Helen thought about Joanne’s flippant remark about the weight her daughter, Henri, was showing and the more she thought, the more clear it became. Henri, not quite sixteen, was pregnant. Henri’s listlessness and her occasional dislike of certain foods, the sickness. Why hadn’t she recognized the signs before this?
Her hand trembled as she drew the telephone towards her and began to dial her ex-husband’s number. She wasn’t necessarily to blame, she comforted herself. Henri wasn’t here for very much of the time and she must have boyfriends near her home. Yes, this has to be down to Gareth and his new wife. They were responsible for not taking proper care of her daughter.
The phone rang and rang and Helen wondered whether Gareth’s wife had recognized her number on the display panel and was refusing to pick up the phone. She allowed it to continue to ring. She had to let Gareth know her suspicions. Gareth and his new wife couldn’t blame her. She only saw Henri when they allowed a weekend visit. It was at home that there would be a regular boyfriend. She had almost convinced herself the fault lay with her ex—husband and his new wife when the telephone was picked up and a voice said coldly. ‘Helen?’
‘I hope you know that Henri is unwell?’ Helen said. ‘She was sick a few times and I think you need to get her to a doctor, fast!’
‘What are you saying?’ the cold voice asked. ‘Are you suggesting we don’t look after your daughter properly?’
‘I think she should see a doctor, that’s all.‘ Her suspicions were no more than that. How could she tell this woman that she suspected that her daughter was carrying a child? Lots of teenagers put on weight. It was the age of weight problems. The age when girls blossomed and panicked and became paranoid about overeating. Everyone knew that. She muttered a repeat of her words and replaced the receiver.
She mentioned it to Reggie when he came home from work and all day she worried about it. If she was right and Henri was pregnant, then the sooner she saw a doctor the better. Her ex-husband called at the flat that evening.
‘Come in, Gareth,’ she said, unable to hide her pleasure and relief.
‘I gather you’re worried about Henri,’ he said after the social politenesses. ‘Any particular reason? She seems fine to us.’
‘She was sick and a bit lethargic,’ Helen said.
‘She’s fifteen, they grow so fast they often suffer from tiredness and a bit of awkwardness.’
‘You’ve noticed her putting on weight?’ Helen said, twisting her handkerchief in her hands.
‘Normal for a fifteen year old I’d say. Hardly a reason to panic,’ Gareth replied.
‘You don’t think…’ she hesitated then, after glancing at Reggie and acknowledging his nod of encouragement, she went on, ‘You don’t think she’s expecting, do you?’
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous, Helen! She’s fifteen!’
‘Sixteen in a few weeks.’
‘All right, sixteen, but what you’re thinking is crazy. She’s a tomboy, not some slinky siren chasing boys instead of doing her homework!’
‘She spends a lot of time with the Sewell boys while she’s here. And Joanne’s two. I’d say she likes the company of boys.’
‘Yes, she does, but only for the fun of more adventurous games than her girlfriends prefer. I repeat, Henri is a tomboy, not a girl to play adult games.’
‘I’m not asking you to believe me, I’m asking you to check. Get her to a doctor.’
‘I’ll talk to her first.’
‘Let me know what happens, will you?’
‘I certainly will. It’s apparent that if she is in this sort of trouble, then it’s happened while she’s been with you!’
Meriel and Mike met often, sometimes to go to the cinema or a meal but they occasionally preferred to stay at Meriel’s house and walk the dogs before cooking supper together and talking. After a while the talk and growing attraction led them to bed.
The first time they went upstairs together, Meriel didn’t close the curtains or put on the light. Mike put it down to shyness and told her so. But she knew it was that niggling guilt, that ridiculous fancy that she was still married to Evan that made her want to keep her growing attraction to Mike a secret. Realizing what she was doing, the next time she switched off the downstairs lights and walked with him, hand in hand, up the staircase, turned on the lights in her bedroom and welcomed him into her room and her heart with joy.
