The Moment She Left (16 page)

‘It’s fine,’ she told him. ‘I’ll be right there.’

Martin’s eyes moved suspiciously between them. ‘This is who you’re meeting?’ he demanded of Andee.

‘Martin, I’ll call you later . . .’

‘Do you know who I am?’ he shot at Graeme. ‘I’m her husband. So make a habit of trying to run off with other men’s wives, do you?’

With truly admirable calm Graeme said, ‘I think you need to let her go.’

Andee was already wrenching herself free. ‘Pull yourself together,’ she muttered at Martin.

‘You’re going to regret this,’ he told her. ‘I was prepared to stand by you, to help you to sort yourself out . . .’

To Graeme, Andee said, ‘Shall we go inside?’

With a glance at Martin, Graeme stood aside for Andee to go ahead of him. As she went she was certain Martin would try to prevent her, or even make some sort of assault on Graeme, but moments later she was stepping inside Graeme’s front hall and he was closing the door behind him.

Feeling wretched for just leaving Martin, but relieved to be away from him, she said to Graeme, ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea . . .’ She’d have liked a few moments to collect herself, but it was OK, she’d be fine.

‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ he assured her, gesturing for her to go through to the back where both sets of French doors in the kitchen-diner were opened on to the patio garden, and a jug of Pimm’s was set between two glasses on a mosaic-topped table.

‘He isn’t normally like that,’ she insisted. ‘I haven’t known him behave so . . .’ What words could she use that wouldn’t degrade Martin any more than he’d just managed for himself?

‘People constantly surprise us,’ he said gently. ‘But please reassure me that he isn’t normally a violent man.’

‘Not at all,’ she said earnestly.

His eyes held hers for a moment, as though seeking the truth. Apparently satisfied, he asked, ‘So, will you have a drink?’

With an arched eyebrow she said, ‘I think so.’

After filling two glasses he passed one to her and clicked his own against it.

‘To you,’ they chorused, and their like minds broke through the tension, taking them to an easier place.

‘I’d forgotten how pretty it is here,’ she declared, taking in the giant urns of velvety hibiscus on the patio, vivid climbing roses, multicoloured clematis and one entire wall of white hydrangeas. She hadn’t forgotten at all, though she hadn’t allowed herself to think of it often, there had been nothing to be gained from that. ‘You’re right on the botanical gardens, and yet completely private.’

Drolly he said, ‘I do sometimes spot the odd face peering through the bamboo border, and of course voices carry, but so do the fragrances, and the jasmine is particularly lovely right now.’

Inhaling its warm, sweet scent, she sipped her drink again and thought how heavenly it would be to sit here for hour upon hour doing nothing but listen to the occasional burble of people, the drone of a bee, the trundle of a wheelbarrow passing by, the distant rumble of a mower and chomp of a spade. The only company would be the colourful, mesmeric butterflies dancing around the blooms, and birds chirping in the trees. No one would know where to find her, and she wouldn’t have to go and find them until she was ready.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, realising Graeme had spoken.

‘It was nothing,’ he assured her, and pushing a dish of olives her way he said, ‘I feel you’ve rather a lot on your plate at the moment, what with helping Blake, and your own situation, so perhaps now isn’t a good time to burden you with more.’

‘If it’s about your sister Rowzee it won’t be a burden,’ she promised, thinking of the odd turn Rowzee had had at the café the other day, although he’d mentioned
another name when they’d spoken on the phone, so this probably wasn’t going to be about his sister’s health.

‘It’s an odd situation,’ he began pensively. ‘I’m not sure what to make of it, but a young lad by the name of Jason Griffiths told me something extraordinary yesterday, and before I go any further with it I’d like to find out if he’s who he’s claiming to be.’

Intrigued, Andee waited for him to continue.

‘He’s saying he’s Victor Cayne’s grandson – I’m sure you know that Victor is Rowzee’s late husband – but Rowzee has never mentioned anything to me about Victor having another family. Apparently the boy’s father – Victor’s putative son – was born before Victor and Rowzee married, so it’s possible that Rowzee knows nothing about him. Before I discuss it with her I’d like to be sure that Jason Griffiths really is who he’s claiming to be, because I certainly don’t want to involve my sister in any unnecessary upset if it turns out to be a scam someone’s cooked up to try and get money out of her.’

