Mulberry Gin Chapters 15 & 16

Chapter Fifteen.

James’ foot hit the bottom step of the stairs just as the post plopped through the letterbox. He scooped it up on his way to the kitchen. He had got quite a good routine. Get up, bathroom, downstairs, coffee, collect the post, take coffee and post back to bed, read post, shower, dress, downstairs, more coffee and toast, then whatever the day brought. Today it brought a letter from Imogen.
He tore the pale pink envelope open, nearly tearing the letter as well. A second piece of paper fell out onto the bed, it was an address for a Mr Pengellan, James frowned. She was still talking about divorce, and the address was her solicitor. This was getting stupid. Was she deliberately misunderstanding him or was he just not making himself clear? He gave a huge sigh. She wouldn’t speak to him and wouldn’t let him go and see her to sort this mess out. It was as if she was cutting him out of her life just when he most wanted to be a part of it. He ran his hand through his hair. What more could he do? Pack a bag and go to Cornwall. But he’d just sent out all those letters and he had to have something to tell people when they started calling. He needed to get an office of some sort up and running. Why did everything have to happen at once?
‘Bollocks!’ He said out loud. Think James. How long will it take to get things up and running? A week? Henry was away so he could go in and get all his files and papers, clear out his office and make Flora a job offer. Most of what he needed was in his head. The most important thing to have was experience and contacts, and he had both in spades. Right so do all that, then leave everything to Flora for a couple of days, divert all calls to your mobile and go. It would also give Imogene a few days to rethink. Hopefully by the time he got there she would have changed her mind.

Cherith was full of apologies when she arrived at Mulberry that morning.
‘Darling I’m so sorry I didn’t come back over yesterday. I’m afraid I fell asleep on Molly’s sofa. By the time I woke up it was time for bed.’
‘That’s ok mum.’
‘But I want to spend as much time with you as I can.’
‘Well we have all day. What would you like to do?’
‘I thought Truro sounded nice. Molly was telling me all about the ‘proper’ shops as she calls them. I can’t remember the last time we went shopping together.’
‘Christmas three years ago.’ Imogen said.
‘Was it that long? Oh dear. Shall we make up for it today then?’
‘Sounds lovely. We’ll make a day of it, have lunch.’
‘I do love you Imogen. You do know that don’t you?’ Cherith’s voice was suddenly very quiet and she looked down at the floor as she spoke. She’d wanted to say it for weeks but somehow it never seemed the right time, now it just came out in a rush, almost a whisper under her breath.
‘I know mum. And I love you. I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted.’ It was Imogen’s turn to become quiet.
‘Oh darling!’ Cherith jumped up and took hold of Imogen’s hands. ‘Look at me.’ She tilted her head to catch Imogen’s eyes.
‘Don’t ever say that, don’t even think it.’
‘But I let you down. You wanted me to settle down with James, with the big house and the pension plan. Have children, a cottage in the country and a dog. I did try, honestly I did. I tried so hard.’ Tears were starting to cloud her eyes. ‘I thought if I could make James love me and make him happy, then that would make you and dad happy. I really wanted to make dad happy with me.’ She gulped for breath and let the tears roll down her face.
Cherith dropped her hands and held her tight. Imogen was a little girl again, needing her mum, or was it the other way around? She was crying herself now.
‘He was darling, we both were.’
‘No, no he stopped loving me when he sent me away to school. I did something. I don’t know what I did. What did I do?’
‘You didn’t do anything. Your father never stopped loving you darling. Why ever did you think that?’
‘He stopped me coming down here when he knew how much I loved it. Then he sent me away to school. Then he made me marry James when he knew I didn’t want to.’ Imogen was sobbing now. She should have said all this a long time ago.
‘He didn’t do any of that because he didn’t love you.’
‘So why?’
‘Your father changed, that’s true. But it had nothing to do with you. For years I thought it was me, something I had done. I told you, didn’t I, about finding the letters?’ Cherith guided Imogen over to the table and sat her down. She pulled another chair up to face her.
‘When I married your father I was so in love with him I thought I would burst. I didn’t think he loved me, but I didn’t care, I was so happy he wanted to marry me. Everything was fine for the first few years. He was a lovely man to be married to. And he adored you, he really did. He changed when he took over the company from his father. It just seemed to go to his head. Then the rows with Rowena started again. She could see what he was becoming and was trying to stop it. All it did was make him worse. He was never emotional, never sentimental, but he did have a softer side. I have no idea why he and Rowena hated each other. It went back to way before I met him, to their childhood. I tried hard not to get involved but it was heartbreaking to see them. You obviously remember that last row when we came down to fetch you after that last holiday. It had nothing to do with you, not really. It made me so cross that he used you like that, that was something I never thought he would do.’
Imogen nodded, it was all she could manage.
‘Was it because I was a girl?’ She finally said.
‘No! It was never an issue. We tried so hard for so long to have a baby, neither of us cared what we had. When I found out I was pregnant all either of us could think of was to have a healthy baby at last, nothing else. I’ve never told you this but I had lost two before you, both miscarriages at about ten week. It’s something I would never wish on anyone. So you were very much wanted, by both of us.’ Cherith gave great enforces to the last sentence. ‘If I had been a better mother then you would have come to me with all this years ago. I was always jealous of Rowena you know. I knew you were so close to her and probably told her things you didn’t tell me.’
Imogen nodded ‘I did. You were always defending dad and taking his side. I daren’t criticise him to you. But that’s not a bad thing mum, loving dad that much isn’t a bad thing. I didn’t understand it as a child but I do now.’
‘Thank you darling. We’re both guilty of thinking we can change men by loving them aren‘t we? You saw me trying so hard to make you father love me and you thought you had to do the same, but you didn’t. You father loves you, he always loved you. And, as it turned out, he always loved me too. The problem was never us you see, it was him. He’s not really a bad person, not bad. He’s selfish, he’s stubborn, he’s arrogant, even rude sometimes, but not bad. He’s not good at showing his feelings and he is guilty of using people to get his way. I hated him for bullying you. But I hated myself for letting him. He’s such a bulldozer at times, when he’s on a roll there’s nothing you can do.’
‘He hid the letters on purpose didn’t he?’
‘Yes I think he did. I knew he was manipulative, and it was fine when it was just me. But he should never have brought you into it. I think it will take me a long time to forgive him for that. I understand why he hid the letters. While I thought I had to work to keep him he was guaranteed to get his own way. Well no longer. Poor Henry, he’s not going to know what’s hit him.’
‘Oh why do things have to get so complicated?’ Imogen sighed. She had stopped crying now and was wiping her eyes on some kitchen paper.
‘It’s what happens when people start living together. Rowena knew that, it’s one reason she chose to live alone down here. Other people have a nasty habit of thinking differently to us. We start to play games with each other in order to get our own way. Henry saw you as fair game like everyone else. I think there were issues with his parents, he never talked about his childhood much. I gather he didn’t get along well with his father. He was sent away to school at six years old. Can you imagine? What message must that give to a child? Especially when Rowena had been allowed to stay at home and go to a local school. I know it has become a fashionable cop out to blame your childhood for everything, but I think, in your father’s case, it might have some truth. If you’re not shown much love then how can you ever learn to give it? James was sent off to school to wasn’t he?’
‘At about seven I think. Mind you so was his brother, and he’s completely different to James. I suppose it dose explain a lot though. So what happens now do you think?’
‘I don’t know darling. One thing is for sure though. Neither of us will let either of them bully us again, will we?’
‘Not bloody likely!’ They toasted each other with their mugs of tea.

