Fragrance of Violets (20 page)

“And Jill said it was no contest between her ironing and a margarita.”

Susan laughed. “What were you trying to find an excuse not to do?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Abbey took a sip of her drink and tried to ignore the pang of guilt.

Jill and Alison, the other two women in the cast, arrived about five minutes later, and they were soon exchanging titbits of theatre news and gossip. Abbey made an effort to relax and join in, but her mind kept returning to the hospice.

Two margaritas and a couple of hours later, Susan suggested they should order some food.

Abbey was about to agree when Louise’s words came back to her:
I think you might regret it in the future if you don’t
. And Louise said it could be days, not weeks. What if he died tonight, and she’d let a stupid panic attack stop her from seeing him?

She gave an apologetic smile and stood up. “I’m sorry, I need to go. I said I wasn’t making this an excuse not to do something, but I was. It’s not the ironing or cleaning the kitchen cupboards. I have to visit my father.”

Susan’s face creased in concern. “Abbey, is everything all right?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s dying, and I need to go and see him.”

Jill started to stand. “Do you want us to come with you?”

“No, I’m fine, you stay here. See you tomorrow evening.”

She walked up to Tooley Street and hailed a cab. “St. John’s Hospice, Hampstead, please.”

* * * * *

A painful tension tightened her whole body when the taxi turned into the hospice car park. She paid the driver and took some deep breaths before she walked toward the door.

“I’ve come to see Marcus Seton,” she said to the woman at the reception desk. “Can you tell me which is his room?”

“Are you Abbey?” The middle-aged woman with curly blond hair smiled. “Louise and Ellie left about half an hour ago. It’s room six, down there on the right. He’s sleeping most of the time now, but you can sit with him for a while, if you want. I’m Rose, by the way. Shall I take you down to the room?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll find it. Thanks.”

As she walked down the corridor, she felt the same shakiness she’d had earlier, and desperately wanted to turn back, but forced herself to go on. When she reached the door of the room, she ran her tongue around her dry lips and rubbed her clammy hands against the sides of her navy trousers.

She knocked softly. There was no answer, and she pushed the door open.

Her eyes went first to the stand with the plastic bag containing a clear liquid which she assumed was morphine. Slowly she let her gaze descend to the man himself.

His eyes were closed and his breathing was raspy. His face, thin and yellowed with jaundice, reminded her of parchment. His hair was still thick but greying now instead of dark brown. His hand, resting on the lilac duvet cover, was bony.

He wasn’t anything like the father she remembered. That man had been tall, slim, youthful, and good-looking.

She tiptoed across to the easy chair next to the bed and stared around. Pale green walls, a small pine wardrobe and drawer unit, and green and lilac floral curtains at the window which overlooked a beautiful garden where a profusion of early summer flowers danced in the light breeze.

The whole place had an air of serenity, a complete contrast to her turbulent emotions.

She was here with her father after all these years.

As she turned to look at him again, she shook her head slightly, as if that would shift her ragged thoughts into a coherent order.

“Why did you do it?” she whispered. “Why did you abandon us all?” A sob caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. “I used to think it was my fault,” she went on, still speaking in a low voice. “When you left, I thought it was because I told Mum about the phone call. Part of me still thinks that, even though I know it was because you wanted the high life, with your bimbos, and models, and film stars.”

She paused and gazed through the window. “I’ve seen a lot of that in the theatre and TV world, you know. The men who want the trophy wife or girlfriend on their arm. The sugar-daddies, too, and the ones who’re scared of getting old and think they can prolong their youth.”

A movement from the bed made her jerk her head around, but he’d only stirred for a moment, and was still asleep, his breathing laboured.

“Which type of man were you? Or are all those men the same, needing something or someone to strengthen their fragile egos?” Her shoulders sagged. “We weren’t enough for you, were we? Mum, or Louise and Ellie and me. Not enough to boost your self-esteem or whatever it was.”

She gazed down at him. “Did you hurt them—all those girlfriends of yours—like you hurt us? I remember my tenth birthday, the first one after you left. I was sure you’d send me a gift. I waited for the postman, and there was nothing. Two weeks later, a card signed by your secretary and a cheque. Not even an exciting package to open. After that, there were plenty of birthdays you forgot altogether. And what about the times you promised to take us out for the day but never turned up? And all those excuses you made—”

She stopped and tightened one hand around the other as she recalled her disbelief, hurt, and anger when she discovered his excuses were lies.

