Your Secret's Safe With Me Page 10

  ‘A word, JJ,’ Jack said. ‘My study. Five minutes.’

  I instinctively gathered up used plates, wondering what excuse I could use to skip coffee altogether. The strain of the house move, plus remaining impeccably polite amongst such alien company, had left me physically and mentally drained.

  I followed Heather back to the kitchen, hoping that if I slipped away now, my absence from the drawing room might not even be noticed.

  ‘Oh, really there’s no need,’ she insisted. The countertops were overflowing with dirty crockery.

  ‘You’ll be up all night clearing this lot up,’ I remarked. The dishwasher was whirring away while Nev was up to his elbows in soap-suds at the sink.

  Heather almost shooed me out of the kitchen. ‘It’s our job,’ she said. ‘I’ll be along with the coffee in a tick.’

  ‘Well, at least let me clear some of this stuff for you,’ I said, scraping the remains from the plates into the overflowing food waste bin. From the kitchen door I could sprint around to the front of the house and reach the stable block within seconds. I pulled out the wet waste bag and headed out of the back door to the bin store. I doubted anyone would actually miss me, apart from being the butt of the why-hasn’t-Becca-got-a-man jokes.

  As I turned the corner, I smelt the waft of nicotine. Jack had his study at this end of the house, next to his bedroom. Like the drawing room, the study doors opened out onto the garden. The light was on and JJ stood on the threshold of the French windows, cigarette in one hand. I slipped into the shadows against the wall of the house, not wanting to be seen and coerced into re-joining the party.

  JJ’s voice was slurred; the wine effect. ‘I think you’re being totally unreasonable,’ he said, presumably to Jack in the study. ‘You can easily afford to spare a couple of hundred grand. I can pay you back as soon as I can get those extra moorings in place.’

  ‘No, you’re the one who’s being unreasonable,’ Jack retorted from inside. I had to strain my ears to pick out his words. ‘If you hadn’t insisted on building that ridiculous house and buying yourself a ruddy Aqua Riva, you wouldn’t be in this position. I’ve told you before, the business always comes first. Go and see your mate van der Plaast if you want someone to finance your fancy lifestyle, because I refuse. I’m not bailing you out any more. Do you hear? I’m not lending you another bloody penny. I’ve got better things to spend my money on now.’

  ‘Like your tart Pearl?’

  ‘I thought we’d already had this out. How dare you speak about Pearl like that.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Dad, be realistic. Why can’t you see her for what she is? The woman is a flashy tart. I can’t believe you are letting her manipulate you like this. How many other members of her dysfunctional family are going to come crawling out of the woodwork? They’re parasites, the whole lot of them. You should call this charade of a wedding off now before it’s too late, before she makes you a laughing stock.’

  If Jack replied, I didn’t catch it. Instead, I heard the opening then slamming of a door. JJ remained in the shadows outside, his body taut. He stubbed out his cigarette on the wall of the house. It was a few seconds before he spoke.

  ‘You think I don’t know you’re there, don’t you, Rebecca?’ he called. ‘It would all be so much easier if you just left Rivermede now, wouldn’t it? Before anyone gets hurt.’

  Then, without waiting for an answer, he stepped into the study, drawing the French doors behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pearl’s attempts to launch me into Kerridge society had not been a success. JJ was drunk, his personal insults fuelled by red wine and too many liqueurs. However, there was no disguising his threatening tone. JJ’s dislike of my mother stemmed not from a desire to protect his father, but the fact that Jack now had someone else to spend his money on. JJ was used to being the centre of his father’s attention.

  JJ didn’t look like a man who would sit back and hope his problems would disappear of their own accord. I would have to take care, and keep a vigilant watch over Freddy and Pearl. Nick Quinlan’s words came back to haunt me. Nick had refused to be drawn when I’d asked, but was JJ already known to the police as a violent man? Was that what Nick’s warnings were all about?

