by Jenny Kane
‘Yes. But please be kind. I haven’t examined them properly in years. They may not be very good up close.’
The paintings were of a matching pair of kingfishers. The one on the left of the fireplace dived one way, the one on the right in the opposite direction. The detail was intricate and accurate; the play of the light on the water, the reflection, and the shadow were, as far as Jack could see, perfect. He knew in an instant that these weren’t just good, they were excellent. Megan would love them.
‘Do you sell your work, Mrs Ashton? These are exquisite!’
‘Are they?’
‘They are.’ Jack stepped away. ‘Thank you for letting me enjoy them.’
‘I ... it’s my pleasure.’ Mrs Ashton smiled a little wider as the door was pushed open and Rupert came through with a tray of tea and coffee.
‘Mrs Daniels says dinner will be in an hour, Mother. I have to say it smells delicious.’
Jack contained his surprise at the family having a cook, turning his attention instead to the fact that there were only three cups on the tray, which had to mean Rupert’s father was not expected to join them. He said nothing however, as Rupert perched next to him on the sofa, looking decidedly uneasy.
‘Have you two been getting on alright?’
‘Very well.’ Mrs Ashton arranged the cups onto their saucers. ‘Jack likes my paintings.’
‘I’ve always loved kingfishers.’ Jack said, ‘When I was young my grandad used to take me out for long walks along the river. If we were lucky, we’d see them dive. So graceful – and so fast! I think that’s when I first fell in love with the countryside.’
Pouring two cups of tea, and a coffee for Jack, Rupert felt a new wave of affection for his friend, who had already endeared himself to Rupert’s mother. ‘I got my love of nature from you, Mother. Do you remember? We used to go on long walks too, didn’t we?’
‘We did.’ The light in Mrs Ashton’s eyes dimmed a fraction. To Jack it seemed as if Rupert’s mother had suddenly mentally collected herself, and felt she’d lapsed in her responsibilities in some way by being so welcoming. ‘So, you know the men my son works for, Mr Brown? What manner of business would that be exactly?’
Mr Brown? Jack wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve the relegation back to his surname, but determined to remain friendly, said, ‘It involves working with nature, actually.’
Rupert spoke with exasperation. ‘Father isn’t listening behind the door, Mother. Mrs Daniels says he has been delayed. You are free to be friendly to us for at least another twenty minutes.’
Jack was aghast, and yet the small sag of Mrs Ashton’s shoulders showed she had relaxed back into her previous state of welcome.
‘I apologise, Jack. Perhaps Rupert has told you, my husband is rather proper. He would not like me to use your Christian name until he has also met your acquaintance.’
‘And deemed if you’re suitable company for me or not.’ Rupert grumbled as he picked up his tea. ‘Honestly, Mother, why do you put up with his strange rules?’
Not answering her son’s question, possibly because she couldn’t, Mrs Ashton turned her attention back to his friend. ‘I’ve always liked the name Jack. Did you know that it derives from the English names Jackin or Jankin, and is a diminutive of the name John? It was such a popular name during medieval times that the word Jack was used as a slang term for “man”.’
Jack looked so impressed that Rupert laughed. ‘My mother is full of general knowledge like that. She could be the queen of any quiz team – if she was allowed to do anything fun or ordinary.’
‘I knew that the name was English, but I didn’t know the rest. That’s fascinating.’
Smiling at Jack, Mrs Ashton added, ‘The original meaning is “gracious”, the same as John. And in Scotland, the name for John is Ian. I do love facts like that.’
Jack spoke eagerly. ‘So do I. When I was at university my girlfriend was studying archaeology and history. She was always coming out with stuff like that. I suspect you already know that the surname Ashton comes from a town that is entered via a row of ash trees?’
‘I did,’ Rupert’s mother looked pleased, ‘but I’m thrilled you know as well.’