One Saturday morning that autumn when they were walking along the beach with the dogs, they noticed a lot of activity around the area where water once flowed out of the land—drain pipe. It was a wet morning; a drizzly rain darkening the air and making the scenery gloomy. Uniformed men were gathered around the adit, men in protective clothing, bright against the grey rocks. Some were crouched on the rocks above it and as they grew closer, they heard and then saw a small digger in the field. Policemen, firemen, first aiders, and there were several men in smart suits and hard hats carrying the inevitable clip board to show they were in charge.
There were swarms of children milling about and several adults trying to persuade them to stay out of the way. Cynthia and Christian were there with their boys and Joanne’s two.
‘What’s happening?’ she called up to Cynthia, and Cynthia beckoned, inviting them up. With Mike’s unnecessary but welcome help, Meriel made her way up to join them, climbing across the rocks to where Cynthia was standing on the cliff path. ‘What’s happening?’ she repeated, breathlessly.
‘There’s been an attempt to discredit Christian by making it look as though there’s been some subsidence. We reported it to the authorities. They’re down there now trying to decide on the best way of making that tunnel safe. It’s about time it was filled in. Children go in there, I’ve had to warn our boys about it. It’s a miracle no one has been killed.’
‘They’re going to open it up from above if they can and then fill it,’ Christian said as he approached them. He held out a hand to Mike and they were introduced.
‘It isn’t level soil below the surface. There are areas of solid rock down there so it will be difficult to open it up,‘ Christian went on. ‘They’re doing a survey to decide if they can get at the soil between the rocky parts. They want to make sure it’s solidly packed.’
‘Where does it lead?’ Mike wanted to know and Christian and he went to examine where the surveyors had marked out the route of the underground watercourse. An attempt had been made many years before to drain the land and control the stream, but after meeting rocks and finding the stream was too widely dispersed, and too far away from where it found its access on to the beach, the scheme had been abandoned.
‘It doesn’t go anywhere near the houses,’ Mike said when they returned. ‘No wonder you were suspicious. Do they know who was responsible?’
Christian and Cynthia exchanged glances but Christian shook his head. ‘Suspicions but no proof so we can’t say.’
They walked back to the Sewells’ house, stripped off their cagoules and wellingtons and went into the porch, where Christian explained about the attempt to make it appear that the house suffered from subsidence.
Millie brought them coffee and home-made biscuits. Christian explained about the lost contract and they discussed it for a while. Then Meriel asked, ‘Where’s Ken? I thought he’d be here to see what’s happening. He must be as disappointed as you at losing that valuable contract.’
‘Oh, he is,’ Cynthia said, and there was something in the tone of her voice that made Meriel look at her and frown.
‘Ken isn’t involved in the business any more,’ Christian said shortly. Meriel said nothing, it was not her business and from the expression on Cynthia’s and Christian’s faces it was something they didn’t want to discuss.
Avoiding the activity around the entrance to the old pipe, Meriel and Mike walked back to the cliff path and headed for the next bay. The path was filled with people coming to see what was happening near the estate of expensive houses. Several stopped them and asked what they knew but Meriel, following Mike’s lead, simply said, ‘We don’t know, we haven’t been that far.’
Going down on to the sand once more they started to make their way back, the dogs exploring the pools and the small cave—like structures in the rocks along the shore, oblivious of the rain which was increasing in ferocity. Above them in the distance, the path was still filled with people; the weather didn’t deter the inquisitive. The brightly coloured weather-proofs added a little cheer to a miserable day.
Before they returned to the area where the men were working and half of Abertrochi was gathered, the sound of voices and the hum of machinery reached them. They were past the spot where the stream fell out of the rocks in its new place, almost directly in front of Evan and Sophie’s small semi, which was situated between the large grounds of Cynthia’s house and the home of Joanne and John Morgan. A large quantity of soil had come down with the water and was spreading across the beach, discolouring the sand with red soil and a great deal of gravel.
‘It seems to me that it’s here they should be investigating,’ Mike said curiously, stopping to look.
‘I’m sure they will, but their priority now is to make sure the area around the old drain is safe.’
