Thicker Than Water (5 page)

‘Oh, come on! You’re imagining things!’

He shrugged. ‘Possibly. All the same, I think there’s more to our Abigail than meets the eye.’

‘No wonder poor Sylvie couldn’t compete,’ Tina said.

‘Where shall we go on our honeymoon?’ Abigail asked idly, as they lay in bed on the Sunday morning. The sound of bells drifted in from several of the town’s churches, mingling and chiming in repetitive relay, and she felt a passing regret that they wouldn’t ring for her wedding.

James smiled. ‘That’s supposed to be a secret!’

‘I hate secrets!’ She propped herself on one elbow and looked down at him, her hair falling forward. ‘Tell me.’

‘Well, if you insist; I’ve booked us in at a very luxurious hotel overlooking Lake Garda. Everything laid on – gym, sauna—’

He broke off as he felt her stiffen, and her face took on the same haunted look that had alarmed him the day before. He reached up, gripping her bare shoulder.

‘Darling, what is it?’

She shook her head distractedly, hair swinging across her face. ‘I’m sorry – I can’t—’

‘Can’t what?’

She moistened her lips. ‘Go there. Oh James, I’m so sorry!’

‘But – why? I don’t understand. Don’t you like Italy?’

‘I love it, but couldn’t we find somewhere in the mountains instead?’

‘What have you got against lakes?’ he asked gently. ‘You can tell me, darling. You just said you hate secrets.’ Though he knew instinctively she’d meant other people’s.

She flashed him a quick glance, then lay down again, staring up at the ceiling. James waited, his heart unaccountably thumping, and after a minute she said in a low voice, ‘My father drowned in one.’

He was at once contrite and relieved: nothing untoward, then; she was simply avoiding unhappy memories. ‘You should have warned me, sweetheart. Of course we’ll go to the mountains.’

And as he bent over to kiss her, her arms came round his neck and she clung to him fiercely. He could feel her trembling, and struggled to think of the right thing to say. But before he could, she released him, giving him a shaky smile.

‘Sorry to be such a goose!’ she said.

The wedding passed off better than they could have hoped. Though the earlier heat had abated, the day was warm and sunny, the sky cloudlessly blue. Abigail wore a cream silk suit, a fascinator on her dark hair, and carried a bouquet of pink roses. She looked stunning, Tina thought a little sourly, noting the admiring glances she was attracting.

James, handsome in pale grey, impressed his bride’s friends, and everyone seemed determined to put reservations aside. The service was simple but moving, the following lunch excellent, and even Rosemary acknowledged it had all gone admirably.

When the newly-weds had left, Tina and Ben set off for home, needing to collect their children from a friend’s house. Rosemary and Andrew, however, had elected to stay on to see a show, and were spending the night at the hotel where they’d lunched.

When they finally reached their room, tired after the day’s crowded happenings, Rosemary stood for a moment, looking down at the bright lights and moving throngs of the unsleeping city.

‘They will be happy, won’t they, Andrew?’ she asked pensively.

He joined her at the window and put an arm round her. ‘I hope so, my dear,’ he said.

The replacement hotel offered all the amenities of the original, and was surrounded by majestic mountains, the higher ones already snow-capped.

Abigail had said nothing further on the change of venue or the reason for it. That her father had drowned was still all James knew about her family or, indeed, her life before they met, but he was confident that in time she’d confide in him more fully, and by talking through her worries, they’d be able to eliminate them.

They walked on the mountains, swam in the hotel pool, soaked up the sunshine and luxuriated in the excellent food and wine on the menu. And the other guests, indulgently smiling at the honeymoon couple, could have had no inkling they were virtually strangers to each other.

One afternoon, as they sat high above the town, their picnic lunch in a hamper beside them, Abigail reached for James’s hand.

‘Oh, darling, I wish we could stay here for ever!’

He laughed. ‘I bet all honeymooners say that.’

‘But I’m serious. We’re together, just the two of us, away from everyone and everything.’ Her grip tightened, and he felt her shiver. ‘I’m frightened, James.’

He frowned. ‘What on earth of?’

‘Of being so happy. I’ve no right to be, and I’m terrified it will all come crashing down.’

