HIS OTHER SON Read online

  The telephone on the coffee table rang. For a moment he tried to ignore it, preferring instead to be alone with his misery, but after a dozen rings it was obvious the caller was not going to give up easily. He picked up the receiver and barked, ‘Crawford!’

  ‘It’s Clifford.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’

  Crawford laughed harshly. Could the day get any worse?

  ‘It’s Narina…’

  Crawford went cold. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Narina. So much depended on that woman – all his dreams and everything he’d worked for over the past ten years. ‘What about Narina?’

  ‘She’s gone.’

  For a moment Crawford was dumbfounded. He shook himself. ‘Gone? What do you mean gone?’

  ‘She went out at lunchtime and hasn’t come back.’

  Finlay Crawford breathed a sigh of relief and sipped his third scotch. ‘Then why on earth are you panicking? She’s probably shopping. It’s one of her greatest loves. Really, Clifford, I’ve had a hell of a day. You shouldn’t go around scaring a chap like that.’

  There was a silence on the other end of the line and Crawford’s relief turned to apprehension.

  ‘She’s not shopping, Finlay. Martin has gone too.’

  Crawford took a beat. ‘What are you telling here? That Narina and Martin have run off together?

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Look, Finlay, I should have told you this before, but I knew they were having… well… an affair. I challenged her on it last night, told her it had to stop, but she just became hysterical.’

  ‘You bloody fool,’ Crawford said coldly. ‘As if their affair mattered. It would have reached a natural conclusion after the twenty second anyway.’

  ‘But that’s the whole point, Finlay. Don’t you see? They’re in love. They don’t want it to reach a natural conclusion. Narina wants to live… as herself!’

  Finlay Crawford swore viciously as he saw his hopes and plans disappearing like so much dust in the wind.

  ‘There is one small hope,’ Clifford Stein said during a pause in the tirade.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘They left a note. It goes on about their love and all that nonsense, and Martin is making a stand about wanting to be an actor again and pursuing a life on the stage…’

  ‘You’re trying my patience, Clifford. Get to the point!’

  ‘They have the girl.’

  Finlay Crawford stared at the receiver as if it was an alien object, and then he put it back to his ear. ‘Girl? Which girl?’

  ‘The girl from last night. The girl you invited for lunch before you rushed back to London. Meg Johnson.’

  Crawford’s puzzlement was genuine. He’d been drunk last night. He could just about remember the girl and finding her in the downstairs corridor, and he even had a vague memory of a phone call but… He couldn’t even bring the girl’s face to mind. ‘What on earth are they thinking of?’

  ‘They’re offering a trade. If you take no action against them, that is, if you promise to instruct the Brotherhood to take no action against them, they’ll give you the girl to use as a substitute for Narina.’

  Crawford was horrified. ‘A substitute? Do they think this is all a game? Do they think that all the hours I spent grooming Narina for this moment was just my way of passing the time? Do they…’

  ‘It could work,’ Stein interrupted him. ‘Nowhere is it written that the vessel has to be willing.’

  Crawford was silent for a moment. He took another sip of scotch. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve made some enquiries. Meg Johnson is quite a talent. She has a fine singing voice, she’s a passable dancer, but according to Brian Topping at Sevenoaks Rep, she’s a pretty useful actress. It’s everything you need. That’s she’s pretty too is something of a bonus.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Crawford said and put the phone down. If Meg Johnson was pretty, and younger than Narina – that would be of benefit in later life, as he was just discovering. But his anger with Narina Dressler and Martin Stein was unabated. He might well accept Meg Johnson as a substitute, but Narina and Stein would pay dearly for this day’s work.