‘Is it always like this?’ Mike asked, staring at the steady flow of water.
‘I don’t remember it before last year. It was then that water coming through the old pipe slowed to a dribble. I suppose the underground stream must have found an easier route. It’s certainly much faster than usual. I wonder what happened to reroute the stream?’
‘Perhaps building Sewell’s houses changed things. They might have blocked the stream in some way and caused it to find another way out to the sea.’
‘I doubt it. Wouldn’t a survey have picked up on that?’
‘Not if it was deep underground and it had changed route before the survey for that phase of building took place. Christian told me the landward side of the estate was built first.’
Christian was still there when they passed below the scene and they called up to him.
‘What about the stream further down, is that going to be investigated too?’
‘Probably,’ he called back, ‘But they don’t think there’s any danger. There’s plenty of rock below the soil, a good foundation. Solid as a rock, eh?’ he joked. But he wasn’t laughing.
Dolly’s baby was born, Joanne was informed by John and she sent a small gift. The baby talk spread to Churchill’s Garden where Helen told her friends that her suspicions were confirmed and Henri was expected to have her baby early next year.
‘Henri refuses to consider adoption,’ Helen said, ‘And I’m glad about that. But she also refused to tell us the name of the father.’ Helen didn’t add anything further. It was too difficult. She met Cynthia’s gaze and they both looked away, unusually agreeing not to talk about their recent painful confrontation. For, after exhausting discussions that ended with Henri and Helen in tears, Gareth had decided that the father must be either Rupert or Oliver.
‘You’re joking!’ Henri had laughed. ‘They aren’t interested in anything but cars.’ Taking her adamant and sneering response as proof that she was covering up the Sewells’ involvement, Gareth, Helen and Reggie had gone to see Cynthia.
Cynthia was shocked but remembering how much time the young people spent together, she said nothing. She had gone up to the boys and asked them to come down.
‘This is very embarrassing for us all,’ she began, ‘But it seems that Henri is pregnant. Do either of you know anything about this?’
The twins stared at each other, a half grin on their faces, which was part shock part embarrasment, but which Helen took for guilt. A long discussion followed during which the boys both denied having exchanged more than a kiss with Henri. Threatening to involve the police, reminding them that their daughter was underage, Helen and her two husbands left and Cynthia faced her sons.
‘Honestly Mummy, we haven’t done – that — with Henri or anyone else.’
‘Do you know who did?’ she asked, hugging them to assure them they were believed.
They shook their heads. ‘No idea. It must be someone she knows from school. She isn’t here that often, is she? Just on visits to her real mum.’
Joanne hadn’t seen Dai for weeks, until she opened her door one evening in November just after seeing the boys off to the cinema with the Sewells, to see him standing there, soaking wet and asking for her to spare him a few minutes to explain.
‘I’ve been waiting for the boys to leave,’ he said.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said formally. She stood in the hall, watching water dripping from his clothes on to the wooden floor, refusing to do anything to remotely suggest she was pleased to see him.
‘I had a visit from John,’ he said, taking off his hat and looking around vaguely for somewhere to place it. Joanne said nothing and made no attempt to help him so he shook it against the doormat and put it back on his head.
‘He told me to stay away from you,’ he said. ‘He found out about us meeting and, well, he warned me off. I’m sorry I did it in such a cowardly way, Joanne my darling, but I am old-fashioned enough to accept a husband’s warning.’
‘Nothing to do with your wife and daughter?’ she asked primly.
‘My wife and daughter? My wife and daughter?’ he said. ‘I don’t have a wife and I certainly don’t have a daughter.’
‘My boys were driving, I mean, er, out with friends, one evening a couple of months ago and they called at a house to ask directions. My husband was there and he told me that the woman and the little girl were yours. Why deny it? I can hardly complain about you being married when I’m married too. I do complain about your not telling me.’
‘Joanne, I am not married and I never have been.’
Her mind went blank, she didn’t know what to say and couldn’t formulate another question.
‘Can we talk about it? I want to see you, but if you and John are happily married and you were exaggerating your difficulties, well, I want to know.’