“But you know what the worst thing has been?” she went on eventually. “I lost my trust in men because of you. I’m waiting for them to abandon me, or lie to me, like you did.” Her voice choked as she thought about Jack. “But they’re not all like you, are they?” A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away. “I once asked Louise if she’d forgiven you. She said she didn’t know but she’s decided she isn’t going to let what you did affect the rest of her life. She’s managed it, so I’m damn well going to do the same.”

She heaved a deep sigh. “Maybe I do have to forgive you, but for what? For not being there for us? For all the hurt and anger? Or do I need to accept it’s all in the past and not let it rule my life in the future? Your life’s coming to an end now, and I’m sorry because you’re only fifty-three, but I have to let the past die with you. I’ve spent nearly twenty years allowing it to dominate my life, and I can’t let it affect the next twenty years. I need to move on. I
have
to move on, Dad.”

The tears slid down her face, and she put both hands to her cheeks to wipe them away. “Okay.” The word came out as a gulp and she paused to compose herself. “Okay, I’m still not sure how I move on, but saying all this has helped. I haven’t said I hate you or despise you, because I don’t. I think I feel sorry for you because you went on a search for happiness that probably didn’t make you happy. And now, Dad, who are the people around you? Not any of your girlfriends, but the three daughters you abandoned. Because somehow we all have to find our own peace.”

She swallowed hard again to contain her tears. “I’ve said the things I’ve wanted to say to you for years. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard them. The important thing is that I’ve finally said them, and now I need to go.”

Her knees shook as she stood and gazed down at the sleeping man, the shadow of the father she’d once known. She hesitated before bending forward to place a light kiss on his forehead. “Goodbye, Dad,” she whispered.

As she went to the door, a slight grunt from behind her made her turn. With a start, she realised he’d opened his eyes. He was looking toward her, but his eyes were so glazed she didn’t know if he could see her. His mouth moved slightly, and she went back to the bedside.

“What?” She bent down to him.

“So—sorry.” The words came out as a hoarse whisper while his eyes tried to focus on her. He reached out to grasp her hand. “So—sorry—Ab—Abbeykins.”

The childhood endearment brought the tears flooding to her eyes again. “It’s okay,” she choked. “It’s okay, Dad.”

His fingers tightened on her hand but his eyes closed and his face creased as he gave a few small coughs from deep in his throat.

Abbey sat on the chair again, and took his bony hand in both of hers. She blinked away her tears. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry you missed the three of us growing up. We all missed you. Louise and me the most, because we remembered you being there. Ellie was too young.”

She paused as a succession of images flashed through her inner vision. Her daddy hoisting her on his shoulders when she was five or six while they watched the Notting Hill carnival procession, laughing as he dried her feet after she paddled in the sea at Brighton, producing a big stuffed panda from behind his back after his visit to Beijing.

She shook her head sadly. “Everything could have been so different, Dad. For you, and for us, too, but it’s time to let go of the past, isn’t it? I can’t—” She struggled to get the words past the lump in her throat. “I can’t carry on blaming you for all my failings. I have to take responsibility for my own life—and I think I can do it, now I’ve found the courage to see you again.”

She glanced down as his fingers twitched against hers. His mouth was partly open, and she sensed he was struggling to say something.

“So pr—”

She bent forward. “Sorry, I can’t tell what—”

“Proud—so proud—of you,” his words came out in small gasps.

“Oh, Dad—” Now she couldn’t stop her tears. She tightened her hands around his. “Oh, Dad—”

The sobs shuddered in her chest until she gave in to them, and rested her head on the bed, as she clutched his hand and cried. Cried for him, and for herself, and for everything that had gone wrong.

She had no idea how long she wept, but raised her head quickly when there was a quiet knock at the door. “Yes?”

Rose looked around the door. “I came to see if you wanted—” Compassion softened her face, and she moved toward the bed. “Are you all right, Abbey?”

“Yes—yes, I’m okay.”

“When you’re ready, come along to my room, and I’ll make you a cup of tea. Or are you a coffee girl?”

