A Death in the Family (7 page)

‘Running a restaurant must be very hard work,’ I said, handing her her coffee.

‘Oh, yes, it’s dreadfully hard but Luke never minds hard work, especially when it’s something he’s really keen on.’ She was suddenly animated. ‘And he’s made such a success of it. They’re doing really well. They’ve had several notices in magazines from food writers and the bookings are well up on last year. Like I said, it’s in Stoke Bishop, quite near to Clifton – that’s really where they’d like to move to, but, of course, that is the really fashionable area so the rents are dreadfully high.’

‘You must be very proud of him.’

‘Oh yes, he’s done wonderfully well.’

‘Luke must be a really good chef. Where did he do his training?’

‘He went abroad straight after he left school. He worked a lot in France. His partner is French.’

‘Oh well,’ I said laughing, ‘we must expect him to get his first Michelin star quite soon.’

We chatted for a while about the difficulties of the catering trade and other related topics and when we’d finished our coffee I went back into the kitchen to make the sandwiches. It was fascinating to see how Janet had opened up when talking about her son and I was curious to see what he was like. I’d just finished laying the tray (best china, cutlery
and table napkins – I felt I had to make a special effort) when the door bell rang. I opened the door to find a tall young man, dressed in motorcycling leathers and holding a crash helmet.

‘Hello,’ he said, and his voice was particularly soft and pleasing, ‘I’m Luke.’

He was so very much not what I’d expected that for a moment I simply stood there, then, collecting myself, I said, ‘I’m glad you were able to come. Your mother will be so glad to see you. Do come in, she’s in the sitting room.’

Janet got up when she saw him and went over and put her arms around him. I saw that at last she was crying.

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ he said, ‘everything’s going to be all right.’

After a little while she pulled herself together and patted his shoulder. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘this outfit means you came on that dangerous motorbike. And you got here so quickly so you must have driven far too fast.’

Her voice when she was speaking to Luke was quite different from her usual diffident tones, more warm and maternal, confident almost.

He laughed. ‘A hundred miles an hour and bending into all the corners.’

She smiled fondly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she
said. ‘But do take that dreadful jacket off or Mrs Malory will think you’re a Hell’s Angel or something.’

‘Oh, I’m used to motorbikes,’ I said. ‘Michael used to have one and I never had a moment’s peace when he was out on it. Anyway, do sit down, Luke. I’ll leave you both to talk while I see to lunch.’

As I was putting out some juice and making the coffee I considered Luke. The leather gear, and the large, fancy motorbike in the drive seemed at odds with his delicate features, his light brown floppy hair and, especially, his soft mellifluous voice with its faintly ironic overtone, but then the most unlikely people had motorbikes. It was just a surprise, that was all.

I took my time getting the lunch together. I wanted to give Janet time to have a proper talk with her son. It had been a relief to see her finally give way to tears after her long period of unnatural calm. But when I finally went in they were sitting in silence, side by side on the sofa.

‘Right then,’ I said brightly, ‘here we are. Just sandwiches.’

Luke got to his feet and took the tray, while I went out to get the coffee and juice. When I got back I saw that he’d distributed the plates, cutlery and napkins and was already offering his mother a sandwich. He caught my faint look of surprise and said, ‘Sorry – do forgive me! Whenever I see food I automatically hand it around – force of habit, I suppose.’

I laughed. ‘No, it’s splendid. Thank you so much.’

‘Delicious ham,’ he said, biting into his sandwich.

‘It’s from the local farmers’ market.’

‘Of course. They are wonderful, aren’t they? A
great
blessing. I always try to use local produce in the restaurant; it’s one of the things we’ve built our reputation on.’

‘I gather you’re doing very well.’

‘Yes, we’ve managed to get a regular clientele – a neighbourhood restaurant, as they say in the glossies, but that’s the best sort to have in some ways, especially in the provinces. Our main trouble now is lack of space, we really do need larger premises, but the rents and rates in the best places are prohibitive.’ ‘I can imagine.’

The general conversation continued while we ate our lunch (‘
Wonderful
Dundee cake! Did you make it?’) and I began to wonder why we were talking like this when a man was dead? Surely someone should have said something by now! As I poured the coffee I said, ‘I’m so very sorry about your father, Luke. It must have been a dreadful shock.’

‘Yes,’ he said, as though considering the question, ‘it was.’

I tried again. ‘I don’t quite know what the procedure is – I mean, I don’t know if the police have finished…whatever they have to do at the
cottage.’ I turned to Janet. ‘Would you like me to drive you both over there so that you can see what the situation is?’

