‘That’s stupid.’
Deb tried to concentrate on the love and patience in Adam’s voice instead of the contempt in Marcus’s. She knew the raw skin on his hands was hurting him. She knew he couldn’t help it. She glanced over her shoulder as she left the room with the phone clamped to her ear. Marcus’s face was withered and withering with contempt.
‘Mum?’ called a bright voice down the phone. ‘It’s me, Kate.’
‘How lovely, darling! How are you?’
‘Fantastic. Great. And you?’
‘Things are going well.’ Deb longed to pour out all her difficulties and miseries, but that wasn’t fair. There was nothing Kate could do about any of them, and she shouldn’t have her university years spoiled with worrying over her mother’s problems. ‘What’s the news?’
‘They are letting me switch to law next year.’
‘Oh.’ Deb tried to forget how much she hated lawyers. She summoned up all her memories of pleasure to colour her voice: ‘That’s really exciting, Kate. I’m so pleased.’
‘Me too. It should make it easier for me to read for the Bar. Did I tell you how great Trish Maguire was last week?’
‘Yes, you told me.’
‘She showed me all round the Temple and took me to court with her and then out to supper. She thinks I’d make a really good barrister, and when I’ve got all my exams, if I’m still keen, she’ll talk to the head of chambers about me. She can’t guarantee that they’ll give me pupillage, of course, but she—’
‘Whoa, whoa, Kate. Hold on a moment. I thought you were thinking about being a solicitor. It’s dreadfully expensive being—’
‘At the Bar. I know. Trish went into it all with me. You can’t get a grant and it’s two years before you’re even ready for pupillage. You hardly earn anything as a pupil and are unlikely to get up to a proper living wage for several years after that, and you have all sorts of expenses. I know. But it’s what I want, more than anything in the world. Trish says she’s sure I can do it.’
Damn Trish Maguire, thought Deb ungratefully. Damn her.
Without Trish, she knew she’d still be behind her door in the prison. But she could have done without this.
‘We’ll do our very best, Kate, but we may not be able to afford it. There are the other three to think of, too.’
‘I know that, Mum.’ Kate’s voice was fat with confident happiness.
Deb could hardly bear to think of all the things that might drain it out of her. Life’s emotional liposuction, she thought.
‘And I’m not expecting you to pay.’
‘It’s not likely that you—’
‘Mum, wait a moment and listen.’
‘You deserve to have whatever you want, Kate, and I long to give it to you. But we may not be able to afford it.’
‘But that’s why I’m ringing.’
Deb stared at the photograph of Kate hanging on the wall ahead of her. She hadn’t heard Kate sound as excited as that since she was a child young enough to be thrilled by birthday-cake candles. She didn’t think she could bear to be responsible for quenching that thrill.
‘I’ve had a letter from Laura Chaze’s solicitors. You know, my … my father’s wife.’
‘Yes. I know who she is. What did the lawyers want?’
‘To tell me that my father’s will has finally been proved. It was all terribly complicated, apparently, partly for tax reasons but also because he wrote a codicil just after he met me that first time, and because of the way he’d worded it, it meant he’d set up a trust. They’ve been trying to work out how to deal with it ever since.’
‘A trust?’ Deb didn’t realise she was frowning until the pain of her tight skin reached her brain. ‘Did he leave you something?’
‘Sort of, but in the codicil he left instructions that if anything happened to him his widow was to pay for whatever professional training I needed to follow the career of my choice.’
‘How very kind of him.’ Deb felt as though she was speaking round a tennis ball stuck in her throat. ‘But it may not be—’
‘No. Listen, Mum. This is important. Legally she’s got to fund me through whatever post-graduate qualification I want to get. The lawyers even say that my father specified … Hang on, here it is. “Medicine or law or accountancy – whatever she chooses. I want her to have a proper profession and enough money to fund a decent life while she qualifies.”’