Abbey wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and gave her a weak smile. “Coffee, please.”

“Okay.” Rose glanced down at the sleeping man. “I think he’s settled. He seems peaceful.”

After she’d gone out, Abbey watched her father. His frown had gone, and Rose was right. He
did
look peaceful. She squeezed his hand, and kissed his dry cheek. “I’ll come again tomorrow, Dad.”

She walked along the corridor until she reached the open door near the reception desk.

“Come in, Abbey,” Rose called. “Want a tissue?”

Rose handed her a box of tissues, and she dried her face and blew her nose.

“Sorry,” she said as she sat on one of the easy chairs.

“Don’t apologise. I understand, you know. My father died here three years ago.”

“That’s not why I was crying. Not because he’s dying—well, yes, it is, in a way—”

Rose poured coffee from a glass jar into a mug. “No need to explain. Louise told me all about it yesterday. Milk? Sugar?”

“Just milk, thanks.” Abbey took the mug gratefully, and let the warm liquid slide down her raw throat. “I talked to him, Rose. Well, I suppose I was talking to myself, but I said some of the things I’d thought over the years. When I stood up to go, he called me Abbeykins, and said he was proud of me. He knew I was there. Do you think he heard everything I said?”

“It’s difficult to know what dying people are aware of, or what they hear going on around them. They say hearing is the last of the senses to go. You probably won’t ever know whether he heard you or not, but do you feel better for having said it all?”

“Yes, I do. I feel as if a huge black cloud has lifted.”

Rose nodded. “That’s the important thing, love. You can’t do anything for him now, none of us can, except try to keep his pain under control, but you’ve let him do something for you.”

Abbey was silent as she tried to define how she felt. After taking another sip of her coffee, she smiled at the other woman. “I’m glad I came to see him, Rose.”

CHAPTER 19

Despite Abbey’s protests that she’d take a taxi home, Rose called Louise, who came to the hospice with Ellie.

Abbey gave her younger sister a tight hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again, darling. But what happened to your long hair?”

Ellie fingered her short, elfin style dark hair and laughed. “Easier to cope with when you’re backpacking.” Her eyes met Abbey’s with concern and sympathy. “You okay, Abbs?”

Abbey smiled. “Yes, I’m fine now, and Rose has been an angel.” She smiled at the older woman. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad I was here,” Rose replied. “Are you going to come again?”

“Yes, of course.” She raised questioning eyebrows at her sisters. “Tomorrow?”

They both nodded their agreement. On the way back to her apartment, Ellie told them about her delayed flight from Lima, and Abbey welcomed the chance to return to some kind of normality after the stress of the day.

Only when they were in her living room and she’d opened a bottle of wine did they start to talk about their father.

“What made you change your mind?” Louise asked. “You were in such a state this afternoon, I thought you’d never go near the place again.”

“I know, but I suddenly thought,
What if he dies tonight
? That’s when I knew I had to go.”

Ellie nodded. “That’s why I decided to come home. It’s different for me, though. I was only three when he left, so I don’t remember much about him, but he’s still our father.”

Abbey looked at Louise. “I remember the day he left. Do you?”

“Yes, very clearly.”

They talked for a long time, sharing their memories and feelings, and it gradually dawned on Abbey that she no longer felt tense or resentful when talking about her father. She’d taken her first step into the future. Now she could put her anger behind her. It belonged in the past.

* * * * *

For the first part of the week, her days followed a routine. In the afternoons she went to the hospice, in the evenings she did the show. Her life seemed to be divided into two separate sections.

Louise and Ellie joined her at the hospice. There was very little response from their father but they held his hands and talked quietly, sharing their memories and even laughing at some silly incident in their childhood.

When she left the hospice, Abbey had to put her personal life to one side while she concentrated on the show. She went to the club afterwards with the cast, too. It was the way they all unwound, and she needed the chance to relax.

Thursday was different. It was the gala opening, and she had to remember to set her alarm because she’d promised to go to Euston Station with her sisters to meet their mother.

“I need coffee,” she said when she joined them on the large station concourse.

Louise laughed. “An early get up for you, Abbs?”

“Earlier than usual, especially as I didn’t get home until after three o’clock. There was a pre-opening party with all the sponsors and patrons and heaven knows who else.”

