There was the sound of a key in the front door, and she tensed. They were both silent as quick, heavy footsteps mounted the stairs.
Seventeen
“Bloody police! Are they trained in techniques to make everyone feel guilty? I came back from the States to do my duty as a British citizen and…”
His words petered out when he saw that Debbie was not alone.
“Francis, this is Carole Seddon. Carole, my hus – my ex-husband, Francis.”
He dutifully shook her hand, but did not look pleased to see her. Francis Carlton was bulky, probably round six foot four, but there was a fastidiousness about him, which was at odds with his size. It showed in the high shine on his brown loafers, the crispness of his button-down collar, the crease of his light grey trousers, the ‘English-style’ cut of his American sports jacket (so different from anything purchasable in England). Most of all the fastidiousness showed in the flat oblongs of his spectacles, rimmed in matt black metal.
Debbie Carlton was visibly nervous in her ex-husband’s presence. She gestured to the coffee tray, but he dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head. Then he looked at her quizzically, demanding an explanation for the presence of a visitor.
“I’ve been showing Carole some fabrics.”
“Ah yes, of course. The interior designer.” He spoke the words with a contempt that was utterly diminishing. Debbie was not going to get any support in her new career from that direction.
Francis Carlton looked at his watch. “I must go and wash my hands,” he said. “Absolutely filthy, the desk they had me sitting at.” Realizing this might have given Carole some clue as to where he’d been, he moved brusquely towards the bathroom.
“Are you going to want something for lunch?” asked Debbie.
“No. Meeting some people,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
“Am I meant to know where he’s been?” Carole murmured.
Debbie shook her head. “No. Francis wouldn’t like that. As I say, he’s very concerned about his image of respectability.”
“In that case, I’d better pretend I didn’t hear what he said when he came in. Have you any idea how long he’s going to be staying with you?”
“He hasn’t said. I wouldn’t think long. He’ll want to get back to Jonelle.” Still unable to say the name without an edge of distaste, she chuckled bleakly. “That is, of course, assuming the police allow him to go.” In response to Carole’s startled expression, she said, “Just a joke. Sorry. Me being vindictive.”
But was it just a joke – or part of a strategy of deception? “Do you have any other reason for saying that – apart from being vindictive?”
“No,” Debbie almost snapped.
“But for Francis to have come all this way – ”
Again there was the sound of the front door being unlocked. This time Debbie Carlton did not become moretense. More relaxed, if anything. She knew it was her mother.
Billie Franks arrived in the sitting room, looking exactly the same as she had on the previous occasion. She may have been wearing different clothes, but she was the kind of woman who always wore the same kind of clothes, so they made little difference. The tight grey perm looked as if it had been assumed like a helmet, and the basket was still clutched to her broad stomach.
“Morning, love. Oh, hello, Mrs Seddon.” The recall was instant. She took in the books of fabric samples. “You going to go ahead with the decorating, after all, then, are you?”
“Well…”
“Be good if you do, because Debbie gets such a pittance from that husband of hers that – ”
“Mum…”
“And she’s a very hard worker. Real perfectionist. Gets that from her dad. He never left the shop till the last thing had been put away and the last surface polished. Closed to customers at five-thirty sharp, but he was never home till – ”
“Mum, Carole doesn’t want to hear this.”
Billie Franks took the point, and was silent. Carole smoothed down her skirt. “I’d better be off, actually…”
“Not on my account. I just dropped in on the way to see Debbie’s dad, like I do every morning. Don’t let me disturb you.”
“Well, I…” Politeness dictated that Carole probably should leave. But then again, when would she get a better chance of pursuing her investigation with some of the principals in the case? She relaxed into her chair.
“Is he back?” Billie asked her daughter.
“In the bathroom.”
“Has he told you what the police interrogated him about yet?” The old woman had no reticence about discussing in front of a stranger where Francis had been. Indeed, she seemed to relish the opportunity.
“No.”
“So you don’t know if they’ve asked him about his other women?”
Debbie Carlton shook her head, her expression now indicating that this might not be appropriate conversation. Her mother, undeterred, addressed herself directly to Carole. “I never trusted that young man from the first moment Debbie introduced him. Only ever going to think about Number One, I could tell that.”
“Mum…”
But Billie Franks wasn’t going to be diverted. “And when Debs told me they was going to get married, I couldn’t have been more upset. I wanted her to marry someone nice from round here, someone from Fedborough, who’d care about her and look after her properly and give her lots of babies and – ”
“Carole doesn’t want to hear all this, Mum.”
Nothing could have been further from the truth, but more revelations were stopped by Francis Carlton’s reappearance from the bathroom.
He stood facing his ex-mother-in-law. The temperature in the room dropped by ten degrees. Then, clutching her basket righteously to her, Billie Franks announced, “I’ll give your love to Dad, Debbie,” and left the flat.
Francis Carlton made no reference to what had just happened. Instead, he walked across to a coat rack and said, “Must’ve left the mobile in my raincoat pocket.” He retrieved it, and looked again at his watch. “Still a bit earlyto ring Florida. Want to check how Jonelle is. She’s been feeling pretty ropey in the mornings…you know, with the morning sickness…because of the baby.”
He moved to the door. “I’ll be back later.”
No gesture this time at a polite farewell to Carole. He didn’t want to lessen the impact of his parting shot. Carole felt sure it was the first time the baby had been mentioned, and a look at Debbie’s face confirmed that. She was almost as pale as her hair, her red lips a wound-like gash in the whiteness. Tears sparkled in the dark blue eyes.
Carole had no idea of Debbie Carlton’s gynaecological history, whether she had ever tried to have a child, whether she had been unable to, whether even that had been the reason for the failure of their marriage. All she knew was that Francis Carlton’s announcement had hurt his ex-wife deeply. And also that breaking the news that way, casually, with a stranger present, had been a deliberate act of vindictiveness.
“I’d better be on my way,” she said. She couldn’t think of any help to offer that wouldn’t be emotionally intrusive. Jude would have been fine in such a situation, she’d have found the right words, she’d have provided comfort. But Carole Seddon didn’t have those skills.
Fortunately, Debbie Carlton’s shock and self-pity didn’t last. Quickly, she converted them into anger. “God, he’s a bastard!”
“Well, I’m not really in a position to – ”
“If I’d still had a sneaking residual shred of affection for him, what he just said would have removed it. That was the first time he’d told me Jonelle was pregnant.”