James had spent the whole morning packing his working life into cardboard boxes. How had he accumulated so much crap? It was everywhere. Stuff, piles and piles of stuff. Flora came in and quietly set a cup of coffee down amongst it all. She gave a brief, nervous smile. She was still not quite sure what to make of things. One day Mr Lampress was shouting at her and making her cry again, the next he was smiling at her, and now he was clearing his office, all very strange. Gossip was he had had some kind of breakdown. He certainly didn’t look right, for one thing he was still smiling. How many people smiled when they were obviously out of a job? Not many. It was a shame. He may have been a bastard, and she may have been terrified of him, but he was bloody good at his job. It was quite impressive the way he could turn a deal in a matter of minutes, even when it seemed lost. And he was dedicated, you had to give him that. He would be here all night sometimes. For years she had wished for this day, for him to be gone. Now it was happening she wanted him to stay, God knows who would replace him.
‘Flora don’t run off. I want to talk to you.’ James looked up from a pile of papers.
Flora was at the door and his voice made her freeze. What had she done? She tried hard to think. Nothing, she had done nothing wrong, he hadn’t even been here for goodness sake. She stood expectantly in the doorway, he hand clasped behind her back.
‘Are you happy here?’
‘I’m sorry?’ She didn’t understand.
‘Do you like it here, would you take another job if it was offered?’
Oh God he was sacking her. ‘Have I done something wrong Mr Lampress?’ She looked close to tears.
‘No you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m setting up on my own and I need a PA. I was wondering if you would be interested? We’ve worked together long enough for you to know how I operate. And I know I can trust you. I know I’ve not been the best boss over the years, and I’ sorry about that. But things would be different this time. To begin with there would be no Mr March.’ He smiled. Flora couldn’t help smiling too. If one thing was worse than working for Mr Lampress then it was working for Mr March. She knew his secretary and she really didn’t know how she found the will to get up in the mornings.
‘So what do you think? There will be a lot of work to begin with. I haven’t even got an office yet. But once we’re set up it should be great.’
Flora didn’t know what to say, she thought he didn’t like her. PA would be a big step up. But if it didn’t work then she’d be up shit creak. Then again she hated it here. Being able to put PA on her CV would look good when she needed to get another job.
‘Ok.’ She said at last.
‘Great. Start packing your desk up. I’m going to need you to start right away. I need to go away for a few days soon so we need to get cracking. Your first job is to find us some premises. Offices. With their own entrance. Above a shop would do, but in a proper block would be better. Can I leave that with you while I get rid of all this? Oh and here’s my home address, we’ll be based from there until we get somewhere else.’
‘Right.’ Flora said a little shell-shocked. ‘I’ll start phoning some agents.’

Three hours later they were standing outside an office block on the edge of the square mile. Flora had been impressive in her gusto at getting them offices. James looked up and nodded.
‘Very good. How much?’
Flora told him the monthly rental.
‘Fucking hell! Well it is a good location, impressive address on the notepaper. Let’s have a look now we’re here.’
It was very bright and shiny, lots of chrome and glass, the complete opposite of the wood panelling and thick carpets of Henry’s offices. It was a purpose built block rather than converted Georgian town houses. It was very, very tempting. It would send out all the right messages. It would show that he had broken completely from Henry, that this was a new business. It would show that he was looking forward and not stuck in the past. Working from home might give him flexibility, but did he really want Flora there all day and clients traipsing in and out all the time, and what would Imogen think to her home being turned into a business? No this would definatly be better, and they could move in almost right away. James felt the hairs on the back of his neck starting to bristle. Those little hairs never failed to point him in the direction of a good deal, they never let him down. He looked across at Flora who was listening intently to the agent, who was banging on about how brilliant it was here and they would be mad to look anywhere else. He had tuned out as soon as the boy, James was sure he was only twelve, opened his mouth. Flora was nodding vigorously.
‘We’ll take it.’ James said, stopping the other two in their tracks.

Imogen parked the car in the muti story behind Marks and Spencer’s. It had been an emotional morning but nothing got in the way of women and shopping. A good mooch around the shops could cure almost everything, or at least stop you thinking about it for a while. They got out of the lift and headed straight for the coffee shop.
‘So what do you want to take home then?’ Imogen asked while they queued with their trays.
‘I don’t know. It had better be small. I don’t want to rub Henry’s noise in it by having something huge that he has to look at everyday. And I’ve got to get it in the car.’
‘There are some nice little bits of china.’ Imogen suggested.
They found a table and sat down.
‘That sounds nice. We’ll have a look later.’ Cherith poured her tea. ’Have you got any plans for Mulberry Cottage, redecoration or anything?’ She said tentatively.
‘No.’ Imogen frowned and looked down into her tea.
‘But is it healthy to keep it just as Rowena left it? If it’s going to be your home then shouldn’t you make it yours?’
Imogen was silent for a while. Change things? She pursed her lips. She knew she owned it, that was fact. But it was Rowena’s home, just like London was James’. Although she had had no trouble in settling in to Mulberry Cottage she did still feel like she was on holiday. Maybe that was because it still looked like it did when she was there on holidays. If she was going to live there then maybe she should make it more her own. She flinched at the idea of having to choose new things. She had grown up with her parent’s decorative decisions, then had to live with James’, now she was living with Rowena’s. Could she make such decisions she wondered? But Cherith was right, it was her home now. Perhaps it wasn’t right to keep the place as a museum to her aunt.
‘I haven’t really thought.’ She said at last.
‘Well you could start with those huge, thick velvet curtains. They are rather morbid looking you have to admit.’
‘I never really liked them much.’ Imogen did admit. It felt disloyal. But the curtains in the sitting room were hideous. Thick, heavy, dark brown velvet which had faded to a rather dodgy sludge colour around the edges.
‘Well we’re in the right place. Why not get some new ones, and maybe some cushions to match?’
They spent the rest of the day scouring Truro for ‘Imogen’ things to turn Mulberry into a home for her.

They arrived back at the cottage laden with bags. Putting them down in on the sitting room floor the rug disappeared completely.
‘I think we may have forgotten how small this place is.’ Imogen said a little concerned. ‘I don’t think it will take any more stuff.’
‘Perhaps it’s time to sort out what of Rowena’s you really want to keep. We can do it together.’ Cherith said gently.
Her mother was right, Imogen knew. She had been there for weeks and so far she hadn’t changed anything. When she arrived she brought hardly anything with her, and those things had quickly got swallowed. If she was going to live here permanently then she should make it hers with touches of Rowena here and there rather than the other way round.
‘We’re going to need a lot of boxes.’ Imogen said looking around her. ‘I don’t want to bin anything.’
‘Oh no! I’m not saying you should get rid of anything. But the garage is big. And there must be a lot of stuff in the shed that could be removed.’
‘I try hard not to go in the shed. I don’t understand why men have such a thing for them. They’re dark, smelly and full of spiders.’ And man-eating mowers, Imogen pulled a face.
‘They say a mans shed is like a woman’s’ handbag. All I can say is I hope not. One good thing about your father is he has never had a shed. Not of his own. The one in the garden is the territory of the gardener and God forbid anyone who sets foot in it.’
‘James is the same. He bought out gardener a new one last year but has never been in it himself. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with them both, they need a shed.’ They both laughed.
‘Maybe.’