‘I didn’t lie to you,’ she said finally.
‘I didn’t lie either, so who has?’
‘I think you’d better go, I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.’
‘I hoped we had. I saw John the other day, and something he said made me think he’d been wrong to tell me to stay away. I thought you knew — I mean. I thought you and he had decided to part. I was wrong and I’m sorry I came.’
Joanne had the strongest feeling that something was not being said. A question was being formed, but just then he moved his head and a stream of water poured noisily out of his hat brim to drum on the floor. Forgetting the question, she began to laugh. ‘I can at least provide you with some dry clothes,’ she said.
They went upstairs and she handed him some trousers and a sweater and he came out of the bathroom wearing them. The sleeves reached hardly to his elbows, the trousers ended halfway up his calf. The fly was stretched open as wide as it could go. ‘A shade too small, don’t you think?’
Helpless with laughter, she helped him undress and gathered his clothes ready to put into the tumble drier.
‘Later,’ he said, removing the last item of clothing. ‘Much later.’
The For Sale board outside Evan and Sophie’s house had gone. Cynthia and Christian had joyfully taken their property off the market and as winter set in, life returned to its normal pattern. Cynthia boasted about her husband’s integrity whenever an opportunity presented itself, Joanne admitted that she had a lover and that life was truly wonderful, Meriel quietly admitted that for her, the arrival of Mike, Cath’s brother, had added to her happiness. Vivienne was spending a lot of time with Tom, now Ray had gone for good, and she said that having a devoted ‘uncle’ was making Toby a very happy child. It was only Helen who was brave enough to admit that life for her was not perfect.
‘Henri went for a check up yesterday,’ she said one morning. ‘I went and of course Gareth’s new wife went too. She was so domineering, insisting she was the one to be told what was happening and I came out feeling like an interfering nuisance of an aunt. She’s my daughter for heaven’s sake!’
‘How does Gareth feel about it? Doesn’t he share this with you?’ Joanne asked.
‘He tries, but he’s soon out-gunned. “I have responsibility for the girl on a daily basis so I have to deal with this”, she keeps telling him.’
‘Has she found out who the father is?’ Meriel asked.
Helen shook her head. ‘Henri still refuses to say.’
Cath had rented a holiday chalet for a couple of months. She couldn’t settle or consider it a home. One of the neighbours was extremely inquisitive, and was constantly calling for a ‘chat’ which was a euphemism for a grilling.
The chalet had two bedrooms but Cath lived and slept in the small living-room-cum-kitchen, using the rest of the small place as storage for the furniture and oddments she had bought.
She had some larger pieces which she was painting, some with flowers, some with seascapes and some for children. The latter were difficult at first. She kept picturing her own babies, imagining how they would have looked if she could see them now, counting their ages in years, months and days and hours, half planning the birthday parties they would never see.
Gradually it became less painful. Guilt softening into sadness. The pictures became more colourful and happy. It had been a kind of therapy.
Ken no longer worked for Christian Sewell. He had not admitted he was responsible but by no longer working with Christian any more, seemed to be indicating at least an involvement in the affair. Stubbornly he refused to talk about things, and managed to evade Christian, but one day, Christian managed to find and confront him.
‘Just tell me why you did it,’ he pleaded. ‘I want to understand why you did this to me. I could have lost everything, the house, the business, I’d have been back where we started, only without you to give me the strength to start over again. Why?’
‘I want the partnership dissolved but I don’t want to take out my investment,’ Ken said, repeating the words with which he responded to every question session. ‘I want you to treat me as an investor, a sleeping partner if you wish.’
‘Tell me why, Ken. I need to know. You owe me that, surely?’
‘All right. I tried to ruin your chance of that contract, and I was well paid,’ he said. ‘But don’t quote me. You have no proof and I’ll sue you for slander if you say a word to anyone. Right?’
‘I have no intention of accusing you,’ Christian said sadly. ‘Like brothers we’ve been. We’ve been friends since we were first able to walk and I toddled into your house for a bit of love and comfort from your Mam. How could I accuse you?‘
‘I’m going to America in the spring.’
