‘How are things, my dear? Any news?’ he asked. He had no intention of letting his wife know that he, too, was suffering. Henry equated distress with weakness, and it would never do for him to admit to such a thing.
‘No news,’ she said, then added: ‘Look, Henry, I’ve talked to Joyce. Is it true what she’s saying? Did you know about this letter from Charlie before Joyce did, and did you know what it contained?’
‘No, of course I didn’t. I had no idea that the letter existed until Stephen told me. You must believe me.’
‘I always believe you, Henry.’
For a moment it seemed to Henry there was an inflection in his wife’s voice that he didn’t recognize. Then he told himself he was imagining things.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘Look, we can’t have this going on between you and Joyce,’ Felicity continued. ‘We need all our strength. Perhaps you should pop round before you go to work... I assume you are going to work?’
Henry grunted.
‘Thought so,’ said Felicity. ‘Right. Hang on a minute and I’ll check with Joyce. Then I’ll call you back.’
Henry had little choice but to agree, but he felt hard done by. Didn’t anyone realize that he was upset too? He had enough self-knowledge to realize that was a damn silly question, given the effort he’d always put into concealing the fact he was capable of being upset. He was, however, annoyed. And he reckoned he had a right to be. His daughter owed it to him to trust him no matter what anybody said. Including his son-in-law.
All right, so he’d known about the letter. But he had his reasons for not wanting Joyce so see it. Reasons that had nothing to do with Charlie’s diatribe against him.
Henry had been looking out for his family, like he always did.
He made himself tea, strong and sweet, dropping two Miles English Breakfast bags into a big china mug, adding boiling water, three sugars and a splash of milk. Then he paced up and down the kitchen, taking hurried sips of the hot liquid while waiting for his wife to call back.
He had to wait just over ten minutes. It seemed longer to Henry.
‘Joyce says it’s OK for you to call round,’ said Felicity.
Her voice sounded flat. Henry was disappointed with the tone of the message. It was OK for him to call around — what was he, a passing insurance rep? He was even more disappointed that his daughter hadn’t called herself. He assumed that meant she was still angry with him, still questioning his integrity.
He also found himself thinking how big it was of Joyce to allow her father to visit the house he had bought and presented to her as a gift.
Nonetheless he abandoned his up-market builder’s tea, pulled on an old sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, somehow in too much of a hurry to get dressed for work before joining his family again, and hurried down the road.
He had totally forgotten the news team waiting outside The Firs, and had failed to call security as he’d intended. There’d been other things on his mind. The press were still there. He cursed silently. He didn’t know whether the same team had waited all night. There were two more of them now, four altogether, and a second car he didn’t recognize was parked a little further down Palladian Road. Two reporters and two photographers, it seemed. Henry had instructed Geoff the previous evening that he wanted to be picked up at 7.30 a.m. as usual to be driven to work. He wished he’d waited for his driver to arrive so that he could have dropped him at The Firs. It would have been so much easier to pass the gathered press in a vehicle than to walk through them. But that was what he had to do. Either that or turn back, which he had no intention of doing. In any case they would probably follow him.
Even though he was unshaven and out of sorts, Henry marched through the vultures with his customary composure, remaining expressionless, saying nothing except to ask them coldly if they realized they were on private property.
As he walked up the drive he used his mobile to call the head of security and deliver the bollocking he had planned the previous night. The man promised to sort the matter straight away. He sounded nervous. Well, so he should. Not only had two carloads of press managed to blag their way into the allegedly protected gated development, but security had also allowed Fred to slip through their extremely suspect net. It now seemed impossible that the boy remained anywhere within Tarrant Park.
Inside the house Joyce was polite, but cool. Henry greeted his daughter warmly, attempting to behave as if nothing untoward had occurred between them. Which, of course, was the Henry Tanner way. He stepped towards Joyce, arms out-stretched. She dodged his embrace and merely murmured a good morning.
Confrontation was not Henry’s way. Neither was he any good at talking things through. He only hoped his daughter would come round. People did, in his experience. If you left them alone. And that suited him. It was his natural inclination.
He made a huge fuss of his granddaughter, who, unlike her mother, fell into his arms, seeking the reassurance he invariably gave, but on this occasion could not. Although he did his best.
Henry held Molly close so that she could not see his face and muttered platitudes which sounded, even to him, to be just that.
‘It will be all right, sweetheart. The police will find Fred very soon now. Granddad will see to that. Granddad will look after you.’
And so on.
Felicity, he pecked on the cheek. As always. And she gave him a peck back. As always.
Monika had left the previous night to sleep in her own home, a one-bedroomed council flat on the old sixties tower-block development near the airport. But, to the surprise of the appreciative family, she had already returned. At least Monika had good wheels. Because Tarrant Park was not served by public transport, Henry had decreed that Mark’s old Mini, which was no longer needed now that he’d been presented with a Porsche to mark his induction into the family business, should be put at her disposal. And Monika had seemed to accept that there was no such thing as a free lunch, let alone a rather good motorcar. She was invariably available when needed, and not only in a time of crisis such as that currently engulfing the family. Not that there had ever been anything like that before.
Monika offered Henry coffee and toast. Realizing suddenly that he had eaten nothing the evening before and little the previous day, Henry accepted gratefully.
The family sat around the kitchen table together. They were all out of bed and up and about, as he had expected. Assuming any of them had been to bed. Felicity, Joyce, Mark, and Molly. Henry’s entire remaining family. But they were only physically together, Henry thought. Mentally each was in his or her own world.
And he could feel the distrust and suspicion still emanating from the daughter he so loved.
However, being Henry, he didn’t push the point.
Instead, just before nine, after he had been at The Firs for almost two hours, every minute of which had felt like a day, Henry could stand it no longer. He knew that Geoff was waiting outside in the Bentley. Henry had redirected him when his driver had phoned after arriving at the Corner House at the appointed hour to discover his boss was not at home. Henry had no intention of running the press gauntlet for a second time that morning.
‘Right,’ Henry said, addressing the entire family. ‘I’m off home to grab a quick shower and get ready for work.’
Felicity merely stared at him. She didn’t protest. Neither did she look surprised. Merely resigned. She had already made it clear that she assumed he planned to go to work. She had also somehow made it clear that she disapproved. But this had done nothing to change Henry’s mind.
Joyce was less subtle. She went for her father’s jugular again, her voice trembling with rage.
‘I can’t believe you’re going to bloody work, Dad,’ she snapped. ‘But then, as it’s you, I suppose I can bloody believe it.’