Death Comes First (11 page)

The three of them remained firm friends even after Stephen graduated, a year ahead of Joyce. Having also completed his Legal Practice Course, he immediately joined a local firm of solicitors on a training contract.

But the more Stephen saw of Joyce, the more he wanted her. The attraction fascinated him. He knew the sensible thing would be to distance himself from her, that there was nothing to be gained by maintaining contact when he daren’t make any sort of move on her, but it was almost as if he relished the torment of being around her. Charlie, of course, was oblivious. He even asked Stephen to be best man at their wedding. And when a vacancy came up at Tanner-Max due to the retirement of Paul Gould, who’d been company secretary since Edward Tanner and Maxim Schmidt founded the firm, it was Charlie who recommended his newly qualified friend Stephen for the job.

Henry Tanner liked to say that he ran a tight ship. Tanner-Max was a close-knit affair and Paul Gould was not only a valued family friend but also something of an elder statesman in the company. Henry wasn’t comfortable with bringing in an outsider. The fact that Charlie could vouch for Stephen was as important a factor in landing the job as the professional qualifications Stephen had worked so hard to achieve.

Within months of his joining Tanner-Max, Charlie went off on extended paternity leave. That was when Stephen cemented his place at the family firm. He discovered there were intriguing and challenging aspects to the job, which he had not expected but which he found himself embracing willingly. Moreover the financial rewards were substantial, providing him with an enviable lifestyle. He bought himself an apartment in the regenerated dock area of Bristol, treated himself to long weekends in New York, and holidayed at the exclusive
Coral Reef Club in Barbados, sometimes alone and sometimes with one of the never-ending string of young women he still seemed to be able to attract easily enough when he put his mind to it.

A few years ago he had re-established contact with the father his mother had left behind in Zimbabwe when he was only a boy. Stephen now made regular trips to Africa to visit his father and was building a relationship with his two half-brothers. They were the only family he had. Though Stephen was never short of female company, he’d not found anyone that he wanted to devote himself to and spend the rest of his life with. Invariably he’d find himself comparing the women in his life to Joyce and finding them wanting.

Charlie’s accident had opened the door for him to hope that he might yet be able to get close to Joyce in the way he so longed to. He had waited months, hovering in attendance, biding his time for the right moment to make his move. And it had gone so well too: in the event, she’d been the one who had suggested adjourning to the bedroom. Stephen had always been adept at subtly manipulating women so that they thought they were taking the initiative. He’d been convinced that their afternoon tryst would be the first of many. But perhaps he’d misjudged her and moved in too soon. Or maybe it was just the lousy timing of that damned letter turning up. Either way, there seemed little chance of a repeat performance now. He wondered how much of a setback this latest turn of events would prove to be. How long would it be before he’d be given another chance?

He tried to tell himself that Joyce’s anger towards him was a sign that she cared. Hopefully, now she’d got it out of her system, it would all blow over quickly so that they could
carry on where they’d left off the previous week. But he wasn’t convinced.

Joyce clearly suspected him of having opened the letter, of having deliberately delayed forwarding it to her. She also seemed sure that he knew all about what had been troubling Charlie.

She was at least half right. Stephen hadn’t intended to open the letter. Not to begin with. He still considered himself to be an honourable man, although he followed his own particular code, which did not stretch to his relationships with women. Charlie had entrusted him with the letter, and believed it safe to do so, to be passed on to Joyce only in the event of his death. Charlie had been a young and healthy man. To some, writing that letter may have seemed a morbid thing to do. Stephen had understood, though. He knew that Charlie was a troubled soul, and he knew much of what had made him so, though not everything. And Stephen wanted to honour his friend’s wishes, he really did. But Stephen also had his own agenda in his abiding desire for Joyce. He also continued to harbour certain ambitions. He needed to protect himself. And he was not, of course, entirely his own man. Just as Charlie had not been entirely his own man. Indeed, nobody who came into close contact with Henry Tanner ever remained totally in charge of their own destiny.

