A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  Avril slid her arm through his. ‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘That’s why I want you to think carefully before discarding anything. Sally will always be a part of your life, and it’s only right that in a sense she should come with us.’

  Guy tilted back her chin and kissed her. ‘Bless you,’ he said.

  ‘Magda?’

  ‘Hi, Rona.’

  ‘I was just . . . wondering how you are this morning?’

  Magda sounded surprised. ‘Absolutely fine, why?’

  ‘No ill effects from your experiences last night?’

  ‘I had some pretty lurid dreams, if that’s what you mean; no doubt that’s what comes of letting someone take over your mind!’

  Rona gave a little shiver. ‘He gave it back, though,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Of course – I wasn’t serious.’

  There was a pause; they had, after all, exchanged all their news the previous evening. It was Magda who broke it.

  ‘I touched base with Mama this morning, and passed on your message. She’d love to see you, and says she’ll be sure to have some copate waiting for you!’

  Rona laughed. The little wafer cakes had been a childhood favourite on visits to the Kings’ home. ‘Tell her I’ll be in touch,’ she said.

  Apart from an hour’s lunch break – fish and chips from the shop across the road – Guy and Avril had worked solidly, emptying drawers and cupboards, sorting through papers, deciding on the disposal of countless items. And at four o’clock, with aching backs and exhaustion setting in, they called it a day.

  Together, they made a final round of the house, surveying their handiwork. Every piece of furniture, every picture and ornament, now bore a coloured label – blue for storage, red for the auction house, etc., while in the hall three large boxes packed with books, photographs and other personal items that Guy had not as yet removed awaited immediate transportation to Maple Drive.

  At one point, Avril, on her way across the hall, had seen him perched on the arm of a sofa leafing through what looked like a wedding album, and had crept away again. In a sense, she thought, this was harder for him than vacating her own home would be. At least Tom was still alive, whereas, even after all these years, this house reflected Sally’s tastes: her choice of pictures hung on the walls, her dressing-table set was still in place – now destined for Sarah.

  When they reached the hall again, Guy put an arm round her, drawing her against him. ‘I was dreading this,’ he said frankly. ‘Thank you for coming with me. I couldn’t have faced it alone, and I didn’t want to put Sarah through it, even though she now has a home of her own. This is where she grew up, after all.’

  Avril nodded, wondering how her own daughters would react when she came to sell their childhood home. They, too, had their own homes – in fact, Lindsey had recently refurbished hers – but she knew they shared a strong affection for the house in Maple Drive.

  Guy drew a deep breath. ‘Now, I suggest we go home –’ he smiled over the word –‘and relax over a cuppa. Then, later, I’ll take you out for a meal. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said.

  Rona was surprised, on the Sunday, to receive a phone call from her mother, inviting her to lunch the following day.

  ‘And I wonder if you’d be a love and bring me a couple of things from the delicatessen?’ Avril added. ‘The local shops are fine for day-to-day, but Sarah and Clive are coming to supper, and I’ve some new recipes I’d like to try. I haven’t time to go into town, and anyway, I thought it would be nice to see you. It’s been a while.’

  ‘Question is, which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ Max enquired cynically, when Rona relayed this.

  ‘Wanting to see me, or needing the groceries?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Well, it’s true I’ve not seen her for some time, and nor has Linz.’

  ‘And she wouldn’t ask Lindsey to run errands midweek, because she’s at proper work.’

  Rona gave his hand a reproving slap. ‘Don’t be a stirrer! I shall be a dutiful daughter, and while I’m over there, I can call on Paola. I’ll give her a quick ring, and check if it’s OK.’

  Belmont, the district where Avril lived, was a twenty-minute drive from the centre of Marsborough, and Rona found herself reflecting on the countless times she’d made this journey – often, when her mother was at her most difficult, from a sense of duty rather than pleasure.

