Chapter 8 #2
As Sir Lester Kelaney took his place behind the pulpit, Marge put her head down, deciding to stick with emotional detachment, so that she didn’t show any kind of response that would draw attention.
She kept the same posture as Nina took Sir Lester’s place and delivered a beautiful, heartfelt tribute to the man that Marge knew had adored his daughter beyond anyone else.
It was only when Murray Atkins, the final speaker, opened with a witty anecdote about Kenneth’s fierce competitiveness that Marge lifted her head.
As the congregation laughed, she doubted if they understood the deep-rooted significance of the story, but Marge caught it straight away.
Something in Murray’s posture. A slight reverberation in his voice – loss?
Grief? Or perhaps malice? Maybe even triumph?
Murray and Kenneth had been friends for decades, which made the truth even more unpalatable, but Marge knew that Kenneth had had a brief, meaningless but entirely secret affair with Murray’s ex-wife, Diana, while they were still married.
And Murray, that the man up there praising his old friend, knew all about it.
It would be unfathomable to most normal people.
Why would someone give a eulogy for a friend who’d betrayed him?
But Marge already knew the answer. Men like Murray and Kenneth would never turn down an opportunity to hold court with the people in this room.
She’d met many brilliant surgeons in her life who were truly decent people, but there were some who were just different – men (and yes, it had all been men in this category so far) whose psyches were made grandiose and their egos swollen by their ability to snatch life from the jaws of death.
They had different standards to normal people.
Different values. Different perceptions of what mattered and what didn’t, what was right and what was wrong.
Kenneth had been in that category – a complicated genius driven by his ego.
Now she wondered if his old friend was too.
As Murray veered off into another anecdote about his times with Kenneth, delivering it with a pitch-perfect balance of respect, humour and self-deprecation, Marge allowed her stare to wander and immediately proved her own point.
Murray’s ex-wife, Diana, was sitting further along her row, tears falling onto her jacket that was unmistakably Chanel. She’d been an expensive fling for Kenneth. Marge remembered the Hermès scarf, the Tiffany ring, the weekend at the five-star hotel on the shores of Loch Lomond.
A loud sniff took her gaze a few rows forward.
Annabel Stevenson, a politician in the Scottish government, had been expensive too – a trip to Paris under the guise of a medical conference.
Although, Marge was fairly sure that conferences didn’t take place in a suite at the George V.
That one had ended badly when Annabel had discovered that Kenneth was still very married and she’d freaked out over the potential damage that could cause her career.
Another shift in direction. In a pew to her left was former model, Danielle Strang, a lovely woman he’d met about a decade ago at a Christmas ball, which led to an entanglement that had lasted until that summer.
And then… Marge almost gasped as she caught sight of a face she would have been happy never to see again as long as she lived.
Lila Anderson. Much younger than Kenneth.
Probably not much older than his daughter, Nina.
At one point, Marge had thought that affair would have been the one to bring it all crashing down and it almost did.
It certainly, as far as she knew, played a part in the end of Kenneth and Bernadette’s marriage.
The others Marge had some compassion for – she could tell by their actions that the women didn’t have a full picture of Kenneth’s married life.
But Lila? No. She was dangerous. Nasty. Vicious.
Marge made it a point never to disparage another woman, but if she were to break that rule, she would call Lila a first-grade bitch.
For the seven years of their affair, Marge had put up with her demands and her spoiled brat behaviour.
She’d been forced to cover for Kenneth when Lila had shown up at his office and they’d suddenly locked the door, the sounds coming from inside making it clear what was happening on the other side of the wall.
Lila Anderson was the closest Marge ever had to a nemesis, and she couldn’t believe she had the absolute audacity to show her face here today.
Marge just hoped that Bernadette didn’t spot Lila in the crowd.
The minister was wrapping up the ceremony now, saying the goodbyes, and notifying the congregation that Kenneth’s body would be taken for a private burial, but that they were all invited to join the family at a hotel in the city for the wake.
Marge had known that in advance of today.
The burial was taking place tomorrow, with just the family present, because the gravediggers didn’t work on a Sunday. Even God had a day of rest.
Marge felt Amber slip her arm through hers and realised that they’d been asked to stand to sing the closing hymn. Kenneth’s favourite. ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. Of course it was. Because it was always the most righteous and duplicitous that completely missed the irony of their choices.
As she joined in, singing quietly, she watched as the coffin passed her by, a solemn procession of mourners behind it. Nina. Stuart. And, of course, lovely Bernadette. Then the speakers… Murray Atkins. Sir Lester Kelaney. Followed by other VIPs as they filed out row by row from the front.
And as she sang and watched the procession, Marge felt a slow burn of shame rising up her neck.
For thirty years she’d been keeping all of Kenneth Manson’s secrets. But this morning was the starkest reminder that she had a couple of her own.