Andee’s mind was working fast, sorting through all kinds of scenarios and motives and comparing the situation to others she’d come across of a similar nature. She began by asking the boy’s age.

‘I’d say early to mid-twenties.’

‘And where’s his father?’

‘Unwell, apparently.’

Andee frowned. ‘Does his father know that his son is here, talking to you?’

‘I’m not sure about the father, but I got the impression that the grandmother knows.’

‘The grandmother being the woman Victor had a relationship with?’

‘Indeed, if we’re to believe the boy.’

Andee nodded thoughtfully. ‘Do you have any idea if Victor knew he had a son?’

‘Jason says Victor did know. Apparently they met once, a few years ago, which is the main reason Jason wants to see Rowzee.’

Baffled, Andee said, ‘Did he elaborate on that?’

‘Not really. He just said it’s something he has to do for his nan.’

Andee was thinking hard, knowing already what she was going to do, but she still needed more detail about the family, such as the grandmother’s and father’s name and address, and where the boy was living.

Having already got the information from Jason, Graeme handed over a folded sheet of paper.

Andee read aloud, ‘Grandmother, Norma Griffiths, father, Sean Griffiths and Jason . . .’ She glanced up at Graeme. ‘They all live at the same address in Devon?’

‘Apparently,’ he replied. ‘Jason also tells me that he’s got no problem with being checked out.’

Impressed by that, but by no means taken in by it, Andee said, ‘OK, I’ll pass this on to someone at the station. With all the necessary resources at their fingertips we should have an answer quite quickly.’

With a smile Graeme said, ‘Thank you.’

Still concerned, Andee said, ‘Have you thought about how Rowzee might take it, if it’s true and she doesn’t know Victor has a son?’

He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve thought about it a great deal, which is why I want to be absolutely certain before I say anything to her.’ After a moment he added, ‘I’m not sure if you know that she had a son herself, who died when he was five. Edward. He was a late baby, and would be around Jason’s age by now if he’d lived. When he went it was a terrible blow to the whole family.’

Seeing how moved he still was by the loss, Andee said, gently, ‘What happened?’

‘Meningitis. He was a lovely boy, only a couple of years younger than Ben, my youngest. It’s been very hard for Rowzee watching my boys grow up, but they couldn’t have had an aunt who loved them more.’

Feeling deeply for Rowzee, Andee said, ‘Apart from Pamela?’

He smiled. ‘Of course, but Pamela has a different way of showing things.’ He glanced at his watch.

‘I should go,’ she said, putting down her glass.

‘Please, there’s no rush,’ he insisted. ‘I’m meeting a client for dinner at eight . . .’

‘I should get this information to the police,’ she interrupted, and reaching for her bag she got to her feet. ‘Before I go,’ she said as they started back through the house, ‘did Jason Griffiths give you any idea of why he’s looking for Rowzee now?’

‘No. All he’d tell me was that he wanted to see her in person to explain things.’

Andee frowned. ‘Well, let’s find out if he’s really who he’s claiming to be, and if he is, we can decide
how to take it from there – with Rowzee’s best interests at heart, naturally.’

Rowzee was watching her doctor’s pale, tense face as Jilly carefully read the notes in front of her. It would be easy for Rowzee to engage with the anxiety trying to overwhelm her, or to start scaring herself with all kinds of horrific scenarios, which she’d become quite accomplished at lately. Instead she was encouraging her mind to flit back over the years to when Jilly had played Rosalind – and many other roles that Rowzee wasn’t quite remembering right now. As a young girl Jilly had shown a very real talent for acting, had possessed a remarkable feel for the language and nuance of the Bard and many other playwrights too, and Rowzee had done much to encourage her to pursue a career on the stage. How many years had passed since Jilly had listened to her parents and taken her place at Birmingham University Medical School? Probably as many as twenty, and dear Jilly, as gifted and dedicated a doctor as she was, didn’t seem to be wearing well. Was it any wonder, when she had such a stressful job? It couldn’t be easy dealing with sick and needy people every day, especially those who were frightened, or difficult, or thought they knew better than their GP.

Realising she might be falling into the latter category, Rowzee said, ‘Please understand that I respect everything you’ve told me, it’s just that I feel it’s better if I do things this way.’

