Leonard stretched out his legs before him, relaxing. Then he saw Judge Arnold look over and sat upright again. He wondered, for the thousandth time what his father-in-law’s Christian name really was. Then he smiled to himself. Maybe the old tyrant was called Cecil, or Hector.
‘What’s so funny?’
Leonard shook his head. ‘I w-w-was just r-r-remembering a joke,’ he said deftly.
‘So let’s hear it then.’
Leonard hadn’t been in the Arnold family, under the same roof, without having learned to be quick on his feet. His speech might judder like semaphore, but his brain was nimble enough.
‘The joke g-g-goes like this,’ he began. ‘What is the difference b-b-between a duck and a solicitor?’
Judge Arnold thought for a moment, then waved his hand impatiently. ‘I don’t know – what is the difference between a duck and a solicitor?’
‘You can’t tell a s-s-solicitor to stick his b-b-bill up his arse,’ Leonard said triumphantly.
He had the satisfaction of seeing the old man’s face slacken and then burst into laughter.
‘Bloody funny, Leonard! Bloody funny!’ Judge Arnold said approvingly. ‘I’ll tell them that at the club tonight.’
Turning back to his desk, Judge Arnold was soon immersed in work. Watching him, Leonard thought about Charlie, and then his own son, Robin. He missed him, always did when he was with Dorothy, but she would insist on taking him away with her for the summer.
‘The heat is good for him,’ she’d say. ‘Honestly, darling, I know what’s best for our baby.’
Leonard didn’t like to tell her that what was best for their baby was spending equal amounts of time with both parents. To another woman he could have said, ‘No, you stay at home with me and we’ll go away together when I have free time,’ but how could he say that to Dorothy?
The old man had made it clear from the first. Dorothy had suffered profoundly. She had found her murdered sister’s body – what greater shock could any woman ever have? To find Catherine hacked to death was enough to turn a person’s mind. It was to her credit, Judge Arnold had said, that Dorothy was strong enough to recover. From now onwards, they would have to see that her life was lived on an even keel. God knows, the old man had gone on, things had been terrible for a while. Straight after the murder the whole family had gone abroad, and only gradually could they face the house again – and the memory of Catherine’s death.
So Dorothy was treated gingerly, her life kept as sweet as possible. If she ever thought of the murder – and Leonard had suspected many times over the years that she had – it was not to him that she turned. It was to the old man.
Three generations were under one roof, all ruled by him. And yet, Leonard thought, each of them, even the four-year-old Robin, lived separate lives. They might share some of the same rooms, and occupy the same address, but there was a distance between them which was eerie. Perhaps, Leonard mused, there was so much horror in the past, everyone had suppressed his or her feelings so much, that there was no elasticity of spirit any longer. Too many dark comers and hidden memories had culminated in a family living together, but emotionally apart.
Leonard could endure it, but he didn’t want the same for his son. Dorothy would spoil the child too much, Robin would end up like the friendly and foolish Charlie, and Leonard didn’t want that. He knew he was a weak man himself, but he didn’t want his son to be the same. Money and power were Robin’s birthright, but he needed something else – judgement and compassion.
Dorothy had suffered, yes, but she had acted ruthlessly with regard to her niece. Leonard would never forget that, nor condone it. Besides, her parents should have forbidden the action. The child was not to blame for its birth, nor for not being the favourite.
Leonard had always suspected that there was more to it, and knew from something Alwyn had once said – in a rare unguarded moment – that the baby had rejected Dorothy and cried incessantly for her father. Charlie had taken to Dorothy at once, but not the infant girl. How like his wife, Leonard thought, to punish the child for disliking her.
As he sat there musing, a sudden and strange sensation came over Leonard. He realised with astonishment that if he never saw his wife again he would hardly miss her. But he would miss his son. He would definitely miss his son …
Sighing, he rose to his feet and walked out. And his father-in-law watched him go – just as he watched everyone.
Mr Dedlington was uneasy, hanging around Victor as he finished off planing a bookcase. Aware of his scrutiny, Victor was unexpectedly clumsy, scratching the mahogany surface and hearing a sharp intake of breath behind him.
‘Sorry, Mr Dedlington. I can fix it.’
‘Lad, I wanted a word with you.’
As Victor turned round, his employer glanced away. Victor knew the look – bad news was coming.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve had a visit, lad, from Miss Lees.’ A pause, long enough to let the name do its damage. ‘Look, I have a business to run, and I rely on Netherlands to supply me with apprentices. I always have done. My father did before me. It’s an arrangement I’ve had with the home for years now.’
‘Isn’t my work good enough?’ Victor asked, knowing that it had nothing to do with his skill. No, he thought to himself, don’t you turn against me. Please.
‘It’s not that, Victor. It’s just that the arrangement with your young lady is not respectable –’
‘We’re getting married, and you know there’s nothing wrong in it. I sleep here, on your couch every night.’
Mr Dedlington waved aside the objection. He didn’t like the situation he had been forced into, but he had no choice. He had a business to run, a wife and family to support. Victor Coates wasn’t his responsibility. He had given the lad a chance, what more could he be expected to do?
‘It’s like this, Victor. You have to leave my employ – unless you part company with your young lady, and then you’re welcome to stay and finish your apprenticeship.’
Victor blinked, stung. ‘What?’
‘It might be for the best.’
Laying down the plane, Victor stared at the older man.
‘How could it be for the best?’
‘I’m not sacking you, lad; my argument’s not with you.’
‘But with Alice?’ Victor countered shortly. ‘What’s she ever done to hurt you?’
‘Nothing,’ Mr Dedlington snapped, rubbing his forehead with his stubby hands. ‘The world’s not fair, lad. Things don’t work out the way we want.’ His voice dropped. ‘They’ve got me over a barrel, Victor. If you don’t break it off with Alice, you can look for work elsewhere.’
Victor stared at Mr Dedlington and saw him colour. He had thought it was such a kindness for his employer to help him, to find them the house to rent on Trafalgar Street. Mr Dedlington had loaned him money – a debt which had yet to be repaid – but having supported the couple so willingly it was a bitter blow that he was now turning on them.
‘I can’t give her up.’ Sickened, Victor heard his voice harden.
‘Then you lose your job,’ Mr Dedlington replied, ‘and you owe me money, Victor. Don’t forget that. A debt’s a debt.’
‘I’ll pay it back!’
‘If you leave, I want the money on the day you leave.’
Victor stared at him, stupefied. ‘You know I can’t do that! I don’t have any money.’
‘So keep your job.’
It