Precious Time (56 page)

Which doesn’t mean I’m about to wade in like an FBI agent and take him from you. You’re his mother, and as we all know, it’s mothers who make the important decisions when it comes to children. Dads are just hangers-on who need to know their place.’ He gave a small smile and said, ‘You can put down your weapons now.’

She relented and smiled too. ‘So, when do you want to meet your son?’

The back door slammed so violently that the windows rattled.

Caspar was leaving the house to go for another of his long walks.

Since they had arrived back from Northumberland, he had done a lot of walking, always alone and always for hours at a time. It was as if he was trying to walk his grief out of his system. Gabriel knew from bitter experience that it wouldn’t work.

They had buried Damson yesterday. It had been an exhausting, emotionally draining day. An unlikely mixture of people had turned up for the funeral.

Jonah and Roland had gone through Damson’s address book and had contacted as many people as they could, working on the theory that because Damson was so pragmatic, if she had entered a name in the book, it was because she liked that person: ex-husbands’ and boyfriends’ names were conspicuously absent.

Not knowing how Caspar was going to survive the day, Gabriel had concentrated on keeping people away from his son: their looks and words of sympathy, no matter how well meant, were not what he needed. Once the service was over, they had walked next door to Jonah’s house where he had laid on a modest buffet of sandwiches and drinks. While Jonah and Roland had poured drinks and chatted politely with the guests, Gabriel had grabbed a plate of sandwiches and taken Caspar back to the churchyard. ‘Your brother has it all in hand,’ he’d said. ‘Let’s have some time on our own.’ They had sat on a wooden bench in the warm sun, just yards away from Damson’s grave. The gravediggers had finished their work and the hole was now filled in, decorated with flowers. To the right of this was her mother’s grave, and further along, her stepmother’s. Gabriel had deliberately avoided coming here since Val’s funeral and it surprised him to see how well tended the plots were. There was only one person who could have been caring for them so diligently. And how typical of Jonah that was. There was never any song and dance about him. He never went out of his way to look for thanks and glory. It was a trait that was wholly reminiscent of his mother.

‘Is this supposed to help?’ asked Caspar, his gaze on his sister’s grave.

Putting the plate of sandwiches on the bench between them, Gabriel produced a dented silver hip flask from his suit-jacket pocket. He passed it to Caspar. ‘Can it make it any worse?’

Loosening his tie, Caspar took a swig of the brandy, then another.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘No. You’re right.

Wherever I am, I’ll always feel the awful loss of her.’

‘Better to accept the truth of that than spend the rest of your life running from it.’

‘Is that what you did with Mum?’

‘I never stopped running. It’s why I buggered up things with you three children so spectacularly. I turned away from you, left you to cope with something you weren’t able to deal with. It’s only now that I’ve come to realise the harm I caused through my selfishness.

Heartbreak rots our integrity, Caspar, remember that. And I’m telling you this because I’m being selfish once again. I need you to know why I behaved as I did.’ He cleared his throat. ‘My biggest regret is that I didn’t have a chance to apologise to Damson. Are you going to drink that flask dry?’

Caspar passed it back to him. ‘I think Damson was ahead of you, had worked it out for herself.’

‘She had?’

‘She was always the smarter one of the two of us. More astute than anyone gave her credit for. One of the last things she said to me was that we’re survivors, not victims.’

Gabriel pondered on this. ‘From what Jonah’s told me, Roland Hall played a crucial part in her life towards the end.’

‘Are you saying I didn’t?’

At once Gabriel felt Caspar’s body turn rigid on the seat next to him. ‘No, I’m not,’ he said emphatically, keen to avoid upsetting his son. There had been enough explosive outbursts from Caspar lately, when he had ranted and raved and thrown things, then left the house to tramp across the moors, returning hours later exhausted, his rage spent. It was just what Gabriel had done when Anastasia had died.

‘I’m saying you, me, Jonah, we weren’t the people she needed at that time.’

Caspar’s chin dropped. ‘So what’s brought on all this understanding, Dad? Bit of a change of tune, isn’t it?’

Gabriel ignored the dismissive tone, and after a swig of brandy, he said, ‘I came very close to killing myself last month.’ He waited for the words to sink in, then saw the disbelief in his son’s face.

