Now and Always Read online

  NOW AND ALWAYS

  Andrea Blake

  Freed at last from the domination of a petty, miserly stepfather, Jennifer Alvery found herself once again at the mercy of a dictator—Neal Parker, to whom her stepfather had left the controlling interest in the family business. Would she be able to assert herself more forcefully this time?

  CHAPTER ONE

  MR. HEDGE put on his spectacles, opened his briefcase, and drew out a number of documents tied together with thin pink tape. But before he unfastened them, he looked over the top of his glasses at the slight, pale-faced woman who was sitting in the chair opposite him.

  Although they had been living in Midchester for the past eight years, both she and her daughter—who was perching on the arm of the chair, with one hand resting rather protectively on her mother’s shoulder—were strangers to him.

  And even though there had been a good deal of local gossip on which to base his speculations about them, none of the solicitor’s conjectures had prepared him for this first surprising encounter.

  ‘What in the world could have induced this delightful woman to marry a man like Wilfred Parker?’ he wondered perplexedly. Even now, when she was obviously very tired and upset and worried, she had an extraordinary charm about her. And one had only to look at the daughter to see that, as a girl, she must have been beautiful.

  They were very much alike, both in colouring and build. Mrs. Parker’s hair was going grey now. But ten years ago, it must still have been the same rich chestnut as her daughter’s. They both had hazel eyes and thick dark lashes. But whereas Mrs. Parker had lines on her forehead, and a hint of inner tension about her mouth, the girl was too young for life to have marked her pretty face yet.

  But she was not too young or too pretty to lack signs of character, thought Mr. Hedge. Her chin was square-cut, suggesting a forceful and self-reliant nature. She had shaken hands firmly and confidently. Her glance was very direct, and somewhat challenging. She gave the impression of being stronger than her mother, both physically and temperamentally.

  “Before I read the will, Mrs. Parker, I think I should explain certain factors of which you may not be aware,” Mr. Hedge said gravely. “You do know, I take it, that your husband had a nephew—but there had been a long-standing estrangement between them?”

  Louise Parker nodded. “Yes, I knew about the nephew, Mr. Hedge, and that he and my husband had quarrelled. But I don’t know the details of what happened. Wilfred never discussed it with me. I think he felt rather bitter about it.”

  The solicitor placed the tips of his fingers together and studied them thoughtfully for some moments.

  “I think one might describe the affair as a clash of temperaments, Mrs. Parker,” he said, in a judicial tone. “You must forgive me for saying so, but your husband was inclined to hold rather arbitrary views on certain matters, and his nephew was an extremely independent boy. I knew him quite well, you understand. He and my youngest son were at school together.” He paused, and Jennifer thought impatiently, ‘Oh, do get on, Mr. Hedge. Where does Wilfred’s nephew come into this?’

  “I expect you know that the boy was an orphan,” the solicitor continued, at length. “His parents were both killed during the war years and, there being no maternal relatives to help him, your husband agreed to take charge of him. Not unnaturally, he hoped the boy would follow him into the family business and, eventually, inherit it. However, when the time came for the lad to leave school, he was very keen to go abroad for a period. Mr. Parker did not approve, and this led to a serious disagreement between them.”

  ‘You mean a blazing row,’ Jennifer thought dryly, remembering a similar ‘serious disagreement’ between herself and her stepfather three years ago.

  “Unhappily neither of them was willing to seek a compromise,” the solicitor went on, shaking his head. “The outcome of the matter was that the boy ran off one night and disappeared. I regret to say that, far from being concerned for his welfare, your husband refused to have anything more to do with him. However, some months ago, when Mr. Parker first learned of his heart condition, he instructed us to institute a search for his nephew. As you can imagine, it was not an easy task. But we eventually managed to trace him. From our investigations, it seems he has done very well for himself. We understand that he first of all qualified as an accountant and then, foreseeing certain trends in the grocery trade, he went into partnership with another man. He is now the director of an extensive and very prosperous chain of supermarkets. So he would appear to be admirably qualified to advise you on the future management of Parkers.”