Louise pointed to her right. “The coffee shop is over there. Mum’s train is about fifteen minutes late so we have time.”

They crossed the crowded concourse to the coffee shop.

“Black double shot for me,” Abbey said.

Ellie giggled. “You sound like Dan. He always says,
Caffeine is my shepherd, I shall not doze
.”

Abbey turned to her after they sat down at a small table. “Yes, who
is
this Dan you’ve been mentioning rather frequently? A-ha,” she added with a grin when Ellie’s cheeks reddened.

“He’s American, I met him in Mexico and—”

“And he’s special?”

Ellie nodded. “I think so”

Louise brought their coffees to the table, and they laughed as they teased their sister about her new man.

“You two are ganging up on me like you did when we were kids,” Ellie complained, but smiled. “I’m twenty-two now, remember?”

“It’s what big sisters do.”

Abbey thought back. At twenty-two, she held men at arm’s length, drawing back from anything more than casual friendship with them. Ellie didn’t have the same hang-ups and, from the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about Dan, she was well on the way to falling in love with him. Louise, too, now understood what she’d been doing wrong and why, and she had Farrell.

But I threw away my chance of happiness with Jack
, she thought sadly. Finally making her peace with her father had come too late.

She hesitated and looked across the table at Louise. “Has—has Farrell heard anything from Jack? I presume he’s back in Rusthwaite now.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Oh? Where is he?”

“We don’t know exactly. He told Farrell he had an assignment in the States. Farrell thought he would be back this week, until he sent a text last weekend saying he wasn’t coming home.”

Abbey drained her coffee. “Okay,” she said, and stood up. “I think Mum’s train should be arriving any minute now.”

She didn’t want her sisters to see how much Louise’s news had affected her. Her heart had dropped like a dead weight. Deep inside, there’d been a tiny glimmer of hope that Jack would relent and come to her opening night. Now she knew there was no hope.

They took Edwina for lunch at Harrods restaurant. Their talk centred on Abbey’s show and Ellie’s travels, but after they finished their pavlova desserts, Edwina asked about their father. “You said he was in a hospice. How is he?”

After glancing at her sisters, Abbey replied, “Not good. We keep wondering each day—I don’t know about you two, but every time my phone rings, I think it might be Rose.”

Louise nodded. “Me, too.” She looked anxiously at her mother. “You don’t mind us visiting him, do you?”

Edwina shook her head. “Of course not. In fact, I’m thinking I might go and see him this afternoon. I did love him at one time, you know, and despite what happened between us, he’s still your father, so I’m glad you’re all with him. Especially you, Abbey.”

“Yes, I had a few things to work through, but now I’m glad, too.” She checked her watch. “I need to go to the theatre soon. I prefer arriving early on opening night.”

So much else had been happening that the full significance of an opening night in London’s West End had hardly registered with her. Now she needed time to prepare herself. “I’ll see you all after the show. Hope you enjoy it.”

She arrived early at the theatre and sat with the cast in the Green Room. They laughed and quipped with lines from the play, even though there was an underlying tension. Nerves were inevitable on opening night.

“Time to get earnest now,” Susan said in her Lady Bracknell voice, after the stage manager gave a time check over the loudspeaker.

They all groaned at her pun and returned to their dressing rooms. Cards, flowers, and gifts had been delivered by the doorman, and Abbey surveyed the bouquets in her room. Louise and Farrell, Ellie, her mother, and Peter Stones had all sent flowers, and there was also a beautiful arrangement of blue, pink, and white daisies and asters. She searched amongst the blooms for a card and smiled when she read it:
I’m sure your father would want me to send these to you. With very best wishes from Rose
(
St. John’s Hospice).

Next she opened over a dozen cards, some from friends she’d worked with in the past as well as several from people in Rusthwaite.

The large hand drawn card with comical messages from all her drama club members made her laugh. She knew from her phone calls to Angie, who was supervising them in her absence, and from Sally, too, that they were all working hard on their play. A small quiver ran through her as she recalled their meetings when Jack had been there.

It reminded her of how her world had turned upside down. Two weeks ago, she’d still been in Rusthwaite, and had made the decision to go to Paris. She flinched at the memory of their weekend and quickly pushed it aside.

