When Christian opened his post one morning, he looked ashen.
‘Darling? What is it?’ Cynthia asked.
‘We’ve lost the contract to build the houses. And,’ he threw a letter across the table at her, ‘there’s little chance of us selling this house.’
She read the letter with growing alarm. The estate agents advised that, until the problem of suspected subsidence had been dealt with, they would not attempt to sell the property. It was politely worded, but the meaning was clear. They had an unsaleable house on their hands.
‘What will you do?’ Cynthia asked.
‘I’ve been in touch with a civil engineer, not the one we usually deal with but a different firm, one from outside the area.’
‘You think there’s something odd about all this?’
‘Someone seemed to have made sure I didn’t get that contract.’
‘You can’t mean it. Who would do that?’
‘It’s a valuable deal. In all there’ll be seven very large, high quality houses, within an enclosing wall. Three in the first stage then four more. It’s a damned good contract and there aren’t that many builders able to do the job, apart from the real big boys. And the specialist work involved means most of them wouldn’t be able to take it on. I have those specialists. Oh yes,’ he went on bitterly, ‘those who wanted this contract wouldn’t hesitate to deal in dirty tricks to get it.’
‘And you think one of your rivals is discrediting you?’
‘I can’t think of any other explanation. When we built these houses, we followed every guideline to the letter. I put down footings far stronger than the regulations require. There’s no way a building like this can subside. The ground was checked thoroughly by both my people and the council before building permission was granted.’
‘I’ll phone Ken. You need to discuss this.’
‘No!’ he shouted as she reached for the phone. ‘Not Ken. I don’t want to talk this over with anyone until I’ve made my own investigations.’
Cynthia stared at him. ‘Not Ken? You can’t think he’s involved? You and Ken built this business. You’ve been partners from the beginning when you built that tiny bungalow together and we lived in a caravan until you were paid. We weren’t even married then, d’you remember? We ran from our families and started living our own lives, and Ken was our friend. Please don’t let it be Ken.’
‘Say nothing. Pretend you haven’t heard any of the rumours. I’ll get on to this today.’
Christian spent much of that morning on the phone. When Ken rang with a query, he made an excuse not to see him and he said nothing about the damage to the house. They had discussed it previously and debated on the possible cause but he didn’t want to discuss it further, he didn’t even want to see Ken until he had some facts.
Cynthia didn’t go out. She did some paperwork and arranged meetings with the committee of one of her charities but she couldn’t really concentrate. The thought that someone was trying to destroy them filled her mind like a bubble, expanding, tightening, becoming more painful as the day went on.
The agony didn’t stop. The surveyor inspected the property but explained that nothing could be done until the following morning and even then, it might be a week before a full report came through.
The surveyor had tried to be reassuring but his expression was grave. Christian waved him off and ran in to tell Cynthia.
‘Nothing official until the results of all the technical stuff comes through, but he agrees it might be deliberate and misleading damage. It’s possible someone removed the tiles from the side of the steps, dug out some soil below the concrete and probably put something weighty on it. He wouldn’t have needed to do anything more.’
‘But who? And what about the cracked tiles?’
‘That wouldn’t be difficult with a bit of care and a hammer! We were in Greece when it happened, remember? Millie was visiting her sister. Ken had the keys to the house. If he is as short of money as I suspect, he had motive and opportunity. Isn’t that the suspicious combination?’
‘Not Ken. I don’t believe it.’
‘Like me, you don’t want to believe it. But if not Ken, then who?’
‘And the holes in the field? They have happened over the past weeks. Were they made deliberately too?’
‘We’ll have to wait for the results before we know the answer to that one’
She looked thoughtful. ‘Could this be anything to do with that old cave, or water pipe or whatever it is, that the boys once explored? It’s a long way from these houses but it must pass under the field, it comes out through the rocks above the beach?’
He stood up suddenly, a positive expression on his weather-beaten face. ‘I don’t know, my darling girl, but I’m damned well going to have a look.’
‘No, Christian! Please don’t. It isn’t safe. If there is subsidence it could go at any time. Be sensible and wait for the report.’
