CHAPTER TEN
The dumpy woman from the charity shop was mortified to overhear Kirk Spencer remark to a fat lady, whose black dress was too fetching by half for the occasion, that in his honest opinion, Alice Shepherd’s wake was much as he would imagine a tea party with androids.
Meanwhile, Anne continued to hand around plates of sandwiches that she had prepared earlier while Owen was taking an age to change after expressing a need to be alone and disappearing into his bedroom. She had done her best to tidy up and give the lounge, at least, a cursory dust. The vicar, she was relieved to see, had taken charge of liquid refreshments and was constantly diving in and out of the kitchen with teas, coffees and even a mug of hot chocolate. Nor had it escaped her notice that Spence, having raided the fridge, was drinking from one can of lager while keeping an eagle eye on another that he’d strategically placed on the mantel behind him. Charley, for her part, had wasted no time investigating the contents of Owen’s antique wine cabinet, found a glass and poured a generous measure of cognac. “No wine, scotch… nothing. Not even a bottle of sherry,” she complained to Spence, “just a half empty bottle of cognac.”
“Half empty? Think of it as half full and you’ll feel much better for it,” Spence commented dryly. Observing a dumpy woman in a silly hat staring at him, he couldn’t resist poking out his tongue. All but choking on a cheese and watercress sandwich, she flung him an outraged look before turning her back on him and engaging the vicar in small talk.
“Cathy!” Anne called out as her friend appeared in the lounge doorway. Hastily depositing a plate of sandwiches in the hands of the person nearest to her, she rushed to greet the young mother. Cathy’s expression, she noted anxiously, was that of someone less ill at ease than plain nervous. “How nice of you to come and there I was thinking you’d left without even saying hello, let alone goodbye,” she chided lightly, forcing a laugh. I mustn’t scare her off, she remonstrated with herself.
The truth was Anne had felt utterly bereft by Cathy’s disappearance after the church service. Had the young mother regretted coming? Did she not want to see her any more? Had she thought it over and decided that she, Anne, had no place in her life? Such thoughts and more had tormented her even as Alice Shepherd was being lowered to her final resting place.
“I had to take call on the mobile,” Cathy explained. “I left it on vibrate so as not to disturb anyone. But I worry so about Lynette when she’s…not with me,” she finished, looking flustered. .
Anne kept smiling, although she was certain Cathy had intended to say ‘when she’s with Steve.’
“It was a nice service,” Cathy smiled back, “and this is a lovely old building. I adore the garden. It seems to go on forever. Lynette would have such fun here.”
“Then you must bring her sometime,” Owen Shepherd overheard and joined them, “She might enjoy helping me feed the hens.”
“Oh, she’d love it!” Cathy exclaimed, gave a little squeal and clapped her hands with genuine delight in a manner that made Anne’s pulse race, for it had also been one of Patricia’s funny little mannerisms.
“That’s settled then,” Owen was saying, “How about this weekend, Sunday perhaps?”
“That would be lovely. Can I call you though? Steve might have something else planned, although I doubt it,” she added with a trace of something in her voice that caused even Owen to give her an old-fashioned look. Anne winced. Clearly, the Taylors marriage was not a happy one and Steve had a nasty temper. Had he ever hit Cathy, she wondered, or Lynette? Appalled, she had to struggle to regain a semblance of composure.
“Have you always kept hens?” Cathy was asking Owen.
“Nearly always,” Owen told her, “Mother loved them. More to the point, she loved a freshly laid egg. She was suspicious of anything labelled free-range and absolutely hated the idea of battery hens.”
“I should think so too!” Charley Briggs approached with Spence at her elbow and could not resist expressing a view, if somewhat surprised to find herself in agreement with the late Mrs Shepherd. It did not fit in with her recollections of the old sourpuss at all. “You have such a pretty garden too. I have to say, Owen, I quite envy your hens the run of it.”
“Not at Christmas you wouldn’t,” muttered Spence, just loud enough for the others to hear.
Everyone laughed.
“I can’t leave my guests or I’d show you around myself,” said Owen apologetically, “But you’re more than welcome to take a look. The kitchen door is always open.”
