A Walk in the Park (15 page)

Oh God, whatever happened, she mustn't tell him that. And especially mustn't try to kiss him. Just play it cool,
play
it
cool…

It was raining and Lara was in the car on her way to Bradford on Avon. Funny how you could be dreading and looking forward to something at the same time.

Yesterday she had introduced Jo to Gigi, then Flynn had arrived and the four of them had enjoyed a barbecue in the sunny back garden, everyone getting on well together so effortlessly that the evening had been an absolute joy. From a distance they could have been mistaken for a proper family. If only that were true. How must it feel to be normal?

Oh well, maybe normality was overrated. Never having experienced it, she wouldn't know. Lara drove down the steep, winding hill into Bradford on Avon and switched her wipers up to double speed to keep the windshield clear. Anyway, she had a job to do today and it was already making her feel sick with anticipation. Like those dreams where you walked into an exam room and suddenly realized you'd been studying the wrong syllabus…

It didn't take long to find Bingham Close; she'd learned the directions off by heart. The sky was charcoal gray. Number 32 was at the end of the street, suitably dark and gothic, and wrapped in a cloak of dripping trees.

The good news was that, despite the fact that it was ten o'clock in the morning, there were lights on in the house and two cars on the driveway.

Pulling up, Lara switched off the engine and took a deep breath. Let her be in, let her be in. And please God let her talk.

The front door was opened by Joan, the elder of the two sisters, whose mouth snapped shut like a rat trap at the sight of Lara on the doorstep.

“Hi, I've come to see Janice. It's about something very important.”

“She's having breakfast.”

Janice had always liked to sleep late; Lara had deliberately chosen this time because she'd be unlikely to be out.

“I can wait until she's finished. I really do need to see her though.”

“What about?”

“It's private.” She was going with the polite-but-firm approach, praying that curiosity would overcome Janice's instinctive reluctance to see her.

“Stay there,” Joan ordered, her dyed black hair quivering with disdain. “Don't move.”

Within thirty seconds she was back from the kitchen.

“She'll see you in fifteen minutes. You'll have to wait outside until then.”

“In the rain?”

A beady glare and a cool response. “What do you expect, turning up without warning?”

Touché.

“OK, no problem.” Since saying thank you would make her sound desperate, Lara said, “See you in a bit.”

She waited in the car for exactly fifteen minutes then rang the doorbell. Joan answered the door again and silently ushered her toward the sitting room. Lara's nostrils quivered; there was the smell of Janice's cloying, noxious perfume, the lingering dregs of which she'd had to work so hard to eradicate from her own house. The room itself was large and gloomy, with heavy dark furniture and hectically patterned carpet. And there, sitting in the center of the ox-blood leather sofa, was Janice, toad-like and wearing her habitual navy blue; her bosom rested on her stomach and her pudgy feet were squashed into high-heeled pumps.

“Sit there.” She pointed to an uncomfortable-looking chair before folding her bejeweled hands across her front. At least two of the many rings on her fat fingers, Lara was fairly sure, had once belonged to her mum. But if she were to query this, Janice would either deny it or get irritated and insist they had been her husband's to do as he liked with.

OK, get your priorities straight, choose your battles. She wouldn't want jewelry that had been worn by her stepmother anyway; even the thought of it made her feel sick.

“How are you, Janice?” And she was going to be polite too.

“I'm all right. Considering.” Janice's eyelashes were black and spidery with blobs of mascara quivering on the ends. She blinked slowly and said, “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.” Lara kept her voice steady. “We both know my father didn't love me. So there's a question I'm really hoping you can answer. Because what I'm wondering is, was he maybe not my father after all?”

Janice's chins wobbled. “And it's taken you this long to work that out, has it?”

There it was, just like that, the answer she'd been waiting to hear for so many years. Lara felt her stomach disappear and her lungs expand, in desperate need of air.

“So he wasn't my father.” Thank God, thank
God.
“And he knew that all along.”

