Brought to Book

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘You taught at Netherby House? Where Mr Harvey was headmaster?’

  ‘No, I taught at a girls’ school down the road, but I lived at Netherby; Reginald and Frances had a large apartment, and offered me the top floor. It was kind of them. I tried not to impose, but they insisted on my joining them at weekends and so on. And, of course, I had the joy of watching my nephews and niece grow up. Have you met Tristan and Phoebe?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Rona replied, wondering when she would get a word in. Not that it mattered; this was all relevant and interesting.

  ‘Theo was my favourite, though,’ Miss Lethbury went on. ‘He was a shy, lonely little boy, always playing by himself.’

  ‘Because his brother and sister were so much older?’

  ‘Partly that, but he was also greatly in awe of his father, who, I have to say, was unduly strict with him. And he was such an affectionate child; he used to come up to my room after tea and we’d tell each other stories. He was wonderfully imaginative.’

  This was a different picture from that painted by Reginald. Had Theo been a chameleon even at this tender age?

  ‘I read that he wasn’t happy at school,’ Rona said tentatively.

  Miss Lethbury’s mouth tightened. ‘He was bullied mercilessly,’ she stated. ‘I told Reginald he should put a stop to it, but he insisted the boy must stand on his own feet. Thank God that attitude has changed. The result, of course, was that the child became rebellious, which earned him more disapprobation. Frances and I did our best to provide stability, but I have to say the older two didn’t help, with their accusations of favouritism.’

  ‘Did the closeness between you last all his life?’

  ‘Yes, to a degree, though I saw less of him when he became famous and his wild streak surfaced again.’ She sobered. ‘And then something terrible happened.’

  Rona held her breath. Was it possible that Theo had confided in this favourite aunt? When she didn’t go on, she said gently, ‘Have you any idea what it was?’

  The old lady shook her head. ‘He came round here one evening, completely distraught. He – actually broke down in tears, with his head in my lap.’ Her own eyes filled at the memory. ‘But all he would say, over and over, was, “Oh God, Aunt Agnes, what have I done?” And, of course, I couldn’t answer him.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Soon after the second of those extraordinary books came out. I was deeply troubled, sure that to have written in that way, he must be at the end of his tether. I wrote twice asking him to visit me, and eventually he came. But though I begged him to confide in me, he’d erected a barrier that I couldn’t break through, and when he left, I felt I’d failed him.’

  She looked across at Rona. ‘Have you read them?’ Then, without waiting for an answer: ‘The bitterness, the despair that runs through them just broke my heart. I wasn’t surprised that he ended it all, soon afterwards.’

  So she, too, believed Theo had killed himself.

  ‘Did he give any indication of wanting to end his life?’

  ‘If those books weren’t an indication, I don’t know what was.’

  ‘I meant a more personal one?’

  ‘Not to me, no. I can only be thankful that Frances was spared it.’

  Rona stayed for another half hour, but Miss Lethbury had no more to offer, merely recounting a string of anecdotes about Theo’s childhood. The picture they evoked sat oddly with the man he’d become. How many of them, Rona wondered, were viewed through rose-coloured glasses?

  In the event, she did not go to the park that afternoon. It was after four thirty by the time she left Miss Lethbury, and already the dull day was darkening towards dusk. Independent she might be, foolhardy she was not. Instead, they stopped on some rough ground a mile or so outside Marsborough and she ran with Gus, needing exercise herself after a sedentary day. But when they reached home she couldn’t settle, and prowled ceaselessly round the house, straightening cushions and tidying magazines. She was in need of company, but Max had evening classes, and Lindsey was seeing Rob. Briefly, she wondered how it would go.

  She’d have supper at Dino’s, she decided. The gallantry of the waiters, the strains of Volare in the background and the comfort food would dispel her restlessness. And in the meantime, she’d send off another six letters requesting interviews, including Theo’s brother and sister. It would be interesting to compare their opinions with those of his father and aunt.