“Is that wise?” Cathy was disapproving.
“Mother liked it left open. I lock it at night, of course, although I’ve been known to forget. But…well…I ask you, what self-respecting burglar is going to be put off by a locked door? Besides, I dare say the hens would make enough din to keep the devil away, let alone a burglar.”
“Don’t the neighbours complain?” Cathy wanted to know.
“The old chap in the flat immediately above ours is stone deaf. No one else seems too bothered. If they are, they’ve never said anything. Mother would have told me if anyone had complained.”
“By all accounts, they would probably prefer to put up with the hens than your mother,” Spence joked.
Everyone tittered, except Owen. “Dogs make more noise and there are quite a few of those around here. They used to drive poor mother mental,” he said in such a wounded tone that Spence felt obliged to murmur an apology.
“Well, if you’re sure,” said Charley, I can’t wait to see the garden. Come along Spence…” They headed for the kitchen, almost literally bumping into the vicar who had chosen that same moment to emerge with a loaded tray of tea and biscuits. After narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with first Charley then Spence, the poor man struggled gamely to avoid sending the whole lot flying. His resounding if clumsy success merited a round of applause and the kindly man beamed at everyone, high forehead dripping with sweat.
“Excuse me,” said Owen and went to assist the vicar, leaving Anne and Cathy feeling a trifle awkward with one another.
“I’m so glad you came, “Anne reiterated for the sake of something to say.
“He’s such a nice man,” said Cathy, “and I wanted to offer some moral support, especially as you didn’t seem to think many people would turn up.”
“There must have been at least twelve people earlier. Not a bad little gathering considering…” Her voice tailed off.
“Considering Alice Shepherd wasn’t a very nice person?”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Anne was at a loss for words. “I didn’t know her that well, really. She was always nice enough to me, I suppose. Not horrible, anyway. But there was something about the woman…something missing…and the way she kept Owen practically on a leash, it was all so...Well, upsetting to say the least.”
“Not a case of like mother like son then?”
“Good heavens, no, not in the least. Owen is a very kind, decent man, although…” she trailed off again.
“There’s something missing?” Cathy suggested.
“Maybe that’s it…” Anne felt inclined to agree, although instantly cross with herself for what she saw as an act of disloyalty towards her old friend.
“Lynette likes him. She’ll be tickled pink when I tell her Uncle Owen says she can feed his hens.”
“Uncle Owen?” Anne had to force a smile. She disapproved of children being encouraged to call adults uncle or aunt who were not related. Why some people should think it rude for a child to call an adult by his or her first name had always struck her as one of life’s little mysteries. It was none of her business of course. At the same time, she couldn’t envisage Steve approving. The evening they had all dined together, Steve had made no attempt to conceal his distaste for the way Lynette and Owen had bonded. “So where are Steve and Lynette?” she asked lightly.
“Oh, they’ve gone to the Sea Life Centre… again. Lynette fell in love with the giant turtles.”
“Patricia fell in love with the dolphins,” Anne said without thinking but was pleased to see Cathy didn’t seem to mind. “There aren’t any dolphins now, of course. It was years ago. Aquariums are so relaxing, don’t you think? They soothe the savage breast, although I know that’s supposed to be music. Didn’t Shakespeare say that? I expect so. It would certainly make a change if he didn’t.”
The two women laughed companionably, gladly accepting cups of tea and a biscuit from the vicar’s tray, content to sip and munch away, lost in thought.
Had Steve Taylor told his wife about their unfortunate encounter the previous evening, Anne wondered?
What am I doing here, Cathy kept asking herself, with this pleasant but odd little woman who’s obviously clinging desperately to some absurd notion that I’m her long lost daughter? Worse, she found herself entertaining the idea that she might even want Anne Gates to be her real mother? She wished she could talk to Steve about it, but they hardly talked at all any more, not about serious issues. He had never taken her seriously, that was part of the problem. Why is it, she considered, as she often did, with mounting resentment, so few men ever take a woman seriously?
