I'll Be There Read online

  Thanks, she’d said, kissing his cheek. Thanks, for Christ’s sake! Couldn’t she see Drifter was acting a part and that eventually he’d break her bloody heart?

  He slammed the door shut with some force. The T’ang dynasty replica statue rocked back and forth, then toppled over and slid to the floor.

  ‘Shit!’ he said, staring at the pieces. ‘Look what you made me do?’

  * * * *

  Janey accepted Conner’s muttered apology with as much grace as she could muster, but she’d never forgive him for depriving her of the pleasure of feeding her child.

  Nothing changed. The Finsbury Park house was full of strangers she didn’t much care for. Drifter was totally at ease with them, but she couldn’t bring herself to mix with them. As often as possible, she locked herself in her studio and immersed herself in preparing for the forthcoming exhibition.

  Spring brought blossoms to the street trees but she hardly had time to enjoy them between looking after Saffy and painting. The physical relationship between herself and Drifter continued to be unsatisfying. She didn’t deny his needs, and if he noticed her lack of enthusiasm he didn’t mention it.

  As a precaution she went on the pill.

  She tried to put the drug episode behind her. Sometimes, and without conscious thought she experienced a gnawing sense of guilt because Jack Bellamy was paying for a crime he didn’t do. She told herself there was nothing she could do about it?

  When she wrote to Mary and Douglas she was tempted to tell them what had happened. Then she remembered her father was due out of prison soon, so what was the point of making waves? It was in the past, dragging it out into the open would do more harm than good.

  Out of the blue she received a letter from Linda. She said she was pregnant. I’ll be in London in June. Let’s meet for afternoon tea somewhere.

  Somewhere, proved to be a smart hotel in the Strand, where Linda and her husband were staying for the weekend,

  Linda, smartly dressed in a blue linen suit, was perfectly groomed. Her mouth puckered into lines of discontent as she explained that Martin had an appointment with an old university colleague.

  ‘You know what men are like when they get together,’ she said with a falsely indulgent titter. ‘And you can’t stay more than an hour. We’re going out to dinner tonight, and guess who’s invited us? Father’s old employer, Sarah Wyman’

  ‘Do you suppose you’ll have to call her madam?’ Janey said with a soft laugh. ‘Or will it be the other way around?’

  Linda flushed. ‘She’s got nothing to be uppity about now she’s divorced. Dad said she grew up in a slum, anyway.’

  ‘There but for the grace of God ...’ Janey quoted.

  ‘You’ve changed since you left home. You’re more self-assured.’

  ‘It’s the company I keep. I doubt if you’d approve of them.’

  Linda gave Saffy a cursory glance, saying a trifle maliciously. ‘When Dad heard you’d produced a bastard he was furious.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t call Saffy a bastard, Linda.’

  Linda flushed. ‘I was only repeating what dad called her.’

  ‘Since he’s not my father I’m not really interested in Edward Renfrew’s opinion.’ She gave Saffy a kiss in case she’d somehow understood the slur on her character and was hurt. ‘How are Pamela and Susie?’

  ‘Pamela’s her usual frumpy self, and Susie has turned into a sullen, obstinate little wretch. I don’t know how dad puts up with them.’

  ‘Haven’t you noticed yet. He’s unstable. He’s the type of man who needs a punching bag around the house.’

  ‘You would say that!’ Linda glared at her across the table. ‘You never got on with him, and no wonder! How would you feel if you had someone else’s daughter foisted on you?’

  ‘Considering that the child wouldn’t have been given any choice, I’d probably welcome her. I certainly wouldn’t ... abuse her.’

  Abuse ... it was a word with several nuances, like tonal shades of one color. You were never really sure which was the true shade, but the mind selected one that pleased it most. It was a smug little word really – just right for Linda.

  Linda gave a light, brittle laugh and tapped a long pearly fingernail on the table. ‘Oh, don’t let’s quarrel. We haven’t seen each other for years.

  Linda snapped at the waitress, and frowned at Saffy when she cried for her bottle, Janey felt uncomfortable. She wished she hadn’t come.

