A Tangled Thread Page 18

  ‘He’s a student of Mum’s,’ Georgia said. ‘I met him once, briefly.’

  ‘And he thinks that gives him the right to burrow into what doesn’t concern him?’

  ‘He was only passing on what his friend told him,’ Georgia said mildly. ‘But to get back to William: what do you think?’

  Victoria looked at Richard, and when he didn’t speak, said tentatively, ‘I think it would be good to meet him. If we didn’t, we’d always regret missing the opportunity.’

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ Richard said.

  Victoria turned to Georgia. ‘You and Tim go ahead and arrange a meeting, and let us know when and where it will be.’ She smiled. ‘In the meantime, I’ll work on Richard!’

  They talked of other matters for a few minutes, then Georgia rose to go and Victoria saw her out. ‘You can count us in,’ she said quietly at the door. ‘I know my husband; when it comes to the crunch curiosity will get the better of him.’

  ‘I’ll write back, then, and let you know when it’s arranged.’

  As she got into her car, Georgia had a brief moment of doubt. What if, by agreeing to this meeting, they were opening Pandora’s box and the Gregory family fastened on them like some blood-sucking incubus? Or was she mixing up her myths? Whatever, she was being ridiculous: they would meet their newly discovered relations and see what – if anything – transpired.

  Determinedly she turned the key in the ignition and moved off slowly down the road.

  Stonebridge

  Will said, ‘They’ve agreed to meet us!’

  David frowned. ‘Who have?’

  ‘The Lawrences, of course. I’ve had a letter from Georgia Peel, née Lawrence, in answer to mine, saying that although her mother doesn’t feel up to it, she, her husband and her brother and sister-in-law would be happy to meet us and answer any questions we might have to the best of their ability.’

  ‘You bloody fool! I told you to leave well alone!’

  ‘David, we know nothing about Dad except that he was amusing and witty and left Mum in the lurch when she needed him most. I need to know he wasn’t a complete toe-rag.’

  David stared at him, breathing heavily. ‘Have you spoken to the grandparents?’

  ‘Yes, I read them my letter over the phone before posting it.’

  ‘What was their reaction?’

  ‘Grandpa wasn’t surprised – I’d said I wanted to find out more. I think Gran was a bit apprehensive.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Come on, David! What harm can it do, one single meeting? And it might explain a lot of things.’

  ‘Suppose I don’t agree?’

  ‘I’ll go by myself.’

  There was a pause. Then: ‘And where exactly are you proposing it should take place?’

  Will felt a small spurt of triumph. ‘A hotel somewhere. London would probably be best; I should think they’d go up by train and we could fly down. Sylvie will stay home with Amélie – she doesn’t trust anyone else to look after her – but I hope Julia will join us. Gran said they’d love to have the twins for the day.’

  He waited for David to make a comment, but when he remained silent continued, ‘I recommend not committing ourselves to a meal in case it doesn’t go well. So let’s suggest morning coffee, and if all progresses smoothly we could move seamlessly on to lunch.’

  ‘I see you’ve given it some thought,’ David said dryly. ‘When do you propose this should take place?’

  ‘As soon as possible, in case they go off the idea; this weekend, ideally.’

  ‘This weekend! God, how can we arrange—’

  ‘There’s nothing to arrange, except booking our flights. That’s what I’ll suggest, anyway, and hope they’re free.’

  ‘But today’s Thursday, for God’s sake!’

  ‘There was a phone number on the letterhead; that’ll speed things up.’

  ‘You haven’t a hope in hell,’ David said flatly.

  Foxclere

  ‘Jill? Is this a bad time to ring?’

  ‘Hello, Edward. No, it’s fine; I’ve an hour’s break between pupils.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry at the short notice but I’ll have to cancel this week’s lesson; I’ve just heard a business colleague has died and it’s his funeral tomorrow.’

  Jill felt a stab of disappointment; at the moment Edward was one of the few fixed points in her firmament. ‘I’m sorry; did you know him well?’