Imogen went and fetched a roll of black bags and took them through to the bedroom. Cherith followed. When she opened the wardrobe Cherith could see that all Rowena’s clothes were still there. Some had been pushed up to make space for some of Imogen’s, but there they all were.
‘Oh darling. I thought you would have at least cleared the wardrobe.’ Cherith sighed.
‘I wanted to. I should have done. I couldn’t. I know, I know.’ She said when Cherith raided her eyebrows.
‘Let’s get it over with then.’
Imogen pulled out arms full of clothes. Some of them were older that she was. There were the designer labels from Rowena’s London days. She had no idea they were there, they were beautiful. A lot of the more recent stuff she recognised. It was easy to get rid of the things bought in recent years that she had never seen, they had not pull. But the flowing kaftans and sweeping skirts she remembered from childhood were harder. Then there was the vintage, most of which would fit her. She looked pleadingly at Cherith, who was holding a black bag open.
‘Charity shop?’ Cherith suggested.
‘Ok. But only these.’ Imogen pointed at the small pile at her feet.
‘What about the rest? What about this?’ She held up a purple kaftan with large silver birds flying across it.
‘She wore that every summer.’ Imogen knew she was being childish, she even sounded like a whining child.
‘All right.’ Cherith put it down and picked up another one. ‘This?’
‘That was her beech one.’ Imogen bit her lip.
‘Right. Let’s make a deal. Go through it all and sort out anything you think you will actually wear yourself. You’ve said all these can go.’ She pointed at the pile. ‘Anything left at the end we can bag up and put in the garage. What do you think?’
‘Good idea. You see when I tried before all I could see were things that all had a story. I panicked and shut the door again, then I squeezed my stuff in at the end.’
‘I know it’s hard. I remember clearing out my parent’s house when my father died. It was before you were born of course. I suspected he had done nothing about mum’s things. When I went in a few weeks after the funeral it was worse that I thought. He had kept everything of hers just at she had left it, more or less. I had to clear out all my mother’s things as well as his. It felt like I was invading. If my father hadn’t been able to do it then what right did I have? I hadn’t lived there for years. I was married and had my own life. These were my parent’s things and I didn’t have their permission to be there. They had left the house and everything to me and your uncle Frank. But it was everything they had accumulated over years and years together. I had no idea what was important to them and what they might well have been about to throw away themselves. I knew about the things that had family stories attached to them of course. But there were things I had never seen before. I had to empty drawers that I was never allowed to touch. It was horrible, I felt so guilty. It took weeks to do, the house was so big and it was stuffed full. In the end I just got on with it. I realised that if there had been anything important they would have mentioned it before, especially when mum became ill. I gave away as much as I could, let the rest of the family come round and take what they wanted. The rest I either sent to charity shops or put out for the bin men. I couldn’t keep piles of old bank statements and gas bills. Neither could I do much with boxes of tapes and records that had been stored in the attic and got damp. They had kept all these things for a reason, but I didn’t know what that reason was. When the time comes darling you have permission to throw away whatever you like.’ she smiled. ‘We can’t keep things just because they belonged to someone else. And it seems Rowena has made it easy for you.’
‘Yes she had cleared out a lot before she got too ill. There are no piles of gas bills, not that we can get gas out here. She probably would have done the same with the rest of the cottage if she hadn’t got so frail.’ Imogen chocked as she thought of her vibrant, strong, very alive aunt confined to bed, unable to do much for herself, she would have hated it. She had been hurt when she had found out how ill she had been and for how long. She felt she should have been told. Now she realised that Rowena didn’t want people to see her like that, she wanted to be remembered the way Imogen was remembering her, dancing in a purple kaftan around the Mulberry tree.
They worked for the rest of the day and by the time it was dark they had filled the garage with piles of black bags and boxes. In place of all the cleared out things were all Imogen’s clothes properly hanging alongside Rowena’s vintage gems. In the sitting room new curtains hung in place of the dire brown velvet, to which the bin men were welcome. Cherith had chosen a pretty little trinket box in the shape of a sleeping cat, it was safely bubble wrapped in her handbag. She could sneak that in without Henry knowing. By the time they collapsed in the chairs the whole cottage was very definatly Imogen’s. She looked around and nodded. Now it could begin.

It was getting dark and James and Flora were still busy. After sealing the deal on the office space they went back to the house and set up shop in the study. The rest of the day had been spent making endless phone calls and ordering large amounts of expensive stationary and office furniture. James had stopped counting how much was going on the credit card; it was probably better not to know. He was buzzing all over, but every time he heard Flora giving out his card number to place another order his heart stopped, was he really doing the right thing? At his age he should be putting his money into pension funds and the like, not taking it all out and giving it to other people to set up a new business, this had better work.
Flora looked at her watch and then across at James. She did it three times. The third time James looked at his own watch, it was nearly ten.
‘Good grief I didn’t realise it was that time. You must be starving.’
‘Just a bit.’ Flora gave a faint smile, in fact she looked like she might actually faint.
‘You should have said.’
Flora gave a little shrug and looked down at the carpet.
‘I agree. There was a time you wouldn’t have dared would you? Oh dear, I am sorry. I was bloody awful wasn’t I?’
Flora, feeling a little braver, nodded.
James smiled. ‘Ok. Point taken. So Indian or Chinese?’
‘Indian please.’
‘Or would you rather just go home? You should probably go home.’
‘Not much to go home for to be honest. And I’ve enjoyed today. Will it work do you think?’
‘It bloody well better.’ He tried to give her his best, most reassuring smile. If he convinced Flora then he might convince himself to.

While James was fetching the Indian take away Flora went upstairs to use the bathroom. All afternoon she had been wondering where Imogen was. She had met her once when she had come into the office and she liked her. There was no reason for her to be there during the day, she must have a busy life of her own. But when afternoon turned to evening she was surprised when she didn’t come home. And there was an atmosphere to, something she couldn’t put her finger on. When she went into the bathroom she couldn’t help but notice the lack of femininity. At home there were all he little pots and bottles all over the place in the bathroom, here there were none. Of course she knew they had an ensuiet, but even so, she would have expected scented soap at the very least. And in the hallway too. When she came back downstairs she saw only James’ shoes and only his coats hanging on the hooks. Her suspicions that something was up were not wrong then. It looked like he hadn’t had a breakdown, his wife had left him. She wondered how many people knew, it wasn’t gossip in the office so not many. She wondered if she should say something, after all if she was going to be his PA then she needed to know all the circumstances didn’t she? Perhaps better not just yet, she wasn’t that brave. It was nice that whatever had happened had caused such a positive change in her boss, but she knew what men could be like, and she was not convinced it would last. In her experience they always reverted to type sooner or later. Well she’d stay for as long as this new mood lasted.


Chapter Sixteen.

‘She’s gone where?’ Henry thundered.
‘To Cornwall, Mr March, to stay with your daughter.’ Mrs Davis halved in size.
‘How does she know Imogen is in Cornwall? How long has she known?’ Henry fired the questions so hard they made the air quiver as they travelled.
‘I’m sorry Mr March, I thought you both knew, she didn’t say it was a secret.’ She could see Henry’s colour changing and grabbed her bag. ‘I think maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.’ And she fled before anymore could be spat at her.
Henry kicked the bottom stair. Then he kicked the wall.
Poor Mrs Davis scuttled up the drive to her car. She said she would be back the next day but she had no intention of going back until she was sure Mrs M would be there. She had always tried very hard to not be there when he was. It wasn’t her fault Mrs M hadn’t told him what was going on, it wasn’t fair for her to take the flack. When she heard the door she assumed it was Mrs M back. When she saw him instead her stomach flip flopped. He had nodded an acknowledgement of her existence, then started bellowing for Mrs M. Eventually she heard him thump downstairs. She held her breath and waited. He had burst into the kitchen like a raving tornado and started demanding to know where his wife was. She didn’t understand to begin with, she assumed Mrs M had told him her plans. When the penny dropped she felt a little sick as she realised she was going to have to be the one to tell him. She was still shaking as she pulled away and drove home. Poor Mrs M, there was going to be a big row now.

