FICTION
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The Grave Concerns of Jennifer Lloyd - BONUS CHAPTER
WARNING.
PLEASE ONLY READ THIS IF YOU HAVE READ THE ENTIRE BOOK. OTHERWISE IT IS A TOTAL PLOT SPOILER! Chapter 23 |
AFTER SEEING him right in front of me I just couldn’t get the words out. Yes, I’d planned a variety of dialogues in my mind already; scripts, really, in which his response had taken different turns: some positive, mostly negative. My main objectives were to confront him with murdering my mother, and of forgetting he even had a daughter: me! But all that washed away like flotsam on the tide when I realised that—whoa—he did actually have a daughter: that sullen teenager! I’d been replaced—airbrushed out of his life. And so had my mother.
I needed to regroup, rethink, gain a new perspective—become the beneficiary of a clutch of similar clichés. Life had taken a different turn. Boy, did I ever need to talk to Ami. Sitting in the car I sent her a text saying as much—and telling her I would be waiting for her after work.
***
The rain stopped and it turned brighter. With time to kill in Swanage, I drove up to Durlston Country Park and had a run through the fields and back along the undulating cliff path with Susie. She loved it. There was no better way to clear my head. Then it was back to Christchurch and my flat for a much-needed shower, a quick meal, a disturbed rest on the bed to kill some more time, and finally a drive through the New Forest to Southampton and Ami’s place.
I arrived about half-an-hour before her. She found me sitting in the car with Susie when she arrived. I got out and we hugged. She looked concerned for me.
‘Jen! Whatever is it? Why you say you need to talk about your father urgently?’
I gestured towards her house. ‘It’s a long story. And I badly need a drink.’
‘Of course.’ Ami looked concerned and she rummaged in her handbag for keys. Finding them, she scrutinised me again. ‘I think it’s vodka you need, not coffee. Am I right?’
I nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’ She was so right.
***
‘You must confront him, Jen.’ That was Ami’s best advice. ‘You will not get your life back until you do this. Always you tell me you need to give him piece of your mind. So you must do it.’ She nodded firmly.
We were sitting together on her sofa. Never had I felt so emotional. Heavens! Normally, I don’t even do emotions. But this had really got to me.
‘I will. I shall. But I need some time to think first.’
‘It not right for him to have happy new life with new family and leave you in this state, Jen.’ Ami rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. After a long pause, she asked the thousand-dollar question: the one I really didn’t want anyone to ask. ‘What you hope to get out of this, anyway?’
I shook my head; rather crossly, I think. How could she ask me that question? ‘I don’t know,’ I snapped. I stood. ‘Look, I think I want to get back home, Ami. I need an early night. I just wanted to tell you about this in person. I’ve got to be in London tomorrow. I’ll contact you when I’ve had a chance to take all this in.’
Ami stood. ‘You could stay the night.’
I gestured to Susie, snoozing on her carpet. ‘I’ve got to get Susie back for Joan to look after tomorrow. Thanks anyway.’
We hugged, and then I left; we left: two scurrying feet and four trotting paws. Thank God I had Susie in my life.
I suppose I’d never thought beyond giving him a piece of my mind. “Brian Sutton”, that is. That’s all he was to me now: a name; a man in a newspaper article; the man who killed my mother. (He did not qualify as my “father”.)
No, I’d not considered whether I wanted a longer relationship with him. Why would I? Surely the main thing was to tell him what a monster he was. But a little part of me wondered if that wasn’t quite right. He was now out of prison. Had he served all his sentence or did he get out early after an appeal? Was he innocent after all?
***
All that was around fifteen months ago. I’ve never been back to Swanage since. I’d confirmed there had, indeed, been an appeal, and Brian Sutton had been released early—years ago. What I couldn’t find out was why. (Okay, if you push me, I might admit to not having tried too hard.) As for asking him to his face, I had definitely decided to do that one day—but I hadn’t quite gotten around to it. Life was busy for a successful TV presenter.
What had I been doing for the past year? Much the same as before, to tell you the truth, but my profile was higher. Not only did I do Here Today stuff, I also did far more interviews and I had made my likings known. I preferred an outside broadcast life to a studio life. I’d agreed with Susie this worked best for us because now she sometimes came along and camped in the back of my car. She was loving the roving life.