  ‘We worked together years ago but latterly just kept in touch via Christmas cards. Still, I feel I have to go.’

  ‘Of course.’

  There was a brief pause, then he said, ‘I was wondering how your family reacted when they heard about the fatwa?’

  ‘Richard refused to countenance it, but to be honest it was rather superseded by my receiving a letter from Greg’s other family suggesting we meet.’

  ‘Good grief! And are you going to?’

  ‘Richard and Georgia are – they’re going up to London on Saturday – but I opted out. I didn’t feel I could face it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  It would be good to talk things over with Edward, and eight days was too long to wait.

  ‘Would you like to come over for lunch one day next week?’ she asked impulsively. ‘As a thank-you for driving me to and from Gatwick and looking after me on my return?’

  ‘You’ve already thanked me enough, but I’d love to come to lunch!’

  ‘Good, then I can tell you how the London meeting went. I have lessons on Monday and Tuesday, so let’s make it Wednesday. Twelve thirty?’

  Thank you. I look forward to it,’ he said.

  Blaircomrie

  Thursday lunchtime, and Beth and Moira were at their usual table.

  ‘I see Johnnie’s been pushed out of the headlines,’ Moira said.

  ‘By the hit-and-run driver? Yes, bit of a shock, that, being someone from the same firm. He must have known his victim, which makes it sound deliberate.’

  ‘One of them was probably sleeping with the other’s wife,’ Moira remarked cynically.

  ‘No doubt; but on a more cheerful note, the renovation of my guest room is now complete! I hung the new curtains yesterday and it looks lovely, Moira; you must pop round and see it. And, even better news, I have a new lodger to occupy it and she’s moving in over the weekend!’

  ‘My goodness, that was quick!’

  ‘I didn’t even have to advertise – she did! I saw it in the personal column of the Gazette and got in touch with her straight away. She came round, saw the room and loved it, and Mr Barnes got back from work as she was leaving, so she met him too.’ Beth threw her friend a triumphant glance. ‘What’s more, she even brought up Johnnie’s name; she’d connected the address with that on Crimewatch and sympathized with us for having gone through such a traumatic experience.’

  ‘Well, that’s great, Beth,’ Moira said sincerely. ‘She’d have been bound to hear about it soon enough – it’s good that you didn’t even have to tell her. What does she do, by the way?’

  ‘She’ll be working at the local radio station – producer or something. She’s unmarried, in her forties, and her name is Helen Phillips. Honestly, Moira, if I’d handpicked her I couldn’t have done better!’

  ‘Well, that’s great!’ Moira said again. ‘Johnnie Stewart, RIP.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Beth agreed.

  Stonebridge

  That same lunchtime Will phoned Georgia, and after a momentary hesitation she agreed it would be as well to meet sooner rather than later. They settled on the lounge of the Argyll Hotel in Mayfair at ten thirty on Saturday morning.

  She’d sounded pleasant enough, Will thought as he clicked on his brother’s number. He could only hope he wouldn’t regret his precipitous machinations.

  Blaircomrie

  Jim Scott, crime reporter of the Blaircomrie Gazette, had embarked on a one-man mission to solve the murder of Johnnie Stewart. The man had been increasing in both interest and importance over t
he last few weeks as his different personas came to light, and Scott reckoned any hand he had in bringing his murderer to justice would do his career no harm at all; he’d always had his sights set on the nationals. And as ‘Johnnie Stewart’ was the man’s local identity, and, in all conscience, the only one he had any hope of coming to grips with, that was the one on which he would concentrate.

  The police, of course, had been slogging away at the case for weeks and had interviewed regulars at the pub where Stewart went every night, but, judging by the press conferences, who it was who’d stuck a knife into him in a dark alley last month remained a mystery that was baffling Blaircomrie’s finest.

