The Real Katie Lavender (24 page)

‘Yes. I didn’t want to keep something like this from her. One way or another, there’s been enough secrecy in the family. It’s time to be totally honest now.’

‘That’s easier said than done in my experience. We lie all the time, even with those we love. I lied to Neil when I said I didn’t want him to leave Pen. Of course I wanted him to leave her. I wanted him for myself, but I went through the motions of trying to be the understanding mistress.’

He found himself wincing. ‘I don’t think you should use that word.’

‘Which word?’

‘
Mistress
. It doesn’t seem appropriate.’

‘But that’s what I was. It’s how your family will always regard me.’

‘Some might, but not all. I certainly don’t want to.’

Their drinks arrived and when the waiter left them, Simone said, ‘What do you want, Stirling? Why did you want to see me again?’

‘This may sound strange, but I feel I owe it to Neil to make sure you’re all right.’

She raised an impeccably arched eyebrow in surprise. ‘That’s very kind of you. But entirely unnecessary. I shall be all right. Eventually.’

He neither pushed the offer of his help nor felt slighted by her firm rebuttal. As she sipped her wine, he tried to observe her without appearing to do so. His memory of her from the funeral – as sketchy as most of his memories were from that day – was quite different to the woman he was looking at now. Then, she’d been a spectral presence amongst the mourners. There had been a frailness to her, a sort of insubstantial bearing to the way she’d held herself. He could remember thinking as he’d watched her when Neil’s coffin had been lowered into the ground that all it would have taken was one puff of wind for her to be swept away. He thought now that that might have been some kind of subconscious wishful thinking on his part. But now, sitting across the table from her, he saw a stronger and more substantial woman. For a start, she was taller than he recalled, and younger. He wasn’t usually very good at guessing a woman’s age, but he put her in her early forties, perhaps forty-four at a push. Her hair was long and dark and perfectly straight, and seemed to accentuate her height and slender build. There were faint lines around her almond-shaped eyes and a tight pensiveness to her face – wholly understandable, given the awkwardness of the situation – but he could see all too clearly that she was an attractive and elegant woman. There was a dignity and considered intelligence to her bearing, which suggested to him that she was a person who didn’t rush into things lightly. He tried to imagine how she had got herself into an affair with Neil, but failed. Their waiter reappeared with their food; they’d both ordered the poached salmon on a bed of leeks. Alone again, Stirling steeled himself for what he wanted to say next. ‘I’d like you to help me,’ he said.

‘How?’

‘I want to know more about the Neil you knew. You must have seen a different side to him, one that I, and the family, didn’t know about.’

‘And with that knowledge, you then think you’ll be able to make sense of what he did?’

Stirling nodded. ‘The Neil I knew wouldn’t have stolen money and then killed himself.’

‘Who knows what anyone is capable of doing when con fronted with a difficult choice?’ she said at length.

‘Meaning he’d made up his mind to leave Pen but wanted to do it in the kindest way possible? I’m sorry, but that doesn’t explain why he appeared to undergo a complete character change.’

‘I agree with you. And I’m sorry to say this, but you’ve had a wasted journey today, because I can’t throw any more light on what Neil did than you can. Don’t you think I’ve thought of little else? Why, why,
WHY
? It’s all I think of. It’s the last thing I think of when I fall asleep at night and the first thought that I wake up to. If I knew the answer, don’t you think I would have told you or the police?’

Hearing the tension in her voice, Stirling said, ‘I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were holding anything back. It’s just that there has to be an answer somewhere. And I thought that since the two of you were so close, in a way that maybe he wasn’t with Pen, he might have shared something with you he couldn’t share with anyone else. I know that’s what I did when I had an affair many years ago.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I didn’t know that. Neil never mentioned it.’

‘He didn’t know about it. No one did. In fact, it’s only just come to light.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin and told her about Katie, and his reckless announcement the day of Neil’s funeral and how Gina and his children had reacted.

‘Goodness. You’ve had quite a load to carry recently, haven’t you? And your daughter – Katie – how is she now going to fit into your life?’

‘That’s a good question. I want to get to know her, but only once things have calmed down.’

‘What about her mother, will you meet up with her again?’