‘I have to know, love. I have to know now.’
He took a camera belonging to Oliver, a couple of powerful torches and some extra batteries. Wearing a waterproof suit, and with a coil of rope across his shoulder, he set off with Cynthia watching the clock and promising to raise the alarm if more than forty minutes passed without seeing him safely returned. He knew that if he did meet trouble, forty minutes would be too long, but giving her something to do, helped her to cope with the danger he faced.
Walking into the blackness was daunting and he almost turned back. He wasn’t even sure what evidence he was looking for as he shone the strong beam of light around the narrow entry.
He tied the nylon rope to a rock near the entrance, and returning the coil of it to his shoulder, released it as he walked. A flimsy enough precaution but there was little else he could do to ensure his safety.
There were remnants of the old pipe, rusted and misshapen, embedded in the wet soil, and he could see a trickle of water down the sides, settling in the centre of the floor and slowly making a way to the entrance.
In some places the tunnel was lined with a solid mass of rock with wet, gleaming surfaces showing in the wandering beam of his torch. In other spots there was gravel and soil forming a slide, with some larger pieces of rock showing between the patches of reddish soil.
After a minute or so he came upon a fall of soil that alarmed him by its size, containing rocks from very large down to small gravel, and soft, damp earth. It had fallen in an ever widening slide. He passed it, forcing himself to ignore how easily he could become entombed. Then he saw another, mostly soil, and he stood trying to imagine where he was in relation to the surface above. Was he in the area where the mysterious hole had appeared? He looked for evidence that someone had damaged the roof and caused the fall but everything looked natural, no marks of a tool, no footprints on the freshly fallen soil.
He was more nervous after he passed the falls of earth imagining their suffocating embrace, and when he saw another and then a fourth, he decided to make his way back. Before he did so, he looked with greater thoroughness at the area around the fall of soil and spotted a metal bar almost hidden by the gravelly soil.
He wrenched at it to pull it free but soil fell like heavy rain all around him burying his feet and ankles in seconds. He stumbled towards the entrance but stopped and went back. He had to be thorough; he didn’t want to do this again.
He waited until the soil stopped slipping, his heart racing with the reminder of how easily he could be buried alive, then, with extreme caution, he scraped the soil from around the metal bar, disturbing it as little as possible. Pulling the bar free, he saw that it was a scaffolding pole. There was no sign of deterioration. It was shiny and very new. He stared at it as though asking for its explanation of how it got there.
Looking up he could just make out one or two indentations where the pole had been used to poke at the roof, encouraging the already friable gravel and clay mixture to cave in. He also saw marks that were clearly made by a spade, neat cuts as though someone had stood there and stretched up to bring down some of the roof. More soil fell as he stood there and he took a few photographs, hoping they would be clear enough for the marks to be seen before another, more serious fall destroyed the evidence.
As he turned in relief and headed back to the entrance, he wondered cynically whether a member of the council or a surveyor could be persuaded to do what he had done, and go down to look at it. He thought not. He stopped and took more photographs, marking the rope as a primitive measure of the distance from the adit on the cliff.
When he emerged into the startlingly bright sun, he heard Cynthia call. Looking up to the cliff path he saw her waving at him and pointing at her watch.
‘Five minutes to go on the longest forty minutes of my life!’ she said, tearful with relief.
There had been no sign of Cath since she had run from the Antiques Fair but Meriel found the van parked near her house. She was relieved. She was due to work that morning for Tom and Ray and she didn’t fancy walking. She inspected the van looking for damage but found none. Opening the back doors she saw that it was completely empty. Even the blankets which she and Cath used to protect their cargoes were gone. She did find a used contraceptive thrown carelessly aside and wondered whether a couple had taken the opportunity the vehicle offered of a comfortable place to make love.
Without really understanding why, she went to the house and, carrying a bucket of soapy water and trailing a hosepipe, she washed the van thoroughly. After phoning to tell Tom that she would be late, she drove it to a garage and filled it with petrol.