  ‘You can feed her if you like,’ she offered, experiencing a perverse pleasure at the look of alarm on her sister’s face. ‘It will give you the feel of things.’

  ‘I’ll probably have a nanny to do that. Besides, Martin doesn’t want me to lift anything.’

  Janey gave her sister a long, steady look.

  ‘I didn’t want a child, but Martin insisted, to keep his father and uncle happy.’ Linda’s smile was wry. ‘Neither of us really likes kids so we won’t be having any more unless this one dies.’ Her voice became a self-pitying whine. ‘I don’t want to go through all this again.’

  Poor Linda. Janey wondered how she could be so unfeeling. If anything happened to Saffy, she wouldn’t want to live herself. When it was time to leave she smiled, and hiding the pity in her eyes, said gently. ‘Won’t you kiss me goodbye.’

  ‘I really don’t think we’re that close, do you’

  ‘A pity. We could have been if the circumstances had been different.’ Janey kissed her gently on the cheek, anyway.

  * * * *

  When she arrived home, it was to find the hallway crowded with people. They stared at her as she came in, their faces avidly speculative.

  The sound of long drawn out sobs came from upstairs.

  ‘What is it? What’s happening.’

  ‘Robert Kennedy’s been shot,’ Connor said. ‘Drifter had a couple of reefers and went off his rocker.’

  Drifter smoked marijuana? She didn’t believe it! She hurried up the stairs, expecting to comfort him.

  Felicity was already there, straddling Drifter’s lap on a kitchen chair.

  ‘Ride me again, babe,’ he was saying, tears running down his cheeks. ‘I want to know I’m still alive.’

  ‘Hello, Mistral,’ Felicity whined. ‘I’m riding Drifter in the Grand National.’

  Drifter’s eyes were half closed and full of sorrow. He gave a miserable, sob when he saw her. ‘Hi Mom, I thought you’d died and gone to heaven.’

  An aching sadness filled her. She hadn’t been able to satisfy the needs of the man she loved – and what had once been between them, was dying. The awful thing was, she didn’t really know him, nor did he know her. They’d never scratched below each other’s surface.

  Now she saw something she’d never wanted to admit to. Drifter had bought her and all the other awful people living in the house. They were puppets to his master. He was manipulating them, observing them ... laughing at them probably.

  And he’d called Devlin a Svengali!

  When she walked past the two people copulating on the chair she felt sick. But she knew she’d stay. That way, she’d learn to despise him.

  Later, when he tried to put things right between them, she asked. ‘How long has it been going on?’

  He picked up a lock of her hair and twisted it around his finger. His eyes were green and guileless as they gazed into hers. ‘I can’t even remember doing it. I must have been out of my head.’

  But Janey remembered, and knew he was lying. When he tried to make love to her later that night, she was stiff and unresponsive in his arms. ‘Haven’t you had enough for one day?’

  He gazed down at her, his eyes suddenly charged with anger. ‘Why are you always so damned frigid?’

  * * * *

  A week later, John Smith lunched with a distinguished looking American at a small, but exclusive restaurant not far from the Houses of Parliament.

  If Ingram Fairfax Taunt was impressed by his historic surroundings he didn’t show it. He was too wealt
hy, too well bred, and too used to dining in style. He was impressed, however, when a couple of people stopped at their table to shake John Smith’s hand and exchange the time of day. Both were politicians of some status, and one was a Lord.

  His estimation of the man sitting opposite him, who unconcernedly continued to enjoy his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, suddenly rose. Perhaps Smith would do after all. He’d come highly recommended, and he figured that a man didn’t attract powerful friends unless he was very rich -or very able. In Smith’s case, it must be the latter.

  He waited until coffee was brought, then lit a cigar and slid a photograph across the table. ‘This is my grandson. Darius Rhodes Ingram Fairfax Taunt.’

  Some handle! John examined the photograph of a young, unshaven man with a pleasant look to him. It was a typical American face, wide smile, nice straight teeth, clear green eyes and mid-brown hair.

  ‘He was expelled from Oxford University about two years ago for sleeping with the wife of one of the tutors.’ Ingram Taunt gave a small, embarrassed cough. ‘It wasn’t the first time something of that nature had occurred.’