Over the rim of her teacup, Anne observed Cathy’s tense expression with growing apprehension, but kept reminding herself she must stay calm. Daughter or no, she must not risk alienating the younger woman. Yet, not only did she sense Cathy’s distress but could feel it as if it were her own. That had to mean something, surely? It took all her willpower not to put the cup and saucer down and give Cathy a big hug. If she had her way, Anne reflected wistfully, Cathy would get lots of hugs. Only a still, small voice in her head stopped her from doing just that. Too soon, it warned, too soon.
Meanwhile, in the garden, Charley was waxing lyrical over clematis trailing over a trellis porch, delicate, sky blue flowers, pinkish red at the base with contrasting pale yellow centres, a delight to the eye.
“I wouldn’t mind keeping hens,” Spence commented, watching several birds strolling about the yard with a proprietary air.
Charley wandered down the path, wondering who could be responsible for such an abundance of colour. Had it been Owen or Alice Shepherd? Neither struck her as a likely candidates but one just never knew with people...Well, did one?
At the end of a path laid with various coloured slabs of crazy paving, she arrived at a dense shrubbery. But for a strikingly pretty butterfly flitting past her line of vision, she would have turned back there and then. Instead, she peered to see where it had gone. Unable to spot the butterfly, something shiny commanded her attention. Proceeding with care, she soon stumbled upon…a grave.
“Oh, my God...!” Her hand flew to her mouth. The something shiny that had drawn Charley into the shrubbery turned out to be the heads of nails embedded in a simple wooden cross. Struck by a random sunbeam, they gave out a conspicuous glitter amongst the shrubbery’s heavy shade. The cross itself was nondescript enough and stood at the head of a rectangular pattern of pebbles. The overall effect was at once decorative and…sinister.
Yes, that was the word she wanted, Charley decided…sinister.
She approached, peered closely at the cross and could just make out RIP scratched into the wood and what looked like a letter P. “Patricia!” The child’s name had escaped her lips before she’d even had time to think about it. Instantly, she began to panic, momentarily lost her bearings and trod down several flowering plants before emerging, breathless, from the shrubbery. “Spence!” she tried to shout but could only manage a croaking noise. Fortunately, he must have seen what a state she was in and came running towards her.
“What on earth…?” Spence had never seen Charley so distressed.
“Hold me, Spence, just hold me,” she managed to say and fell into the welcome sanctuary of his open arms, albeit with such eagerness that he stumbled under her weight.
Quickly recovering his balance, he did his best to reassure her. “What’s the matter, my poor sweet? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Whatever it is, you’ve nothing to worry about. You’re quite safe. I’m here. You know I would never let anything or anyone harm you. You’re quite safe,” he repeated gently. “Now, tell Spence what’s wrong. You know you can tell me anything.”
It was true, Charley realized with a start, as if for the first time. She had always been able to tell Spence anything. Fond though she was of Spence, she had never let herself think about their relationship as anything more than a fun affair, a harmless fling. Could she be mistaken? But these were only partially shaped thoughts. This was neither the time nor the place. Besides, they were nowhere near properly formed but drifting in her head like pollen in the wind as she struggled to regain a sense of self-control. She took a deep breath, pulled away from Spence and confronted him with, “There’s a grave in the shrubbery.”
Spence grinned. “Is that all? It’s probably a family pet.” His eyes widened in disbelief, “You didn’t think…? No, not even you could think it was… Honestly, Charley, you can be such an idiot sometimes. It’s that predilection of yours for trashy crime novels that’s brought this on. Didn’t you tell me Anne told you something about the previous owners having a dog that died? Really, Charley, talk about an overactive imagination…!”
“I dare say you’re right and I’m being silly. But you don’t expect to come across a grave concealed in a shrubbery,” declared Charley defensively although much calmer now. ”It gave me the shock of my life, I can tell you.”
“I can see that. Never mind, let’s have a snog and forget all about it.”
“Do I have to remind you, Kirk Spencer, we’ve just been to a funeral?” she scolded him.
Spence grinned. Charley only ever called him Kirk when she said one thing and meant another.