  Gareth wrapped a bandage around June Gafney’s bleeding hand and secured it with a safety pin. ‘Best I can do,’ he said. ‘I was never much good at first aid, even in the scouts.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, staring down at the blood on her dress. ‘I shouldn’t talk about it. Talking about it killed Mary. If I’d only kept it to myself she might still be here now. But she would keep on about it. She wanted so much to know who her father was. And when she found out the knowledge killed her.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘It was her twenty first birthday and we’d been out celebrating. It was my fault… I was drunk. And when she asked for the thousandth time about her father something inside me just snapped and I told her the story I just told you.

  ‘I neither saw nor heard from her for weeks after that, and in the end I got so desperate I just had to make contact with her. So early one Monday morning I went around to her flat. When she was appearing in a play she rarely rose before noon so I knew I’d probably catch her in. But this particular day she was up and dressed. She had her coat on and was about to go out. She was obviously very excited about something. And then she told me. She’d been spending most her days for the past few weeks at the British Library, doing some research on Finlay Crawford and the other members of the Brotherhood, and she was due to meet with Finlay that morning.

  ‘I just went cold. I wanted to keep her there in the flat. I couldn’t bear the thought of that man coming into my life again. I tried to persuade her not to go, but she got so angry… furious. She was screaming at me, accusing me of cheating her out of her birthright. In the end she stormed out of the flat.

  ‘I really didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe she really wanted that… that monster for a father. I knew I couldn’t just leave it so I decided to wait for her to get back and have it out with her once and for all. I busied myself, vacuuming the flat, dusting. I was tidying her bedroom, picking up her clothes from where she’d dropped them on the floor. As I lifted her blouse from beside the bed I found this.’ June Gafney got unsteadily to her feet and went to the sideboards, pulling open a drawer and taking out a fat manila envelope. She handed it to Gareth and sat back down heavily in her chair.

  There were six sheets of foolscap paper in the envelope, each filled with a neat script in black ink, together with some faded photographs and a battered theatre programme dating from the turn of the century. He spent the next twenty minutes reading through them. As every minute that passed unravelled another piece of Finlay Crawford’s history, and uncovered another horror. By the time he’d finished he was shaking. ‘How did the accident happen?’ he said. ‘How did she die?’

  June Gafney was shaking her head. ‘There was no accident,’ she said, tears pouring freely down her thread-veined cheeks. ‘I killed Mary, Mr Barker. I killed Mary!’

  The light was beginning to fade from the sky when Finlay Crawford slammed the car door and crunched across the gravel drive to the front door. He let himself in and stormed through the house to the study. He’d had an hour’s car journey from London to simmer about the situation, and slowly he was coming to the boil. Stein was in the study waiting, but shrank back into his wing-backed armchair as Crawford burst through the door and slammed it behind him.

  ‘What a bloody fiasco!’ Crawford said, walking across to the drinks’ cabinet and pouring himself a scotch. ‘Has Martin been in touch again?’

  ‘All the arrangements are made,’ Stein said. He’d seen Crawford angry before, but never to this extent. ‘You will keep your side of the bargain?’

  Crawford wheeled on him. ‘I gave my word, didn’t? The most important thing to me is getting my daughter back, and I will sacrifice everything to do it… even my pride, Clifford, and you know how much that will cost me.’ He swilled the whisky ar
ound his mouth before swallowing and checked his watch. ‘So, what are the arrangements?’ He sat down in an armchair opposite Stein’s and closed his eyes while the other man spoke, only interrupting to clarify a point of detail.

  ‘So we have thirty minutes,’ Crawford said, when the other man finished speaking. ‘I’m going down to the beach to wait.’

  ‘Have the others all been contacted?’ Stein said.

  ‘I made over thirty telephone calls before leaving Mayfair. Changing the date of the ceremony at such short notice was something of a nightmare, but we have the necessary thirteen including yourself and me, with three members in reserve, so I’m not expecting to encounter any problems.’

  Stein nodded and allowed himself to relax a little. Perhaps things would be all right after all. Finlay was his best friend, and given his word that he would not use the power of the Brotherhood against Martin and the girl. From his chair he watched Crawford leave the room and heard the car start. He stood, walked across to the desk and pulled open the drawer.

