Relative Sins

‘Are they?’ Ben’s face brightened up. ‘Why didn’t I see your mummy and daddy?’

‘Because they went to heaven before you were born,’ replied Sara with more confidence. ‘Now, why don’t you settle down for a nap? Then you can come and see Grandmama and Grandpapa before supper.’

‘And Uncle Alex?’

Sara stiffened. ‘Maybe.’

‘He didn’t get here until we went to that church thing,’ declared Ben importantly. ‘Grandmama said he’s Daddy’s brother.’ He frowned. ‘He hasn’t gone to heaven too?’

‘No.’ Though Sara thought rather uncharitably that it would have been fairer if he had. Harry had never betrayed anyone. Yet he had been the one to die. She bit back the urge to tell her son not to depend on Alex—for anything—and forced a thin smile. ‘So…we’ll talk some more later. Let me take off your sweater. You don’t need that on under the quilt.’

‘Can I have the television on again? It might help me to go to sleep,’ suggested Ben appealingly, and because it was the lesser of the two evils Sara agreed. She’d rather he was thinking of slimy monsters than his uncle Alex, though, come to think of it, she appended grimly, they had a lot in common.

She pulled his door to behind her and then spent a few minutes attending to her own appearance. Perhaps if she’d worn a brighter lipstick she wouldn’t have looked so colourless, she mused doubtfully. But what did it matter anyway? She didn’t care what anyone but Harry thought.

The room was cool, even though a check on the heavy old iron radiator elicited the information that it was working. But in a room of this size two or more radiators were needed, and she was almost glad to seek the comparative warmth of the hall outside.

Going down the main staircase this time, she was aware of the draught of cooler air from the open doors. The guest—mourners—were leaving, and the dampness from outside was spreading into the house.

‘Oh, there you are, Sara!’ exclaimed Elizabeth Reed, making her way towards her, her expression mirroring the disapproval that was evident in her voice. ‘I think you might have stayed around a little longer. We all appreciate your position, but it would have been more polite.’

‘I went to check on Ben,’ said Sara stiffly, trying not to resent the older woman’s attempts to put her in her place. Mrs Reed was suffering; that was obvious. Harry had been their older son, and it always hurt to lose one’s child—of any age.

‘Even so…’

The presence of remaining friends and neighbours prevented a prolonged protest, and Elizabeth’s face resumed its gracious expression as she bid them goodbye. When remarks were addressed to Sara she offered her daughter-in-law regretful sympathy, and only she and Sara were aware of how insincere it was.

Alex was standing with his father, and for a brief moment Sara glimpsed the sorrow in his face. For all her own resentment towards him, she couldn’t help but be aware of his feelings, and despite the animosity she felt towards him she couldn’t deny a certain sympathy for his grief. Harry had been his brother, after all, and during the early years of their life they had spent a lot of time together.

Ironically enough, for all that he had been the elder, Harry used to say that it had been Alex who had defended him in times of schoolboy rivalry, which wasn’t so surprising when you considered that Alex was probably two or three inches taller than his brother had been, and infinitely more muscular.

Feeling suddenly weary, Sara waited until the last guest had departed and then said carefully, ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to have a rest before supper too.’ She moistened her lips. ‘I suppose it’s partly the jet lag, but right now I feel really…exhausted.’

Robert Reed came to her support. ‘Of course we don’t mind, Sara,’ he said, forestalling whatever comment his wife had been about to make. ‘It’s been a hard day for all of us. I’m sure we’d all appreciate a little time on our own.’

‘Is Ben all right?’

Alex’s unexpected question disconcerted her, and Sara turned to look at him with guarded eyes. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t he be? I’m hoping most of this has gone over his head.’

‘Is that why you let him attend the funeral service?’ enquired Alex coolly, and this time there was no way that Sara was going to take the blame.

‘That wasn’t my idea. It was your mother’s,’ she replied stiffly, ignoring Elizabeth Reed’s reproving glare. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my room. As your father says, I would appreciate some time to myself.’

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN Sara opened her eyes again it was daylight—and not the grey, rain-washed twilight of a winter’s afternoon but, if she wasn’t mistaken, the brightness of a crisp November morning. Although she could hardly believe it, it seemed that she—and possibly Ben too—had slept for almost sixteen hours, and a glance at her watch confirmed as fact what an unfamiliar sense of optimism was telling her.