  With hindsight, she suspected that Avril had been suffering from a form of depression – low self-esteem and general debility. The result was that for as long as she could remember, her mother was continually finding fault, critical of both her husband and daughters. She had long stopped caring about her appearance – drab hair, drab clothes, no make-up – which was why the young Rona had been so dazzled by the colourful, joyful and altogether delightful Paola King. Nor was it surprising that, all those years later, Tom, coming face-to-face with the intelligent and perfectly groomed Catherine, one of his bank’s clients, should have fallen for her.

  It had been Lindsey – all credit to her – who had finally confronted Avril, forcing her to face what she had become, and sweeping her off to town to buy the latest make-up and a new wardrobe. Sadly, though, the die had been cast, and the transformation came too late.

  But credit was also due to Avril. To her daughters’ relieved surprise, the loss of her husband shocked her out of her depression. Far from sinking back into her old ways, she had had her hair attractively styled and highlighted, installed an extra bathroom in her home prior to advertising for a lodger – Sarah, as it happened – and taken on a part-time job at the local library. In the process, her self-confidence grew and, as her interests widened, her peevishness gave way to a tentative new contentment. It was at that point that Guy Lacey had entered her life. Last Christmas, he’d asked her to marry him as soon as her divorce came through, and, as his daughter moved out of Avril’s home, he had moved in.

  Which, though she was glad for her mother, had resurrected Rona’s diffidence when visiting her. Still not quite at ease with Guy, she was careful to time her visits, unless specifically invited, for when Avril would be alone. Guy was still employed full-time, but since her mother worked four mornings a week at the library, at a charity shop on Wednesdays, and had regular bridge engagements, such times were limited. Which was why she was pleased, groceries or no groceries, to be invited to lunch.

  It was odd, Rona mused now, that although her father had met Catherine some time before Avril and Guy came together, it was her prim mother who was cohabiting with her lover. Tom, ever the gentleman, had wanted to protect the reputation of the woman he loved and refused to compromise her, though despite their discretion Rona was sure they were enjoying a full sexual relationship.

  Whether she was right or not, she much preferred their living arrangements; it meant she could call to see Tom any time she liked without inevitably running into Catherine, who continued for the most part to lead her own life.

  Her reflections had brought her to Maple Drive, and she drove the last few yards to the familiar gateway.

  Avril met her at the door, gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and relieved her of the carrier bag.

  ‘Thanks so much for getting these, dear; you must tell me how much I owe you.’

  Rona followed her into the kitchen and watched her unload the quail’s eggs and artichokes she had bought that morning from the delicatessen near the Gallery.

  ‘I was saying to Linz that it’s some time since I’ve seen you, but I’ve been working flat out on the bio for weeks now.’ Opening her capacious handbag, she retrieved a packet which she laid on the table beside the eggs. ‘Here’s something you don’t need to reimburse me for!’

  ‘Belgian chocs? You really shouldn’t have, but thanks so much, dear. We’ll sample them after lunch.’

  ‘So how is Lindsey?’ Avril asked, as they ate their meal. ‘We’ve spoken briefly on the phone, but I’ve not seen her lately either.’


  ‘We had lunch on Friday,’ Rona replied. ‘She told me Guy’s house has been sold. That is good news.’

  ‘Yes; we spent the whole of Saturday over there, sorting things out. It was all a bit traumatic for him, poor love, bringing back memories, and so on.’

  ‘What’s happening to his stuff?’

  ‘Some of it will go to Sarah, some will be sold, and some will go into store till we’re ready for it.’

  Rona put down her fork. ‘How do you mean?’

  Avril looked surprised. ‘Didn’t I say? His being here is only a temporary measure; after we’re married we’ll have a new home, with no memories to haunt either of us.’

  Rona looked round the familiar room, feeling her stomach lurch. ‘You’ll be selling this place?’

  Avril nodded. ‘Of course you and Lindsey can earmark anything you’d like, and we’ll be taking quite a bit with us.’ She put her hand over Rona’s. ‘Don’t look so tragic, sweetie! It’s only bricks and mortar.’