Rupert sipped his tea quietly, not sure if his mother was thrilled about Jack’s interest in nature and trivia, or if it was the fact he’d mentioned he’d had a girlfriend that had restored her smile.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Saturday 30th July
The door to the drawing room opened, and with that one movement, despite the heat of early afternoon sunshine streaming through the window, the temperature dropped.
Jack didn’t miss the exchange of wary glances between mother and son as Mr Ashton strode into the room. Seconds earlier Mrs Ashton had been relaxed in her chair, eagerly answering Jack’s questions about her charming garden; a place she’d referred to as her sanctuary. Now she sat bolt upright, her shoulders braced, and although she wasn’t actually gripping the arms of her chair, Jack suspected she was having to force herself not to. Surely Rupert would have said if his father was violent?
The air of unease continued to sweep across the room as Mr Ashton, overdressed in suit, waistcoat, and silk tie, clasped his hands behind his back and, completely ignoring Jack, stood in front of his son, who’d already jumped to his feet.
‘Well, young man, what have we done to deserve this honour?’
Jack felt himself bristling on Rupert’s behalf. If his father had said those words, they’d have come out with laughter and a wry smile. Mr Ashton spoke every word as if they were loaded with reproach.
Holding his father’s stare for far longer than he’d normally dare, Rupert said, ‘I thought you and Mother would like to know about my new job. I also thought you might like to meet one of my friends.’ Determined not to let his father stonewall Jack, Rupert gestured towards his friend, who immediately stood up and held out his hand. ‘This is Mr Jack Brown.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Ashton. You have a delightful home.’
Staring at Jack’s hand as if it might be contagious, Mr Ashton eventually shook it. Then taking his palm away as quickly as possible, and giving it a none too subtle wipe down his suit front, he plunged both hands into his pockets, his eyes not leaving Jack as he asked, ‘So tell me, how do you know my son?’
‘I used to own the business Rupert works for. Obviously I continue to keep an eye on the place, and I’m good friends with the new management. Rupert and I hit it off straight away. We have many mutual interests.’
‘Is that so?’
Mr Ashton’s appraising stare was beginning to get on Jack’s nerves. He was about to expand on his statement about the bookshop when Rupert beat him to it, his usual non-combative demeanour gone.
‘Yes, Father, it is. Why do you have to make the fact Jack and I have things in common sound so sinister? It’s what happens when you are friends with someone.’
Mrs Ashton was as astonished as her husband that Rupert had spoken so sharply. ‘There’s no need to accuse your father, Rupert, he’s worried about you.’
‘No he isn’t, Mother; he’s worried that news of my latest employment will not be good enough to share with his peers at that antiquated Gentleman’s Club he spends so much time in.’
‘Rupert!’ Mr Ashton’s bark was far harsher than his son’s, and for a short time Jack didn’t know where to look. Determined not to show his unease, Jack was about to attempt to steer the conversation onto less thorny ground when, mercifully, Mrs Daniels announced that lunch was served.
The fact that the household had someone to cook and serve their food underlined for Jack exactly how far up the social scale Mr Ashton saw himself to be. His pride in the employment of Mrs Daniels showed itself as he directed the seating of the table.
Jack, who had been placed between Mr and Mrs Ashton, but at such an angle around the large oval table that he was unable to easily catch the eye of Rupert, gave his host ten out of ten for tactics. Mr Ashton
was clearly a successful businessman for a reason.
Once the expressionless Mrs Daniels had departed the room, a silence descended on the diners. All that could be heard was the crunching of the delicious paté on toast. In a friendlier climate, Jack would have enquired about the paté recipe.
After three painfully quiet minutes had passed, he couldn’t stand the atmosphere any longer.
‘Rupert tells me that you are an eminent figure in the City, Mr Ashton?’
Mr Ashton’s eyes widened. ‘He did, did he?’
‘Yes.’ Without waiting for Mr Ashton’s tongue to catch up with his raised eyebrows, Jack added, ‘My family also worked in the stock market, I wonder if you’re acquainted with them, sir?’