  As for Pearl’s favourite topic of dinner party conversation, I felt mortally wounded. Friends in London knew better than to raise to the bait whenever the subject was mentioned, yet amongst strangers and a totally new gene pool, my mother seemed to think she was justified in promoting my single-status and treating me like a brood mare. Perhaps she and JJ deserved each other.

  I’d survived a barrage of Pearl’s match-making attempts before. I hadn’t spent the last fifteen years since my break-up with Nick living like a nun. Pearl became embarrassingly enthusiastic whenever I so much as mentioned a date, or even dropped a man’s name into conversation, so it was much easier to keep quiet. After Nick, I had remained celibate for some time, concentrating on work and developing my mother’s brand. Eventually, I’d allowed a few girlfriends to drag me out to a bar or a club, and gradually I had started meeting new people. But I developed an automatic shut-off point. Any relationship that looked as if it might become serious was kept at arm’s length, unless of course the man was already unattainable.

  My affair with Declan, a married publishing executive from Belfast who flew in and out of London for business on a regular basis, had lasted more than four years. It was a perfect combination of no-strings-attached sex and companionship, conducted well away from Pearl’s prying eyes. When Declan mentioned the word divorce, I’d run a mile. I couldn’t possibly think about leaving my family, I’d said.

  And that, I realised as I retreated to the unfamiliar surroundings of my new home in Rivermede’s stable block, was exactly how I had wasted away the last fifteen years of my life. I’d convinced myself that Pearl and Freddy couldn’t manage without me, when in fact they were both proving perfectly well that they could.

  I was now effectively surplus to requirements. There was absolutely no reason why I couldn’t set up my own freelance business in London or look for a full-time job with one of the major publishing houses. Anita was right; I was a good editor and I would find work.

  I was at a crossroads, and it wasn’t a question of not knowing which was the sensible path to take; the road to London was clearly marked, signposted in big bolder letters. REBECCA GATES GO THIS WAY. I had the perfect opportunity to make a bid for freedom, yet I still found excuses to stay. Could I take the risk that JJ was all bluster? Could I leave my mother and brother at his mercy?

  Home truths hit hard. The real problem was that Pearl and Freddy weren’t dependent on me; I was dependent on them.

  I awoke the following morning filled with new resolve. My life had to change, although I fell at the first hurdle. Despite having my own flat, my own bathroom, and my own kitchen, I had no provisions for Saturday breakfast. I swallowed my pride and wandered back over to the big house.

  I followed the wafting aroma of burnt bacon to the kitchen. Heather was scraping the grill pan at the sink. My cheerful ‘good morning’ made her jump out of her skin.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. She didn’t look at all pleased to see me. ‘I suppose you want some breakfast, too, do you?’

  ‘Oh, it’s fine, I’m happy to get it myself,’ I assured her, heading for the fridge. ‘I just want some toast and orange juice.’

  ‘No!’ She darted across the kitchen, blocking my path. ‘Sit down, let me.’

  The kitchen table hadn’t been wiped from its last occupant which, judging by the amount of crumbs and spillages, I could only assume had been Freddy, unless Nev also ate with the uncontrolled velocity of an eternal teenager.

  ‘Jack and Pearl don’t ever breakfast before nine,’ Heather said as she gave the surface a ferocious sweep with her cloth. ‘And they always eat in the conservatory or a dining room. I don’t like people invading my space.’

  I could sympathise with the sen
timent. Freddy had been banned on numerous occasions from the kitchen in Battersea. However, I sensed she wasn’t just referring to Freddy.

  I assured her I fully intended to be self-sufficient. ‘Once I’ve stocked up on supplies,’ I promised, ‘I’ll be out of your hair.’

  ‘Good,’ she replied.

  She directed me to the local Lidl which had everything I needed. Once I’d bought the basics, I drove on to the nearest M&S, which was only another few minutes along the motorway. I may have overplayed my cooking skills the previous evening; Pearl ate my food because she had little choice, but I wasn’t a particularly adventurous cook, sticking to a rotation of easy to prepare old favourites. Now that I didn’t have to worry about Pearl’s delicate constitution – she was averse to anything too spicy, although I had noticed her consuming Heather’s Oriental-themed menu the previous evening with great relish – I could please myself with what I cooked and what I ate.