  Something niggled at the back of John’s mind as he gazed at the photograph. He’d never seen the young man before, he’d have recognized him if he had.

  ‘I want him found, and I want him found fast.’

  Didn’t they all!

  ‘I’ll pay you a flat fee plus expenses, and a generous bonus if you find him within the next month. You know where I’m staying.’ A gold embossed card was slid across the table with some figures scribbled on the back. ‘Is that satisfactory?’

  John managed to stop his eyes popping out of his sockets, but only just.

  His dream of a retirement bungalow in Winterbrook had suddenly become a reality.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ he murmured. ‘His habits ... the type of music he likes, nicknames, known friends?’

  His mind absorbed every word while he mentally rearranged the photograph. Beard, moustache, long hair, dyed hair, combinations ...?’ Sharply, he glanced up. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Drifter. Some people used to call him Drifter because of his initials.’

  Drifter! John kept his eyes bland as he stood up. ‘Thank you sir. I have enough to go on. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Just a minute, you’ll need a retainer. Ingram Taunt took out his check-book.

  John stood. ‘There’s no need. I’ll contact you when he’s been located. You’ll receive my account in due course.’ John was jubilant as he reached the street, and a rare grin slid across his face. This was going to be the easiest money he’d ever earned.

  Janey Renfrew came into his mind and he gave a wry smile. A pity, she’s a nice kid ... and talented. One of her paintings hung on his wall... lilies growing along a bank.

  She seemed to have an astute agent. It had cost him dearly. He was humming to himself as he headed for the tube station. Already, the painting had appreciated in value. Charles had offered double what it had cost him as soon as he’d laid his eyes on it.

  * * * *

  The rap on the door came just after noon. Saffy was taking her nap, and Drifter was strumming a tune on his guitar.

  He hadn’t attempted to touch her since their row, and the atmosphere was strained.

  ‘Hell!’ He threw his guitar to one side as the knock was repeated. ‘Can’t a man be left alone?’

  ‘I’ll get it.’

  A tall, silver-haired gentleman stood at the other side of the door. Green eyes flicked over her, then skewered straight into her. He gave a small shocked start. ‘Where’s my grandson?’

  ‘Shit!’ Drifter said softly, then coming up behind her he slid his arm around her waist, making them a couple. ‘You’d better come in, sir. This is my girlfriend, Janey Renfrew.’ He flicked her a pale, sickly glance. ‘My grandfather, Ingram Fairfax Taunt.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ the man said, his tone making it very clear that it wasn’t. ‘Young man, your maternal grandfather, Darius Rhodes, is ill. You’re needed at home.’

  Saffy gave a cry, and the man’s head jerked up. He gazed questioningly at Drifter, who nodded.

  ‘My daughter, sir.’

  Janey went through to the bedroom, leaving Drifter and his grandfather to talk privately. After she made Saffy comfortable she held her in her arms and stared out of the window. Drifter will join me soon. He’ll tell me he’ll stay, and we’ll work things out.

  ‘I’ll change,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll learn to please him. Please don’t let me lose him. Saffy will be without a father.’

  As she watched, the sky piled a mountain of puffy grey clouds one on top of the other. Sunlight speared through them as the rumble of male voices reached her ears.

  Words – accusing words. Duty. Country. Pride. Loyalty. Words. If words - but words! Reasonable words like family commitment.

  She and Saffy were his family.

  He hadn’t allowed his name to go on her birth certificate.

  The words stacked one on top of the other, like weights on the old-fashioned scale Ada used at the big house.

  First the balance went one way, then the other. There was a quivering silence when everything hung in the balance, perfectly weighted.

  ‘Disinherited ... disowned!’

  She sucked in a deep breath, slid the ring from her finger and laid it on the dressing table.

  A car stood at the kerb, shining and black, like a hearse. Along the street a piece of newspaper blew. It circled slowly on one point at the corner and then was sucked up by an air current.

  Yesterday’s news!

  A door closed. Amongst her wounded feelings she found a streak of anger and salvaged it before she broke down. The sniveling rat couldn’t even face her to say good-bye.