Then I got this phone call from Digby Barrington-Smith, inviting me over for the weekend. I’d forgotten all about him, to tell you the truth, but it sounded like a lovely idea, and I fancied the thought of catching up with them all: Fiona, Robin, and, of course, Senka. She, apparently, was now ensconced in a new house built on a plot on high ground adjacent to the public grounds—on the opposite side to Solent House: a convenient and political separation, I imagined. I was interested in finding out how her relationship had developed with the family.
I already knew Vera was serving four years for the manslaughter of Senka’s husband, Toma—or, to put it another way, a further three to serve. By now I almost considered her a martyr. Okay, I’d never liked Vera, but you had to admire the way she’s taken the blame for Toma’s death to save Robin. I’d wrestled with my conscience in letting that happen, but I realised, as she and Digby did, the alternative would probably drive Robin insane if he was taken into custody, so I had let matters lie—or, to put it another way: let lies lie!
Yep, I had a few sleepless nights about that. But I reminded myself it had been Vera who’d organised the cover-up, got Carl to bury a man’s body, committed adultery with her employer, had been beastly to me, etc. She was paying the price of so much deceit.
I stopped having sleepless nights and moved on.
***
‘Jennifer! Lovely to see you again, my dear!’ Digby opened the door himself and hugged me. He had a wide smile. ‘So good to see you.’
I hugged him back and gave him a peck on the cheek. Being in that marbled hallway again was like turning the clock back. ‘You’re looking very well, Digby.’
He stood back and beamed. ‘But I am! Very well. Thanks to you, in many ways. Come in. Come in.’ He took the travel bag from my hand.
‘Thank you.’
Hovering in the background was a woman I’d never seen before. Thin and gaunt, she looked nervous. Digby introduced me—in an unexpected way. ‘Mrs. Jackson, this is my friend, Jennifer Lloyd.’ He held out my bag to her. ‘Could you show her to her room, please?’ He turned to me as Mrs. Jackson took the bag. She almost bobbed at me—not quite—but the inference was there. At least this housekeeper knew her place. ‘Your old room, of course, Jennifer. I know you like the view.’
I didn’t remember him being so disarming before. Clearly he was much more confident and happy now. I imagine this was his real old-self back again.
‘Thank you, Digby. Yes, I did love that room.’
‘And when you’re ready, come to my suite for a chat.’
I smiled. You betcha!
***
Digby’s room—and the entire suite—had been tidied up. I hardly recognised it. Gone were the heaps of rubbish which had marred it before, and his sitting room had been totally redecorated. He still preferred to sit in the bay window alongside his favourite inlaid drum table.
‘So how is life now, Digby? And how is Vera coping?’
We were sitting with a tea tray on the table between us and it was like “old times”—except more relaxed. Both of us had cup-and-saucer in hand.
‘The business has improved immensely since your documentary, but I’ve not had the nerve to allow the public into the house again.’
‘That’s fantastic. And do you have more to do with the public gardens now?’ I really hoped—and imagined—he did.
Suddenly Digby looked sad. ‘I did,’ he sighed. Until last March.’ He put down his cup and leaned towards me. ‘Did you not hear about Robin?’
Judging by his expression and tone, the news was not going to be good. ‘Robin? No. What about him?’
‘A terrible accident, Jennifer. I’m afraid he died.’
‘Died?’ I could hardly believe it. My heart felt heavy for him. I got quite fond of the lad and his winning hugs. ‘How?’
‘In March. He fell from Senka’s balcony. Broke his neck. Do you remember Senka and her windfall? Because of Toma’s Will she inherited half my estate.’
Of course I remembered Senka. This was getting more puzzling by the minute. ‘But what was Robin doing on Senka’s balcony?’
‘Just visiting.’ He sighed, took out a snowy-white handkerchief, and wiped an eye. ‘They got on very well. He often went to visit her. Through the grounds, of course.’
I put my cup down on the table. ‘Digby. You need to fill me in on all this. I don’t understand any of it.’
‘Of course, of course.’
It appeared Senka had been difficult at first, insistent a new house be built within the grounds so she could enjoy them as easily as Digby could. Eventually, she and Digby had agreed on an elevated spot not too distant from the main gate to the public car park. It gave her a wonderful view over the public gardens.
‘After she moved in I invited her to tea, one day, and I found she was very pleasant. Much to my relief,’ smiled Digby. ‘Prior to that all dealings had been via solicitors. She realises Vera didn’t mean to strike Toma with her rolling pin when she was fighting the dog off, and she’s been very understanding, considering.’ He grimaced. ‘But there’s no getting away from the fact she makes it very clear she knows she owns half of everything here.’
Good on her, I thought. ‘I see. And does it work out, business-wise?’
