The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘People have been “careful”, as you put it, for the last twenty-six years, and it’s got them precisely nowhere.’

  She was silent, going over what he’d said and fearful of the perils he might bring on himself. ‘I suppose,’ she said finally, ‘there’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind?’

  ‘Not a thing.’ Then, relenting, he squeezed her hand in his. ‘Don’t worry, honey; I might be determined but I’m not foolhardy. I shan’t take unnecessary risks.’

  And with that, she had to be content.

  Back in his apartment, Adam was gazing out at the heat haze when his phone interrupted his brooding, and he saw that the caller was Charlotte. He sighed, steeling himself for an argument. ‘Hi, Charlotte,’ he said resignedly.

  ‘Hi yourself. I’m calling to say you’re taking me to lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s very decent of me.’ He paused but she didn’t elucidate. ‘Will the brat be with you? Screaming infants are detrimental to my digestion.’

  ‘It would be so nice,’ Charlotte said tightly, ‘if just occasionally you thought of someone other than yourself.’

  He dropped into an easy chair, leant back and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘This exchange doesn’t bode well for our tryst.’

  ‘But since you ask, Ben won’t be with me, no. So – is it a date?’

  ‘Your wish is my command. Where am I taking you?’

  ‘The Lysander.’

  He sighed. ‘I was hoping for a pizzeria.’

  ‘Sorry, we’re doing this in style. I’ve booked a table for twelve thirty.’

  ‘Suppose I’d had a previous engagement?’

  ‘You’d have cancelled it,’ she said calmly.

  ‘OK, you win. Twelve thirty tomorrow at the Lysander.’

  ‘See you,’ she said, and broke the connection.

  The Lysander was a small but prestigious hotel in downtown Toronto, a favourite rendezvous with the glitterati but equally popular with businessmen and women who sealed contracts over its tables.

  Though suspicious of Charlotte’s motives, it suited Adam to be lunching out. Time had lain heavy on his hands since the end of term, and more than once he’d regretted not having started out earlier on his European tour. It was also increasingly difficult to sidestep the invitations issued weekly by Lynne and Harry, but quite simply he did not want to see them. He presumed Charlotte was acting as their emissary.

  ‘Adam!’

  He turned as she approached, offering her cool cheek for his kiss. He obliged, and stood back to study her: crisp linen dress, tanned legs, high-heeled sandals – and brown eyes that met his challengingly.

  ‘You’re looking good, cousin,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not so bad yourself, cousin.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Drink in the bar before we go through?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  He settled her at a table and went to order their drinks. ‘And a Martini soda for my cousin,’ she heard him say.

  When he returned with the glasses, she said curiously, ‘Tell me, why do you always refer to Claire and me as your cousins?’

  He glanced at her in surprise. ‘Because that’s what you are.’

  ‘But we’re also adoptive siblings, a much closer relationship. Calling us cousins is like keeping us at arm’s length.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve never analysed it, but I guess you’re right. The fact is, Charlotte, I’m the original lone wolf. I’ve never been close to anyone.’

  He saw that he’d shocked her. ‘That’s just not true!’ she protested. ‘You’re a member of the family – why won’t you accept that?’

  ‘Because the family I really belonged to fell apart when I was two. Parents killed, sister taken away. And admit it – part of you always resented my being foisted on you. That’s why we fought as kids – and often still do!’ he added with a smile.

  But she didn’t return it. ‘If I’m in any way responsible for making you feel that, I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘Oh, hey, let’s not get heavy here! We’re meeting for lunch, remember, not analysis!’

  ‘But seriously, Adam, is that why you keep Mom and Pop at bay? It really hurts them, you know, and especially now, when you’re about to take off for a whole year and you keep putting off going to see them.’

  His face had darkened. ‘They know the reason for that.’

  She leaned forward impulsively, her small hand on his. ‘They told us about your parents – what really happened, I mean. I can’t begin to imagine how you feel, specially learning about it at this late date, but it really wasn’t their fault, surely you see that?’

