The Foundling’s Daughter

by Ann Bennett

  The day she’d seen him emerging from the doctor’s surgery as she ate lunch at Le Gastronome, she’d come home to find him sitting quietly in his sun-room watching the blood-red sun dip beyond the trees on the hills opposite. She’d questioned him gently, hinting that she’d seen him in town. He’d been reticent at first, but she could tell from the haggard look on his face that the news was going to be bad.

  ‘A brain tumour?’ she’d repeated, when he finally told her, shock and fear rolling through her.

  ‘It’s slow growing, they tell me. And I didn’t want to worry you,’ he said weakly. ‘You had a hell of a lot on your mind. I would have told you when the time was right.’

  ‘You should have told me before, Dad,’ she’d said through tears,’ It’s such a serious thing to bear all by yourself.’

  ‘What difference would it have made?’ he said, shrugging.

  ‘I could have looked after you, taken you to your appointments.’

  ‘I’ve been coping. I’m not quite helpless yet.’

  ‘Oh, Dad. I wasn’t saying that… I’d just like to help.’

  ‘And I’d like to help you. That’s part of the reason I mentioned transferring some money, Sarah. It makes sense now if you have a use for it.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about Cedar Lodge and her trip to the estate agents at that moment. It had seemed so unimportant compared to the blow dealt by his own news.

  For a few days she didn’t think about the old house. She hardly even thought about Alex. She needed time to adjust to the knowledge that her father was seriously ill, even though he was coping well and leading a fairly normal life. She’d berated herself constantly. Why had she taken him so much for granted over the years? Why hadn’t she spent more time with him, made the effort to take time off from the restaurant to come and see him more often? Now his days were finite it felt as if there wasn’t enough time to make amends. She’d followed him around the house, trying to relieve him of tasks, trying to make his life easier in any small way she could.

  A few days after he’d broken the news about his illness, he’d been reading the local paper over breakfast. He looked up and said, ‘Did you know Cedar Lodge is under offer?’

  She’d turned from the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. He was holding the paper up, showing her an advert, a picture of Cedar Lodge with under offer written in a diagonal banner across it. ‘You told me it was for sale, but I didn’t realise it was going to happen so quickly.’

  She’d told him then about how she’d seen the furniture being moved out of the old house, about how she’d been to the estate agents to ask about it. He looked up at her and smiled.

  ‘I could tell you wanted to buy it, Sarah, when you spoke about it before.’

  ‘Could you? But Dad, that was then. Things have changed now,’ she said turning back to the sink. ‘And anyway, it’s under offer. Someone else is buying it.’

  ‘Well we could see if they would take a higher one.’

  ‘I tried to find out how much it was going for, but I didn’t get very far. The woman in Country Squires was very cagey.’

  ‘If you think about it, it seems the perfect solution,’ he went on, not acknowledging what she’d said. ‘I could use some of my savings to buy the place. That would give you somewhere of your own near here, completely independent of Alex. If and when you do manage to get your share of the business from him, you could buy the place back from me. In the meantime, you could do it up. You’ve got a real gift for that sort of thing. Remember what the old place in Bristol was like when you bought it?’

  ‘But Dad, you need me here now.’

  ‘I don’t want you tied to me, Sarah. You’ve got your own life to lead. And besides, you wouldn’t be far away, would you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Look, if you won’t take a gift, it could be a business arrangement. I could fund the purchase and the renovation, and we could share the profits when it’s sold. How about that?’

  She left the washing up and came to sit down opposite him. She knew he was only humouring her, that it could take years to do up the house, and by then… she bit her lip to stop the thought.

  ‘Would you really want that, Dad? Have you thought about how you might feel about that house? Doesn’t it have… unwelcome associations for you?’

  He laughed and shook his head.