  “Advise us? What do you mean?” Jennifer asked, stiffening.

  But before he could reply, her mother said, “Mr. Hedge, instead of reading the whole will, which we probably won’t understand—legal terms always baffle me, I’m afraid—couldn’t you explain the gist of it to us?”

  “Why, yes, if you prefer it, Mrs. Parker. Perhaps that would be best,” he agreed. “Well, as far as this house and its contents are concerned, you are the sole legatee. There is also an immediate bequest which should relieve you of any financial problems while the question of Estate Duty is being settled. But Mr. Parker felt—and I must say I agreed with him—that it would not be prudent to leave the full weight of the business on your shoulders. It was for that reason that he instituted the search for his nephew. I think he had come to regret his earlier attitude to the boy, and of course he was very anxious that Parkers should remain an independent concern and not fall into the hands of any of the big multiple firms. When he was satisfied that his nephew was a suitable person to have charge of the store, he directed me to draw up this final testament. To put it quite briefly, you inherit a forty-five per cent share in the store, Mrs. Parker, and the controlling interest goes to your husband’s nephew. Unfortunately, he is in the United States at the moment, and will be there for some weeks, I understand. But no doubt as soon as he returns he will come to Midchester and discuss the whole matter at length with you.”

  Half an hour later, after he had had a cup of tea with them, Mr. Hedge took his leave. Jennifer watched him climb into his car and drive away. Then she closed the heavy front door and leaned dejectedly against it for some moments.

  The late afternoon sun, shining through the hideous stained glass fanlight, threw a pattern of purple and crimson splotches on the mottled brown linoleum. When Jennifer had first come to Laureldene, as a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, she had never seen anything like the hall of her new home. The drab sepia walls were hung with an extraordinary collection of African souvenirs—assegais, hide shields and plaited leather goads. Over the diningroom doorway there was a repulsive rhinoceros mask, and four metal-lined elephant’s feet stood beside each of the high-backed ornately carved chairs which nobody ever sat on.

  The Alverys’ flat in London had been bright and modern, comfortable to the point of luxury. Laureldene was a gloomy, draughty museum of Victoriana—and not the kind which had recently been brought into renaissance by fashionable interior decorators.

  Jennifer had always hated her stepfather’s house. Now, seven years of suppressed loathing and resentment suddenly boiled up inside her, and she had a furious impulse to tear down all the shields and spears and yellowed tusks, and to cram the whole lot into the dustbin.

  Her mother was standing by the window when she returned to the drawing-room and flung herself angrily into a chair. Louise was wearing a plain grey dress and no make-up, but she was not in mourning, nor was it sorrow which made her look so much older than she was. Her second marriage had been a very unhappy one and, although she had borne it with fortitude, she could not pretend to grieve for her late husband.

  “Don’t look so upset, Jenny,” she said gently. “There’s nothing we can do abo
ut it, you know, and it may not make so very much difference to us.”

  “But it’s so unfair!” Jennifer exclaimed angrily. “Oh, how typical of Wilfred to make a will like that. He never did think women had any brains. Now, instead of being free and independent, we’ll be under his wretched nephew’s thumb.”

  “Not necessarily, darling. Perhaps the nephew will agree to sell the store—or offer to buy us out. He may be a very nice young man. He certainly must be a very clever one to have done so well for himself. He might even be able to put the business on its feet again. I wonder what he’s like? His mother was a French girl, you know. Wilfred didn’t approve of her. I don’t know why exactly.”

  “Because she was French, I expect. He didn’t approve of any foreigners. He wouldn’t even have imported stuff in the store. It’s no wonder the business had gone down so badly. It must be the most out-of-date shop in the county,” Jennifer said gloomily. “Still, at least we can leave this horrible house. Let’s put it up for sale right away, Mummy. There’s no point in hanging about. The sooner we’re out of here the better.”

  “I don’t think we should act too hastily, darling,” Louise replied cautiously. “It may take time to find a new home. We must go round the estate agents and keep an eye on the Midchester News.”