  Lying at the bottom, hidden by a pile of paperwork was his service revolver and a box of ammunition. He took out the gun and the box, flipped open the chamber and slid in the bullets one by one. He’d never known Finlay break his word before… but there was a first time for everything. And if there was a choice between Martin and the Brotherhood, he would chose his own flesh and blood over a group of people whose only common bonds were selfishness and evil.

  Although he’d had many disagreements with his son in the past, and he didn’t approve of the boy’s behaviour now, Martin represented the only link he had to his dear Eleanor, his beloved wife, whom cancer claimed fifteen years ago. And until the Brotherhood approved his appeal to resurrect her, she lived in Martin – in his laugh, in the sideways look he often gave, in his bearing. He couldn’t bear to lose that.

  He slipped the revolver into the waistband of his trousers and went downstairs to the room to make the final preparations.

  June Gafney sat in the chair, her eyes gazing at some invisible point in the far corner of the room. ‘It was early evening by the time she got home. I was waiting for her. I felt we should talk about it; try to come to some kind of understanding. But she wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. She wasn’t interested in my feelings. She’d met her father now, met Finlay Crawford and knew everything about him. And instead of being repulsed and disgusted by him, she embraced what he was. Admired him even!

  ‘We argued. We were standing in the hallway of her apartment block. I’d stormed out of her flat, telling her that if she was going to continue to see Finlay then I wanted nothing more to do with her, even though it broke my heart to say it. We were both crying. I was about to walk down the stairs to the street and Mary grabbed my arm. I don’t know why but I spun around and slapped her. I was just so angry. It was the first time I’d ever lifted a hand to her and I can still see the look of shock on her face.

  ‘I don’t really know what happened next. One minute we were standing facing each other at the top of the stairs and the next she stumbled and fell backwards. I think she died the moment her head hit the first stair. I heard a crack, like a twig snapping. She just tumbled down, over and over until she landed at the bottom.

  ‘I was on my way down to try to help, even though I knew it was hopeless, when I heard the key turn in the lock and the front door started to open inwards. Of course, it couldn’t open far because Mary’s body was… I ran back up and took the service stairs to the back of the block. I just wanted to get out of there. I had to get away from that madness.’ She stopped talking, looking at Gareth beseechingly, hoping for understanding. For forgiveness.

  Gareth got to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go and find Meg,’ he said.

  She reached out and grabbed his hand. ‘You do understand?’ she said imploringly.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand any of it,’ he said.

  Finlay Crawford parked the car in the lee of an oak tree and walked down the rocky path to the shore. The tide was out and a brisk wind was blowing in, raising clouds of fine silver sand. The sun had dropped below the horizon and a quarter moon hung low in the sky, offering a lambent illumination to the rolling waves far out to sea. He shivered as he walked across the sand. The chill air had sent any holidaymakers back to their hotels and boarding houses, the only reminder of their presence being the full litter baskets on the promenade and a child’s solitary sandal half-buried in the sand. He kicked it irritably as he passed, sending it arcing through the air to land behind a grass-topped sand dune.

  Further along the beach a figure stepped out from behind the cover of a beach hut. ‘Finlay?’

  ‘Yes, Martin. It’s me,’ Crawford said and stopped walking.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ Crawford snapped, and then reigned in his temper. ‘Yes, Martin. I’m alone. Is Narina with you?’

  Another figure stepped out from behind the hut. ‘I’m sorry, Finlay,’ Narina Dressler said. ‘I know how much you planned for this.’

  Seeing her again made Crawford’s blood start to boil. She knew how important this was to him, only to jeopardise it with her own selfishness. He clenched his fists and held them at his side. ‘That doesn’t matter now,’ he lied. ‘Have you got the girl?’

  ‘Father says you’ve given your word that the Brotherhood will take no action. Is that right?’

