Promise Made (14 page)

‘I can stop for half an hour,' he said. ‘I wanted to talk to you, Frances – make sure you're all right.'

‘Of course I am. What have you heard?' Frances looked annoyed. ‘That's the trouble with this village. People talk too much.'

Daniel followed her into the kitchen. It smelled of baking, but there was no sign of any mess. Frances had obviously tidied everything away. He thought of Alice's cluttered kitchen and smiled inwardly. He knew what he preferred. He wouldn't want to live in this perfect order all the time.

‘I saw Marcus in Ely the other day. He had been drinking, Fran. He came out of the pub and got into his lorry. I am not sure he was fit to drive it. What is wrong with him? Have you quarrelled?'

‘We argue most of the time,' Frances said. She moved the kettle on to the range, her back to him. ‘But it isn't that – something is eating away at him inside. I don't know what is wrong, because he won't tell me.'

‘Is it that bust up with his father?'

‘That may be a part of it.'

‘Couldn't he make it up? Sam would take him back. He told me that Marcus only has to ask.'

‘You really have no idea what that means.' Frances sat at the table, her face set in stone. ‘Sam wants him to crawl back and he won't – and I don't want him to either. I would rather have less money in my purse.'

‘But you can't agree with Marcus drinking so much?'

‘No, of course I don't,' Frances said. ‘It has changed him and I hate it. I live in fear of him being killed in an accident – but there's nothing I can do. If I say anything he flies into a temper.'

‘He hasn't hit you?' Daniel looked angry, prepared to defend her.

‘No, he hasn't been violent to me or Charlie,' Frances said. ‘When he hasn't been drinking, he's the same as he used to be – but he is drinking more often lately. I think he did try to stop but he couldn't.'

‘Can't you stop him? Tell him you will walk out on him if he continues.'

‘Where would I go?' she asked. ‘I've got hardly any money of my own. It's not fair, Dan. Margaret had thousands when Dad died and neither Emily or I got a penny.'

‘It was all in the farm,' Daniel told her. ‘You know that, Frances. We expected that we would get an income when things picked up, but none of us did. I'm sorry. It may have been better to have sold all the land then, but we agreed to keep it and hope that it would come right eventually.'

‘No one asked me,' Frances said. ‘You and Henry arranged it all between you. If you had asked me, I should have done what Cley did and taken my share out.'

‘It was mostly left between Dad's sons,' Daniel told her. ‘But I agree that you should have had something – though both you and Emily had a small trust fund as I remember it.'

‘Only a couple of thousand,' Frances told him. ‘I spent most of that ages ago. I was expecting more when you came back and settled everything.'

‘Well, I'm sorry it didn't work out that way,' Daniel said. ‘You don't think I liked what happened, do you? I asked the bank for more time. If I'd had a chance to get things straight I might have saved something . . . but they wouldn't listen.'

‘How is it that Mary has the house?' Frances asked. ‘Surely it should have been shared between us?'

‘Emily bought it for her,' Daniel said, feeling disgusted that she should ask. ‘Mary is on her own now, Frances. She needs something to fall back on. You and Marcus are hardly short of money – and you could have more if he went to work for his father.'

‘Yes, I know.' Frances looked a bit ashamed. ‘I didn't realize that Emily had bought the house for Mary. But you shouldn't tell me that I could walk out on Marcus. I have a son to support and no way to do it, because I've never worked.'

‘No, you haven't, have you?' Daniel frowned, because he hadn't realized how helpless Frances was until this moment. ‘You're not like Emily. She went into the fire service.'

‘And I got married. It was all I wanted to do, Daniel. I thought it was going to be wonderful, and it would have been if the war hadn't come along.'

‘Yes, I know.' Daniel looked grim. ‘I would offer to help if I could, Frances, but at the moment I am stretched to the limit. Emily might help if you asked her.'

‘Yes, I suppose she might,' Frances said, but didn't look happy with the idea. ‘I shall have to stick it out, Daniel. Anyway, I don't want to leave Marcus. I still love him – at least, I do when he isn't drunk.' She lifted her eyes to her brother's. ‘He might listen to you if you spoke to him. I don't know what to say anymore.'