Mr Ashton’s hectoring tone quelled to a begrudging mumble. ‘It’s possible, but I doubt it.’
Avoiding looking at Rupert, in case his expression was one of bewilderment as this unexpected revelation, the chef said, ‘Of course, you may be too young to remember my grandfather, but he was something of a high-flyer in his day.’
‘Really?’
Seeing that his father was either too stubborn or too proud to ask who Jack’s grandfather was, just in case he hadn’t heard of him, and he really did turn out to be important, Rupert said, ‘I had no idea you had family in the City as well. What was your grandfather’s name?’
‘Edward Barnard-Cooper. My mother’s father. He was the best man I’ve ever known.’
If he hadn’t been looking for it, Jack would have missed the mild flicker of interest that crossed Mr Ashton’s face.
Rupert’s mother, who’d been playing with the food on her plate rather than eating it, looked at Jack with renewed interest, amusement edging into her eyes. ‘I know that name from when I worked in London myself. He was an expert on the Exchange, if I remember rightly?’
Jack beamed. ‘So the stories say, although I didn’t know the business side of him. He kept all that very separate from real life.’ Hoping this last sentence had hit home with Rupert’s father, Jack addressed Mrs Ashton alone, ‘I hadn’t realised you were in the City as well. Did you enjoy it?’
‘I was one of the secretaries. I gave it up when I got married; but yes ... yes, I loved my work. It was an exhilarating environment to work in.’
Feeling that the thaw in hostilities was in danger of freezing up again, Jack kept talking, ‘I imagine giving up work was what was expected to executives wives back then. I always think it’s sad when talent goes to waste though, but of course you have another talent. Two others, in fact.’
‘I do?’ Two high points of colour appeared on her cheeks as she adjusted to the fact she was receiving an unexpected compliment.
‘From what I saw of your garden, the workmanship looked fantastic, and clearly you have a skilled eye as a watercolourist.’
Rupert risked a glance at his father. He looked as though he’d been sucking on a lemon. ‘I’m sure Jack would love a tour of the garden after lunch, Mother. He has qualifications in horticulture.’
Before Mrs Ashton could respond, her husband jumped in. ‘Horticulture? I can’t imagine that your grandfather would have been very impressed by that.’
Jack spoke firmly, his eyes resting directly on those of Mr Ashton, ‘Edward Barnard-Cooper evidently wasn’t of your acquaintance then, sir? If he was, you’d have known he was a member of the Royal Horticultural Society, an avid lover of the natural world, and encouraged his children and grandchildren to follow their passions, whatever they might be. He hoped that they’d always have something in their lives that lay beyond the remit of work. A pastime for when they needed to leave everyday stresses behind them.’
Turning to Mrs Ashton, Jack added, ‘Forgive me if I sound blunt, I meant no disrespect after you kindly invited me to your home. My grandfather felt very strongly about the importance of having time outside of work.’
Swallowing carefully, Mrs Ashton nodded, and as though giving into an internal struggle, said, ‘I think your grandfather and I would have got along extremely well, Jack. If you’d like a walk around my garden after lunch I’d be delighted to show you. Please, call me Angela.’
Rupert watched from the drawing room window as the man he hoped he could think of as his boyfriend talked in animated fashion to his mother amongst the terraced flowerbeds. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so relaxed, and the fact she had invited Jack to use her Christian name in front of his father was unprecedented.
Cradling a glass of port, Rupert was surprised at how little tension had settled in his shoulders. Normally when he was summoned to have port with his father, Rupert was on tenterhooks, bracing himself for the latest round of disappointment-laden questions about his future.
During the remainder of Mrs Daniels’ first-class roast beef and a massive helping of Baked Alaska, there had been a two-way conversation between Jack and his mother about the benefits of various soil types over others, and the walks Jack and his grandfather had taken at every opportunity. His father hadn’t had the chance to get any early digs in about Rupert’s lack of girlfriend and high-flying career. Although, Rupert thought, he’s probably saved up all the barbed comments for now. He was also sure he would have a landslide of disapproval against Jack to put up with as well, but somehow his father’s bluster had lost its sting. He merely seemed cantankerous and a bit sad. Rupert began to wonder if his father knew how much his antiquated attitude had caused him to miss out on over the years.
