But Johnny … Reynard didn’t like to admit this, but Johnny had always been his favourite. There was just something about Johnny – the boy would be sorely missed when he joined Alfred’s college in September. For one thing, Johnny had always been interested in the business and how it all worked. That was why he had been given charge of the rent-collecting last year. Well, that and the fact that it saved Reynard having to pay an older person much more than the small wage he gave Johnny. And the boy was so trustworthy, so good at figures. Reynard seldom checked the ledger against the money collected, before taking the cash to the bank.
He frowned briefly as he drank from his glass. Of course, they didn’t see so much of Alfred now, but when he was at home he seemed to spend a lot of time in town with friends he’d made. And from what Reynard managed to glean, he liked the girls. Well, when the time came, Reynard would issue certain warnings. Work came first, must always come first. Alfred had a long way to go before he could become seriously involved with a woman.
The thing that Reynard could not deny was that his older son was a rebel, had been from a young age, always questioning why he should or should not do this or that, always wanting his own way. Reynard’s brow furrowed even more deeply as his thoughts ran on, because there was that other thing, that other much, much worse thing.
War.
War with Germany was now highly likely and Alfred had announced in no uncertain terms that he would be joining up as soon as it began. Reynard dragged a hand through his hair. If only the boy realized how dreadful war was, how unbelievably savage and cruel and terrifying. Surely in a civilized world there should be no war ever again? War was a terrible waste of life, of resources, of opportunities …
But in their discussions Alfred had not wavered. He was going to volunteer for service and that was that.
Reynard took a gulp from his glass. There was no use denying it, Alfred was a carbon copy of himself.
Johnny, on the other hand, was different. No talk of war or girls with Johnny. You couldn’t count little Lexi, Lexi Martin, who seemed to scuttle out of sight as soon as she saw him. She was the daughter of the woman who helped Anna in the house now and then, a woman who was an expert with a needle. If Reynard needed the legs of a pair of trousers lengthened, or the sleeves of a new jacket brought down a tiny bit, Mrs Martin always obliged. And his favourite waistcoats were the ones she had made for him.
He poured himself another glass of brandy, then sat down again, recoiling once more at what he had witnessed earlier. Then he put down his glass and picked up the small bunch of keys always kept behind the inkwell. Selecting the smallest key, he leaned forward and inserted it into the bottom drawer of the desk. This was his private drawer, the only one which was out of bounds to everyone else – Johnny had never opened it, Reynard knew that.
Slowly, Reynard opened the drawer and took out a large brown envelope, realizing that his hands were shaking slightly – well, they usually did when he opened this envelope …
Then, carefully, carefully, he slid out the photograph. That photograph.
It was a picture of two young couples, standing close together, and smiling happily. One couple was Sylvia and himself – it always surprised him how young and carefree his wife looked in that shot. But he, as usual, was straight-faced … well, it was those teeth …
And the other two in the picture were his best friend Roland, the only friend Reynard had ever had, and Roland’s wife. A pretty, dark-haired girl, full of life. In their fairly short acquaintance, they’d had such good times, the four of them. Enjoyed being together, trusted each other implicitly …
For several minutes Reynard just sat there gazing at the picture, gazing into the past. Slowly, his forefinger traced the outline of the four in the photograph, as if by touching he might bring them all to life …
Then he slid the picture back into the envelope, replaced it in the drawer which he locked again carefully, and stood up, leaving the study to return to his bedroom.
Why had he done that, tonight? Why had he opened that drawer? Was it to punish himself, to make him even more miserable than he’d already been?
Was confronting the past ever any help at all?
Cecilia went back into the kitchen with her cup of tea and sat down gratefully in front of the fire.
Today’s Sunday lunch had seen the last of the very plump chicken which Albert had brought home a few days earlier and nothing had been wasted – the neck, giblets, wing tips, and every scrap of offal used, ending with the carcass providing a pan of glorious stew, with parsley and dumplings and potatoes. Cecilia had wondered whether the bird had been given to Albert, as he’d said, or whether her husband had “acquired” it, but she preferred not to dwell on that because the children had loved it.
It was lovely having Albert home, making them a proper family of five for once. The children, especially Lexi, had been so excited to see him again. Cecilia glanced down at them sprawled there on the floor, with Lexi testing Phoebe’s reading, and Joe laboriously colouring in a picture book – one of the several presents Albert had brought with him.
He came through, then, from the scullery, stopping to wash his hands. He shot a glance at Cecilia. ‘Now then, Cissy – sure you’re not after minding me going out for a pint or two,’ he said. ‘I shan’t be long.’
Cecilia didn’t even look up at him as she smiled. ‘Of course I don’t mind, Albert. You go and enjoy yourself.’ Though how anyone could take in another mouthful of anything, after all the food they’d just eaten, was beyond her. And why he would rather be in a crowded, smoke-filled pub than here with his family was another mystery to Cecilia. Surely he should rather be here with his children – he saw very little of them and they were growing up so fast.
Cecilia glanced after him as he went, humming a little tune under his breath, and she wondered if Albert ever felt guilty about picking and choosing at life as he did. About having everything all his own way. Did it never occur to him that she could do with his company, with his support, a little more often? To say nothing of providing more consistent housekeeping money? But no, she was sure her husband’s conscience never bothered him about anything at all. Which was lucky for him. Not many people could say that.
It was four o’clock, and just then there was a light tap on the door. Lexi immediately jumped up to answer it. It was Johnny and she hadn’t seen him all the week.
He came in, and after politely enquiring as to Mrs. Martin’s health, immediately crouched on the floor with Lexi and the children. Cecilia smiled down at him. He was such a good-looking lad, so well-mannered, had such a way with him. And so easy to talk to …well, he met so many people on his after-school round on a Friday, collecting rents for his father. Cecilia well remembered the first time she had seen him – a dear little thing about eighteen months of age with a brother a year or two older. It had seemed a curious situation with no mother on the scene – though there had been an elderly lady in attendance, obviously to take care of the children.
Mr McCann had moved here from the South, from London, someone said, and had moved into the big place in its own grounds, Grey Gables. Or just the Gables to locals. Before that, it had been unoccupied for a long time, prospective buyers apparently put off by the fact that the place was haunted – even though that was hardly unusual because Bath was full of ghosts. But the supernatural presence had obviously not concerned Reynard McCann at all, and he’d bought and restored Grey Gables to an elegant and comfortable home. It was on the edge of the Kensington area of the town and easy walking distance