Promise Made (15 page)

She felt the tears stinging her eyes. It was going to be another long evening alone, and she didn't know how she could bear it.

Alice replaced the telephone receiver and frowned as she went out to the back yard to find Daniel. The call had been from Frances, who was in a bit of a state because Marcus hadn't come home all night. She knew that things weren't right between them, but she hadn't wanted to say anything, because Frances might think she was interfering. Now it seemed that the situation had reached a crisis and her sister-in-law was desperate.

She paused to feel the late autumn sunshine on her face, thinking how lucky she was to be married to Daniel, because she knew he would never behave the way Marcus was now. Marcus had done his bit in the war, but in Alice's opinion, he had been lucky. At least he hadn't been shut up in a prisoner of war camp for months on end, and Frances hadn't had to wonder if her husband was still alive.

Daniel came out of the barn, where he had been working on one of his second-hand cars. ‘Is it time for docky already?' he asked and glanced at his watch.

‘No, not yet,' Alice said. ‘Frances just telephoned me. Marcus hasn't been home all night and she is worried about him.'

‘That man doesn't know when he's well off,' Daniel said. ‘To be honest, I don't have much sympathy with him. Sam is a bit of a rough diamond, but he was willing to give Marcus a free hand with running the lorries. Marcus turned him down and went off to find a job elsewhere – but he couldn't hold it down, and he won't make a success of what he's doing now . . .'

‘Marcus used to be charming,' Alice said looking thoughtful. ‘I don't know why he changed – but I feel for Frances. It can't be very pleasant for her if her husband drinks too much.' She looked at him with a worried frown. ‘You would never do that, would you?'

‘Not in a million years,' Daniel told her. He reached out to draw Alice close, bending his head to kiss her softly on the lips. ‘I know how lucky I am, love. All I want is to work hard and make a good life for you and Danny.'

‘We already have a good life,' Alice said, nestling her head against his shoulder. ‘I don't care about having a lot of money, Dan. I have all I want right here in this house.'

Daniel smiled. ‘What did I do to get so lucky?' he asked.

‘You fell in love with me,' Alice said but avoided his seeking mouth. ‘No, not now, Dan. Frances needs you. I promised that you would go and see her straightaway.'

‘I'm not sure what I can do,' Daniel said, ‘but I suppose I shall have to show willing. Marcus will probably turn up five minutes after I get there – but I'll see if I can have a word with him when he comes in. I may go into Ely and pick up a few bits I need for the car afterwards, so don't bother cooking anything until this evening . . .'

Frances ran to look out of the window as she heard a car engine outside. She was disappointed to see that it was her brother, though pleased that he had come to help her.

Daniel knocked at the back door and then entered. He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Has he turned up yet?'

‘No. I'm really worried,' Frances said and bit her lip. ‘We had a row last night and Marcus went off in a temper.'

‘He probably got drunk and is still sleeping it off somewhere, Frances. You may be worrying for nothing . . .' He glanced at the range where a kettle was simmering. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?'

‘Yes, of course,' Frances agreed and moved the kettle on to the heat. ‘What do I do, Dan? Should I telephone the police?'

‘You haven't done that yet?'

‘I was afraid of making a fuss. Marcus might be angry . . .'

The kettle had started to boil. Frances was pouring water into a large blue-and-white teapot when they heard a car stopping outside. Daniel went to the window and looked out. He sucked in his breath, which made Frances run to look out. She gasped in shock as she saw a police officer get out and come towards the door.

‘You speak to him, Dan,' she said, her voice breathy with fear. ‘Don't let it be bad news . . .' She sat down in a rocking chair by the range, her legs trembling. ‘Please don't let it be Marcus . . .'

She could hear Daniel talking to the police officer, but they were talking in low voices, and Frances was blocking out what they were saying. She didn't want to know . . . and yet when Daniel closed the door and turned to look at her, she knew instinctively.

‘He's dead, isn't he? Was it a car accident?'