  ‘Not at all. I told you before, I’d like to find out as much as I can about where I came from. I think it would be rather interesting to own that old place. Better for us to buy it than for it to be knocked down, don’t you think? It’s probably going to developers. Lots of old houses in the town have been demolished or turned into flats. The History Society is up in arms about it, but there’s nothing they can do. None of the houses are listed.’

  So, she’d agreed to speak to Jonathan Squires about making a higher offer. Over the next few days she’d called his office several times, left numerous messages, but he’d never called back.

  ‘If he’s not going to return your calls, why not go in there and speak to him in person,’ Dad said eventually. ‘I’ll come with you, if you like. Moral support. And I can be on hand to back you up, to confirm the funds are available straight away.’

  Now, as she drives through the outskirts of Weirfield, the creeping anticipation she feels at the thought that she might soon be able to buy Cedar Lodge, is gradually replacing the pain of the conversation she’d had with Alex this morning.

  ‘I need to see you,’ was the first thing he’d said when she answered his call. ‘I need you to come here and meet me in the restaurant.’

  She’d held the phone away from her ear, speechless for a moment.

  ‘It’s all about what you need, isn’t it, Alex?’ she’d said finally.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. It’s just that I need to talk to you about the business.’

  ‘I’d rather you dealt with Judith Marshall,’ she said stiffly. ‘She told me you’d sent her some financial details. I’m going in next week to discuss it with her.’

  ‘It’s not about that. It’s not about our spilt, Sarah, it’s about the other business. About the investigation.’

  His voice sounded weary. Her heart started to twist with pity, before she took a deep breath and stopped herself.

  ‘What about the investigation?’ she said, ‘I told the police everything I could. What else is there to say?’

  ‘It’s complicated. Look, it’s hard to talk about it over the phone. Won’t you come up here and talk to me? Or maybe I could drive down to you. Could I come down this afternoon?’

  ‘No. Not this afternoon. I’m busy.’

  ‘Busy?’ he gave a short laugh. ‘What’s there to do in deepest Berkshire? I’m sorry, Sarah, but this is important. More important than whatever you’re amusing yourself with down there.’

  ‘I think it would be far better for you to deal with Judith Marshall,’ she said tersely.

  ‘This doesn’t concern her. Look, I need you to tell them. I need you to tell the police something for me.’

  ‘Well, maybe they could get in touch with me, they know where I am. But anyway, as I said, I’ve told them everything I know.’

  ‘I can’t believe this! You’re saying you won’t help?’

  ‘It’s difficult for me, Alex. And I really don’t know how you’ve got the cheek to ask me to help you, after what’s happened.’

  ‘What’s happened is that you’ve upped and left me!’

  ‘I left for a reason Alex. You know that.’

  ‘Well why don’t you tell me what that reason is, because as things stand right now, I’m at a complete loss.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.’

  ‘Look, if you won’t tell me now, why don’t you come up to London? We can have a serious talk. When can you come?’

  ‘Not yet. Maybe in a week or two. When things have settled down. I need a bit of space.’

  Now she’s driving through th
e outskirts of Weirfeld. Cedar Lodge looms up on the right. She slows down and glances through the gate. There’s Jonathan Squires, in a dark overcoat, pushing someone in a wheelchair across the yard.

  On an impulse she pulls off the road and parks beside the newsagents.

  ‘Look, there he is, Dad. Why don’t I go and talk to him here and now? He’s obviously been avoiding me. He won’t be able to do that if I go up and speak to him.’

  ‘Hmmm. Maybe it’s not such a good idea, Sarah. It looks like old Miss Burroughs in the wheelchair. It might be a bit awkward.’

  ‘Why? She needs to know too, surely? I won’t be a moment. You wait here.’

  And without a further word she’s out of the car and hurrying across the road.

  ‘Mr Squires!’

  She walks quickly towards him. He stops pushing the wheelchair and his face drops. Sarah draws closer. The old lady in the wheelchair stares at her. Her hair is wispy and grey and her face is scored with lines, but it’s the eyes that Sarah notices first. Those bright eyes. She’s unmistakeably the girl in the photograph that she’d seen in the old house. The younger one, the one who was smiling.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you Mr Squires. But I’ve been trying to reach you for several days now.’

