concluded.

  ‘Yes, she does look a bit grey for her doesn’t she? Of course she was very close to Paula, I understand. Anyway, let’s talk about something quite different. What have you been up to?’

  She told him about Paris and her new assignment for Focus Now.

  ‘And what about you?’ she asked. ‘How is the advertising business?’

  ‘Booming. I think I’ve just sewn up a deal on a new account.’

  ‘Good for you!’ She looked at him over the top of her glass. ‘You’re spending a good deal of time in New York now, Mark. I thought you were in love with London.’

  ‘I’m in love with wherever the business is. And at the moment it’s in New York.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s the real reason? It’s not that you’re deli
berately staying away from London by any chance is it?’

  He tossed back his drink. ‘Now why should I do that?’

  ‘Oh I could think of several reasons.’ She eyed him shrewdly. ‘But I think the most likely is that it has something to do with a girl.’

  The moment she said it she knew she had hit the nail on the head. It was there in his expression though he feigned bored impatience.

  ‘Now why the hell should you think that?’

  ‘Feminine intuition. Who was it, Mark? What went wrong? You must have cared an awful lot about her to deliberately stay away from London because of her. Now wait a minute – it wouldn’t be that young fashion designer, would it? The one with the place over in Whitechapel?’

  He set his glass down sharply. ‘ What do you know about her?’

  ‘Nothing really. Just that someone told me you’d been seeing her. It is her, isn’t it? Oh come on, Mark, you can tell me!’

  ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you, Skeeter, that I might not want to? Being my step-sister doesn’t give you a God-given right to know all my business.’ His tone was still laconic but she heard the undertones and was warned. Mark could bite if upset – and of course he was quite right, she shouldn’t pry into what was none of her business.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘It’s all right.’ But he still looked a little spiky. The girl must have given him the elbow, Harriet decided. Most unusual – where Mark was concerned it was usually the other way round.

  ‘Shall we have another drink?’ he suggested.

  She hesitated, then pushed her glass towards him.

  ‘Why not? If Dad is going to brand me an alcoholic I might as well have the game as well as the name!’

  When Hugo returned home dinner was served as soon as he had had time to change. It was a sombre meal in spite of Mark’s presence. Hugo looked even more tired and strained than he had earlier, Harriet thought, and Sally was edgy and preoccupied though she seemed greatly relieved when Hugo told her that the insurance investigator, Tom O’Neill, had seemed satisfied with what he had been able to tell him and had not expressed any desire for a further interview or the need to come to the house to speak to Sally.

  ‘He tells me he is going straight on to Australia to see Greg,’ Hugo said. ‘Let’s hope the whole thing ends there. Though somehow I doubt it.’

  ‘Why? Why should you doubt it?’ Sally demanded. Harriet noticed her hands were shaking.

  ‘Because the son of a bitch won’t let up while he thinks there is the slightest chance of getting back his quarter of a million,’ Hugo said.

  ‘Then why don’t you just give it to him?’ Sally suggested. ‘It would be worth it, Hugo, to get him off our backs.’

  ‘If that were the case he could have it and welcome. But it would simply look like an admission of guilt and I’m damned if I’m going to do that when I’ve nothing to hide.’

  ‘Sydney, New South Wales,’ Harriet said irrelevantly. They all looked at her questioningly and she explained: ‘I was just thinking aloud’.

  ‘You’re not still entertaining this foolish idea of going to Australia to try to see Greg Martin yourself, I hope,’ Hugo said sharply.

  ‘Yes’, Harriet said. ‘I am. I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t see it the way you do. I’m not prepared to simply brush it under the carpet and try to pretend it hasn’t happened. I want to find out the truth.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Harriet, don’t do anything so foolish …’ Sally had turned pale again. ‘You don’t want to see Greg!’

  ‘It’ll be a wasted journey. If he’s in police custody as he may well be by now they’ll never let her see him,’ Hugo said.

  ‘I intend to try.’

  ‘All I can say is I hope you weren’t too rude to that insurance investigator then,’ Mark put in drily. ‘If you want to see Greg then he’s got to be your best chance. You should persuade him to let you pose as his secretary or something.’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Mark, do you have to make everything into a joke?’ Harriet demanded.

  ‘I’m not joking – I’m perfectly serious. He’ll be given access to Martin, I should think. He is a professional investigator, after all.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask him for help if I were on a sinking ship and he was the only one with a lifebelt!’ Harriet said decisively.

  At that moment Sally knocked over her glass of wine. It ran in a red river across the polished table top and cascaded onto her peacock-blue cashmere skirt. She leaped up, dabbing at it with a napkin.

  ‘Oh no! It’ll be ruined! I must take it off at once and give it to Donna so that she can rinse it …’ She hurried from the room.

