A Family Concern by Anthea Fraser Page B

months.’
    Cynthia wound down the car window. ‘I’ll be back at five,’ she called. ‘Enjoy yourselves!’
    â€˜Humph!’ Roland Allerdyce turned back towards the house, Max at his side. Mrs Pemberton was waiting at the door, concerned that the old man had gone out in the cold without additional clothing.
    â€˜Mr Max! Welcome home!’
    â€˜Thank you, Mrs P. It’s – good to be back.’
    â€˜There’s coffee in the den. I thought it would be more cosy in there.’
    Roland led the way to the small room that, in earlier times, had been known as the parlour, and Mrs Pemberton saw them settled with cups of coffee before leaving them to themselves. Max had forgotten how small the farmhouse windows were, and how low the ceilings. He and his father had both had to stoop when they came into the room. Small wonder it had been necessary to convert the barn into a studio. The room was already shadowed this winter afternoon, lit solely by the blazing open fire. The armchairs on either side of it were of worn leather, and Max settled back comfortably, coffee in hand.
    â€˜So, Father, what’s the score? Honestly?’
    The old man held his eyes for a minute, then looked away. ‘Devil of a cough, that’s all. Won’t let me get a decent night’s sleep.’
    â€˜Have you seen the doctor?’
    â€˜What’s the point of bothering him? He has enough hypochondriacs on his books as it is.’
    â€˜What’s this about not eating properly?’
    â€˜Good God, boy, when you get to my age, you don’t need as much to keep you going. Mrs P, God bless her, can’t see it, and keeps trying to force-feed me.’
    â€˜Will you do something for me, Father?’
    â€˜It depends.’
    â€˜I want you to promise to go to the doctor. You’re losing weight, and that’s not good at any age. Anyway, the world’s awaiting several more masterpieces, so don’t think you can slip away without anyone noticing.’
    Roland Allerdyce smiled. ‘I’ve missed you, boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘What are you working on at the moment?’
    â€˜I’ll be delighted to talk shop, but only after I have your promise.’
    â€˜I tell you there’s nothing wrong with me.’
    â€˜I trust you’re right, but I’d like the doctor to confirm it.’
    There was a silence, measured by the wheezing tick of the clock on the mantelpiece.
    Finally the old man moved impatiently. ‘Oh, very well, then. If you’ve taken the trouble to fly up here, I suppose it’s the least I can do.’
    â€˜You’ll go to the doctor?’
    â€˜I’ll go to the doctor, dammit, for all the good it’ll do. Now, can we talk about something more interesting? How’s that independent young wife of yours?’
    And Max, promise duly extracted, settled back to enjoy his father’s company.
    Rona was taking some fishcakes from the freezer when the phone interrupted her. She glanced at the clock. Just before seven; on the early side for Max. With a jerk of her heart, she hoped it wasn’t bad news about the old man.
    She caught up the phone. ‘Hello?’ she said quickly.
    â€˜Oh – hello,’ replied a hesitant voice. ‘Could I speak to Max, please?’
    â€˜I’m afraid he’s not here. Who’s speaking?’
    Another pause. Then: ‘It’s Adele Yarborough, Rona. Sorry to trouble you, but I thought he’d be home by now.’
    â€˜Afraid not,’ Rona said crisply. She would
not
explain where Max was; it was no business of Adele Yarborough’s.
    â€˜What time are you expecting him?’ she persisted.
    â€˜Not until tomorrow lunchtime, actually.’
    â€˜Oh. I thought Friday was one of his home nights?’
    His
home
nights? Max, Rona remembered uncomfortably, had used the same expression. How much did this woman know about their domestic