Henry stood in the hallway looking around. He frowned, then he opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. It was betrayal, pure and simple. First that ungrateful daughter, then James and now Cherith, the one person he never thought would desert him. She loved him so much so she would do anything for him, he had relied on that. It was one of the reasons he loved her so much. Of course he never let her know, better to let her think she had to earn his affection. But he always let her know he cared, in his way. He was generous, she didn’t want for anything. Why would she do something like this to him? She must know how it would make him feel. She would never do anything to upset him. It was bad enough when Imogen had walked out on James, shaming them all like that. He thought he had brought her up to have more respect. She would know how angry it would make him. After all he had done to secure James for her. You would think she would have tried a bit harder. Six years was nothing, how could she know after only six years? Why couldn’t she see what she had got? He had friend’s whose daughters would have killed for a catch like James, or a father like him who went to such trouble to set it all up. Cherith had been behind him one hundred per cent, she knew he was right. When they found out Imogen had left Cherith had been as angry as him, well she had agreed with everything he had said, which was the same thing. Now it turned out she knew where she had gone to all the time.
He had tried and tried to find out where Imogen was. He thought she might have gone abroad, but Cornwall? Why on earth would Imogen want to go to Cornwall? Bloody Rowena again. I mean it was not much more than a hovel! She had a five-bedroom house in one of the best suburbs of London for God’s sake! He hadn’t understood why Rowena had chosen such a place to live; now Imogen had chosen it to.
He shook his head. He didn’t quite know what to do now. Normally in a crisis he would shout for Cherith, have a rant, feel better and then she would agree with whatever he decided. The trouble was this time Cherith was the problem, and she wasn’t here to rant at. He had given Cherith a good lifestyle, everything she wanted, Imogen had gone to the best school they could find, he had given her everything to, he had taken James under his wing and nurtured his career. They had all taken so much from him, and now they were throwing it all back in his face. He plopped down on the bottom stair and looked at the reflection he saw in the hall mirror. When he had come down the stairs the other day he saw a confidant, handsome, intelligent man who looked nothing like his seventy years. The golf trip had been a great success. He had beaten Malcolm and William, and everyone had complimented him on his swing. He had come home full of himself, bursting to tell Cherith all about her brilliant husband. And now it was all spoilt. He felt like one of those balloons you see nailed to door a few days after the party. They still look like balloons, but they have started to get a bit wrinkly and the air had started to leak out. Why couldn’t people be more considerate? He studied himself. He hadn’t seen himself like this for, well, ever. Normally when people seemed to be going in a different direction to the one he had chosen he would pull them back, they always saw things his way in the end. He should have seen it coming.
‘Look at you sitting there, pathetic. Why aren’t you doing something?’ He glowered at himself and as he stared he started to feel the air re-inflating him. He sat up straighter and adjusted his tie. He smoothed his hair and dusted invisible dandruff from his shoulders. He stood up and marched through to the sitting room. He grabbed the phone and stood throttling the receiver while he punched in Cherith’s mobile number.

Imogen and Cherith were sitting in the garden finishing off a bottle of wine they had started last night. Drinking at lunchtime was not the sort of thing either of them usually did, but all morning they had been waiting for Henry to call.
‘Poor Mrs Davis. It was a very cheeky thing to do to leave it for her to tell him. I hope he didn’t shout at her too much.’ Cherith had arrived just after breakfast. She knew Henry was due home mid morning and she didn’t want to be on her own when the proverbial hit the fan. They both knew these few days would come to a galloping halt as soon as he got back. Imogen was crossing everything.
When Cherith’s phone finally rang they both jumped. It was sitting on the patio table and they both stared at it as it vibrated itself towards the edge. Before it fell to the ground Cherith picked it up. She looked at the display, which showed her home number, and nodded to Imogen. Imogen reached over and took her mother’s hand. With a deep breath Cherith pressed the answer button.
‘Hello?’ It was a hopeful tone, there might be a chance it was someone else.
‘I’m hoping you have a perfectly reasonable explanation. From here it looks as if you have been lying to me about Imogen’s whereabouts. Then sneaked off to see her leaving the cleaner to tell me. But that can’t be right can it?’ He sounded far to calm. For Henry calm was not good, calm meant he had gone beyond angry to another level.
Cherith took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t lie to you Henry. If you remember you never actually asked me where Imogen had gone. As for ’sneaking off’ I did no such thing. The last time I looked I was a grown up. I do not need your permission to go away for a few days. I don’t remember you asking me if you could go on you golf trip. The opportunity presented itself so I took it. If I had told you my plans before you went then we would have had an almighty row and it would have spoilt your swing, what would have been the point of that?’ She exhaled. Imogen gripped her hand a little tighter.
‘How dare you, how dare you talk to me like that!’ This was not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to apologise.
‘I dare Henry because I’m fed up. Imogen phoned me not long after she left. She asked me not to tell you and I honoured that promise.’
‘And what about your promise to me? Love honour and obey I think it was.’
‘Yes you like that don’t you? And it worked too, you were very clever. But I found the letters.’
‘You went in my desk?’ He almost whispered it, he was horrified. It just got worse and worse.
‘Yes I went in your desk Henry, and why not? I was looking for something. You kept those letters all those years and led me to believe you hadn’t. You did that deliberately. If I hadn’t found those letters then I wouldn’t have told Mrs Davis about this trip, I would have made sure I was back before you were and you would never have known I was gone. It was easy to keep it from you until I found those letters.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He frowned, what was she saying to him?
‘No Henry, I don’t suppose you do.’
‘Well I want you back here.’
‘I’m sure you do. I’ll be back in a day or two.’
Henry opened his mouth to say something then closed it again.
‘I’ll see you in a couple of days.’ And she hung up.
Imogen stood up and gave her mother a round of applause.
‘I think I need a top up.’ Cherith held out her glass.
‘Was he very angry?’ Imogen asked, pouring them both more wine.
‘Very. But I don’t think he quite knows what he’s angry about yet.’