‘Your mother is going too, I understand.’
‘She told you that? When did you see her?‘
‘I called when I was trying to get in touch with you after the subsidence scare.’
‘I told you not to call.’
‘Didn’t want me to see what you’ve done to her?’
‘I got into difficulties and she sold the house and bought a cheaper one to help me out.’
‘She’s looking forward to going to see her granddaughters.’
‘She isn’t coming. I’m going alone and I’ll probably stay there, if I can get work.’
Outrage filled Christian at the way Ken was behaving, but he waited until he had calmed down then said quietly, ‘I’ll see she’s all right. Cynthia and I will take care of her.’
‘Thanks,’ Ken muttered.
‘She was good to me when I was a scruffy little sod living off scraps and wearing other people’s cast-offs.’
‘She deserved a better son than me.’
‘Yes,’ Christian agreed. ‘She did that.’
Christian saw very little of Ken after that confession, but he wrote to try and rescue the lost contract. In the letter he gave details of what had been done to convince the authorities that he had built on unsafe ground. He also enclosed the findings of the survey of the field about the water-weakened cave. If they accepted his story he would be safe. If they did not, then no one else would trust him either and he was finished. He wrote to Ken following up the suggestion of a legal end to their partnership but received no reply. Where Ken went Christian didn’t know but he was never seen in any of his usual haunts. Letters addressed to his mother’s house were unanswered and neither were they returned. Needing him to sign some papers and sort out pensions, Christian even called on the various bookies and clubs where he had regularly spent his time and money and asked for news of him. No one had seen him.
Christian hadn’t gone back to see Mrs Morris. He felt ashamed of his long absence even though it had been at Ken’s request. How could he explain to Ken’s mother what had happened?
‘Why don’t we both go and see his mother again? If he hasn’t answered any letters, and they haven’t been returned, she must be sending them on. She’ll tell you where he is, won’t she?’ Cynthia sugested.
‘You’ll come with me?’ Christian asked.
‘Of course.’
‘We’ll have to avoid being too specific when we explain why we have lost touch. Somehow, though, I have the feeling she’s guessed, from the little I said before I understood, and I don’t think she’ll ask.’
He had told Cynthia something of Mrs Morris’s situation but she was not prepared for the state of the place where she was living. He parked the car and allowed her time to take in the depressing state of the house, far worse than its neighbours.
‘Why has Ken been living like this? He was a partner and had the same income as us,’ she whispered.
‘Ready to go inside?’ he asked, giving her a hug. ‘Try not to show your dismay, love. She’s proud, and refuses to believe that her son has failed her so badly.’
‘What does she think we’ve done to him? He must have blamed us.’
‘No, she thinks he made some bad investments, a bit close to the truth really, he invested in horses and gambling clubs, didn’t he?’
Cynthia tried not to look around her as a delighted Mrs Morris invited them in. She kept her eyes on the smiling face of Ken’s mother and marvelled at her air of contentment.
‘Don’t look at the place, darling girl,’ the elderly lady smiled as she went into the kitchen to prepare tea. ‘My Ken is so full of ideas but he’s so busy. But he’ll be starting on the work here very soon.’
‘Let me know how I can help,’ Christian said. ‘Where is he by the way? I have some papers he needs to look at. You do know he and I have dissolved our partnership, don’t you?’
‘Fool that he is,’ Mrs Morris sighed, placing a tray of tea and cakes on the table. ‘He told me he needs a rest and didn’t want to leave you without help, so he decided to leave the firm and allow you to find someone else to share your worries. Said he’s had enough of running a business.’ She stared at Christian, her blue eyes sharp and intelligent and wanting an answer as she asked, ‘What’s the real story, Christian? What sort of trouble is he in? He is in trouble, isn’t he?’
‘No, of course not.’ Cynthia added her voice to Christian’s and the chorus, so prompt, sounded as false as the denial was untrue.