She looked at Luke who said, ‘I’m afraid I have to be getting back fairly soon – I just came down to see how Mum is.’

‘He can’t leave the restaurant, you see,’ Janet said, ‘they have bookings for tonight and there’s only him and Yves.’

‘I see.’

Luke caught the faint note of disapproval in my reply and said, ‘I know it sounds awfully unfeeling and, honestly, I’d stay if I could, but Mum says Christine is coming and she’s bound to want to make all the arrangements – I’d only be in the way.’

‘Christine is very efficient,’ Janet said.

Luke smiled. ‘That’s one way of putting it. But bossy people come into their own at times like this, don’t they?’

I started to gather up the lunch things and Luke took one of the trays and followed me out into the kitchen.

‘How’s she been?’ he asked abruptly.

I shook my head. ‘I honestly don’t know. Poor Janet, it was a terrible shock, as you can imagine, finding your father like that – dreadful. She was, well – stunned I suppose. She hardly said anything. She managed to give a statement to the police. That wasn’t too bad because I knew the sergeant and he was very gentle with her, and she was still in a sort
of daze when we got back here and went to bed. But this morning…’ I stopped.

‘This morning?’ Luke asked.

‘So calm and matter-of-fact about arrangements, about going back to the cottage – I really don’t understand it. She’s never mentioned your father once, hadn’t shed a tear until you came. It’s as though she’s on autopilot, if you know what I mean.’

He nodded. ‘That’s quite a good way of putting it, actually. She’s never been allowed to be herself, to take control of her own life. If you’ve seen her with my father you’ll know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I see. But no emotion…’

‘There was no emotion in their marriage,’ Luke said, his voice hardening, ‘except fear on her part. So there’s no reason why there should be any emotion now he has gone.’

‘I see,’ I repeated, though I didn’t, quite.

Luke had now moved over to the sink and was quietly and efficiently washing up the lunch things. I went over to dry them and the sort of intimacy that this shared task engenders allowed me to ask, ‘Were you fond of your father?’

He paused for a moment, apparently concentrating on rinsing a glass, then he said, ‘When I was a little boy I wanted so much to have his approval. I was the boy, you see, and a great deal was expected of me. I was reasonably bright academically and that pleased him, but he wanted me to be more what he called
“manly”. But I was no good at sport and outdoor things and I never stood up for myself when I was picked on at school for being the son of one of the masters. He didn’t like that. We managed to keep some sort of rapport until I left school. That’s when I told him I was gay.’

He tipped away the washing-up water and took some time to wring out the dishcloth and drape it neatly over the bowl.

‘He didn’t believe me at first – said it was only a phase, all the usual things. But, just for once, for the first time in my life, I stood up to him and told him that he had to accept it.’

‘That was very brave of you,’ I said.

He smiled sadly. ‘The only really brave thing I’ve ever done in my life.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘He really lost it – raved and roared – “No son of mine…” all that. Then he told me to get out and never come back. He said I was to go straightaway. I asked if I could wait until Mum came back – she’d gone up to London to check some stuff for my father in the British Library – but he said no, I had to go at once and I was never to see her again.’

‘Oh no!’

He shrugged. ‘That’s the way he was. When Mum came back he told her she must never see me or get in touch with me ever again.’

‘For heaven’s sake! So where did you go?’

‘I had this good school friend, David – he was
just a friend, nothing more – and his parents had been very kind to me. I think they knew I wasn’t happy at home, though I’d never actually said anything. I went to them. I told them everything that had happened and they were marvellous. They let me stay with them and Mr Samuels, David’s father, gave me a job in his office – just to tide me over, he said.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘Mrs Samuels managed to see her when my father wasn’t around, and told her where I was and that I was all right.’

‘Poor Janet.’

‘It was horrible. We met secretly sometimes when we could, but she was terrified that he would find out.’

‘Why didn’t she leave him?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘She had nowhere else to go and, besides, he’d sapped her will so much…’ He was silent for a while then he went on, ‘That summer the Samuels went on holiday in France. There was this
gite
they always rented in Normandy and they took me with them. It was wonderful, it changed my life.’

‘Hadn’t you been abroad before?’

‘A “cultural tour” with my parents with my father setting me a portion of the relevant guide book to be learnt by heart before we visited each monument or museum.
Not
exactly inspiring. But this was different, living in the proper country with
real people, the relaxed way of life, the food! That’s when I realised what I wanted to do.’

‘How splendid.’