Fixing her with kindly but tired eyes, Jilly said, ‘I know what you’re like when your mind is made up
about something, it’s how we got budgets for our plays, outings to theatres and even a memorable weekend in Paris as I recall. And I can see it’s made up over this, which is why I’m reading your notes again. We need to be absolutely sure . . .’

‘We are,’ Rowzee came in gently. ‘Mr Mervin was very clear when I went to see him for the results. He didn’t use any terminology I couldn’t understand, and nor did you the last time I was here. We know the cancer is secondary, so we know it’s not curable . . .’

‘Which doesn’t mean it isn’t treatable. And we’ve yet to find the primary.’

‘Oh, I think I’ve done that. There’s a black mark under my toenail that’s never gone away, and I think it’s bigger now than when I first noticed it. I expect it’s a guilty mole.’

‘I’ll take a look,’ Jilly said.

‘OK, but whether I’m right or wrong, it’s not going to change anything, is it? I still have a tumour in my brain and if you give me treatment you’ll be keeping me alive simply to slide into a condition I’d rather not be in, and that will cause a lot of heartache and stress for my family, not to mention inconvenience and . . .’

‘Mrs C, they love you. They’ll want you here for as long as they can have you, no matter how sick you might be.’

‘But it isn’t their decision, it’s mine. I want to go to this clinic to have it over and done with as soon as possible.’ She didn’t, in fact, want to go at all. She wanted desperately to carry on living the life she had now, or the one prior to this cancer, so she could grow old
slowly, perhaps not always gracefully, but with all her faculties intact and her family around her. However, nature, God, fate, had other plans, and she had no way of altering them.

‘Rowzee . . .’

‘Please Jilly, I need you to give me the medical certificate they require.’ Could Jilly sense how anxious she was feeling? She thought not; after all, she was managing to sound very pragmatic and in control, so it would seem her thespian skills were still cooking, even if her marbles were under attack.

Pushing her hands through her hair in a way that made her appear more drained than ever, Jilly replied, ‘I’m not saying I won’t give it to you, I’m only saying that you mustn’t do this without telling anyone. Can’t you see how cruel it would be? How on earth are Pamela and Graeme going to feel when they get a call from the clinic asking them to come and collect your body?’

Trying not to wince, Rowzee said, ‘Ashes. I’m arranging to be cremated right after it happens.’ A distantly placed part of her was feeling shocked by the words she was speaking, could hardly believe they weren’t in a script that could be cut, or rewritten if necessary.

Jilly swallowed as she looked at her.

‘I’ve been reading all about it,’ Rowzee told her.

Sighing, Jilly said, ‘I can tell that you have, and I know you have to satisfy the Swiss doctors that you are of sound enough mind to take the decision, but please don’t rush this. If you take the drugs you’ve been prescribed, your symptoms will virtually disappear . . .’

‘For a while, and meantime the tumour will grow and before we know it I won’t be deemed of sound enough mind any more. Even if I am, I could well be in a wheelchair by then and I wouldn’t be able to get into town without help, never mind to Switzerland.’

Shaking her head in dismay, Jilly said, ‘Please,
please
talk to Pamela and Graeme. They have a right to know, surely you can see that?’

‘They won’t let me do it.’

‘How do you know if you don’t ask them?’

‘I know them.’

‘You mean they’re against assisted dying?’

‘No. Actually, they might be. We’ve never had the conversation.’

‘Then you need to. Let them be a support to you. It’s what they’d want, and what you’re going to need if you’re determined to go through with this. You can’t do it alone.’

Certain that she could, but not willing to argue any further, Rowzee asked, ‘Will you give me the certificate?’

‘I’m not saying no, but I’ll have to discuss it with Mr Mervin.’

‘What if he turns out to be pro-life?’

‘I happen to know that he isn’t, but I can’t see him being any happier than I am about you doing this without involving your family.’

Trying hard to sound sweet and reasonable, Rowzee said, ‘But it isn’t about making you and Mr Mervin happy, is it?’

Unable to argue with that, Jilly regarded her sadly. ‘Please think about it,’ she implored, ‘and please take the dexamethasone.’

‘How long will it take to kick in?’

‘About three days.’

Rowzee was already on her feet when it occurred to her to ask, ‘If I take these steroids . . . did you say my symptoms, the dizziness and headaches and everything, will disappear?’