  However, Scott reckoned the pub clientele were more likely to open up to him than to ‘the polis’ whom they treated with habitual caution, some of them with good reason, and with this in mind he had for the last ten days or so been frequenting the pub – no hardship, admittedly – and attempting to ingratiate himself with the regulars. It had taken a considerable number of rounds, but some of them were beginning to open up to him and he was starting to piece together odd snippets of conversation in the hope of being able to build up a complete narrative.

  But this was by way of an ongoing operation, and as a change of scene he decided to have another go at winning over the landlady, who’d not been very responsive at their last meeting. He felt sure she must hold some key to what had happened, though possibly without realizing it. He’d done her a good turn in telling her about the Yorkshire claimants; time to call in the favour. And since he doubted she’d agree to an interview if he phoned in advance, he called at the house on the Friday evening.

  ‘Evening, Mrs Monroe!’ he said breezily as she opened the door. ‘I was wondering if you’ve time for a quick word?’

  Her lips had tightened. ‘Not really, no. I’m preparing my evening meal.’

  ‘Give me a break, Mrs M,’ he wheedled. ‘I have to give my readers something to read over their cornflakes. I tipped you the wink about the Yorkshire family, now there’s this other lot down in Sussex. How do you feel about your ex-lodger’s multiple personalities?’

  She still gave no sign of inviting him in. ‘He was always Mr Stewart to me.’

  ‘There must have been some hint, surely, that there was more to him? The odd thing he said or did that didn’t quite fit in with the Johnnie Stewart character?’

  ‘Since I was no authority on what you term the Johnnie Stewart character, I wouldn’t have recognized it if there had been. Now’ – she was beginning to close the door – ‘you’ll have to excuse me; I have something on the stove.’

  And that, Scott thought ruefully, appeared to be that. Back to the pub, then.

  FOURTEEN

  London

  Since he was in the position of host, Will was anxious to be at the venue before his relatives and had booked an early flight. Consequently he, David and Julia arrived at the hotel with about an hour in hand.

  ‘We had a coffee on the plane,’ Julia commented. ‘If we have another we’ll be awash with it by the time they arrive. It’s a lovely morning so let’s go out and explore the district for a while.’

  Will glanced at her, aware of her restlessness; he’d been conscious for some time that things were not right between his brother and sister-in-law; there’d been occasions when Julia had seemed snappy and David too eager to please. He hoped sincerely that whatever it was would soon blow over, for the twins’ sakes as well as their own.

  It was considerably warmer in London than it had been in Yorkshire and they walked in the sunshine for the next half hour, admiring the handsome buildings and strolling in Green Park before wending their way back to the Argyll Hotel.

  By this time there were several groups in the lounge partaking of morning coffee and David wondered how the newcomers would know who to approach. But when, soon after they’d seated themselves, four people came in together, he experienced a jolt of déjà vu, for the taller of the men bore an uncanny resemblance to himself – more so, in fact, than did Will, who took after their mother.

  ‘Well, at least there’s not much doubt who you are!’ Georgia Peel said with a half-laugh as she introduced herself and her companions. They all shook hands, but David was uncomfortably aware of the veiled hostility in Richard Lawrence’s eyes.

  While chairs were pulled up and coffee was being served they chatted lightly about their respective journeys and the current heatwave, but as the waiter moved away Will, as the instigator of the meeting, took it upon himself to open proceedings.

  ‘First, I’d like to say how grateful we are to your agreeing to meet us,’ he began, ‘especially at such short notice. My wife sends her apologies – she’s at home with our year-old daughter.’ He paused.

  ‘To sketch in our position, until a few weeks ago we believed that our parents had been married, that our father’s name was Laurence, or Larry, Gregory, and that he’d been killed in a train crash in France a few weeks before I was born.’

  ‘When did you begin to have doubts?’ asked Victoria.

  ‘Well, we were taken aback when we saw the e-fit in the paper – it was so like the only photo we had of Dad – but Mum had sworn our grandparents to secrecy, so it never entered our heads it could actually be him. They were on holiday at the time, and when they phoned we mentioned having seen it. Obviously alarm bells started to ring, they checked for themselves online, were convinced it was Dad and realized we’d have to be told the truth immediately, before his real identity was revealed. Though as it turned out they didn’t know the whole story.’

