‘It’s in the phone book, Ms North.’ There were traces of relaxation and amusement in the voice, now that she had what she wanted. ‘I shan’t need directions. I have a satnav in my car. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’
‘That’s all right. May I ask-’ But the click at the other end of the line told her that Jane Beaumont had put down her phone.
Gerry Davies was behaving irrationally and he knew it.
He was fifty-seven now. He had been happily married for thirty-six years; he was the father of two boys who were making sensible careers of their own. Even as a young man, his life had been grounded in the hard reality of the Rhondda Valley and Welsh mining, his leisure enacted amidst the slag-heaps and muddy playing fields of Pontypridd and the like. He hadn’t gone off to university and torn up his roots, like some of the men he had grown up with. He was proud of his background, proud to assert the basis for life that it had given him. He had been disciplined in the realities of human existence for as long as he could remember.
And yet. And yet he’d never had a daughter, and that was making him vulnerable in a way he had never expected. Sarah Vaughan had come to him for advice ever since she had arrived at Abbey Vineyards three years ago. She had been able enough, but young for her years. She had lacked the confidence to assert herself, even when she knew she was right. Sarah had been very happy to adopt Gerry Davies as a father figure, and he had been pleased and a little flattered by her dependence. It was only when she had flung herself on his chest with the news of Martin Beaumont’s sexual harassment that he realized how completely he had accepted that role. Accepted it almost eagerly, he acknowledged to himself ruefully.
There was nothing sexual in the bond between them. He had joked about it over the months with his wife. Sarah had sworn him to secrecy when she stopped weeping and recovered her self-control, or he would have told Bronwen now about Beaumont’s predatory attentions. It was a pity he was not able to do that, for Bronwen would have given him a better perspective on the situation. She would have told him that Sarah was not a pretty and vulnerable girl, but a woman of thirty-three who was quite capable of looking after herself.
That was exactly what Sarah Vaughan herself told him, but it did not have the same effect coming from her. Gerry saw it as the brave attempt of a victim to assert her independence, in a situation where she was at the mercy of a predatory and experienced older man.
Gerry would have loved to discuss Sarah’s predicament with his closest working colleague, Jason Knight, but her demand that the information should go no further meant that too was impossible. That again was a pity, because the chef would also have put a better perspective on the news than he could. Jason would, indeed, have been rather more cynical, not about Sarah’s innocence and shock, but about the possibilities of turning the situation to her advantage. It might just have been to his advantage as well, of course, but that would have been no more than a happy coincidence.
As it was, the effect upon Gerry Davies of Sarah Vaughan’s revelations was unfortunate. It upset his usually sound business judgement. It meant that he allowed personal and emotional considerations to impinge upon his working relationships, a thing he had always previously avoided. As he had told Knight, he respected Martin Beaumont as an efficient entrepreneur, a shrewd judge of markets and potential niches in them, a good picker of men and women to serve him, an excellent leader, and an employer who rewarded ability and hard work.
These were accurate judgements. They should not have been modified by the news of Beaumont’s lubricious tendencies. He was not the first owner of a business who thought power and position entitled him to put his hand up skirts, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. Lust was a more dangerous weakness than it had been in the past, and that was surely a good thing. But it didn’t make Martin Beaumont any less efficient at the things he did well as a business leader.
When it was much too late, Gerry Davies would see all of this. But on the day after Sarah Vaughan had arrived in his deserted shop in such a distressed state, he took a decision which was to prove momentous for other people as well as him.
He went across to Jason Knight’s kitchens at four o’clock, knowing that at that time he would find the chef resting in his den before he began directing the preparations for the evening’s meals. Once the door was safely closed, Davies spoke abruptly, as though he feared that hesitation might affect his decision. ‘I’ve changed my mind about what you said. I think we should challenge Beaumont about the future of the firm. I think we should have our say in the running of this place.’
Vanda North couldn’t remember what Jane Beaumont looked like. A solitary meeting ten years ago had left no lasting impression. A tall, rather pretty, athletic woman, she thought. But she had only the vaguest memory of Martin’s wife.
When she opened the door to her visitor, she was shocked by what she saw. She looked into a haggard, strained face. The high cheekbones must once have been striking, but now they were too prominent under the stretched grey skin to look anything but unhealthy. The deep-set dark eyes had probably been intriguing in this woman’s youth; now the dark rings beneath them made them look haunted.
Vanda knew from her time with Martin that Jane Beaumont was two years younger than her husband, which would make her now fifty-four. Had she not known that, she would have taken her for over sixty. Vanda had expected to be embarrassed by this meeting. That might still happen, but she realized now that she would have to be careful not to show the pity and concern she felt for her visitor.
Jane Beaumont smiled. ‘You have a nice place here. Charming and quite individual.’ She sounded like a polite child who had been primed by her parents with the right things to say.
‘Thank you. I like it, and most people seem to find it an intriguing old place. Please come inside. I have tea and biscuits waiting.’ Vanda spoke as robustly as she could, thrusting aside the thought that she in turn was responding as if her visitor were a well brought-up youngster. Two minutes later, she carried a large tray into the sitting room where she had taken this unexpected guest. ‘Old places have their disadvantages too, of course. I had to have the thatch on the roof renewed when I moved in here twelve years ago. Set me back a pretty penny at the time, that did. And buildings insurance can be prohibitive.’
Jane Beaumont gave her a wan smile. ‘I want to talk to you about Martin.’
‘I see. I doubt whether I can be of any help to you, but I’m prepared to listen to whatever you have to say.’ Despite the embarrassment she felt was coming, Vanda was glad that the woman had dispensed with small talk. She had been wondering how to move beyond the meaningless preliminaries.
‘You were Martin’s mistress. I know that.’
‘Yes. It sounds trite to say this now, and it’s probably meaningless, but I regret any pain I caused you. Passion makes you selfish, makes you disregard the effects of your actions upon others. I know that’s no excuse for-’
‘Passion, yes. I suppose it was that. Perhaps I felt that myself at one time. I doubt if it was strong enough to merit the term passion, but it’s too long ago for me to be certain of anything now.’ She looked past Vanda, staring at a picture on the wall but seeing in her mind’s eye something else entirely. She picked up a biscuit, took a small bite from it, then stared at it in her hand as if wondering how it had got there. ‘It may be that now I have to hurt you. But I want you to help me.’
‘I’ll do that if I can. At this moment, I can’t see anything I could do which might be useful to you.’
‘I’m going to sue Martin for divorce.’ Jane was quiet for a long time, sipping her tea and staring at the painting again. Vanda wondered whether she was going to offer any development of a statement she seemed to regard as self-explanatory.