And she did feel rested, wonderfully so. Despite the fact that she had slept in her clothes, with just the fluffy feather duvet pulled over her, she felt thoroughly revitalised. More than ready to face whatever was in front of her, she thought. And infinitely more equipped to take control of her life.

And her son’s, she appended vigorously, thrusting back the duvet and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Last night she hadn’t even felt the hard springs of the mattress, which she’d blamed for the poor rest she’d had thus far.

But when she thrust open the door to her son’s bedroom his bed was empty. There was the imprint of his head upon the pillow, and when she hurried to touch the mattress it still felt warm, but of Ben there was no sign, and her heart accelerated uneasily. Dear heaven, it was barely half past seven. Where on earth could he be?

Telling herself not to panic, she went back into the larger room and struggled to find the shoes she had discarded the previous afternoon. She could hardly go looking for her son in her stockinged feet, even if her racing pulse was telling her to do exactly that.

She was running a hasty comb through her hair when someone tapped at the door. ‘Come in,’ she called at once, hardly daring to believe that it might be Ben playing a game. And it wasn’t; it was Mrs Fraser, carrying a tray of morning tea and looking decidedly surprised to find Sara out of bed.

‘Och, the little one said you were still asleep!’ she exclaimed, and Sara saw the faintly puzzled glance she cast over her attire. She was probably wondering whether Sara intended to wear the black dress until it dropped off her, the younger woman thought ruefully. But her mention of Ben was reassuring, and Sara hurriedly put down the comb.

‘You’ve seen Ben?’

‘Well, yes.’ Mrs Fraser put the tray down on the bedside table and turned to nod consideringly. ‘He was up and about half an hour ago. He came down to the kitchen to tell me he’d had enough sleeping time and he was hungry.’

Sara relaxed. ‘Thank heavens.’ She glanced down at the creased black dress and grimaced. ‘I was coming to look for him, actually. I was afraid he might have ventured outside on his own.’

‘Ah.’ Mrs Fraser’s response was understanding. ‘Well, you’ve no need to worry. The little one’s in safe hands. His uncle Alex was up at the crack of dawn himself, and he’s taken the youngster down to the stables.’

‘Alex?’

Sara’s reaction was only belatedly controlled, but she thought Mrs Fraser hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

‘Yes. The two of them settled for a bowl of my porridge and a mug of coffee, and then hied themselves off to see Dragonfly’s filly.’

Sara swallowed. ‘Dragonfly’s a horse, right?’

‘A mare,’ agreed Mrs Fraser comfortably. ‘The filly’s sire is Dream Maker—young Alex’s stallion. He was telling the lad about it and Ben fairly begged to see it.’ She chuckled. ‘He reminds me of his uncle, he does. Wants things yesterday, if not sooner.’

Sara endeavoured to speak calmly. ‘Wasn’t…wasn’t Harry like that too? When he was younger?’

Mrs Fraser sensed that she had been a little insensitive, and offered Sara a rueful look. ‘Bless you, no,’ she said. ‘Harry was always the patient one. The nicestnatured boy I ever met. That was your young man.’

Another thought struck Sara. ‘Last night—that is…Ben didn’t get up again either, did he?’

‘No.’ Mrs Fraser rested her hands on her hips. ‘Both of you were sleeping as sound as tops when Alison looked in on you. That would have been about a quarter to eight last evening. When Mrs Reed was anxious to get supper over.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Sara could imagine that that was another black mark against her, but it was too late to worry about it now. She had more immediate worries to deal with—not least her son’s apparent attachment to his uncle. Why couldn’t he have attached himself to his grandfather—or even his grandmother, if he had to?

‘Not to worry,’ declared the Scots housekeeper staunchly. ‘There’s worse things than missing a meal, particularly when…Well, least said, soonest mended—that’s what I always say. But you must be hungry yourself now. How’d you like a couple of nice poached eggs on toast, with some of Alison’s jam to follow?’

‘Well…’

‘I could bring it up for you, of course,’ went on the housekeeper. ‘And maybe you’d prefer a pot of coffee as well. Something warming to start the day. You’ll cope with everything so much better if you have some food inside you.’

Sara hesitated. Despite what she’d like to do, there was no way that she could go rushing after Ben and Alex without creating something of a fuss. Besides, where was the harm, for heaven’s sake? Alex was the boy’s uncle. Maybe he was beginning to regret that he hadn’t married too.

And the idea of shedding her clothes and taking a hot shower while Mrs Fraser prepared her breakfast was appealing. Even the food sounded almost palatable. Good old British eggs that didn’t swim in water on your plate.