  ‘You said your mother died recently?’ Georgia asked.

  ‘Yes, someone crashed into her car, killing her instantly.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  David leant forward. ‘We don’t want you to get the wrong impression of her,’ he said. ‘“Larry”, as she always called him, was the love of her life. They’d met while he was at Durham University and she was doing nursing training. My grandfather said they were very close for a year or so, then he graduated and moved back down south. Mum was heartbroken for a while but life went on, they lost touch and she qualified as a nurse.’

  Will took up the story. ‘But then he came back up north for a few months on a job assignment and took up with Mum again, moving into her flat. And soon after he returned home she discovered she was pregnant. Our grandparents wanted her to tell Larry but she wouldn’t, not wanting, as she saw it, to force his hand, and again they briefly lost touch.’

  Georgia, looking puzzled, turned to David. ‘Would you mind telling us when you were born?’

  ‘On the twenty-fourth of May nineteen seventy-eight.’

  Georgia gasped, exchanging an incredulous look with her brother.

  ‘That’s significant?’ David asked, an edge to his voice.

  ‘It is rather. It was our parents’ wedding day.’

  They looked at each other, stunned.

  ‘So you, not Richard, were his first child,’ Tim said slowly. Victoria reached for Richard’s hand but he shrugged her away.

  ‘But … William?’ Georgia enquired hesitantly.

  ‘Another job assignment a few months later.’ Will’s voice was dry.

  ‘And again he stayed with … your mother? I’m sorry, I don’t know her name.’

  ‘Sally. Yes, that’s right.’

  Richard spoke for the first time, his voice strained. ‘So he knew about … David?’

  ‘When he came back, obviously; he seemed delighted to find he had a son.’ Will drew a deep breath. ‘Mum became pregnant again soon after, and suggested they got married. Which was when he told her he was married already.’

  ‘God!’ Georgia said softly. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘She threw him out!’ Will said with spirit. ‘She never saw him again, but to give him his due he made a very generous settlement on us, so he must have had some conscience.’

  ‘And your surname?’ Victoria queried. ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘At un
i Dad had been known as “Larry” Lawrence, which is what Mum called him, but she must have known his real name. So when the family decided to make a clean break and move to an area where no one knew them, she simply inverted it and changed her own name to Gregory, which is how we were registered. Everyone thought she was a widow – including us!’ he added with a wry smile.

  ‘You said your grandparents didn’t know the whole story,’ Tim prompted.

  Will bit his lip. ‘They thought, of course, she’d changed her name to Dad’s surname. They’d never heard of Gregory Lawrence and hadn’t realized we were called after someone who’d never existed.’ Will straightened his shoulders and looked challengingly at Georgia. ‘So, that’s our story. Now, over to you.’

  She glanced at her brother, but he was studiously avoiding her eye. ‘Well, obviously we knew nothing of all this and it’s come as a complete shock, especially to our mother. For our part, at least, it was all over before we were born.’

  ‘Not quite all,’ Will said. He turned to Richard. ‘As a matter of interest, what’s your date of birth?’

  Richard hesitated, reluctant to reveal that Jill had been pregnant on her wedding day. ‘Fifteenth of December nineteen seventy-eight.’

  ‘Well, I arrived eight months later,’ Will said, ‘so we do overlap slightly.’

  There was an embarrassed silence, which David broke by asking, ‘Did he always spend long periods away from home?’

  Georgia rallied. ‘Yes, all his life he kept switching from one job to another, but they all involved a considerable amount of time away.’

  ‘So he wasn’t what you’d call a family man?’

  ‘I suppose not, though we all loved him and he seemed to love us.’

  Richard made a movement but his sister quelled it with a glance.

  ‘So what kind of work did he do?’ Will pursued. ‘Was it writing-based? We were staggered to hear about Jake Farthing.’

  ‘So were we!’ Victoria said.

  Will stared at her. ‘You didn’t know?’