‘She’s quite happy to let me run the gardens the way I choose—apart from some ideas about our new car park café, which were good ones—and we’ve become good business partners now. Things could have been much worse. So that outcome spited Dorothy’s intentions,’ he grinned.
‘And Robin? What happened there, exactly?’ I asked, getting him back on-track.
‘Senka met Robin on that first visit here for tea and she quite took to him. Apparently she once helped out at a centre in Serbia that catered for a few Down’s syndrome children, so she was used to them. And Robin took to her. They played games like draughts and snap. Robin had lots of fun. And it got to the stage where he was confident to walk through the public gardens direct to the private gate to Senka’s house. He went to see her a few times a week.
‘She had this wonderful balcony overlooking the grounds and across to the sea. Quite delightful, actually. And she had this nut feeder hanging from a string for the blue-tits to feed from. Lots did. Apparently, while she was making squash in the kitchen, Robin saw it was empty and he went to take it down to refill it. He stood on a chair and reached out . . .’ Words caught in his mouth and his lower lip began to tremble. ‘I believe she said the chair slipped on the tiles and that tipped him over. He fell onto a tiled terrace some way below. Poor boy died instantly.
I shot across to his chair and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Digby. Poor Robin. I had no idea. I wish someone had told me.’
Digby dabbed at his eyes and then turned them to me. He looked so distraught. ‘I couldn’t blame Senka, of course. Who was to know he’d do something like that?’ He sighed deeply. ‘Vera’s taken it very badly, of course. She went to prison to protect the boy, and now he’s dead and she’s still in prison.’
‘Hard justice.’ I paused. ‘But you visit her?’
‘Of course. Every couple of weeks.’ There was some indignation in his tone. ‘Gives the Rolls a run.’
‘And what about Fiona? I imagine she’s gone now.’
‘No. She’s still around.’
I was amazed. ‘Really? What does she do now?’
‘She’s my secretary and housekeeper. Mrs. Jackson only cleans and cooks, and she lives out, with her family. Fiona’s young man, Paul, lives here with her. It keeps her happy,’ he grinned. ‘And they’re good company for me. Paul has replaced Toma. He does odd jobs and drives me around. I’ve lost my confidence to drive, you see. Apart from a golf cart in the grounds, that is,’ he chuckled. ‘So it’s worked out very well.’
My, my. Things had certainly moved on since I was last at Solent House.
‘And you, Digby. Are you getting over Robin’s death?’
He nodded. ‘Slowly. I’ve recently started going back into the gardens and meeting visitors. It takes all the trauma off my mind for a few hours.’ He looked at me. ‘As, I hope, you will. Hopefully for the entire weekend. I’ve got a croquet court on the lawn now. Both Fiona and Paul play with me. How do you fancy a knock-around later on? It’s quite good fun.’
I nodded. ‘I’ve never played it, so I’ll need a lot of instruction.’
‘And that I can give you.’
I bet. ‘But before that, I’d like to pop along to see Senka. I met her before, remember? Is that all right with you?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Her gate from the garden has a different combination to ours and I don’t know what it is, although Robin did. So you’d better go round by the road. It’s the first gate past the car park.’
I smiled at him. ‘I’ll do it now. See you later, Digby. Have your club at the ready.’
‘Mallet, actually, my dear. Mallet.’
Whatever. I suddenly had visions of his arms twisting around my body to demonstrate how to strike with the mallet. Could I live with that?
Probably. I still felt sorry for the guy.
***
I met Fiona in the hall on the way out. She beamed to see me and we hugged.
‘I hear you’ve landed a man,’ I said. ‘Well done, you. I want to meet him.’
‘You will. At dinner tonight,’ she grinned. ‘Paul’s even better looking than Toma. At least, I think so.’
‘Would that be your old uni friend, by any chance?’
She looked amazed. ‘Gosh. How did you guess?’
I laughed. ‘You forget. I was a reporter. I have an enquiring mind and remember everything. Including how your face lit up when you spoke about him.’
She looked suitably impressed.
***
Senka was looking well—and prosperous, now. You could tell that from her clothes. They looked Italian—almost certainly the shoes, which were gorgeous. Boy, had she fallen on her feet: her Italian-shod feet. We hugged and she proudly took me upstairs to her sitting room. It was built for the view and had solid oak flooring and bi-folding patio doors. These were wide open to the balcony, and the view beyond was to die for. The beautiful public gardens, trees and the distant lake had the sea as a backdrop. She was living a millionaire lifestyle.