  He withdrew his hand. ‘Frankly, no. What the Marriotts chose to do is their business – they’re more than three thousand miles away. But that’s no reason for Lynne and Harry not to have told me the truth when I was old enough. I’m not sure I can forgive them.’

  ‘“Lynne and Harry,”’ she repeated sadly. ‘Mom says that even as a toddler you never called them Mommy and Daddy, and I remember you dropping the “uncle and aunt” when you were about fourteen.’ She gave a fleeting smile. ‘I asked if I could use their first names too and was given very short shrift.’

  ‘That’s the reason you’re here, isn’t it?’ he accused. ‘To put in a good word for them, persuade me to see them?’

  ‘It’s one reason, yes, but I also wanted time with you before you go. Whatever you might say, I think of you as my brother.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie,’ he said softly. He tossed back his drink and put his glass firmly on the table. ‘All right, I’ll see them, but only for your sake.’

  ‘And you won’t be all prickly and difficult?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Moi?’

  Despite herself, she smiled. ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise. Now, can we change the subject and go and find some lunch?’

  ‘Gladly!’ she said.

  SEVEN

  On the Friday morning a registered packet arrived at the house addressed to Kirsty. It contained a two-pound box of luxury chocolates and a note reading simply, Sweets for my Sweet.

  ‘This isn’t remotely amusing any more,’ she declared. ‘In fact, it’s becoming rather sinister, and this time I am going to throw them in the bin.’

  Angie looked up from a tray of flapjacks. ‘In case they’re laced with cyanide?’

  ‘I know you think I’m overreacting, but I’m not taking any chances.’

  ‘You could pass them on to me,’ Angie suggested. ‘I’d be happy to risk death by chocolate!’

  But Kirsty shook her head. ‘You may be, but I’m not going to be responsible.’

  ‘Oh, come on! I wasn’t serious about the cyanide!’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Kirsty said enigmatically, and returned to her baking.

  The word ‘gateaux’ in their company name was actually more wide-ranging than it implied, since it also encompassed a variety of less exotic fare such as cupcakes, brownies, meringues and so on. Their customers – coffee shops, patisseries and the odd restaurant – were roughly divided between those who ordered weekly and those requiring only a monthly delivery. However, since all their products were routinely frozen to avoid the need for preservatives, the actual cooking schedule didn’t vary much. The two large freezers gradually filled with ready-packed cakes until the requisite delivery day, when orders were loaded into the van and driven round the county by one or other of Angie’s three brothers, all of whom worked in their father’s wholesale business. Fortunately he had no objection to lending a helping hand to his daughter and her partner. The van itself – an expensive though necessary early purchase – was kept in the small yard behind the house, whose existence had been one of its main selling points. The yard provided access to an alleyway used principally by the dustmen, which meant that the van could be loaded directly from the kitchen and driven out via the alley, confining all business activity to the back of the house.

  At lunchtime, when they returned to
their living quarters for a half-hour break, Kirsty took the opportunity to swallow a couple of headache pills. ‘It’s been coming on all morning,’ she said in response to Angie’s raised eyebrow. Partly due, she admitted privately, to increasing anxiety about the unsolicited gifts coming her way.

  Angie was on her wavelength. ‘Look, if you’re really worried about all this, you should tell the police.’

  ‘What could they do, when I’ve no idea who’s sending them?’

  ‘It’s harassment, after all, and they should at least know about it.’ She hesitated. ‘And without wanting to worry you, whoever it is obviously knows your address.’

  Kirsty shivered irrepressibly.

  ‘Look, take the afternoon off,’ Angie suggested. ‘We’re ahead of schedule and I can easily cope with what’s left.’

  ‘Would you mind?’ Kirsty asked gratefully. ‘I’m sure a little fresh air would work wonders.’

  ‘Well, it’s dry for once so go and relax in the park for an hour or two – it’ll do you good. And on your way home, call in at the police station.’

  Accordingly, after lunch Kirsty set off on foot for the park in the town centre, a paperback in her handbag.