From now on, she had to give all her concentration to the task ahead. With a determined grimace, she started to line up her tubs of foundation and makeup on the dressing table.

* * * * *

“It’s going well,” Tony said as they returned to their dressing rooms at the end of Act One.

Abbey nodded. “Yes, they seem to be laughing in all the right places, except for the large man near the end of the front row. He’s making notes, so I assume he’s a critic.”

“It’s Owen Ashton, from
London Stage
. He always sits on the front row and never reacts to anything. I’m sure he does it deliberately to put us off.”

“I’m glad we can’t see any further back than the front row. My sisters and my mum are on the third row, and they’d definitely put me off if I could see them. Louise would probably make faces at me all night.”

Tony laughed. “So would my wife. I always make sure her seat is further back.”

The remaining two acts went quickly, and a standing ovation greeted their five curtain calls. Abbey felt the buzz of adrenalin as she went back to her dressing room. It had been a good night, and she was pleased with her performance.

She started to remove her make-up when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called.

Louise put her head around the door. “Are you decent? Oh, yes, you’re still in costume.”

She came in, followed by Farrell, Ellie, and her mother. They all hugged and congratulated her, and then Farrell handed her a large brown envelope. “I’ve been instructed to give this to you at the end of the show.”

Abbey narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

“Open it, Abbs.” Louise’s broad grin showed that she obviously knew.

She slit the top of the envelope and pulled out several stapled sheets. As her eyes scanned the first page, her mouth fell open. It was a letter from Horizon Films offering her the part of Maggie Rycroft in the first series of
The Rycroft Saga
, with an option to extend the contract for two further series. Quickly she flicked through the other sheets which contained the details of the contract.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, wow.” She sank down on her chair, numb with shock, and looked up at Farrell. “Do you know anything about this?”

He laughed. “Tell me about it! Two months ago, Jack told me he wanted you as Maggie, and since then we’ve gone through hell and high water to cancel Marsha Hewitt’s contract.”

Abbey stared at him. “And you never told me?”

“Sorry, Abbey, I couldn’t. When I first met you, I didn’t even know you were Abigail Barton, of course, and when Jack told me, he said I wasn’t to tell you. Not just about him being John Tyson, but about all the strings he was frantically pulling to withdraw Marsha’s contract and offer the role to you. He always wanted you as Maggie Rycroft, but he thought you’d turn it down.”

“Yes, Louise showed me the email he sent you.” She raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t he tell me that was what he was doing?”

“He didn’t want you to be disappointed if we couldn’t manage it.”

“Oh.” Abbey’s mind raced, and she shook her head slowly as Farrell’s words sank in. Jack had been trying to protect her from a second disappointment. Understanding swept through her, and the whole world seemed different.

“Are you going to accept, Abbey?” Louise asked.

She gave her sister a broad smile. “Damn right I am.”

Farrell blew out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Phew, thank God for that.”

Abbey looked down again at the contract in her hands and hesitated. “Farrell, is Jack still in America? I need to contact him. To thank him, for a start, and to talk to him about—about other things.”

“I’m assuming he’s still over there. He said he’d be back at the beginning of this week, and I expected him to be here tonight, but he sent a text on Sunday to say he wasn’t coming, and said I had to give you the contract myself. I’ve left a couple of text messages and emailed him, but he hasn’t got back to me.”

“I’ll try calling him later.” Abbey glanced up at the wall-clock. “I’d better change now. We have an after show party to go to.”

“Where’s it being held?” Louise asked.

“At the Hundred Club, a couple of streets from here.”

More than anything, she wanted some time alone, to think through this completely unexpected turn of events, and to work out what she was going to say to Jack, but she had to join the rest of the cast while they waited for the first editions of the morning papers with the critics’ verdicts.

She slipped into her professional persona and gave a short laugh. “Please will you lot get out of here? The corset I’m wearing is not a pretty sight. Take yourselves to the bar, and I’ll see you there.”

When she had her dressing room to herself again, she compressed her lips to keep back her tears while her last phone call to Jack replayed in her mind. She’d accused him of lying when all the time he’d been trying to protect her from what could have been another shattering disappointment. All because she expected every man to be as selfish and deceitful as her father had been, only concerned with themselves and what they wanted from life.