Before starting work on Tom and Ray’s garden, already late. she detoured and went to the chalet to see if Cath had returned. The place was deserted, the desolate emptiness more marked than before. She was aware of a deep sense of sadness.
Cath had returned at some time, though. Or she had been burgled. Much of the furniture was gone, including the pieces on which she was working in preparation for selling.
When she stepped through the back gate of the house on Holly Oak Lane she was startled to hear raised voices. Tom and Ray were quarrelling, she thought, as the voices rose higher, ceasing suddenly as a door was violently slammed.
She knocked with some trepidation, just to let them know she was there, determined to pretend she had just arrived and had heard nothing. To her surprise it was Vivienne who opened the door for her. ‘Hi yer,’ she said casually, before dragging an obviously upset Toby down the garden and out of the gate without another word.
Meriel went to the shed and took out the hoe with which she intended to do some weeding. She worked in silence for an hour, then Tom came out and handed her a cup of coffee. He carried a second one and sat beside her to drink it.
‘Ray has left,’ he said.
‘Oh well, it’s probably nothing more than a wrong word at a wrong time. Quarrels are often only opinions spoken at an inopportune moment.’
‘More than that,’ Tom said. ‘He and I — well, you’ve probably heard the gossip, Ray and I are partners. We’ve been living together since we were twenty-two.’
Meriel didn’t know what to say. Then she remembered the hasty departure of Vivienne. ‘Was a friendship with Vivienne the cause of the trouble? I don’t think jealousy is the prerogative of mixed couples, is it? We can all suffer from insecurity.’
‘My parents don’t know. They think Ray and I are simply friends who share a house and live separate lives.’
Meriel’s thoughts were different from how she imagined. No embarrassment, only sympathy. ‘It must be difficult to tell people the truth, specially those you care about. “Coming out” doesn’t affect only the person making the statement. Like any decision, there are always others to consider. Perhaps one day, you’ll know they’re ready to accept who you really are.’
‘It’s far easier to pretend,’ he said sadly.
He talked about their life together for a while, reminiscing about past holidays, and the fun of buying the house and furnishing it, then he stood up and offered her his hand. She took it, somewhat bemused, half expecting him to tell her he no longer required her to work for him. Instead he said, ‘Thank you for listening and understanding, Meriel. I’m very grateful.’
‘Any time you need a listener, call me,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Losing someone you love is very painful.’
She was thoughtful on the way home and when the phone rang later she expected it to be Tom. But it was Mike, Cath’s brother, and he wanted to know whether she had any news of his missing sister.
‘Sorry, but she seems to have gone right away. The place where she was living has been emptied of her things. Even the furniture she was working on has gone. I’m worried but I don’t know what I can do. I have no idea where to look for her.’
‘I have a few ideas,’ Mike told her. ‘If you don’t mind, we could compare notes and try to out-guess her.’
‘She’s so secretive, I don’t have a clue where to start.’
‘She might be on a camping site. She’s done that before, mingled with the holiday-makers, using a tent.’
‘Like looking for a needle in a hundred haystacks!’
‘The holiday season is nearly over,’ he comforted.
‘Fifty haystacks?’ she teased.
‘Shall we talk about it? What about dinner tonight?’
Meriel felt a warmth flood through her. Meeting him again was a pleasant prospect. Then foolishly, Evan sprang into her mind, bringing an overwhelming feeling of guilt. It was as though he were still her husband, and she was being disloyal. The fleeting hesitation made Mike add, ‘Just a drink if you prefer?’
Pulling her thoughts back from the abyss of unwanted loyalty, she replied, ‘Dinner would be wonderful. Thank you.’
Mike had guessed correctly. Cath had taken her old car and was travelling around camp sites using a tent. She felt safe, the chances of meeting someone who would recognize her were very slight and besides, she would be miles away before they could tell anyone. She avoided becoming involved with the entertainments offered on some sites, staying most of the time on farms, sometimes the only person staying in a field in some of the more remote places.
She didn’t stay long anywhere and remained in her tent whenever possible, shopping in the towns and wandering around second-hand shops and antique shops — the only clue for someone attempting to follow her. But no one would. She knew the police wouldn’t get involved with searching for someone who had chosen to disappear and was not in any obvious danger.
