But marriage proved different. Sam Ferguson could not reasonably be his son’s protector within that institution. In any case, one of Felix’s stronger and better characteristics was loyalty. When he’d married Jane he’d fully intended to be loyal to her for the rest of his life. In every way. Which for him went way beyond mere sexual fidelity.
And for the first time in his life, when the cracks began to show in this union, which he had been so sure would be perfect, Felix had not run to his parents to share his misery and seek their assistance. Although he knew they had guessed all was not well. He had not turned to his father and stood aside whilst Sam made everything all right again. Like he usually did.
Upon reflection, it may have been better if he had confided more in his parents.
As it was, he was not at all sure what they did and did not know. He suspected that his mother was, as usual, sticking rigidly to her own vision of her son’s life — which varied from day to day in many aspects but never much swayed from adoration and a total conviction of his lack of blame in anything. In other words, Mrs Ferguson senior’s head remained firmly buried in the sand. If she had suspected anything beyond the ordinary in her son and daughter-in-law’s affairs, she would probably have pretended not to notice.
Felix’s father, on the other hand, was a different prospect. Sam Ferguson didn’t miss much. Although Felix had no idea at all what conclusions his father may have drawn from what could only ever have been a disjointed and incomplete view of his son’s married life.
If Felix had shared with his father what was really going on things may have turned out differently. Sam Ferguson might, like his wife, love his only son unconditionally. But he was a realist. And he had the steadiest of heads on his shoulders.
If Felix had gone to his father, told him the truth, the whole truth, he supposed it was possible that Sam Ferguson may have found a better way out of the whole damned mess. Although Felix didn’t know what the hell that could have been. And neither did he know how he, the man who previously had always told his father everything, could have shared the details of the last few weeks of Jane’s life with anyone.
But one thing was for certain now. It was too late. Irrevocable decisions had been made. Jane was dead. The beautiful wife Felix had fallen head over heels in love with was no more.
Felix bent down and picked up a stick which he threw for the dogs. Pedro and Petra took off after it in yelping writhing delight, every pace, every leap, every sound, a chorus of total happiness.
The sea breeze of earlier in the day was growing stronger and there were dark clouds gathering. The first drops of rain were beginning to fall. Felix didn’t care. He stood still for a moment looking out to sea. This part of Westward Ho! the start of Abbotsham Cliffs, where the tors reached up to the south and the ocean stretched to the north, was quite possibly his favourite place in all the world. It was beautiful whatever the weather.
Lundy Island, jewel of the Atlantic, standing dark and proud on the horizon, had yet to disappear within a gathering mist.
Pedro galloped back to Felix and was at his feet, excited, joyful, insistent on another throw of his stick. Felix bent forward, and took the stick from the dog’s mouth.
When he stood up, ready to oblige, there were tears pouring down his cheeks.
Thirteen
Back in Instow, Gerry Barham had also decided to go for a sea walk. But not along the front of his home village, that was far too public.
He had a meeting arranged with someone he was not sure he wanted to meet at all. But he felt that he had little choice.
He drove to Westward Ho! heading for Sandymere at the furthest end of Northam Burrows, where he parked by the seawater pond, known as the inland sea, which, at low tide, is actually little more than a large puddle.
Even though this was a Sunday in May, there were few other cars there, probably belonging to stalwart dog walkers. The changeable weather had seen to that, as Gerry and the man he was meeting had expected. By the time Gerry arrived the wind had turned into something of a gale and the rain was tipping down.
Nonetheless Gerry pulled on the heavy duty waterproof he had learned, since moving to North Devon, to always carry in the back of his car, and clambered over the pebble ridge. The tide was a long way out. He strode towards the distant sea until he felt his feet begin to sink in the sand. Then he stopped and stood for a moment just staring over the water.
The wind bit into his face, driving droplets of rain down his neck inside the waterproof. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait for long.
After a bit he checked his watch, turned around, and peered back towards the pebble ridge and the sand dunes. A tall burly man wearing a dark hooded coat and wellington boots, body bent almost horizontally into the driving wind, was moving across the sand towards him.
He walked straight up to Gerry Barham, all the while looking around as if to make sure nobody else was nearby.
‘Hello, Sam,’ said Gerry.
Sam Ferguson, the mayor of Bideford, father-in-law of the recently deceased Jane Ferguson, unenthusiastically grunted something which might or might not have been a greeting.
‘Hope nobody knows we’re meeting today, Gerry,’ he muttered.
‘Nobody knows we’re meeting, Sam, and certainly not that we’re doing so way out here with our feet sinking in the sand,’ replied Gerry. ‘We could have talked in the early hours when you came to collect the twins. You didn’t even come into the house. Why do you always have to be so bloody cloak and dagger anyway?’
‘For God’s sake, Gerry, it’s not cloak and dagger enough, not nearly enough,’ replied Sam. ‘I wasn’t going to try to talk to you with the Close crawling with coppers. In any case, Felix was already with you, ready to bring the children out to Amelia and me. Look, let’s cut to the chase, my daughter-in-law met a violent death in the night. I want to know what you know about it?’
‘I... I don’t know anything,’ said Gerry haltingly. ‘Except that Anne and I discovered Jane’s body, or Anne did — well, after your poor little Joanna, of course.’
‘Ummm, we’ll see about that,’ said Sam. ‘I just got a text from Amelia saying the police have now launched a murder investigation. Did you know that?’
‘I... uh... I didn’t know for certain,’ stumbled Gerry.
‘They’ve been around to interview Felix for the second time,’ Sam continued. ‘My son seems to be the number one suspect, and I doubt I’m far behind him on the list.’
Gerry looked anxious.
‘But you didn’t do it, Sam, did you?’ he said. ‘I mean, I know more than anybody how you felt about Jane. Whatever you say. And you were supposed to be at that anniversary dinner at the Waltons last night. You didn’t turn up.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Gerry? I’m not a bloody murderer. I’ve just been looking out for my family, that’s all.’
‘So where were you last night then?’
Gerry had decided that attack might be the best form of defence, but he spoke with a confidence he did not feel.
‘Why weren’t you at the Waltons?’ he continued.
‘You know why we weren’t there. Melia was a bit under the weather. Some sort of tummy bug. We phoned.’
‘Yeah. So I understand. And I for one didn’t believe a word of it. Your wife’s as strong as an ox. Shouldn’t think she’s gone down with a tummy bug in the whole of her life.’
‘All right, all right. Joan Walton has put Amelia’s nose out of joint. Woman probably not even aware of it. God knows it’s easily enough done. Got herself elected chairman of the Inner Wheel over Amelia’s head. Or that’s how Melia sees it. I thought she was prepared to let it go, move on. But no. Not her. At the last moment yesterday she refused to go. So I made our excuses... Gerry, what is this? Why are you giving me the third degree? You’re the one who’s been snooping on my son and his wife. You’re the one who knows what was really going on in that house.’