‘How generous.’ Deb wished she could feel pleased. Through the open door she could see the chaotic living room, and the back of Adam’s head. His dandruff had got very bad while she was in prison and it had dusted his shoulders with gritty white particles. Marcus was still ranting from the homework table and now Louis was sniffing. From where she stood, at the foot of the stairs, she could hear every word of Millie’s game of going to prison. Deb knew she should be glad that Kate was getting out of all this. She was glad.
‘And Trish has said that she’ll introduce me to everyone in her chambers between now and then and show me how to make myself acceptable to them all. Isn’t that great?’
Deb felt warmth rushing through her whole mind and body, washing out the resentment that it should be Malcolm’s money that gave Kate what she wanted, that once again she was going to be left behind.
‘Yes, my darling,’ she said. ‘It’s great. But you don’t need anything like that to prove that you’re acceptable. Anyone would accept you as you are.’
‘That’s sweet, Mum, but there’s a hell of a lot I’ve got to learn. I must go now. Love to the others. ’Bye.’
‘Goodbye, Kate,’ she said and, still holding the phone, went back.
‘Can’t you shut the door?’ said Marcus bitterly. ‘There’s a frightful draught.’
‘Hush,’ said Adam, pointing to the television in the corner. The six o‘clock news was on and a familiar figure was posturing on the steps of some grand building. The newscaster’s voice said, ‘Dr Archibald Foscutt appeared today in front of the disciplinary committee of the General Medical Council. He was cleared of all charges of gross professional negligence in connection with the death of Ian Whatlam.’
There was a short pause, a rustle of papers in Archie Foscutt’s hands, a dry cough and then an obviously prepared statement: ‘While I have every sympathy for the sufferings of Deborah Gibbert during her dreadful ordeal, I could not have prevented it. At the time I prescribed the antihistamine terfenadine for her father, there was no generally accepted knowledge of its interaction with grapefruit juice. My failure to warn him of this was therefore not negligent. I have always served my patients to the best of my ability. I am glad that has now been recognised. These last few years have been extremely difficult for my wife and myself. Thank you.’
Ignoring the questions of the journalists and rubberneckers, Dr Foscutt took his wife’s arm and led her to a waiting car. It looked a great deal more luxurious than any car he’d driven in Norfolk. Deb wondered who was financing him. She also wondered whether only she and Anna Grayling still believed that he had to have been the source of the astemizole that was found in her father’s body at autopsy. There was no one else who could have provided it. But Deb couldn’t do anything about that. It was the kind of argument that had been used to convict her and she wasn’t going to do the same to anyone else, even Foscutt.
‘Will you shut that bloody door?’ shouted Marcus, picking at the shredding, painful skin of his fingers. ‘And turn off the TV. I can’t concentrate.’
Adam hit the remote control to silence the television and looked at Deb. Her eyes were like stones in the white, dead face. Then Marcus said something else and her eyes changed. She looked dangerous. Without thinking, Adam took three quick strides to stand between her and his son.
He moved back almost at once. But she had seen and understood. The damage was done. All his careful, patient, painful work on his own fears and on hers counted for nothing. He had thrown away the only chance they had. She knew now and for ever that he thought she was guilty. He
wished he was dead.
Created half to rise, and half to fall;
great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hul’d;
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
Alexander Pope An Essay on Man (epistle ii)
AUTHOR’S NOTE
All the prescription drugs referred to in this novel are of the greatest benefit to people for whom they have been correctly prescribed. Nothing I have written is supposed to suggest otherwise.
Natasha Cooper
Also by Natasha Cooper
Festering Lilies
Poison Flowers
Bloody Roses
Bitter Herbs
Rotten Apples
Fruiting Bodies
Sour Grapes
Creeping Ivy
Fault Lines
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PREY TO ALL. Copyright © 2000 by Daphne Wright. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, A Viacom Company
eISBN 9781466810020
First eBook Edition : January 2012
First U.S. Edition: December 2000
Prey to All Page 29