‘Sadly that’s not possible. She’s dead. Along with Katie’s father – the man who brought her up as his own. She doesn’t have any other family.’

‘But now she has you.’ Simone looked thoughtful. ‘I know what it’s like to be alone. My mother died many years ago and my elderly father is now in a care home and most of the time he doesn’t know who I am. I have no brothers or sisters.’ She paused. ‘I know it sounds selfish, and I’m too old really, but I wish I’d had a child with Neil.’

‘That was something Pen always regretted she wasn’t able to do. Not that that means she loves Lloyd any less than if she’d given birth to him herself, she doesn’t. You knew that Lloyd was adopted?’

‘Yes. And it was the same for Neil: he was always talking about his son, he was immensely proud of him. I hope Lloyd knows that.’

‘I think he does. Did my brother ever talk about adoption? Lloyd’s or his own? I’ve been wondering recently . . .’ He broke off, suddenly uncomfortable at voicing what had been going through his head in the last few weeks.

‘Go on,’ she urged.

He drank some of his wine. ‘Did Neil ever talk about his birth parents? With us he didn’t, but that might have been because he thought we’d be hurt if he did, as though we might have felt he was rejecting us after all this time.’

The diners at the table nearest theirs were on the move, scraping chairs back, gathering bags. When they’d gone, Simone said, ‘There was a conversation we had not long before Easter. We’d gone for a walk in Christchurch Meadows and I remember thinking at the time that he wasn’t his normal self, he was unusually quiet and introverted. We found a bench and sat down for a while. It was a lovely day.’ Her gaze slid away from Stirling’s and a sadness clouded her eyes, as if touching the memory of that day was causing her pain. He waited for her to continue. She did, although her gaze remained fixed on some faraway point through the window, where shafts of sunlight shone through the glass. ‘We’d just been watching a young mother stop to tie her son’s shoelaces, and the girl was patiently explaining to the little boy – he must only have been about four – how to do it when Neil asked me what I thought of him as a person, and did I think I really knew him. He then started saying a person couldn’t know who he was if he didn’t know where he was from. I disagreed with him, and we debated the subject for some minutes until he grew tired of it and suggested we carry on with our walk down to the river.’

‘So he did hanker to know?’

‘It was the only time I ever heard him talk that way.’

‘Do you think it’s possible he wanted to track down his real family?’ Stirling felt the sting of his words as soon as they left his mouth. It was the sting of jealousy. He didn’t want Neil to have another family. He didn’t want to share him with real blood brothers and sisters. Because to do that would make Stirling feel second best. But was that what Neil had always felt? Second best? Somehow not quite a proper Nightingale? And was that how Lloyd felt at times?

‘I have no idea,’ Simone answered. ‘He never raised the matter again.’

Stirling fell quiet. He pushed his plate away, unable to finish his meal. ‘Simone,’ he said after a long silence, ‘do you think Neil was experiencing some kind of breakdown?’

She shook her head. ‘He may have lost his way a little, but a breakdown, no, I can’t go along with that.’ She put a hand out to him. ‘Stirling, I know it’s hard, but we may have to accept that we’ll never know what drove Neil to do what he did.’

‘I don’t think I can do that.’

‘I’m not sure I can either, but I’m frightened that if I don’t, if I keep blaming myself for the part I played in his death, I’ll go mad. I can see you doing the same thing: you’re beating yourself up because you didn’t spot that he was on the verge of killing himself; you weren’t able to stop him. And I’m convinced that’s not what Neil would have wanted.’

Stirling felt the coolness from Simone’s hand on his. She was now looking straight at him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘If only he’d left a note,’ he murmured. ‘If he had just done that one small thing, I’d be able to . . .’ His words got stuck in his throat and he lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said when he’d dug around inside his jacket pocket for a tissue and composed himself. ‘I feel such a fool. Losing it like this.’

‘Don’t apologize,’ she said. ‘Come on, neither of us is hungry. Let’s pay the bill and go for a walk.’

Gina knew what she was doing but she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to.