The door opened behind him, and Rupert took a sustaining sip of alcohol before greeting his father with a positive comment, hoping it would pave the way for a more friendly conversation than usual. ‘An excellent meal. Mrs Daniels continues to serve you well.’
His hope went unfounded.
‘Don’t try and divert me away from the subject, young man. Who the hell is he?’
‘If you are referring to our guest, his name is Jack Brown, as I have already said. His grandfather on his mother’s side was Edward Barnard-Cooper. This same grandfather left Jack and his sister an inheritance that allowed them to follow their passions – as you’d know if you were listening over dinner.’
‘All I read from the mealtime conversation was that Mr Brown was given a heap of money which meant he has been able to waltz around wasting time for years. I don’t suppose he even managed to get a decent education.’
‘Or perhaps, he got a first degree at university, set up a company he loved, nurtured it, made it work, and then sold it on as a successful going concern before moving on to a new challenge.’
Sitting down in the wing-backed armchair that had its back to the window, Rupert’s father caressed the bowl of his glass, looked unconvinced as he asked, ‘And this new challenge?’
‘A bistro in Richmond. Jack is a qualified chef.’
‘Richmond?’
‘You find it hard to accept Jack has premises in such a sort after location, and yet you know nothing about him. You’d already written him off before you set eyes on him. Is that because he my friend and therefore must be no good? Is it because he made Mother laugh? Or perhaps it’s because he has disappointed you by coming from a successful family when you’d already decided he was going to be a no-hoper?’
Sucking in his cheeks, Rupert’s father spoke as though spitting acid, ‘And when on earth did coming from a successful background make anyone a successful child? I mean, look at you!’
Rupert’s insides froze. He returned his gaze to the garden while he fought to control the rage that suddenly burnt inside him. Jack and his mother had moved further back amongst the flowerbeds, but he could see they were happily engaged in a discussion which, judging by his mother's gesticulating, was going well.
Without diverting his eyes from the activity outside the window, Rupert took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I have been such a let-down to you, Father. I did try to be who you wanted me to be, but it made me unhappy. And I wouldn’t have been a very good lawyer anyway. I had a horror of doing something dreadful by mis
take and bringing shame on you and mother. I don’t imagine it ever occurred to you that I was trying to save you from embarrassment by giving up my legal career, did it?’
The stunned silence from his father answered Rupert’s question. ‘I assumed not. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to join Mother and Jack. At least they look as though they are having a good afternoon.’
Placing his empty glass on the table he stood before his father, ‘And, in case there is any part of you that cares about what I’m doing with my life, I am the Educational Liaison Officer for Kew Gardens and Reading Nature. That’s the company Jack set up just outside of Kew Gardens with his grandfather’s money. I love my job, and have at last found something that I am good at.’
With his pulse racing through his body, perspiration breaking out on his palms, Rupert strode towards the door. He wasn’t sure what made him hesitate and turn to face his father for the final time that day; but with his adrenalin pumping in his veins, Rupert kept talking to the man in the chair, who was looking suddenly far older than his sixty-one years.
‘And while I have your attention, I think it’s time I put you out of your misery. There will be no wife, and therefore no heir. I’m sorry, Father, but that’s how it is.’
‘You mean you’re ... your mother said you were, but I couldn’t comprehend that a son of mine could be...’
‘Could be happy?’ Rupert cut across his father’s sentence before he could go any further. ‘Well, I am happy. Very happy. Are you happy, Father?’
Chapter Forty
Saturday 30th July
‘Rupert?’
Angela Ashton frowned as she saw the speed at which her son, red-faced and hunched around the shoulders, shot out of the back door and came to rest next to Jack. ‘Whatever is it, Rupert? Are you alright?’
‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
