Chapter 7
7
‘Hi, Fabian, come on in and make yourself at home.’ Jess, obviously flustered at cooking for a fellow cooking enthusiast, batted Lola away from the shabby chintz-covered armchair at one end of her tiny kitchen.
‘Something smells good.’ Fabian, walking over to Jess and the stove, appeared equally nervous at being surrounded for the first time by the Allen women en masse, and I felt for him. ‘What are you cooking? Oh, fabulous,’ he enthused, handing over an upmarket bottle of Malbec. ‘Is that sea bass? And with razor clams? I’ve never quite mastered the intricacies of how to cook those.’ The pair of them immediately went into a huddle over ingredients and cooking know-how and I smiled, delighted that Jess wasn’t going to be arsy as she sometimes could be when unsure of herself.
‘Hello.’ Jayden, who’d been upstairs obviously settling himself into Jess’s tiny box room, appeared in the kitchen. ‘Good to meet you at last. Fabian, isn’t it?’
‘You know it is, Jayden.’ I tutted, taking in my dad’s unshaven face and dreadlocked hair, his jeans and grubby trainers. Goodness, what a contrast to Fabian’s father, Roland Carrington, Lord Chief Justice.
‘Hi.’ Fabian held out a hand, realised it was still attached to the wooden spoon he’d automatically picked up, and laughed. ‘Pleased to meet you, Jayden.’
‘D’you think you could all take yourselves next door?’ Jess frowned, her face red. ‘I can’t concentrate when the whole of my kitchen’s filled with bodies.’
‘Next door?’ Mum and I both pulled a face. ‘We’ve just come from round there.’
‘No,’ Jess tutted. ‘Next room . The sitting room. Lola, hand these round,’ she instructed, passing over a plate of perfectly arranged tiny Brie and prosciutto shortbreads. ‘We’re going to be ready to eat in fifteen minutes.’
‘Mum, where’s Sorrel?’ I asked, following Lola, who was intent on ushering the others into the sitting room where a log fire burned brightly. ‘Oh, she’s here now.’
We all turned to face Sorrel, who stood in the kitchen doorway, wrapped up in a black puffer coat but still in the navy St Mede’s school uniform.
‘I waited for you after school,’ I said, ‘but you weren’t answering your phone and then I had to go to a meeting.’
‘Robyn, just because you’re teaching at my school doesn’t mean you have to be my minder. I’m more than capable of getting the bus home. Which I did today.’
‘You’re freezing, darling.’ Mum moved towards Sorrel, who was shivering. ‘Come on through, by the fire. Come and get warm. Your dad’s here.’
‘Blimey, what did we do to deserve another visit from him so soon after Christmas?’
‘He’s in the sitting room, talking to Fabian.’
‘Fabian’s here?’ Sorrel asked, her head turning. ‘Where is he?’
‘Who? Dad?’
‘No,’ she snapped, impatiently. ‘Fabian.’
‘In the sitting room talking to Dad,’ I said once more.
‘Good.’
‘Why d’you want to talk to Fabian?’ I smiled at Sorrel, pleased that she appeared to be showing an interest in him.
Without another word, and without taking off her coat, Sorrel headed for the sitting room, Mum and I following behind.
‘Fabian, are you still soliciting?’
Jayden laughed loudly at that. ‘Think you’ve got the wrong word there, sweetheart.’ He leaned over to give Sorrel a welcoming hug and kiss, but she brushed him off irritably and went to stand in front of Fabian, whom she’d met on the one occasion, just before Christmas, when I’d finally introduced him to my family.
‘Are you?’ Sorrel demanded.
‘Hello, Sorrel. How lovely to see you again.’ Fabian, always polite and friendly, smiled down at her from his six-foot-two height. ‘You OK? What’s the matter?’
‘Are you still doing what you did in London?’ Sorrel spoke quickly, her words tumbling out at speed. ‘I mean, we know all about how you were going to defend the Soho Slasher. I saw you on TV.’
‘Not any more, no.’ Fabian’s tone was kind, but firm. ‘I left London to get away from all that.’
‘Oh? Not to be near me, then?’ I went to refill Fabian’s glass before turning to my little sister. ‘What’s up, Sorrel?’
‘I want Fabian to defend Joel.’ She folded her arms almost defiantly as she waited for his response.
‘Sorrel!’ I put out a hand. ‘Fabian’s a barrister. He’s not a solicitor. And he’s… well, he’s… resting at the moment. You know like when I was working at Graphite in Mayfair when I didn’t have a part at the theatre?’