Henry quietly put the phone down and went into his study. He took the key from under the carpet and opened the desk. There, neatly stacked where he had left them, were Cherith’s letters. All the letters she had written to him before they married. They were all in order, first to last. The last one was the one he read most often. She had written it two days before the wedding. He got it on their wedding morning. For the first year he had kept it in his jacket pocket and read it at least once a week. He added it to the others when it started to get a bit tatty around the edges, he didn’t want to risk loosing it. He read it again now. How could the woman who wrote this be the same woman who had just spoken to him like that? And what was she going on about, before and after finding the letters? What he did know was he’d been found out. If she’d found the letters then that must mean she knew why he’d kept them. That wasn’t ideal.
He lay in the bath that evening. All afternoon he had been mulling things over. Cherith had been happy to keep Imogen’s whereabouts from him until she found the letters, that was what she had implied, had said in as many words. There was a time when she wouldn’t have dreamt of keeping anything from him. It used to make him smile the way she would hang her head slightly when she was telling him something she thought he wouldn’t like, he loved her all the more for it. Thinking about it she hadn’t done that for quite some time, not since Imogen married James actually. In fact she had hardened to him quite a bit since then. Sometimes he got the impression she wasn’t listening to him. He had dismissed it, she was getting old. Her hearing was not what it was. And she didn’t agree with him so much these days, she just nodded. There was a time when she would be outraged on his behalf and make a lot of soothing noises, telling him how right he was and how stupid everyone else was. Now she just nodded a lot and said ‘yes dear’ now and then.
He ducked his head under the water and let it wash around his ears and into his nose. He saw Cherith at the desk, the letters in her hand. He saw her face, she was angry, not pleased, as he would have expected. So that was it! He burst back through the soapy water and sat up. He had played down his feelings so much she had given up, that was why she was happy to deceive him. When she found the letters then she realised what he had been doing, but she also realised that he did care for her after all. That was why she set up Mrs Davis like that. It was so obvious the more he thought about it. It was easy to deceive a man you thought didn’t care, but a man who loves you is a different matter. For years he had assumed fear was the key to power, he had seen it often enough after all, but it wasn’t was it, at least not with her. Had he spent his whole life getting it wrong? Surely not. You had to be firm with staff that was certain, and there was no place for sentiment in business, and running a home was like running a business… He climbed out of the bath and wrapped himself in his huge, thick bathrobe. By the time he was dry and dressed he had convinced himself that he had been right, just not as right as he first thought, at least where Cherith was concerned.

Imogen had called Molly and asked if she would come and collect Cherith, they had both had rather too much wine to drive. Henry had been hanging like an ugly cloud over them since Cherith arrived. Now the much dreaded phone call was over they had relaxed a little too much. Half a bottle left over from the night before became a fresh bottle, and then another. By the time Molly arrived they were both quite giggly.
‘Bye darling, bye!’ Cherith trilled out of the wound down window. She leaned out as far as she could and waved vigorously.
Imogen waved back. She had never seen her mother so happy. As she turned to go back up to the cottage something grabbed her from behind. She screamed.
‘Shhhh! You’ll wake the whole valley.’
‘Philip! You scared me half to death.’ She giggled and flung her arms around him, then she kissed him.
‘You’ve been drinking, I can taste wine.’
‘I have, yes… I have been drinking wine ALL afternoon.’ She flung her arm out to indicate the expanse of time.
‘Good on ya, any left?’
‘Don’t know…should be…think so.’ She nodded hard.
‘Shall we go and see?’
‘Good idea.’ She turned and wobbled up the garden path. Philip followed shaking his head and smiling. Imogen made a charming drunk, it was probably a new experience for her. He was going to enjoy teasing her about it tomorrow.
In the cottage Imogen went into the sitting room and fetched the half drunk bottle. She held it aloft triumphantly. Philip steered her back out into the garden, it would be better for her to have some fresh air.
‘Let’s sit out here.’ He said.
‘Good idea.’ Imogen handed him the bottle.
‘How about some glasses?’
‘Good idea.’ She toddled back into the house.
‘Taa daa!’ She returned with two clean glasses.
‘So you’ve had a good day with your mum then?’ he asked with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
‘We had a great time. Mum really relaxed after dad had called.’
‘Your dad called?’ Philip was concerned, he leaned forward. ‘What did he say? Are you ok?’
‘I didn’t speak to him. Mum was amazing! Oh you should have heard her! She really stood up to him.’ Imogen giggled. ‘I’ve never seen mum like that.’
‘So it’s all sorted now is it?’
Imogen sat up and took a deep breath of the night air. She was starting to sober up a little in the coolness.
‘He was very angry, I could hear him shouting, although I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I think he was demanding she come home.’
‘He’s not coming down then?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. I was so worried he would come down all guns blazing. I think he’ll wait for mum to go home. I was worried about that before, that he would take it all out on her when she got back. I don’t think he will now.’

James came back with Chinese take away for himself and Flora. They had spent another day in his study. Flora was starting to wonder if she would have to have the phone surgically removed from her ear. It was chaos. They couldn’t move in to the new offices for a couple of days so they were working from this one room. All day they had been shhing each other while they were both on the phone. James knew he would get a handful of clients to follow him but he was not expecting quite so many. It seemed word had got around already, and almost all his old client list had been calling. It was supposed to be a nice smooth operation. All they were supposed to be doing in this first week was the setting up. Instead he was already setting up meetings for tomorrow. By nine they were starving.
‘Chinese tonight?’ James fetched the menus.
‘Anything, I’ll eat the menu if you leave it there long enough.’
While James was gone Flora had another look around. It was a stunning house, why would anyone want to leave all this? She went into the bedroom. She wasn’t being nosey, she really wasn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a little look in the wardrobes. Yes it was as she expected, no women’s clothes. So she has definatly left him then. There were one or two tell tale signs of Imogen’s existence, a Gucci dust bag here a Prada shoebox there. Nice life if you can get it she thought. Something flashed through her mind then, Imogen had been how old, twenty-five? No more than thirty at most. Flora herself was twenty-eight. She looked again at the empty wardrobe and wondered what it might look like filled with designer clothes in her size. She shook her head, it was crazy, this time last week she had hated him. She had seen a different side to him these last few days, but that could change. Anyway she was off men. She screwed her eyes up tight as the image of Dan came into her mind. She shook her head hard to get him out. But then James was no Dan. They couldn’t be more different. For a start James was solvent. Just this morning there had been another text from Dan asking for money, every day this week. She had dumped him over a month ago when she saw him taking a twenty from her purse. It was so obvious when she thought about it. Money had been going missing for weeks. Everyone pointed the finger at Dan except her. Her loyalty had always been one of her strong points, but it had let her down this time. By the time she caught him, quite by accident, she was in the kitchen and had wandered to the fridge where she could see into the hall, and there he was with his hand in her purse. By the time she caught him he must have had over two hundred pounds. He had fed her all the usual guff about his sick mother, his boss being a bastard and not paying him. The truth was he had another girlfriend who was about to pop his sprog. She decided then that if she ever went near a man again then it would be a man not a boy five years younger. James was definatly a man, he was well over forty at least. And there would be no danger of him ever dipping into her purse.