  “But I thought we were going to leave Midchester?” Jennifer said, startled. “You aren’t thinking of staying here, are you?”

  “Well, of course, dear. Where else should we go?”

  “To London—back to London.”

  “But, Jenny, we don’t know anyone in London now. It would be like going to a completely strange place. Besides, I don’t think it would be practical, darling. All the nicest parts of London are fearfully expensive, and we don’t want to live in some depressing suburb with no garden and only a sooty little park to sit in during the summer. And big cities are very lonely places unless one has plenty of friends, or some means of making them.”

  Jennifer did not answer and, after a moment, Louise came to sit beside her. “Darling, we can’t ever recapture the old life in London, you know. That lovely flat we had was wildly expensive even then. I expect it’s in the millionaire bracket by now. Life was so much fun because of Daddy. It would be quite different now with only the two of us.”

  Jennifer smiled and gave her mother a quick hug. “Yes, I expect you’re right,” she agreed briskly. “Midchester isn’t such a bad place really. Once we find a nice little house with lots of light and mod cons, life ought to pick up a bit.”

  She must have masked her disappointment rather well because her mother said happily, “Oh yes, we’ll have a wonderful time, pet. I shall be able to cook all the delicious rich things which didn’t suit poor Wilfred’s digestion, and you’ll be able to read in bed till all hours without him fussing about the light bills. Best of all, we won’t have to light that awful geyser every time we want a bath. I know it’s silly of me—I expect the horrible thing is quite safe really—but I simply dread baths with that geyser. It sounds just like a volcano which is going to erupt. I’m sure it will blow up one of these days.” Her smile faded and she began to twist a button on her dress. It was one of the many nervous mannerisms which she had developed during her marriage to Wilfred Parker, and which always made Jennifer ache with love and compassion for her.

  “I suppose it’s wicked of me to talk like that—as if I were glad Wilfred is dead,” Louise said distressfully. “But these last few years...” Her voice broke and she fumbled for a handkerchief and hurriedly blew her nose and blinked.

  “I’ll make some more tea,” Jennifer said hastily. As she carried the tray to the kitchen, she knew that, wicked or not, she was glad her stepfather was dead. For eight years she and her mother had endured the kind of oppressive masculine domination which was supposed to have been stamped out by the first world war. Now, at last, they were free of their long subservience, and it seemed to Jennifer that it would be the most absurd hypocrisy to pretend any regret for the man who had made their lives so dismal and frustrating.

  The following morning she got up at seven in order to give her mother breakfast in bed.

  “Oh, darling, how you spoil me,” Louise protested, as Jennifer plumped up the pillows for her, and set the tray on her lap.

  “It’s mutual, isn’t it? Look at all the things you do for me. If you’re coming into town this morning, why don’t we have lunch together? There’s a hat in Morgan’s window which I think is perfect for you. If you like it, I’ll give it to you for your birthday next week.”

  “Dear Jenny—what would I have done without you?” her mother said huskily.

  ‘Poor Mummy. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have had to marry Wilfred,’ Jennifer thought wryly, as she went downstairs again, having arranged to meet Louise at one o’clock at a salad bar near the Guildhall.

  Jennifer had been eleven when her adored father, Guy Alvery, the famous racing driver, had been killed in the Mille Miglia. A year later, Louise had agreed to marry Wilfred Parker, a man of fifty whom she had known since she was a child.

  When her mother broke the news to her, Jennifer had been appalled. How could pretty, gay Mummy bear to live with a balding pompous old bore like ‘Uncle’ Wilfred? ... especially after being married to someone as handsome and dashing and altogether wonderful as Daddy?

  Jennifer had still missed her father desperately, and the prospect of moving from London to a dull provincial town, and of having Wilfred ordering their lives, had filled her with gloom.

  At that age, she had been too young to understand that, while Louise had adored her first husband, she had always suffered agonies of anxiety whenever he raced, and had also been continually harassed by Guy’s improvident free-spending habits.