  Lindsey hummed softly as she towelled herself after her shower. She couldn’t remember when she’d last looked forward to a date – it made her feel seventeen again. Certainly none she’d been on over the last two years had filled her with this excited anticipation. During the last twenty-four hours she’d given a lot of thought to what she should wear, finally settling on a designer dress she’d bought in the sales, whose vibrant colour brought a glow to her skin.

  In the background, Frank Sinatra provided a soothing accompaniment as she dried her hair and carefully applied her make-up before, with a sigh of satisfaction, slipping the dress over her head. Yes, she told herself, smoothing it over her hips, it was as flattering as she remembered. She stepped into her shoes, turned to the mirror for a final check – and saw Rona’s face looking back at her until, blinking rapidly, she brought her own back into focus. It happened sometimes, that momentary uncertainty, as though the two of them were really one.

  First impressions can be misleading, Rona had said. But hers, that Rob returned her interest, seemed to be borne out. This evening, they would have the chance to get to know each other, but she felt sure, with a singing in her blood, that at last her future was looking bright.

  Though she’d offered to drive into town, he’d insisted on coming to collect her. ‘I’m used to returning young ladies safely to their doors,’ he’d said jokingly, ‘not waving to them as they swan off in their own transport!’

  He was due at seven, which gave her another—

  The doorbell chimed, surprising her. Ten minutes early. No matter, she was ready. She caught up her coat and bag and went running lightly down the stairs.

  ‘You found your way, then!’ she remarked gaily, pulling open the door.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Hugh.

  Lindsey stared at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hoping to see you.’ His eyes fell to the coat over her arm, and he frowned. ‘You’re going out?’

  ‘Yes; I thought you were—’

  ‘Who?’ he asked quietly. ‘Who did you think I was?’

  ‘My escort.’ She held his gaze.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ His voice was brittle. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

  ‘There’s no point; I—’

  ‘So you said, but he isn’t here yet, is he, and it’s damned cold out here.’

  Abruptly she turned and went back up the stairs, leaving him to follow her. She must get rid of him, she thought wildly; what would Rob think, if he found him here?

  ‘Nice place,’ he commented, following her into the sitting-room. His eyes moved over the furniture from the house they’d shared. ‘Feels like home,’ he added dryly.

  She turned to face him. ‘Why have you come, Hugh? I told you there was no future in it.’

  ‘And I told you I wouldn’t give up.’

  ‘Until I met someone else,’ she said, holding his eyes.

  ‘Until you married him,’ he corrected. He took two steps towards her, catching hold of her arms. ‘Lindsey, I know I deserve all I got, but I’ve changed. Give me another chance?’

  As always, his closeness unnerved her, reviving memories of past intimacies, and as she struggled to break free, his face darkened, his fingers tightened, and he pulled her roughly towards him and began to kiss her. Despairingly she felt the familiar weakening, the dissolving of sinews that he’d always been able to induce in her. And into the turbulence that swirled between them, the doorbell chimed a second time.

  Hugh’s arms dropped and they stood glar
ing at each other, breathing heavily.

  ‘Get out!’ she said, and, turning away, quickly checked her lipstick in the mirror.

  ‘You’ll have to introduce us now.’

  She hurried past him down the stairs, and this time it was indeed Rob who stood outside, a sheaf of flowers in his arms. His smile faded as his eyes went from her burning cheeks to the silent figure of Hugh behind her. When she didn’t – because she couldn’t – speak, Hugh came forward and held out his hand.

  ‘Hugh Cavendish,’ he said stiffly.

  After a quick glance at Lindsey, Rob took it. ‘Rob Stuart.’

  The two men nodded warily at each other, then Hugh turned to go.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said curtly to Lindsey, and walked quickly down the path to his car.

  Rob turned to her enquiringly.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said breathlessly, still weak from the desire Hugh had ignited. ‘I wasn’t expecting him. Are those for me? How lovely. Would you like to come up while I put them in water?’

  He followed her silently up the stairs, noting her coat flung over the arm of the sofa.

  ‘A friend?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘My ex.’

  ‘Ah!’