‘Fabian’s having a bit of a rest,’ Lola put in sagely. ‘He’s very tired. Here, have one of these, Sorrel.’ Lola thrust the plate of hors d’oeuvres in Sorrel’s direction.
But Sorrel, ignoring both me and her ten-year-old niece, moved closer to Fabian and continued to speak in a low, urgent voice.
‘Fabian, my friend Joel’s coming out of hospital at some point.’
‘Well, that’s good, Sorrel…’ I began, but Sorrel shook her head impatiently at me.
‘Joel’s being discharged soon, but I’m not sure when. I’ve just been up to the hospital…’
‘In this snow?’ Mum interrupted.
‘It’s nearly gone, Mum, and the bus goes straight from outside school down to Midhope and the hospital.’
‘But…’ Mum put out a hand, her face etched with concern.
‘They wouldn’t let me see him, but I managed to have a word with one of the nurses. She said she thinks he’s being remanded. Or was it bailed? I can’t remember which.’ Sorrel turned to Fabian. ‘What does that mean? That he’s going to prison?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Fabian’s voice was gentle. ‘The thing is, Sorrel, from what Robyn’s told me about Joel, he was already on a court order because he’d been caught pushing drugs previously.’
‘Only because that lot he’s with made him,’ Sorrel snapped. ‘His dad’s in prison and they’ve told Joel if he doesn’t do as they say, his dad will be hurt in there and then they’ll come after his mum and his little sister. She’s only thirteen.’
‘Was he found with drugs on him again?’ Fabian asked pointedly. ‘When he’s already on what appears an intense court order for the same offence? Presumably, when the police found him after the knife attack, he had drugs on him? A burner phone? A lot of money on him?’
Sorrel shrugged, but didn’t take her eyes from Fabian.
‘You’re to have nothing more to do with this boy, Sorrel,’ Jayden interrupted crossly. ‘Just get yourself off to London to the Susan Yates audition and don’t get involved. Move on. I don’t want you having any contact with him from now on. D’you hear?’
‘So where do you get your stuff from?’ Sorrel rounded on Jayden, her eyes blazing. ‘For every young drug pusher, there’s someone like you buying the stuff. Supply and demand, Jayden? And don’t come the heavy father with me at this late stage. It’s amazing we three have turned out so well, considering who our father is.’
‘Sorrel!’ Mum warned but, whereas in the past she would have defended Jayden to the hilt, she merely raised an eye in his direction and said nothing more.
‘A bit of weed every now and again.’ Jayden had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Medicinal. Never any hard stuff,’ he protested.
Ignoring him, Sorrel turned back to Fabian. ‘So, what does remand mean for a sixteen-year-old?’
‘Not necessarily prison.’ Fabian smiled. ‘At worst he could be remanded to a youth detention centre – round here, usually somewhere like Wetherby. But it’s quite possible he’ll be remanded to the local authority.’
‘What does that mean?’ Jayden and I spoke as one.
‘Well, the principle is that everyone is entitled to bail, but sometimes it’s just too risky to allow bail. You know, a youth like Joel could continue to offend. But the main reason I would imagine he’s been refused bail is for his own protection. If he’s being manipulated and coerced by this gang that he’s found himself in?—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jayden interrupted, ‘no one just finds themselves in a drug gang. He must have sought out these people.’
‘Oh, you know nothing .’ Sorrel almost spat the words. ‘They found him , Jayden. Through his dad.’
‘So,’ Fabian continued, ‘a child, like Joel?—’
‘He’s not a child,’ Sorrel protested hotly.
‘He’s classed as a child until he’s eighteen,’ Fabian went on calmly. ‘And the courts might be persuaded by his advocate that he can be remanded into the care of the local authority, usually with strict conditions such as a curfew monitored by an electronic tag.’
‘So—’ Sorrel grabbed at Fabian’s hand ‘—will you do it? Will you be Joel’s solicitor when he has to go to court?’
‘Sorrel, no.’ I shook my head. ‘No, absolutely not. Fabian’s a barrister.’
‘Well, I can still be employed as someone’s defence advocate,’ Fabian said. ‘I would imagine Joel’s case will eventually be listed in Crown court rather than the local magistrates’ court in Midhope. Leeds or Bradford Crown Court?’