‘I see. You aren’t going to tell me. But I know something isn’t right. The police have been here twice asking for his address. I don’t know where he is, but I do know something is wrong.’
‘Nonsense. It’s probably to do with a parking fine or something.’ Christian looked at Cynthia and said, ‘The reason we’re here is because he left some money for you. A new kitchen he said.’
‘Thank you, Christian love, but don’t try to lie to me. I know you too well, even though you are grown up and living in a posh house. Remember when you broke that vase and you told me the cat had knocked it off?’
‘Too high for the cat, wasn’t it?’ Christian grinned.
‘Not too high for a catapult! So no fairy stories about Ken leaving money for me, right?’
‘I would like to fit a kitchen for you though. You’re so fond of cooking it seems a shame you don’t have a modern place to work. I often get one cheap, so is it all right if I send a couple of lads down to fix it for you?’
‘Say it’s for past debts, including that vase!’ Cynthia laughed.
‘It is hard to say no to a proper kitchen…’ Mrs Morris smiled, her eyes shining, as though she were imagining the transformation.
Shortly after, Mrs Morris had more unexpected visitors, including a policeman whom she had seen before. This time it wasn’t to question her son Ken; he asked for permission to look in her house and garden.
‘What for?’ she asked, reaching automatically for the kettle.
‘I can’t really say, Mrs Morris, it’s just that we’d like to question your son, Kenneth Morris and he’s nowhere to be found. You haven’t spoken to him since we last met?’
‘Not a word. I told you, he was very tired and needed a rest. He’s probably gone to an hotel for a break. Nothing sinister I’m sure, he just needed a rest. As soon as he gets in touch I’ll get him to ring you.’
‘And you don’t mind us looking in his room?’
‘Come in and welcome,’ she said. ‘Cup of tea? Coffee? How many of you today?’
‘There are three of us and coffee would be very welcome, thank you.’
She showed them her son’s room, then, while the kettle boiled, she watched through the kitchen window as one of the men, using a stick, lifted nettles and other weeds and looked underneath them. She saw him pick up a spade and place it into a plastic sack.
‘What are you taking my spade for?’ she laughed. ‘I’m not suspected of burying treasure, am I?’
The man walked towards her and asked, ‘Is this yours, Mrs Morris?’ He opened the sack for her to look inside.
She shook her head, frowning. ‘No, that isn’t mine, it’s too big. I use a border fork and spade, small and easy for me to manage they are, a matching pair. You’ll find them both in the shed if you look. I couldn’t use one that size,’ she laughed. ‘I wonder where it came from?’
Christian came later that day with a kitchen fitter, to measure up for the units they would need and to discuss ideas with Mrs Morris.
‘The police were here earlier,’ she told Christian. ‘Funny thing, they took away a spade they found among the nettles. It wasn’t mine. Why would they want a spade, d’you think?’
‘Mrs Morris, is there any way that I can reach Ken? Or leave a message for him? Do you know of any place where he sometimes goes for a night or two? Someone he visits maybe? Please,’ he said as he saw her hesitate. ‘It is important.’
‘Well, I’m not certain, Christian love, but I suspect he’s got a woman friend somewhere on Gower. I’ve overheard a couple of phone calls that ended sudden like, and there was a letter once that he snatched away off the table as if afraid I’d see it. Not that he’s normally shy about telling me of his conquests mind,’ she smiled.
‘And you don’t know where she lives?’
‘No, but I think I know where they meet. I found an address once when I took his jacket to the cleaners. It was a receipt for a couple of nights in an hotel, called Sea Haven.’
Leaving his men to discuss plans for her kitchen, Christian drove down the coast and knocked on the door of the small hotel called Sea Haven.
Cath had grown tired of wandering. She had settled for a while in a small town near Tenby, and had found work as a cleaner, work she hated but which was anonymous and brought sufficient money for her simple needs. Now, with the darkest days of winter upon her, she missed Meriel and the strange comfort she had found on the periphery of the group at Churchill’s Garden.