Inside the house, the dumpy woman from the charity shop watched the fat lady and her toy boy embrace in full view of the house and pursed her lips. “Some people have no sense of occasion,” she muttered. However, the small but respectable number of mourners at the flat had already begun to disperse and no one heard.
Owen was at the front door, saying goodbye to a couple he didn’t know and thanking them profusely for coming. “Mother would have been so pleased you came,” he kept saying and hoped it would suffice.
An attractive woman, wearing in a suit in an attractive shade of grey silk and no hat, paused to shake hands. “Don’t you remember me, Owen?”
Owen held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. The woman’s white hair suggested she was in her sixties. At the same time, she had the air and manner of someone much younger. “I’m awfully sorry but, no, I don’t. You’ll be a friend of mother’s of course.”
“Her best friend once, but that was a long time ago.”
Owen gasped. He would not have recognized her but now the voice struck a chord and sent tremors through his whole body. Deep it was and gruff, almost manly. “Fern, is it really you?”
“Yes, it’s really me. I had to come. It wasn’t fair of me to blame poor Alice for…what happened.”
“But you still blame me.” It was not a question.
“Oh, yes, Owen. I still blame you.”
“What can I say?”
“No more than you did all those years ago, Owen. I seem to recall you had precious little to say for yourself then either.” Owen winced involuntarily and was none too pleased when Anne came looking for him.
The two women regarded each other with no more than a passing interest. “I’m Anne Gates, pleased to meet you.” Anne held out her hand, stuck for anything else to say or do since Owen was showing no inclination to make introductions.
“Fern McAllister,” was all the older woman said, but took the proffered hand in her gloved one before walking away towards a waiting taxi. Conscious of the fact they were watching her, she did not look back
“Fern…?” Anne mused aloud and turned to Owen, “Is that your mother’s friend, the one she mistook me for?”
“Yes,” said Owen coldly, “that’s Fern.”
Anne watched as Fern climbed into the taxi and it pulled away. “You must tell me all about her sometime.” You will, won’t you Owen? But by the time she looked again, he had already gone back inside.
In Owen’s place at Anne’s side, the dumpy woman from the charity shop was preparing to leave. “The fat lady and her toy boy, friends of yours are they?”
“Not friends exactly,” Anne was taken aback and a trifle offended, as much by the question itself as its suddenness. “We’re staying at the same hotel. Strangely enough…” she began.
“Don’t you think women like that let us down? Our sex, I mean.” the other interrupted. “Look at the way she dresses.”
“Charming, don’t you think?” Anne summoned her best smile.
“Mutton dressed a lamb, if you ask me. Still, I suppose that’s only to be expected if you want to attract a man half your age.”
“They really are a very nice couple,” Anne protested. “What is it they say, never judge a book by its cover?”
“Some covers speak for themselves.” The dumpy woman frowned, obliterating the gentler contours in her face.
“They really are very nice people,” Anne repeated.
“I’ll have to take your word for it then won’t I? Do drop by the shop sometime, won’t you? The dumpy woman bade Anne a cheery, “Bye-bye” but Anne had already made a mental note not to visit the charity shop again.
A tug at her hand brought her face to face with Cathy Taylor. “You’re not leaving already?” Anne cried.
“Everyone else seems to be going, and I really ought to be getting back to the hotel. Lynette will fret if I’m not there when she and Steve get back.”
“I’ll come with you if you like? The walk will do me good.”
“No, you had better stay with Owen. I have a feeling everything is starting to get on top of him. He looked awful when I said goodbye to him just now, quite beside himself, the poor man. You know how it is…you keep going all the while you must, but there comes a time when you just can’t do it any more. The brave face crumbles, and before you know it, you’re folding like a House of Cards.” She leaned forward and kissed Anne on the cheek. “I’ll see you on Sunday if not before.”
“Sunday…?”
“We’re bringing Lynette to see the hens, remember?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll look forward to that.”
“So will Lynette. I won’t get a minute’s peace, she’ll be so excited. Bye for now, Anne.”
“Goodbye dear.” Anne watched her go until she turned the corner at the bottom of the hill then went inside, closed the front door and leaned against it for a moment, still reeling from the kiss.
To be continued on Friday.