‘Surely, as a barrister, you have to be appointed to represent someone by a defendant’s solicitor?’ Mum spoke quietly but everyone turned towards her. ‘I mean, someone on the street can’t just get in touch with you directly, can they, Fabian? Most people don’t have a barrister unless they’ve done something really serious like murder, and their case is ending up in the Crown court.’
‘Mum, what do you know about it?’ Sorrel tutted impatiently in her direction.
‘I read a lot,’ Mum said, matter-of-factly. ‘When you’re bed-bound, as I often have been, reading is a way of taking yourself to another time and place. I like reading about police procedures.’
Lola eyed up the last of the hors d’oeuvres hopefully while Mum asked, ‘Does Joel have a solicitor, Sorrel?’
Sorrel nodded. ‘But Joel’s not convinced they’ve had a great deal of experience with cases like his. I suppose you get what you’re given when you’re on legal aid.’
‘I bet you can charge an absolute fortune, Fabian, can’t you?’ Lola nodded through a mouthful of savoury shortbread. ‘Mum says you’re really rich. You know, with your fabulous apartment near where the king lives? Mum says the Soho Slasher would have paid you an absolute fortune to get him off… Mum says?—’
‘Lola!’ Jess’s voice cracked like a pistol shot, making us all jump. She’d made her way into the sitting room and was standing just inside the doorway, taking in the whole conversation. ‘Excuse me, Lola! I thought you were grown up enough for me to discuss some things with?—’
‘Gossip with, I’d say,’ I snapped, embarrassed on Fabian’s behalf.
‘Food’s ready.’ Jess, obviously equally embarrassed at being called out for dishing the dirt about Fabian, glared at Lola. ‘Come on, come and eat. I’ve made soup to start.’
‘Hope it’s Heinz tomato?’ Lola said, unperturbed by her mother’s censure.
‘Whenever has your mother given you tinned soup?’ Jayden laughed, pulling Lola’s dark curls affectionately.
‘She does, you know,’ Lola confided in Fabian’s direction as Jess ushered us to our seats around the tiny table. Tiny it might be, but it was beautifully set with a snow-white cloth and starched linen napkins, cut-glass water tumblers and Jess’s best wine glasses.
‘Don’t blame her.’ Fabian grinned. ‘I love Heinz tomato soup. I became absolutely addicted to it, always opening tins and heating them up on the one single gas ring we were allowed at school.’
‘A gas ring at school?’ Lola appeared puzzled. ‘Like a Bunsen burner in the chemistry lab they have at the high school? I love science,’ she went on. ‘I’m going to be a research scientist when I leave school and help find a cure for Granny’s porphyria. Especially if I end up getting it.’
‘Lola, enough.’ Jess shook her head. ‘Stop wittering or you’ll have to leave the table. We’ve let you join us for dinner, so try and act like a grown-up.’
‘I am,’ Lola protested, passing round a warm, fragrant focaccia studded with baby tomatoes. ‘I’m discussing my future career and accepting that, one day, I could end up with what Granny’s got. Illnesses often skip a generation, my teacher said. We’re doing all about diseases in science at school,’ she added. ‘Did you know?—?’
‘Lola, can someone else get a word in?’ Sorrel snapped in some exasperation. She’d not touched the bowl of soup Jess had placed in front of her but, at a look from Mum, she lifted her spoon.
‘This is wonderful,’ Fabian said after one mouthful. ‘There’s fennel?’
‘Well spotted.’
‘And you roasted the tomatoes?’
‘Yep. Is there any other way?’
‘No.’
Jess grinned across at Fabian, both locked into the secret language of dedicated foodies while the rest of us simply enjoyed the delicious taste of the soup in front of us.
‘So, Fabian, what do you think?’ Sorrel had put down her spoon, her soup only half eaten.
‘I think this is miles better than Heinz.’ Fabian smiled across at Sorrel.
‘No! About Joel.’
‘Sorrel!’ I warned. ‘Come on, leave it out. Let Fabian enjoy his dinner. He’s a barrister, not a solicitor…’
‘Actually, there’s no reason I couldn’t take on a case like this.’
‘Really?’ Sorrel’s pretty face lit up.
‘There’s something called Direct Access Portal,’ Fabian said. ‘In simple terms, it allows members of the public – for instance, Joel – to instruct a barrister directly on their behalf. I could represent Joel either in the magistrates’ court or, if his case ends up in the Crown court…’
‘Fabian,’ I tutted. ‘Don’t get her hopes up. You left London because you’d had enough of it all.’