‘So when’s your mum going back?’ Philip took the glass gently from Imogen’s hand and set it on the grass.
‘Day after tomorrow.’ Imogen yarned and leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘It’s getting cold out here.’ She shivered.
Philip stood up and pulled her to her feet. He slipped his arm around her waist and they went back into the cottage.
‘Thank you for coming round tonight.’ she said.
‘I’d been looking out for your mother’s car all evening. I thought she’d never go.’
‘We did get rather carried away.’
‘That’s good. You needed to spend some time together. I told myself I’d stay out of the way until she’d gone home. But I wanted to see you. I couldn’t bear two more days. I’m sorry I scared you.’ he smiled. ‘You can’t half scream.’
Imogen laughed. ‘Yes it was a bit shrill wasn’t it?’ She put her hand up and touched his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘Everything. I know I’m a bit pissed but I don’t think I could have got through these few weeks without you.’
‘Bollocks. You’re far stronger that you give yourself credit for. You did the hardest part on your own anyway. Deciding to leave in the first place took far more guts than anything you’ve done since.’
‘Even using the mower?’
‘Even using the mower. Mind you that was a pretty gutsy thing to do.’ He took hold of her hand and kissed the palm. She felt the blood rush though her so hard and fast she thought the top of her head might explode. And when he kissed her lips she was sure she heard the bang. She sank down onto the sofa before her legs went out from under her as well. There was nothing for it, she thought, she was going to have to sleep with him now. She took his hand and pulled him down next to her. She slipped her hands into his shirt and felt his heart thumping under her fingers. He responded, he’d wanted this so much for so long but had been waiting for a queue from her. Now he leaned her back against the cushions and kissed her until he could no longer breathe. He stood up then and started pulling at his clothes. Imogen was watching him and giggling, she was unbuttoning her own shirt. He got his shirt off and started on his trousers, damn button flies. He was suddenly all fingers and thumbs. He turned around to get the light from the moon that was filtering in through the windows, if he could see what he was doing… With a flourish of triumph he finally undid the last button. He turned around with them in his hand and flung them across the room. He took a step towards the sofa and stopped. Lying on the sofa with her shirt open Imogen slept. Philip sighed.
‘Oh Gin.’ he said and pulled her shirt back across her exposed chest. On the back of the chair he spotted a blanket and pulled it over her. He got dressed as quietly as he could, reached down and stroked her cheek, then he let himself out.

Imogen was woken by the sun bouncing off her face. For a moment she couldn’t place herself. She sat up and looked around, then wished she hadn’t. Her head was literally splitting in two. She had to hold the two sides together when she tried again to sit up. When everything stopped spinning she realised where she was. Bloody hell she was stiff. As she moved to stand her shirt fell back open. She frowned as she did it back up. Then she saw two wine glasses. Yes, she remembered, her mother had been there and they had polished off rather a lot of wine between them. But that didn’t explain her open shirt, why would she have undone her shirt? She gathered up the glasses and took them into the kitchen. When she put them in the sink she found two more already waiting to be washed. She stood and stared at them. The two in the sink both had traces of lipstick on, the other pair only had one with lipstick, her lipstick. So whoever the third person was they didn’t wear lipstick. She put her hand up to brush her hair from her face and as she did so she detected a scent. There was a familiar smell lingering on her, she took a deep breath. Philip! She closed her eyes and groaned. Oh God what must he think of her? Her last memory was of a passion so strong she thought she might die of it. The next thing she knew the sun was bouncing off her closed eyelids. She had fallen asleep on him! She didn’t remember the blanket so he must have tucked her up in it before he left. She put her head in her hands. Her whole body was crimson with embarrassment. She was glad to hear the phone ring, something else to think about. She hurried to answer it, every ring ripping through her saw head.
‘Hello?’ She croaked.
‘Hello Ginny dear.’
‘Molly, hi, everything all right?’ She held the receiver away. There was no need for Molly to shout.
‘Oh yes. Nothing to worry about. Your mother wanted me to let you know that she won’t be over as early as planned this morning. She’s feeling a little…delicate.’
‘She’s got a hangover!’ Imogen was glad she wasn’t the only one.
‘Well yes, if you want to put it like that. You two had a good time yesterday by all accounts.’ Imogen could hear the question in Molly’s voice and knew she would be too polite to ask.
‘We did, yes. Dad called. I was so proud of mum. She really stood up to him. I don’t think he’ll be calling again.’
‘Oh I’m so glad.’ the relief in Molly’s voice was touching. She and Eleanor had both been worried about Henry. Eleanor was itching for a fight, but even she was nervous in case he caused any real trouble. Molly had been rather terrified on the quiet. Conflict was not her strong point, especially when it had been brewing. It wasn’t her fight she knew, but she also knew Henry.
‘Tell mum I know how she feels and not to rush. I hope she didn’t disgrace herself?’
‘Oh no! Your mother has always been a lady, and she was the most ladylike drunk you could wish to meet.’ They both burst out laughing.
‘I’ll drive her over when she’s ready.’ Molly offered.
‘That would be kind. I’ll have the kettle on.’
Imogen went back into the kitchen. Putting the kettle on was a very good idea. She put two tea bags in the mug, followed by three sugars. With any luck there would be paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet. She went in search while the tea stewed away. She was in luck, paracetamol; she took three and went back for her, now almost black, tea. She should shower, she should change her clothes, but all she wanted was to curl up and forget about last night. Poor Philip. She pulled the blanket over her head.

‘Feeling that bad?’ Philip’s voice came through the thick red wool and she hoped she had imagined it.
‘Yes.’ she said eventually. She stayed under the blanket and hoped he would go away, she didn’t want him to go away, but she didn’t want to see him either.
Philip took the corner of the blanket and gently pulled it back.
‘Boo.’ he gave her such a huge grin that her heart sank with humiliation.
‘That’s a good trick,’ he said ‘turning the same colour as your blanket.’
She was trying so hard not to smile, but one crept up despite herself.
‘I’m so sorry Philip.’ She crept out from under the red wool.
‘At least you weren’t sick on me.’
‘Don’t! Oh God.’ She flopped her head down into her lap.
‘Had anything to eat yet?’
‘No.’ Imogen pulled a face, just the thought of it made her want to heave.
‘Best thing for a hangover. I won’t make you have the full English, but I’ll do you some toast.’ Philip headed off into the kitchen leaving Imogen with her too strong, too sweet tea.
He came back a few minuets later with a plate of hot, buttery toast and set it down on the low table in front of her. She wanted to ask about last night, she wanted to know what had happened and if he was cross. But looking across at him she realised that it would be better to leave it alone. He obviously wasn’t cross, he wouldn’t be here making her breakfast. It would never happen again, they had had their moment, and she had blown it. For weeks now she had been thinking about little else, he had been on her mind all the time. Every time she saw him her blood had heated up and she tingled. Last night she was sure it was what she wanted most in the world. Now she knew that her going to sleep was probably the best thing that could have happened. She was so angry at the thought of James sleeping with goodness knows who and there she had been about to do the self same thing. Maybe she was just old fashioned, but until a divorce was organised that was that. Besides Philip was going home in a couple of weeks and getting any closer to him would make that so much harder, for both of them. She knew that if last night had gone ahead she might well have fallen in love with him, and she didn’t want that. He was lovely and she wanted to remember him like this, she didn’t want to regret anything. She hoped he hadn’t fallen in love with her. She saw him looking at her sometimes in a way no one had ever looked at her before, then she wondered.
Philip watched her nibbling at the toast. Her first hangover had obviously come as a shock. She looked so fragile sitting there wrapped in her red woolly blanket. All summer he had been thinking about their future. When he first saw her in the post office all those weeks ago he had felt an instant connection, there was a draw that was more than sexual. Of course he fancied her, who wouldn’t? But he had seen something in her that she obviously didn’t see herself. He also saw someone who was hurting. He seemed to attract lame ducks. At school he was the one the teachers always asked to help when someone was having a rough time or being bullied, he was the one who sat with the sick puple while they waited for their mum. He liked it, he liked to help people. The trouble was he always got involved. But how could he not? When someone is sitting in front of you sobbing because their girlfriend’s dumped them or they’ve had their pocket money nicked what can you do? His mother was always telling him that he was going to get hurt himself sooner or later, he told her he’d be fine. Now he wasn’t so sure. As soon as he got close to Imogen he knew it was unlikely there was going to be any future for them. He knew she wouldn’t be able to commit to him. That was fine, it really was, after all she had made him no promises. Even so he found himself wanting it more and more. He had light-heartedly mentioned that she go back to Oz with him. The look on her face as she tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t upset him said it all. Ok so life in Australia didn’t appeal to her, fair enough. He decided he would stay here. He was supposed to be going to university in the autumn, but they have unis in England, he would get transferred some how. That was one of the things he was going to tell her last night. Now, standing by the windows while she sipped at her tea he knew he would go home, that he would leave her here and that that was fine. When he turned around and found her asleep he wasn‘t as disappointed as he should have been. It was strange because he was so fired up every time he saw her. He knew this morning what he had tried to ignore for weeks, that there was a difference between passion and love. He cared about her, he wanted to help her and he had wanted very badly to sleep with her, and last night she seemed to want the same thing. This morning though she seemed as relived as he was that nothing had happened. He wanted to ask her if she was ok, but he decided it was better to let it go. He smiled across at her and she smiled back.