‘You? But why? How?’

‘Yes, me - of all people. But you see, I suddenly understood how much I hated being alone and the reasons why I was alone. Having reached that conclusion, it seemed the perfect moment to take my cue to exit stage left. As to the how, well— picture the scene if you will— I went down to the copse with a shotgun, all ready to blast my stupid head off.’

Caspar looked suitably horror-stricken. ‘What happened?’

‘You mean, what went wrong? I didn’t have it in me when push came to shove. Oh, I meant to do it, I really did. Maybe if I’d taken some Dutch courage with me I would have done it. But there I was, bawling my eyes out, the gun shoved up under my chin and an angel of mercy appeared from nowhere.’ He watched Caspar’s expression change to one of time-to-humour-the-old-boy. ‘She was an angel of sorts,’ he went on, ‘although she doesn’t have wings.’ He smiled. ‘It was Miss Costello.’

Caspar looked confused. ‘But I thought she’d left weeks ago.’

‘She did, but she came back that day. Was it fate, or just good timing?’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows? Sandwich?’

‘No.’

‘You need to eat, Caspar.’

‘I will. Just not today.’

The sound of knocking jolted Gabriel out of his reverie. He was expecting Jonah - it was the weekend - but Jonah never knocked twice. He knocked once then let himself in.

He opened the back door and was momentarily nonplussed. It was Clara Costello’s junk-dealer friend, Archie Merryman.

They stared at one another warily.

‘I was sorry to hear about your daughter—’

‘I was sorry to hear about your mother—’ they said simultaneously and, in a perfect mirror image of each other, they looked down at their feet, not knowing what to say next. Crippled with embarrassment, they were like a pair of schoolboys who had been forced to apologise for fighting in the playground.

Clutching a carrier-bag, Archie hoped that he could live up to Clara’s expectations of him. She had asked him to visit the Commandant with a view to keeping an eye on the old boy. ‘He’s going to need someone to cheer him up in the weeks ahead,’ she had said, ‘and I can’t think of anyone better suited to the task.’

Personally, Archie thought he was the last person on earth fit for such a task. But still, she had thought him capable of it, so here he was.

‘I’ve brought you this,’ he said, dipping his hand into the bag and pulling out a bottle of whisky. ‘Just by way of saying I reckon I know what you’re going through.’

Gabriel stared at the bottle. He thought of the letter Clara had written for him on his return from Northumberland, in which she had asked him, when he felt able to, to keep an eye on Archie Merryman in her absence. ‘I know you like to think of yourself as an unsociable crosspatch,’ she had written, ‘but underneath it all, I know you’re the sweetest man alive who won’t think twice about doing this one small thing for me.’

Just for the sheer hell of it, he’d show her what he was made of.

He took the offered bottle and said, ‘Mr Merryman, it’s a little early, but how do you feel about a pre-lunch snifter?’

‘Please, it’s Archie, and thank you, a drink would slip down a treat. Especially after the week I’ve had. Though yours can’t have been much better.’

‘You’re not wrong there. Not wrong at all.’

‘For once it looks as if we’ll get through an entire barbecue without a drop of rain.’

Clara passed Guy a glass of wine and agreed with him absently.

‘Oh, come on, Clara,’ he said, ‘lose the long face. It’ll be okay.

Anyone would think Ned was being put through some kind of test.’

Louise came over from where she and Moira had been setting the table. ‘You’re not still worrying, are you?’ she said to Clara.

‘Of course I am! Wouldn’t you be, if your child was meeting his father for the first time?’ Though Ned was at the bottom of the garden playing football with David and well out of earshot, Clara kept her voice low.

‘The important thing is that Ned doesn’t have a clue what’s going on,’ Guy said, equally circumspect. ‘As far as he’s concerned, Todd is just another of his mother’s many friends.’

Clara knew that what Guy was saying was right. But, oh, she just wished this day could be over. It had seemed so reasonable when Louise and David had offered to invite Todd to a lunchtime barbecue so that he could meet Ned in a relaxed setting. But now she was regretting the whole idea. What if Todd suddenly felt the need to blurt out to Ned who he was? Common sense told her that Todd would never do that: he was one of the most rational people she knew.