‘Everyone has a right to be happy,’ he said gently, ‘and I’d say you more than most.’

She gave another little shiver, then the tension went out of her. ‘The pursuit of happiness,’ she said reflectively. ‘Isn’t that part of the Declaration of Independence? But pursuing it doesn’t mean you’ll find it, does it?’

And he could think of no reply.

So the two weeks passed, and Mr and Mrs James Markham returned, however reluctantly, to the flat in Inchampton.

In their absence, autumn had arrived. A couple of storms had stripped most of the trees, the clocks had been put back, and daylight was fading soon after four o’clock.

It took their combined efforts to manoeuvre the larger items up the new ladder, and Abigail spent some time that first week running up and down as she set out her equipment. James had promised to put up some shelves, but in the meantime her books and files were stacked neatly against the wall.

The loft, though well lit, was dependent on skylights, denying her a bird’s eye view of the square; yet despite its limitations, she was pleased with her eyrie and happily embarked on her work. With James back at the office, they settled comfortably into a new routine, and the family, watching from a discreet distance, allowed themselves a tentative sigh of relief.

It was a week or two later that the first incident occurred. It was a Saturday morning, and they were at breakfast when they heard the clatter of the letter box and the thud of mail landing on the mat. James ran downstairs to retrieve it, and flicked through it as he came back into the room.

‘There’s a postcard for you, darling,’ he remarked, ‘but they’ve forgotten to write the message! Hope we didn’t do that with any of ours.’

He dropped it, picture side up, in front of her, glancing over her shoulder at the view displayed.

‘Looks a nice place. Where is it?’

When she didn’t reply, he glanced at her and saw she’d frozen, staring at the card as though it were a poisonous snake while the colour leached from her face.

‘Abigail? Whatever’s the matter, love?’

Very slowly, still with her eyes on the card, she pushed her chair back from the table. Then, with startling suddenness, she sprang to her feet, brushed him aside and ran from the room. Seconds later, James heard her vomiting in the bathroom.

He hurried after her, staring helplessly at the locked door. When the retching finally stopped, he tapped on it gently.

‘Darling, come and lie down and let me get you something.’

Silence.

‘Abigail? Are you all right?’

Still no reply, and he knocked more loudly. ‘Darling, please let me in. I’m worried about you.’

He heard her voice then, faint and hoarse. ‘I’m all right. Please leave me alone.’

He waited a moment longer, rattling the handle in his frustration. Then, defeated, he slowly returned to the living room. The card lay where he’d so casually dropped it, and he picked it up and studied it.

It showed a lake, surrounded by hills, and though his first thought was that it was in Italy, the caption identified it as the English Lake District. It must have been the lake that upset her, he reasoned, but surely that in itself couldn’t account for such a traumatic reaction? Thank God her father wasn’t run over by a bus! he thought, with gallows humour.

Turning the card over, he saw it was addressed to Mrs A Markham, at this address, and had been posted in Manchester the previous day. Who did she know in Manchester? he wondered. She couldn’t have recognized the handwriting, because she’d not even seen it. Was it some link with her mysterious past?

He pulled himself up. Mysterious? An odd word to use about his wife, but it was again borne in on him how little he knew about her. He went determinedly back through the bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Darling, if you don’t come out now, I’m going to call the doctor,’ he said.

For a moment longer there was silence inside. Then, with a huge sigh of relief, he heard the bolt slide back and the door opened. Abigail stood there, her face white and her eyes staring at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

Gently he took her arm and led her back to the living room. Her eyes went straight to the card on the table, and he felt a tremor go through her.

‘I know it’s of a lake, love, but there’s nothing unusual about that, and you must have seen others since your father died. Is it the lack of message that spooked you? It’s easily done, you know. I used to buy a stack of cards on holiday, and address and stamp them while I had my address list to hand. Then, rather than sit down and write them all at once – boring in the extreme – I sent them off in batches. It’s quite easy for one with no message to get mixed up with those waiting to be posted.’

He knew he was gabbling, but hoped his everyday words would calm her, restore her balance. She still didn’t speak, and he realized with a faint shock that apart from asking him to go away, she hadn’t done so since the card arrived.