Henry had always been alert to the slightest telltale sign that someone was keeping a secret from him, whether it be a family member, an employee or a business associate. That uncanny sixth sense had gone into overdrive in the period leading up to Charlie’s accident, and with his son-in-law’s demise Henry had turned his attention to Stephen. He knew the two men had been good friends, and he was convinced that Stephen had information that he was keeping to himself.
Stephen had caved in and given Henry the letter – after steaming it open and taking a quick peek first. When dealing with Henry it was advisable to at least keep up with the game, even if you couldn’t get ahead of it.

Horrified by what he read, Henry had ordered Stephen to destroy the letter immediately and say nothing to Joyce of its existence.

Joyce was wrong in her assumption that Stephen had informed Henry of their meeting. He hadn’t, any more than he had confessed to Henry that the letter still existed. Let alone that it had reached Joyce.

Having reached a stretch of dual carriageway, Stephen hit the accelerator. A whoosh of G force pressed him back into his seat as the high-powered coupe surged forward, passing a family saloon travelling at the regulation 70 mph as if it were stationary.

Stephen couldn’t explain even to himself why he had kept the letter. Partly, he supposed, it was his legal training kicking in: it went against the grain to destroy a document that had been entrusted to him. And he supposed he had thought it might be useful one day. That if anything came to light to corroborate what Charlie was alleging, it might be needed as evidence in any legal proceedings. But the last thing he had wanted was for Joyce to read it.

There were speed cameras along that stretch of road. Stephen had no idea whether or not they were operating and didn’t care. The speedometer needle shot past 100 and was still rising as the dual carriageway ended and a sharp bend came into view. Only then did he come off the accelerator and step on the brake. The back end slewed as the Jag slowed and Stephen found himself propelled against his seat belt, though he barely noticed the discomfort, his mind was
preoccupied with the inevitable fallout once Henry learned that the letter had reached Joyce.

Chances were, Henry already knew. The mood Joyce was in, she’d probably called her father to hurl accusations at him. Even if she hadn’t, Felicity might have spotted Stephen’s Jag entering or leaving Tarrant Park and mentioned it to her husband. As he pulled into the Tanner-Max car park, Stephen tried to steel himself for the interrogation that would doubtless ensue.

Sure enough, when he arrived at his third-floor office he found Henry waiting for him.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see Joyce?’ he demanded.

As a child, taken from his homeland and brought up by a stepfather in the UK, Stephen had learned the art of concealing his true emotions. Fear only incited bullies to escalate their taunts, so he’d become adept at masking his unease and maintaining a calm, untroubled demeanour. Henry Tanner, however, was in a different league to the public-school bullies of his childhood.

‘I didn’t have a chance,’ he responded as casually as he could manage. ‘And, anyway, I didn’t think it was important.’

‘I understand she asked to see you?’

Stephen nodded. So it was Janet who’d told him. Their joint PA, allegedly, though there had never been any doubt where her loyalties lay. She’d played a big part in creating this mess. But bloody Henry would never see that.

‘What did she want?’

‘Oh, to go through the will, review her financial situation.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Stephen. Don’t ever lie to me.’

‘That’s what she said when she phoned. That’s what she told me she wanted.’

‘She came over to the house to see her mother yesterday,’ Henry said, his eyes boring into Stephen. ‘She was asking some odd questions and she seemed on edge. Her mother’s been doing her best to console her ever since Charlie died, but she said this wasn’t the usual outburst of grief, it was something else, something bothering her. Can you throw any light on that?’

Stephen shrugged in what he hoped was a noncommittal way.

‘You’re dissembling, Stephen. I can see it written all over your face.’

Stephen was known for being inscrutable. Yet somehow Henry Tanner, and only Henry Tanner, could penetrate the facade. Still Stephen said nothing, determined not to crack under that steely gaze.

‘It’s the letter, isn’t it,’ said Henry, making Stephen wonder not for the first time if Henry Tanner could read his mind. It was a statement, not a question. ‘You didn’t destroy it, did you?’ Henry persisted. ‘You didn’t destroy that bloody letter, did you?’

‘Well, not exactly—’ began Stephen.

‘You bloody fool!’ barked Henry. ‘You didn’t destroy that letter and now Joyce has seen it, hasn’t she?’

Stephen nodded. That wasn’t enough for Henry.