She gathered the coins she would need and dialled Meriel’s number. She was surprised when a man answered and at first she thought it must be Evan, but the man who asked, ‘Do you want Meriel?’ was her brother, Mike. She was about to replace the receiver when the man added, ‘I’ll call her, what name is it?’
‘A friend,’ she replied, ‘If she’s busy…’ She waited until Meriel announced herself then said, ‘What’s Mike doing there, Meriel?’
‘Cath! How marvellous to hear from you,’ Meriel said and Cath could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. ‘Where are you? When can I see you? Oh, it’s such a relief to know you’re all right.’ She laughed then and said more slowly. ‘Sorry, I’m not giving you a chance to speak, am I?’
‘I want to come back to Abertrochi. But I don’t know whether I’m ready to meet Mike.’
Mike had been listening, his head touching Meriel’s and he now spoke into the phone. ‘It’s all right, Cathy. I promise I’ll stay away until you and Meriel have talked. No one wants to rush you.’
‘Where can we meet?’ Meriel asked. ‘Will you come here?’
‘I’ll drive up tonight. I have a few ends to tie up first,’ Cath said. ‘I’ll be late, will it matter?’
‘I’ll be here, looking forward to seeing you. Oh, what a relief, I’ve missed you so much, Cath.’
‘We all have,’ Mike added, as the call was cut off by Cath, to hide the sound of her tears.
It had been a very wet summer and autumn and now, as winter was here, the weather worsened. There had already been several severe storms, uprooting trees, one had even blocked the road near the Sewells’ house. The night Christian decided to go looking for Ken there was a ‘Serious Weather’ warning, and people were advised to stay in their homes. The tide was expected to be high but Christian was determined to go. There were several hotels called Sea Haven, but Christian’s guess regarding the whereabouts of Ken Morris was correct.
He was staying at the first hotel he tried. Ken was out when he arrived so he sat in the small bar, drinking coffee and wondering how long he dare wait. The weather was worsening, and he didn’t want to be on the roads once darkness fell.
He telephoned Cynthia to make sure the three boys were safely inside.
‘They wanted to go over to see Jeremy and Justin but I advised them to stay put,’ Cynthia said. ‘I want us all to be safely locked indoors tonight. Hurry, darling. Leave what you’re doing and come home.’
Christian decided to leave a message for Ken and go home. Ken was in danger, but he could warn him just as easily by note and phone as by sitting here listening to the storm increase in fury. If he waited much longer, he might have to stay overnight. It was really hazardous to drive along tree-lined lanes through this, he thought, looking out at the swaying trees in the hotel garden, and imagining how much worse it would be on the coast beyond the town.
Ken and his companion came in as he was writing the note, laughing companionably, both windblown and dressed in outdoor clothes that suggested long country walks. Corduroys and heavy walking boots and good quality jackets with hoods.
‘I’ll go to my room, Ken,’ the woman said. ‘Come up when you’ve finished and we’ll decide where we’ll eat tonight.’
Christian had the impression they were good friends and nothing more. He felt a fleeting embarrassment for spoiling their evening but once the woman had closed the door behind her, his anger returned.
‘Did you use that spade to pull down some of the soil in that tunnel?’ he demanded after telling Ken about the police taking a spade away from his mother’s house. When Ken hesitated, he said irritably, ‘Come on, Ken. This isn’t a time to be evasive. If you did, then I hope you cleaned it of your fingerprints!’
‘Yes, I used it, but I didn’t clean off my fingerprints. It was one I use occasionally, it would be odd not to have my fingerprints on it.’
‘Of course it wouldn’t! If someone borrowed it that’s what they would have done!’
‘I did clean off all the soil that came from the tunnel though.’
‘Fat chance of that! They only need the faintest smear and they’ve got you!’
‘What shall I do?’
‘Face it and plead ignorance. They can’t prove it was you who used the spade in the tunnel, can they?’
‘I can’t face it. I’ll disappear for a while, see how things go. After all, it isn’t a hanging offence. What could they charge me with, malicious waste of police time? An attempt to make a hole in a field I half own?’