‘Oh my,’ I gasped, taking it all in, the lovely light oak furniture, and her standing there so pleased with herself. ‘The lady went to England and made good.’
Senka’s laughter rippled through her. ‘I know! Poor Toma, but thanks to his hard work here, look what it led to.’
What indeed. Clearly she still didn’t know the nature of Toma’s hard work—and I wasn’t about to disillusion her.
I pointed to the balcony. ‘May I?’
‘But of course. You would like a drink? Hot? Cold?’ Her Serbian accent was far less obvious now.
It was a hot summer day so I went for the cold option. I waited on the balcony until she brought me a glass of chilled orange squash, ‘made with real oranges,’ she assured me. It tasted really good.
I looked for the bird feeder. None to be seen. So I made small talk. Asked her about how things had gone dealing with Digby and his solicitor. Difficult at first, but much better once she’d got into her house and met him socially, she told me. And, after a while, by which time we were seated on loungers on the balcony, I finally brought up the subject that was gnawing away at me.
‘Digby tells me Robin had a terrible accident here. I was so sad to hear that. I got to know Robin really well while I was here.’
‘Did you?’ She looked round at me. ‘He was a lovely boy, wasn’t he?’ She looked back at the view. ‘I used to work with Down’s syndrome children in Serbia, you know, so I was quite used to their ways. He used to visit me here and we played lots of games.’ She glanced at me. ‘Did Digby tell you what happened?’
I nodded. ‘I gather he was reaching for a bird feeder and fell from here.’
Senka nodded. ‘Yes. So dreadful. I was in the kitchen, and he was reaching for the feeder because it was empty. Standing on a chair. It slipped, and he fell.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid it’s a long way down, because the ground slopes away on this side of the house and the patio is a lot lower than at the front. Poor boy didn’t stand a chance.’
We were silent for a while. Then she spoke.
‘I gathered from Robin that you two were very close, as well, Jennifer. He told me about your Secrets Club.’
‘Did he?’ That was somewhat alarming.
‘Yes. How sweet. And he let me join it too.’
‘Really? I grinned. ‘I’m not sure the rules allowed for that, Senka, without the approval of all the other members. Namely me.’ I smiled at her; probably rather warily.
‘He seemed to think it did. He told me all the secrets, you know.’ She looked at me meaningfully. ‘More than anyone else ever did about what went on around here.’
Unfortunately, I could imagine that.
I looked at my watch. ‘Good gracious. I promised Digby I’d have a game of croquet with him.’ I slipped my legs to the ground. ‘I think I’d better get back.’
‘But of course, Jennifer. You need to keep the boss sweet.’
‘He’s not my boss.’
‘Nor mine. But he does know so much more about the gardens than I do, so I let him get on with that.’ She stood as well. ‘Although there are some things I know about around here that he doesn’t. Things that might have disillusioned him. Maybe you do, as well. As a fellow member of the Secrets Club, that is.’
‘Could be, I nodded uncomfortably.
‘I’m happy with the way things worked out,’ she said smilingly, as she accompanied me to the front door. ‘And remember my offer. You’re welcome to come to stay here anytime.’
‘I always hoped things would work out for you, Senka.’ I think my tone was not quite so friendly now. My mind was working overtime.
‘’It would have been so much nicer if I could have enjoyed all this with Toma,’ she said, ‘but I like to think he rests in peace knowing how things finally worked out for me.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Justice in so many ways. Don’t you think so, Jennifer?’
I think she was probably right. Although it didn’t exactly fill me with peace.
***
After an emotional weekend I was quite pleased to get back to my wonderful little flat. Actually, I left early on the Sunday afternoon on a false pretext. I needed to “relax and drink tea” at home.
I sat on the sofa and looked through Saturday’s mail. Bills and a large envelope from the BBC. When I opened it there was just a compliment slip and another inner envelope. The slip simply said they were forwarding the letter to me. Its postmark was indistinguishable. I do actually get fan mail now. It’s quite flattering, so I tore the letter open quite happily, expecting that. I got more than I bargained for.
When I read the scrawling hand, it proved to be a top-ranker in the emotional stakes, despite the rest of the weekend.
Read why.
Dear Jennifer,
I am writing to you because I think I might have recognised you on the television. Were you once called Mandy Sutton? Were you on my doorstep in Swanage about a year ago?
If this doesn’t mean anything to you then please disregard this letter because I’m wrong and apologise. But if I’m right, please write back and let’s arrange a time when we can meet so I can explain the past and why things went wrong. It really wasn’t my fault. I would like to be a part of your life again.