“He knew it.” Janice's knuckles were clenching now. “In his heart he knew the truth. But your mother told him lies, she said you were his child and he wanted to believe her so he stayed married. Because that's the kind of husband he was, you see. He did his best with the rotten hand he'd been dealt. Charles was a decent man, a good man.” Her eyes were filling with tears now; beneath the heavy layers of powder and foundation her cheeks were flushed with anger. “Everyone's always talked about your mother as if she was some kind of saint because she died of cancer and wasn't-she-young and wasn't-it-tragic, but she was the one who had the grubby little affair. Not Charles. She might have played him for a fool but he was faithful to her. He brought up another man's child and how many husbands would do that? You've come here for the truth, have you? Fine, I'll give it to you straight. Your precious mother was nothing but a tart.”

Lara didn't trust herself to speak. More than anything she wanted to defend her mum, to scream at Janice and tell her to shut up, how dare she say such vile disgusting things, it wasn't fair.

On the other hand, she still needed to know more. It was a miracle that Janice had spilled out this much information. Getting angry with her now might cause her to clam up and she couldn't afford to take that risk.

“How did my… um, Charles find out about the affair?”

This time the beady gaze was unwavering. For a few seconds the only sound in the room was the sonorous ticking of the grandfather clock. Then Janice said, “He found out when I told him.”

Lara felt herself actually shake her head because that just
so
wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. She said, “
What?
” and saw the glint of triumph in Janice's kohl-rimmed eyes.

“Oh yes. That surprised you, didn't it?”

“Just a bit. So, hang on, does that mean you
knew
my mum?” More and more surreal. She'd always assumed her father hadn't met Janice until around the time of her mum's death. But this meant they'd met each other fourteen years before then… God, this was
unbelievable
.

“I knew the man she had an affair with.”

“You knew… him?” If Lara hadn't been sitting down, her legs might have given way; more information than she'd ever anticipated was bombarding her hopelessly unprepared brain. There was a loud drumming in her ears. She knew she wasn't dreaming but it felt like a dream. She had literally
no
idea what Janice might be about to come out with next. Dry-mouthed, she said, “How? Who was he?”

Janice was now relishing her position of power. All these years, Lara realized, she'd held the knowledge to her massive chest and been forbidden by her husband from saying anything. But now he was gone, he couldn't stop her. Janice no longer needed to keep the information to herself. By turning up here this morning, she'd succeeded in poking the first crucial hole in the dam and now all the answers were going to come gushing out.

They
hadn't needed to track Jo down after all.

“I worked for him,” said Janice. “I was his secretary.”

His
secretary
. Lara's jaw was clenched tight with anticipation. “What was he like?”

Janice's lip curled. “The kind of man who thought he could do everything. Anything he wanted, he could have. He was married but that didn't stop him. Mr. Charm.”

OK, presumably that wasn't his real name.

“What happened?” said Lara. “How did it start?” She wanted to hear every last detail.

“I don't know how they got together in the first place. But your mother started calling the office. She wasn't the first.” Janice's tone was disparaging. “I was used to fielding calls from his fancy women. But they usually only lasted a few weeks. This time it carried on. She'd ring up, I'd put her through, then he'd leave the office for an hour or two. And I was expected to cover for him.” Her expression hardened. “If his wife called, I'd have to fob her off, say he was in a meeting. I had to lie to her. It was part of my job.”

“Did you see him and my mum together?”

“Not for weeks. Then she called him one lunchtime and he went rushing off to meet her as usual. I had a dental appointment that day, so I left the office twenty minutes later. I was taking a short cut through the back of the Botanical Gardens when I saw them together.” Janice's lip curled as she said it.

Oh heavens, what had they been doing? Lara inwardly panicked; please don't let it have been anything inappropriate.

“They were sitting on a bench,” Janice continued. “Talking to each other and holding hands.”

“Right.” Thank goodness for that, holding hands was fine.