  ‘Ah, Mrs Jennings, isn’t it?’ his voice sounds measured, but she can see from his eyes that he’s irritated at her for approaching him like this. ‘Mrs Jennings, let me introduce Miss Burroughs. Miss Burroughs is the owner of Cedar Lodge.’

  Sarah holds out her hand and the old lady lifts a trembling hand from under a tartan blanket. Sarah takes it and holds it in hers.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Burroughs.’

  The old lady’s hand feels cold and skeletal, as if the bones are very light under stretched skin.

  ‘Mr Squires,’ Sarah says. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming straight to the point, but I’d very much like to make an offer for the house.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s sold Mrs Jennings. It isn’t on the market any longer.’

  ‘Well that’s a pity. Because I have funds available. I won’t have to arrange finance and I would be able to complete very quickly. Could you let me know what the sale price is, please? I might be able to offer something more.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Jennings. The place is sold, as I said. It’s a confidential matter. Look, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get Miss Burroughs back to her nursing home. She’s been out long enough. She needs her lunch.’

  He begins to push the wheelchair away from her. Sarah walks beside him.

  ‘I’m sure I could better the current offer,’ she repeats, ‘If you could just let me know what it is, please.’

  ‘That would be most unethical of me, Mrs Jennings.’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand.’ It’s the old lady’s voice. She’s looking straight at Sarah. ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. To knock this beautiful old place down and build a lot of ugly little houses here, on my father’s land.’

  ‘Now Miss Burroughs, please…’

  ‘Would you take two hundred and sixty from me?’ Sarah says, seizing the opportunity.

  ‘I’m afraid she can’t, Mrs Jennings,’ said Jonathan Squires. ‘You see, I’ve given my word.’

  ‘Of course we will take it,’ the old lady’s shrill voice chips in. ‘I told Peter Cartwright. I told him there was a document. Some sort of deed or something stopping the land from being built on and he wouldn’t listen to me. He tried to force me to sell it to those builders. I know my money is running out, so I agreed to it. But I didn’t want to do it. If this young lady is prepared to offer more then I’d much prefer to sell it to her. You won’t be wanting to knock the place down, will you, my dear?’

  She looks up at Sarah with anxious eyes. ‘Of course not,’ Sarah begins, but Jonathan Squires cuts in.

  ‘Now, now Miss Burroughs. Slow down. Please. It’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘Of course it is, Mr Squires. This lady has offered more. And Peter told me he must take the best price he can. It is his duty as my trustee to do that. He told me so yesterday.’

  Jonathan Squires opens the car door, a sickly smile on his face. ‘Now, come on Miss Burroughs. Let’s get you in the car. We can talk about all that later.’

  He bends down and puts his arms around the old lady. As he lifts her into the passenger seat, her pleading eyes are fixed on Sarah’s.

  ‘Mr Squires, please will you speak to Peter Cartwright about this lady’s offer?’ the old lady says. ‘Please tell him that I want to accept it. I won’t make a fuss. I won’t say any more about that old deed if you see to it that this young lady gets the house.’

  He’s fumbling with the seat belt. ‘Mr Squires. Please…’

  ‘Alright. I’ll speak to Peter,’ he mutters. ‘I’ll see what can be done.’ He glances towards Sarah. ‘Perhaps you’d kindly drop into my office after lunch Mrs Jennings. I can take your details down and we’ll take it from there.’

  Twelve

  Sarah

  Sarah hesitates on the marble steps before moving forward and pushing the plate glass doors open. As she walks inside the restaurant lobby, she’s immediately engulfed in the familiar warmth and aromas of garlic and baking smells. Modern jazz is playing on the sound system and there’s a comfortable hubbub of conversation, the chink of cutlery, the glug of wine being poured.