Kind regards,
Brian Sutton
***
“Things went wrong?” Just a little bit, mister.
“Kind regards”, indeed.
My former life was catching up with me after all. Rats! Why did I even go there and stir things up? Ignorance would have been such bliss.
I tasted my tea. It needed sweetening. A bit like my life.
One life or two?
I needed to regroup, rethink, gain a new perspective—become the beneficiary of a clutch of similar clichés. Life had taken a different turn. Boy, did I ever need to talk to Ami. Sitting in the car I sent her a text saying as much—and telling her I would be waiting for her after work.
***
The rain stopped and it turned brighter. With time to kill in Swanage, I drove up to Durlston Country Park and had a run through the fields and back along the undulating cliff path with Susie. She loved it. There was no better way to clear my head. Then it was back to Christchurch and my flat for a much-needed shower, a quick meal, a disturbed rest on the bed to kill some more time, and finally a drive through the New Forest to Southampton and Ami’s place.
I arrived about half-an-hour before her. She found me sitting in the car with Susie when she arrived. I got out and we hugged. She looked concerned for me.
‘Jen! Whatever is it? Why you say you need to talk about your father urgently?’
I gestured towards her house. ‘It’s a long story. And I badly need a drink.’
‘Of course.’ Ami looked concerned and she rummaged in her handbag for keys. Finding them, she scrutinised me again. ‘I think it’s vodka you need, not coffee. Am I right?’
I nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’ She was so right.
***
‘You must confront him, Jen.’ That was Ami’s best advice. ‘You will not get your life back until you do this. Always you tell me you need to give him piece of your mind. So you must do it.’ She nodded firmly.
We were sitting together on her sofa. Never had I felt so emotional. Heavens! Normally, I don’t even do emotions. But this had really got to me.
‘I will. I shall. But I need some time to think first.’
‘It not right for him to have happy new life with new family and leave you in this state, Jen.’ Ami rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. After a long pause, she asked the thousand-dollar question: the one I really didn’t want anyone to ask. ‘What you hope to get out of this, anyway?’
I shook my head; rather crossly, I think. How could she ask me that question? ‘I don’t know,’ I snapped. I stood. ‘Look, I think I want to get back home, Ami. I need an early night. I just wanted to tell you about this in person. I’ve got to be in London tomorrow. I’ll contact you when I’ve had a chance to take all this in.’
Ami stood. ‘You could stay the night.’
I gestured to Susie, snoozing on her carpet. ‘I’ve got to get Susie back for Joan to look after tomorrow. Thanks anyway.’
We hugged, and then I left; we left: two scurrying feet and four trotting paws. Thank God I had Susie in my life.
I suppose I’d never thought beyond giving him a piece of my mind. “Brian Sutton”, that is. That’s all he was to me now: a name; a man in a newspaper article; the man who killed my mother. (He did not qualify as my “father”.)
No, I’d not considered whether I wanted a longer relationship with him. Why would I? Surely the main thing was to tell him what a monster he was. But a little part of me wondered if that wasn’t quite right. He was now out of prison. Had he served all his sentence or did he get out early after an appeal? Was he innocent after all?
***
All that was around fifteen months ago. I’ve never been back to Swanage since. I’d confirmed there had, indeed, been an appeal, and Brian Sutton had been released early—years ago. What I couldn’t find out was why. (Okay, if you push me, I might admit to not having tried too hard.) As for asking him to his face, I had definitely decided to do that one day—but I hadn’t quite gotten around to it. Life was busy for a successful TV presenter.
What had I been doing for the past year? Much the same as before, to tell you the truth, but my profile was higher. Not only did I do Here Today stuff, I also did far more interviews and I had made my likings known. I preferred an outside broadcast life to a studio life. I’d agreed with Susie this worked best for us because now she sometimes came along and camped in the back of my car. She was loving the roving life.
Then I got this phone call from Digby Barrington-Smith, inviting me over for the weekend. I’d forgotten all about him, to tell you the truth, but it sounded like a lovely idea, and I fancied the thought of catching up with them all: Fiona, Robin, and, of course, Senka. She, apparently, was now ensconced in a new house built on a plot on high ground adjacent to the public grounds—on the opposite side to Solent House: a convenient and political separation, I imagined. I was interested in finding out how her relationship had developed with the family.