‘You’ll never get a job after this, but staying and denying everything is the only way to deal with it.’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘What about your mother? What do I tell her?’
‘Tell her what you like!’
‘You’re a fool!’
‘I can’t deny that.’
Not wanting to waste any more time, Christian left. Why had he come? Only a distorted sense of loyalty. Now he no longer cared what decision Ken made, he had warned him and that, after what he had tried to do, was where their friendship ended.
Meriel was on her own. Mike had gone, leaving her to welcome Cath when she arrived. As she looked out of the window at the dark night, and listened to the horrifying sounds of the storm, Meriel wished he had stayed. There was something she wanted to tell him and the interruption of Cath’s phone call had prevented it. She glanced at the phone. Perhaps she could tell him now. But then, she wouldn’t see his face, and know his true reaction.
She hesitated a while longer, sitting alone, listening to the howling wind and the occasional clatter as something was dislodged by its fury. Then she dialled his number and said at once, ‘Mike, I think I’m pregnant.’
‘But, Meriel,’ there was that tell-tale hesitation before he went on, ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Is it? You really think so?’ Her heart raced as she waited for his reply.
‘Darling Meriel. I couldn’t be more thrilled. Honestly.’
There was a draught as the back door opened and she thought it was Cath, as she had left the door unlocked so she could walk straight in. ‘I think it’s due some time next July. I don’t know whether I’m pleased or scared. My having a baby, it’s unbelievable. You are pleased, Mike?’
‘Darling girl, I’m breathless! Can I come back so we can celebrate?’
‘Get off that phone!’ Meriel turned her head to see Evan standing there, white-faced, water dripping from his clothes, fury greater than that of the storm gleaming in his eyes.
‘I’ll talk to you later, when Cath is here,’ she told Mike, sounding calm, but with her heart beating furiously within her. She listened for a moment then said, ‘It’s all right, it’s only my ex. Come to see if the house is safe I expect. Bye, darling. Yes, see you very soon.’
‘You bitch!’
‘Please go. This is nothing to do with you. I am nothing to do with you. I’m selling the house and then I’ll be out of your life for good.’
‘Who is he, this Mike? A casual pick-up is he? First there’s Tom, where you go and pretend you’re working in his garden, and now Mike. How many more?’
‘I’ve lost count,’ she said flippantly.
She walked towards the back door that faced the cliffs and the sea, and as she opened it to tell him to leave, it was snatched from her hand by the gust of wind and banged against the wall. Glass shattered and Evan ran to pull her away from the danger.
‘I’ll get something from the shed to make a temporary repair,’ he said. Ducking down to dive through the storm, he quickly disappeared, swallowed up in the wild blackness. Meriel collected a dustpan and brush and began to collect the shards of glass from the floor. He reappeared carrying a piece of hardboard, which he intended to tack over the hole.
‘It won’t fit properly, but it should hold until the morning,’ he said.
She helped, first by holding the board in place, then by passing him nails, and all the time the wind threatened to burst through the house and out on the other side. They were both breathless when they finally closed the door.
‘You’d better get back to Sophie,‘ Meriel said, aware that he was staring at her and waiting for the outburst that was hovering around the tight lips and angry eyes. Also aware that, in spite of carrying another man’s child, she still loved him. But was it love? Or was it the need to win against the voluptuous Sophie Hopkins? Remembering Mike’s voice, knowing he was waiting for her call before hurrying back to her, she felt the disappointment and pain of Evan’s rejection of her fly away on the howling wind. She knew that, at last, she was free.
‘I came to see if you were all right,’ he said. ‘But I needn’t have bothered, you have plenty of men to look after you.’
‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘Thank you for fixing the door, but please go.’
‘How did we get like this, Meriel? We had such dreams, a beautiful house, a couple of children and “happy ever after”.’
‘Sophie happened,’ she said harshly. ‘You left me for her, remember?’
She turned away so didn’t see him leave. He held on to the door as he opened and closed it, the noise of the storm was too loud for her to hear his footsteps walking away. And besides, she wasn’t listening.