James woke up in the study chair and immediately wished he’d bothered to go to bed last night. Flora had finally gone home around one and he had gone back to sort through the rest of the papers. So much paper! This was supposed to be a paperless society and yet he seemed to be drowning. What had started as a flippant remark from Olwen had turned out to be a hell of a lot of work. He had hoped that by now things would be up and running, he was hoping to be on his way to Cornwall. Instead the phone had not stopped ringing, the faxes had not stopped coming, nor had the emails. It seemed everyone and his dog had heard that he was going it alone. Clients that had resisted him for years were suddenly interested. Henry himself had been unnervingly quiet. The estate agent had promised they would be in the offices by now, looking around at the mess that was once his home he hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer.
He got up slowly and grimaced, he was too old to sleep in chairs, and he had promised never to do it again. Carefully he stretched and took a few saw steps to the kitchen. The whisky bottle was still sat on the desk but he hadn’t been near it in weeks. Caffeine, on the other hand, that was a different matter. Just as he reached the kitchen the phone rang. Bugger, he picked up the kitchen extension.
‘Hello?’
‘James, Henry.’ Henry’s voice was sharp and clipped.
‘Good morning Henry, what can I do for you?’ He was as light-hearted as he could manage.
‘You can tell me what the bloody hell is going on that’s what.’
So he had herd.
‘I get back from golf to find that Cherith had swanned off to Cornwall with out a by your leave. At least the office is in safe hands I think. But no! I get in this morning and find your office empty. Then I get a phone call from William Hebdon asking for your home number. I ask him why he wants it and he tells me that you’ve set up on your own! Christ James what the hell are you doing? You can’t set up a new business just like that, not in a week, you can’t!’
‘Well I can and I have.’ James was going to stay calm. He was not going to let Henry rattle him this time. What had Henry ever done for him really? He flattered him and courted him. In the early years, he was one of many, there were several companies who wanted him. James had chosen Henry because he seemed to need him the most, that was very clever. A small family firm that was looking for new blood, it sounded perfect. And it was for a long time. Maybe he knew all along that Henry was playing him, maybe he just chose to ignore it. Maybe he chose not to see the strings that were attached to everything because it suited him. Yes there was a time when they were as bad as each other. James wanted what was on offer, he wanted the promotions, he wanted to run the whole show one day. How it had taken him this long to wake up to it all amazed him.
‘Why?’ Henry was quiet now, not quite believing what was happening to him. Why was it all going so wrong? ‘I got you where you are.’
‘No, Henry, I got me there. I chose you as much as you chose me. I was happy to go along with it all. I’m not proud of myself. And nor should you be Henry. You convinced me that I needed you. Good God you hand me by the bollocks for years. It took Imogen leaving me to wake me up, I know how that sounds but it’s true. I don’t expect someone like you to understand but I couldn’t go on working for you once I finally realised just what a fucking bully you really are.’ James said all this in the calmest voice he could manage, then he put the phone down.