I already knew Vera was serving four years for the manslaughter of Senka’s husband, Toma—or, to put it another way, a further three to serve. By now I almost considered her a martyr. Okay, I’d never liked Vera, but you had to admire the way she’s taken the blame for Toma’s death to save Robin. I’d wrestled with my conscience in letting that happen, but I realised, as she and Digby did, the alternative would probably drive Robin insane if he was taken into custody, so I had let matters lie—or, to put it another way: let lies lie!
Yep, I had a few sleepless nights about that. But I reminded myself it had been Vera who’d organised the cover-up, got Carl to bury a man’s body, committed adultery with her employer, had been beastly to me, etc. She was paying the price of so much deceit.
I stopped having sleepless nights and moved on.
***
‘Jennifer! Lovely to see you again, my dear!’ Digby opened the door himself and hugged me. He had a wide smile. ‘So good to see you.’
I hugged him back and gave him a peck on the cheek. Being in that marbled hallway again was like turning the clock back. ‘You’re looking very well, Digby.’
He stood back and beamed. ‘But I am! Very well. Thanks to you, in many ways. Come in. Come in.’ He took the travel bag from my hand.
‘Thank you.’
Hovering in the background was a woman I’d never seen before. Thin and gaunt, she looked nervous. Digby introduced me—in an unexpected way. ‘Mrs. Jackson, this is my friend, Jennifer Lloyd.’ He held out my bag to her. ‘Could you show her to her room, please?’ He turned to me as Mrs. Jackson took the bag. She almost bobbed at me—not quite—but the inference was there. At least this housekeeper knew her place. ‘Your old room, of course, Jennifer. I know you like the view.’
I didn’t remember him being so disarming before. Clearly he was much more confident and happy now. I imagine this was his real old-self back again.
‘Thank you, Digby. Yes, I did love that room.’
‘And when you’re ready, come to my suite for a chat.’
I smiled. You betcha!
***
Digby’s room—and the entire suite—had been tidied up. I hardly recognised it. Gone were the heaps of rubbish which had marred it before, and his sitting room had been totally redecorated. He still preferred to sit in the bay window alongside his favourite inlaid drum table.
‘So how is life now, Digby? And how is Vera coping?’
We were sitting with a tea tray on the table between us and it was like “old times”—except more relaxed. Both of us had cup-and-saucer in hand.
‘The business has improved immensely since your documentary, but I’ve not had the nerve to allow the public into the house again.’
‘That’s fantastic. And do you have more to do with the public gardens now?’ I really hoped—and imagined—he did.
Suddenly Digby looked sad. ‘I did,’ he sighed. Until last March.’ He put down his cup and leaned towards me. ‘Did you not hear about Robin?’
Judging by his expression and tone, the news was not going to be good. ‘Robin? No. What about him?’
‘A terrible accident, Jennifer. I’m afraid he died.’
‘Died?’ I could hardly believe it. My heart felt heavy for him. I got quite fond of the lad and his winning hugs. ‘How?’
‘In March. He fell from Senka’s balcony. Broke his neck. Do you remember Senka and her windfall? Because of Toma’s Will she inherited half my estate.’
Of course I remembered Senka. This was getting more puzzling by the minute. ‘But what was Robin doing on Senka’s balcony?’
‘Just visiting.’ He sighed, took out a snowy-white handkerchief, and wiped an eye. ‘They got on very well. He often went to visit her. Through the grounds, of course.’
I put my cup down on the table. ‘Digby. You need to fill me in on all this. I don’t understand any of it.’
‘Of course, of course.’
It appeared Senka had been difficult at first, insistent a new house be built within the grounds so she could enjoy them as easily as Digby could. Eventually, she and Digby had agreed on an elevated spot not too distant from the main gate to the public car park. It gave her a wonderful view over the public gardens.
‘After she moved in I invited her to tea, one day, and I found she was very pleasant. Much to my relief,’ smiled Digby. ‘Prior to that all dealings had been via solicitors. She realises Vera didn’t mean to strike Toma with her rolling pin when she was fighting the dog off, and she’s been very understanding, considering.’ He grimaced. ‘But there’s no getting away from the fact she makes it very clear she knows she owns half of everything here.’
Good on her, I thought. ‘I see. And does it work out, business-wise?’
‘She’s quite happy to let me run the gardens the way I choose—apart from some ideas about our new car park café, which were good ones—and we’ve become good business partners now. Things could have been much worse. So that outcome spited Dorothy’s intentions,’ he grinned.
‘And Robin? What happened there, exactly?’ I asked, getting him back on-track.