She was surprised at how lonely she felt. After wandering around for months before settling in Abertrochi, she had begun to enjoy the growing friendship with Meriel. It was harder than she had imagined to go back to a solitary, wandering existence.
Several times she started to dial Meriel’s number but always replaced the receiver before the number was complete. She would have to wait until Mike had given up hope of finding her. Autumn and early winter would be spent travelling, and only when the frosts and winds made her present way of life impossible, only then would she feel safe enough to contact Meriel and perhaps talk about her private nightmares.
Joanne was trying to contact Dai Collins. She had spent several nights and days trying to think of a reason for his not telling her about his wife. It must be that they were divorced. Otherwise, why would he not have been seen by the boys when they had inadvertently knocked on his door? That led her to another worrying thought. If Dai no longer lived with his wife and daughter, then what was John doing there at night? No, the explanation must be simpler. The boys had made a mistake. Exhausted with trying to fathom out the truth — or a version of the truth that would be comfortable for her to live with, she set about once more trying to contact Dai. If she couldn’t reach him by phone, then she would sit outside one of his cafes until he turned up.
She tried each of his cafes several times, and after the third try to reach him at his office, and being fobbed off by an office girl, she knew she must face the fact that he was avoiding her.
Before, when she had phoned, even if he was not available, he would phone her back within a few minutes. She was being given the brush-off, no doubt about it. An end to the affair was something she had prepared herself for in the early days. Over the more recent weeks she had gradually accepted that this was for real, and her future was with Dai Collins, a partnership made in heaven. Now, his leaving her without a word, ending it so unkindly, so casually, distressed her more than she had expected.
This had been a promise of a real romance, being loved by someone who would appreciate her and want to spend every moment with her, not someone who would stay with an estranged wife only a few miles from Abertrochi rather than spend the evening and the night with her.
She felt ugly, and old and foolish. Two men had told her they loved her, and neither really cared. She wouldn’t again wait outside one of his cafes like an abandoned dog no one wanted. She had more dignity than that. She drove home hardly aware of how she got there, and reached the bedroom before she succumbed to tears.
Mike Thorpe called for Meriel as arranged at seven and took her to a restaurant close to the sea. He said very little until they had ordered and then said, ‘I don’t think I would be breaking a trust if I told you some of Cathy’s story.’
‘She’s a very private person. I don’t know whether she would approve of my knowing things she hadn’t told me herself,’ Meriel replied doubtfully.
‘You know nothing? She didn’t tell you about the children?’
‘I guessed children were involved. I’ve seen her hugging dolls and other toys, and she became very angry once when she thought our friend Vivienne was neglectful of her three year old, Toby.’
‘She went out, leaving the children with a neighbour, a young girl called Sylvia. Sylvia went back home to collect a video she wanted to watch and while she was out, a fire started. They think it was an electrical fault. A worn flex on an old lamp Cath had bought at a car boot sale. She always loved old things.’
‘And the children?’ Meriel asked, a pulse beating furiously in her throat as she waited for the words she dreaded to hear.
‘Megan aged three and Gareth aged just six months, were suffocated.’
Meriel felt an icy cold chill envelope her, imagining Cath’s home-coming and having to face the fate of her babies. How could she have survived the tragedy, the horror of such cruel deaths? It was enough to send a person insane. ‘How do you live with such a tragedy?’ she muttered. ‘She clearly blames herself and there aren’t any words that would help comfort her.’
‘It wasn’t her fault.’
‘How can she not take responsibility for it? I can’t imagine anyone not blaming themselves, even though they had done what was necessary to ensure the children’s safety. Not to be there, out on some errand and coming home to that. I don’t know how she manages to function at all.’ Meriel whispered sadly.
‘She didn’t for a while. She was treated for shock but she signed herself out of hospital and just disappeared. No one heard from her. Her husband, Bryan, was left to grieve alone. I find that hardest to accept, that she left him to deal with everything.’
'Where is he now?’