“The way he was looking at her… it was as if she was the only woman in the world. They didn't notice me watching them. And then he reached up and touched the side of her face.” Janice was shaking her head now, gazing out of the window as she recalled the event in her mind's eye. “The next minute she was in his arms and he was holding her, kissing her. That was when I realized he could turn his head at any minute and see me. So I left, because I hadn't followed him there, but he'd think I had. I saw her face though, well enough. And the wedding ring on her left hand. That was the thing that really got me. Two married people not caring about the vows they'd made, breaking promises, sneaking around behind their partners' backs, and taking stupid risks just for the thrill of it, because all they care about is themselves and their own happiness and why shouldn't they have a bit of fun?”

“So you didn't say anything to him,” said Lara. “He didn't know you knew.”

“No, but he wasn't exactly discreet. Some men are like that, they just assume you'll go along with whatever they're doing. I'd put her calls through to him and he'd say, ‘Barbara! Darling, how are you? When am I going to see you?' and ten minutes later he'd be off. He just took it for granted I wouldn't tell his wife!”

Lara said, “Did you tell his wife?”

“Yes, I did. I felt she deserved to know.” The look of defiance on Janice's face said it all.

“And?”

“She didn't want to know.” The vermilion mouth pursed like a cat's bottom. “Told me she wasn't interested. Try and do someone a favor and they're scared to face up to the truth. Too fond of her lifestyle, that's what it was. The big house, the fancy cars, trips to Ascot and Wimbledon and a vacation home in the south of France. She couldn't risk losing it all, could she? So she chose to turn a blind eye instead. He did whatever he wanted to do and she carried on with the shopping trips to London, the visits to Harrods' beauty hall, living the pampered life along with all her rich-wife friends.”

Lara said, “What was his name?” If she slipped the question in unobtrusively enough, maybe Janice would be tricked into saying it.

“Anyway, everything did carry on.” Janice pointedly ignored her. “Your mother would call the office. He'd disappear to visit her. Then a year later I overheard him on the phone saying something about when the baby was born. Well, I knew he wasn't talking about his own wife. So the next time he arranged to meet her, I followed him to the park and there they were, together again. That was when I saw she was expecting.”

“With me?” Lara's mouth was dry. “Was it me?”

“Of course it was you. Your mother was a married woman carrying on with another man… and now she was having a child… call me old-fashioned, but I find that pretty distasteful…”

“So you told my father.” It didn't take a genius to work it out. Everything was starting to make sense now. Lara said, “How did you track him down?”

“That was simple. I worked for a careless man.” Janice's tone brimmed with scorn. “I already knew she was called Barbara from the phone calls. All I had to do was look in his diary and there it was, written down bold as brass. Barbara Carson and the number. Looked it up in the phone book—hardly anyone was unlisted in those days—and had the address. Right here in Bradford on Avon, as it turned out.”

“And you paid my father a visit.” She hadn't succeeded with James's wife, so she'd felt compelled to tell the other woman's husband instead.

“Yes I did.” Janice was unrepentant. “I didn't know if he'd even be there, but he was. It was a Sunday morning and he was outside the flat washing his car.”

This was a scenario Lara was familiar with; washing and painstakingly polishing the car on a Sunday morning had occurred without fail throughout her childhood. She'd never been allowed to help him either; he'd brusquely explained that she wouldn't do it well enough.

“So you just went up to him in the street and told him everything?”

“Don't be ridiculous. I didn't know if your mother was inside the flat. I asked him if he was Charles Carson, then I said if he wanted to find out something interesting about his wife, he should give me a call. I handed him my number and walked away. He was the one who called me back and invited me into the flat. Barbara had gone to church, appropriately enough for a sinner.” Janice blinked slowly and refolded her hands in her lap. “He said she wouldn't be back for an hour. And he really did want to know. So I told him. He didn't say much. Just took it all in.”

Lara pictured the scene: reserved, uptight Charles Carson, married to Barbara and imagining he was shortly to become a father, painstakingly polishing his car on a Sunday morning when along comes a complete stranger announcing that not only has his wife been seeing another man but that the child she's expecting may not be his.

Talk about a bolt from the blue.