  Avoiding his eyes, she carried the flowers through to the kitchen, but again he followed her, watching from the doorway as she selected a vase and filled it with water.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated, still not looking at him, ‘he just turned up out of the blue.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry, if my arrival interrupted anything.’

  ‘It didn’t. Nothing important, anyway. I’d already told him not to contact me.’ She dumped the flowers in the vase as a holding measure, making no attempt to arrange them.

  Rob’s mouth quirked. ‘Can’t blame the chap for trying!’ he said, and Lindsey, seeing the twinkle in his eyes, relaxed and returned his smile. Perhaps, after all, the evening wasn’t irretrievably ruined.

  In fact, she reflected, some two hours later, it was almost perfect. They had elected to go to an Indian restaurant, and the gaudy hangings and richly flocked wallpaper somehow added an exotic quality, as did the fragrant, delicately spiced food and background music from another culture.

  ‘Now,’ he’d said, when they had placed their order, ‘I want to know everything about you. For a start, how long were you married?’

  ‘Four years.’

  ‘Kids?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Nor me. I was married for six. What went wrong – or am I being intrusive?’

  She shrugged. ‘He has a temper, and I suppose I have, too. We just – ended up yelling at each other all the time.’

  ‘But he’d like to give it another go?’

  ‘So he says, but I’ve already made it plain it’s out of the question.’

  ‘Um, So – presumably you have a job?’

  ‘I’m a partner in a firm of solicitors. How about you?’

  ‘Nothing nearly as grand. I work for a promotions company, arranging conferences for companies here and abroad. It’s interesting, and I enjoy the variety. I move around the country a fair bit.’

  ‘But you’re based here?’

  ‘No; in fact, I’ve not been here long.’

  Lindsey felt a clutch of dismay. Did that mean he’d soon be moving on? Before she could ask him, he’d changed the subject, observing with a grin, ‘You know, I can’t get over my double-take when I saw you with your sister. You’re incredibly alike.’ He studied her face. ‘Granted, your hair’s longer, but that seems to be the only way to tell you apart.’

  Lindsey raised an eyebrow. ‘So it was a toss-up which of us you invited out?’

  He laughed. ‘I assure you that was never in doubt; so my subconscious must be able to tell the difference. Is she married?’

  ‘Yes, to an artist.’

  ‘Who doesn’t care for the theatre?’

  ‘He’s often busy in the evenings; he does some teaching, and his students are either adults or school children who can’t come during the day. Often, he and Rona only meet at weekends.’

  Rob said incredulously, ‘You mean they don’t live together?’

  Lindsey smiled. ‘My sister’s a writer, which means they both work from home, and they got on each other’s nerves. So he has a separate house, though they get together when they can.’

  He shook his head in wonder. ‘Come to think of it, though, maybe that’s not a bad arrangement. My own marriage might have lasted longer under those conditions. You say your sister’s a writer; a journalist, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, but she also writes biographies. She’s working on one at the moment.’

  ‘That’s interesting; whose?’

  ‘Theo Harvey, the thriller writer.’

  ‘I’ve heard of him, of course, though I haven’t read his books. I’m not crazy about whodunnits, but I enjoy biographies; I’ll have to look out for it.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll take years,’ Lindsey told him. ‘She’s still gathering the material.’

  ‘From whom? He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but she’s seeing his family and friends, people who knew him at different stages of his life, and of course there are always papers – diaries, and things like that.’

  ‘It must be absorbing.’

  The waiter brought heated stands and set them in the centre of the table. Lindsey studied Rob’s face as he watched the selection of dishes being laid out in front of them. What was it about him that attracted her so strongly? He wasn’t conventionally good-looking – the bump in his nose precluded that, and the solemn roundness of his eyes behind his glasses. But she liked their twinkle, and the way his mouth went up at one side when he smiled, and the curly hair that wouldn’t lie flat.

  Careful, girl, she told herself, don’t rush it. On the other hand, if his stay here was going to be short, perhaps they should make the most of what time they had.