‘Waiting at home for news of her. Every holiday, every day off work, he spends searching. Me too whenever I can.’
‘I suppose the need to run is an attempt to forget it, but I don’t suppose she’ll start to recover until she stops, turns around and faces it, will she?’
‘That’s what we all think, but we can’t find her to talk about it. Please, if you do hear from her, will you tell me? I only have her interests at heart. Bryan doesn’t blame her. He was out too, celebrating someone’s birthday. Not important as you say, a trivial reason for leaving two precious children in the care of a young inexperienced girl.’
‘I haven’t any children, but I don’t think there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t sympathize with Cath and Bryan.’
Mike took her home after the meal and she invited him in for a coffee. Leaving the painful subject of his sister, they talked about themselves, with Meriel explaining her plans for opening a shop. ‘I’m going ahead with it, but I’m disappointed not to have Cath with me,’ she told him. ‘We work together so well.’
Mike worked for a telephone company and hesitantly offered to go with her when she looked at properties if she needed a second opinion. ‘I know that knowledge of telephone systems isn’t an advantage when looking at properties,’ he laughed, ‘but sometimes a second input helps.’
‘There is one place I am interested in and one of the reasons I like it is because it has a small bedsit which might suit Cath, when she comes back.’ Taking out the details they talked about it for a while and agreed to go and look at it the following weekend.
‘And if I hear from Cath I’ll call you,’ Meriel promised. ‘I can’t promise to let you know where she is, that will be up to her, but at least I can tell you she is safe.’
He stood up to go and leaning forward, placed a kiss on her cheek, near her lips.
‘Thank you for letting me talk about it,’ he said. ‘You’ve no idea how it helps. My parents can’t discuss it any more, it’s too painful.’
‘Any time,’ Meriel said, ‘If you want to talk about it, just phone me, I’ll always be here to listen.’ Suddenly remembering how she had promised the same to Tom, she smiled.
‘I said something funny?’ he asked.
‘No, Mike, I did.’
Cynthia was looking thoughtful when Meriel arrived at Churchill’s Garden. She was sitting alone and had a half empty cup of coffee in front of her.
‘If that’s cold, can I get you another one?’ Meriel asked. She was about to order when Joanne and Helen arrived, closely followed by Vivienne. Adding to the order, they made their way to the table, Meriel glancing towards the chair they now called Cath’s seat. It was occupied by an elderly man.
‘No news of Cath then?’ Helen said as they shuffled chairs to make room around the table.
Thinking that the reappearance of Cath’s brother was hardly a secret, Meriel said, ‘Her brother called to see me yesterday. In fact, he took me out for a meal last night, hoping that I had some information that would help him find her.’
‘Nice, is he?’ Vivienne asked, her eyes widening with interest. ‘About time you had some fun, Meriel.’
‘He was charming, but he only wanted to ask about his sister,’ Meriel smiled. But deep inside her there was a jerk of pleasure as she remembered that gentle kiss.
‘You couldn’t help him?’ Helen looked quizzically at her. ‘If anyone could guess where she went, and why, then it’s you.’
‘I’ve no idea where she went. She did leave the van, though. so that’s a relief. It was parked not far from my back gate on the field.’ She leaned towards them and added, ‘I suspect that a courting couple made use of it before I found it, so I gave it a really good scrub.’
‘You look a bit distracted, Cynthia,‘ Helen said. ‘Anything wrong? How is the sale of the house going, any prospects?’
‘Not yet,’ Cynthia said brightly. ‘It’s in the top bracket and there aren’t many buyers around at that price level. We have to be patient.‘
When Helen went to buy more coffee, and Vivienne went to help carry it, Cynthia said to Meriel and Joanne, ‘Confidentially, I am worried. Christian thinks someone is trying to destroy us. Not a word to Helen, mind. We don’t want gossip spread all over the county!’
It was on the tip of Meriel’s tongue to offer to talk to her if it would help but she stopped the words from escaping. She was beginning to act like an agony aunt, someone without a life, needing the problems of others to fill in her empty hours.