She hadn’t come here to The Meadows spoiling for a fight, but now she was more than ready for one. She had called in on the off chance to speak with Stirling about a financial matter, only to be told by Pen that he’d gone to Oxford to see Simone Montrose. And then, in one of her typical and infuriatingly throwaway remarks, Pen had said that Lloyd and Cecily had gone down to Brighton to see . . . to see that wretched girl. Gina couldn’t bring herself to say the girl’s name, not even in her head.

From then on everything about her sister-in-law annoyed her and made her want to grab hold of the useless woman and shake her hard. Stop being so bloody wet and pathetic, she wanted to shout at her. And if Pen said just once more, with regard to Gina’s decision to divorce Stirling, that they were all under a lot of stress right now, that it wasn’t the time to make any hasty decisions, or that time was a great healer, then Gina would do something very hasty that no amount of time would ever heal. Stirling had betrayed her in the worst possible way. Their whole marriage had been a lie. And Stirling would pay for that. But could she make Pen understand? No. Because the silly woman wasn’t listening to her. She was far more interested in wandering round the garden deadheading her precious roses, forcing Gina to follow her like some stupid dog.

‘Pen,’ she said, her exasperation reaching boiling point, ‘please, will you stop what you’re doing and listen to me properly.’

No reply.

‘
Pen!
’

Pen stopped what she was doing and looked round in surprise. ‘Why are you shouting at me?’

‘Because you weren’t listening to a word I was saying and it was the only way I could attract your attention.’

‘I
was
listening to you. Of course I was. You were saying you couldn’t understand why Stirling would want to talk to Simone Montrose, and I’ve already told you, he said he wanted to ask her some questions about Neil.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’d moved on from that. I was saying how appallingly insensitive Cecily is being by going down to Brighton to see that . . . that girl, and trust her to involve Lloyd and . . . Oh, what’s the point in trying to make you understand when you’re doing what you always do, avoiding anything you don’t want to confront by disappearing into your silly little world. Honestly, Pen, you’re nothing but a child sometimes and I for one have had enough of it.’

Pen looked startled. ‘Gina, whatever is the matter with you? Why are you getting yourself so worked up over me?’

‘If you’d been listening, you’d know!’ Gina could hear her voice getting shriller and shriller, but she made no effort to control it. She didn’t want to control it. She wanted to let rip. ‘If you weren’t so self-absorbed, you’d realize this family is falling apart and it’s all your fault.’

‘My fault?’

‘Yes, your fault! If you had been a better wife, none of this would have happened. If you hadn’t been so obsessed with this garden, Neil wouldn’t have felt so neglected and needed to look elsewhere.’

Pen’s jaw dropped. For what felt like for ever she stared mutely at Gina. Then her face crumpled and the secateurs dropped from her hands. She turned and walked very quickly back up the garden towards the house.

Finally, thought Gina with grim satisfaction, she had got her sister-in-law’s attention and provoked a reaction. A genuine reaction.

She caught up with Pen in front of a large stone trough of sweet peas; with great care Pen was weaving the tender shoots up the frame of willow supports. She looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Except on closer inspection Gina could see that her hands were shaking. ‘Damn!’ Pen suddenly cursed. She had forced one of the stems too much and it had snapped off. She whipped round and faced Gina. ‘I don’t understand why you feel the need to attack me so personally and so vociferously. What have I ever done to you?’

If Pen was expecting her to climb down and apologize, she had another think coming. ‘For years we’ve all played along with your wafty, head in the clouds, airy-fairy act; well, let me tell you, we’re all heartily sick of it. And as for that ridiculous farce of a funeral you put us through, you could not have made yourself look more stupid. No one in their right mind would have done what you did. It was sheer madness, not to say horribly offensive to the rest of us, for you to invite Neil’s mistress. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for putting us through that shameful day.’

‘I did it for Neil.’

‘For Neil?’ Gina exploded. ‘For Neil? Really, Pen, just how dim are you? Neil was planning to leave you for that woman!’

‘I understand why you’re angry,’ Pen said calmly. Annoyingly calmly. ‘You’re angry with Stirling and you’re taking it out on me.’

‘Oh well done, Pen, that’s your great thought for the day, is it? Of course I’m angry with Stirling. But I’m far angrier with you. You could have stopped all this from happening.’