Second Chances (36 page)

Alice
saw
him
push
her
mother
in
front
of
him
into
the
sunlit
churchyard.
The
heavy
oak
door
crashed
behind
them,
the
iron
latch
falling
into
place
with
a
sharp
echoing
clang
defying
anyone
to
follow.
She
struggled
through
the
crowd
who,
having
failed
to
restrain
her
mother,
were
now
bent
on
finding
success
with
her.
She
reached
the
door,
wrenched
it
open
and
ran
outside
into
a
warm
wave
of
sunshine.
As
the
door
closed
behind
her,
she
heard
the
voice
of
the
Vicar,
imploring
the
congregation
to
calm
down
and
the
choir
hurriedly
embarking
on
an
entirely
unscheduled
rendition
of
How
Great
Thou
Art.
Momentarily
blinded
by
the
light,
Alice
shaded
her
eyes
with
the
order
of
service
that
she
was
still
clutching.

'Mum?'
she
called.
'Mum?'
And
then
she
saw
her,
crouched
on
a
bench,
the
tall
stranger
sitting
beside
her,
his
arm
around
her
shoulders
cradling
her
head
into
his
chest.
She
wasn't
crying,
just
shaking
uncontrollably.
Alice
blinked.
'Mum?'
she
ran
towards
her.
'Oh
God,
are
you
alright?'

'She'll
be
fine,'
the
stranger
said
beginning
to
rise
as
Alice
approached.
'Just
a
bit
much
–
that,
and
the
heat.'

‘I'm
sorry,'
Alice
said
trying
to
take
one
of
her
hands
and
glancing
briefly
at
him.
Her
mother's
hands
were
like
ice.
'I'm
afraid
-
I
mean
-
I
don’t
think
we’ve
met?'

'Conrad,'
he
said
rising
‘Conrad
Grey.’

Suddenly
Alice
recognised
him.
The
man
who
had
stayed
so
late.
‘Of
course,’
she
said.
‘You
came
the
other
day.’

‘I
knew
your
father,’
he
said.
He
stood
aside
to
let
Alice
take
his
place
next
to
her
Mother.
‘In
Chicago.
I
just
happened
to
be
in
the
country.’

'Thank
you,'
Alice
hardly
heard
him.
'I've
got
her
now.'

'No,'
her
mother
said
in
a
hoarse
voice.
'Go
back.
Please
Alice,
please.'

'I
won't
leave
her,'
Conrad
Grey
promised.

In
spite
of
the
faint
trace
of
a
transatlantic
drawl,
his
voice
was
very
English,
very
calm.
'I'll
sit
right
here.
Just
until
you
come
out.'

'Yes,
yes,'
Molly
urged
her.
'Alice?'
Her
voice
began
to
rise,
almost
hysterically
when
she
saw
Alice
was
clearly
not
going
anywhere.
'For
God's
sake,
for
once
just
do
as
I
ask.
Dad
would
want
you
there.
Yes,’
she
said
seeing
her
youngest
daughter's
face
wreathed
in
incredulous
doubt.
‘Even
you
Alice.
Even
you.'

*

And
then
it
was
over.
Alice
had
hoped
to
find
Conrad
Grey
to
thank
him.
But
he
had
gone.
Ahead
of
her,
she
saw
James,
now
more
embarrassed
than
drunk,
his
arm
tucked
under
his
mother's,
leading
everyone
back
up
the
lane,
past
the
meadows
and
into
the
house
where
those
who
cared
to,
would
be
offered
Harry's
favourite
Krug
champagne
in
his
memory.
Molly
had
already
said
there
was
to
be
no
memorial
service
which
had
been
a
big
disappointment
to
those
in
the
City
who
hated
a
missed
opportunity
to
look
good,
but
Alice
was
relieved.
She
didn't
think
her
mother
could
take
much
more.
Claude
was
in
Paris.
He'd
wanted
to
come,
but
Alice
wouldn't
let
him.

'It
would
be
like
someone
dancing
on
his
grave,'
she
told
Esther.
'The
last
person
Dad
would
want
there.'

'C'mon
love,'
Esther
whispered
taking
her
arm.
'We
have
to
move
on.'

In
later
years,
Alice
wondered,
as
they
walked
slowly
to
her
father's
wake
on
that
late
summer
afternoon
not
taking
her
eyes
off
the
straight
back
of
her
mother
up
ahead,
why
it
hadn't
occurred
to
her
since
the
evidence
was
staring
her
in
the
face,
that
moving
on
would
be
much
faster
than
anyone
could
have
imagined
and
that
the
unlikeliest
person
in
the
world
would
be
leading
the
way.

Chapter
Three

'What's
he
doing
here?'
James
asked
his
mother.
He
threw
his
jacket
across
the
nearest
chair
in
the
drawing
room
and
ignored
the
warning
glares
of
his
sisters
who
had
arrived
before
him.