  It was also true that I probably could afford to lose a couple of pounds or two before the wedding. With glamorous competition in the form of Rita and Natalie, I wanted to look my best. I headed for the low-calorie ready meal section and then the fresh soups, perfect for lunches rather than my usual carb-loaded deli sandwich. If I could replicate Heather’s wonderful Thai fish soup, all the better. I grabbed the M&S version from the shelf.

  With my shopping complete, I headed back to Rivermede, only to discover Pearl sheltering under an umbrella at the top of my steps and knocking furiously on the front door.

  ‘There you are,’ she called. ‘Where have you been? We’re off to Fontwell, to the races. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.’

  ‘Well, have a nice a day then,’ I replied, heaving my shopping bags out of the car.

  ‘But you’re coming with us,’ she insisted. ‘It’ll be fun. Horse racing. How often do we get the chance to do that?’ She noticed my bags. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘I’ve been grocery shopping.’

  ‘What do you need to do that for? Heather looks after us.’

  ‘Heather looks after you and Jack,’ I pointed out. ‘I don’t need her looking after me. Besides, I don’t think she wants to.’

  ‘She’s paid to look after whoever Jack says she has to look after,’ Pearl snapped. ‘Hurry up and unpack and then you can join us. I’ll get Nev to wait.’

  ‘I’m not coming to Fontwell.’

  She pouted. ‘But I want you to come. It’s an outing, a family outing. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘No.’ I stood firm. The old Becca would have caved in, but the new Becca was stronger. I had to use that fifty metres of gravel which separated our homes wisely. I could live independently yet still keep an eye on my mother and Freddy. It was a frame of mind, not a physical locality. ‘You have Jack now, and you and Jack can go and have a lovely day at the races together, and I will stay here finishing my unpacking and then I am going to start work.’

  Pearl looked alarmed. ‘Work? What work? I told Anita we weren’t going to go ahead with the novellas.’

  ‘I know that, but no, Anita hasn’t sent me anything. Just because you’ve quit publishing doesn’t mean my work has stopped entirely. There’s still your website to maintain, for now at least, and a few fans to placate, but I am also working on a new project.’

  ‘A new project? What new project?’

  ‘Stella Markham’s memoirs. You’re right, she has got a very interesting story to tell and I’m going to write it for her.’

  Pearl’s mouth dropped. ‘Really? That was just a piece of silly nonsense. Who will want to read that?’

  Nev appeared in his chauffeur’s suit ready to move the Range Rover out onto the gravel. Pearl watched with a shaking head as I continued to unload my car before retreating to the sanctuary of my new flat.

  I’d helped out with the research on a few autobiographies during my early days in the publishing world, before Pearl’s career had leapfrogged and become my full-time job. As with all stories, I knew it wasn’t so much the content that was important but the way it was told; the magical elements which captured a reader’s imagination. Stella’s technical accounts of her racing triumph were of little interest to anyone who wasn’t an expert sailor, but the human side of her story – the verbal abuse from Owen and the loss of her children – would certainly resonate with a large number of people. But what the story really needed was a happy-ever-after, and so far it was eluding me. An idea had taken shape, but I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to pull it off.

  By lunchtime, I could feel the beginnings of a headache, so I stopped to heat up the fish soup, hoping it was going to be as delicious as Heather’s home-made version. It was. In fact, it was almost identical in taste and in texture. So much so that, despite telling myself it was none of my business if Heather had told a little white lie to Pearl and bought her home-made soup from M&S, or even if Pearl was complicit in the deceit – after all, we had given plenty of dinner parties at Battersea where the food had been provided by caterers – I skipped down to the bin store, brand new rubber gloves in hand, and rummaged through the recycling bin. Alongside four empty cartons of M&S Thai fish soup, I also discovered the cardboard packing for two of Lidl’s ‘brand new’ aromatic roast chickens and an M&S luxury lemon torte.