But he'd stayed married to her mother, who had presumably denied the affair. And thirty-six years ago, divorce had been far more of a last resort than it was now; the stigma would have been hard for someone like her father to bear. Presumably remaining unhappily married was preferable to admitting that your wife had become involved with another man.

“And then he thanked me,” Janice continued, “which was nice of him. He said he'd deal with the situation. He also asked me if he could call again in case he needed to find out any more information in the future.”

“You told him who your boss was?”

Janice shook her head. “No, I couldn't take the risk, could I? Charles was a stranger, who knew what he might do or say? I didn't want to lose my job. I explained that to him and he understood. I left him to it, after that. It was months before I heard from him again.”

Lara wished they could open a window in this stuffy room; Janice's perfume was giving her a headache. But she couldn't stop now. “So he challenged her when she got home?”

“He did. She was shocked, naturally. Denied everything, insisted she'd done nothing wrong. Then he told her she'd been seen in the park and she crumbled, admitted it was true but maintained he was a friend, nothing more. It's what people do, isn't it, when they've been caught out?” Janice shook her head dismissively. “Fly into a panic and deny, deny.”

“And then what happened?”

“She promised she wouldn't see him anymore. And for a while she stuck to it. The phone calls stopped. No more secret meetings, not for months. Then you were born. She rang the office a week later and they had a conversation lasting almost an hour.”

It was like listening to a radio play. Lara gazed at the wall and pictured everything in her head, her mother clutching a baby in one arm, awash with emotion as she whispered into the phone. And James, sitting at his desk at work, possibly her father, possibly not… oh God, what did he look like? She had no idea.

“Charles contacted me shortly afterward and I told him. Anyway, there were no more phone calls after that, not to the office.” Janice paused before continuing. “Then two years later, the company was sold and I was made redundant. My former employer finally divorced his wife, sold their house, and announced that he was moving abroad. I did wonder if your mother would go with him. Charles wondered too. But we waited, and nothing happened. He left. Your mother stayed with Charles.”

“And that was when we moved from the flat in Bradford on Avon into the house in Bath,” said Lara. “When I was two. And the house was bought in my mother's name.” She saw the flash of annoyance in Janice's eyes. “Did he give her the money to buy it?”

“Evidently so. Not that I knew at the time. Charles kept that bit of information from me. The flat wasn't good enough for Barbara, you see. Too small, too damp, no garden. When he told me they were moving, I assumed he'd bought the place himself. It was a matter of pride, I imagine. He only admitted the truth after we were married. Barbara chose the house herself and announced that the two of you were moving into it. She presented him with an ultimatum, basically. Charles had no choice but to go with her. Pretty humiliating situation for a married man to find himself in.” Janice carefully wiped the corners of her mouth with a tissue. “So you see, your mother wasn't always the angel she was painted.”

Lara felt as if she was in a small boat whose oars had slipped away. She didn't want to be hearing this bit. Equally, she was determined not to let Janice know how upsetting it was.

“Your boss.” She tried again. “What was his name?”

Janice regarded her scornfully. “If I was going to let you know his name, don't you think I'd have done it by now?”

“So you're not going to tell me?” It was agonizing but hardly a surprise.

“No. Charles didn't want you to ever meet him.”

“I don't want to meet him, I just want to know who he is. Look,” Lara protested, “all this stuff that happened… none of it was my fault. It's like I'm being punished for something I had no control over.”

Janice shrugged. “As far as Charles was concerned, this man ruined his life.”

“But he might be my biological father.”

“And he might not be.”

“OK, is there any way of finding that out? If there is,” said Lara, “could we at least do that?”

“It's too late.” Janice was adamant. “I wanted it to happen years ago. I
said
he should find out, then he'd know for sure. But it would have meant contacting you in Keswick and Charles couldn't bring himself to do that. Anyway,” her mouth set in a vermilion downward curve and she spoke with an air of finality, “there's no way of doing it now. He's dead.”

***

The rain had stopped by the time Lara left the house. Joan was now outside in the front garden, vigorously deadheading roses and hurling slugs over the wall into next door's carefully tended shrubbery. Turning at the sound of the front door being closed, she said, “You'd better not have upset my sister.”