‘No, I left London because of the awful barrage of abuse I went through defending Rupert Henderson-Smith. And…’ Fabian smiled, aware that the rest of us were all concentrating on his words but going ahead anyway ‘…because I fell in love with some woman who fell off the West End stage and returned to Yorkshire with a crook leg.’
‘How is your knee these days, Robyn?’ Jayden placed his soup spoon in his empty bowl but reached for more bread, chewing contemplatively as he waited for an answer. ‘You must want to get back to the West End? You’re like me. Performing’s in your blood.’
‘That would be funny, wouldn’t it?’ Lola put in. ‘Aunty Robyn back in London and Fabian up here in Yorkshire. A sort of swap.’
‘I miss it terribly,’ I admitted. ‘My knee is so much better now. But, you know, I’m nearly thirty. I’ve had almost six months away from the theatre. I can’t see any director taking me on when there’s young, fit, talented kids like Sorrel here waiting – literally – in the wings.’
‘Don’t give up on your dreams,’ Jayden warned. ‘I can’t see you permanently back here in the sticks, Robyn. And teaching, for heaven’s sake? How anyone can spend even one day in school after the age of sixteen is beyond me.’ He physically shuddered at the thought. ‘I don’t think I went in much after fourteen, to be honest. You’re made for better things, Robyn. You’re talented. Come on, don’t give up. Your knee will get better and you’ll be back in London and on the stage again.’
‘…And right bang in the middle of the most amazing gardens you’ve ever seen, is this beautiful, classically styled building. I just stood and stared, couldn’t do anything else.’
‘Sorry, Mum, where’s this? This garden?’ I realised Mum was holding forth with great enthusiasm about something, everyone else around the table – except Jayden and me – totally engrossed as she waxed lyrical.
‘At the back of Hudson House.’
‘Oh, the care home?’ I frowned. ‘There’s a garden behind it?’
‘More than just a garden, Robyn. I was amazed. It’s like a secret garden that goes on for ever.’
‘It’s not that secret, Mum.’ Jess, in the process of serving dishes of steaming green vegetables and tiny garlic-and-rosemary-laden roast potatoes laughed. ‘It’s horribly overgrown and no one ever goes there. Haven’t done for years really. Even the gardeners seem to have given up on it, to be honest.’
‘Exactly,’ Mum enthused. ‘No one goes in there. I bet you’ve never been right up to the boundary wall, have you, Jess?’
‘No, and I’ve no desire to. It’s all overgrown with weeds and broken paths and tumbled-down walls. Spidery things and slugs.’ She shuddered. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if there are feral cats… foxes…’
‘Who does it belong to?’ Fabian took a mouthful of the fish in front of him without waiting for an answer, more interested in the food than a rambling, uncared-for bit of garden. ‘Jess, you are an absolute genius. Where d’you get sea bass as fresh as this?’
‘I go and see a man about a fish.’ Jess laughed. ‘Well, several fishes. In Midhope. He drives daily across to Grimsby for the catch of the day. He supplies all the local restaurants. Costly, but, you know, if you want fresh…’
‘Bacon, samphire and…?’ Fabian chewed speculatively before swallowing the fish and accompanying ingredients from inside one of the delicate razor clams.
‘Seaweed,’ Jess said proudly.
‘Of course.’ Fabian smiled. ‘Fabulous. Jess, you need to cook for other people, not just for your family.’ He swallowed, paused and then asked, ‘So, Lisa, some sort of building in the middle of this great big garden?’
Mum nodded. ‘Really strange. Someone – presumably the original owners of Hudson House – must have thought it de rigueur to build a summer house in their back garden.’
‘Oh, it’s a summer house?’
‘Much more than that. It’s huge, built along Greek classical lines. All white marble and Doric pillars. It reminded me of a miniature White House.’
‘In the middle of a Yorkshire garden? How did they get planning permission for that?’
‘Did you need planning permission back in the day?’
‘Which day?’
‘Well, I don’t know much about architecture,’ Mum said, ‘but I assume maybe the twenties or thirties? You can see why the original owners of Hudson House wanted this great stonking edifice in their back garden. They’d have a ball showing off to the local industrialists in the garden.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Fabian said. ‘And big enough for the family to eat out there and entertain in it?’
‘The family? Fabian, it’s huge. It’s big enough for a whole restaurant-full of people to eat there.’