  Lacy Park, referred to in tourist brochures as ‘the green heart of Westbourne’, was named after Sir George Lacy, a Regency businessman who had founded the town, and was much appreciated by its residents, containing as it did a bowling green, tennis courts, greenhouses of exotic plants and stretching lawns where, in summer, office workers took their lunchtime sandwiches.

  Two crescents of handsome Regency buildings curved round the park on either side, housing such institutions as the town hall, banks, Westbourne’s premier hotel and the main library. Very few commercial premises were permitted in this enclave, and those that were – an eminent department store, a high-class delicatessen and a coffee house that had been there from the beginning – were unable, even if they wanted, to alter the frontage of their premises – a decree made by Sir George and reiterated some hundred years later by a diligent town council.

  At the southern end of the park, in the gap between the crescents, a road led uphill less steeply than its northern counterpart, and it was here, in a commanding position over the town centre, that the buildings and grounds of Westbourne College were situated.

  The office workers had departed by the time Kirsty reached the park and it was given over to young mothers with their children, elderly residents on benches and business people hurrying across it from one crescent to the other. She was making for her favourite place, a secluded spot overlooking a fountain, when she rounded a corner and almost collided with a man hurrying from the opposite direction. They had both started to apologize when they broke off in startled recognition, and Kirsty found herself face-to-face with Lance Pemberton for the first time since they’d split up.

  ‘Kirsty,’ he acknowledged briefly, and would have continued on his way had she not moved to block his path.

  ‘Lance, this is silly. We live in the same town; we can’t go through life ignoring each other. Can’t we at least be civilized?’

  He met her eyes unwillingly. ‘You’re not suggesting we kiss and make up?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she answered steadily. ‘I’m suggesting we behave like a couple of adults.’ She paused. He was still hesitating, seemingly anxious to escape. ‘How are things? How’s your mother?’

  ‘Almost back to normal, thanks.’ Mrs Pemberton had suffered a heart attack some six months previously. After a moment he added, ‘You’re looking tired.’

  ‘Well, thanks!’ she said with a half-laugh. ‘You know how to make a girl feel good!’

  He didn’t smile and she added, ‘Actually, I’m fighting a headache, and at the moment it’s winning.’

  ‘Business booming?’

  ‘It’s going well, yes, thanks.’ She paused, memories of the flowers and chocolates surfacing again. ‘You … haven’t been trying to get in touch with me, have you?’

  His face closed. ‘I have not. You made it pretty clear that would be unwelcome.’ He frowned, searching her averted face. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s just—’

  ‘Kirsty, you must have had a reason. What is it?’

  ‘Just that I’ve received one or two … things … lately and I don’t know who’s been sending them.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Well, it started with an email—’

  ‘A threatening one?’ he broke in sharply.

  ‘No, no. Quite the reverse, actually, but it was unsigned. Then some flowers and chocolates arrived, again with no indication as to who they were from.’

  ‘And you thought I’d sent them?’

  She couldn’t tell from his tone if he resented the inference. ‘Not really, it was just a process of elimination.’

  ‘Well, let me set your mind at rest. I didn’t.’

  She gave a small smile. ‘Unfortunately that doesn’t set my mind at rest. If you see what I mean.’

  There was a pause, then he said, ‘Sorry if this sounds obvious, but have you tried checking with the post office and the florist?’

  ‘Yes, to no avail.’

  ‘Well, you obviously have a secret admirer. Congratulations.’ Again the searching look. ‘You’re worried about it, aren’t you? Why?’

  ‘Just that I don’t like mysteries.’ And there were enough of them in her life at the moment.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry; if he doesn’t get any reaction, he’ll soon tire of it. But if it continues you should go to the police.’

  ‘That’s what Angie said. I might drop in on the way home.’

  Lance nodded. ‘Good idea.’ After a pause he said awkwardly, ‘I really should be going; I’ve an appointment at three and I need to prepare for it.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry to have held you up.’

  He shook his head, dismissing her apology. ‘Good to see you again,’ he said gruffly. ‘Take care, and don’t let this anonymous bastard get you down.’