‘Abby?’ he said softly, and she spun to face him, her face contorted as she shook him off.

‘Don’t call me that!’ she cried, a note of hysteria in her voice. ‘Don’t
ever
call me that!’

‘Darling, I’m sorry – I’m sorry. Look, you’re really worrying me now. What’s wrong? Please tell me. You can tell me anything, Abigail, you know that. I won’t judge you, whatever it is. I
love
you!’

Her eyes had a wild look in them, and she gave a sudden laugh. ‘You wouldn’t judge me?’ she said. ‘I wonder. I just wonder.’

Tentatively he put his arms round her, and after resisting briefly, she leaned against him.

‘I love you,’ he said again. ‘For ever and ever, amen – remember?’

He felt her nod. ‘Then what’s wrong, sweetheart? Tell me. I’m sure we can sort it out.’

A ripple shook her. Then she gently disengaged herself. Her face was still white, but some of the wildness had left her. She cupped his face in her hands and stared into his eyes.

‘And I love you,’ she said. ‘More than you’ll ever know.’

He gave an uncertain smile. ‘That’s all right, then. So—’

Her hands dropped and she turned away. ‘I’ll go and have my shower, or the morning will have gone without getting anything done.’

‘Abigail—’

She started to walk purposefully from the room. ‘Don’t worry about me, James,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I overreact. You know that. It was probably the curry last night, but I’m fine now.’

Slowly, James picked up the offending card and put it in the top drawer of his desk. Out of sight, he hoped, out of mind.

For the rest of that day, the postcard and its effect continued to prey on his mind. Abigail appeared to have reverted to normal, and he didn’t dare bring the subject up again. However, the next day he made one last attempt to get to the bottom of it.

‘Darling, about that postcard . . .’

‘What postcard?’ she said.

Four

Afterwards, James looked back on the incident of the postcard as the first portent of what was to come. It was as though a gauze curtain had descended between them, keeping him at a distance, and try as he might, he couldn’t penetrate it.

Nor could he share his unease with his family, since they’d been against the marriage in the first place. Though Tina would never say,
I told you so
in as many words, he’d see it in her eyes, and that would be enough. There was a saying:
Marry in haste and repent at leisure
, but he wasn’t repenting; on the contrary, he longed for them to be close again, as they’d been on their honeymoon. What was it Abigail had said then? That she was afraid it would all come crashing down? But surely one innocuous postcard couldn’t be the catalyst?

Yet, when he tried to analyse the change, it was hard to pinpoint. She seemed glad to see him when he came home each evening, they continued to make love – though possibly with not quite the abandon of before – they’d even been to Tina and Ben’s for supper, and to his parents for a Sunday lunch. James was aware, though, of her continuing dislike of family occasions, and he’d declined several invitations rather than overexpose her to them.

But there were little things – things that in themselves were trifling, but which taken together added to his concern. Several times she’d not replenished household supplies, claiming she’d been too busy or had a deadline to work to, and suggesting they go together on a Saturday morning. Nor, even when alone in the flat, did she retrieve the post. He would find it lying on the mat in the hall, when she’d been in all day. It was the same with the telephone, which she never answered, maintaining it wouldn’t be for her. He became used to arriving home each evening to see the red button flashing. Once or twice, the messages had indeed been for Abigail, from her London friends.

‘Why not answer it, darling?’ he asked lightly one evening. ‘It won’t bite, and there might be something urgent from a client.’

But she shook her head. ‘They email me,’ she said.

It was towards the end of November that James came out of his office one lunchtime to find his sister in the foyer.

‘You’re taking me to lunch,’ she announced. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘That sounds ominous!’ he joked.

‘I’m hoping not.’

At the Montpellier Wine Bar, Tina waited till they had their drinks and their food was ordered before putting her elbows on the table and surveying her brother.

‘I’m worried about you,’ she said.

‘Me?’ He tried a laugh, not too successfully.

‘You and Abigail. Things don’t seem to be – right.’

‘They’re fine,’ he said evasively, not meeting her eyes.