‘Why not?’ she conceded at last, approaching the tea-tray with some affection. ‘You’re spoiling me, Mrs Fraser. I’m going to have to get used to managing on my own.’

Mrs Fraser hesitated herself now, then went to the door. But then, as if compelled to say something, she paused. ‘Now, I don’t imagine Mr and Mrs Reed will let that happen,’ she declared, unaware of how disturbing her words were to Sara. ‘That little boy’s their grandson. They won’t want to let him out of their sight.’

A cup of tea and a revitalising shower later, Sara was more prepared to view the Scotswoman’s words without distress. Goodness, Mrs Fraser had no idea how the Reeds felt, or their daughter-in-law either. If Sara chose to move away there was nothing anyone could do about it.

In consequence she made a fairly creditable attempt at the poached eggs she found waiting for her, warm beneath a silver dome. Because she didn’t want the food to get cold she merely pulled a Paisley-patterned wrapper about her before tackling her breakfast, and she was enjoying her second cup of coffee when Ben burst through the door.

‘Mum! Mum!’ For all that she had warned him a dozen times at home in Rio not to run about the villa, when he was excited he still forgot to control his feet. He bounded into the room, an excited bundle of cold air and enthusiasm, coming to a halt abruptly when he saw that she was sitting on the bed. ‘Mum, can I go out with Uncle Alex on a horse?’

Sara’s brief sense of sanguinity dispersed. ‘How many times—?’ she began, choosing the least controversial response she knew of, and then caught her breath abruptly at the sight of the man who had paused by the open door.

‘A pony, actually,’ said Alex evenly, propping one broad shoulder against the frame. ‘Good morning, Sara. You look…rested. Mrs Fraser said you were awake.’

Sara’s lips tightened. ‘But not prepared for visitors,’ she said through teeth that threatened to split her tongue. ‘Close the door, if you don’t mind. I’m sure we can discuss this later. And Ben, your shoes are dirty. Get off the bed.’

Alex looked as if he might say something rather unpleasant, but courtesy—or merely iron control—won the day. With a faint smile he reached into the room and swung the door towards him, stepping out of its way as it thudded against the jamb.

‘Oh, Mum!’ Ben’s reaction was much less restrained, his eyes sparkling instantly with unshed tears. ‘Mum, I want to go now. Uncle Alex said I can if you’ll let me.’ He sniffed. ‘Now you’ve gone and spoiled everything. I ‘spect he’s gone away.’

‘He’s gone downstairs, Ben, that’s all,’ said Sara, with rather less tolerance than she usually showed for her son’s distress. ‘For heaven’s sake, you can’t expect to burst in here and get your own way, all without even wishing me good morning. You shouldn’t have left these rooms without my permission. I told you that when we first arrived.’

‘You were asleep,’ said Ben sulkily, scuffing what looked suspiciously like a smear of manure against the cinnamon-coloured pile of the carpet.

‘Don’t do that!’ exclaimed Sara shortly. ‘And have you had a wash this morning?’ She frowned. ‘I bet you haven’t even cleaned your teeth, have you? What would your grandmother think?’

‘I don’t care,’ mumbled Ben, pushing himself away from the bed and dragging his feet across the floor. ‘Uncle Alex didn’t care if I’d had a wash or not. And nor did Dragonfly or her foal.’

Sara sighed. ‘All the same…’

Ben paused by the window. Drawing the curtain aside, he hunched one shoulder against the wall. Just like Alex, thought Sara helplessly. God, the sooner they left the better.

‘Anyway,’ she said, feeling obliged to try and rectify whatever damage Alex had done, ‘I thought you and I might go shopping this morning. You haven’t been to Newcastle. You never know, Father Christmas may have arrived.’

‘Father Christmas?’ Ben turned, trying to sound indifferent but not quite succeeding. ‘Where?’

‘At one of the stores in Newcastle,’ declared Sara, hoping that she wasn’t being premature. ‘I know he used to turn up in London about this time. I don’t see why it should be any different here.’

Ben frowned. ‘But how can he be in London and Newcastle?’ he exclaimed. ‘You said London’s a long way from here.’

‘It is.’ Sara finished her coffee, put the cup back on the tray and got to her feet. ‘But Father Christmas is magic, isn’t he? He can be everywhere, not just in one place.’

‘Like God?’