Parked in a lay-by, wondering whether she would ever have the nerve to go back to Abertrochi, Cath watched the moon riding the night sky. It was late. Far too late to find somewhere to spend the night. The lane was quiet, on the outskirts of a village and with little prospect of being disturbed, she settled to sleep in the Saab. A not unusual occurrence.
She had hardly closed her eyes, hugging the thick blanket around her, when she heard the sound of a car approaching. It was moving slowly and she shrank down.
The car was a small one and it stopped just in front of her own. Three boys got out, one urinated in the hedge, the others laughing at some unheard joke. Another boy got out and helped a girl to alight. She crouched down near the hedge, while the boys made silly remarks. It was as they clambered back in, arguing about who would drive that she recognized Cynthia’s oldest boys with Joanne’s two sons, and the girl, her face just visible in the moonlight, was Helen’s daughter Henri.
Cath’s first reaction was anger that their parents didn’t take greater care, but then her face softened to sadness. Everyone took chances, parents and their children. She did many stupid and potentially dangerous things when she was young. Danger and risks were part of life. Most survived unscathed, but for her, on that terrible day, luck had turned away from her.
Christian’s investigations were leading nowhere. He didn’t believe children, especially his own, were responsible. His thoughts turned reluctantly to Ken. But why would Ken try to harm the firm that gave him a generous income? They’d known each other all their lives. They had built the business together by hard work and determination. How could he think for a moment that Ken would want to ruin it? Because there was no one else. He had to make some effort to get to the truth, so he tried to look at Ken as though he were a stranger.
They were no longer close, sharing so many hours together as they once had, both at work and socially. With the death of Ken’s wife, there had come a divergence of their paths. He and Cynthia had become a part of the local scene, always going out to theatres, dances, clubs, dinner parties. They involved themselves in fund raising. Christian was a governor of the boys’ school. He played golf.
Ken had given up those things. He went to the local pub and played darts, visits to the racetrack being his only treat. Yet he lived as a lodger with no visible evidence of the wealth he must have accumulated. He insisted he couldn’t afford to visit his daughters in America. A worm of unease wriggled in Christian’s stomach. Something didn’t add up.
Then he realized that much of Ken’s money must have been spent keeping his sick mother in a comfortable home. That would explain it, he thought with relief.
Ken was very loath for Christian to visit the house where he now lived. With his two daughters grown up and living in America, it had seemed sensible for him to sell his house and move into a B and B accomodation, He had implied at the time that the money from the sale of his home had been invested for his daughters. No one had ever questioned that.
He always made an excuse for Christian not to call for him, even when they were going off together in the camper van. He insisted on meeting Christian at a crossroads some distance from the house, explaining that his landlady was strict and didn’t encourage callers, adding that she was elderly and set in her ways and that visitors bothered her. Always too busy to think about it over much, or think it unusual, Christian had never seen where his partner now lived.
He hadn’t seen Ken’s mother for many years and for a long time had rarely questioned that. Now, he began to wonder if Mrs Morris was a greater part of the mystery. Perhaps she had run up debts or needed expensive medical treatment that was keeping Ken short of money? His head ached trying to make sense of it.
Restless, and desperate to solve the mystery, he phoned Ken that morning and, when he couldn’t reach him, he decided it couldn’t wait and drove to the last address at which Ken’s mother had lived.
No one knew of her there. He knocked at several of the smart houses but she had been gone too long for anyone to have news of her. He was about to give up when he saw a corner shop and stopped to buy some chocolate. Without much hope he asked the elderly lady serving him about Mrs Morris and was told the address to which she had moved.
He checked the address he’d been given three times, not believing the directions when they led him to a small, neglected property set back from the road on the edge of town. He knocked on the door, convinced he had been mistakenly sent to another Ken Morris. A woman of about seventy opened the door. Neatly dressed and with a brightness about her, he was convinced he was in the wrong place. This attractive woman was not the shy, nervous individual Ken had described.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve come to the wrong door. I was looking for news of a Mrs Morris but you aren’t the person I was expecting to see.’