  ‘Not to me, it isn’t,’ Rona said, ‘though of course it makes sense. It’s just that I assumed, when Guy moved in, that you’d continue living here.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be for a while, so you’ll have time to get used to the idea. Now, enough of all that. What’s new with that sister of yours? Has she still got Dominic in tow?’

  Rona smiled. ‘I’m not sure either of them would recognize that description! But he’s still around, yes.’

  Avril shook her head despairingly. ‘That girl never had any sense where men are concerned.’

  It was a familiar refrain, and, deploying diversionary tactics in her turn, Rona said brightly, ‘She brought an old school photograph to show me, with one of the people on it blacked out. Apparently someone in her book group is keen to learn more about it.’

  ‘And why should you know anything?’

  ‘Good question! She asked me to exercise my “detective skills”.’

  ‘Is it a local school?’

  ‘It was, by the name of Springfield Lodge. It’s a hotel now.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard of Springfield – it was a private school. The sisters of one of my friends went there.’

  ‘Really?’ Rona brightened. This was an unlooked-for bonus; if her mother could fill in the gaps it would let her off Lindsey’s hook. ‘What do you know about it? There was nothing on the Internet.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t even at primary then, but years later Kitty told me about it. She came from a large family, and her sisters, who were a good ten years older than we were, both went there.’

  ‘What did Kitty tell you?’

  Avril frowned, casting her mind back. ‘She said it closed suddenly, in the middle of the school year. Her mother was most put out, because Maureen was about to take her O-levels.’

  Rona leant forward, interested despite herself. ‘Any idea why it closed?’

  ‘No, but apparently all kinds of rumours were flying around.’

  ‘What kind of rumours?’

  ‘Oh, heavy drinking, abortions, sex – take your pick. But Maureen, who, as I said, was there at the time, insisted it was because the headmaster had a heart attack, which must have been the official explanation.’

  ‘The wilder version might explain why someone was blacked out, though.’

  ‘True.’ Avril smiled reminiscently. ‘It was certainly the version Kitty and I preferred, but we’d nothing whatever to go on and by the time we heard about it, it was all years in the past and everyone had forgotten about it. Or said they had.’

  ‘Might Pops know anything?’ Rona asked hesitantly.

  ‘Not first-hand, certainly; he only came to Marsborough when the bank transferred him from Tynecastle. What about Max? Can’t he throw any light on it?’

  ‘Actually, I haven’t asked him.’

  ‘Not seen him lately?’ Avril asked pointedly. It was a bone of contention that Max and Rona spent a large portion of the week apart, she at home and he at Farthings, the cottage across town where he had his studio. It was an arrangement that had come about since both worked from home, and while Max’s art was inspired by music played at full volume, Rona’s writing needed total quiet. It was also practical, following his thrice-weekly evening classes, for him to spend the night at Farthings, so as to be able to start painting early the next morning, his preferred time. The arrangement suited them both perfectly; they spoke on the phone at least twice a day, and enjoyed their time together all the more – none of which Avril could understand.

  ‘It’s just that I’ve no intention of doing anything about it,’ Rona answered steadily, ignoring the thrust. ‘I’ve enough on my hands with the bio, and I only mentioned it now because you asked about Lindsey.’

  Avril shrugged. ‘Well, that’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid, and if you’re not following it up, it’s of no consequence anyway.’

  There was an awkward pause, and Rona glanced at her watch. ‘I should be making a move; I’m calling at Paola King’s on my way home.’

  ‘Paola King – there’s a name from the past! I didn’t know you were still in touch.’

  ‘Only sporadically, but Magda said last week that Paola would like to see me. This seemed the ideal opportunity.’

  ‘I used to be jealous of that woman,’ Avril said reflectively. ‘You spent more time in her house than in your own home.’

  Startled, Rona could think of nothing to say. She reached for her handbag and stood up.

  ‘Thanks for the lunch, Mum. It was delicious.’

  ‘At least for once you’ve some decent food inside you.’