‘James,'
Molly
said
sharply.
She
cast
a
quick
glance
after
Conrad
Grey
who
had
passed
James
in
the
hall
with
a
courteous
greeting
as
he
was
leaving.
'Don't
be
so
rude.
Conrad
has
a
name.
And
he's
just
helping
me
make
sense
of
all
this.’
Molly
said.
They
all
glanced
at
the
stack
of
manila
folders
piled
high
on
a
side
table.
‘All
that
paper
work,
inheritance
tax,
capital
gains.
You
have
no
idea.’

'I
meant
because
it's
Sunday,'
James
protested.
'No-one
works
on
a
Sunday.
God,
I
need
a
drink.
The
M25’s
like
a
racetrack.’

It
was
March.
Almost
six
months
since
they
had
tried
to
start
living
a
life
with
its
central
plank
no
longer
there.
Life
had
fallen
into
what
they
had
started
to
assume
was
going
to
be
the
way
it
was
going
to
be
and
while
they
had
stopped
trying
to
make
mid-week
visits
to
their
mother,
it
was
by
tacit
agreement
that
they
made
a
family
day
on
Sunday's.
Esther
called
in
most
days
and
Liz,
Molly's
wiry
and
energetic
housekeeper
for
the
last
twenty
years,
had
in
return
for
being
well
treated
and
well
paid,
told
them
she
was
not
going
to
retire
as
she
had
planned
and
take
her
husband
and
caravan
to
live
in
Spain,
but
would
stay
on
for
another
year.
At
least
her
arrival
each
morning
at
nine
o'clock
on
the
dot,
meant
that
Molly
started
the
day
with
some
company.

‘And
what
do
you
mean
'helping?'
James
said.
He
sat
heavily
down
in
an
armchair,
a
tumbler
of
whiskey
clutched
in
his
hand.
'You
can't
just
involve
someone
Dad
didn’t
know
to
sort
things
out.
Why's
Edward
allowing
it?'

'Don’t
be
so
silly,
James’,
Molly
said
crossly.
‘Of
course
not.
It
wouldn't
be
legal.
And
Edward
has
nothing
to
do
with
what
I
want
to
do.
It’s
just-‘
she
ran
a
distracted
hand
through
her
hair.
‘Just
sometimes
–
sometimes
I
need
to
–
to
have
a
think
about
it,
and
that’s
where
Con-‘

‘Then
tell
him,’
James
interrupted
ignoring
Alice's
warning
glance.
A
four
year
old
could
tell
their
mother
was
on
edge.
‘Tell
Edward,’
James
persisted.
'Tell
him
to
get
down
here
and
explain
it
properly.
God,
he’s
paid
enough.
And
why
didn't
you
ask
me?'

‘James,’
Molly
started
to
sound
irritated.
‘Please,
try
and
understand,
you’re
in
town
all
week,
you
have
the
children
to
think
of.
Your
job.
This
way,
I
don’t
feel
I’m
burdening
anyone.’

‘Burdening?’
they
all
chorused.

“Mum,
that’s
ridiculous,’
Alice
exclaimed

‘You
could
never
be
that,’
Victoria
chimed
in.

‘For
Heaven’s
sake,’
James
added
obediently
responding
to
his
sisters
glares.
'The
very
idea.
But,
Ma,
you
don't
know
him.'

'Dad
did,'
Molly
said
quickly.

'Dad
hated
journalists.
You
know
he
did.'

'For
your
information,
James,'
Molly
snapped
back.
'Financial
journalism
on
the
Chicago
Times
is
hardly
tabloid
sensationalism,
now
is
it?'

'No
of
course
not,'
he
said.
'And
I
hate
to
mention
this
Mum,
but
what’s
in
it
for
him?
Are
you
paying
him?
I
mean
if
you
are,
I
think
I
should
have
been
told.'

'James,
really,'
Molly
almost
shouted.
‘He's
just
having
a
bit
of
a
sabbatical
-
a
few
months
-
before
he
goes
back
to
Chicago.
He
likes
it
here.
He's
got
time
on
his
hands
-
luckily
for
me
-
and
he
hasn’t
asked
for
a
penny.’

‘Nothing?’
James
looked
amazed.
‘A
total
stranger?
What
does
it
look
like?’

‘James!’
Molly
warned.
'Let
me
tell
you
he's
won
all
kinds
of
awards.
Not
a
crook
like
some
of
those
bankers
you
work
with.’

‘Oh
hang
on
a
minute,
‘James
protested.
’They’re
not
all-‘

‘Yes
they
are,’
Victoria
interrupted
briskly
‘And
Mum?
You
do
whatever
it
takes
to
make
you
feel
comfortable.
I’m
on
your
side.’