by Hazel Holt
‘Well, if you think she’s up to it.’
He and the constable followed me into the kitchen and took our proper statements. Janet was calmer now and less confused.
‘Right then,’ I said to Bob, ‘if it’s all right I’m going to take Mrs Prior back with me.’
Janet looked up. ‘Oh no, that would be an imposition – I couldn’t…’
‘Nonsense,’ I said, ‘you can’t possibly stay here. Come along, you must be absolutely exhausted. Can you manage to go up and put a few things into an overnight bag?’ Janet nodded and, escorted by the constable, went slowly upstairs. They were down quite soon, the constable carrying the bag.
‘We’ll be off then,’ I said. ‘You know where we are, Bob, if you want us.’
The rain had stopped altogether now but the wind had got up again and was making a melancholy noise in the trees. In the car neither of us spoke. I suddenly felt very cold and when I turned the heater up full blast Janet murmured, ‘Thank you.’
When we got back home we were greeted by the animals, eager to know what was causing the change in their usual routine. They followed us into the sitting room where I put Janet into a chair and went up to check the spare room. Mercifully I always keep the spare bed made up – I don’t think I’d have had the strength to look out bedding and make up the bed. I turned on the electric blanket and the heater, feeling that the least I could do was to provide physical comfort for Janet. When I went down she was sitting stroking Foss, her face quite blank.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, picking up her bag. ‘Would you like a hot drink? I’m making one for myself.’
She shook her head. ‘No really – you’ve been so kind…’
As I was settling her in her room she suddenly said, ‘Sheila, do you think it was a burglary? I mean, nothing was stolen…’
‘I really don’t know,’ I said, ‘but try not to think too much about it all. You’ve had a tremendous shock – it’s been a dreadful time for you. It’s so awful about Bernard – you’ve been very brave. But what you need now is to get some rest. If you need anything in the night I’m just across the landing. Don’t hesitate. Stay in bed as long as you can in the morning. Goodnight.’
Downstairs the animals reminded me that it was way past their bedtime and they hadn’t been fed. As I spooned the food into their dishes it suddenly occurred to me that Janet hadn’t once referred directly to Bernard and hadn’t shed a single tear. As I went up to bed I glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall and saw that it was quarter past one. Strangely enough, though, I didn’t feel tired and when I finally got into bed I didn’t sleep but spent a restless night, turning over in my mind fragments of the events of the night.
The tiredness caught up with me next morning as I dragged myself around the kitchen, feeding the animals and turning them out of doors (they weren’t too keen since the wind was quite strong) and putting on the coffee. I’d just poured myself a cup and taken one reviving sip when Janet appeared in the doorway.
‘Come and sit down,’ I said. ‘Did you manage to get any sleep?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I was very comfortable. Thank you very much.’
In fact she looked much better – certainly better than I felt.
‘That’s splendid. What would you like for breakfast? I’ll make you some herbal tea, shall I? And some toast?’
‘Toast would be lovely, thank you. But do you think I might have a cup of that coffee – it smells so good.’
‘Of course.’ I poured her a cup and she drank it eagerly.
As we ate our toast I said, ‘What do you need to do? I imagine you want to get in touch with Christine and Luke. They’ll want to come down, I’m sure, and help you with things – though, of course anything I can do…’
‘Yes, I will ring them, but I don’t know if they can manage to come down here.’
‘But surely, at a time like this!’
‘Well, you see, Luke won’t be able to leave the restaurant – there’s only him and his partner to run everything.’
‘What about Christine?’
Janet looked shocked. ‘Oh, no. I couldn’t ask her, she’s far too busy. No, I’m sure I can manage. But I will ring them both after breakfast.’
I left her in the sitting room to make the calls and was washing up in the kitchen when she came to find me.
‘They’re both coming,’ she said. ‘Luke can only manage to get down here for the day, but Christine says she’s going to stay.’ She sounded more dismayed than pleased at this prospect.
‘She’s very welcome to stay here,’ I said, ‘there’s plenty of room.’
‘Oh, that is kind of you, Sheila, but we’ll be all right at the cottage.’
‘Are you sure? It’s bound to be very distressing for you. And I don’t know if the police will have finished there. I suppose we ought to go and see sometime.’
‘Christine won’t be coming till this evening, but – I hope you don’t mind – I told Luke to come here.’
‘No, of course not. When do you expect him?’
‘He said he’d be leaving right away so it should be in a couple of hours.’
I emptied away the washing-up water and dried my hands. ‘Janet,’ I said, ‘I really am most terribly sorry about Bernard – the whole thing is so awful for you and for the children. How did they take it when you rang?’
‘They were upset of course,’ she said, ‘since it was so sudden and…’ her voice died away.
‘Were they very close?’ I asked.
She seemed to consider the question for a moment and then she said, ‘Christine was always his favourite, but since she’s been married she hasn’t seen a lot of either of us, really. Yes, she’ll be upset.’
‘And Luke?’
‘They didn’t get on.’
‘I see.’ I paused to give her an opportunity of elaborating on this, but she didn’t and I felt I couldn’t press her. I wanted to ask if she was upset, but that would have been an impertinence. ‘Shall we go out to lunch?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘I’d feel a little nervous cooking for a professional chef!’