  As Rona’s usual lunch tended to be a sandwich or something on toast, this was a fair comment, added to which, disliking cooking as intensely as she did, on the evenings Max stayed at his studio she tended to dine off salads, takeaways or ready-meals, and occasionally, fancying none of these, visited Dino’s, an Italian restaurant six minutes’ walk from home. It was indeed fortunate, she acknowledged, that Max was an excellent cook, and enjoyed taking over whenever he was home.

  ‘Love to Lindsey, if you see her,’ Avril said, as Rona kissed her goodbye.

  ‘Will do, and remember me to Guy and Sarah. Hope your supper party’s a success. I might beg the quail’s egg recipe, to pass on to Max!’

  In stark contrast to Avril’s restrained welcome, Paola King came running down the path to greet her and, as Rona climbed out of the car, flung her arms round her and hugged her enthusiastically.

  ‘Rona! Oh, how good it is to see you, cara mia! Come inside and tell me all your news!’ And Rona, having been, as always, slightly on edge in her mother’s company, happily relaxed.

  The house was exactly as she remembered it, warm and welcoming with its brightly coloured rugs, exotic pictures and all-pervading smell of baking. A low table had been drawn up to the fire, ready laid with a tray on which Rona recognized the promised copate.

  ‘You’re spoiling me!’ she said. ‘I’m not ten any more!’

  ‘Everyone should be spoiled once in a way!’ Paola declared, pouring the tea. ‘Now, tell me about the book you are writing. So many books and articles! George and I are so proud!’

  ‘Well, this one has rather a chequered history,’ Rona said ruefully.

  Paola sobered, her hand going to her mouth. ‘How thoughtless of me! Of course – that poor woman. Such a tragedy!’

  ‘Yes. It’s coming along now, but I’m not enjoying it as much as usual.’

  ‘And that clever husband of yours? What is he working on at the moment?’

  ‘Well, apart from taking four classes a week and putting in a full day at the art school on Thursdays, he’s been commissioned to do a portrait of some local dignitary – I forget his name.’

  ‘Such a talented family!’ Paola enthused. ‘I boast about you to my friends! “These famous people are friends of my daughter,” I say!’

  Rona laughed. ‘And we boast that Magda’s our friend! I lose track of how many boutiques she has now.’

  ‘Eight
,’ Paola supplied. She stirred her tea thoughtfully. ‘You went with her on Friday, I think, to see this . . . ipnotista?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Rona hesitated. ‘He was . . . very good.’

  ‘I do not like this . . . messing with the minds of people.’

  ‘I admit I had reservations, but it seemed pretty harmless. He didn’t make her do anything too way-out.’

  ‘Her?’ Paola repeated sharply. ‘Magdalena was involved?’

  Oh God! Rona thought. Why hadn’t she been warned about this?

  ‘Just as one of several groups,’ she said hastily.

  Paola brushed that aside. ‘What did he do to her, this man?’

  ‘Well, he . . . put them all to sleep, of course, and then they were told the Queen was there, and that a snake had escaped, and they reacted accordingly.’ Her voice tailed off. ‘I’m sorry,’ she ended, ‘I thought you knew, but it wasn’t any big deal, honestly.’

  She looked anxiously at her hostess, who was staring down at the tea tray. Finally, Paola looked up, her eyes troubled.

  ‘You wonder why I make the fuss like this, but we found when she was young that Magdalena is . . . sensibile—’ She shook her head impatiently, searching for the right word.

  ‘Susceptible?’ Rona suggested uneasily, resolving not to mention her later relapse.

  Paola nodded vigorously. ‘She has much imagination – it is that, of course, that makes her good at her job – but when she was small, there were times she could not separate what was real and what was not. She had an imaginary friend. Did you know about that, when you were together at school?’

  Rona shook her head, her unease growing.

  ‘Anna Lisa, her name was, and every day a place must be set for her at table. George and I would hear the child talking to her in her room at night.’

  ‘Lots of children have imaginary friends,’ Rona said. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘And such nightmares!’ Paola was continuing. ‘She would wake screaming, night after night.’