Ben could be painfully logical when he chose, and Sara half wished she hadn’t started this. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not like God. God lives in heaven. Father Christmas lives at the North Pole. With all the fairies and elves.’

Ben trudged back to the bed. ‘Is Daddy with God?’ he asked, and Sara realised that in explaining one problem she had created another. ‘Uncle Alex says that Daddy won’t be coming back. That he and Grandmama and Grandpapa are our family now.’

Sara expelled an uneven breath. ‘Did he?’ she said, wishing that Alex would just leave them alone. ‘Well, of course they are. But not like Daddy and me and you. We—’ she pointed a finger at the little boy’s jersey and then at herself ‘—have to stick together. You’d like us to have a home of our own, wouldn’t you? Just like we had before?’

Ben looked at her with solemn eyes. ‘But it’s not like it was before, is it?’ he said, as if it were she who didn’t understand. Then, with a sudden switch, he begged wheedlingly, ‘Can’t I go riding with Uncle Alex? I don’t like shopping. I’d rather stay at home.’

The words This isn’t your home! trembled on Sara’s tongue, but she managed to restrain them. It was going to be hard enough dealing with Elizabeth Reed with Ben on her side. It would be impossible if she alienated him as well.

‘We’ll see,’ she managed at last, as if there were all the time in the world to decide—and with that Ben had to be content. But he fussed about her as she was changing, evidently eager to resume his budding friendship with his uncle.

Using the tray as an excuse, Sara chose to use the back stairs to reach the kitchen, with Ben fretting at her heels. With a bit of luck Alex would have got tired of waiting and departed. She remembered Harry telling her that his brother was keen on horses, though these days he was seldom at home.

Which reminded her of something Alex had said the day before, and which until now had remained dormant. He’d said he’d bought Ragdale! What was she supposed to think of that?

As she had expected, there was no sign of Alex in the kitchen, and when Ben demanded to know where he’d gone Mrs Fraser couldn’t tell him. ‘He may have gone over to the Erskines’,’ she said thoughtfully. And to Sara she added, ‘He sometimes goes for a swim in their pool. Mrs Erskine—she’s always glad of the company. That husband of hers works every hour God sends.’

Ben’s face dropped. ‘But he was going to take me for a ride,’ he protested loudly, tears again not far from being shed. He turned to his mother as if it was her fault—which, strictly speaking, Sara supposed it was—and sniffed dejectedly. ‘Now what am I going to do? You should have let me go.’

Mrs Fraser arched an enquiring brow, but Sara was beginning to feel besieged and she had no intention of explaining herself to the housekeeper. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘You haven’t said good morning to your grandmother. Is she in the morning room, Mrs Fraser?’

‘No, Mrs Reed. She’s not up yet, I’m afraid. These days Mrs Elizabeth tends to take things more easily. She’s almost sixty, you know, though she wouldn’t like me to say so.’

Almost sixty! Of course; Sara supposed she must be. Yet when she had first come here Harry’s mother had seemed so much younger than fifty-four. But time, and Harry’s death, had to have taken their toll of his parents as much as anyone, and she decided that she must try to be more charitable when dealing with her mother-in-law.

Ben hunched his shoulders. ‘I’d have liked to go swimming too,’ he muttered, drawn again to his own grievances. ‘Where do the Erskines live?’ He looked up at his mother. ‘Couldn’t we go and find him? I bet he wouldn’t mind. He said he wished he had had a boy like me.’

Sara’s mouth dried at these words, but it was easier to address his earlier complaint. ‘I don’t think Mrs Erskine would be terribly pleased to see us, Ben,’ she declared crisply. And, at Mrs Fraser’s questioning look, she went on, ‘She doesn’t have any children of her own, does she?’

‘Did Alex tell you that?’ Mrs Fraser folded her arms, as she was inclined to do when she had some pearl of wisdom to impart. ‘No, the Erskines don’t have any family. But I hear it was a definite decision on their part.’

Sara’s lips parted. The temptation to ask what the other woman meant by that remark was appealing, but she had no wish for her curiosity to be passed on. She could just imagine Elizabeth Reed’s indignation if she learned that her daughter-in-law had been gossiping with the servants, and although Mrs Fraser was trustworthy her opinions weren’t always discreet.

‘Oh, well,’ Sara said now, grasping Ben’s hand firmly and heading towards the hall door. ‘We’ll just have to go shopping, as I suggested. Are there any buses to Newcastle, Mrs Fraser?’