She smiled. ‘Oh goodness, Luke isn’t like that at all. A sandwich would be fine if that isn’t too much trouble.’
‘No, of course not. I’ve got a few things to do. You try and rest a bit – there’ll be a lot to do later. Would you like today’s paper?’
I left her in the sitting room, seemingly quite calm, reading the paper. I finished tidying up in the kitchen and checked the fridge to see that I had some ham for making sandwiches as well as the greater part of a Dundee cake. I let the animals in and they made straight for the sitting room, but I didn’t stop them, feeling that their presence might somehow be a comfort to Janet. When I went upstairs the door of the spare room was open and I saw that she’d stripped her bed, leaving the sheets and pillowcases neatly folded. Her overnight bag was all packed and ready to go, so she must have decided as soon as she got up that she was going back to the cottage.
This calmness and control continued to bother me. Last night she had been stunned and nervous, passive, as I had seen her when she was with Bernard – that was only natural. What wasn’t natural, or so it seemed to me, was her total lack of emotion now. I could imagine that her married life hadn’t been particularly happy, but surely she must have felt something when her husband had just died a violent death. But there seemed to be no way I could talk to her about it, no way I could get her to talk to me. I just hoped that when Luke and Christine came she’d be able to let go a little.
I made some coffee and took it into the sitting room. She was sitting, apparently quite relaxed, the paper put to one side, stroking Foss with Tris sitting once more at her feet. She looked up when I came in.
‘I thought you might like some coffee,’ I said.
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘So Luke and Christine both live in Bristol, then?’ I asked.
‘Yes – well Christine and Jonathan live th
e other side of the city from Luke. He has a flat over the restaurant.’
‘Still, I expect they manage to see each other – and you too – quite a bit.’
‘They don’t get on.’
Again that simple statement, not elaborated so I felt I couldn’t pursue the subject.
‘Running a restaurant must be very hard work,’ I said, handing her her coffee.
‘Oh, yes, it’s dreadfully hard but Luke never minds hard work, especially when it’s something he’s really keen on.’ She was suddenly animated. ‘And he’s made such a success of it. They’re doing really well. They’ve had several notices in magazines from food writers and the bookings are well up on last year. Like I said, it’s in Stoke Bishop, quite near to Clifton – that’s really where they’d like to move to, but, of course, that is the really fashionable area so the rents are dreadfully high.’
‘You must be very proud of him.’
‘Oh yes, he’s done wonderfully well.’
‘Luke must be a really good chef. Where did he do his training?’
‘He went abroad straight after he left school. He worked a lot in France. His partner is French.’
‘Oh well,’ I said laughing, ‘we must expect him to get his first Michelin star quite soon.’
We chatted for a while about the difficulties of the catering trade and other related topics and when we’d finished our coffee I went back into the kitchen to make the sandwiches. It was fascinating to see how Janet had opened up when talking about her son and I was curious to see what he was like. I’d just finished laying the tray (best china, cutlery and table napkins – I felt I had to make a special effort) when the door bell rang. I opened the door to find a tall young man, dressed in motorcycling leathers and holding a crash helmet.
‘Hello,’ he said, and his voice was particularly soft and pleasing, ‘I’m Luke.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
He was so very much not what I’d expected that for a moment I simply stood there, then, collecting myself, I said, ‘I’m glad you were able to come. Your mother will be so glad to see you. Do come in, she’s in the sitting room.’
Janet got up when she saw him and went over and put her arms around him. I saw that at last she was crying.
‘It’s all right, Mum,’ he said, ‘everything’s going to be all right.’
After a little while she pulled herself together and patted his shoulder. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘this outfit means you came on that dangerous motorbike. And you got here so quickly so you must have driven far too fast.’
Her voice when she was speaking to Luke was quite different from her usual diffident tones, more warm and maternal, confident almost.
He laughed. ‘A hundred miles an hour and bending into all the corners.’
She smiled fondly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she said. ‘But do take that dreadful jacket off or Mrs Malory will think you’re a Hell’s Angel or something.’
‘Oh, I’m used to motorbikes,’ I said. ‘Michael used to have one and I never had a moment’s peace when he was out on it. Anyway, do sit down, Luke. I’ll leave you both to talk while I see to lunch.’
As I was putting out some juice and making the coffee I considered Luke. The leather gear, and the large, fancy motorbike in the drive seemed at odds with his delicate features, his light brown floppy hair and, especially, his soft mellifluous voice with its faintly ironic overtone, but then the most unlikely people had motorbikes. It was just a surprise, that was all.
I took my time getting the lunch together. I wanted to give Janet time to have a proper talk with her son. It had been a relief to see her finally give way to tears after her long period of unnatural calm. But when I finally went in they were sitting in silence, side by side on the sofa.
‘Right then,’ I said brightly, ‘here we are. Just sandwiches.’
Luke got to his feet and took the tray, while I went out to get the coffee and juice. When I got back I saw that he’d distributed the plates, cutlery and napkins and was already offering his mother a sandwich. He caught my faint look of surprise and said, ‘Sorry – do forgive me! Whenever I see food I automatically hand it around – force of habit, I suppose.’