‘Senka met Robin on that first visit here for tea and she quite took to him. Apparently she once helped out at a centre in Serbia that catered for a few Down’s syndrome children, so she was used to them. And Robin took to her. They played games like draughts and snap. Robin had lots of fun. And it got to the stage where he was confident to walk through the public gardens direct to the private gate to Senka’s house. He went to see her a few times a week.
‘She had this wonderful balcony overlooking the grounds and across to the sea. Quite delightful, actually. And she had this nut feeder hanging from a string for the blue-tits to feed from. Lots did. Apparently, while she was making squash in the kitchen, Robin saw it was empty and he went to take it down to refill it. He stood on a chair and reached out . . .’ Words caught in his mouth and his lower lip began to tremble. ‘I believe she said the chair slipped on the tiles and that tipped him over. He fell onto a tiled terrace some way below. Poor boy died instantly.
I shot across to his chair and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Digby. Poor Robin. I had no idea. I wish someone had told me.’
Digby dabbed at his eyes and then turned them to me. He looked so distraught. ‘I couldn’t blame Senka, of course. Who was to know he’d do something like that?’ He sighed deeply. ‘Vera’s taken it very badly, of course. She went to prison to protect the boy, and now he’s dead and she’s still in prison.’
‘Hard justice.’ I paused. ‘But you visit her?’
‘Of course. Every couple of weeks.’ There was some indignation in his tone. ‘Gives the Rolls a run.’
‘And what about Fiona? I imagine she’s gone now.’
‘No. She’s still around.’
I was amazed. ‘Really? What does she do now?’
‘She’s my secretary and housekeeper. Mrs. Jackson only cleans and cooks, and she lives out, with her family. Fiona’s young man, Paul, lives here with her. It keeps her happy,’ he grinned. ‘And they’re good company for me. Paul has replaced Toma. He does odd jobs and drives me around. I’ve lost my confidence to drive, you see. Apart from a golf cart in the grounds, that is,’ he chuckled. ‘So it’s worked out very well.’
My, my. Things had certainly moved on since I was last at Solent House.
‘And you, Digby. Are you getting over Robin’s death?’
He nodded. ‘Slowly. I’ve recently started going back into the gardens and meeting visitors. It takes all the trauma off my mind for a few hours.’ He looked at me. ‘As, I hope, you will. Hopefully for the entire weekend. I’ve got a croquet court on the lawn now. Both Fiona and Paul play with me. How do you fancy a knock-around later on? It’s quite good fun.’
I nodded. ‘I’ve never played it, so I’ll need a lot of instruction.’
‘And that I can give you.’
I bet. ‘But before that, I’d like to pop along to see Senka. I met her before, remember? Is that all right with you?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Her gate from the garden has a different combination to ours and I don’t know what it is, although Robin did. So you’d better go round by the road. It’s the first gate past the car park.’
I smiled at him. ‘I’ll do it now. See you later, Digby. Have your club at the ready.’
‘Mallet, actually, my dear. Mallet.’
Whatever. I suddenly had visions of his arms twisting around my body to demonstrate how to strike with the mallet. Could I live with that?
Probably. I still felt sorry for the guy.
***
I met Fiona in the hall on the way out. She beamed to see me and we hugged.
‘I hear you’ve landed a man,’ I said. ‘Well done, you. I want to meet him.’
‘You will. At dinner tonight,’ she grinned. ‘Paul’s even better looking than Toma. At least, I think so.’
‘Would that be your old uni friend, by any chance?’
She looked amazed. ‘Gosh. How did you guess?’
I laughed. ‘You forget. I was a reporter. I have an enquiring mind and remember everything. Including how your face lit up when you spoke about him.’
She looked suitably impressed.
***
Senka was looking well—and prosperous, now. You could tell that from her clothes. They looked Italian—almost certainly the shoes, which were gorgeous. Boy, had she fallen on her feet: her Italian-shod feet. We hugged and she proudly took me upstairs to her sitting room. It was built for the view and had solid oak flooring and bi-folding patio doors. These were wide open to the balcony, and the view beyond was to die for. The beautiful public gardens, trees and the distant lake had the sea as a backdrop. She was living a millionaire lifestyle.
‘Oh my,’ I gasped, taking it all in, the lovely light oak furniture, and her standing there so pleased with herself. ‘The lady went to England and made good.’
Senka’s laughter rippled through her. ‘I know! Poor Toma, but thanks to his hard work here, look what it led to.’
What indeed. Clearly she still didn’t know the nature of Toma’s hard work—and I wasn’t about to disillusion her.