  The two men got into the car, and it drove off. Drifter hadn’t even looked up. Stunned by the turn of events, she waited by the window in case it came back.

  Saffy cried out for her evening meal. Going into the other room she fed her some mush, gave her a bottle and placed her in her cot.

  Drifter’s note was propped against a sauce bottle on the kitchen table.

  I love you, babe. Don’t worry about the rent. It’s paid until the end of the year. I’ll be back as soon as my grandfather improves. Kiss Saffy for me. Your man, Drifter.

  Hope rose in her breast. He’d left everything behind, even his guitar. All he’d taken was a small, framed snapshot and the painting of Tower Bridge.

  There was an oblong of paper lying on the mantelpiece. A check for more money than she’d ever seen in her life, attached to it, a page torn from a notebook.

  For the child’s upbringing it will be best for all concerned if this unhealthy relationship is brought to an end. Further contact will not be encouraged.

  Unhealthy relationship? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Tempted to tear it up, something stopped the involuntary movement of her fingers. She knew only too well what poverty was like. With this, Saffy would never go hungry or wear shoes bought from a jumble sale.

  Ingram Fairfax Taunt hadn’t even bothered to look at his great-grandchild, she thought sadly. Her darling Saffy had been judged unworthy of being a Taunt. Not once ... but twice!

  So be it, Grandfather Taunt, she vowed to herself. I’ll take your conscience money. But don’t ever try to see her - not ever!

  * * * *

  Without Drifter, the occupants of the house crowded in on her.

  Connor became self-proclaimed Guru, and the house filled with his hangers on. John Lennon clones with flowing hair and dark round glasses, loitered on the stairs. It was like looking at reflections in mirrors, mirroring reflections.

  Girls with bare breasts, filthy feet and rows of silver bells round their ankles stood in groups, their eyes kohl smudged, soulful and vacant,

  Someone painted the walls black, the windows purple and the stairs red.

  Incense smoked incessantly, its cloying sweetness mingling with the odor of stale urine, perspirati
on, mull, and sexual encounters. Music throbbed. Bells, drums and people chanted in a monotonous rhythm, when all Janey wanted was peace and quiet.

  She kept herself to herself, painted with a quiet desperation and forgot to eat while she waited for a letter from Drifter. It was a letter than never came.

  Devlin came instead. They had an argument, and he went away.

  Griff sent a note saying he was going to Winterbrook for the weekend. Did she want to join him?

  It would be autumn in Winterbrook. She could taste the leaves in her mouth as they fell from the trees. Flame colored. She didn’t need to see them. She painted them falling from the branches like spears, she painted them, bright flames burning against the sky, and she painted them curling into themselves, decaying into lacy ribbed skeletons and then crumbling into brown dust.

  Devlin called the exhibition A Season of Glory, and it was a sell out.

  She forgot to answer Griff’s note and started on Mistral paintings, dark abstracts that came from somewhere deep inside her. Saffy and soul painting kept her fully occupied.

  She had another argument with Devlin, but she couldn’t remember what about.

  Early in December, there came a knock at the door – and there was Tim Brown, gazing at her like a friendly dog waiting to be patted. She blinked, and smiled. He looked so nice in his uniform.

  ‘I’ve got two weeks Christmas leave.’ A frowned creased his forehead. ‘You look pale ... and thin. My God! What have you been doing to yourself?’

  Her face screwed up and tears flooded her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled like that of child. ‘I ... I don’t know.’

  He enfolded her in a hug, and then led her across to the lounge. His eyes took in the child playing on the floor and he smiled.

  Saffy clambered on his knee, tried to eat his shiny gold buttons and dribbled on his uniform. She captured Tim’s heart. His face had the soppy look that Devlin and Griff always wore when they saw her.

  Tim’s eyes were compassionate as he turned and scrutinized her in her turn. She felt old and used when said. ‘Drifter’s gone, hasn’t he?’

  Suddenly she became lightheaded – as if Tim had brought in too much fresh air for her to gulp at one go. ‘Yes, he’s gone.’ She smiled a faint smile as she thought, There, I’ve admitted it to myself. Drifter’s gone and he’s never coming back.