‘The Samuels had been going for years to this particular restaurant and Mr Samuels asked if they would take me on. My French wasn’t very good but I managed to make Monsieur Picard understand how much I wanted to learn from him, so he agreed. I did all the menial jobs, worked from seven in the morning till late at night and fell into bed exhausted in the little attic up above the restaurant, all for virtually no money. But he was a wonderful chef and he taught me well. When he thought I was good enough he passed me on to a friend of his who had a well-known restaurant in Paris. I was so lucky.’

‘Hard work!’

‘Yes, but it was work I loved. I was there for about six months, then I began to worry about Mum. I’d kept in touch with her through the Samuels and she wrote to me when she could, but although she always said that everything was all right, I felt it wasn’t and – well, I thought I should be near at hand. Anyway, I really wanted to see her.’

‘Of course.’

‘I came back and got a job in Bristol – sous chef in a really good restaurant, in Clifton. That’s where I met Yves – he was the maitre d’ there. He’d come over here to get more experience, but he was very homesick and we talked a lot about Paris, which is
where he’d come from. Then after a bit we moved in together – he’s a very special person, I’ve been so lucky to find him. Well, we always had this dream of starting our own place and then, about a year ago, Yves’ uncle died and left him some money – not a vast amount but enough to start up on our own.’

‘That must have been very exciting.’

‘Oh yes, it was wonderful, but very hard work – there’s just the two of us. I do the cooking and the marketing, but Yves does the waiting, the accounts and all that sort of thing – he’s so organised!’

‘And you were able to see your mother.’

‘Very occasionally. But she was terrified my father would find out.’

‘It must have been awful for both of you. What about your sister, though?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, she was on my father’s side. Well, she didn’t actually disown me – she didn’t care about my being gay. But she just thought I was – what was it she called me? – “a pathetic little wimp”. She was the eldest, you see, and she was resentful about the years when my father concentrated on me because I was the boy.’

‘But didn’t she care about the way he treated your mother?’

‘Oh, Christine took her cue from him, she despised Mum just as he did.’

‘Poor Janet.’

We were both silent for a moment and then Luke
said, ‘I’m sorry to have gone on like this, but I wanted you to know just how it’s been all these years, to understand why neither of us are sorry that he’s dead.’

‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘I do understand.’

Luke had been leaning against the sink while he was telling me all this, but now he straightened up and said, ‘Look, I’ve got to be going – Yves really can’t cope on his own. I’m sorry to leave like this, you’ve been so kind. Mum was telling me how marvellous you’ve been. But Christine will see to any arrangements that have to be made. She’s not my favourite person, as you can imagine, but she’s very efficient. She’ll treat Mum like a backward child, but she’ll get things done and that’s what matters just now. Actually,’ he went on, ‘I have been trying lately to get her onside – to look out for Mum a bit. But she’s always busy and it’s tiresome trying to hold any sort of conversation with an answerphone. I did have a brief word with her last night, but she had to break off in the middle to do something else – oh well, I suppose it’s not that important. I can look after Mum now.’

We went back into the sitting room.

‘Sorry to be so long,’ I said brightly, ‘but Luke’s kindly been helping me with the washing up.’

Luke went over to his mother and took her hand. ‘I’ve got to go now, Mum – you know how it is.’

She smiled at him. ‘Yes, of course, darling – you mustn’t be late back.’

She got up and he gave her a hug, saying, ‘It’s all right – everything’s going to be all right now.’

We stood in the drive while he put his helmet on.

‘That’s a very fine bike,’ I said looking at the gleaming red monster.

‘It’s a Laverda,’ he said. ‘Italian – a wicked extravagance, but Yves rides it too and it’s cheaper to run than a car. And yes, Mum, I’ll be careful.’

He pulled down the visor of his helmet, mounted his bike and roared off down the drive.

Janet and I went back slowly into the house.

‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ Janet said. ‘I do worry about that bike, especially on the motorway.’

I thought how good it was to hear her talking like a normal worried mother and not just a shadowy echo of her horrible husband.

‘Michael always said that bikes are safer on the motorway than on our winding lanes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. What a nice boy he is! We had a chat while we were washing up and he told me how things had been for him – I think he’s marvellous.’

She gave me a grateful smile. ‘I’m so glad you like him,’ she said. ‘Especially now you know all about him. Even now, some people…’

‘Oh for goodness sake,’ I said impatiently, ‘in this day and age! He’s a really marvellous person, to have done what he’s done with no real help from anyone, and so kind and caring. You must be very proud of him.’