  The meal was leisurely. They worked their way through the spicy dishes, going back for two, even three helpings, before ordering lychees to cool their mouths, and then coffee. And all the time they talked: about their tastes in art and music, about politics, about parts of the world they’d seen. When they finally left the warm red cocoon of the restaurant and emerged on to the windy street, it seemed they’d always known each other. Rob took her arm and they walked back to the car park in silence.

  The drive home passed all too quickly, but as he drew up outside the flat, he said simply, ‘Tomorrow?’

  She turned to look at him.

  ‘Remember, I don’t know anyone else in town!’ he teased. ‘There’s a good film on – I checked.’

  ‘Let’s make it tomorrow, then.’ Lindsey’s heart set up a slow thumping as he got out of the car and came round to open her door.

  ‘Would you like to come up for a nightcap?’ she asked, as he walked her up the path.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve already had my quota of alcohol. I’m driving, remember.’

  ‘Coffee, then?’ She couldn’t let him go yet.

  He took her hand and kissed the fingertips. ‘There’s nothing I’d like more, but I don’t think it’d be very wise.’

  She turned and fumbled the key into the lock, and as the door swung open, turned back to him. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’

  ‘It was you who made it lovely. Same time tomorrow?’

  She nodded, and, since there was no help for it, closed the door. It wouldn’t be wise, he’d said. Did that mean he wanted her, too? Shivering a little, she made her way slowly up the stairs.

  Rona was sound asleep when the banging started, and for some minutes it wove itself into her dream. Then she heard Gus barking and came abruptly awake, sitting up as she identified the noise as someone knocking on the front door. In the same moment, the doorbell began a long, continuous ring. Was someone ill? The house on fire? Max—?

  Not stopping to switch on the light, she half-fell out of bed and ran barefoot down the stairs. The hall was d
im, only a faint light coming from the fanlight over the front door, where Gus, still barking, was leaping excitedly up and down.

  ‘All right, I’m coming!’ she called. ‘Who is it? What’s wrong?’

  Abruptly the noise stopped, and sudden silence assailed her ears as she fumbled with the locks and chain Max insisted that she use. As the last bolt slid back, she turned the handle, tightly gripping the dog’s collar with her free hand.

  The heavy door swung open on to a deserted street. No frantic figure stood on the step, no retreating footsteps sounded in the darkness. Only the fact that the gate was open indicated that someone had been there. She was about to run to it and look up the street when, at her side, Gus growled softly. And suddenly her sleep-befuddled mind cleared, and she realized her terrifying vulnerability. She darted back inside, dragging him with her, and with shaking fingers replaced the chain and bolts. Then, sinking to her knees, she pulled his warm body into her arms.

  ‘Who was it, boy?’ she whispered. The dog was still distracted, his ears pricked, his eyes on the door, but after a minute, when all remained quiet, he turned to her and licked her ear. Unsteadily she rose to her feet, shivering in her thin nightdress, and, picking up the phone, rang Max’s number. It went on ringing for a long time, during which her shivers intensified to a teeth-rattling shaking.

  ‘Yes?’ She jumped as his sleep-clogged voice sounded angrily in her ear. ‘Who the hell is it? Do you know what time it is?’

  Her mouth was dry, and she had to moisten it before she spoke. ‘Max, it’s me. Someone’s been banging on the door and ringing the bell.’

  He came instantly awake. ‘You didn’t open it?’

  ‘I did, actually, but no one was there.’

  ‘Rona, for God’s sake! Haven’t you a grain of sense? You could—’

  ‘Don’t shout at me, Max,’ she whispered. ‘I’m frightened.’

  There was a pause, then he said in a resigned voice. ‘Hang on. I’ll be over in five minutes.’

  The radiators had long since cooled and the house felt chill. Rona lit the gas fire before returning upstairs for her dressing gown, while Gus, bewildered by this change in routine, waited for her at the foot of the stairs. When she reappeared, he followed her into the sitting-room and they sat together on the rug by the fire to wait for Max.