“I haven't upset her at all.”

Joan's eyes narrowed as she scooped another slug onto the end of her pruning shears and lobbed it next door. “Looking pleased with yourself.”

Lara beamed. “I'm happy. We're pretty sure Charles wasn't my father. Janice has told me all about James.”

That startled her. “She did?”

“I've just heard the whole story. I'm so grateful to Janice. It's the best news in the world.”

“You might think that, but you didn't know him.” Joan had her lemon-sucking face on as she snip-snip-snipped away at the roses. “Men like him just take what they want and walk away when they've had their fun. Janice idolized him and he treated her like dirt, same as I expect he did with your mother.” Viciously she said, “So good luck with finding him, if that's what you're planning on doing. Because I'm telling you now, that bastard Agnew broke my sister's heart.”

***

“You see, that was always the thing with Janice. Too much time watching
Keeping
Up
Appearances
and
Antiques
Roadshow
,” said Lara. “Not enough
CSI
.”

Everyone watched as she lifted the plastic shopping bag out of her shoulder bag. Inside it was Charles Carson's hairbrush. Not the loveliest item in the world, but containing enough strands of gray hair to enable a DNA test to be carried out.

“The moment I mentioned hair, she said she still had his Dopp kit upstairs. She went and fetched it and there was the brush, still there from the last time he was in the hospital. All I have to do is send it off with a bit of my hair and see if they match. Hopefully they won't. It's so exciting I'm actually feeling sick.”

“And you've got James's name too,” Jo marveled.

Lara nodded. She had, she had, despite not imagining for a moment that the ploy would work. Underhand and cheeky it may have been, but she wasn't going to feel guilty about it.

James.

Agnew.

Together the two words made up the name she'd so badly needed to know. And at this very moment Flynn and Gigi were side by side at the computer, narrowing down the likely suspects with the help of 192.com.

Which not only gave you the address and phone number of all the James Agnews in the UK but their ages too. Who knew?

“He'll be in his midseventies, I'm guessing.” Jo was peering over Lara's shoulder. “I'm sure he was a few years older than Barbara.”

“If he's living in the UK, he's either this one or this one.” Flynn brought up the two options. The amount of information available was staggering: how long each man had been living at their current address, details of the other occupants of the property, lists of the neighbor's details, aerial photographs of the address, and recent house prices in the vicinity.

The first James lived with his family in a back-to-back terrace in a dodgy part of Birmingham. If this was the one, his lifestyle had undergone a dramatic downward slide.

“We can try him,” Jo said doubtfully, “but I wouldn't bet money on it being that one.”

Flynn moved on to the second James Agnew, listed as the sole occupier of a rather more salubrious address in London. The house was situated in a leafy avenue in Wimbledon where the average selling price was over two million.

Was it him? Was this her father?

“I'm going to call the number.” Reaching for her mobile, Lara did it before she had a chance to start hyperventilating. It rang at the other end… and rang… and rang again…

Please, someone answer the phone, just pick up…

“'Allo?”

A female voice, foreign and hesitant.

“Hi, could I speak to James Agnew, please?”

“No, no.”

Lara's palms grew damp as the silence lengthened. “OK. Why not?”

“Meester Agnew 'oliday.”

Not
dead
then. That was good.

“Right. Um, does he have a mobile phone?”

“Eh?”

“Is there another number I can reach him on? Or an address?”

“No… I clean 'ouse.”

“Where is he? Meester Agnew?” This heavy accent was catching.

“On water. Beeg boat.”

“OK. When will he be back?”

“Yes, I 'ave bad back. Ver' bad, ow, hurt
ver' much.
”

They carried on like this for a couple more minutes. Lara finally hung up, frustrated and none the wiser. She'd left her number but who knew if the cleaner had even written it down, let alone understood that she was meant to pass it on?

And it might not be the right man anyway. Her James Agnew could be living anywhere in the world. Or he might not still be alive.

Well, she'd try the number again in a few days.

In the meantime, at least they could press ahead with the DNA test.