  Now that she was grown-up and had a deeper knowledge of people’s characters, Jennifer realised that her mother was the kind of woman who should never really have married a man like Guy Alvery. Much as they loved each other, their temperaments had been fundamentally incompatible. Guy had been an adventurer, a nomad. Louise needed roots and stability.

  Now, thinking back, Jennifer knew that her mother had agreed to marry Wilfred because he represented security after thirteen years of living in the shadow of disaster. And of course, if had not been until after their marriage that Wilfred had shown his true colours.

  At eight o’clock, while Jennifer was cleaning her shoes, their daily help arrived. Mrs. Bodd reminded Jennifer of a cottage loaf. She was almost as broad as she was short, and every year she put on a few more pounds and breathed more stertorously as she scrubbed and mopped and polished. She was sixty-four, and had been in service since she was twelve—“in the days when service was service, Miss Jennifer.” She had raised seven children, and for the past fifteen years her husband had been a chronic invalid. But she was always cheerful and full of energy.

  “Mrs. Bodd, you were here when my stepfather had his nephew living with him, weren’t you?” Jennifer asked. “What was he like? Was he a nice boy?”

  “Poor young Mr. Neal who ran off so sudden? Yes, I knew him.” Mrs. Bodd swathed herself in a voluminous floral pinafore. Then she changed her felt hat for a bandana—Jennifer had never seen her without her hair in metal curlers—and sat down to put on her house slippers. “He was a queer lad,” she said thoughtfully, easing her shoes over her bunions. “Ever so reserved and quiet. Not like none of my boys when they was youngsters. Worse than a pack of elephants, they were—my Fred in particular. I don’t think it’s natural for a growing lad to sit about reading all the time ... reading and staring like that.”

  “Staring?” Jennifer queried.

  “Staring at nothing, dear. Like old folk what live in the past. Lord knows what he was thinking of, but you could see he was miles away. He did used to talk to me sometimes ... all about them foreign places you see on the telly. I knew he wouldn’t never go into the shop like his uncle wanted. He meant to go off abroad, he told me so. If you ask me, he hated Mr. Parker—and that sharp-t
ongued stick of a housekeeper what was here before your mum’s time. Tsk, I wonder what became of the poor lad? Went straight to the dogs I wouldn’t wonder.”

  “No, far from it. He’s a very successful businessman now. He’s coming back to take over the shop,” Jennifer told her.

  “Coming back here? Mr. Neal? Well, did you ever!” Mrs. Bodd shook her head in amazement. “He’ll be married now, I suppose?” she suggested presently.

  “I don’t know,” Jennifer said. “We hardly know anything yet.”

  “Well, seeing he must be thirty and more, I should think he’s most likely found a wife. No doubt he’ll bring her with him.” Mrs. Bodd frowned suddenly. “You don’t mean to tell me that Mr. Parker’s left him the lot, Miss Jennifer? Oh, surely not? Not after what happened between them?”

  “No, no—only a share in the business.”

  “Oh, what a relief for you, dear. I mean it would have been a terrible thing if you and your mum had been left out and Mr. Neal had turned nasty on you. He might have done, you know. There’s often bad blood over wills, especially if one of the parties bears a grudge, like. Not that he could rightly blame you for the way Mr. Parker treated him—but I daresay he’s still very bitter about it. And you know what men are. They’ll always take advantage of us women, if they can get away with it.”

  Jennifer buttoned her topcoat. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Bodd. Nobody is going to take advantage of us,” she said firmly.

  Five weeks later, on early closing day, Jennifer was alone in the house when the telephone rang. It was a call from the estate agent who was handling the sale of the property. He wanted to know if it was convenient for a prospective buyer to come and look over the place.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Datch. Send them up right away,” Jennifer said eagerly. The house had been on the market for a fortnight, and this was the first enquiry they had had.

  After she had rung off, she hurried upstairs to change her dress and retouch her lipstick. How marvellous it would be if, when her mother came home at tea-time, the house was virtually sold, and they could start looking about for a new one, she thought.