‘James, this is me you’re talking to. Before the wedding, you were walking on air. It was because you were so deliriously happy that I tried to ignore my – misgivings.’

‘If you’re referring to Sylvie—’ he began defiantly.

‘I’m referring to Abigail. Have you found out anything more about her? Her family, where she used to live, who her friends are, apart from those three at the wedding?’

He was silent.

‘Well, have you?’ She waited a moment, and when he still didn’t speak, went on, ‘I also want to know why you hardly ever come to see us. The children keep asking for you, but even when you did come, you spent the whole time watching Abigail, waiting for her reactions.’ She paused again. ‘Has something happened?’

He shook his head.

‘James?’

He looked up unwillingly. ‘Abigail’s my wife, Tina, and I love her. I’d feel disloyal discussing her, even with you.’

She laid an impulsive hand on his. ‘Jimbo, I’m not trying to criticize her! I only want to help you – both.’

The temptation to confide in her was building. Though his unease remained nebulous, it was none the less real, and the one concrete fact – Abigail’s reaction to the postcard – preyed continuously on his mind. Before he could stop himself, James found himself recounting what had happened.

Tina frowned. ‘And it was of somewhere in the Lake District?’

‘Yes; I know lakes bring back her father’s death, but that could hardly cause vomiting, for God’s sake!’

‘There was nothing else on it that might have upset her?’

‘Not a thing. I scrutinized it inch by inch. The only odd thing was that there was no message, but that could have been an oversight.’

Tina frowned thoughtfully. ‘Postcards are usually of the place where you are – “Wish you were here” kind of thing. But you say this one had a Manchester postmark?’

‘Yes. Anyway, since then, she won’t answer the phone or pick up the mail or even, as far as I can see, go out by herself. It’s as though – it seems ludicrous, but as though she’s afraid of something. As to visiting you, she said right from the start that she doesn’t “do” families. It’s probably because she hasn’t one herself that she doesn’t know what to make of ours.’

‘She actually said she hasn’t one?’

‘No parents, anyway. She told me that early on, and she’s heard nothing of the others for years.’

‘So you don’t know who they are?’

He shook his head, and they were both silent as their food was laid before them.

‘Don’t you think it’s – odd?’ Tina asked, as the waiter moved away.

James shrugged. ‘Unusual, certainly. But just because we’re a close family doesn’t mean everyone else is. You often hear of families being split and people losing touch.’

‘But always with a reason.’ Tina picked up her fork. ‘What about Christmas?’

Since James had moved to Inchampton, it had become the custom for him to spend the three days of the holiday at Brambles, though Christmas lunch was, as always, at the Old Rectory. He’d even flown home from the States to spend it with them all.

‘You will come to us, as usual?’ Tina added.

He hesitated. ‘It’s sweet of you, sis, but if you remember, it started because you said I shouldn’t be alone in the flat over Christmas. Obviously, I won’t be alone, and of course we’ll go to the parents for lunch as usual, but—’

‘Three days with the Rivers would be too much for Abigail’s sensibilities,’ finished Tina tartly.

‘I think for our first Christmas together,’ James said peaceably, ‘it might be nice to be at home, that’s all.’

She made a little face. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

Unaware that her relations were discussing her, Abigail descended from the loft and went to prepare her lunch, surprised to discover she was hungry. Since the arrival of the postcard two weeks ago, she’d had to force herself to eat, and had frequently skipped lunch altogether. But though, sick with fear, she’d waited daily for developments, none had been forthcoming and she was beginning to breathe more easily. Then, lying awake last night, what now seemed an obvious solution had occurred to her. The sender must be a family member, who, having somehow learned of her marriage, was repaying her for not being invited to the wedding. She should have known that was the logical answer, since who else could it possibly be? She’d not seen the handwriting – James had removed the card – but if she had, she was now sure she’d have recognized it.

She laughed aloud in sheer relief. So after all that needless worry, she could put it behind her and resume normal life. To prove it, she ran downstairs to collect the mail, no longer fearing it might contain enigmatic warnings, and, having set it out on the table, replayed the answer phone to retrieve three innocent messages. One was from the library, informing her that a book she’d ordered was awaiting her, and she decided to collect it that afternoon. It would be good to be able to walk into town again without looking over her shoulder.