‘I doubt he would listen to me, Fran,' Daniel said. ‘We've never mixed much. He went to a private school and I went locally – he always thought himself a cut above me. I daresay he was right.'

‘That's nonsense,' Frances said. ‘I had private schooling and you could have done if you'd wanted to go to boarding school.'

‘I should have hated that,' Daniel said. ‘Dad asked where I wanted to go – and then I won a scholarship to grammar school and that was it. I did well enough.'

‘I wish Connor would take his exams. I am sure he could win a scholarship too if he tried.'

‘It isn't for Connor,' Daniel said. ‘He's going to be working with me. It is what he wants, Fran.'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘He is your responsibility now. I have enough to think about.'

‘Yes, perhaps you do,' Daniel said. ‘I don't think I'll stop for that tea, Frances. I'll speak to Marcus if I see him, but I think he may resent it.'

He left her standing in the kitchen. Frances was right, she had been entitled to something from the farm but they had agreed that she would get an income. The war had put paid to that and there was nothing he could do about it. She would just have to put up with her husband's drinking and hope that he would pull himself out of it.

Daniel thought he understood. They all carried memories that would be better left behind.

After her brother had gone, Frances fetched her son in from the garden. He was well wrapped up because it was cold out. She put on a thick tweed coat and a silk headscarf. She had some shopping to do and then she would visit her mother-in-law. She hadn't liked Rosalind Danby much when she was first married, but now they got on reasonably well. At least she was someone to talk to, and Frances didn't have many real friends in the village. Like her brother, most of the women had gone to the local school; they thought Frances was a snob because she had gone to boarding school and lived in a big house, and perhaps in a way she was.

‘I wish Marcus would come and see me more often,' Rosalind Danby said. She had been nursing her grandson on her lap, but Frances was ready to leave. She had stayed for nearly three hours and that was as long as these visits ever lasted. Sometimes Rosalind wished that she could have Charlie for a whole day, but Frances was very jealous of her son's affections. ‘Ask him to pop in on Sunday, will you?'

‘I'll ask him,' Frances said, ‘but I can't promise anything. Marcus is very busy these days.'

‘Is something wrong?' Rosalind asked. She had sensed it for a while now, but no one told her anything. Sam seemed to think she was an imbecile, treating her as though she didn't see or hear things – but she knew a lot more about him than he realized. ‘Marcus isn't in any trouble, is he?'

Frances hesitated, and then shook her head. ‘No, of course not. I shall have to go now or I shan't have his tea ready when he comes home.'

‘Yes, of course,' Rosalind agreed. She never tried to keep her daughter-in-law longer than she wanted, because she was afraid that Frances would simply stop bringing the boy to visit. Charlie was the only good thing in Rosalind's life and she didn't want to lose the small privilege she had been granted. ‘You will come again next week, dear?'

‘Yes, I expect so,' Frances said. ‘Come on, Charlie. Mummy wants to go home. Kiss Grandma goodbye.'

Charlie obligingly enveloped his grandmother in his arms, delivering a kiss sticky with jam and chocolate. He liked coming to his grandmother's house, because she spoiled him – and she had a big garden. At the end of the garden were hutches with rabbits that Charlie liked to stroke when he was allowed. No one had told him that the rabbits were there because people ate them.

‘Come along then.' Frances took his hand and led him outside. She was saying a lingering farewell to Rosalind when Sam drew up in his car.

‘Just leaving, Frances?' he asked and smiled at her. ‘Why don't I take you in the car?'

He asked the same question every week. Frances had tried leaving earlier, but he seemed to have the knack of turning up at the right moment every time.

‘Thanks, but it is quite pleasant this afternoon,' Frances said. She tried to hold on to Charlie, but he had wriggled from her grasp, running to his grandfather, who swung him aloft. She watched helplessly as Sam tucked the boy into the car, knowing that she had no choice. ‘Well, if you insist . . .' She got into the car, taking Charlie on her lap. ‘Bye, Rosalind. See you next week.'