  ‘I have spoken to the vast majority of them today. They are very disappointed with you both, but I have told them no action is to be taken.’

  ‘Very well then.’

  To Finlay Crawford’s surprise another figure stepped out from behind the hut. Tall, muscular, and carrying the limp, unconscious body of Meg Johnson, Jarvis, the Steins’ butler, strode through the sand towards him. The two men met each other’s gaze – Crawford furious at this final betrayal, Jarvis, assured, calm, and slightly amused.

  ‘And what was your price?’ Crawford said sourly.

  Jarvis shrugged and lowered the unconscious girl down onto the sand at Crawford’s feet. ‘I’ve known Martin since he was a baby, and God knows his father has always been there to stifle any joy in the boy’s life. Let’s just say I’m helping restore the balance a little. I think she’ll be good for him.’

  Crawford shook his head. ‘God save us all from blind optimism,’ he said to the man’s departing back.

  Jarvis didn’t turn. When he reached the others they walked together across the beach, until they were lost in the shadows of the dunes. A minute later a car started and sped off into the night.

  Crawford crouched down and stroked the hair away from Meg’s brow. Yes, he thought. Very pretty.

  She would do.

  Martin Stein opened the door of the hotel room and carried Narina Dressler over the threshold, shutting the door behind them with a backward kick of his heel. He laid her gently on the bed and kissed her. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. They’d left Jarvis in the bar, nursing a pint of bitter and a fat wallet. They’d paid him well for today, but there was no doubting the man’s sincerity in his reluctance to accept payment.

  Narina’s fingers deftly unbuttoned Martin’s shirt and entwined themselves in his chest hair. He rolled away from her and lay staring up at the ceiling whilst her fingernails scratched soft intricate patterns in his skin. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered.

  ‘Can he be trusted?’

  ‘Finlay? Of course. He’s bound to be angry, but it’s not as if we left him high and dry. We gave him an alternative. He will appreciate that.’ She rolled over and straddled him, her hands reaching behind her to unzip her dress.

  ‘I worry that we’ve underestimated him.’

  She got to her feet and let her dress drop to the floor, then pulled back the covers and slid beneath the sheets, tugging at his hand in an effort to get him to follow.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Come to bed.’

  He turned and
smiled at her. ‘You’re right,’ he said, then sat up and took off his shirt.

  Ralph Jarvis sank the last dregs of his pint and said goodnight to the barman. He glanced up at the clock above the bar. Only nine o’clock but it had been a long and stressful day and he felt incredibly tired. He felt no guilt at having betrayed his employer’s trust. He’d hated Clifford Stein for years, only remaining with the family, first out of loyalty to Eleanor and then, after her death, to Martin. He loved the boy like a son – and had circumstances been slightly different Martin may have been just that. But that was all a long time ago, and he was too old for regrets.

  Instead he looked forward to a future. Martin Stein owned a house in the Cannonbury area of London. Nothing too grand, but he’d been assured of a position there, and he would be only too happy to accept it.

  He took the stairs to his room on the first floor. At the top he looked along the landing. He thought he’d seen something moving further along. Just a brief fluid movement by the door of his room – a shadow perhaps, but then there was nothing to cast a shadow. The landing was deserted. He walked along to the room and turned the key in the lock. He opened the door and put his hand around the frame, feeling on the wall for the light switch.

  His fingers found the switch, but before he had chance to flick on the light his wrist was seized and he was hauled into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. He staggered forwards, cracking his shins against the coffee table, the impact ruining his balance and sending him crashing to the floor.

  The air was filled with sound – an intense buzzing, like the sound of a million flies, but there was nothing flying around. In the vague light that filtered into the room through the net curtains from the street outside, he could make out nothing at all untoward. There was the bed, the wardrobe, the dressing table and the suitcase rack. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, but there didn’t seem to be anything through there either. Rubbing his shins he hauled himself to his feet and stood in the middle of the carpet, looking about the room.