When James returned that evening, staring in amazement at the neatly sorted mail and quiescent phone, he cursed himself for having confided in Tina. If he’d waited just one more day it would all have blown over, and the hitch in the smooth running of their lives been known only to themselves.

Later, Abigail further surprised him by suggesting they invite Tina and Ben to supper. ‘We’ve been to them,’ she said. ‘We ought to ask them back.’

And James, with happiness welling up inside him, caught her round the waist and swung her round. ‘I love you, Mrs Markham!’ he said.

Since her broken engagement, there’d been an awkwardness between Sylvie and Tina that, despite their efforts, they’d been unable to dispel. The intervening weeks had been hard, having to bear the condolences of family and friends while aware she was the source of gossip among them; but what had upset her most after the loss of James was the apparent loss of his sister also. As November slid into December, she determined that the hiatus had gone on long enough, and one evening, taking her courage in both hands, she phoned Brambles.

It was Ben who answered, and she was warmed by his spontaneous, ‘Sylvie! How good to hear from you!’

In the background, she heard Tina’s exclamation, and the next instant she had seized the phone from her husband and her voice came over the line.

‘Sylvie, how are you? You must be telepathic! I was just about to phone you.’

‘I’m fine,’ Sylvie said steadily. ‘I was wondering if you’re up for our Christmas shopping trip?’ Since they were schoolgirls, it had been the custom for the two of them to shop together for their Christmas presents.

‘Just what I was going to suggest!’

‘I’ve a couple of days’ holiday due, so I could fit in with you. One day next week?’

‘Perfect. How about Tuesday? Both the children have after-school activities, so we shouldn’t have to rush back. Could you stay for supper, as usual?’

‘Oh, Tina, I’d love to!’

‘It’s a date, then. I’ll pick you up when I’ve done the school run.’

Tina put down the phone and stood for a moment, her hand resting on it. When she finally turned, her eyes were moist, and she and Ben exchanged a smile.

‘Well done,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m so thankful, Ben. I was afraid this business with James might have done for us.’

‘You’ve both too much sense for that. It was bound to be awkward for a while, but it looks as though you’ve weathered it.’

‘The next hurdle will be when the two of them meet, as they’re bound to.’

‘Well, unless it happens here, which is highly unlikely, it’s not your worry. In the meantime
sufficient unto the day
 . . .’

‘Amen to that,’ she said.

The following Tuesday dawned sunny and crisp with frost, perfect weather for Christmas shopping.

Having dropped the children at school, Tina drove to the flat Sylvie shared with a work colleague, and, parking at the kerb, tooted on the horn. She appeared at once, a red scarf knotted at her throat and clutching a capacious shopping bag. Tina reached over to open the passenger door, and they gave each other a quick, slightly embarrassed, hug.

‘Ready for the fray?’ Tina asked.

‘Absolutely. I have a list, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing; if you’ve too definite an idea of what you want, you never find it.’

‘Well, let’s think positive. We usually do well together, sparking off ideas.’

As they drove through the rime-encrusted countryside, conversation was at first rather stilted, but by the time they’d circled several car parks, finally securing a space in a multi-storey, their reserve had completely disappeared.

‘Right,’ Tina said, locking the door and shivering in the blast of cold air. ‘Let battle commence!’

The Promenade was already crowded with shoppers, the shops festooned with decorations and miniature Christmas trees, windows piled high with tempting goods – jewellery, cocktail dresses, exotic foods. They shopped solidly for two hours, with varying degrees of success, and had just decided on a coffee break when Tina suddenly seized Sylvie’s arm and pulled her behind a rack of dresses.

Sylvie looked at her in surprise. ‘What’s the matter?’

Tina nodded towards someone approaching down a near aisle. ‘Abigail,’ she said.

Sylvie gave a little gasp. She’d never seen the woman who’d stolen James from her, and her eyes fastened avidly on the slender figure, taking in the careless elegance of the sheepskin jacket and tightly fitting trousers, the high boots, the dark hair shining under the shop lights. Then she was past, and Sylvie let out her unconsciously held breath.