They had discussed this important day on the phone several times and had even met up again for a drink last night. He was as concerned as she was that Ned was not put through any emotional upset. It helped enormously that he was the same understanding Todd with whom she had fallen in love, and while it seemed a paradox, she frequently found herself thanking her lucky stars that she had had an affair with such a considerate man.

Determined to safeguard Ned, Clara had laid down the ground rules straight away. She had told Todd that until he had decided whether he was going to tell his wife about Ned and therefore offer a real, open commitment, he could not reveal who he was. It was harsh, but it was Ned’s feelings that mattered, not hers, not Todd’s.

Yet she wasn’t without sympathy for Todd. She knew he was up against the worst dilemma he would probably ever have to face. But the cool, efficient and detached woman within her reasoned that it was his problem. She had cleared her conscience by telling him about Ned; what happened next was down to him. She could do nothing to help him.

She was a hard-headed realist, if nothing else.

She had said this to Jonah on the phone late last night - she had phoned him several times, always when Louise and David had gone to bed and she could be sure of talking to him without Louise listening in. ‘Nothing wrong in being hard-headed or a realist,’ he’d said.

‘Did I say there was?’

‘No, but something in your tone suggested you were defending yourself.’

‘Goodness, you’re being mighty forward all of a sudden.’

He’d laughed. ‘Only because I know I’m out of slapping range.’

After he’d brought her up to date with how his brother and father were getting on, he’d said, ‘It’s a pity you’re not here, it’s a beautiful night.’ He hadn’t said he was missing her, but the implication was there.

‘Are you in the garden?’

‘On the terrace with a glass of wine and a bag of pistachio nuts.’

‘Sounds good. Describe the view for me.’

‘Mm … it’s dark and starry.’

‘Come on, you can do better than that.’

‘Did I mention the moon?’

‘No.’

‘It’s very white and looks like a clipped toenail.’

‘Stop! You’re spoiling it for me. Where’s your romantic, chivalrous soul, Jonah Liberty?’

‘It’s cowering under the table too scared to show itself.’

‘Then tell it to pull itself together.’

‘I’ve tried but it’s no good. It said, “What’s the point? Who’s here for me to sweet-talk?”’

It had been good talking to him, and not just because he took her mind off Todd.

Todd arrived exactly on time, just as Clara had known he would.

One look at his face as he stepped out of his car and she knew he was as nervous as she was. It made her feel better, took away some of her edginess.

Which couldn’t be said of her friends.

They tried too hard to show that they were relaxed with the situation. Louise and Moira laughed too loudly at Todd’s joke about the weather, and Guy took the bottles of Californian wine he’d brought with such expansive gratitude that anyone would have thought he had been presented with the Holy Grail.

And while they tried to hide their awkwardness, a piercing squeal came up from the bottom of the garden. Seconds later, Ned came running towards them, his dark hair shiny in the bright sunlight, bouncing with each step he took. His face was a huge grin of delight.

‘Mummy, Mummy, I beat Uncle David. Ten goals to five!’

Breathless, he threw himself at her legs and raised his arms for her to scoop him up as she usually did. But on this occasion, she didn’t.

‘Ned,’ she said, ‘this is an old friend of mine. He lives in America and his name is Todd. Have you got enough puff to say hello to him?’

Ned looked up at him and smiled confidently. ‘Hello, Mr Todd.

Do you like playing football?’

It was such an emotionally charged moment that everyone

suddenly found something to do — the barbecue coals needed lighting, the salads had to be dressed, and a new bottle of wine opened. Clara watched Todd’s face as he hunkered down to be on eye level with Ned. ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I’m more of a baseball fan, but I’ll give football a shot if you’ll teach me.’

Ned grinned. ‘I’m very good. Jonah taught me when Mummy was ill in bed. He showed me how to tackle. Do you want to see?’

Todd glanced up at Clara and her heart twisted as she saw both sadness and joy in his face. ‘Would you mind?’ he asked.

She smiled. ‘Not at all.’

They were three very important words, she thought later that evening when Todd had left for his hotel, and she was kissing Ned goodnight.

‘Todd was nice,’ Ned said, snuggling down beneath the duvet and holding Mermy up for her to kiss as well. ‘I like the way he talks.