  ‘Sally is in one hell of a state,’ Mark said easily. ‘This business has made her really jumpy. She’s not herself at all.’

  ‘Is it surprising?’ Hugo snapped. ‘I should have thought anyone with a grain of sensitivity would realise how painful it is for all of us to have this all raked up again. As if it wasn’t bad enough for us to live through it once …’

  Harriet stood up. ‘I’ll go and see if she’s all right. I don’t want any more dinner. I am honestly not hungry.’

  ‘Neither I think are any of us,’ Hugo observed.

  In her room Sally eventually managed to get out of her dress though her hands were trembling so much she had great difficulty with the zipper. Then she kicked it away and sank onto the bed covering her face with her hands.

  God in heaven, where was this nightmare going to end? Was it really only the day before yesterday when everything had been so pleasant and normal? When she had been able to plan her charity lunches and her dinner parties, go shopping, gossip with friends, look at her life and know that at last she had achieved all she had ever wanted, even if sometimes it was a little lonely, a little empty? Now in every corner, wherever she looked, the ghosts of the past seemed to be congregating to mock her until she felt sure she must be going mad.

  A tap at the door and without waiting for her answer it opened a fraction. ‘ Sally?’ It was Harriet’s voice, Harriet’s anxious face peeping round. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Somehow she got a hold of herself and went to pick up her dress. ‘How could I be so clumsy?’

  ‘You’re upset. Let me take the dress to Donna while you find something else to put on.’

  Sally let her take it. Then before she could stop herself she asked: ‘You’re not really going to Australia are you, Harriet?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  Sally caught at her arm. ‘Don’t go, darling, please. You never know, you might find out something you’d rather not know.’

  Harriet’s brows came together in a puzzled little line.

  ‘Dad said something similar. You’re afraid, both of you, that I might discover Mom isn’t dead at all, aren’t you?’ Sally said nothing, and Harriet went on: ‘You don’t really think she could do something like that, do you? Disappear and let us all think she was dead if she wasn’t?’

  For a moment Sally did not answer.

  ‘Your mom was a very determined lady when she wanted something,’ she said, avoiding Harriet’s eyes. ‘ She usually got it one way or another.’

  ‘You mean you do think … Sally, she was your sister, dammit!’

  ‘Yes’, Sally said softly. ‘She was my sister all right.’

  She crossed to one of her closets, sliding hangers along the rail.

  ‘Go back to the others, Harriet. I’m all right. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  For a moment longer Harriet hesitated, then she nodded.

  ‘If you’re sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Yes, really. Go along with you.’

  The door closed after Harriet, and Sally rifled through her wardrobe looking for a dress of mauve-sprigged white seersucker, slightly yellowed now, and quite out of place amongst the designer gowns. She should have thrown it out years ago but somehow she’d never had the heart. She’d loved that dress, felt so grown up in it! She slipped it off its h
anger and held it against herself and it was almost as if the face looking back at her from the mirror across it was fourteen years old again. As she stood there holding it the memories came flooding back – and not all of them pleasant. For she had been wearing this dress the night she had first glimpsed the truth about her sister, a truth that was as unpalatable now as it had been then.

  ‘Oh Paula!’ she whispered and suddenly tears were running down her cheeks, making rivulets in her carefully-applied make-up. ‘ What happened to you? And dear God, what happened to me?’

  She stood quite still, holding the dress with arms folded around her waist, and remembered.

  PART TWO

  The Past

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As she climbed the stairs Sally could hear the low voices and the giggles coming from the bedroom she shared with her sister and knew what it meant. Paula had brought her friend Louise home with her and they would be sharing the sort of older-girl talk that always made Sally feel like an intruder – and a very gauche, childish intruder at that. She hesitated, torn between the unaccountable shyness she always felt in Louise’s presence and the overwhelming desire to be in on whatever it was they were giggling about, even if she was only a barely tolerated spectator. Fascination with the older girls won just as it always did and she crossed the landing, an expanse of lino dotted with what her mother referred to as ‘slip mats’, pushed open the door and went in.

  Two pairs of accusing eyes focused on her. Paula, wearing tight pedal pushers and a cotton off-the-shoulder jersey, was sprawled on her elbows on the tiled fire-surround, smoking and puffing the smoke up the chimney whilst Louise, stripped to her sexy black lace underwear, was lying on the bed pounding at her thighs with some kind of massager which appeared to consist of a collection of rubber pimples on a brush head.

  ‘Sally! What are you doing here?’ Paula demanded.

  ‘It’s my room too,’ Sally said defensively. ‘I can come in if I like.’

  ‘Oh you’re such a nuisance! Go and listen to the radio or something.’