For the second time in as many days Henry found himself at a complete loss. He stood with the dead receiver in his hand for a long time. James had called him a bully when he had given him everything, he would never have got so high up anywhere else. He went into the sitting room and sat down heavenly on the sofa. On the wall in front of him was a framed photo of Imogen and James on their wedding day. He got up and went over to it. She was happy, look at her, she’s smiling, they both were. He looked closer, and then closer.
Something caught in his throat when he looked into his daughters eyes, frozen and flat. She wasn’t smiling, neither of them were. He tried to remember the build up to that day. He had introduced them, and he had encouraged them, encouraged James to make the proposal. He had sweetened the pill with the offer of the business when he retired. But it was all for Imogen, he was making sure she was all right. By making sure she married someone like James, and by making sure James stayed he was looking after her. Well it was true to a point. He also knew how good James was at his job, and how many other people were after him. If he was married to Imogen he would have a harder job leaving to join someone else. And James had worked wonders, clients loved him, so did their wives. Well there was nothing wrong with that, he’d known many men in James’ position who did the same. If it got the contracts signed then it could be overlooked. Not that he had ever done it himself. He couldn’t do it to his Cherith but he was happy for James to do it to Imogen, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing for a father to do. And maybe hiding those letters was not such a good thing for a husband to do. He’d been called manipulative before, and arrogant, and selfish, but he had always assumed that those who accused him of such things were just jealous. He had a great deal for people to be jealous of after all. Even at school there were boys who knew how much he stood to inherit and bullied him for it, and others who were his best friends because of it. He developed a thick skin very quickly. And there was nothing wrong with looking after yourself. In his heyday in the eighties they were exactly the qualities needed, learning how to manipulate people had got him were he was. The business had been comfortably chugging along under his father, but Henry had put it on the map, and kept it there. He had been banking on James to keep it going after him, even building it up some more. It might have been different if Imogen had been a boy, someone to hand everything over to completely. But she wasn’t.
Cherith had wanted a baby so much, and he wanted to make Cherith happy. The miscarriages had been quite dreadful, Cherith had cried for days. He hadn’t thought about his own feelings about children until they were taken away. When Imogen finally came along he had convinced himself he didn’t mind what they had, but he couldn’t help a little pang when the midwife said ‘it’s a girl’. A girl was so much more responsibility. A boy could be sent off good and early to a character building school, then moulded into whatever shape you wanted, hadn’t done him any harm after all. But a girl, they were a different matter. A daughter needed looking after, you couldn’t send them away to school so early and they needed an eye keeping on them. And even when they were grown up you still needed to be there to guide them. Before Imogen was even old enough to go to school Henry was worrying about her future, how he was going to provide for her and look after her when he was gone. He decided that it would be best to get her married to someone suitable, reliable and with prospects who he could trust to do the right thing by her. It was what his parents had wanted for Rowena, what all parents of that generation wanted for their daughters, that was the point of the ‘season’, something Rowena had hated and put up with under great protest, calling it a meat market. He could still remember the pain Rowena put their parents through when she stubbornly refused to marry. The trouble was Rowena should really have been a boy. There was a time when he was a child when he wished they could change places. She was so full of life and was never fazed by anything. He, on the other hand, had to teach himself to be self-reliant. The thick skin he developed at school was born out of a need to survive rather than a natural quality. Rowena was born with the hide of an elephant and nothing ever seemed to get through, or so it seemed. And while she kept her feeling forever on show, and always let you know what she was thinking, he had learnt to bury his feelings deep down, they were safer that way.
So Imogen was a worry. In the early days there was the dread that she too might be taken away in the night. Cherith would get up in between feeds and check she was still breathing. Eventually he convinced her that she didn’t need to, but he would do it instead while Cherith slept. She was a quiet girl, but not shy. She was slow to make friends though so the school holidays became somewhat of a trial. When Rowena suggested Imogen go down to Cornwall for a few weeks in the summer holidays there was relief all round. He had been uneasy to begin with. He was not on the best of terms with his sister, not for the first time. But their arguments shouldn’t impact on Imogen, and she wanted to go. For a few years it worked out well. Imogen seemed happy to go down on the train with a secretary, which meant he didn’t have to see too much of Rowena. Cherith had protested a little, but he pointed out it would be good for Imogen to meet new people. It worked and off she went. Until Rowena started putting ideas into her head. There was no way Henry could allow Imogen to grow up like his sister. Rowena had done nothing with her life. I mean going off to Cornwall like that and living in nothing much more that a garden shed. No one expected her to have a career or achieve great things. But she should have got married, had children, done charity work. Rowena refused to do what was expected. These days she would be the one running the company, but that was not an option back then. Their father had never been strict enough with her, that was the trouble. While Henry was sent away to school and brought up with all his parent’s expectations on his shoulders, she was allowed to do more or less what she wanted. Their parents were old fashioned enough to belive that only boys were worth sending away to school. When Rowena expressed an intrest in learning they allowed it, but it was more of an indulgence. As a result she got whatever she wanted while he was sent away.
While Henry could take over the business and make his own way Rowena had to be provided for one way or another. If she married then they could relax knowing that someone was there to look after her when he had gone. It was what he wanted for Imogen to. While she was single he was still responsible for her, if she married well then he could relax. When she was a child Henry was sure she was the kind of girl who would suit that kind of life. He knew he was old fashioned but he didn’t like the thought of his little girl having to go through what he had in order to survive when she could be taken care of.
The trouble was Rowena didn’t want to be taken care of and so their parents watched in horror as she turned into an independent woman with her own ideas. It was Henry who wanted to be taken care of but no one wanted to know about that. She was throwing away the chance to have everything she could ever want handed to her. He watched from an upstairs window as she packed up that dreadful motorbike with as much of her belongings as she could. He saw her parents putting on brave faces as they waved her off. Their expectations of him suddenly became even higher, everything now rested with him. He resented it and he resented Rowena for getting away from it, he was jealous of her. He had never really thought about it before but he was not angry with his sister for leaving and living such an individual life he was envious of the fact that she had been allowed to do it. He did what was expected and he made his parents proud. And he watched Rowena having a ball in Cornwall and hated her for it.
Before Imogen was born he had decided that. Boy or girl, his child was going to be brought up with more respect for everything he and Cherith had had to do to provide for them. There was no way he was going to let his child throw all his hard work back in his face. So when Imogen started to form such a close attachment to Rowena he started to worry. She would come back from Cornwall with all kinds of wild ideas about what she might do with her life. It normally only took a few days for him to have talked her out of whatever elaborate plan she was about to embark on, but he could see that headstrong streak. He needed to quash that if he was ever going to be able to protect her. Until that point they had been rather more indulgent than he wanted to be. Now he started to put his foot down. The business had also started taking off and he was spending more and more time away from home. It became easier to play the strict father when he didn’t have to be there to catch the fall out. He knew he was leaving Cherith to mop up the tears every time he said no and then left for the office, but that was the natural order of things after all. Men go out to work while the women bring up the children. And Cherith was always very good about backing him up. She never went against his wishes. He had never considered himself to be anything less than a good and caring father. It was true he became more distant as work got busier. And it was true he liked things to be done his way, but that didn’t make him a bad person. He had done his best for them and now it seemed that hadn’t been good enough.
Henry sat and thought. He tried to list all his friends. After several attempts he realised that he had no one he could really call a true friend. There were lots of aquatances, the chaps from the golf club, clients and ex clients who still kept in touch, his Christmas card list was huge, but there was none on that list he could call right now and have a good chat with. There was no one, except Cherith, who he could pour out his troubles to. It had never been an issue before, but now Cherith wasn’t here he realised there was no one else. How had he come to this? He never intended to alienate everyone. He had to stand up for himself because no one else wanted to do it for him. He wasn’t the strong man everyone seemed to think he was, but somehow the act that kept him going for so long had taken over. He knew the real Henry had been lost a long time ago, and he had always been glad. Now he started to wonder where that scared little boy had gone and whether he could still be found. But he was too old for all of that, he was what he was and it was too late to change. Maybe he had got it wrong all those years ago when he decided to bury himself and build his barricades, but they were there now and that was that. It had got him a long way. The little boy he had once been could never have built up such a successful life. All the promises he had made to that little boy as he sat sobbing in the dorm after a particularly nasty bought of bullying he had kept. He had got the big house, the flash cars, the big fat pension, the silk shirts and the off shore accounts. He had everything those boys had told him he would never have because he was a mummies boy who had it all on a plate and would never make anything for himself. Well he had shown then hadn’t he? Yes he had, but at what cost? His sister had hated what he had become and had told him so in no uncertain terms. His daughter was apparently terrified of him. His wife seemed to have turned against him and he had no one he could truly call a friend. In fact he had become the most successful failure he had ever met.
He shook his head and tried to make it different, there was still a part of him that couldn’t quite admit that he had done anything wrong. Yes he was trying to do his best for Cherith and Imogen, but he was also trying to do the best for himself. Over time he became more and more self-centred until he could no longer think about anything from any other point of view than his own.
He still told himself it was all for the good of the family, but it wasn’t was it? James had been right. He had sold Imogen in exchange for James staying in the business. But it was the best thing for her. He shook his head hard, it was for her. But however hard he tried he couldn’t tell himself that lie anymore. He had done it for the good of the business, to make himself more money and give himself more power. He had let Imogen down at the time when she had needed him most. The one thing he had tried so hard to do he had failed to achieve. Instead of protecting her he had made her unhappy. He knew she didn’t want to marry James but he had taken no notice, telling himself at the time that it was just nerves. And he knew Cherith was right when she tried to talk him out of it. He told himself it was just a mother not wanting to let go of her daughter. The little girl who had kept him awake at night with worry, who he had crept in to in the middle of the night to check on, who had looked up at him with eyes that made his heart break. She had become so terrified of loosing his love if she didn’t please him that she had married a man she didn’t love. What kind of a father did that make him? Oh God! He put his head in his hands and pressed his palms into his eyes. The pain was excruciating but he didn’t care.
A hundred things were whirling around his head all at once. He had to do something, he had to put things right somehow. He was too old to change just like that. He had no idea how to begin. It would be so easy to just carry on as before. He could wait for Cherith to come home and just say nothing. He could have a rant at Imogen and tell her to come home, something a part of him still wanted to do, and watch while she cut herself off from him completely. He tried to remember the last time she had talked to him about anything important, and he couldn’t. He tried to remember the last time Cherith had talked to him about anything important, and he couldn’t. People told him the things he wanted to know, or needed to know. People tiptoed around him, and he liked it. That was the trouble. He liked the power he commanded.
He couldn’t stand being in the house so he went out into the garden. He remembered Imogen running around on the lawn, doing cartwheels. He remembered her running up to him when she saw he was home from work and throwing her arms around him. She was about eleven, it was just before the last time he allowed her to go to Cornwall. It was the last time she did anything like that. He wanted that again. He wanted to be loved rather than feared.
He went upstairs and started to pack a bag.