‘Yes.' Daniel walked towards her. ‘I'm sorry, Fran. His car went off the road into a ditch and caught fire. He must have been unconscious and . . .' He stopped, his throat catching with emotion. He hadn't had a great deal of time for Marcus of late, but this was a wretched business. ‘It's rotten luck – to go all through the war and then . . .'

Frances was just staring into space. She looked stunned, as if she couldn't believe what he was saying. And yet she had known before he told her.

‘I'll take care of all the details,' Daniel was saying, his voice seeming to come from a distance. ‘I've agreed to go into the . . . police station this afternoon and do whatever is necessary. When they release his body it may be best if he doesn't come here . . .'

‘I don't want him here,' Frances said and stood up. Her face looked frozen and her voice was cold. ‘Just do whatever you think best. I don't want to know.'

‘Frances . . .' Daniel moved towards her, intending to put his arms about her, but she moved away, turning her back on him. ‘No, I'm all right. I don't want that . . .'

‘Don't hold it inside, Fran,' Daniel said softly. ‘It is better if you cry.'

‘I don't feel like crying,' Frances said and turned to look at him. ‘I'm angry. He just threw it all away. We could have had so much – and he chose to drink himself silly. I don't know why, because he didn't tell me. He didn't tell me anything. If he had cared for Charlie or me he wouldn't have done it.'

Daniel stared at her awkwardly. There was no sense in mouthing words of comfort that meant nothing when he agreed with what she was saying. If Marcus had cared for his family, he would have taken more care, left the drinking alone.

‘I expect he had his reasons. It can't have been easy day after day, going up there to be shot at . . . never knowing if he was going to be alive by nightfall.'

‘The war has been over for months – and plenty of other men have bad memories. You don't go drinking to forget.'

‘No, I don't,' Daniel agreed. ‘I have nightmares sometimes – but I don't give into them. I try to forget, because I want to make things right for Alice.'

‘That's what I mean.' Frances looked angry and distressed. ‘If Marcus had loved me, he would have got through it somehow – the way you do.' She frowned. ‘I don't think it was just the war, but I'm not certain what the trouble was, because he never told me.'

‘You know I'm sorry, Fran . . .'

‘I'm glad you were here.' She gave a little shudder. ‘You will do everything? I can't face . . . I won't look at him. I can't!'

‘I've told you, I'll see to things,' Daniel said. ‘But I don't like to leave you here alone. Shall I take you to Alice?'

Frances hesitated, and then shook her head. ‘No, thank you, not yet. Perhaps tonight – if I could stay with you until after . . .' She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you for being here, Dan – but I think I should like to be alone for a while.'

‘I'll fetch you later,' Daniel told her. ‘Get a few things together for you and Charlie – and I'll call and tell Sam the news.'

‘Yes, thank you,' Frances said. ‘I don't think I could bear that  . . .'

Daniel approached her hesitantly. He kissed her cheek. She didn't react, and he thought she was unnaturally calm. He would have preferred tears, but Frances was holding them inside – perhaps until she was alone.

Frances sat down after Daniel had left. She could hear her son playing in the garden with his dog, and she knew that in a few minutes she was going to have to fetch him in and give him something to eat. It was probably time to feed the dog too . . . but for the moment she couldn't motivate herself to do anything.

Somewhere inside she was hurting so badly that she couldn't bear it, but she was refusing to let go, refusing to allow the pain through. If she blocked it out, perhaps it would go away . . . perhaps she would wake up and find that this was all a terrible dream. Marcus couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. She had dreaded that he would be shot down all through the war, but he had come back to her.

But the real Marcus had never come back. She had lost him months ago, Frances realized, feeling angry again. If he'd loved her and Charlie, he would have stopped drinking. He would have made a success of his life. She didn't care so much about the money. He would have built up his own business slowly if only he had stopped drinking.

‘Damn you, Marcus,' Frances said softly. It was easier to be angry with him for letting her down. Much easier than allowing the dreadful thought into her mind that she had driven Marcus to his death. If she hadn't quarrelled with him, he might still be alive.