  There’s no one on the front desk, so she walks through the lobby and into the restaurant. It’s busy, the height of the lunchtime rush. Everyone turns to look at her. Is it her imagination, or does the conversation hover on the air for a moment, before suddenly resuming, louder than before. She makes her way between the tables. A couple of the waiters, scurrying towards the kitchen with new orders, or heading towards the tables, arms laden with plates, nod briefly as she passes. She pauses at the counter where the waiters collect their orders from the kitchen. A couple of the chefs look up from their work and nod at her, looking away quickly.

  They don’t know what to say to me.

  ‘Buongiorno, Signora Sarah!’ Carlo sweeps towards her wearing his professional smile. ‘How wonderful to see you! So sorry I was not at the door when you came in. I was called away momentarily. Let me take your coat, please.’

  He fusses over her, helping her off with her coat, offering her a drink. All the time he avoids eye contact, not acknowledging that anything odd has happened, or even that they were so recently a team, working seamlessly together evening after evening, making sure the whole operation ran smoothly. She feels like an interloper here now.

  ‘Come this way madam, come, come…’ Carlo ushers her towards the door to the office. She is on the point of saying, ‘For God’s sake, I know where the office is Carlo,’ but holds back. The situation is painful and awkward enough as it is.

  Alex is waiting for her, working at his desk on the computer. He gets up quickly as she enters and pushes his chair back. With a sweep of her eyes she notices that he’s lost weight, that he’s pale; there are smudges under his eyes and his shirt is crumpled.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come, kitten,’ he says. He moves awkwardly from behind the desk and steps towards her, either to shake her hand or to kiss her, but she doesn’t respond and he draws back.

  ‘Don’t call me that, please Alex,’ she says, sitting down on the leather armchair opposite his desk.

  ‘OK. OK. Sorry. Do you want a coffee? Wine?’

  ‘No thanks. I won’t stop for long. Why don’t you just tell me why you need to talk to me?’

  He shuts the lid of his laptop and leans forward towards her, fixing her with his blue eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. ‘I need you to tell me what you told the police. But first I need to know why you left me.’

  It feels so odd, sitting opposite him like a stranger, in the room where they shared so much, planned menus together, discussed the day to day running of the place.

  Why the hell does he need me to spell it out for him?

  ‘What
am I supposed to have done?’ he says, leaning forward. ‘Come on, spit it out.’

  She takes a deep breath, ‘I can’t believe this! Surely, it’s bloody obvious. The girl. I know you were paying that girl, Alex. That girl, Jemma. There’s no point in denying it. I’ve seen the accounts.’

  There’s silence. Alex’s face looks flushed, but his expression remains deadpan. Then he says quietly,

  ‘How the hell did you get to see those accounts?’

  ‘The police showed me them. It was all part of the questioning; they were trying to get me to admit to something, I still don’t know what. But what does that matter anyway? I saw the accounts. I know you’ve been paying her, Alex.’

  The shock and bitterness she’d felt when she’d first set eyes on those entries comes back to her afresh.

  ‘It’s really not what you think, Sarah.’

  ‘Really?’ Anger is rising inside her now. She wants to yell and scream, but she’s not going to let him see her lose her cool.

  ‘Of course, really. What would I want with someone like her?’

  She stares at him. ‘I don’t believe you, Alex. If there was another explanation, you’d be able to tell me.’

  ‘You’ll just have to take my word for it. There was nothing going on between me and Jemma.’

  Sarah fights the urge to just get up and leave. But she knows that’s what she’s been doing for years, avoiding confrontation, letting things go. She knows she must fight now.

  ‘I can’t believe you, Alex. Not unless you can explain.’

  ‘Well then, like I already said, you’ll just have to take my word for it,’ he says, looking at her steadily. ‘Now I need you to tell me what the police asked you about.’

  ‘Go ahead. Change the subject. I can’t believe you won’t admit it when you’ve been caught red-handed. Do you know what? I thought you had more pride.’