  I wasn’t sure what my discoveries proved, apart from exposing Heather as not quite the good cook she, or indeed Pearl, claimed. Heather had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want Freddy or I poking about in her kitchen, but Pearl would be more than happy to keep out of her way. It could well be that Pearl had been just as keen as Heather to impress her prestigious guests, but in Battersea Pearl had never shied away from admitting to using a catering service. I didn’t like to think that she had been duped.

  The morning’s rain ceased to a drizzle. I hoped it was better at Fontwell. Pearl had little time for sport, but coming to Kerridge had opened up a whole new range of interests and hobbies for her. My mother deserved to be happy, and if Pearl was happy, I should be happy, too. There was still the issue of Freddy’s impending fatherhood to deal with, but that was really his problem, not mine.

  Since my encounter with Nick, I’d spent a great deal of time reflecting on how my relationship with Freddy might appear to others. I’d been as shocked as everyone else when Pearl had announced at the age of 43 that she was pregnant. ‘I thought it was the bloody menopause, darling.’ She needed me with her.

  While she and Dieter had sojourned in the Hollywood Hills, I’d been sent to a very exclusive boarding school in Switzerland. Non-payment of fees was a heinous crime, and Pearl’s termly cheque had bounced spectacularly. I hid my shame well, telling only a few close friends that a family crisis had arisen and I’d been recalled to London.

  Pearl was in a complete mess, emotionally and financially, but Freddy gave her the impetus to resurrect her career. She set to fervently penning a series of heart-wrenching historical romances which required intense dedication, peace, and quiet. I loved Freddy. He was an easy, placid baby and I was happy to be left in charge. When Freddy was a year old, I passed my A levels and was able to take up my place at university, although at Pearl’s insistence I remained living at home. I walked Freddy to nursery and later to school; I attended parents’ evenings; watched nativity plays. I adopted many of the responsibilities that Pearl should have taken on. It was easy to see how an outsider, someone who didn’t know the family circumstances, could possibly have mistaken our relationship.

  It was disappointing to realise Nick considered the whole idea that I might have had a child, conceived long before I’d met him, a deal-breaker. Who didn’t have ‘baggage’ these days? What hurt most, though, was knowing that Nick thought I had deliberately deceived him. Did he really believe he was going find Freddy residing in our spare room as soon as we returned from our honeymoon, without any sort of discussion or consultation? I’d loved Nick unconditionally. If he’d fathered a child at eighteen, I wouldn’t have walked away. If I’d suspected, I’d have confronted
him. I wouldn’t have kept my fears to myself and used them as a feeble excuse to sleep with his best friend. What sort of person did that? Nick’s suspicions about Freddy’s parentage didn’t exonerate his guilt in any way; they compounded it.

  I sent Freddy a text and suggested that he call in after work and have a meal with me ‘to save making any extra work for Heather. Pearl and Jack have gone horse racing. Not sure when they’ll be back.’

  He replied he was going for a drink straight from work with some of his new mates from the marina, but promised to be home by eight. I was glad he had already forged friendships but felt even more redundant than ever. Was this how Pearl had felt when I’d refused to accompany her to the races at Fontwell?

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was little point planning a special meal for Freddy. His idea of eight was more likely to be nine, especially after a few drinks. I checked I had purchased enough ingredients to make a simple pasta dish, and spent the rest of the afternoon on the internet, uncovering all I could about Owen Markham and his Isle of Wight restaurant.

  I learned that Owen had recently become a grandfather for the first time. I wondered if Stella knew. There were lots of pictures on his personal and the restaurant’s Facebook pages, but the proud granddad omitted to mention baby Ella’s parents’ names or include them in any photographs. There were numerous Emily Markhams on Facebook, but none appeared to still be located on the Isle of Wight. In any case, Emily could well be married and using another name. As for Tristram Markham, I couldn’t find him anywhere online at all.

  I didn’t hear Jack and Pearl return, but she knocked on the door at seven and invited me over to dine with them. I politely refused. The races had been a disappointment. She looked bedraggled and complained of a chill. At nine, I sent Freddy a text reminding him of his dinner date.