I laughed. ‘No, it’s splendid. Thank you so much.’
‘Delicious ham,’ he said, biting into his sandwich.
‘It’s from the local farmers’ market.’
‘Of course. They are wonderful, aren’t they? A great blessing. I always try to use local produce in the restaurant; it’s one of the things we’ve built our reputation on.’
‘I gather you’re doing very well.’
‘Yes, we’ve managed to get a regular clientele – a neighbourhood restaurant, as they say in the glossies, but that’s the best sort to have in some ways, especially in the provinces. Our main trouble now is lack of space, we really do need larger premises, but the rents and rates in the best places are prohibitive.’ ‘I can imagine.’
The general conversation continued while we ate our lunch (‘Wonderful Dundee cake! Did you make it?’) and I began to wonder why we were talking like this when a man was dead? Surely someone should have said something by now! As I poured the coffee I said, ‘I’m so very sorry about your father, Luke. It must have been a dreadful shock.’
‘Yes,’ he said, as though considering the question, ‘it was.’
I tried again. ‘I don’t quite know what the procedure is – I mean, I don’t know if the police have finished…whatever they have to do at the cottage.’ I turned to Janet. ‘Would you like me to drive you both over there so that you can see what the situation is?’
She looked at Luke who said, ‘I’m afraid I have to be getting back fairly soon – I just came down to see how Mum is.’
‘He can’t leave the restaurant, you see,’ Janet said, ‘they have bookings for tonight and there’s only him and Yves.’
‘I see.’
Luke caught the faint note of disapproval in my reply and said, ‘I know it sounds awfully unfeeling and, honestly, I’d stay if I could, but Mum says Christine is coming and she’s bound to want to make all the arrangements – I’d only be in the way.’
‘Christine is very efficient,’ Janet said.
Luke smiled. ‘That’s one way of putting it. But bossy people come into their own at times like this, don’t they?’
I started to gather up the lunch things and Luke took one of the trays and followed me out into the kitchen.
‘How’s she been?’ he asked abruptly.
I shook my head. ‘I honestly don’t know. Poor Janet, it was a terrible shock, as you can imagine, finding your father like that – dreadful. She was, well – stunned I suppose. She hardly said anything. She managed to give a statement to the police. That wasn’t too bad because I knew the sergeant and he was very gentle with her, and she was still in a sort of daze when we got back here and went to bed. But this morning…’ I stopped.
‘This morning?’ Luke asked.
‘So calm and matter-of-fact about arrangements, about going back to the cottage – I really don’t understand it. She’s never mentioned your father once, hadn’t shed a tear until you came. It’s as though she’s on autopilot, if you know what I mean.’
He nodded. ‘That’s quite a good way of putting it, actually. She’s never been allowed to be herself, to take control of her own life. If you’ve seen her with my father you’ll know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I see. But no emotion…’
‘There was no emotion in their marriage,’ Luke said, his voice hardening, ‘except fear on her part. So there’s no reason why there should be any emotion now he has gone.’
‘I see,’ I repeated, though I didn’t, quite.
Luke had now moved over to the sink and was quietly and efficiently washing up the lunch things. I went over to dry them and the sort of intimacy that this shared task engenders allowed me to ask, ‘Were you fond of your father?’
He paused for a moment, apparently concentrating on rinsing a gl
ass, then he said, ‘When I was a little boy I wanted so much to have his approval. I was the boy, you see, and a great deal was expected of me. I was reasonably bright academically and that pleased him, but he wanted me to be more what he called “manly”. But I was no good at sport and outdoor things and I never stood up for myself when I was picked on at school for being the son of one of the masters. He didn’t like that. We managed to keep some sort of rapport until I left school. That’s when I told him I was gay.’
He tipped away the washing-up water and took some time to wring out the dishcloth and drape it neatly over the bowl.
‘He didn’t believe me at first – said it was only a phase, all the usual things. But, just for once, for the first time in my life, I stood up to him and told him that he had to accept it.’
‘That was very brave of you,’ I said.
He smiled sadly. ‘The only really brave thing I’ve ever done in my life.’
‘So what happened then?’
‘He really lost it – raved and roared – “No son of mine…” all that. Then he told me to get out and never come back. He said I was to go straightaway. I asked if I could wait until Mum came back – she’d gone up to London to check some stuff for my father in the British Library – but he said no, I had to go at once and I was never to see her again.’
‘Oh no!’
He shrugged. ‘That’s the way he was. When Mum came back he told her she must never see me or get in touch with me ever again.’
‘For heaven’s sake! So where did you go?’
‘I had this good school friend, David – he was just a friend, nothing more – and his parents had been very kind to me. I think they knew I wasn’t happy at home, though I’d never actually said anything. I went to them. I told them everything that had happened and they were marvellous. They let me stay with them and Mr Samuels, David’s father, gave me a job in his office – just to tide me over, he said.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘Mrs Samuels managed to see her when my father wasn’t around, and told her where I was and that I was all right.’