  And he was gone. Slowly, Kirsty walked on down the path. Not Nick, not Lance, and though she’d never seriously considered either of them, it did leave her with no other candidate. Reaching the bench by the fountain she seated herself and sat for a moment staring at the sparkling water; but its brightness hurt her eyes, and with a sigh she put on her sunglasses and settled down to read.

  ‘Well?’ Angie demanded, as Kirsty came slowly up the stairs. ‘Did you go to the police?’

  ‘Yes, for all the good it did. They suggested I set up a filter system so the emails go directly to Trash, but that wouldn’t stop them coming and I’d rather know what he’s saying than worry about it. Nor would it work for the deliveries. They asked if there were any CCTV cameras nearby but of course there aren’t, so in the end they just took down details and said they’d keep an eye out, and I should let them know if there are any more “instances”.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to hope there aren’t,’ Angie said.

  Counting the hosts, there were eight at the dinner party, the guests being Lois and Johnnie, at whose wedding Kirsty had met Nick, Angie and Simon and herself. She’d been apprehensive that a blind date might be have been rustled up for her, and was relieved to find Chrissie’s elder sister making up the numbers.

  Alicia Penn (‘“Al-ic-ia”, not “Aleesha”, please!’) was a local GP, a tall, striking woman whose sleek red hair was constrained into a chignon and whose green eyes looked out from behind very large spectacles. Neither Kirsty nor Angie had met her before; Chrissie and Matt themselves were relatively recent friends, having moved into the area two years previously as a newly married couple. They’d all met at the tennis club and became casual rather than close friends, and this was the first time Kirsty had been to their home, a modern bungalow just up the hill from Westbourne College.

  After a day of threatening clouds, evening sunshine had broken through and on arrival they were shown into the garden. Kirsty, glass in hand, wandered to its lower end a
nd stood looking down on the handsome college buildings and their grounds stretching down the hill.

  Chrissie joined her. ‘We were crossing our fingers for the weather to hold so we could have drinks out here. Isn’t it a lovely view? It was one of the reasons we bought the bungalow. Mind you, it gets a bit rowdy during school break times – we’re just thankful their playing fields are out of town! Oh, and talking of the college, someone asked me for your phone number at the wedding – Nick Shepherd. He teaches there. I hope you didn’t mind my giving it?’

  One mystery solved. Kirsty shook her head and Chrissie asked curiously, ‘Did he contact you?’

  ‘He did, yes,’ she acknowledged, and was saved from further disclosures by Alicia’s approach.

  ‘I hear you run a cake company,’ she remarked. ‘It sounds intriguing; tell me more. Lois says you were responsible for their wedding cake?’

  ‘And magnificent it was, too!’ confirmed Matt, coming up with a jug to refresh their drinks. ‘To taste as well as to look at, which isn’t always the case!’

  ‘Thank you, kind sir!’ Kirsty smiled at him. She didn’t know Matt as well as Chrissie since he seldom played tennis, which was their main point of contact. She gathered he was the author of a couple of well-received novels and was beginning to make a name for himself. At any rate, deadlines and research were frequently given as reasons for his absence from social gatherings. Now, though, he was the perfect host, charming and attentive to his guests, with a personal word to each in turn.

  As he and Chrissie moved on, Alicia returned to the subject of the cake business, seeming genuinely interested in the way they operated and prompting with questions whenever Kirsty, feeling she was dominating the conversation, came to a halt.

  ‘Good for you!’ she said at last. ‘I’m all for women running their own businesses. I’m only sorry you don’t supply the general public – I’d certainly boost your sales, given the opportunity!’

  Dinner was served in the conservatory – a perfect summer meal of watercress soup followed by salmon and ending with strawberry Pavlova, and talk continued over coffee as beyond the glass walls the sun went down and the lower end of the garden faded into the shadows. Lois and Johnnie told of their adventures on honeymoon in the Seychelles which included several amusing episodes; Simon kept them laughing as he recounted his experiences with a difficult client, and on a more serious note Alicia spoke of a medical conference she’d attended and a series of talks she’d given to local schools.