‘Well, not for much longer.’ Jess put down her knife and fork. ‘The place is about to be sold. I guess the house, together with this summer house, will be razed to the ground so the Sattars can expand their Frozen empire.’
* * *
‘I don’t ever want to spend another night without you in my bed.’ Fabian rolled me onto my back, easing the weight of his body onto his arms above me while gazing down at me with such love in his eyes, I knew I would forever thank whichever God it was that had decided this man should be mine.
His beautiful dark eyes, in the light from the one single lamp on Mum’s bedside table, were deep, almost fathomless, and I fancied I could actually drown in their depths. And die happy. I laughed slightly, embarrassed at my thoughts; wanting to tell him how I felt but unable to find the words, never mind the courage, to lay bare my soul to him.
Fabian reached out a hand, touching my lower lip first with his finger and then with the tip of his tongue, lightly, oh, so lightly, until I almost cried out for more. But he held off, teasing until I found myself pulling him to me, wanting to possess every part of him. Wanting nothing more than to be possessed by him.
Afterwards he moved onto his back, pulling me down onto his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me, kissing my forehead while wrapping my long black curls around his fingers. Who would have known such a small gesture could be so utterly sexy?
‘Hell,’ I said, glancing at Mum’s little bedside clock radio, ‘I have to be up in five hours. What are you going to do with yourself in the morning?’
‘I’m going out with your mum.’
‘Out with Mum?’ I twisted round to face Fabian. ‘Out where?’
‘I’m going to take a look at this garden of hers.’
‘Which garden?’
‘The one she was talking about.’
‘Oh, the Hudson House garden? Not exactly Mum’s garden.’
‘I’ve always been interested in architecture.’
‘Since when?’ I sat up, leaning on one elbow, looking down at Fabian’s closed eyes, moving to gently kiss every bit of his face and neck.
‘You continue doing that and you’ll end up having four hours’ sleep,’ he murmured sleepily.
‘Since when?’ I insisted.
‘Since when what?’
‘Since when have you been interested in architecture?’
‘Since your mum started talking about this classical building sitting in the middle of a West Yorkshire garden.’ He opened his eyes. ‘I’ve nothing else to do and it would be good to spend some time with her. Get to know her a bit better.’ He sighed. ‘I need to work, Robyn. I’ve had three months of doing little but look after Boris and cook for Jemima and her new bloke. Mum keeps asking when I’m returning to the firm.’
‘Blimey, you sound like royalty.’ I attempted levity to counteract the feelings of dread I always felt when he talked about returning to London. ‘So do you want to go back?’
‘I don’t particularly want to go back to London; I don’t want to become embroiled once more in the madness that’s the Central Criminal Court, with all it involves.’ He sighed again. ‘But I need to work. I want to work.’
‘How are you living? I mean, without working?’ Was that a question I should be asking? A bit personal maybe? ‘Listen, I haven’t much, but what I have is yours.’
He started laughing. ‘Thank you. I’ll know where to come when I’m totally on my uppers. I’ve savings, a trust fund from my grandmother, investments.’
Of course he had. He was a posh bloke from Bucks.
‘That’s not a problem.’ He went on, ‘At the moment anyway. The problem is not working. Everyone needs to work and earn a living.’
‘So, you’re going back?’ I felt my heart plummet.
‘Savings don’t last for ever. And yes, Mum, Dad and, of course, Julius are now on my back wanting me to return from my “little holiday”, as Julius calls it. Tempting me back with small cases that won’t, according to Julius, have me “running for the hills again”.’
‘So, nothing doing with taking on Joel Sinclair for Sorrel, then?’
‘I didn’t say I would, Robyn.’
‘You didn’t say you wouldn’t either.’
‘Come back down with me.’ Fabian appeared to be ignoring the question of Joel Sinclair. ‘You can stay at the apartment in St James with me.’
‘And what would I do?’
‘Audition for theatre parts again.’
‘I can’t do anything until Easter, Fabian. I can’t let the kids down when they’re all excited about putting on this production of Grease .’
‘I thought you said earlier they were more interested in getting pizza down their necks.’
‘They’re teenagers. Always hungry. Once we get back properly into the new term, rehearsals will start again. And I’ll make sure they eat first. And the studio is warm.’
‘So, no coming back to London with me, then?’
‘Don’t ask me to make these big decisions when I’m only five hours’ sleep from facing 9CL once more.’
‘Let’s make it four and a half,’ Fabian murmured, a warm hand snaking gently into the waistband of my recently retrieved pyjamas.