‘Hasn’t she?’ he yelled, rising from Stephen’s chair and leaning forward across Stephen’s desk.

‘Yes,’ Stephen agreed, giving in. ‘She has.’

‘Right,’ said Henry, sitting back down again. ‘Now we’ve got that over with you’re going to tell me why you disobeyed my instructions, how this debacle came about, how it got to my daughter – and then we’re going to work out what we have to do to get ourselves out of this mess.’

Six

Joyce’s anger had quickly turned to regret at having lashed out at Stephen in that manner. She knew it had been unfair of her. The truth was that she wouldn’t have done so, not to that extent anyway, if it hadn’t been for her embarrassment over their recent sexual encounter. She had over-reacted. And that had set her wondering again: was she over-reacting to Charlie’s letter?

She told herself she should get a grip, not allow her mind to run away with itself, conjuring threats to her family purely on the basis of a rambling letter from her late husband. She’d loved Charlie and would miss him terribly, but the last few years he’d fallen prey to those black moods of his more and more often. If he had raised those fears with her in person instead of in a letter, she would probably have told herself it was all in his mind, that it was down to the medication – so why give any credence to it now?

Tired of going over and over it in her mind, she decided to make a supreme effort that evening to put it all to one side and focus on Fred and Molly.

She cooked her children their favourite tea in order to make up for what she saw as her shortcomings of the previous evening. Home-made burgers and chunky chips served
with her own special tomato relish, and accompanied by a salad as a gesture towards healthy living.

Then, when the homework was out of the way, the three of them played table tennis in the area above the big connecting garage, which had been turned into a games room.

Since Charlie could only be relied upon as a fourth for doubles when he was in one of his ‘up’ moods and felt like participating in family tournaments, Joyce and the children had long since devised a complicated points system that enabled them to stage competitions that were not too swiftly completed. And Fred was helped by a handicap he no longer seemed to need. While all three were good at ball games, Fred was showing signs of a real talent for sport.

That night he was again the winner.

‘I think that handicap may have to go,’ threatened his mother as she prepared to dispatch him to bed.

‘I’ll still beat the pair of you,’ Fred boasted, chest puffed with victory.

‘Right, that’s it young man,’ proclaimed Joyce. ‘You’re going to have to live up to that. No more handicap for you. We’re all on equal terms from now on.’

‘’Bout time too,’ muttered Molly, slumping in front of the TV to make the most of the extra hour before her bedtime. She was completely addicted to
Big Brother
, but in its absence she would settle for any reality show. That night it was a repeat of a particularly banal episode of
Come Dine with Me
.

‘That programme is going to numb your brain,’ warned her mother.

‘If she had a brain,’ Fred called down the stairs.

‘Oh, Einstein, if only I was as clever as you,’ Molly shouted
back. ‘The boy who told me only this morning that the VW Polo was named after Polo mints.’

‘Was too. At least I’m not soppy over a moron like Wally Johnson. Yuk!’

‘Shut up, you horror, or I’ll drown your iPhone!’

‘That’s enough, the pair of you,’ hollered Joyce, walking out into the hall. ‘Into bed now, Fred!’ she shouted up the stairs. ‘As for you, Molly, if you don’t pipe down you’ll be going up to bed too.’

Joyce listened for a moment to make sure Fred was obeying orders, then returned to the living room. ‘Who’s Wally Johnson?’

Molly flushed. ‘Nobody. Just a boy at school, that’s all.’

A voice came from upstairs: ‘Yeah, but you’re soppy over him. Soppy soppy soppy. And he’s really stupid stupid stupid.’

Molly jumped up from the sofa and set off in the direction of the stairs.

‘Fred, I’m going kill you, you little bastard,’ she shouted.

Joyce ordered her to sit down again.

‘And watch your language, too,’ she told her daughter. Then she turned her attention to the owner of the voice from above.

‘Fred, you have thirty seconds to get into bed or I’ll help your sister drown your iPhone,’ she called.

From upstairs she heard a chuckle, followed by silence.

The relentless clamour of
Come Dine with Me
filled the sitting room. Why did everybody have to scream all the time in these shows? Joyce wondered. Her daughter had nothing more to say to her. Her attention was riveted on the screen.