Sam saw the colour fade from his wife's face as he told her the news that afternoon. Rosalind had been shopping in Ely when Daniel Searles came to the house, walking in with her parcels about ten minutes after he left. Her eyes looked strange, as if she couldn't see properly, and he thought she was going to faint. Sam was feeling sick himself, but also angry – angry because Marcus had thrown everything he had offered him back in his face.

He'd been foolish enough to put some of the property into his name, never thinking about the consequences if Marcus discovered what was going on in those houses. Sam had never expected him to bother about where the money came from, but he had and he'd thrown a fit when he discovered the truth. Sam had thought he would calm down eventually and talk things through – but instead of that the fool had thrown his life away.

‘You're lying . . .' Rosalind's voice was a thin screech. ‘You're trying to hurt me. Marcus isn't dead . . . he can't be . . .' Her face was working with emotion, her hands clenching at her sides. ‘Damn you, Sam! I hate you.' She suddenly flew at him, her hands crooked like claws as she went for his face, hysterical in her grief. ‘It's your fault. He discovered what you are and it destroyed him.'

‘Don't be such a damned fool,' Sam said, catching her wrists, holding her as she struggled against him. He was solidly built and she had no chance as he forced her back, shoving her so that she fell on to the sofa. She half lay there, staring at him, her eyes bleak now as the pain began to sink in. ‘He took after your family – no guts or backbone. If he'd been sensible we could have sorted things out. Besides, it was your own fault, Rosalind. You told him there was something odd going on and he poked his nose in where he had no right.'

‘It's you and your filthy business,' Rosalind muttered through her tears. Her nose was running, her cheeks mottled with red. Never pretty, she looked ugly and older than her years. ‘I hate you, Sam Danby – and one day I shall pay you back for what you've done.'

‘Don't be stupid, woman,' Sam growled. ‘I've kept you and that useless son of mine in luxury for years. If you hate me so much, why don't you walk out of that door?'

Rosalind lifted her head. ‘It was my father's money that gave you your start, Sam, and don't you forget it. I daresay you would like to be rid of me, but I shan't make it easy for you.'

‘Don't be daft, woman,' Sam said and turned his back on the sight of her. She made him want to hit out, irritated him with her moral tone and her belief that she was so superior. He walked out before he was tempted to use his fists on her. He couldn't deny that her money had got him started, but he'd built up a few thousand pounds into a huge fortune.

But what for? The question hammered at his brain as he left the house. All his life he had schemed and worked, building up his empire to pass on to his son and grandchildren when he died. Now Marcus was dead and he had just the one grandson . . . Charlie.

A look of determination came over his face. His thick neck was red and a dark vein stood out at his temple. Charlie was all that mattered now – and Frances. His throat tightened at the thought of her. She was never very far from his thoughts these days. He wasn't sure why, because she had made her feelings quite plain. She didn't like him much, but he wanted her – and he mostly got what he wanted in the end.

He decided that he would go to see her, comfort her a bit. He wouldn't try any of his usual games, because she would knock him back, and he would deserve it. No, he'd be the grieving father and offer to help her, build up her confidence. She was going to need him now, and he would be there for her. Now that Marcus had gone, she would turn to him. He would be patient. He could wait for what he wanted.

He smiled as he got into his car. Losing Marcus was a disappointment, but he still had Charlie and if he played his cards right, he would have Frances too.

Alice turned as the kitchen door opened. Frances walked in carrying Charlie in her arms, Daniel just behind her. One look at her face, at the suppressed pain in her eyes, made Alice's heart bleed for her sister-in-law.

‘Dearest Fran,' she said and went to her. She put her arms about her and Charlie, laying her head against Frances's shoulder. ‘I'm so sorry, love, so sorry.'

Frances made no response. The pain was in her eyes but she was putting on a brave face, holding it inside.

‘Thanks for having me, Alice,' she said in a calm flat tone. ‘I couldn't bear to stay there alone tonight. I'll be all right in a few days . . .'