He was stepping away from the door when the woman smiled and said, ‘Christian? Don’t you remember me? I remember you very well, even if you are too grand to ever visit me these days. Many’s the plate of bread and jam you’ve had at my kitchen table years ago.’
‘Mrs Morris? Ken’s mother? But I don’t understand!’
‘Come in and I’ll make us a cup of tea. Good heavens I can’t think how many years have passed since you came to see me. Cynthia well, is she? And you have three wonderful boys, so Ken tells me.’ She chattered on as she led him through the dark passageway and into a small, rather overfilled room looking on to a long narrow garden.
‘I didn’t come — we didn’t come — because Ken told us you were ill, and then said you didn’t like visitors.’
‘Don’t like visitors? Why, the house is always full of them. Neighbours calling and leaving the children while they go shopping, coming for a chat, and for help with their knitting or cooking. Grannie Morris to them all I am. Me, ill? I never have a moment to think about being ill.’
She went through the room to the small kitchen and talked to him while she prepared a tray of tea. Her voice with its gentle, sing-song Welsh lilt brought tears to his eyes with its touching reminder of his childhood when he used to go to her house to escape from the misery of his own. He only half listened to what she was saying. He looked around the shabby room and wondered why Ken allowed himself and his mother to live in such a place. What had made them move from the attractive house they had owned, to come here and live like this?
The room was spotlessly clean but everything was worn and colourless. There was linoleum on the floor covered in places with rugs. The curtains at the window were thin and misshapen with too many washes. The wallpaper was falling away from the wall in one corner where damp had penetrated. The chairs were wooden, the cushions neatly covered with material which, like the curtains, was well washed and faded.
Curiously, he stepped towards the kitchen door and saw more of the same. A belfast sink, a wooden draining board, oddments of shelves and mismatched cupboards. The cooker was ancient, there was oilcloth covering the wooden table. A mop and bucket stood near the back door still steaming, Mrs Morris had obviously been washing the stone floor when he had knocked. What looked like a wooden box stood on its end, partly concealed by a curtain, inside it were stacks of soaps and powders and other cleaning materials.
‘Why are you living in a place like this?’ he asked softly as Mrs Morris placed the lid on the teapot, turned and saw him standing in the doorway.
‘It’s only temporary, Christian. Ken wants to design and build a house with a flat on the side for me, a grannie flat but for a grannie with no grandchildren. Why did the girls have to go to America to live, eh? Did you know one of them is a teacher?’ she went on, ‘And her husband is—’
Refusing to allow her to change the subject, Christian interrupted and asked again. ‘Why aren’t you living in a decent home? Ken can’t be short of money. We’re partners, equal partners, and Cynthia, the boys and I don’t live like this. Far from it. Is he gambling more than I know about?’
‘Gambling? No, no, not really. Just now and then, a bit of excitement.’ She poured tea and offered him a plate and a serviette and gestured for him to help himself from the plate of home-made cakes.
‘What’s going on? I only want to help,‘ he said.
‘Have a welsh cake,’ she said. ‘Or what about a piece of bread pudding, dear? That used to be your favourite.’
Refusing to be put off, Christian put down his plate and stared at her. ‘Please, tell me what’s going on. I’m not the enemy, I want to help — if it’s needed.’
‘All right then, he had a bit of bad luck, made some foolish investments. Ill-advised he was and him so trusting of everyone.‘
‘How long ago? This place looks as though it’s been like this for years. You should be living somewhere modern and comfortable. Please, Mrs Morris, what’s going on?’
He was having bad thoughts about the attempts to discredit him. If Ken was in serious trouble, might he have succumbed to the temptation of having debts paid? He wouldn’t be the first to give in to such pressures. Ken did gamble, he didn’t hide the fact, but perhaps he had been hiding from him just how deeply he was addicted. It wouldn’t be difficult to get into this state if he kept increasing his stake in the hope of solving his problems. More importantly, having reached this state, he was vulnerable to a bit of persuasion.
Something else clicked into place to add to his growing fears that Ken was the one responsible for his problems. A man, who his sons believed was Ken, ran from them when they called after him one day. They said the man who they were all convinced was Uncle Ken, had climbed up from the beach not far from the tunnel. Presumably it was the same man who knocked Meriel over a few minutes later and didn’t stop.