‘There are.’ But Mrs Fraser looked doubtful about this. ‘Perhaps you should see what Mrs Elizabeth says. I don’t think she’d expect you to use the buses. If you’re set on going shopping, someone should take you in the car.’

‘I can drive, Mrs Fraser.’ Sara was trying hard not to feel resentful. Was she really expected to clear all her movements with Harry’s mother? She could feel her bid for independence slipping away. ‘Perhaps I could borrow a car instead?’

Mrs Fraser was looking increasingly anxious, and, realising that she couldn’t expect any satisfaction from this source, Sara made some remark about going to find Mr Reed and left the room. Surely Robert Reed didn’t stay in bed until mid-morning? Harry had told her that even though he was semi-retired Robert played an active role in the administration of the estate.

She was crossing the hall and reminding herself that she must remember to wear a sweater over her shirt when the front door opened. Ben’s accompanying tirade was immediately cut off as the object of his recriminations came casually into the house. Still wearing the black jeans and leather jacket that he had worn to her room earlier, Alex brought with him the sharp air of the morning and a not unpleasant scent of the outdoors.

‘Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex!’ Dragging his hand out of his mother’s grasp, Ben darted to meet him, looking up at the man delightedly, as if he were some kind of god. It was obvious that the boy was missing his father, but did he have to treat Alex so affectionately? wondered Sara with a sense of gloom. It made her feel like the wicked stepmother in some silly Victorian melodrama.

‘Now, then.’ Alex greeted his nephew with an equal amount of affection, swinging the child up into his arms and grinning into his excited face. ‘Does this mean we can go riding? Have you got your mother’s permission at last?’

‘No, he hasn’t,’ said Sara tersely, the sight of the boy and man together doing unpleasant things to her insides. ‘I—Ben and I are going shopping. We need warmer clothes than those we’ve got at present.’

Ben’s cry of outrage only narrowly missed being echoed by his uncle. ‘Shopping?’ he exclaimed. ‘Can’t you go shopping tomorrow? It’s a beautiful morning. It’s a shame to waste it going into town.’

Sara’s lips tightened. ‘Nevertheless—’

‘Nevertheless—what?’ Alex’s expression had hardened somewhat. ‘Is it really necessary to punish the child because you’re angry with me? I’ve said we need to talk, and I mean it. So don’t make me say something now we’ll both regret.’ He paused. ‘I’ll ask again; may I take Ben out for an hour or so this morning? I’m sure you can find other things to do.’

Sara’s resentment was crippling, but there was no mistaking the threat in Alex’s voice. She didn’t know exactly what he meant—what he knew—but she couldn’t risk him saying anything controversial in front of her son. ‘I…Oh, very well.’ She gave in ungraciously. ‘But I shall hold you personally responsible for his safety; is that understood?’

‘Of course.’ Alex’s dark eyes were vaguely sardonic.

‘And…and how come you’ve got a pony for him to ride? I thought your father only bred hunters.’

‘He does.’ Alex set Ben on his feet and then regarded her steadily. ‘We’re boarding it while the bailiff’s son and his family are away. Don’t worry. I’ll see Ben comes to no harm. He is the parents’ only grandchild, after all.’

Sara turned away. She didn’t need a reminder that, for all that she had longed desperately for another child, there had been no more pregnancies after Ben. Not that Harry had ever reproached her, she remembered. On the contrary, he had always assured her that he was content with the child they had. But then, Harry had always been there for her, in whatever way she needed him…

‘He’ll need to wear something warm.’

Alex’s voice followed her as she moved across the polished floor, and she glanced round, beckoning Ben to come to her side. ‘He doesn’t have a hat,’ she said, her voice clipped and flat. ‘I thought that was essential before you got on a horse.’

‘It’s a pony, Mum!’ exclaimed Ben, but Alex’s reply overrode him.

‘He can borrow Robin’s. I’m pretty sure it will fit. Robin’s only eight, you see. And rather small at that.’

‘Come on, Mum!’

Ben’s impatience was showing, and despite her reluctance she allowed him to tug her towards the stairs. ‘You—you will look after him, won’t you?’ she demanded at last. She twisted her hands together. ‘He’s never been on a horse before. Harry—Harry was never very interested in—in animals.’

‘I know.’ Alex’s eyes were guarded. ‘He was my brother for twenty-eight years before he was your husband. I knew everything there was to know about him. Including his weaknesses…but I don’t suppose you want to hear about them.’

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