Sam turned his head to grin at her. ‘Well, isn't this nice?' he asked. ‘Just the three of us – the way I like it.'

‘Marcus will be home for his meal soon.'

‘Will he?' Sam looked at her, the smile settling into a grim line on his mouth. ‘If I know anything, that idiot of a son of mine will be out half the night. He was caught driving under the influence last week, Frannie. Did he tell you that?' Frances shook her head. ‘No, I didn't think so. He will be lucky if he doesn't lose his licence. Then what is he going to do? Tell him to come and see me, will you? It's time we put an end to this nonsense between us. He's my son and it's time he started to behave like a Danby!'

Frances was thoughtful as she entered the house. Perhaps it was time that Marcus made up the breach between him and his father. Whatever it was that was eating away at him, it was never going to get settled until he faced up to it.

Frances busied herself with giving Charlie a bath and putting him to bed. She sometimes thought that this was the best part of her day. His soft body smelled delightfully of soap and talcum powder, and she always cuddled him before putting him into his bed. That evening he wanted a story and she read to him from his favourite book for half an hour before going down to the kitchen. It was just seven o'clock when Marcus came in, looking tired and drained.

‘You're home early for once,' Frances said.

‘Something wrong with that?'

‘No, of course not. I'm pleased that you're home. You must know that I worry when you're late.'

‘You shouldn't. I'm well insured. You'll be better off as a widow, Frances.'

‘Don't you dare say that to me!' She was angry now. ‘I don't deserve that, Marcus. You know I love you.'

‘Do you?' He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘If you do, you must be a sucker for punishment. Haven't you realized that I'm finished? No good to anyone . . .'

‘You shouldn't say such things.' Frances rounded on him. ‘Your son is in bed upstairs. Surely you care about what happens to him?'

‘He has you – and my mother. He'll be all right. My father will probably leave him all his money. As long as he doesn't find out where it came from, he'll be fine.'

‘What are you talking about? You hint at things but you never say what you mean. Rosalind was asking when you were going to see her. I think she believes that I stop you visiting – though how she imagines I have any influence with you, I don't know. Oh, and your father says it's time you came to your senses and went back to work for him.'

Marcus stared at her, something flickering in his eyes. ‘I suppose you agree with him?'

‘No – yes, perhaps,' Frances said feeling frustrated. She couldn't get through to him these days. ‘Something is wrong with you, Marcus. I have no idea what it is, because you never tell me anything. But if it has something to do with your father, perhaps you should sort it out with him. I know I've had enough of your drinking and your temper.'

Marcus was silent for a moment, then: ‘I told you I was no good to anyone,' he said and moved towards the back door, clearly intending to leave.

‘You're not going out again?' Frances asked sharply. He didn't look at her as he turned the door handle. ‘Marcus! Where are you going?'

‘I'm going to sort things out like you said. Don't wait up for me, Fran. I shall probably be late.'

‘Marcus . . . come back. Surely it can wait until tomorrow . . .'

She stared at the door as he slammed it behind him. She could hear him starting the car and she wanted to run after him, to tell him she was sorry and beg him to come back, but her feet wouldn't move. She sank down on to a chair as she saw the flash of headlights, clutching at herself in despair.

‘Marcus, come back. I didn't mean it . . .'

What was happening to them? She hadn't meant to quarrel with him that evening. Tears stung her eyes because she wanted to go back and start again. She wanted Marcus to be the way he was before the war, before the drinking became a problem. She felt cold and shivery, a tingling sensation at the nape of her neck. What did he mean by saying he was going to sort things out? Was he going to have another row with his father?

She wished she could believe that he was prepared to mend the breach with Sam, but she knew that it wasn't going to happen. She had no idea why she had even suggested it, though he had made her angry. Suddenly, she wished very much that she hadn't said anything about it.

She had an awful feeling that Marcus was going out to get drunk. Oh, why had she said anything about his father at all? She was on her husband's side, and she ought to have made that clear.