I pointed to the balcony. ‘May I?’
‘But of course. You would like a drink? Hot? Cold?’ Her Serbian accent was far less obvious now.
It was a hot summer day so I went for the cold option. I waited on the balcony until she brought me a glass of chilled orange squash, ‘made with real oranges,’ she assured me. It tasted really good.
I looked for the bird feeder. None to be seen. So I made small talk. Asked her about how things had gone dealing with Digby and his solicitor. Difficult at first, but much better once she’d got into her house and met him socially, she told me. And, after a while, by which time we were seated on loungers on the balcony, I finally brought up the subject that was gnawing away at me.
‘Digby tells me Robin had a terrible accident here. I was so sad to hear that. I got to know Robin really well while I was here.’
‘Did you?’ She looked round at me. ‘He was a lovely boy, wasn’t he?’ She looked back at the view. ‘I used to work with Down’s syndrome children in Serbia, you know, so I was quite used to their ways. He used to visit me here and we played lots of games.’ She glanced at me. ‘Did Digby tell you what happened?’
I nodded. ‘I gather he was reaching for a bird feeder and fell from here.’
Senka nodded. ‘Yes. So dreadful. I was in the kitchen, and he was reaching for the feeder because it was empty. Standing on a chair. It slipped, and he fell.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid it’s a long way down, because the ground slopes away on this side of the house and the patio is a lot lower than at the front. Poor boy didn’t stand a chance.’
We were silent for a while. Then she spoke.
‘I gathered from Robin that you two were very close, as well, Jennifer. He told me about your Secrets Club.’
‘Did he?’ That was somewhat alarming.
‘Yes. How sweet. And he let me join it too.’
‘Really? I grinned. ‘I’m not sure the rules allowed for that, Senka, without the approval of all the other members. Namely me.’ I smiled at her; probably rather warily.
‘He seemed to think it did. He told me all the secrets, you know.’ She looked at me meaningfully. ‘More than anyone else ever did about what went on around here.’
Unfortunately, I could imagine that.
I looked at my watch. ‘Good gracious. I promised Digby I’d have a game of croquet with him.’ I slipped my legs to the ground. ‘I think I’d better get back.’
‘But of course, Jennifer. You need to keep the boss sweet.’
‘He’s not my boss.’
‘Nor mine. But he does know so much more about the gardens than I do, so I let him get on with that.’ She stood as well. ‘Although there are some things I know about around here that he doesn’t. Things that might have disillusioned him. Maybe you do, as well. As a fellow member of the Secrets Club, that is.’
‘Could be, I nodded uncomfortably.
‘I’m happy with the way things worked out,’ she said smilingly, as she accompanied me to the front door. ‘And remember my offer. You’re welcome to come to stay here anytime.’
‘I always hoped things would work out for you, Senka.’ I think my tone was not quite so friendly now. My mind was working overtime.
‘’It would have been so much nicer if I could have enjoyed all this with Toma,’ she said, ‘but I like to think he rests in peace knowing how things finally worked out for me.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Justice in so many ways. Don’t you think so, Jennifer?’
I think she was probably right. Although it didn’t exactly fill me with peace.
***
After an emotional weekend I was quite pleased to get back to my wonderful little flat. Actually, I left early on the Sunday afternoon on a false pretext. I needed to “relax and drink tea” at home.
I sat on the sofa and looked through Saturday’s mail. Bills and a large envelope from the BBC. When I opened it there was just a compliment slip and another inner envelope. The slip simply said they were forwarding the letter to me. Its postmark was indistinguishable. I do actually get fan mail now. It’s quite flattering, so I tore the letter open quite happily, expecting that. I got more than I bargained for.
When I read the scrawling hand, it proved to be a top-ranker in the emotional stakes, despite the rest of the weekend.
Read why.
Dear Jennifer,
I am writing to you because I think I might have recognised you on the television. Were you once called Mandy Sutton? Were you on my doorstep in Swanage about a year ago?
If this doesn’t mean anything to you then please disregard this letter because I’m wrong and apologise. But if I’m right, please write back and let’s arrange a time when we can meet so I can explain the past and why things went wrong. It really wasn’t my fault. I would like to be a part of your life again.
Kind regards,
Brian Sutton
***
“Things went wrong?” Just a little bit, mister.
“Kind regards”, indeed.
My former life was catching up with me after all. Rats! Why did I even go there and stir things up? Ignorance would have been such bliss.
I tasted my tea. It needed sweetening. A bit like my life.
One life or two?
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