‘Ken has been saving to go to America,’ Mrs Morris said, interrupting his unpleasant thoughts. She lifted the cake plate and coaxed him to eat something.
‘About time he went to see his daughters,’ Christian said. ‘I’ve been telling him for years.’
‘He’s paying for me to go too,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to see them, lovely girls that they are. Never been on a plane, mind, I’m a bit anxious about that, but better than a long trip by sea. More time to spend with them, isn’t it?’
When Christian discussed his thoughts later that evening, with his wife, Cynthia didn’t believe him.
‘You can’t think that Ken would do something like this? He’s a partner in the firm, he’d lose everything too. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘From what I’ve seen today, I don’t think there’s anything left to lose. I think he’s gambled everything away. If he’s in debt to some of the clubs then he’ll probably be desperate enough to do whatever they ask and if that means creating a situation where I appear to be a dishonest builder, and lose this important contract, then I’m afraid he’d agree.’
‘I didn’t know his mother had simply moved. Why did Ken tell us she was mentally ill and in a home?’
‘Why indeed,’ Christian said ominously.
‘The poor dear lady. And all these years she thought we didn’t care.’
‘The house she owned was a good between the wars semi, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. So why did she end up in a place like you describe?’
‘That’s something I didn’t feel able to ask.’
‘Surely Ken hasn’t robbed her of her home?’
‘What other explanation can there be?’
Cynthia went to Churchill’s Garden and put on a brave face, insisting that everything was wonderful, ‘Christian is building some fabulous houses,’ she told the others proudly. ‘He’s such a remarkable man. Someone tried to embarrass us you know, but it’s all sorted. Christian has a reputation that can’t be tarnished. Jealousy and greed made someone try to discredit him but it didn’t work.’
‘You aren’t selling because of the subsidence?’ Vivienne asked doubtfully.
‘There is no subsidence. Someone tried to make it look like there was but the buildings Christian puts up are built to last.‘
‘Evan and Sophie Hopkins have put their house on the market,’ Vivienne insisted.
‘I think that’s because she wants to move far away from me,’ Meriel said. ‘She still doesn’t feel secure with him. And he doesn’t help, constantly calling to see what I’m up to!’
‘And what are you up to, Meriel?’ Joanne asked. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Well, I have seen Cath’s brother Mike, a few times. He’s rather nice, but whether it will be anything more than a mutual concern for Cath, I’m not quite sure.’
‘I do find it odd that she isn’t in touch with her family,’ Helen frowned. ‘Fancy running away from her brother like that. Quarrels and fights happen in most relationships, but with family, you usually fight to the bitter end, get all your anger out and sizzling, then get back to normal. I couldn’t bear to lose my sisters or brother.’
Meriel hadn’t mentioned Cath’s husband, or the tragedy of the lost children.
‘I can understand why she might avoid him. I haven’t seen my sister Samantha since I married John,’ Joanne reminded them. ‘She and I fell for the same man, and the vindictive way she tried to keep him, well, I don’t want her back in my life, even after all these years.’
‘She must have changed. She’s probably married now and any feelings she had for John will have been forgotten. I’d have to seek her out,’ Helen insisted.
‘I’ve managed without Samantha in my life for so long I hardly ever think of her,’ Joanne smiled airily. ‘And I doubt if Samantha ever thinks of me. Best we leave it like that.’ She turned to Helen to change the subject. ‘Are your children staying with you at present?’
‘Only Henri. She loves coming, but her stepmother tells me I spoil her. Give her too many treats. She has put on a bit of weight, mind, but teenagers often do, don’t they?’
‘Of course. I was plump when I was fifteen,’ Cynthia said. ‘My darling Aunt Marigold who brought me up after Mummy died, used to say it was the bloom of youth and gave a promise of beauty.’
‘As long as it isn’t the wrong kind of weight,’ Joanne said warningly. She was shocked when Helen stared at her, the colour draining from her face.