“Kind.”
“Aye, you could call it that. When she died she left him all her money in her will.”
“She had no family?”
“A nephew in Surrey. He tried to contest it, but it seemed above board.”
“Mantel had her charmed, then?”
“Or scared her witless.”
They sat for a moment in silence. They could hear the ticking from the fat, round clock on the mantelpiece.
“That’s when he started investing in property. Still not twenty, and he bought a couple of terraced houses in the town. Let them out to students. Bought a few more. One of them burnt down. Probably faulty electrics, but no proof and he collected the insurance anyway. He was lucky no one was trapped inside. The college authorities weren’t happy, though, and by then he’d decided the students weren’t ideal tenants. Too lippy. Too ready to complain. They knew their rights. So, he started taking in families on housing benefit.”
“Lots of scope there for a scam. Especially when the benefit’s paid straight to the landlord.”
“Right. And if money was tight he’d offer his families a bit to tide them over.”
“Like I said,” Vera’s eyes were shining. He could see she was enjoying herself, ‘kind.”
“Not at the rate of interest he was charging.”
They stared at each other.
“I knew some of that,” she said at last. “I’d heard he was into benefit fraud, loans. Not for years of course. Now he’s a respectable businessman. Urban regeneration’s his thing. Working with the community. He has lunch every other week with the Prince of Wales. Almost a saint.” She paused for breath before continuing, “I never knew where he got his money in the first place. It must have taken a bit of digging around to get at that.”
“I’m a stubborn bugger. I don’t give up.”
“It must have been personal though. You must have started checking up on Mantel before he took up with your Jeanie.”
“I’d found out some of it before then. Took it more seriously later.”
“What made you start?”
“He challenged my authority in the village. Made me look a fool. I couldn’t have that. I thought if I told the others where his money had come from, the sort of man he really was, they’d drop him.”
“Did you tell them?”
“I didn’t get the chance. In the beginning I didn’t have the proof. And when Jeanie moved in with him, they’d have thought that that was what it was about. A grudge because he was screwing my daughter. Then his little girl died and it didn’t seem so important any more.”
“But you did try to tell Jeanie?”
He nodded. “That afternoon when I’d seen them together in his car outside my house. I was angry. It all came out wrong. She didn’t believe me. She packed up all her things and stormed out.”
“That was when she moved in with Mantel?”
“Yes. So it was all my fault. The girl’s death. Jeanie’s imprisonment. If I’d kept my temper none of that would have happened.”
“We don’t know that. Not yet. When Mantel asked Jeanie to leave, she came back to you?”
“She didn’t like it, but she had nowhere else to go. She was still infatuated with Mantel. She wouldn’t move away. And we’d mended things a bit between us. That was Peg’s doing. “I know you don’t like it, but we’ll lose her altogether if we don’t make the effort.” Peg invited them round for Sunday lunch Mantel, Jeanie and the daughter. You’d have thought we’d had royalty in the house the effort that went into that meal. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, sitting down at the table with that man. Watching him smiling. Knowing damn well he knew exactly what I was going through.” Michael paused. “I’ve wondered over the years if that was why he took up with Jeanie. Why he stayed with her so long, at least. If he did it just to spite me.”
Chapter Nine
After the Sunday lunch at Springhead House, James was surprised to see Emma huddled in conversation with Robert in the kitchen. He knew he enjoyed these family occasions better than she did and she wasn’t usually easy in Robert’s “company. James had never been able to work out what objection she could have to her parents. They were perfectly reasonable and civilized. They made few demands. He knew better than to say so, but when Emma complained about Robert and Mary, he thought she was acting like a spoilt child. He didn’t mind too much. It had been her youth which had attracted him in the first place; she’d seemed untarnished by experience.
They were sitting in the living room at Springhead, drinking tea and eating fruit cake, when the subject of families came up. James had known it would happen sometime, but now he was unprepared. The conversation began safely enough.
“It’s Mary’s fiftieth birthday next month,” Robert said. “We were thinking of having a party.”
“Were we?” Mary was crouched by the fire, trying to poke life into it. They were burning elder which was still green and gave off no heat, but her face was red because she’d been blowing into the embers.
“Well, I thought we should. We didn’t do much for our silver wedding and I’d like to make a fuss of you.”
“I don’t know…” The prospect seemed to terrify her, though Robert didn’t notice. “Who would we invite?”
“I thought we could make it open house. Ask our friends from the church, the youth club even. I miss having young people in the place.”
“Oh, no, really, I don’t think that would be a good idea at all. I’d rather something smaller. Just the family.”
That was when the unexpected happened.
“If that’s what you’d prefer,” Robert said. “I did think it would be a good opportunity to get to know James’s family at last. You won’t mind them, I’m sure.”
James felt the stab of panic, hoped he was concealing it better than Mary had hidden hers. “That’s very kind. But there’s no one really. No one close.”
“I always found that hard to believe. It was so sad that there were no relatives to help you celebrate your wedding. If it’s a question of a family feud, surely this is the time to make up. There’s a new generation to consider now.”
“No,” James said, more sharply than he’d intended. “There’s nothing like that.”
“Think about it,” Robert said. “If you remember anyone, ask them along. We all have ancient aunts, second cousins. We’d like to meet them.”
“Honestly.” James kept the irritation from his voice. “I’m quite alone. That’s why I’m so grateful to be an honorary Winter.” He knew at once that had been the right thing to say. Robert beamed.
In the car on the way home Emma apologized for her father’s behaviour. “Really,” she said. “He’s so rude. He can never stop prying. He’s just the sort of person who gives social workers a bad name.” She was always in a better mood after a Springhead Sunday. The ordeal was over for another week. James, in contrast, felt unusually jittery. Though he’d satisfied Robert this time, he suspected there’d be more questions.
Once they were in the house he relaxed, thought his panic had been ridiculous. The baby had been fractious in the car and Emma took him immediately upstairs to bath. James changed out of his suit then stood leaning against the bathroom door to watch. This was all he had ever dreamt of. This house. This family.
They went to bed early because he was still on call, and by now he must be near the head of the turn list. He worked twelve days on and eight days off. He fell immediately into a deep sleep, untroubled by worries about Robert.
Emma had married him because she had a romantic notion about the sea. And him. And he hadn’t lived up to the fantasy.
The thought came to him, unbidden, in a flash, between the second when the phone woke him and the moment of answering the call. Then it disappeared from his mind, like the remnants of a dream once you are properly awake.